Chapter 19: The Rugby Club Dinner Part Two- Pauline Goes Through Hell

By Paul Tester

Her boyfriend's rugby club annual dinner was not an event that Pauline


could get excited about, but she had some sort of duty to Jerry to attend.


At least this year Tamzin would be there as well, and her enthusiasm for


the dinner, which she though would give her the chance to see some of the


men desperate for a pee, inspired Pauline to try something as well.  Though


she wasn't particularly interested in seeing desperate men, she decided to


use the dinner to take her own bladder to the absolute limit and break her


own, and the school record of 3 minute 32 seconds for the longest pee. 


Along with many of the All Day Girls, she was convinced that you had to put


yourself into a situation where it was impossible to pee to force your


bladder to its limit.  Besides, a formal dinner was an excuse for both


girls to buy a new evening dress; Tamzin chose a close fitting amber dress


that she had to wear a thong under to avoid showing any knicker line, and


Pauline, determined that she was going to take herself to a new level of


desperation, bought a blue dress, which with no under-skirts just gave


glimpses of the outline of her knickers, deliberately choosing a colour and


material that would show the slightest leak of pee.  Meeting in the bar


before the dinner, Tamzin set the pace of drinking, knowing that she was


trying to force the men to drink more than their bladders could hold,


confident that she could outwait any of the others.  This was going to be a


formal dinner, when it would be almost unthinkable to leave the table for


any reason before the dinner ended.  Particularly, anyone leaving for a pee


would be considered a weakling and their life made unbearable by the other


members.  Sensibly they all went to the loo before going into the dining


room, but in the ladies, Pauline only washed her hands and brushed her


hair.

   
"I'm not having a pee this time," she said, "I went before we left


Elmdene, and that's all I am allowing myself until the dinner is over."


"You're crazy, you've drunk three pints since then!" replied Tamzin; "I was


thinking I would be struggling, even with a pee now, so you really will be


trying the impossible." "I'm going to do it," said Pauline resolutely. 


"This might be the most desperate point of my life, but once I sit down out


there I don't have any choice but to wait, even if it nearly kills me."

   
After Tamzin had checked her hair and make-up they joined their


boy-friends, who had also been for a pee, in the dining room.  She was


following two smartly dressed women in their mid thirties, wives of some


club officials, who had been in the ladies just before her, and she


overheard one say to her friend, "Now the agony starts." "Don't talk about


it," her companion replied, "I nearly died last year, the way those


speeches went on and on, I was almost in tears at the end." "I've hardly


drunk anything since last night," said the first, "just to try and make


enough room to hold all the evening's drinks.  I just hope I can manage. 


At least we are sitting near the door, so we should make it before there is


a queue."

   
As she sat down Pauline was thinking that she had just drunk three pints


of beer all of which she was going to have to contain, and that there was


still more beer, wine, water, and coffee to come before she could pee


again. She tried to put aside the thought that she might have to contain


four pints of pee before she was in the loo again, because she didn't think


her body could possibly hold that much.  She wished she had never heard


those women talking about wanting to pee, because she had a horrible


feeling that she was just beginning to feel the slightest urge to pee.  She


told herself firmly that she could not possible want to go yet, and that in


any case it was not going to be a big deal for an All Day Girl to hold her


pee for less than two hours.

   
Half an hour later, when the main course was still being served, Pauline


was less sure of herself.  She had never dreamed that the service would be


so slow, and she was uncomfortably aware that she already had a lot of pee


in her bladder.  She didn't actually want to pee yet, or so she told


herself; it was only imagination, seeing other people drinking a lot and


knowing what effect that usually had.  She tried very hard to ignore that


she had probably drunk as much as anyone, and was the only one brave


(stupid?) enough not to have been to the loo before the dinner.  To prove


that she really did not want to pee, she deliberately sat with her legs


apart as she tried to work up some interest in the sorry looking roast


turkey on her plate.  She drank some more beer to try to make the food more


palatable, and was horrified to find that without paying attention she had


drunk most of another pint.  She quickly pushed the glass aside; from now


on she would stick to wine, that didn't make you want to pee like beer did,


and then she wished she had not thought about pee, because suddenly she


definitely did want to go.  Sitting with her legs apart had been a stupid


mistake, it had been too suggestive of having a pee, and crossing her legs


now would not make the urge go away.  Only by making a real effort and


clenching her bladder shut could she make it go away, and as soon as she


relaxed it was back again.

   
Before she had finished her main course she was wanting to go much more


badly, bursting, approaching desperate was how she rated it when telling


the All Day Girls afterwards, but at the time it was frightening because


she was getting worse almost by the minute.  This was the time when the


beer she had drunk was going through her the fastest, and the thought of


how much she had drunk, and that it was all going to end up in her bladder,


was not something she wanted to contemplate.  Neither the food nor the


conversation was sufficiently exciting to divert her from the increasing


problem she was having with her bladder, and because she could not stop


worrying about how badly she was going to want to go, time was passing so


slowly.  Thinking that if she drank wine only, it would not make her want


to pee any more, she decided that getting drunk would be the best way of


reducing the misery she had let herself in for.  Draining her glass, she


held it out to Jerry to refill; enough alcohol and it would deaden the pain


when her bladder started hurting, which would not be long at the rate it


was filling.

   
By the time the last course of the dinner was being served Pauline had


her legs crossed like she had never done before, twisted together a whole


turn, and she was discretely squirming about, trying to get them even


tighter.  She was desperate to pee, and she had to do something to ease the


awful pressure that was building in her bladder, and leg crossing was her


only option.  The high-heel shoes she was wearing were strapped on, so


sitting on her heel was impossible, and she was cursing herself for being


so stupid as not to have thought of that.  She finished another glass of


wine in the vain hope that being drunk would both ease the misery of her


bursting bladder and make time pass more quickly, trying to ignore the


nagging thought that cold white wine was not the best thing to drink,


(except that it was better than beer!) and that some would be reaching her


bladder before much longer.

   
She had her legs crossed so tightly that after a few minutes it was


hurting, and she was getting cramp in her foot, so she had to uncross and


cross them the other way, which she could almost convince herself made her


want to go a tiny bit less.  It she could keep doing this, maybe she would


be OK, except that by the time she came to change position again she wanted


to go a lot more badly, and re-crossing her legs, however hard she tried to


twist them together, didn't make her that much better.  The next time she


did this, she was pushing herself back in the chair, almost starting to


stand up, she was crossing her legs so hard.  She told herself that the


dinner would be over in five minutes, and she had to be able to last out


that long.  Formal dinners now usually had a `short break' between the


dinner and the speeches, something she had previously considered wimpish,


as sop to those with weak bladders, and she was ashamed she was now hoping


this would happen, but she was so desperate for a loo that she could hardly


face trying to hold out another five minutes.  The next time she crossed


her legs the other way she almost let go in the split second they were not


crossed, and she was curling up her toes with the effort she had to make to


hold her pee.  "Please, please let there be a break next," she whispered


silently to herself, trying not think what would happen if there wasn't.

   
Looking round the table, hoping for any diversion to pass the time,


Pauline was disappointed to see that Tamzin did not seem to be suffering


the desperation she was, but that she was almost smiling with delight about


something.  Then the tense looks on Jerry's, and more so, Duncan's face,


told her what.  Tamzin caught her eye with a questioning look, silently


asking how she was managing.  Her reply, biting her lip and touching her


ear, indicated that she was desperate, her bladder absolutely full to


bursting point, and it was no comfort to see Tamzin's signalled reply that


she was only bursting, perhaps three-quarters full.  Even such a simple


thing as this exchange of signals was almost too much for Pauline, who


needed to concentrate every second the keep her bladder under control, and


for a dreadful moment she thought she was going to lose control,


instinctively jamming her hand between her legs, blocking off her pee,


about a millimetre from her knickers, or so it felt.  Once she had started


to hold herself, it felt so good she did not want to let go, so she


resorted to the old trick of resting her other arm across her lap to hide


what she was doing.  The dinner was nearly over, but she would have to


stand and toast the Queen before the break let her go to the loo, and she


would need to be fully in control of her bladder to risk standing, even if


she kept her legs crossed as much as she could.

   
There was some confusion clearing one of the other tables before


toasting the Queen, which several people found funny, but Pauline just


cursed the waitress under her breath.  So close to a pee, any delay was


critical.  She had convinced herself there was going to be a pee break,


even though this was against tradition, because she so desperately wanted


to go that she could not contemplate having to wait any longer.  Standing


up for the toast was an extra strain on her overfilled bladder, a preview


of the effort it would take to walk to the ladies, but she summoned some


reserves of bladder control and clenched herself shut, knocking her knees


together with the effort she was making.  As she sat down, immediately


crossing her legs and holding her crutch to ease the strain on her bladder,


tensing herself for the rush to the ladies, watching as the M/C stood to


announce `a short break' then gasping with despair as instead he introduced


the club Chairman as the first speaker.  It couldn't happen like this! 


There had to be a break first, even though it was against tradition.  Her


bladder was approaching crisis level, she could hardly last another five


minutes, let alone the twenty five that the speeches would take.  For a few


short, mad moments, she considered simply getting up and walking out,


admitting she had to pee right then, her bladder almost out of control and


about to burst.  Then, twisting her legs tighter, and pressing her fingers


harder into her crutch, she somehow found the resolve to sit still, to wait


until the speeches ended the same as everyone else.  Maybe she was three


pints ahead of them, but she was an All Day Girl, the group founder and


leader, and this was what being an All Day Girl was all about; pushing your


bladder capacity to the very limit, showing that you could wait longer than


ordinary people, holding more pee than seemed possible.

   
Having accepted the situation, and found the resolve to cope with it,


she now had to find the strength to back up her resolve, to get herself


under some semblance of control, reduce the terrible urgency of her need to


something more bearable.  "If you had to, you could always find the


strength to hold out a bit longer." This had always been a basic All Day


Girl belief, and only Geraldine, overdosed on diuretics, had failed this.


(All Day Girls; Ch.  12.) Pressing even harder between her legs, she made


what she had always thought of as a great `holding back' effort, tensing


all her muscles from her fingers right down to her toes, but most of all,


those vital internal muscles that kept her bladder under control.  Eyes


closed, she concentrated every ounce of her strength on holding her pee,


and just hung on, and hung on, and hung on...  until she felt she could not


keep up the tension another second and had to relax, at least slightly. 


She was sweating with the effort, but, thank goodness, she had managed to


get some more control over her distended bladder.  She was still desperate,


but at least she felt capable of holding back her pee for a few more


minutes.

   
Pauline tried very hard to forget the finals of the Champion Bladder


competitions, when she had twice lost control and leaked past her fingers,


telling herself that then it hadn't mattered so much, while here it was


unthinkable that she should wet herself.  She had meant to use the dinner


to push herself to new limits of desperation and holding, and it was doing


that with a vengeance.

   
Hardly aware of what was happening around her, Pauline was suddenly


shocked to find that the first speech was ending, and, oh horrors, she


would have to stand up to drink a toast to the club.  Somehow she was going


to have to find some extra strength to control herself standing up, and do


it without making it obvious that she was nearly pissing herself.  Once


again she tensed every muscle to help her hold her pee.  A supreme effort,


she told herself; she could do it if she really tried.  Her toes were


curled up, her knees knocking together, thigh and bum muscles clenched


tight, fists clenched, gritting her teeth, she had to hold her pee somehow.


She had to relax her right hand enough to pick up her wine glass without it


shaking, nor grip it so hard she might break to stem.  She drained her


glass, hoping that the wine would somehow ease her need enough to make it


bearable a bit longer, then, thank God, she had held out, her knickers were


still dry and she could sit down and start the struggle to get herself


under control again.  She had done it once, so she could do it again, she


told herself, one more great bladder clenching, crutch holding, effort to


hold her pee.  She did not want to think that there was five minutes worth


more pee in her bladder.  She just had to make it stretch to hold that, it


had to, there wasn't any other option for her.  The next speech seemed to


go on for ever, though in the state she was in, Pauline was hardly aware of


time, conscious only of the agony of her distended bladder, which was


hurting worse than she had ever known.  But even this was partly a


blessing, because the increased pain had come with some lessening of the


frantic urgency to pee she had been feeling.  At least for the moment she


felt in control of her bladder, no longer right on the brink of peeing her


knickers, having to keep herself clenched shut with all her strength to


hold in her pee.  Pain was easier to endure, another glass of wine helped,


but her greatest fear was that her bladder pressure would become so great


that she would not be able to hold her pee, and publicly wet her knickers.

   
The end of the speech meant standing for another toast, and making


another frantic effort to hold her pee without a hand between her legs. 


This time she came so close to losing control that as she sat down and


jammed her hands between her legs she half expected to feel her knickers


already wet, but somehow she had stopped herself right on the brink.  Now


Pauline was more desperate than she had ever been in her life, fighting


with all her might to avoid wetting her knickers.  She was pressing between


her legs with both hands, her fingers bunched so she could get the maximum


pressure right on her little wee hole, crushing her flesh hard against her


pelvic bone.  Nothing, absolutely nothing, she told herself, could possible


leak out so long as she could keep up the pressure.  She was doing her best


to cover what she was doing by sitting as close to the table as possible


and covering her lap with the table cloth, but she had to hold herself,


whether anyone could see or not.  Her bladder was agony, it felt as if it


was swollen out about six inches and she was about to split open.  She was


thankful she was not wearing a tight fitting dress like Tamzin's, but even


so she could see there was a pronounced bulge in her bladder region. 


Without moving either hand from her crutch, (she dare not risk that!) she


could just feel it with her thumbs.  It was rock hard, and even the


gentlest touch was painful, an indication, not that she needed one, of the


enormous pressure in her bladder.  Trying to press harder, trying to clench


her bladder muscles tighter shut, she prayed the speeches would soon end,


and that she could hang on until they did.  She simply had to hold on, if


she didn't her knickers would not absorb more than a couple of drops of


pee, and her blue dress would show, oh so clearly, the slightest dampness.


She pictured herself having to walk about for the rest of the evening with


wet patches at the back and front of her skirt, showing everyone that she


had wet herself.  It was unthinkable, she absolutely had to hold out; she


tried to press her fingers even harder against her outlet, so even if her


bladder muscles gave way no pee would leak into her knickers.  Then another


frantic, frantic time standing for yet another toast.  How she held back


her pee she would never know, she didn't think it was possible to come so


close to wetting her knickers and not let any pee go.

   
Sitting again, all she could think about was holding her pee, the world


beyond her agonised bladder hardly existed for her any more, and she was


only vaguely aware that the M/C was announcing the final speech.  "Please


be quick!  Please, please make it short," she was silently pleading.  She


was going through hell, this wasn't fun any more, she was at her limit, she


could not possibly hold any more pee.  Her bladder was agony, on the point


of exploding, swollen so much it was making her look pregnant, and now her


urge to pee was so intense, the pressure so great, that she was having to


clench herself shut with all her strength all the time, as well as holding


her crutch so hard she was shaking.  She had never had to make so much


effort to hold her pee back, and she could not keep it up for long.  Even


the short final speech seemed to last for ever, and by the time the last


toast was announced she felt she had been clenching her bladder shut for so


long that she was almost exhausted, almost at the point of giving way and


just wetting herself where she sat, because she just could not stand having


to make the effort to hold her pee any longer.

   
For Pauline the final toast again meant every ounce of her strength was


needed to hold in her pee, but tiring muscles and more pee to hold brought


her even closer to wetting herself, and her left hand, instead of gripping


her thigh, had to be pressed against her abdomen to give her the strength


to hold out.  She wasn't quite holding her crutch, but she was close enough


to doing so to give her bladder some extra help, enough to hold on.

   
She drained her glass, again.  It would help deaden the pain in her


stomach, because she was going to have a serious bladder ache for the rest


of the evening.  Then, nothing mattered except getting to the ladies before


she either wet herself or died of an exploded bladder.  Walking made her


want to go even more than standing, and it took every ounce of her


strength, every muscle in her body clenched tight, to hold in her pee.  She


would have run if she had been able to, but she could hardly manage to


hobble along, legs stiff and pressed together, the only way she could keep


her pee in.  Not surprisingly there was congestion at the door leading to


the loos, when even Pauline's frantic walk was slowed, and she started to


panic.  She was hanging on to her bladder with all her strength, just, only


just, in control, but the pressure and the urgency, had been getting worse


and she did not have any reserves of strength left to contain it.  She was


on the brink of wetting herself, she simply could not hold on to her pee


much longer.  In a last despairing gesture she pressed her hand between her


legs as she walked, hoping that in the crowd it would not be noticed, but


really not caring, because she would rather be seen holding her crutch than


wetting her knickers.

   
With her fingers jammed between her legs she could walk more quickly,


but still close to a complete breakdown she made a final dash for the


ladies, suddenly fearful that she might have to queue before she could pee.


Pushing a couple of dithering women aside, (her need had to be greater than


theirs), she was in the ladies, where, as she had dreaded, all the cubicles


were occupied.  Four quick strides, which nearly killed her, because her


bladder was hurting so much that every jolt, even her careful walk, was


agony, and she was at the front of one line, next to pee, so close at last.


An added blessing, she had the wall to lean on, and facing the loo door,


both hands jammed hard between her legs, which she had almost tied in a


knot, it was just about the best position she could be in, considering the


circumstances.  "Oh please hurry," she called to the woman inside.  "Please


be quick, I've simply got to pee, I can't wait any longer, it's an


emergency."

   
Through her haze of desperation, Pauline was aware that she was in a


dreadfully embarrassing position for any woman, and it was worse for an All


Day Girl.  Tamzin was going to be giving the other girls a full report on


this, but at least they would know just how much pee she was holding.  To


the rugby club women she was just a silly young girl who had drunk too much


and was making a fool of herself These thoughts were cut off by the cubicle


door opening, and she was pushing past the woman, manners forgotten in her


panic now she could actually see the loo she so desperately needed.  She


was so frantic to pee, now the loo was in sight, she had to keep one hand


holding back her pee while she bolted the door, and then struggled to


gather her evening dress up round her waist with one hand, only taking her


other hand away from her crutch for a split second as she pulled her skirt


up at the front, immediately holding herself again, her fingers now


pressing directly on her knickers.  In a complete panic, knowing she was


going to wet her knickers any second, Pauline was trying to hold her skirt


up round her waist with her elbows, press with all her might against her


wee-hole with her right hand, while trying to pull down her knickers and


tights with her left hand.  "I dare not let go now," she was telling


herself, "if I take my hand away, even for a microsecond, I'll wet myself.


I've come so far, I must make it to the end now without giving way." Her


tights pulled halfway down her bum, she changed to her left hand inside her


knickers, pressing directly on her wee-hole, then dragged a tangle of


knickers and tights far enough down her legs that she could drop onto the


loo and, at long last, pull her hand away and release her pent up pee.  As


she let go, she had just enough composure left to remember that she should


time this pee, it had to be a record, the way her bladder felt, and the


incredible pressure of her initial release.  "Oh, thank goodness!" she


breathed as she relaxed her aching bladder muscles and let her pee pour


out. Then, "Oh the pressure!" She would have never have believed she was


capable of peeing with such force, she had always been a steady stream


girl, even when absolutely desperate.  She forced herself to concentrate on


her watch, and it was nearly thirty seconds before her pressure began to


drop to something more like her normal stream.  Even after such a torrent,


her bladder area was still more swollen than she had ever seen it, and she


hardly wanted to pee any less.  Now she was just peeing, peeing, peeing,


like she always did, a long steady stream that she thought would go on for


ever.  Two minutes, someone was banging on the loo door, begging her to


hurry, but she was still bursting.  Three minutes, still going strong, she


checked to make sure she had not skipped a minute, then, as the second hand


ticked round to the fourth minute, her pee began to slow down, finally


stopping at three minutes thirty five seconds.  Her bladder was still


aching, and she was sure that if she stayed on the loo she would be able to


force more spurts of pee out for another half a minute and break the magic


four minute mark, but there was a desperate woman banging on the door. 


Taking pity on her, after all she had kept her waiting long enough already,


she quickly wiped herself and hastily pulled up her knickers, smoothed her


tights, and let her skirt drop.

   
She took a long time washing her hands and combing her hair, still very


agitated after the strain she had been under, and, back with Jerry,


gratefully sipped the large liqueur he gave her, hoping it would both calm


her down and ease the pain in her bladder area, which was hurting so much


she wondered if she had done some serious damage waiting so long.  She


would have been quite happy to have sat and relaxed, talking with her


friends, but Tamzin, having just publicly dumped Duncan (at last!) was


clearly intent on getting a replacement, any replacement it seemed, right


away.  If not drunk, she was well on the way, and was throwing herself at


any unattached man she could see, and really, thought Pauline, behaving


quite disgracefully.  For Pauline, faced with making polite conversation


with Duncan and Jerry, it was a miserable ending to what should have been a


triumphant evening for her, so she decided to stop trying to be sociable


and leave right away.  She paused only long enough to tell Tamzin she was


leaving, then, as a parting shot, dared her not to pee again until she went


to bed, where-ever that was.

   
She got a taxi almost immediately, and was back at Elmdene within half


an hour, by which time she was bursting for another pee, an almost


desperate situation with her bladder muscles still weakened from holding so


long at the dinner.  Pauline was in the first loo she could find, and while


this pee was nowhere near her record, it was a wonderful relief to be able


to sit there as long as she wanted to, squeezing every drop of pee out. 


Then, a late coffee with Louise, because she had to talk to someone, and


describe all the superlatives of the evening, the tremendous pressure, the


time of her pee, the size and pain of her swollen bladder.  Never


completely reconciled to not being champion bladder of Elmdene, Pauline was


convinced that her pee after the dinner was a school, if not a world,


record, both for duration and volume.  If only there had been some way of


measuring it, surely it had been at least two litres, and if there hadn't


been such a queue she could have gone on longer, more than four minutes. 


The onus would now be on Erica to reply with something better, and, if she


really wanted to prove herself a worthy champion, to show that she could


hold two litres.
 




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