Becks.

His bladder was screaming for relief, the agony consuming his entire body, focused a mere centimetre above his relief valve, the same relief valve tucked inside his jeans and briefs. He wasn’t sure if it was the valve hurting or the pressure of the bladder. But he watched the road, it was rutted and old, grey to white with rubble on one side and houses that faced down the hillside on the other. There were plenty of walls that were chest high that his brain was strongly telling him that he could ‘use’ but he was a passenger, not the driver. If he had been the driver and drinking soft drinks he would have stopped at the first wall, but he was effectively trapped until the driver stopped. His legs were together, thighs pressing on his crotch, clenching, holding it back, the contents of his aching bladder and throbbing cock. His knees hurt as they hit each other again as he opened then closed quickly his legs. His feet knocked against the empty bottles in the foot well. Becks. A drink he loved, but one only he could get when ‘out’ with this friend. His parents didn’t like him drinking. He was 18 now and coupled with his other chores and work got a decent pocket money. So Friday night was the time for him and his mate to go out for a drive. Except this evening, most the usual places had been dominated by students returning to university. The crowds so strong and heavy that even he had desperately wanted away, so they had driven around instead It was only after the 5th or 6th bottle he felt the warnings, but by then they were busy. A fight between the local lads and students had kicked off near the station so they watched. He ignored the warnings as his bladder filled, he knew he could manage. He was 18 now! He knew the older men in his local could drink several pints before going to let off the pressure, so he knew he could cope. He was used to the feeling of a full bladder. He often only had a chance to let about half or three quarters out, and so had become quite deft at quickly stopping the flow and calming his nerves. He had practiced it enough now. During school he had perfected the technique, one which originally had left dribbles in his briefs, sometimes where a gush had gotten through and then later a damp patch on his school trousers. You didn’t want to linger in school lavatories. All sorts of nasty things happened there. Being able to dash in, let off the pressure, and then wait another few hours was invaluable. Now, with practice, he could just shut it off and hold it. Wondering around the town with his mates, he could nip to an alleyway to let off about 10 seconds of strong clear piss that came out like a waterfall, then, when trouble or anything approached shut it off and wait for a few more hours. So he was used to having a full or partly full bladder. Except for the beer. That worked its way through fast and even after the six bottles his bladder was fuller than he had known it before, screaming, pleading, begging to be emptied. Bloated, aching and hard. Before, he could have eased his fingers down between his skin and belt line to ‘reposition’ his precious cock if either a ‘surge’ or just a few drops threatened to show to the world his inability to hold his water. But now, his waist was firm as a board. He dreaded to think how full his bladder was, perhaps this time all the way. The slightest touch reminded him he had to ‘piss like a racehorse’, his cock surged, ached for merely a squeeze but he knew that at this stage, such a ‘squeeze’ might involuntarily cause the hiding of another feeling. One which he had had before but did not want again “Stop the bloody car, I need a piss!” he growled, the car lurched, a pothole or something, he didn’t care. His body was on fire, he was sweating and felt almost sick. He saw some people, walking down the path, a pair of dogs around them and in the hedges and the driver drove on “Try and look normal” said the driver He didn’t even want to consider normal. Normal would probably mean pissing

himself, something he hated doing as it stained and stank for ages. His cock surged again, it was already hard and straining. Pointing upwards in his dark jeans, towards the flies, “Oh, I really gotta go” he whined “I gotta go so bad” “Not long now” replied the driver. A glance over revealed a sizable bulge in his trousers. It could be for the same reasons, it could be for other reasons. He felt an itch and had to ignore it. The itch would lead to a squeeze and the squeeze to a hold and possibly meaning his sphincter would fail. He had to hold it back, but not touch it. His legs opened again, then closed, clenching, almost squirming. He noticed the drivers bulge increased as he did that, so he repeated it, but rather than change in size the driver squirmed a little, and the face told him that the driver either needed his own piss or perhaps another kind of release… Finally, the dog walker was out of sight, and there was some rough ground ahead. The car pulled in, the engine silenced and before had fired it’s last cylinder he was out, hand finally clutching his cock, threatening to dribble out, and he staggard forwards, his flies were tugged down His cock, partially erect, was easy to find and was extracted. Even before it was out he felt his hand grow warm, then he exploded. It gushed out, like a pressurised tap. He was surprised with the ferocity, the strong spray gushing out, it splattered down about a meter away and even then the pain was bad, he opened his legs a little, braced himself and relaxed, the stance meaning he could relax without falling over. He leaned his head back. He felt a light breeze on his forehead, cooling it. The incredible overjoyed feeling, the amazing relief, then as the pain started to ease, the light-headedness. He let another groan out, and felt almost weak. But still it splattered on, unending and almost unstoppable. Thankfully, he heard no warning, so carried on. He wasn’t sure what was old and what was new, but he was gonna get every damn drop out. He couldn’t recall how long he stood there before the flow finally slowed to a trickle, then drips and short surges but soon he gloriously empty, amazed, surprised and happy. His boner returned, hard, and begged attention. A glance back and he couldn’t see the driver so eased his fingers up and down his cock a few times, even a few nice squeezes wasn’t going to kill him. But he finally eased his cock away, zippered up and returned to the car. He felt tired now, and had the driver hand him another bottle of Becks. “Beer?” “Thanks. Got any chocolate?” he asked, and was presented with some Cadburys. He felt oddly weak… So settled back into the seat in his small hole in nirvana.