[i">Loosely based on a true story...[/i">

Waiting for tonight's guy to return from the bar, I sipped my double vodka and luxuriated in the feel of my pleasantly full bladder. It was not yet noticeably distended against my tight black dress, but despite that I knew that I would have to pee within the next half hour or so. The fun would be in deciding where to relieve myself.

I'd picked up a guy tonight, as every night. He was young, maybe nineteen or twenty, and pretty attractive, with dark brown hair and eyes; but what turned me on about him so much that I could barely keep my hands off him was his inexperience and his nerves, the way he had not made any advances on me all night, but when I ghosted my fingers over his hips as we kissed, he shivered.

I watched him come back from the bar, carrying the vodka I'd requested in one hand. He hadn't bought himself a drink, I noticed. It would make my plan slightly easier.

I stood up and grabbed him, kissing him hard, pressing my tongue into his mouth and my body against his, fisting my hands into his hair. When I pulled away, there was a noticeable bulge in the crotch of his pants. He tried to turn away a little so I wouldn't see it, but I pulled him back toward me and traced the contours of his lips with my index finger, my crimson nail polish bright against his flushed face. "I want you," I murmured in his ear. "Let's go back to your hotel." I downed my drink, wincing as the vodka burned my throat, imagining it working its way through to my bladder. It would not, I thought, be long.

The tingling in my bladder my chief concern, I stopped outside the bar for a cigarette to prolong the feeling. He didn't want to wait, but I pulled out my pack and lit one anyway, exhaling menthol-flavoured smoke over him as he stood clasping my hand. He shifted uncomfortably, trying again to hide his hard-on from view. I hoped he was thinking of me naked and utterly debauched, writhing in ecstasy under his fingers and tongue and cock: completely his. The way I would be, soon enough.

I stubbed out the cigarette with the heel of one of my knee-length black boots, grinding it into the floor. "Let's go," I said.

The walk back to the hotel was only ten minutes, but five or six times I was overtaken by my own lust, spreading rapidly through my body from my full bladder. I pulled him into doorways and alleyways for long, deep kisses, his hands squeezing my breasts, mine ghosting over his denim-covered cock. The last of these times, I murmured in his ear, "Baby, I have to pee."

His reaction was immediate; a visible shiver of arousal passed through him. "Do it here," he suggested, not quite brave to do what he clearly wanted to, to push his hand up toward my aching pussy and feel the golden stream I wanted so badly to let go. But I had my answer now, and I had other, better, plans for the hot pee filling me. "I'll hold it," I said.

We arrived back in the hotel in the nick of time. My bladder was now round against my dress. I groaned as he fumbled for the key to let us into his room.

The door opened suddenly and we stumbled in. The unexpected movement caused me to lose a little pee, a line of glistening golden drops on my thighs. I pushed him down onto the armchair and straddled him. I could see the hard bulge in his pants, and I rubbed myself slowly across it, pressing my bare pussy against his denim-clad cock.

I must have looked utterly debauched, my makeup running, my face flushed, my breathing coming fast. My hair had long ago fallen out from its do, and now it spilled across my chest in long golden waves. I kissed him, pressing my tits against him. He could feel the hardness of my nipples pressing expectantly against his chest, and he plucked up the courage to place his thumbs over them and play with them as I writhed ecstatically across his lap.

For just a few seconds, I let go of my bladder. A short spurt of pee shot out a.... more

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