Secrets

I will probably write more eventually, got halfway though and decided to change it because it was dragging on to long, but I want to get around to Henry confronting Norah and telling her he knows her secret and how much he enjoys it.

Idk, first time I've ever written anything like this and mainly just did because I was bored and horny and the internet was out, haha. Any feedback or advice is greatly appreciated!

*****

Henry felt his heartbeat go a bit faster as he observed his wife Norah present the familiar signs he'd been anxiously and impatiently waiting for. He smiled to himself as he finally watched her subtly clench her entire body, relaxing after a moment, but continuing to keep her legs squeezed tightly together. She sat up straighter, in what Henry knew was an attempt to ease the pressure on her swollen bladder, or perhaps, she was trying to apply some pressure to her urethra from the chair she was sitting in. Either way, Henry knew the action was more or less futile, it wouldn't give her the relief she longed for.

No, he knew she wouldn't be getting that, at least not for a while. Not until she finally gave in and made her way to the toilet, releasing the ocean of fluids her tired muscles was holding back. And if today went the day it usually did, he was sure he was in for quite a show before that happened. You see, his sweet innocent wife had a secret that it had taken him quite a while to discover. She liked having a full bladder. Not wetting herself, just putting it off as long as she could without making it completely obvious to anyone who was around, before rushing off to the bathroom to blissfully release it all.

He'd watched her do it so many times now, her completely unaware that he knew what was going on since she was always wrapped up in her...problem. At first, he'd chalked it up to absentmindedness, but as more time passed, and he thought about it more, he realized that didn't really add up with her personality. She wasn't absentminded when it came to anything else. Eventually, he realized, that there was really no other explanation than she must enjoy it. Now, after 10 years of marriage, and years of quietly and innocently observing her secret routine, he was completely convinced he was right, just by seeing the way she behaved during her hold-it games.

Throughout the entirety of their relationship, he'd considered himself a very lucky man to have found the woman that was truly from his dreams. There had been an immediate connection between the two from the night they first met, on a blind date set up by a mutual friend, a spark that had quickly turned into flames of desire, and then eventually, love. The better Henry got to know Norah, the more convinced he became that she was his soulmate. He'd first been struck by her outer beauty, entranced by the long dark ringlets spiraling down her back, her pale porcelain skin, and brown eyes that changed based on her mood, sometimes dark and flashing, other times bright and sparkling. It didn't take him long, however, to see that she was every bit as beautiful on the inside as well, with a heart as warm and big as the sun. He fell head over heels in love, and, as far as the sex went, it was fantastic even before he'd discovered her little kink.

At first he'd been a bit disgusted with his reaction to his wife's odd toilet habits. At that point, he didn't really understand she was doing it for pleasure, and at first it had felt wrong to him to take pleasure from something so...wrong. But, time passed, and the pleasure he took from it didn't go away, instead it grew even stronger. It wasn't long before his qualms were forgotten, and he found himself looking forward to Norah's little hidden desperation shows more and more.

Different women have different ways of handling their need to pee, for Norah, her rigid posture and stiff legs gave it away. He knew if he just kept quiet and watched her, she'd continue reading the book she was engrossed in for at least another hour, or at least trying to read it. It would soon progress to her crossing her legs tightly, and occasionally stroking her bulging bladder, as if she was trying to soothe it. She would cross her legs one way, then the other, switching every couple minutes or so, as she started to breath a bit more shallowly, as if there was barely enough room for her lungs to expand with her overfilled bladder taking up so much room.

Soon, as her bladder fills even more from the cups of tea she'd always torture herself with, she would be having to recross her legs more and more often, her urgent need reaching new levels, new heights of desperation, until it got to the point where her composure slowly started to slip, and her abdomen is so bloated it actually hurts, throbbing and aching, objecting painfully to the cruel and unusual (well, not unusual to her) punishment she continues to subject her poor body to.

She shifts back and forth, this way and that, barely lasting 30 seconds in between recrossing her legs by this time. At that point, which usually came about 30 or 40 minutes after she first starts showing signs of being desperate, she will start sneaking quick grabs to her crotch if she thinks no ones paying attention, as her breathing gets more rugged and beads of sweat form on her forehead. It gets harder for her to be still, even for a second, and as her need grows even worse by the minute, fueled by the copious amount of tea still trickling through her system. By now she's lost all focus on the book, or whatever other task she has been distracting herself with thus far on this particular occasion, and all of her concentration is funneled into keeping the ocean contained in her bladder for now, while somehow managing to stay composed.

She doesn't outright hold herself though she wants to, instead she has to settle for just quick, awkward presses against her pee hole to aid her aching muscles in their seemingly endless struggle. If she wasn't so wrapped up in her own self induced predicament, she might notice that her husband is acting odd, but given her situation, she's too distracted to take note of the way he is subtly observing her every movement, or the obvious bulge he is trying hard to conceal.

Now, at this point, its painfully obvious to Henry's trained eye that she is quickly nearing her breaking point. she is quivering, slightly trembling with the effort its taking to remain in control. her thighs clenched in a death grip, an urgent groan escapes her lips. There's no choice but to give in and awkwardly rush to the bathroom as quickly as possible while still keeping her thighs pressed tightly together, all the while doing her best to somehow maintain her composure and not reveal how close she is to completely losing it, to soaking herself, flooding the floor, and everything in a large radius. It's a nearly impossible task, the pressure so immense that her bladder must be screaming at her to find somewhere - anywhere! - to empty itself before she's forced to give in and helplessly let nature take its course right where she stands. Henry imagines her thoughts during these moments, wonders if she ever panics, struggling to hold the torrent back just a bit longer, feeling her last bit of control start to slip away as her tired bladder demands relief.

Sometimes the struggle will end as soon as she entered the bathroom, unable to fight the pressure for another second as her aching muscles give out and her bladder starts spurting into her panties. It takes everything in her to cut it off when this happens, still denying her body the relief it is absolutely begging for. After cutting the flow off once or twice, she doesn't have the strength to do stop it again, and she just has to hope there's time to get over the toilet before she helplessly loses it completely. Other times, however, as Henry could tell from listening outside the door (it's not creepy if it's your wife, right?) she manages to fight it a bit longer, prolonging the agony, doing a full blown pee dance now that she was out of sight.

She would try to be quiet, but she has no way of knowing her husband is lurking right outside the door, where it's easy to overhear the rustling sound her pants made as she desperately bounces around, putting up a final fight against her tortured, swollen bladder. Ahh, how he loved that sound, complete chaos as she grinds her thighs together, breathlessly gasping as she fights against herself, her poor bladder spasming constantly, trying to force itself to push the obscene amount of piss out. Not as much, though, as he loved the frantic groans and hisses that would escape her as she struggled to control herself a bit longer, about to loser her mind from the sheer desperation. Her whimpers and moans drove him crazy as he closed his eyes and envisioned her frantically hopping around, bouncing and twisting, trying to contort her body in a way that would ease the pressure on her bladder that was stretched to it's absolute limit.

Henry had lost track of how many times he'd stood there, spying on her outside the bathroom door, as her long battle drew to an end, barely daring to breath as his dick, hard as a rock, strained against his waistband, ready to blow at the slightest touch. Eventually, they are both forced to give in to the needs they can no longer suppress, as they each reach their limit. Norah finally jerks her pants down and drops onto the toilet, reveling in the orgasmic relief that runs through her entire body like electricity as waves of pleasure wash over her. As the burning piss pours out of her uncontrollably like a seemingly endless waterfall, she sighs with relief, losing herself in the blissful feeling of releasing her pent up bladder. As this happens, Henry too loses control, most of the time without even touching himself, and he erupts into his pants, creating a hot sticky mess of his own.