We were woken by the sultry heat of the early morning sun flooding through our tent and billowing around us in a damp, oppressive sweep. Throwing open my sleeping bag, I lay naked on my sleeping mat and looked at my Master.

"Morning," I said.

He smiled and stretched his hand towards my breast, resting his fingers on my nipple and causing it to swell almost instantly. With his fingernails he scratched and scraped at me, drawing lazy, gradually increasing circles around my nipple, my areola, my breast, and then tracking across my stomach to my belly button. At his touch, I jumped and shrieked, ticklish shivers sweeping up my spine and goosebumps pocking my skin. Revelling in my discomfort, my Master bent forward and thrust his head towards my midriff, grabbing me in his arms and pinning me to the ground as his tongue attacked my belly-button. I screamed and tried to break free, the dizzy, almost hysterical torment of his tickling tongue spreading alarm throughout my body. I jack-knifed, my legs bucking helplessly in the air, but couldn't free myself from my Master's grip.

"No, please," I screamed, giggling with torment. His left hand slid down my stomach onto my thigh and once more his nails began to track a path across my skin, sliding up and down my leg, gradually slipping towards my inner thigh, to the softer, more tender flesh, insinuating their way back upwards towards my trimmed mound and on to their final destination, my already excited pussy. I exhaled deeply as I felt his index finger rest against my swollen lips, my brain fighting to assimilate the conflicting sensations caused by his tormenting tongue and his ravishing hand.

He stroked and cajoled, dragging his fingers across the length of my slit, gradually accumulating my moisture and slipping between my lips into the hot depths of my cunt; meanwhile his thumb began to track around my clitoris, circling it steadily, the nail grazing upwards sharply and then the fleshy skin rubbing down, the bitter and the sweet, the sharp and the tender, alternating thrills which sent tremors of excitement spinning from my clit throughout my body. His tongue let go its assault on my belly-button and began to lap across my stomach, down towards my bush, then back and round, back and round. He rested his head on my belly, eyes trained downwards on my pussy, and immediately I felt a heaviness in my bladder, that familiar, full discomfort one feels in the morning. The pressure of his head began to hurt and I tried to break free.

Instantly, my Master sensed my predicament and pressed himself harder against me. He explored the inner recesses of my pussy, fingertips searching for my urethra, and began to circle round and round it. The feeling of fullness was now all-enveloping, and all sensual pleasure I had experienced as he played with my clit was replaced with a desperate need to relieve myself.

"Master, please," I panted.

"What?"

"I need to pee."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

I knew I was in trouble. My Master was in playful mood, and an early morning session of tormenting his little slave girl was clearly uppermost in his thoughts. I knew that he wouldn't go all the way and force me to wet myself, because camping can be a smelly enough experience as it is without having to lie in wee for two days, but equally I knew he would explore the very limits of my endurance.

He lifted his head from my stomach, releasing the pressure on my bladder, and for a second I sensed hope, but it was shortlived as he jumped up and pulled himself towards me. Swinging his leg across me he straddled my chest and sat down, facing away from me, leaving me with a view of his bare arse. I longed to slap it, but in the circumstances knew that would be unwise in the extreme. Agonisingly, I felt him slide down until he was resting once more on my stomach, his full weight pressed against me and his hand pushing firmly on my bursting bladder. I screamed again and clenched my muscles as the night-long accumulation of pee tried to release itself. I felt a surge of panic as I feared I wouldn't be able to control myself and clenched my thighs tight together, trying to hold in what I knew would, when it finally emerged, be a torrent.

My Master was having none of that and he immediately began to push his hand between my thighs, in the process ensuring his wrist was pressing hard against my bladder, and his fingers sniped further inwards, scraping across my bush, gradually seeking out once more my agitated slit. I bucked repeatedly beneath him, trying to push him off me, but this only served to increase my discomfort, and I concentrated on trying to squeeze my legs as tightly together as I could. Every muscle in my body was tensed, but even so I was losing the battle with my Master's hand, which was reaching inexorably towards my pussy, striking out towards my urethra, seeking further torment.

The feeling of fullness was extraordinary, the physical pain borne from it rising up into my stomach and down into my legs, making me cramp, leaving me breathless and panting with desperation. Finally, my Master's fingers were once more pressing against my urethra, his wrist pressed heavily on my bladder, and it took every ounce of concentration to tense myself sufficiently to keep the rush from breaking free.

"Open your legs," my Master said. I couldn't. I just knew I couldn't. The instant I did I was sunk, I would lose all control and flood the tent.

"Master, I can't. Honestly. I'll pee myself."

"Do it."

I screamed aloud as a wave of cramp knotted my stomach. Tentatively, clenching my muscles, I eased my legs apart a fraction and my Master, given room to manoeuvre his hand, pressed his palm flat against my pussy, spreading my legs further apart and adding a further wave of pain to my catalogue of agony.

I felt both his hands on me, and he parted my lips, pulling my pussy wide open. I could feel his breath against me and knew he was staring straight at me, observing my urethra, waiting. I screamed again and knew that I couln't last. I felt a pulse of movement from my bladder, and despite my straining a drop of pee seeped out. My Master spotted it and pressed his finger to my urethra, spreading the liquid around me. The vigour of his action provoked a further involuntary spasm and this time I felt a spurt of pee fly from me. Clenching hard, I managed to quell it before it developed into a full torrent. My Master laughed.

Raising himself from me he sat at my side and stroked his hand across my sweating brow, his other hand still rested on my swollen bladder.

"I guess you'd better get to the toilet," he said.