This little concerns a couple who finds a way to limit a wife's
tendancy to overstay at social functions. Just a bit of sex, but a lot of
desperation (hold-it).
Watersports, ws
THE UNREMOVABLE UNMENTIONABLES
By Francine
Art Cavanaugh wasn't really into parties. Well, at least not formal
parties. A good picnic while on a fishing trip, or a bit of a celebration
after a golf match, these he could take. But as for formal gatherings,
cocktail parties, and dress up affairs, they simply weren't his cup of tea.
Art had been to Alicia for twenty five years. They had a good
marriage, and had raised three children, now all either self supporting or
in college. They shared many interests; Alicia loved camping and fishing,
and helped Bob with running his auto repair business, where she advised him
on financial management and advertising, her professional specialties.
Alicia herself was employed as a public relations manager for a
pharmaceutical firm, and this took her to many gatherings of professional
groups. Generally she went to these affairs alone, as they were related to
her employment and definitely not compatible with Art's lifestyle.
Occasionally, she would talk him into going with her, knowing that at best
she would have a reluctant escort. Still, she liked his company and had
little interest in making an appearance as a lone female in mixed company
when she could avoid it.
Approaching was the convention of PR specialists, to be held in a city a
bit over a hundred miles away. Alicia had long been a part of the
association, and had been an active officer. Art had gone with her to such
gatherings several years ago, but she knew he found them boring and too
formal for his interests. It had been five years since he had gone to the
convention with her, usually because they were held far from home, and he
had the excuse of inconvenience. This one, however, was near enough to be
easily reachable, and Alicia was part of the host committee. She needed to
present a proper image.
"Art," she pleaded to him, "you haven't gone with me to one of these for
five years. Won't you go with me to this one? It's only a two hour drive,
and it will just be one evening! I'd love to show you off to all those
people who don't think I even have a husband! Can't I talk you into it for
this time? You won't have to go next year - it will be on the other side
of the country, then, and I know you won't want to travel. But this one
time, when it's so close? please?"
Art raised his usual objections. "You know I get bored sick at those
things - you get involved with everybody there, and you can talk endlessly
with everyone you see. I hardly know anyone, and no one wants to talk
about auto repairs or fish or anything I know about. I wind up standing
around looking stupid and waiting for you to get on with it and be ready to
leave!"
Alicia pleaded. She really wanted Art with her. She tried to interest
him in the events of the banquet evening, which she especially wanted him
to attend. She explained the special entertainment planned, the excellent
menu, all that she thought he might enjoy. Nothing seemed to get him to
budge toward accompanying her.
"Alicia, if I go for that evening. I'll wind up being there until
midnight while you hold long conversations with everybody around. I'll be
standing there twiddling my thumbs trying to look amused while you carry on
endlessly! I know it's your business, but it bores me stiff. Can't I just
let you do it alone - you'll enjoy it a lot more!"
"Art, if I promise not to stay too late, can I get you with me? The
cocktail party starts at six; suppose I promise to leave by nine thirty -
that's only a hour or so after the dinner will be over! I can't get into
too many conversations - I'll do my talking at the other sessions when you
aren't around. Would that appeal to you? Please?" She really wanted him
to go along.
"Alicia, trouble is, you mean that now; but when you get into a
discussion with someone, you won't want to break it off, and I can't be
rude and tell you that you promised to leave! You're just a social
creature, a lot more than I am, and you can't really control your urges to
converse! I know you mean well - but you just won't leave when you say you
will!"
Alicia knew he was probably right. She let the issue pass for the
moment. Still, she thought about it. The event was still several days
away. Maybe she could get Art to agree on if there was some way he could
be satisfied that she would leave before the party got to exceed his
tolerance for boredom.
She thought about the possibilities. Eventually, a thought occurred to
her. She approached her husband.
"Art, if I could assure you that I wouldn't stay too late at the
banquet, would you come with me? I really want you to be there, and I'm
willing to limit my stay if it will make you more comfortable. Would you?"
Art was skeptical. "Alicia, you mean well. But when you get involved
with people, well, you just lose track of time. You know you won't be able
to tear yourself away. Why don't you just leave me out of it?"
"Art," she went on, "suppose I agreed to something that would keep me
from forgetting the time? Something that would insure I couldn't stay too
late?"
"Like what?" Art asked quizzically.
"Like, well, suppose, I...." she hesitated. "Well", Art asked here,
"suppose you what?"
"Suppose I agreed not to go to the ladies' room while we're there.
Suppose I said that I wouldn't go to the bathroom until after we left?
That way, you know I couldn't stay too long. What with the drinks we have,
and all, you'd know I couldn't overstay my time. You'd be sure to get home
early! Would you?"
Art's face lit up a bit. This was getting interesting. "How could I be
sure you'd keep your promise?" he asked her. "Suppose you get carried away
and sneak off when I'm not looking, or just change your mind? Look, I know
you mean well, but just understand I want to make sure you won't be out
until I'm bored to distraction! Put some teeth into your promise and maybe
I'll agree!"
Alicia frowned a bit. Her husband loved her, but he knew her
weaknesses. She did easily get distracted when with people, and he wasn't
sure she could keep her word. She thought.
"Suppose..", she began, "just suppose, I let you tie my on -
with string or something. Something you know I couldn't easily get off.
I'd have to leave when I couldn't wait any longer for a bathroom trip, and
you know that would limit me! Would you go for that?"
Art smiled a bit. "Let me think about it. You'd let me fix your
underpants so you couldn't get them off? That would limit your party time
to the capacity of your bladder - right?"
"I guess so. And you know I can't hold myself too long. You'd be
guaranteed I wouldn't stay too late. OK?"
"Let me think about it", Art responded, thoughtfully. His mind was
toying with an idea.
"Please do. I really want you with me this time. You know I wouldn't
offer anything like this if I wasn't really interested. Please, Art, I
need you there!"
Art was toying with the concept in his mind. A thought was taking
shape. A few minutes later he addressed his wife. "You agree I can fasten
your underpants so you can't take them down at the party?"
"Yes", she replied, "Just don't do anything that will show. I need to
make a decent appearance. Under my dress you can fasten them on so I can't
get them off until after the party. All right?"
"OK", Art responded. "It won't show, and you won't be taking them off
easily. You might even need some help!"
"Just so I can handle it after we leave! I won't take them down for a
bathroom trip at the party, but I'll need to as soon as we get home. OK
with you?"
"Yes, indeed!" Art replied.
There was no real discussion of the arrangements, until the day of the
event. Alicia had a morning session at the convention, for which she
drove, leaving early in the morning. While she might have simply stayed
there for the banquet and evening events, she knew she could not count on
Art coming alone to join her, and, besides, there was the agreement she had
made. She had nothing in the afternoon, so she drove back home, arriving
about two o'clock. She greeted her spouse, reminding him they needed to be
ready to go in an hour or so, as there was the reception at six o'clock,
preceding the banquet.
Alicia proceeded to shower and dress for the evening. In her mind was
the deal she had made to get her husband to attend. Had he forgotten it?
He hadn't mentioned it since they had made the agreement. Alicia would be
just as happy if he forgot it completely. But, knowing his reluctance to
attend social affairs with her, she doubted he had forgotten. She wondered
what he was planning.
As she dressed, she reminded him of the time. "Art, it's three-thirty.
We'll need to be on the road by four. Are you about ready?" "OK - I'll be
set. You about dressed?"
"Getting there", she replied, as she pulled on a long black dress, her
choice for the evening, Art seemed to go about his preparations casually,
in an unhurried way. He had said nothing about their special
"arrangements". He simply dressed in his suit and tie, looking, she
thought, very proper and dignified for the occasion. She knew he made a
good appearance, and she would be proud to be with him.
As he finished fastening his tie, he turned to her. "You remember, we
made a special deal for tonight. Tell me when you're ready."
She knew then he had not forgotten. She didn't really think he would.
However, she had no idea what he had planned.
"I guess I need to, well, take care of bathroom matters before you fix
me up. Is it time?"
He nodded. "If you want to leave in the next few minutes. Go ahead
with what you need to do."
She understood. She went into the bathroom, and used the to
urinate. She made sure her bladder was empty. How long it would be before
she could empty it again, she did not know. She returned to their bedroom,
where Art awaited her.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked.
"I want you to change your panties. Put on an pair, not those good
looking ones!"
She winced. Whatever he had in mind, she knew she must comply. She
selected a pair of panties, worn, with a couple of small holes. They
wouldn't show anyway, she thought. She hoped. Then she pulled off the
ones she was wearing, and replaced them with the worn ones.
"And now?"
"Just stand there, and hold up your dress, so it won't get in the way.
This will only take a couple of minutes."
What got her interest was not what he said, but what he was holding. He
had in his hand a roll of fiberglas strapping tape, a roll of strong tape
reinforced with fiberglas, about half an inch wide. He also held a paid of
scissors.
"You're not going to to tape my underpants to me, are you? I'll never
get that off my skin!" she protested.
"No - not to you. I'm just going to insure you won't pull them off!"
He began to draw out a length of tape. Starting at the elastic top of
her panties, he passed the tape down one side , through her crotch, and up
the back. He cut it at the elastic band in the back. Then he did the same
thing to the other side. Then he took the tape and began to wrap it around
the at her waist level, just below the elastic top. He went around
her waist, pulling the tape tight, and made three circles of her body.
Finally he passed a strip of tape from the top right front of her panties,
through her crotch, and to the top left in the back. He cut the tape,
pressing it securely in place.
He stood back to look at his handiwork. She gaped at it in the mirror,
as she held up her skirt.
He had kept his word. The tape was not touching her body. But because
the tape would not stretch, and was tightly attached around the top of her
panties, there was no way she could pull them down over her hips. The
bands passing through her crotch area would keep her from stretching the
crotch to expose her body, even a little. Because the tape was so tough,
she would find it impossible to tear it or pull it off with her hands. It
would, she realized, have to be cut loose.
"Next," he addressed her, "leave your knife at home. I don't want you
taking it out of your purse and cutting yourself!"
She took her small pocketknife from her purse and laid it on the
dresser. "Ready?" she spoke to him, "looks like you've got me secured well
enough!"
"What we agreed to", he responded dryly.
She decided it was pointless to discuss the taping any further. It
wasn't really uncomfortable, though she could feel the fiberglas pulling
when she sat down. She knew what it was intended to do, and she knew it
would be effective. She couldn't take her down to pee, nor could
she the crotch far enough to relieve herself with them on. And,
she realized, even if she tried to urinate through her in a private
cubicle, the tape covering her crotch would insure she made a grand mess of
herself. For the moment, she decided, the subject was closed. Art was
going with her, and that was what she wanted. It remained only for her to
insure that she kept the evening short enough to satisfy him and to not to
exceed her own endurance.
They drove the hundred or so miles to the convention site, conversing
about the events of the convention and Alicia's part in it. She enjoyed
her professional status and associates, and looked forward to having her
husband make one of his rare appearances with her to share in her
experience.
They arrived at the hotel which was the convention site just about at
six. Parking the car, the entered the hotel and proceeded to the room
where the reception was taking place.
Proudly, Alicia introduced Art to many of those she knew professionally.
Art was not shy, and although he disliked prolonged social events, he had
good social graces and was a good conversationalist, though he professed to
have little in common to talk about with Alicia's associates.
"Alicia, where have you been hiding him? You keep him too much to
yourself - you should share!" remarked a female conventioneer upon being
introduced to Art. Alicia was pleased to have Art so openly welcomed.
Perhaps if he would realize that others enjoyed his company, he would be
less reluctant to join Alicia in the future. She saw that he was
introduced to many of those present.
The reception involved drinks and small snacks, and both participated.
Mindful of the long drive home, Alicia minimized her alcohol intake, and
confined most of her consumption to fruit juice and soft drinks. Art was
becoming less inhibited, and was obviously enjoying a bit of the wine. No
matter, Alicia thought, as long as I'm up to driving, we can get home OK.
Let him have his fun - maybe he'll come again!
From the reception they moved to the convention banquet, held in a large
ballroom. Alicia and Art were joined by three other couples, all known to
Alicia, at a table. By now, Art was feeling at home.
"You know," he began, after they were seated, "if I had known there
would be all these beautiful ladies here, I would have come to the last
one! Let's have a toast to the ladies!" Art raised his glass. Alicia
followed suit, as did the others, though Alicia was careful to choose a
water toast rather than the wine. She was happy that Art was enjoying
those around him.
Toast followed toast. Each of the women present was so honored, then
the organization, its officers, and anyone or anything else that came to
mind. The conversation was warm and enthusiastic.
The meal was hearty, but prolonged. By eight o'clock they were being
served the main course. Wine and other liquids were being consumed on
every side, washing down the sumptuous food offerings. Mary, seated with
her husband close to Alicia, rose at her place. "If you will excuse me
briefly, I think it's time for a powder room trip." She looked at Alicia.
"Want to join me?"
Alicia glanced at Art. Their agreement came strongly to her mind. Art
showed no particular reaction. Alicia shook her head politely, "Not now,
Mary." Mary went her way. Alicia was aware of feelings that her bladder
was filling, and begin to wonder about the wisdom of the many toasts in
which she had participated. She was avoiding the alcohol, but the water
was still going through her.
Time went on. By the time they had finished dessert, all of the women,
except Alicia, had made a trip to the ladies' room. Many of the had
also taken trips for needed relief. Art finally excused himself, leaving
Alicia sitting at the table, the only person who had not sought bathroom
relief.
Not that she didn't need it. Alicia was feeling the inward tension of a
full bladder. She just didn't know how to accommodate it. She knew she
couldn't relieve herself, the way her were taped up, yet she wasn't
ready to leave the party. There was a program of probably an hour or two,
and a social time, with dancing and possibly more drinks, yet to come.
Perhaps, she thought, Art would find that he was having such a good time he
would want to stay; and maybe, just maybe, he might be willing to help her
with the tape situation.
Art came back to the table. He was carrying a glass of wine from the
bar for himself, and a glass of juice, a big one, for Alicia. He handed it
to her. "Know you want to stay in shape for the ride home, but this you
can handle. It's a great party!"
Alicia looked at him with a bit of a frown. Art seemed not to realize
what her condition was becoming. After all, she hadn't said anything to
him. With the others around, she couldn't bring up the subject. Yet, the
other women were obviously wondering why Alicia wouldn't accompany them to
the rest room. Some had made two trips, while Alicia hadn't left the table
even once. Now she was looking at that big glass of juice. Her pelvic
area was getting more uncomfortable.
A bit into the program, Alicia was feeling considerable distress. She
leaned to her husband, quietly speaking, almost whispering, to him. "Art,
you know I promised I wouldn't stay too late; but you seem to be having
such a good time..." He cut her off. "So, I'm not asking to leave. Let's
see the rest of the program and whatever comes after!"
She was silent for a moment. "Art, you know the agreement we made- I
need, well, I can't really last much longer. Maybe we could do something
else?"
Art responded without even looking at her. "Let me hear this. I'm not
ready to go- remember, you wanted me to stay with you! Don't hurry me!"
Alicia didn't know what to say. She would be embarrassed in front of
her friends if she insisted on leaving before the program was over. She
could hardly discuss her situation in front of them. Art wasn't listening,
or caring; and, after all, it had been she who wanted him to come and be
with her. Yet, inside her, she was feeling the increasing discomfort of a
very full bladder, which she knew no way to relieve.
She gave some thought to trying to sneak away to the ladies' room. But
what could she do? She couldn't get her off, or even pull them to
one side. That darned tape was far to strong to tear with her hands, and
too tightly stuck to pull loose. She glanced at the table. A bit earlier,
there had been knives at the places, not really sharp knives, but at least
something with a cutting edge. Now the knives had been cleared. She had
nothing with which she could attack that tape.
Again she tried to get Art's attention. "Art, I've got to do something
about, our little, well, arrangement. I just really can't wait till we get
home. Can't we do something?"
Art turned to her. "Are you saying you're ready to leave? I thought
you liked these things!"
Obviously Art was not being helpful. Alicia held on, gritting her teeth
a bit, clenching her pelvic muscles to restrain her bladder. That organ
was protesting with increasing intensity.
The program was ending. Friends came by the table to meet Art and greet
Alicia. Her natural gregarious character was now in direct conflict with
her internal need. She tried to be gracious, concealing her physical
distress.
Art was having a great time. He showed no desire to depart, and was
engrossed in conversation with Alicia's friends. He made another trip to
the rest room, and returned, smiling, looking at his as though he knew
nothing of her distress.
Alicia was now not just uncomfortable, she was in pain. Her swollen
bladder was extremely difficult to restrain, and the distress was showing.
"Alicia, you look stressed out - are you OK?" a friend asked. She
responded, as best she could, "It's been a long day and a long week - maybe
we do need to be going!"
Art overheard. "Why so soon? Party's not nearly over yet!" Alicia was
torn between moaning to herself and cursing. He was keeping her in this
state, forcing her to choose between a seemingly hurried and ungracious
exit and physical torture which was becoming unbearable.
She gave a bit of thought to trying to relieve herself, just a bit,
while seated or standing. No, she decided, that tape is in the way - if I
let any out, it's going to be deflected in every direction, and it will be
a mess all over me. There's absolutely no way!
Finally, she turned to Art, literally begging. "Art, for goodness sake,
I've got to go. I've been holding myself for hours - it's painful, and I
just can't hold it! We've got to go!"
Art, seemingly unmoved, shrugged. "Well, if you say so. It's your
choice. But you wanted me to stay, so I'm trying to do what makes you
happy!"
"What will make me happy is a chance to pee! I've never had to so bad
in my life! You taped me up so well I can't do anything about it! Now we
need to go and you've got to help me!"
She looked at Art with an expression that mixed pain and fury. This
time she meant business, and Art realized it.
Slowly, graciously, Art eased himself out of the entangled conversations
and away from the table. It seemed he needed to stop and bid farewell to
every person he had met. While others encouraged them to stay, Art
deferred to Alicia, who used the excuse of the long drive home.
Gradually they worked their way to the door. Alicia slipped her hand to
her crotch, pressing on her pubic region in the classic gesture of
restraining a distended bladder. She looked longingly at the ladies' room
as they passed it, on their way out.
The walk to the car was quite long, and Alicia was in torment. Art
looked at her, in modest sympathy. "I thought you wanted me to try and fit
in and stay a while. It was up to you to say when you wanted to leave -
that was our bargain!"
Through clenched teeth she scowled at him. "I've got to do something -
there's no way I can hold this until we get home. Have you got something
to cut that tape with?"
"Well, no, that is, not with me. But there is a pen knife in the glove
compartment of the car. We can try that."
Alicia, in sheer agony, struggled to the car. The lot was floodlit, and
a number of people were about, mostly those leaving events at the hotel.
They found their car.
"Do you want me to try to cut it here?" Art asked her.
Alicia looked around. The lights were bright, people were around, and
there was no place of privacy. She weighed her modesty against her intense
physical distress.
"No - no - I'll try to wait until we get out of the lot!" Art motioned
her to the drivers' seat. "You're the designated driver tonight", he
reminded her. She got in the car and sat in the driver's seat. She
started the car and began to move it.
She drove about fifty feet, then stopped. Her hands fell to her
abdomen. She turned to Art. "I've got to - right now! Get the knife -
I don't care who's watching! I can't hold it any longer!"
She got out of the car and stood beside it, hands pressed to her pubic
area, her face contorted. Art fished around in the glove compartment and
finally found the knife. He came out of the car with it.
"Now - Now!! Cut the tape off!" Alicia commanded, as she hiked up her
dress waist high. She spread her legs and kicked off her shoes. In the
bright light she was indeed a spectacle. While no one was nearby, several
persons were close enough to see her standing in the parking lot with her
skirt hiked to her waist.
Art went to work on the tape. He cut through the tape and the
waistband, then pulled down her with the residue of tape. They
fell to her feet. She stepped out of them.
Not moving from her position, she kept her legs spread and her skirt
hiked. Art looked at her. Nothing seemed to happen.
"I can't -- let -- go!" she said, slowly. Her face was reflecting her
agony. She pushed and waited. Nothing happened.
"It won't come out!" she exclaimed, her distress unrelieved.
She waited. "Push on it for me!" she instructed Art. He placed his
hand on her pubic area and pressed on her bladder. He could feel it, hard
and swollen, unyielding. As he pressed, she grimaced. "No - try rubbing
me - you know where!"
He put his hand on her genitals, a finger stimulating her most sensitive
spot. He stood there for a moment, aware that perhaps half a dozen
spectators were watching this sight from other parts of the lot.
Gradually she relaxed, just a bit. He withdrew his hand. Liquid began
to seep from her. It fell to the pavement in a drip at first, then became
a torrent. He stood back, to avoid the splash.
She stood, her black dress gathered up at her midsection, her lower body
bare, releasing her profuse urination on the pavement. She closed her eyes
to avoid seeing those she knew were watching. She felt intensely
humiliated, yet pushed to the point where it no longer mattered.
After what seemed several minutes, her stream diminished. She dropped
the dress and moved to the car, stopping only to pick up her shoes. She
didn't put them on, she only tossed them in the car. Barefoot, she started
the car and hastily drove it from the lot.
They had gone a mile or so before she glanced briefly at her husband.
There was a trace of a smile on her face.
"I guess I asked for that. Did you enjoy the show I made of myself?"
Art smiled back. "Best part of the whole evening. What will you say if
any of those who watched knew you?"
Alicia shrugged, smiling, now relaxed. "I'll just tell them, 'when a
girl's got to go..' " She laughed at the spectacle she knew she had made of
herself.
"Wait till next year. I think I'll go with you!" Art reflected.
END
|
|
