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I could have peeled off the path at some point or asked for a break to go and piss behind some bushes, but I had opted to endure the overfullness. I was not quite the youngest in our party, but I was the newest, and I was already anxious to prove my endurance against my more seasoned companions. I worried they might hear me gasping too loudly on the steeper slopes, or find me lagging behind when the terrain got rough, and have all their suspicions of the newcomer confirmed.

I am nearly as embarrassed now to confess my vanity than I was then to admit my need to piss.

In any case, I had assumed that somebody else—somebody not so insecure in their position on the team—would call for a break to go and pee before I did. For all the hours I held my bladderfull of piss, I kept on waiting for someone to declare they were going to go and squat by a tree, or peel off quietly with that intent. Then I would not be the first to admit my need, or at the very least I would know how to go about it without drawing too much attention.

I watched all my companions for any sign they might be feeling full or looking for a suitable place to piss, but not a one of them betrayed a hint of discomfort, save the ordinary aches and fatigues of a long morning trek. How not a single bladder out of twelve, each one of which had received the same influx of tea as mine, or more, could have filled to its limit by the fifth hour of walking—well, that was beyond me.

I was not the littlest of the group by far. Our second scout, a tiny girl a few months shy of twenty-two who had to cut new holes on her belt to keep her trousers up, should have been well past her limits, if bladder capacity were anything close to proportionate to a person’s size. But she was trudging on after two cups more than I had drunk that morning (she had finished off the undrunk tea from another of our number’s pots), complaining of nothing but a blister on her heel.

As for our leader, I had no hope that her bladder would give out before mine did. She was a formidable figure, an inch taller than me and a great deal stronger. She was a hardened hiker, and she never complained of fatigue or sore muscles, much less a need to piss. She thrived on the outdoor air and the rocks and the birdsong. They gave her life and seemed to drive every discomfort from her. I adored her and was terrified of her and would have thrown myself off a cliff before I let her think I was unfit to join her expedition.

So when she called a halt, it was the most wonderful thing I had ever heard. Everybody was laughing and groaning happily and throwing off their packs at once. Again I watched for any sign that somebody might be going off to piss. But still they astounded me. Not a one went off to seek out a secluded place. Instead they were taking out their flasks and drinking more and rummaging in their bags for food.

Now, at least, I could break off and pee without either dragging the party to a halt or making them think I’d fallen far behind. I tossed my pack down with the rest of them by the stream and declared that I would rejoin them in a moment. I’m not sure anybody heard or paid attention to what I said; and I admit I muttered a bit, as I was still embarrassed to make known that I had to go relieve myself before anyone else did. But I knew I would not have a better opportunity, and I was sure I couldn’t hold out much longer.

So I wandered a fair way upstream, with the trickling water taunting me, until I had gone over the crest of a little hillock, out of anybody’s sight lines. There was a thick, merciful old tree with a coat of brambles that gave me another layer of shelter. I dashed behind it, hands already at my fly—as much to help hold myself as to undo the button.

But as I pulled my overexcited member out, I heard footsteps just behind me, and I turned and looked with terror on my band’s leader, rounding the trunk of the tree I had chosen for my shelter.

I wrenched my fly shut so quickly I hardly knew what I was doing. At once I felt a spurt fly off my tip like a tear of frustration. It was as if I had promised my body some relief, and now it was going to punish my betrayal.

I tucked my hands in my coat pockets and tried to push down the hem so that my half-open fly and spreading stain of pee would not be obvious. I also had to keep my hands confined, or else they would be gripping my leaking penis in a stranglehold. I could feel the piss that I had been so ready to release right at the floodgate, so that even clenching my muscles could only do so much to force it back.

I faced that woman terrified of what she would think, barely able to stand still, much less find words to say. What could I say? Had she just seen me fully exposed, about to loose a full bladder on the forest floor?

She smiled at me, which would have been enough to make me melt at the best of times, but now I could least afford to have any more of myself turn liquid. I wondered for a moment whether I had gotten off safe, and she had not noticed that I had had my pants open when she rounded the tree. But then, as a little more sense came back to me, I wondered why she had followed me in the first place.

Now I felt another jolt of fear, which did nothing to help me contain another leak, as I guessed that I had done something wrong by her. I should have asked her leave before I wandered off—yes, surely she would want her party’s members to let her know where they were going, if they were to part from the rest even for a little while. I should have known.

I flushed an even hotter red and had just untied my tongue to apologize when she shocked me.

“It’s a good spot for pissing, isn’t it? And heaven help me, I’ve had to piss for ages.” Still smiling at me, she hoisted up her coat and shirt and fussed with the tie of her trousers. “It’s stuck and my fingers are too clumsy. Can you undo it for me?”

Incredulous, incapable of speaking, the ache of my own bladder undiminished but relegated to the farthest corner of my mind, I obeyed my band leader’s order.

My hands had already been shaking when I was preparing to piss, and I had to force them to be steady so that I could find the seams in the knot. It was very tight, almost a solid ball of string.

I was the closest to her I had ever been, and though she had shocked me with her easy familiarity when she declared she had to pee, I was still afraid of acting outside my station or crossing a line with the woman who was my superior. So I kept my fingers under the strictest control and winced when I brushed my thumb against the front of her trousers by accident.

She could see my fingers were shaking, and she laughed a little at my mumbled apology for nearly touching her groin. She laid an affectionate hand on my shoulder as if to steady me. Nothing in her manner seemed uneasy or put off, but as I fumbled she said “Hurry now! I’ve had a bladder full of piss all morning, and my poor bladder hates to wait a second longer than it must.”

At last I got the knot untied, and she clapped me on the shoulder and thanked me and pulled me in to kiss my cheek. And at the same time, while she held me stunned and blushing, she shoved her trousers halfway down her thighs and yanked her underpants to one side, out of the way.

It seemed more impatient than urgent, but she sighed with pleasure as she put a hand to the top of her vulva and aimed her stream at the tree roots. She was still standing and still gripping my shoulder with one hand, so that I could not turn away. All the same, I tried to avert my eyes so that she would not think I was gawking at her bare crotch or her torrent of pee.

If I had not been so frozen in shock, I’m sure I would have been squirming and gripping myself to keep from pissing a sympathetic stream in my own trousers. The happy splatter of the piss hitting the tree roots should have been unbearable. But for as long as she was peeing, I felt as though I could share in her relief. Her sighs were mine, the loosening and drooping of her arm on my shoulder as her whole body relaxed, were almost as blissful for me as they were—so clearly—to her.

I could not say how long it lasted, but I know it was longer than I could have guessed. I expected, of course, that her bladder must be as strong as all the rest of her, and it must take an ocean of piss to make her complain of needing relief so badly. But the stream was so thick and fast, and it went on and on so long, that I was shocked even she could have contained so much without buckling over and shaking and shoving a hand between her legs.

But she only laughed and sighed and rolled her eyes as if it were a much needed rest after a long day’s hike, and not the release of a flood that she had been struggling to dam.

When at last she had finished with her piss, she took her hand away and let her bush bask in the sun a moment, and then she asked me if I had a tissue in my pocket, and she wiped herself with the one I provided, and then she took her had from my shoulder at last and pulled her trousers back up and redid the knot, as tight as it had ever been.

Her face was now serene, but it had lost its laughing friendliness. She shoved her hands in her pockets and stepped back to look at me.

Now that I was apart from her again, I felt the old ache redouble, and I crossed my legs involuntarily. She saw this and said:

“I know you came out here to do the same thing I have just done. And since I gave myself that little relief, it would hardly be fair to deny you the same. And I pride myself in treating my party’s members fairly.

“But surely you have noticed that your fellows have not gone off to piss on some log, neither as long as we were hiking, nor since I called a halt. They are strong, and they have discipline. If one of them were to complain of a full bladder and duck behind a rock while we were on the trail, I would not stop them. You are free to piss whenever you like. But know that I expect better of my charges, and I need to know that they are loyal enough, and love me enough, to control themselves without need of my compulsion. I do not want to discipline my scouts. So they must learn discipline for themselves.

“Have you ever seen a woman piss a river like that?” She pointed at the puddle by the tree, still sitting like a little pool, too much for the ground to absorb.

What was I to say to that? I shook my head.

“I held my piss for—oh, I can’t recall. I think I neglected it yesterday, so I must have been holding since the previous evening. Do you think that is terribly long to hold one’s piss?” She must have seen the incredulity in my face. “It’s nothing to me. I love a piss like nothing else, but I am not my bladder’s servant.

“And don’t you think,” she said, drawing close to me again, “that the fuller you are and the longer you wait, the sweeter is the relief? It is the best thing in this life to release a bladder that you have pushed to its limit, but you will know nothing of that sweetness if you do not learn your limits.”

She came very close now, and her voice was low. My bladder was screaming for relief, and I could feel the droplets of piss gathering at my tip, dampening the fabric of my underpants, beginning to show plainly on the outside of my trousers. She could have seen that I was leaking if she bothered to look down, but her eyes were locked onto mine, and neither she nor I broke that mutual gaze for a moment.

I was silent, still incapable of speech, but my eyes were begging and pleading in spite of me, and she could see in them all the desperation I was trying to hide.

As she spoke, I had no idea whether she was comforting me or taunting me. At that moment I knew nothing but her face and the sound of her words, filling my head, vibrating to the same frequency as the tremors of desperation running down my body.

“You do not know your limits yet, poor dear,” she said. “You only know when your bladder calls it quits. You will know your limits when you have mastered your bladder, when your desperation does not end when your muscles give out, but when you are strong enough that the only thing between yourself and relief is your own will. You cannot have the pleasure of release when it is not on your own terms, when it is by some dumb organ’s compulsion. The pleasure I take in pissing is all mine, because I am in command of it.

“Look at you, shaking, dripping, waiting for me to give my permission so that you can spray the ground with whatever your bladder holds. Have you ever wanted anything in your life as much as you want me to let you piss right now? Try to remember. Have you ever needed a piss so badly?

“I do not want to see you struggling like this. Your bladder should not be able to torment you so. It makes me sad to think that my scouts can fall into such a miserable state merely because they cannot relieve themselves every few hours. Oh, my poor darling!”

She took me in her arms and kissed my cheek again, and I could see that she was truly sorry for my plight. I tried to stand straight and compose myself and not wince or grimace while I fought back the next leak. If I pissed through my pants while she was so near me, if a sudden spurt hit her, I would have to bury myself for shame. But she was so close now she could see my every fidget, every little clenching of my jaw and furrow of my brow.

“Every one of your fellows has been in your state,” she went on in that low tone. “They have had to learn how to hold their piss for as long as they must. It is not easy. It can be very difficult. I think you are finding it difficult right now. But they have all learned well and grown strong with their love for me. And I love them all and have helped them find strength when they thought they could hold no longer.

“You must learn as they did, and you must take strength in me. Will you promise me that?”

I nodded. Now I was almost crying, I wanted release so badly. My eyes were still begging for her mercy, begging her to let me piss. I was shocked that my bladder had not given out on me yet, after so much aching and spasming and leaking. But I looked deep in her eyes and understood what she meant. There was still some strength in me I had never believed possible, and so long as she was with me, I could hold back the ocean in my bladder.

Have I passed the test? I asked her silently. Will this be enough for you? If I promise you I’ll learn to hold it, will you have mercy on me this once? Will you let me piss?

My eyes were still locked on hers, so I had not realized her hands were drifting down to my waist until I felt her undo my button and slip her cold fingers down into my underpants. They curled around my dripping penis and I gasped and tensed so that I wouldn’t leak. But the sudden movement only made the next leak come out stronger.

I whimpered pathetically, knowing she must be furious with me for losing control. But she laughed again and whispered in my ear, “Isn’t it the greatest pleasure in the world, just to let go a little bit? How much better will it be when you release it all?”

Now she pulled the sopping front of my underwear down and held my member pointing straight toward the tree roots, the place where she had pissed. It was the cruelest of cruelties, but her voice was all gentleness when she said:

“I know it hurts, and I know your bladder is telling you that it can’t contain the piss another minute. You’re already spurting piss into your pants every few seconds. If you don’t think you can hold it any longer, you can piss right here. I’ll understand, and so will all your companions. They were just like you once. When you come back to camp with a stain on the front of your trousers, they’ll tell you all about their first treks, and how they almost pissed themselves, and how I helped them hold it. Every one of them had to decide they could hold their piss when they thought they were about to lose it. I followed them into the woods and I held them and I told them they could piss, just like I’m doing now. And every one of them decided they could hold it, that their love for me was stronger than their desperation.

“But it is your choice. My poor darling, you’ve been holding so long and you’ve suffered so much. If you can’t hold it any longer, I’ll understand.”

Her grip was tight around me, her thumb teasing the tip where she could feel the piss about to burst from me, hot and eager and endless. I felt it pressing back against her, ready to shoot out if she loosened her grip, if she gave her permission.

“Do you think you can hold it for me?” she whispered low in my ear.

I remembered the bliss of her relief, how her pleasure had been as good as my own, how helping her piss had felt like we were releasing two bladders at once. I knew that must be enough.

I held strong, I forced myself to stop shaking, I told the stupid piss trying to force its way out that it would not get the better of me. She must have felt my muscles tighten, my desperate shaking still. Her fingers loosened, and one short, powerful jet of piss that had already passed the point where my muscles could hold it back shot out and spattered the ground, adding a few more drops to her enormous puddle. But I fought like a devil to keep the rest inside. My fists were clenched, my eyes streaming from the effort and the fury with which I battled back the flood. And at last I cut off the leaks.

She gave me a good shake to get the last drips off, then she stowed me back in my underpants and buttoned up my fly and gave my still-twitching, dampened crotch a couple of playful pats. She leaned in to kiss me one last time and whispered: