Chapter Seventeen: SUNDAY, MATCH OF THE DAY
When Susan met the motor-cycle gang in the pub on Saturday night, she had two objectives, to find someone she could ride with on the Sunday ‘blast,’ and to find some way of challenging Jan to a holding contest.
The first was easy, plenty of single men were willing to give her a ride in the hope of being repaid later, so mindful of the possibility of a contest with Jan, she chose one with a moderately comfortable pillion. The second was almost as easy to do, getting Jan alone she casually mentioned:
“No contest tonight then?”
“Any time, any place, if you think you are up to it kid,” replied Jan arrogantly, “though you won’t enjoy your drink if you’re hopping around, nearly pissing yourself.”
“Nor would you,” thought Susan, then aloud she went on: “Maybe tonight isn’t a good time, but if you are riding tomorrow, then we could be prepared and do it properly.”
“Done,” said Jan, still confident that she would not have too much trouble putting Susan in her place.
“Stuck-up bitch,” she thought, “Your posh voice won’t help you wait any longer, you’ll be a laughing stock when you piss yourself.”
Susan couldn’t believe it had been so easy. She had a plan, which, with any luck would have Jan frantic, maybe even wetting herself.
“You remember where I live?” she asked Jan, “Come round about eleven tomorrow morning, there won’t be anyone else at home, and we can work out the details and start then.”
Susan was taking the contest seriously, so despite a mild hang-over the next morning she restricted herself to one small cup of coffee at breakfast, then made her preparations for the contest. Jan arrive ten minutes late, also hung-over, and Susan led her through the house to the kitchen, stopping by the down-stairs loo.
“Last chance for a pee.”
Then, as Jan hesitated, she went in first, trying to squeeze every drop from her bladder. That had given Jan a minute or two’s start, though Susan, wondering if it would be significant later, and if Jan had done it deliberately. Sitting in the kitchen she poured two mugs of coffee, then put large bottles of drinking water on the table.
“Drink the water, and then we’ll have another mug of coffee before we go down the pub. That should be enough to fill us up without having to drink too much to be able to ride.”
Jan didn’t hesitate, she drank one bottle of water almost straight down, then motioned Susan to do the same, then sipped her coffee.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” she asked.
“We hold waiting contests at my school,” confided Susan. “Not a lot else you can do at an all girls school, and it’s character building, learning to endure a bursting bladder without showing it.”
An hour later, as they were about to leave for the pub, Susan revealed the next part of her plan. She produced two small padlocks, gave one to Jan and showed her how she was to thread it through her belt and the top fastening and zip of her skin-tight jeans so it was impossible to take them off until the padlock was opened. Susan did the same with her jeans, which were equally tight, then handed her key to Jan, taking Jan’s in return.
“Now,” she said, “we can’t cheat. When you need to pee, you have to ask me to unlock you, then as loser, you have to give me my key back, OK.”
“OK,” replied Jan, “except that it might be you who wants to go first, and I just might decide to make you try a bit harder, wait a bit longer, like until you start pissing yourself.”
Susan had half expected something like that from Jan, in fact she had thought of doing it herself, so she just shrugged, “That can work both ways, I’ll remember that when you’re begging for the key.” Then, deciding that she really wanted to fill their bladders, suggested another glass of water each before they left.
Jan hesitated enough to show she was worried about how much she was drinking, but she knew she could not refuse any challenge from Susan without losing the contest. With the amount they had already drunk, two pints in the pub were all that either of the girls dared drink, both for the sake of their bladders and to keep Jan, who was riding her own bike, just about within the alcohol limit.
When they left the pub, Susan was already wanting to pee, her bladder already feeling heavy and swollen, and this got worse when she got on her bike. It was, she thought ruefully, just about the worst position you could get in to when you were bursting. Legs apart, leaning forward so that her jeans were pulled tighter, if that was possible, across her bladder, and the new fashion of lower waist-lines seemed to have been designed to put maximum pressure right on her bladder. No sensible girl would leave the pub wanting to pee as much as she did, and with most of two pints of beer still to pass through her, she was in for a really desperate time. Her only consolation was the though that Jan was going to be suffering the same agonies, perhaps, she hoped, worse, as her bike looked even more cramped than Doug’s pillion.
Half an hour later Susan was becoming desperate, her bladder throbbing against her jeans, and feeling every bump they went over. She was enjoying the exhilaration of riding a fast bike along twisting country roads, and she tried to concentrate on this and not think about the rising pressure in her bladder. The combination of beer and all the water she had drunk earlier seemed to be particularly potent, and her need to pee was increasing almost by the minute. If her body didn’t slow down, or Doug speed up, she might not be able to hold out until the first stop. She dismissed this thought instantly; she just had to wait, asking Doug to stop and let her pee behind the hedge was unthinkable, even if she could manage to stop Jan and get the key to her jeans. She was, she told herself firmly, an All Day Girl, and All Day Girls could hold their pee for as long as they had to. She also tried to console herself with the thought that Jan would be just as desperate.
They were riding through a series of open sweeping bends which Susan remembered meant they were about fifteen minutes from their usual stopping point. She really was desperate for a pee now, her bladder bursting against her tight jeans, beginning to really hurt, and it was taking a conscious effort to hold back her pee. She was going to have to pee when they stopped, she could not possible risk another hour’s ride with her bladder still filling so fast. Jan would have to pee as well, she would be just as bad, and if she went as soon as they stopped then Susan might still win by hanging on until they were about to leave. While she was thinking this, Jan blasted past to the front of the group, leaning low over the tank of her bike.
“Bet she’s frantic, hurrying to the caff where we stop, so at least she can cross her legs even if she can’t pee until I get there,” thought Susan. Convincing herself that Jan was worse than her made it easier to hold her own pee. Doug slowed down, falling to the back of the group, mouthing something about Police over his shoulder to Susan. As they came over the top of a hill she saw two police cars parked in a lay-by ahead, and Jan, the leading rider, had been stopped. The others rode by, careful to keep within the speed limit, then all stopped round the next corner.
“I don’t need this delay,” thought Susan, though at least she could get off the bike and stand up, legs crossed, which took a lot of the strain off her bladder.
“The stupid cow,” said Doug. “She ought to have more sense than to go blasting ahead there.”
“Sudden rush of blood, down comes the red mist, and now she is really in the shit,” one of the other bikers joined in. Susan though that it was more likely a rush of pee to the bladder, or even, she hoped, out of the bladder, that had caused Jan to speed, then asked:
“Will she really get done? She can’t have been much over the speed limit, surely?”
“It’s not speeding,” Doug told her, “she hasn’t got a licence, she was banned last summer. If they check, she is really in trouble.”
They had walked back until they could see what was happening in the lay-by. Jan was standing by the police car, legs crossed, Susan noted, while one policeman was talking on the radio, almost certainly checking on Jan’s licence and details. He appeared to get some answer, as he then confronted Jan, and after some discussion, motioned her to get into the back of his car. The real horror of what was happening suddenly struck Susan. Standing up, legs tightly crossed, hands in her pockets, pulling up her jeans, she wasn’t as frantic as she had been riding, but she was desperate and her bladder was still filling, and she was going to have to pee soon. But she could not pee, unless she wet herself, until she got the key from Jan, nor could Jan, who must be at least as desperate, pee until her jeans were unlocked. Now Jan was being arrested and taken to some police station. She had to think quickly, and find some way of getting to her.
“What happens to Jan’s bike?” she asked, “if she’s going off in their car, should I offer to ride it back to Jan’s place for her.”
“I doubt if the police will care, but I’ll take you over there and you can ask them if you want,” replied Doug. As Doug had predicted, the police didn’t care what happened to Jan’s bike, and once they were satisfied that Susan had a licence they told her where they were taking Jan and suggested she go there and wait until she was released and then take her home. The disaster was that the keys were in the bike, so Susan could not get to Jan and exchange padlock keys, which they both desperately wanted to do. Even the short ride down to the lay-by had been agony after the relative comfort of standing with legs crossed, and Susan had been beginning to look forward to a pee behind the hedge as soon as the police had gone. One look at Jan’s tense, anxious, face told Susan that she was just as desperate to pee, and neither of them knew when they were going to be able to go.
As the police car drove off, Susan took a deep breath and braced herself to have to hold her pee for a long time. She had wanted a contest, to push Jan to her limit, and that was certainly going to happen. Riding Jan’s bike was even worse for Susan’s bladder than being on Doug’s pillion. Her legs were forced wide apart by the racing seat, and she had to lean forward low to reach the handlebars, so not only were her jeans pulled tight across her bladder, but the tank was pressing on it. Just sitting there was bad enough, but on the move every bump in the road knocked the tank harder into her bladder, just about the worse torture that could have been devised.
Within a mile Susan was going frantic, gritting her teeth with the effort it was taking to hold her pee back, shuddering every time her bladder was jolted and she nearly lost control. Partly she wanted to ride like a lunatic, because that would get her to the police station quicker, and end her agony, but doing that not only risked getting stopped for speeding, but gave her swollen bladder a worse beating from the bumpy road. The best option she found was to ride slower, taking all her weight on her wrists and propping herself up, so her bladder was away from the tank on all but the worst bumps. She also convinced herself that her jeans were not pressing so hard on her bladder, but it might have been that it was such an uncomfortable riding position that it was some distraction from her need to pee.
The first traffic light she had to stop at she pressed one hand between her legs, not caring if anyone could see her, because she had so close to losing control that anything was better than peeing in her jeans. After that she was holding her crutch at every stop, feeling that every second she could help her struggling sphincter was a second longer she could wait. Once, racked by a sudden spasm of desperation, she even tried to hold herself as she rode, only just avoiding a double accident as she almost lost control of both bike and bladder.
At last she reached the police station, and leaving Jan’s bike in a car park opposite she had to lean against the wall, legs plaited, holding her crutch with both hands, to get her bladder under enough control to be able to walk normally across the road. She noted that there was a public loo at the back of the car park, and that was where she would be going just the second she got her key off Jan. Clenching her bladder shut as hard as she could, using every ounce of her All Day Girl control, she made it to the counter in the police station, though her normal walk looked as if she was wearing six inch heels and not trainers, and, using her best Elmdene posh voice, told the police why she was there. He shrugged, “She’ll be some time yet, that young lady is in real trouble. She’s lucky to have a friend like you to collect her. Serve her right if she had to walk home.”
Making a huge effort, Susan was just able to avoid wincing with despair at this, because she had been so certain that Jan would be waiting for her and within seconds they would have exchanged keys and be in the loo, relief at last.
“You can sit over there and wait,” continued the desk sergeant, indicating a row of plastic chairs, “I’ll make sure they know you’re here so she doesn’t go out the back way and miss you.”
Susan mutter her thanks through clenched teeth as she struggled to come to term with having to wait longer. Her bladder had begun to anticipate the pee, and she was so close to losing control she was shaking with the effort she was making. As soon as she sat down she tried to fold her leg under her and push her heel into her crutch, but she had never been any good at this, her legs were the wrong length so her heel didn’t press where she needed it to. Today was no different, and however she wriggled about it really wasn’t helping her at all. In fact it was making it worse, if that was possible, both making her jeans tighter across her agonised bladder and likely to draw the sergeant’s attention to her. She gave up and settled for legs twisted tightly together, so tightly that it looked most unnatural, but in her present state she dare not do anything less.
Still struggling on the brink of losing it, she sat on her hands, first gripping the backs of her thighs, then pushing her fingers up to try and hold her crutch from below. If only there was a proper waiting (how appropriate, she thought) room, where she could sit in private and hold herself properly. Try as much as she could, it was difficult to hide that she was frantic to pee, particularly as the sergeant seemed to have nothing better to do than watch her. Susan sat leaning back in the uncomfortable chair, trying to reduce the pressure form her jeans on her bladder as much as possible, which was not much. Her jeans were tight to start with, and now her bladder was bulging with the volume of pee she was holding, the pressure there was agonising. If only she could undo the zip it would be better, easier to wait, but locked in she just had to grit her teeth and tell herself that she had to hang on. She was an All Day Girl, she kept reminding herself, taking part in a serious holding contest, and she HAD to make herself wait, hold in her pee, until Jan was released and they swapped keys. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on anything except her desperation, trying to convince herself that it would not get any worse and she could manage to hold for as long as she had to.
Her reverie was interrupted by a young policeman bringing her a cup of tea. She struggled to compose herself, sit more naturally, smile and thank him. She assumed they meant well, were trying to be friendly, but the last thing she wanted was more liquid heading for her bladder. What if it was half an hour before Jan was released? She might have been able to wait that long before, but with the tea trickling through her, how could her bladder cope. Actually she was dying to drink a cup of tea, it was when it reached her bladder she was dreading. OK, she thought, public relations says I have to drink this, so I will. My bladder is just going to have to stretch a bit more; I’m a big girl now, an All Day Girl, and I am not going to wet my pants in public, however much I want to go. How was Jan doing, she wondered. Wanting to go just as badly, undoubtedly, but was she still holding on? She had had the advantage of twenty minutes in the police car, legs crossed, while Susan had been suffering on her bike, which she hadn’t recovered from yet. Maybe the police had breathalysed her and then wanted a pee sample? She would have had to cut her jeans open to give that, but at least she would have been able to pee. Surely she would not have given way and wet herself? Well, perhaps, every bladder had its limit, and the time would come for both of them when they could not wait any longer. It would be like Jan to let go and then claim police harassment and bullying, that fear had made her wet herself, and start demanding compensation. She did not imagine they would have given her tea, but, there again, someone might have realised that both of them were bursting (and some) and be trying to make their plight worse.
There was nothing to divert Susan’s thoughts away from her agonised, bursting bladder, or to make the time pass quicker. She just had to sit there, legs crossed so tightly, trying discretely to hold her crutch from underneath, watched by the sergeant and his assistants, telling herself she had to wait, wait…hold her pee until her bladder split open. No way was she ever going to let it out the normal way until she was on the loo. She was in a holding contest, and she was going to win. Already she was far, far, worse than when she had given up in the Champion Bladder contest, but having seen how Pauline and others had hung on, she was ashamed to have given up so easily. This was a chance to make amends, to show that she could hold out for ever, a true All Day Girl, and also beat Jan.
Somehow half an hour passed and she was still holding on, but she definitely wanted to go more. Not only was her bladder hurting more, in fact it was agony, but the need to pee was even more urgent, taking more effort to hold back, and with the tea reaching her bladder it was only going to get worse still. Had she got the strength to hold it when it got worse? If it came to it, she would have to hold her crutch properly, from the front, even if it was obvious it would be better than sitting there and wetting herself. She glanced down at her bladder area; there was now a most definite swelling there, something she hadn’t though possible with her jeans skin-tight when she was empty. She gently felt it. Even that light pressure from her fingers made her wince and want to pee more. Her abdomen was absolutely rock hard, carved out of granite, so hard she could hardly believe it.
The pressure in her bladder must be enormous, no wonder it hurt so much, she wanted to pee so urgently. How much longer could she possibly last? Would she simply give way and start wetting herself, or could she keep her sphincter shut until something awful happened, like her bladder exploded? The questions were never answered, because at that moment two police brought Jan into the waiting area and told her she was free to go, and that she would get her summons through the post in due course. One look at Jan, the way she was walking, the expression on her face, told Susan that she hadn’t been to the loo, but miraculously her jeans were still dry. With a huge effort of willpower, she clenched her bladder muscles tight shut, got to her feet, and walked to meet her. There was no emotional hugs of greeting, just two girls walking toward the door was fast as their distended bladders would allow them to, both seeming to suffer from the same disability that made them take short steps with stiff legs and clenched fists. As they both turned sideways to shuffle down the steps to street level, Jan was the first to speak.
“Thank God you’re here. The key! Give me the key quickly, I’m going to die if I don’t piss in the next five seconds.”
“There’s a loo in the car park across the road,” replied Susan, “we can go there. You’ll only get into more trouble if you squat in the gutter here.”
Jan had both hands jammed between her legs as they waited to cross the road, then seeing a break in the traffic she was off like an Olympic sprinter, still holding her crutch with one hand. Also holding herself, Susan followed as fast as she could manage to run, catching up with Jan in the car park, where she was doubled over, legs in a knot, holding her crutch with both hands.
“I can’t hold it any longer! It’s so bad I’m going to piss myself, I dare not move or I’ll do it in my pants,” she cried.
“Come on!” said Susan, carrying on towards the ladies, forcing Jan to follow. “We’re nearly there, just hang on a few more seconds.”
Both pressing one hand between their legs as hard as they could, the two girls made it to the loos at a fast hobble, Jan pushing ahead down the path to the ladies entrance at the back. It was shut. Jan almost collapsed against the door, both hands pressing into her crutch with all her strength.
“I want to piss! I want to piss so much, give me the key before I burst,” she said, “Help me, please, I can’t let go or I’ll start doing it.”
Since Susan dared not let go of her crutch either, it was a comic pantomime with both girls holding their crutch with one hand tried to unlock Jan’s jeans between them, Jan holding the padlock and Susan trying to keep steady and push the key in. Eventually it was open and the zip free. In one lightening movement Jan had her zip opened and was dragging jeans and knickers down to her knees and squatting down to pee. Susan had a perfect view, standing to one side, and she replayed the scene in her mind many times, both for herself and to tell the other All Day Girls. Jan could not wait until she was squatting, but the instant her knickers were down and her legs just starting to bend her pee came blasting out. Susan had never seen anyone pee like it before, a jet of pee that seemed at least an inch across, with such force that she expected to see it make a hole in the path.
“Turn a bath-tap full on, that’s how big her stream was,” she told the other girls, “and the pressure! I’ve never seen or heard anything like it. Caroline and Geraldine do little dribbles by comparison.”
Because Susan was holding her crutch with both hands, she couldn’t see her watch to time Jan, but instead counted,”One-and, two-and,…” until she reached 40, when the torrent suddenly died away, then after a couple more short blasts, Jan was finished before Susan had counted to 50. Jan stood up slowly, pulled up her jeans, leaving the zip undone as she put both hands across her bladder to demonstrate how much it was still hurting her.
“I have never, ever, wanted to pee so badly in all my life. I don’t know how I managed to hold out so long, I though I was going to die in that interview room, they went on and on at me and I was so desperate I could hardly speak to reply. If they had kept me there another five minutes I would have flooded their chair, I was just about at my limit. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t been able to sit on my heel all the time.”
With amazing composure, for she was an All Day Girl after all, Susan quietly said:
“Jan, the key to my jeans please, I’d like to pee now you’ve finished.”
“What if I don’t give it to you?” asked Jan, smiling evilly.
Susan shrugged, “I’ll get a taxi home, then cut myself out and pee. I’m a big girl now, I can hold my pee if I have to.” With great bravado she took her hands away from her crutch, though she had to keep her legs crossed, and began to call a taxi on her mobile phone.
“Only joking,” said Jan as she handed over the key, noting with some satisfaction that Susan’s hands were shaking as she undid the padlock.
“At last! Oh the relief,” Susan muttered under her breath as she squatted down and let her pee come pouring out. Nothing like Jan’s great stream, but the pressure for the first ten seconds was more than she had ever done, and then she just went on and on, counting to over 200 before she finished. She looked at the huge puddle their combined pee had produced. If only she could have measured the volume, both of them would surely have broken the All Day Girl record.
“I thought you were never going to stop,” said Jan as Susan pulled her jeans up, “You can certainly hold your pee, probably better than anyone else I have ever known. I guess we can call this a draw.”
“No way! I held on longer than you, and could have waited even longer if you had said. Also they gave me a cup of tea at the nick,” replied Susan, “that didn’t help much, as you can imagine.”
Seeing that Jan wasn’t going to accept this, Susan continued, “Open your legs wide, take your hands away… I thought so, I noticed that while I was squatting down.” That was a wet spot, hardly an inch across, showing clearly on the faded denim between Jan’s legs. Jan glared at her, then demanded that Susan submit to a similar examination before grudgingly admitting that she had lost it when she stopped holding herself to pull her jeans down, and conceding, with bad grace, that Susan had indeed held out longer that she had.
“A re-match?” asked Susan, “a fight to the death, in public and both locked in until one of us really wets ourselves?” Even as she issued the challenge, Susan wondered if she really wanted to suffer this, or worse, again. Jan must have felt the same, or at least wasn’t confident that she would win, because she shook her head.
“We would probably both end up in hospital with burst bladders. I’m hurting so much even now I think I must have strained something today. We’ve both got monster bladders, but you’re bigger than me, so you would have room to hold more pee.”
Susan knew that this theory about body size had been disproved by the capacities of the All Day Girls, but didn’t bother to argue. She knew she had beaten Jan in a fantastic contest, and had taken herself to a new limit to do it. This would be something to tell the other girls when the new term started.