I was aware of a dull pressure from my bladder; two pints of Stella Artois was considerably more than I was used to, and I was becoming very uncomfortable. I didn't know exactly what was going to happen next, but I had a fair idea, and walked in silence, waiting for my Master to unveil his plans. We were walking in a circle again, just as we had earlier when I was being exposed in my slave's outfit of collar, sheer blouse, tiny skirt and high heels. Then, the humiliation as I was ogled by everyone who passed had been overwhelming; now, in my discomfort, concentration taken up with the demands of my bladder, I found I was oblivious of the looks of those around me. Three times we passed the shop in which I purchased my new wardrobe; three times we crossed beneath the sign hanging outside the pub; three times we marched past the bank, the butchers, the newsagents; and by now my bladder was protesting very strongly.

I was distinctly afraid that I wasn't going to hold out, the hideous thought that I might wet myself in the middle of the High Street sending darts of panic through my chest. It was with enormous relief, then, that I trotted behind my Master as he broke from our by now regular route and headed towards the car park. I tried to calculate. It might take us twenty minutes to get home: could I hold out that long? Could I? I wasn't sure.

I was trying hard to convince myself that I could, and was succeeding, just, when my hopes were dashed. As we turned into the car park, my Master spoke.

"I thought we would take a trip out to the lake," he said. "It's only an hour from here, and it'll be just getting dark by the time we get there. It's lovely in the half light."

I listened, aghast, as my Master continued to extol the delights of the lake by moonlight, alive to the fact that there was no way, simply no way, that I could last out for another hour.

"Master," I whispered, daring to interrupt.

"Yes," he replied.

"I must go to the loo, Master. I can't last any longer." By now I was in some considerable pain, my bladder full and distended, legs aching from the pressure as I clenched my buttocks, trying to prevent anything from leaking out.

"We haven't got time for that, Harriet," he chided. "You should have gone when we were in the pub." It was pointless trying to argue, fruitless attempting to point out that I had been forbidden from doing so. Miserably, I hung my head.

"I'm sorry Master. But I really mean it. I can't hold it any longer." I began to cry with desparation.

"Very well, you can go," my Master conceded, "when we get to the car."

"Outside?" I asked, knowing in my heart that this was what he meant.

"Of course,"

"The car park is busy Master, people might see."

"Well, you should have thought of that earlier, shouldn't you?"

By now we were back at the car, my steps becoming shorter and quicker all the time as the urge to pee began to overwhelm me. We were bordered on the near side by a blue Peugot, and I figured that if I squatted between it and ours I could manage to attend to my needs without much fear of being overlooked. Accordingly I headed for the passenger side, breaking into a trot of desparation, my hands clutching at my crotch, rucking my obscene skirt upwards and inadvertently exposing myself once more.

"Harriet, where are you going?" my Master shouted. I stopped dead. What? I turned round and looked at him, tears in my eyes, the last vestiges of hope seemingly about to be torn from me. "Here," he said, pointing to a spot two yards in front of our car, a spot which was in full view of the entire car park. No, I thought, not this, not this, please. I looked at him imploringly. He returned my look implacably, and turned towards the car. Opening the door, he slid into the seat and I saw him fiddle with the dashboard.

And the car lights came on.

It wasn't dark yet, but dusk was beginning to settle, and the effect of the headlights, on full beam, was to put me in an impromptu spotlight. Dazzled, I put my hands to my eyes and tried to see my Master's face, but couldn't see beyond the fierce gaze of the lights. It was clear in any case what I had to do.

Slowly, I squatted, pulling my skimpy skirt up as I did so. I parted my legs and faced the car where, beyond the curtain of light, I knew my Master was observing. There was no way I could hold out now, and after a couple of desultory spurts I began to pee uncontrollably, a huge cascade of piss arcing out of me with a huge, roaring hiss and flying towards the car. My head was lowered, and I watched as the steady stream of piss rushed out of me, rasping violently onto the tarmac, where it foamed and formed a dark puddle before veering off in a couple of hectic lines, like lava rushing down a mountainside. I had no idea whether I was being observed, and I didn't care. I was aware of a dull excitement within me as I squatted in the public car park, skirt up around my arse, peeing with reckless abandon. The relief was overwhelming, the sensation almost sexual. I knew I was becoming aroused by this act, knew that while I was an unwilling participant I was nonetheless being turned on by this act of debasement which was being forced on me.

After what seemed like hours, but would in reality have been less than a minute, my stream began to subside and trickle, until only a few final drops remained, and then, finally, nothing. Standing up, I pulled my skirt down and, without looking around me, headed towards the car. I opened the passenger door and was about to get in when my Master spoke.

"Not yet, Harriet. I need to go now. Come round to my side."