It started on the way to work. She told me to start drinking one of my water bottles, telling me how long to drink, making me count out the seconds in my head and smirking to herself when I did.

Once we clocked in, she could see me the entire time we were working, so she casually reminded me throughout the shift to drink, sometimes in front of coworkers who didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss. They didn’t see the look in her eyes, or the look in mine.

I finished my entire water bottle within the first 2 hours of work, then drank my energy drink and cracked open the second bottle before I started to feel it.

She didn’t let me go to the break room, not even when my leg started bouncing and I started squirming in my seat. She got up and told me she was going to go pee a couple of times, so I got to sit there in my seat knowing she was getting relief while I wasn’t allowed any.

At around 5:30am, about 6 and a half hours into our 8 hour shift, I looked at her with my best puppy eyes and she just said “no” with a devious little smile, and then let me know that I wouldn’t be allowed to release until after we got home from work and I washed the dishes that were in the sink. I knew we wouldn’t be home until almost 8am, and it made me squirm openly in my seat.

She went to take a half hour break and a new patient came in. The patient’s clothes were soaking wet (for reasons I won’t divulge but it was just water) and I helped them get changed into dry scrubs and bag up their dripping clothes. Their clothes were so wet that I actually had to change their bedding just from them sitting on the bed before changing.

The patient asked me to go get them water three times before the shift ended, and my wife just watched, amused, while I ran to go get it each time. I had to watch and listen to the ice and water pour out of the dispenser and each time I stood to go get more water, I could feel my bladder twinge.

Finally, the shift ended. We sat in the break room for 15 minutes before we could officially clock out, and I heard my coworkers flushing the toilets a couple of times. I just sat at the table with my white knuckles on my knees under the table and small talked.

When we finally left, I got into the passenger seat and buckled my seatbelt. My wife started the car and lightly told me that she needed to stop at the grocery store for the ingredients for dinner. She turned on the Bluetooth and started playing the sound of a rushing forest river over the speakers, idly commenting how peaceful and relaxing it sounded and how it just made her want to relax allll of her muscles. She reached over at a stop sign and pressed her hand harshly into my bladder, massaging and cooing at me when I whimpered and my leg started bouncing.

At the grocery store, she took her sweet time browsing, stopping to look at the bouquets by the door, looking at the labels on the boxes of lasagna noodles, sloooowly inspecting the bell peppers and yellow onions. She stopped by the bakery and considered options for breakfast muffins for a couple of minutes before she asked me what I thought with a sly glance at my tense, bouncing legs. I told her she could choose. I just wanted to get out of there.

Finally, we got through the checkout line and into the car. She pulled my seatbelt tighter and asked me if everything was okay? That I looked like something was wrong. I told her I was fine. She hummed and turned the volume up, once again playing the sound of a rushing forest river.

The 15 minute car ride home from the store was agonizing. My foot tapped nonstop, my knees pressing together, whimpering under my breath whenever she reached over to press down on my bladder again. She mentioned stopping at a gas station to put air in her tires, but decided against it, saying she was tired. I breathed a sigh of relief.

2 minutes from home, she suddenly turned into the drive thru at our local dunks and ordered us both large strawberry dragonfruit green tea refreshers. She handed mine to me and told me to drink.

She took the bumpiest back road route home and teased me out loud about the bumps.

I carried in the groceries. She watched me put away every item, then told me to take our dog out. She stood on the back porch while I danced from foot to foot waiting for our dog to finish his business. It wasn’t missed on me that he got to go potty before I did. We got back inside and I fed the dog. As I got started on the dreaded dishes, my wife stretched and yawned and said she had to pee. She went in the bathroom right next to the kitchen and left the door slightly open so I could hear everything. She took her time, and then came up behind me afterwards and squeezed me from behind, her hands coming down right over my bladder and kneading mercilessly. I groaned and crossed my legs, and continued scrubbing the coffee mug I’d been washing, the running water testing my self control every time I rinsed a clean dish.

The sink was finally empty when my wife handed me a cutting board and had me start chopping the bell peppers and onion for the lasagna. She sat at the table and watched me squirm while I prepped our dinner, eating her muffin with a smug look on her face. Eventually she walked out of the room.

I got everything prepped and started the crock pot. Now it was about 9:30- almost 11 hours since I started drinking my first water bottle. I trailed over to our bedroom and asked if I could please go pee now?

She pondered it, then walked out into the kitchen and opened the fridge. She pulled out a bottle of raspberry ginger ale, about 3/4ths empty and told me that I should finish it. Not wanting to press my luck, I did. Every gulp felt like a marathon, and she stood inches from my face watching me force it down with my head tilted back. She rubbed my bladder and pressed on it again. By now, I was positively dancing in place, barely holding it together.

Finally, the last drop was gone from the bottle and she smiled at me and told me to throw it away. I did, and she told me that I did well, I was good, and I was finally allowed to go pee.

The relief was so overwhelming I almost cried.

I told you I don't need to go potty, I'm just trying to get comfy

stop asking!! I'm a big girl and I don't need to go potty!! my legs are just sore and that's why my hand is in between them

NO!!! I don't need to go potty!!!!! I just... mnmph... k-keep playing...

Uhhhh...... no. I don't... do requests like that. Instead, I'll just give a vague description of what each kid's potty-dance looks like, and YOU, my kind Anon, can just use your imagination. In no particular order-

Lemmy will probably cross one leg over the other and bounce around a bit. He might also have his arms crossed? He would do everything in his power to not use his hands to grab at himself because that would be humiliating, and he wouldn't be caught dead doing that in public.

Iggy would also cross his legs. A LOT. Like his legs would be wrapped around each other so much you'd think he was trying to tie them in a knot. I feel like he would probably over-exaggerate his movements and whine a lot due to him having a fetish.

Roy would sit down every opportunity he gets. And he wouldn't be able to sit up straight. He'd do a lot of leaning forward or wobbling around to try to ease the pressure.

Morton doesn't dance. At all. He stands perfectly still. Like, his body would shiver and shudder a lot, but he wouldn't actually move his limbs or anything. It'd be fairly obvious he needs to go if you saw it, but he will not say a word unless you say something first.

Ludwig, on the other hand, physically can not sit still if he needs to go. Despite how embarrassing it is to be seen doing, he does everything he can to maintain control, which involves a lot of crossing his legs, bouncing, squirming, stuffing one or both hands between his legs, foot tapping, and more, along with many pitiful yips and whimpers.

Wendy wouldn't "dance" until it's becoming an emergency, which rarely happens. But if it does, she'd jump and bounce. Literally. Like hopping from foot to foot.

Larry... uh... I dunno, who gives a fuck?

Jr would wiggle around a lot. Not doing anything or moving any particular limbs, but just excessively wiggling.