This little story 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 married 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 panties 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 toilet 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 old pair, not those good looking ones!"

She winced.  Whatever he had in mind, she knew she must comply.  She selected a pair of old 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 panties 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 panties down to pee, nor could she stretch the crotch far enough to relieve herself with them on.  And, she realized, even if she tried to urinate through her panties 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 men 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 panties 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 panties 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 wife 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 pee - 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 panties 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












