Sealing the Deal

[gldenwetgoose 20,283]

[This is the story of an entirely fictional event, but played out in the character of a real life dear friend who is a member of this forum.    Contains a brief tame male pee, but mainly increasingly desperate female holding, pain, wetting and for good measure a bit of intercourse]

 

PART ONE

“Have you got a semi on there mister?”

I laughed as I glanced down to my side at the unmistakable sight of a single high pressure jet of urine drilling its way into the toilet bowl, bubbling deep into the clear water below.

“If you’d waited two minutes you could have had the bathroom to yourself, I’m almost done here”.

“Sorry Babe” replied Mark, “I couldn’t wait a moment longer.  Anyway, are you honestly surprised I’m turned on, you look a billion Yen.  I could have my wicked way with you right now if we didn’t have to be downstairs at half past”.

Well, at least that was the sort of reaction I’d hoped for, not just a ‘yeah, you look nice’.  I mean this was a full on top-to-toe effort.  Two hours in the hotel salon having my shoulder length hair pleated up with a subtle floral fascinator was time I’d never get back, but I had to admit I loved the result.

If I did say so myself I’d excelled on the makeup too, slightly bolder than my usual, contours emphasising my cheekbones, a dusky shade of eyeliner and to top it off the luscious kiss-me lip gloss I was just applying. Subtle earrings and matching necklace.

I guess the main reason for Mark’s erection was below the neck though. An ivory lace basque firmly lifting and transforming my C-cup breasts magnificently, its boned corsetry tightly caressing my ribcage and stomach. If nothing else it would keep my posture in check for the evening, I hoped it wasn’t going to be a big meal.  Below the basque was probably the main source of Mark’s interest, gorgeous matching ivory satin briefs which shimmered and caressed my bum as I shifted weight from one foot to the other.

If he was going to bring me halfway across the world to Japan and then disappear off to business meetings all day, then why shouldn’t I avail myself of the city’s finest boutiques.    

Looking into the mirror I could see the rest of my outfit hanging on the bathroom doorframe, another of today’s purchases - an oriental silk jumpsuit, wide legged with a fitted waist and then sleeveless halter top. Beyond it I could see Mark’s reflection through the open door. He was sitting on the bed, no doubt worrying I’d be ready in time. He should know by now I’ll always be on time, if not early.

“Thirty seconds, I promise”  I called through, carefully wriggling the satin panties down to my knees and sitting on the toilet seat.  I knew Mark would appreciate the delicate sound of my wee  tinkling gently, but amplified by the tiled walls. It always drives him wild, whether it’s a little trickle or a full on whistler and especially so when I leave the bathroom door open so he knows it’s for his benefit. Can’t believe we’d been together for five years before I was brave enough to pee with the door open.

“So what do I need to know about tonight Darling” I asked, reaching for a length of toilet paper.

Mark explained that unfortunately the etiquette of his negotiations meant that we should dine with Mr Kamasuti, along with his commercial director and their wives. I did wonder whether I was only there as part of his business strategy. Still, just another day in the life of a young director’s wife.

Mark then went on to explain most of what I already knew, the etiquette of eating with chopsticks, of making subtle subservient polite conversation but only when invited into the conversation, it being considered rude to refuse a drink when offered. Then there was the final sting….  Apparently the unforgivable etiquette faux pas would be to leave the table for any reason before the host.

 

 

 

PART TWO

An hour later, after the chaos of the city traffic, the restaurant was like a calm lake. The cool, conditioned air was fresh after the petrol-fume laden, hot, humid night outside.  Quiet piano music floated from a Steinway in the corner, contrasting to the blaring car horns below.  Many, many storeys below our rooftop restaurant.

Mr Kamasuti certainly had taste, you could give him that.  He seemed a nice man, a fatherly he had a nice warmth in his eyes although clearly not someone to mess with in business. His commercial director, whose name I couldn’t pronounce let alone spell seemed more ruthless and colder, I didn’t take to him. Their wives seemed nice enough, although apparently not speaking English very well.  They didn’t seem to speak much at all, perhaps as Mark had said a cultural thing and I decided that would be a good plan too. After all, he’d spent months on this deal and wouldn’t thank me for blowing it.  I couldn’t help but notice how much younger Mark was, and myself too - I suppose there aren’t so many thirty-something director’s wives.

It seemed that Mr Kamasuti had gone out of his way to ‘westernise’ the menu (Mark told me later that he owned the entire building, so had some sway over his chefs). I was relieved to note that the table had been set with silver cutlery.  The food was exquisite and Mr Kamasuti was certainly taking his role as host seriously. As course after course of small plates arrived and departed, he ensured everyone’s glass was never empty, of either a nice white wine or mineral water.

Conversation, although largely listening only was interesting and varied, not anywhere as dull as I’d feared.  As the men chatted, conversation naturally turned to our cultures and the Japanese system of honour and respect.  As it did so, a little niggle tugged at the back of my mind….   My glass had never been empty, I’d only sipped at the wine out of respect, but how much mineral water had I drunk?  One, two, three glasses?  As if on cue I became aware of the liquid in my bladder. Certainly not full, sort of at that point where if I’d gone for a wee I’d have to push for a few seconds before releasing a brief trickle. Certainly nothing to worry about - for now.

Another course arrived and with a bit of horror I began to think perhaps I had guzzled too much water. Had I drunk more than anyone else?  Certainly in the last few minutes my bladder seemed to have filled significantly.  Maybe it was just because I was thinking about it. That must be it.  I resolved to focus my attention elsewhere and switched my concentration onto the conversation. It seemed to work, eventually the sweet course arrived and as always Mr Kamasuti was the perfect host.

My bladder was decidedly on the full side, not painful, that stage where if I was out browsing the shops I’d definitely be thinking about finding a coffee shop sooner rather than later.  Mentally I was calculating:  desert course for maybe another twenty minutes, coffee maybe and then hopefully we could bid our polite farewells. It was only a five minute taxi to the hotel. So, forty minutes maybe.  For sure I’d be wanting more than a delicate tinkle in that hotel toilet for sure, but should be ok. I’m a big girl after all.

‘Hotel toilet, oooh that was a mistake’ I thought to myself though, thinking about the act of pulling down panties and letting go had thrown the need to pee right into the forefront of my mind.  My bladder was definitely full now, as a quick twinge from the right side of my abdomen told me.

Back to engaging in the conversation again then, albeit in listening mode as always. Desert was delicious and plates were soon pushed aside. Perhaps the end was in sight, as Mr Kamasuti raised an arm in the direction of our very attentive waiter.

 

 

 

PART THREE

However, to my horror it seemed Mr Kamasuti wasn’t summoning the bill, as I realised when four large shot glasses duly appeared on a tray. Three for the men and apparently one for me, although it seemed their wives weren’t afforded the same honour.

Mr Kamasuti raised his glass, waiting for us to do suit before speaking “Now, we take Sake.  Our pleasure this night has been strong, but now the time we must compete our business. I hope this will be swift and satisfactory”.

‘Right, let’s hope it is indeed swift I thought to myself, otherwise there’s going to be a puddle to clear up before the nights out’.  The look of worry I shot at Mark was met with a sympathetic half smile.  No doubt he knew this had been on the cards but it was the last thing I needed.

The other last thing I needed was Sake. I don’t drink as a rule, I’d only sipped at the wine out of politeness and now no doubt it was a matter of etiquette and honour to down this shot. Almost on a silent count we raised our glasses and downed the shot in one. Perhaps the men were used to this sort of thing, but the alcohol was completely alien to me.  Instantly as it hit my throat it triggering a fit of coughing. Fortunately I already had my legs crossed under the table, but even so the coughing triggered a brief spurt of wee into my panties. Hopefully not enough to show, but certainly enough to feel a warm damp patch by my peehole.  Clenching my legs together as hard as I could did the trick and my status quo as a respectable director’s wife resumed.

That didn’t particularly make things easier.  The next, well however long it was, was an absolute nightmare. I couldn’t tell you if it was fifteen minutes, forty-five or two hours. Whatever it was it felt like an eternity in Hades. The worst bit was not knowing how much longer I had to endure.

You don’t need a blow-by-blow account, but suffice to say my bladder was doing its best - and letting me know. I don’t know if it’s just me, but having already leaked slightly into the soft lining of my panties, the now cooled and clammy moisture against my skin wasn’t helping one bit. That feeling always makes it far harder to hold on.

I’d definitely got past the ‘find a coffee shop soon’ stage and was at that stage where my desperation was ebbing and waning in cycles.  Sometimes I’d be calm and sort of comfortable, then at other times the need would grow and grow, almost instilling panic, I’d have to clench until it passed.  I knew that the longer I was forced to hold on, the more liquid would trickle into my bladder and the harder it would be to keep holding. But who knows how long it - or I - could continue.

At one point as I was clenching I found myself unconsciously squeezing my husband’s thigh beneath the table. He was deep in discussions and gave me a brief sideways questioning glance. I knew I couldn’t interrupt and of course I didn’t want to let our hosts know the predicament I was in. The most I could do was to give him a slightly pained look, whilst inside my mind was screaming ‘HELP’.  Mark gave me a second questioning glance, realising something was wrong.  The best way I could think to express my emergency was to walk my first and forefinger down his thigh from top of his leg down, as though playing a scale on a piano, and then to repeat more forcefully.  If something didn’t happen soon there’d be a running down my leg and it wouldn’t be my fingers.  Fortunately Mark got what I meant, giving me a reassuring sympathetic smile and a squeeze on the knee.

I knew how many man-hours had gone into this contract, not just from Mark but his whole team and I wasn’t going to be the silly little girl whose need for a wee-wee broke the deal.  Don’t get me wrong, I was in absolute agony. It didn’t help that I was wearing a boned corset which was putting serious pressure on my swollen bladder.  The waves of pain were becoming more frequent and lasting longer.  I could feel goosebumps on my arms and felt clammy. Maybe the Sake had something to answer for too. I was at the stage now where, had I been out browsing the shops I’d be weighing up the options - shop changing room or alleyway. No, I would have left shopping a long time before becoming this desperate. Arriving home to our drive in garage I’d definitely be squatting on the concrete floor without a second thought. It wouldn’t be the first time, just like right at that moment I was beyond caring.

Eventually, I’ve absolutely no idea how I managed it, but I was still mostly dry when the three gentlemen reached their conclusion and shook hands. I wondered how their wives were managing at this point, probably they were used to it.

 

 

 

PART FOUR

Standing up was torture, but not as much as that protracted small-talk that always comes with goodbyes.  My legs couldn’t have been any more tightly clenched together, I was just praying it wasn’t obvious, that the beads of sweat on my brow weren’t visible and that we could get to the hotel very, very soon.

Finally after a very dicy lift journey we were back in the lobby.  More small-talk whilst I literally clenched my pelvic floor muscles in the diminishing hope of keeping my bladder contents in, and then horror of horrors, lots of Oriental bowing. Every bow was like a red hot poker as the corset poked at my distended abdomen.

Finally we were out into the hot, humid night air and into a waiting black limousine. Finally it was just Mark and I. At last I could stop being the director’s wife. I could stop putting on the show. Finally I could jiggle my legs about frantically like I’d been wanting to do for the last however long. I could jam both hands hard between my legs in the hope of helping my poor muscles.

“I hope you realise just how close I am to wetting myself right now. I can’t believe I’ve managed to hold it for this long.  There’s no guarantee I’m going to be getting out of this car dry you know.”

“Please try your hardest darling, you see it’s Mr Kamasuti’s personal car and it’s picking him up as soon as we’re at the hotel” replied Mark, with genuine sympathy and concern.  “I’m so, so sorry, You’ve been amazing. I really didn’t think it would take so long.  Look, we’re here now. Just another couple of minutes.”

He was right, we were back at the hotel, but of course no means home and dry as they say.  Fortunately the lobby was quiet and by some miracle of luck there was an express elevator already on lobby level, empty and waiting.  Even the second or two it took for the doors to close were torture. I felt the damp satin of my underwear dampen as another trickle escaped, but managed somehow to stem the flow again.

As soon as the doors closed my knees pretty much gave way and I sunk into a deep squat with my back against the wall, bouncing on my heels and both hands pressed hard between my legs. From what I remember my head was spinning, I felt hot and had a pain in my lower back. I guess it could have been just muscle burn from my desperately aching clenched bladder muscles, I hoped it wasn’t my kidneys. Was I doing any long term damage to my body?  Kidney failure?  What if my bladder did actually burst? People have died from that haven’t they.  The corset was digging constantly into my bladder and I felt like I couldn’t breath.

Finally, like a dull sound underwater I heard the ding of the elevator reaching our floor and the doors opening.  The last thing I remember is starting to stand up, then dizzy sparkly flashes in front of my eyes, the lift and hotel corridor starting to spin and everything went dark.

 

From what he’s told me, Mark just managed to catch me as I passed out, and he’d carried me the short distance from the lift to our room. I’d started to come round as he stood me on the carpet whilst he fumbled with the room key.  How I didn’t just lose all bladder control and fully wet myself whilst unconscious I’ll never know. I guess the subconscious and muscle memory are powerful things.

Apparently I came round and immediately started crying, almost delirious with both hands desperately clutching and trying to press for all they were worth on my urethra. Mark managed to get me into the bathroom, placing me with my back against the sink whilst he untied the fabric band around the waistband of my jumpsuit. That’s about where I start to remember clearly again.  I had both hands pressed against my peehole, but needed to lift my arms to undress.  I’d grabbed hold of Mark’s hand and jammed it between my legs in place of mine, forcing his fist to clench and grip my labia.  “Harder, fuck, squeeze harder” I’d muttered through gritted teeth. “Don’t worry about hurting me”.

I managed to get the top half of my suit off, down to my waist of course, but what to do next?  Inevitably Mark had to loosen his grip and as he did so the dam burst.  With a loud gush that lasted a couple of seconds I felt my crotch soak with hot liquid, quickly overflowing the fine satin and tracking down the inside of both thighs. I momentarily managed to regain control for just long enough to drop the silky jumpsuit to my ankles and using my hands vaulted onto the sink counter immediately behind me.

Within a fraction of a second I was finally able to give in, to release any sense of control and to let all of my long held urine out.  Almost instantly the bathroom was filled with my loud gushing and I felt the whole of my pubic area and backside feel incredibly hot. I was gasping in relief as the pain gradually subsided. The initial gush settled into a continuous steady flow that continued unabated. My back was arched, eyes closed just drinking in the feeling of relaxation that this long release was giving. All the pain was forgotten in a moment, the feeling of hot wet satin against my skin actually felt really comforting, like holding a heat pack against a pulled muscle.

Suddenly I felt a familiar delicious feeling and opened my eyes. I’d forgotten Mark standing in front of me, who now was massaging my pussy through sodden silk panties. As I looked down I could see my hot urine splashing off his fingers and splashing into the sink below.  It seemed the plug was in and I couldn’t believe how much volume I’d held.

With all of the evening’s torment passed and Mark’s fingers pressing hot wet satin into my slit I suddenly found myself feeling intensely aroused. Maybe it was the sheer relief, maybe my nervous system was in a heightened state of alert after reporting the bladder pain all night, maybe it was the Sake. Whatever it was, it felt electric.  Eventually the flow of my urine slowed to a trickle and the drips, but Marks fingers carried on doing a perfect job of massaging it’s lubrication against my clitoris.

I could feel his other hand massaging my breast and then his lips met mine in a deep passionate kiss.  Before I knew what was happening I lost all sense of propriety.  I’d yanked his belt and zip open, pants down just enough to release his now very hard upstanding cock. Taking it in my hand I’d given it a few hard hand strokes before pushing him backwards through the bathroom door onto the bed.  I landed straddling him, grinding my pee soaked panties against him before pulling them aside to let him slip in and giving us both the first of several incredibly mind-blowing orgasms that night.

 

[Sophie 23,129]

Incredibly hot story and ever so beautifully written. I put myself right in the story and very easily imagined I really was desperate at the meeting,l! 

Thank you so much x

[gldenwetgoose 20,283]

1 hour ago, Sophie said:

Incredibly hot story and ever so beautifully written. I put myself right in the story and very easily imagined I really was desperate at the meeting,l! 

Thank you so much x

Cool, thank you.   Glad you liked it!  You must have a lot in common with the special friend I wrote a lot of it around.

[Alfresco 11,010]

Great writing @gldenwetgoose, a very realistic setting and situation and the detail and build up helped to paint a brilliant picture.

[gldenwetgoose 20,283]

1 hour ago, Alfresco said:

Great writing @gldenwetgoose, a very realistic setting and situation and the detail and build up helped to paint a brilliant picture.

Thanks @Alfresco - Sometimes a scenario just blossoms into some wild and wacky scenario, often a vivid picture like this one.  Glad you liked it.

[Kupar 12,507]

So much to enjoy in this story @gldenwetgoose - extremely arousing! Thanks!