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    • Kate stepped gingerly off the plane, feeling every one of the six pornstar martinis deep she had been from the airport. Despite the utter failure of the two-and-a-half hour flight to sober her up, she could still appreciate the summer heat that filled the air as she went down the steps, clinking cabin bag of duty free gin swinging onto her back. "WHOOO! WE'RE GOING TO I-BEE-THA!" Sara, her maid of honour, hollered behind her. She had tried to convince the bubbly blonde that an Ibiza hen party in June was a bit excessive, but a modest donation from the bank of Jack's mum and dad had been enough to tip the scales. Her phone buzzed, vibrating the small handbag draped over her slight shoulders. Flicking stands of dark brown hair away she pulled the phone out. On schedule, Jason's stag's flight was just boarding for Amsterdam. He'd signed off his text with the genius advice to only start with half an E at a time. She smiled down at the message and sent a reply telling him not to shag too many prostitutes while he was out there. Quick as a flash he had retorted that he'd just smoke too much weed and pass out face-down in the canal. After what seemed like an endless queue through passport control and waiting for baggage the party of five reached their transfer busses.  "Sara, where are we going tonight?" Sim, a petite Indian girl, shouted across Kate on the bus. "O Beach, ladies!" Sara replied to a chorus of oos and ahhs. "So I hope you packed some sexy bikinis!" "Wait a sec..." Chelsea, Jack's sister and a tall willowy thing with black hair, questioned. "The tickets you just sent us say P Beach!" "Hang on, you're right," Sara replied with a giggle. "Must have been a typo!" "What even is P Beach? I've never heard of it!" Kate said, staring down her maid of honour. "What's next, Club Paraglide? Ibiza Crocs?" "Alright mrs, calm down," Sara retorted. "I'm looking it up. P Beach Club, Ibiza's better when it's wetter... that's an interesting tagline." "Sounds like it's still a pool party at least!" Sim said sounding relieved.  Kate shrugged. They were there all week, no harm in trying somewhere new, she thought. Four hours later The thumping techno and throngs of people were getting a bit too much for Kate as Sara dragged her along the strip. The heat had given way to a cool breeze and her athletic body shivered slightly in her pink bikini and short sarong.  "There, look!" She shouted, and sure enough, there it was. The sign was small and it was set back a bit from the main street, as if it weren't trying to draw attention. The doorman looked at them with a raised eyebrow as they presented their tickets and went through a warren of corridors to the main club.  As the door swung open, Kate gasped. There was a central pool with flanking plunge pools and hot tubs with private booths flanking the sides. But the club was dominated by a stage in front of the pool with dancing girls in varying states of undress, some in bikinis and some totally nude. But her jaw really dropped when one girl, a beautiful redhead, strutted forward and squatted, baring her spread pussy to the crowd and started peeing.    
    • Today on my way home from work I pulled into a pull off and pissed on the side of my truck and onto the pavement. The cars driving by couldn’t see me but if anyone pulled in behind me they would have seen my very large puddle and my cock in my hand. I even stood there for a little while after with my cock out squeezing out every last drip incase someone driving by knew what I was doing and wanted a show.
    • Does Emily Addison have the perfect slit?  
    • Amy squirmed in her chair, trying to maintain an expression of composed attention as her boss, Mr. Morrison, droned on in his monotonous voice. The presentation he was giving was important, crucial for her career. Amy had worked on the project for months, and she knew this was her chance to prove her worth and get the promotion she so desired. But there was a problem. An urgent and pressing problem. Amy had to pee. Badly. Ever since that morning, the situation had been critical. A series of setbacks had prevented her from using the bathroom: an urgent phone call, a colleague who needed help, a technical glitch with her computer. Now, as she listened to Mr. Morrison reel off data and statistics, Amy's bladder throbbed like a drum gone mad. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to run to the bathroom, but her tenacity and ambition held her back. She couldn't afford to be distracted, to give the impression of being unprofessional. If only she could just get up and sneak out of the room without anyone noticing... But it was impossible. They were all there, eyes fixed on her, waiting for her presentation. Amy clenched her thighs, trying to stifle a groan. The pressure was becoming unbearable. Her hands tightened on the sheet of paper she was holding, and her forehead beaded with cold sweat. "Amy, could you please elaborate on your proposal for the marketing campaign?" Mr. Morrison asked, with a questioning look. Amy stood up, trying to keep her voice steady. "Of course, Mr. Morrison," she said, with a tight smile. "Here..." As she began to speak, her mind was elsewhere. She imagined the bathroom, the feeling of relief she would feel once she had emptied her bladder. The words came out of her mouth mechanically, while inside she struggled against the urgency to run away. As the minutes passed, the torture intensified. Amy felt her legs shaking and nausea rising in her throat. She was on the verge of giving up, of confessing her situation and asking for a break. But a glimmer of hope held her back. Maybe, just maybe, she could make it to the end of the presentation. With a superhuman effort, Amy focused all her energy on her work. She spoke with a more confident voice, illustrated the details of her project with passion and conviction. When she finally stopped, she was exhausted, but satisfied. She had given her all, and she knew she had done a good job. Mr. Morrison applauded her, praising her presentation and her competence. Amy felt herself faint with joy and relief. She had managed to overcome the ordeal, both professionally and physiologically. Exiting the meeting room, she headed for the bathroom with the speed of lightning. Once there, she emptied herself with a sigh of immense satisfaction. She was saved. As she washed her hands, Amy thought about what had just happened. She had risked jeopardizing her career for a matter of bodily function. But in the end, her tenacity and professionalism had prevailed. She was a strong, determined woman, and she knew she would achieve her goals. From that day on, Amy learned an important lesson: never underestimate the importance of a bathroom break.
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