car desperation but the driver isn't nice about it. maybe you held off asking because you knew they'd get annoyed, but you really are starting to doubt your ability to hold it. you're squeezing your thighs together because sneaking grabs at your crotch will alert them to your dilemma. but when you shift and feel a small dribble come out you can't take it anymore and tell the driver you need them to stop. “are you kidding me?” they glare at you. “you're just going to have to hold it, because I'm not stopping.” as soon as they direct their attention back to the road you put your hands between your legs. you try to think about anything but your need, but your bladder feels so stiff and you can feel pee right at the edge of your urethra. if you lose concentration for just one second you're going to make a mess. suddenly a car honks beside you and a jet of piss noisily comes out for a split second before you regain control. you whine and squirm back and forth, practically jumping up and down in your seat to stop it. “did you just piss on my seat?” the driver snaps at you. “I'm gonna pee myself!” you cry out, grabbing yourself so tightly it hurts. “no, you aren't!” the driver yells back. the raise in volume making your bladder spasm again, a little more pee comes out. “please, please, please...” you beg, you're so full and the warm wetness now pressed against your crotch is torture. a reminder asking you to just spread your legs and let more warmth gush out of your poor, abused bladder. “I'm pulling over." you hear the driver mumble furiously as they start switching over to the side of the road. you let one hand leave your crotch to grab the door handle- but it's too late. the anticipation of getting to pull over and the loss of pressure is too much. as they turn the engine off it only amplifies the sound of piss rushing out of you. the driver looks over to see a puddle forming in your seat, then spilling down to your feet. you moan in relief as your body completely relaxes. hearing the comment “are you pissing yourself? seriously, how old are you?” snaps you back to reality and you feel humiliation flood you. but it's not enough to stop you from purposely pushing out the last few spurts between your spread legs.
