Female Desperation And Peeing Story

A Female Desperation Desperation And Peeing Story I Came Across

I had been driving the lovely Spanish woman, Maria, to work for several years now. She has long, black hair, a beautiful smile, dark olive skin that many Spanish beauties have, deep brown eyes, and a lovely sense of humor. Her accent is evident but charming and never gets in the way of her intelligence. Like many European women who live in this country, she seems less inhibited than American women. Sex, relationships, religion, politics, no issue is out of bounds for casual conversation. One evening I waited for Maria in the lobby of our employer. She was running later than usual, and so I decided to get the car and bring it to the visitor’s parking lot just outside the doors to the lobby. There I would wait until she arrived. This evening she did not arrive. Finally, I knew that she must realize that I could wait no longer. I started the car and pulled out of the visitor’s parking spot and slowly crept by the front of the lobby. Then I saw Maria. She ran to the glass doors, looked around and saw my car outside; she paused, looked back, and then at me, and ran toward me. She tumbled into the car for the hour’s drive home out of breath. “Sorry,” she gasped. “I was trapped in a long meeting with our department and I didn’t know how to get out of it. Thanks for waiting.” “I wasn’t waiting when you saw me; I was leaving you here,” I replied. “That was clear. You’re sweet to wait this long. You shouldn’t have.” Maria had settled into her seat but she seemed more agitated than she usually is, but more quiet. She is generally very talkative during our drives; listening to her is one of my pleasures of the day. She was also breathing deeply. “How long was your meeting,” I asked. “It began right after lunch at 1:00 PM, and there were heated design discussions all afternoon. Since I’m in charge of one of the major components, I was in the middle of it all. It was invigorating and useful, but tense. Every one was passionate. The time sped by so quickly that I didn’t realize what time it was until I was very late and you were probably leaving me. So I said I had to go and sped down to the lobby.” “Wow! That must have been quite a meeting. I probably would have needed to pee a couple of times during the afternoon.” I felt comfortable speaking such things to Maria; she never minded. What I had never heard, though, was a response like this. “Yes, I should have done exactly that, but I never thought of it. I never thought of it, that is, until I saw you driving away. Then I knew I should visit the lady’s room before the drive. I looked over at it when I saw you, but felt I couldn’t make you wait any longer.” “Maria, you know better than that. All you had to do is run out and tell me you would be right out after a whiz.” I loved using those American colloquial expressions which were new to her. Sometimes she asked me what the word meant; at other times she didn’t. This time she didn’t ask since I had used the word before. “I know, and I should have asked you because, to be honest, I’m very uncomfortable and would really like to stop, but I think I can wait until I get home. You know that I’m used to waiting from all the times I’m out at the park watching the twins while Carlos plays baseball. He and the guys can pee on the trees but there is no place for the wives to pee so we just have to hold it. So I’ll just hold it tonight.” “Fine, Maria, but don’t hurt yourself.” I couldn’t believe my ears. I was driving a beautiful woman home who was bursting for a piss, and she was willing to wait! I glanced over at her legs. They came out of her very short light gray pleated skirt and were fidgeting already, swaying back and forth in unison; every so often they would stop and press together several times, before going back to the swaying motion. “Didn’t others get up and leave during the meeting; you could have, too. I always do when I have to go.” “Several guys did, but none of the girls. When I left, Joan was right behind me and ran to the toilet. She was holding herself and looked real worried. It wasn’t until I got to the lobby that I knew how much I wanted to do the same.” The hour’s ride was through parkways with no gas stations or rest stops. If I had to stop for Maria to pee, I would have to get off and look for a place; I didn’t know of any. And there were parts of town where I would refuse to get off since I didn’t trust the neighborhood. Maria crossed her legs and let her top leg do all the wiggling, but that must not have worked, for she uncrossed them and put her hands under her buns. I glanced at her lovely face. The faint hairs above her lips, hinting an a mustache, looked absolutely ravishing, but beads of sweat formed there and she frequently had to lick them off. She seemed to move her lips constantly as if the battle over her bladder needed all of her concentration. She would take a quick intake of breath, hold it, and press her lips together, then exhale in a quick burst. “You are really hurting, aren’t you? I know that the pain is very bad when I’m full and must wait. I had a couple of bus rides when I was younger that were excruciatingly painful: just a continuous ache that would not go away, but was sharper at every bump that the bus went over.” Just then the car went over a pothole and bounced sharply. “Ouch,” cried Maria. “Like that, right? That’s exactly how I feel. The pain got bad the last half of the meeting but I knew I could wait. It was a lot worse when I got up and walked, but the bumps in the road don’t help.” “You must have gone through this at one of your husband’s baseball games sometime in the past. Didn’t you tell me that it was very bad one afternoon?” I wasn’t sure how much I could draw out of her, or how much she would tell me of the details of this or any previous bladder-bursting incident. “That time was very bad, especially because of the bus ride home. There were no seats so I had to stand in the bus and hold on to the overhead bar with one hand, and hold little Carlos with the other hand; Carlos took care of little Maria. Standing on the bus like that for a half-hour was very, very uncomfortable. But I think this is worse because I’m sitting down and I’m getting worried. I’m really getting worried.” At that she leaned forward a bit and moved her hips forward and backward on the seat, the first time she had resorted to that movement. Those little bursts of breath were more frequent and deeper. Her small breasts rose and fell through the black pullover sweater with each breath. I was almost afraid to say anything. She gained control and was relatively quiet for some time. After that long, quiet time on the road, Maria cried out, “Oh, Flu,” using my nickname. Having been named Fluidonescu Amalvonado, after my Grandfather, nicknames came easy to me. “Flu, I don’t think I can make it all the way home. It is getting very, very bad. Oh, oh!” She gave out several gasps, bucked her hips back and forth quickly, and slid her hand between her legs, and then quickly under her skirt, so that she could cup her hand down beneath her vulva. The poor girl was so full she was about to pop, and there was nothing I could do about it. “Maria, I’ve been driving as quickly as I can, but we are now at a part of town where I would never let you out of the car for anything. The traffic here on the elevated highway is moving and we will be home in fifteen or twenty minutes. That’s all I can do.” Knowing that a bladder makes its need known in increasingly intense waves, it appeared that she weathered the last one. Maria had removed her hand from her crotch and smoothed out her skirt, but she was still blushing brilliantly over what she had to do to contain herself. Traffic slowed almost to a stop. It might take longer than my estimate. “Maria, since I can’t let you out, you may not be able to hold your bladder back much longer. You ought to decide how you want to let yourself go most gracefully, though I’m sure you can’t imagine any grace in such an act at all.” Maria was one of the classiest women I had ever known, and the thought of her predicament was quite at variance with that reputation. And then I thought of the thermos. I always brought a small thermos of coffee to work. It was in my bag in the back seat. “Maria, you will think I’m crazy but there may be a way for you to piss without flooding everything. If you don’t do anything, soon you will be sitting there, unable to control yourself, and you will begin pissing your panties. And the seat of my car. There is another way.” “What is it, Flu?” she asked, her voice almost cracking. “It’s my thermos. You can pee into my thermos. The only problem is that it isn’t big enough. It is one of those small eight-ounce jobbers, and I think you have a whole lot more than eight ounces in you.” “Eight ounces? How much is that in liters?” Maria asked. Even though she had been in this country for years, under this kind of pressure, she couldn’t think of how to convert. “Let’s see. Eight ounces is a cup. Two cups make a pint. Four cups, or two pints make a quart. A quart is almost one liter. So a cup is one quarter of a liter. It is not very much when you are this full, Maria.” While I was doing math in my head, Maria was having another wave of desperation. “Oh, oh, ooooh.” She was spitting out little cries while her legs were being slapped together faster and faster and her hand rubbed her crotch frantically. “Anything,” she gasped; “Anything to let me pee. I have to pee right now; I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to flood everything any second.” She was furiously kneading her pussy with her hand, trying to convince her bladder that this was not the time. I reached back for my bag and got out the thermos. It looked so tiny. As I unscrewed the top I told Maria, “You are going to have to let a little piss out into this thermos, then stop and hold back your pee and hand the thermos to me. I’ll empty it out the window and give it back to you. Then you can piss some more. Understand, Maria? Your body is not going to want to stop once you start, but you are going to have to stop it.” “I’ll stop it, just let me start now. Please let me start now.” With that she slid the seat all the way back. There is a lot of leg room in front of her seat. She reached down and removed her pink cotton panties with one swift movement. Then she looked up at me. “Flu, this is a little embarrassing but there is nothing else to be done. Thanks for helping. I just can’t wait.” With that she spread her legs wide and scooted her buns up to the very edge of the seat and lifted her skirt revealing the most opulent black bush I have ever seen on a woman. It was as thick and full as a briar patch. “Maria, one last thing. You are going to have to aim pretty carefully. The opening is quite small.” “I can manage, just let me start.” I handed her the thermos. All the while the car was creeping forward. I glanced to the left and right. No one had any idea what we were doing. Maria placed the opening of the thermos under her pussy; how she could know where to place it, I had no idea, for she could not possibly see the thermos opening through that enormous bush of hers. It must have spread out two and a half or three inches from the line of her stomach. She stared down intently as if she could see through her thick hair. The hair on her head fell down the side of her cheeks. Sweat was dripping down her nose and lips and cheeks, making her hair stick to her face. She was concentrating so intensely, probably fighting to hold her sphincters tight until she knew she could release them. “Now,” she whispered to herself. Nothing happened for several long seconds. She grinned and looked over at me, her face flushed with struggle and embarrassment. “With you here watching my body doesn’t want to let go.” Just then I heard a little trickle. “Oh. Here it comes.” The little trickle was, in less than a second, a furious surging gush. The pitch of the sound roaring from the tiny thermos rose in pitch as the level of the liquid rose in the cylindrical container and was muffled by the foam created by the intense stream. “Maria, start to cut it off now or you won’t be able to stop in time.” I was awestruck by how intense her stream was and how soon she would have to stop it. She could never do it. The car floor will be drenched. Just then I heard the stream stop as Maria cried out, “Oh! Oh! I’ve stopped it. Oh quick, quick, quick, empty it. Oh God, the pain, it hurts so to stop. Oh! Oooooh! Oooooooooh! Quick!” While Maria was screaming this stream of anguish, she handed me the filled thermos, which I took and with one movement turned over outside the window. All the while Maria was bouncing on the seat of the car with her hand furiously rubbing her vulva, squealing all the while, “Oh, oh, oh, hurry, hurry, oh, oh….” I handed her the thermos in about three seconds but it must have been an eternity with her flow cut off. As soon as she grasped the thermos she jammed it back under her vulva and the surging gush started immediately. God, she could piss eight ounces quickly. This time I didn’t have to warn her when to stop. She gauged it accurately, cut off the flow and handed me the thermos. She didn’t need the assistance of any screaming this time, either, but it must have been just as painful. She expressed her pain and stress by a stream of muffled cries, “Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm…” They came out faster and faster the longer it took me to empty the thermos. This process went on for five emptyings of the eight-ounce thermos. But the thermos was filled with foam on the top so I couldn’t tell how filled it was. I figured that Maria must have dumped well over a liter before she was finished. The last time the flow started without the customary loud gush, so I knew she was nearing empty. She cut it off well before the thermos was filled, handed it to me and said, “There. That should do it for now. I’m not empty but I’ll make it home in comfort.” She leaned back in relief and exhaustion without even pulling her skirt down over her big bush, all the while breathing very deeply, her face still flushed from the effort and pain and frantic action. Just then a big tractor-trailer drove by the passenger side of the car and the driver looked down on this spread-legged woman with her vulva and huge black bush on public display. He was so shocked that he turned loose his air horn and shook the entire county. Maria was so frightened that she let out an enormous two-second surge of piss that gushed straight to the floor. She jumped up, realized what she had done, turned to me with a big smile, and said, “You won’t blame me for that, will you?”


Filed under: Piss Stories
Posted on 01.25.10
Comments: 10 Comments

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10 Comments »

  1. Come on! I understand you are busy and update here every few days but come on. I can masturbate to stories and text. I need pictures. This disappoints me

    Comment by Fan of the blog — January 26, 2010 @ 6:39 am

  2. * I can’t masturbate to stories and text

    Comment by Fan of the blog — January 26, 2010 @ 6:40 am

  3. same here

    Comment by Anonymous — January 26, 2010 @ 7:22 am

  4. There will be a new post tomorrow with pictures :)

    Comment by admin — January 27, 2010 @ 1:41 am

  5. thx!!! same person as before

    Comment by Anonymous — January 27, 2010 @ 2:35 am

  6. thx!!!!

    Comment by Anonymous — January 27, 2010 @ 2:35 am

  7. im so dumb like a thumb just saying.masterbators go to hell!!!!! send me an email guys. luv ya byes!!!

    Comment by austrailia — January 27, 2010 @ 9:45 am

  8. I kinda like pee stories, especially the lesbian ones.

    Comment by Kate — February 3, 2010 @ 8:27 pm

  9. I love the storries, keep them coming.

    Comment by Anonymous — February 26, 2010 @ 12:32 am

  10. Do you make these yourself when you’re bored?

    Comment by Sophie — August 3, 2014 @ 11:03 am

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