\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
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\n\t\t\t\t\t| " | \n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tJust a little longer, she reassured herself, for about the millionth time or so during her walk home. It was getting harder and harder to believe with each passing minute, but still she had to keep telling herself the same thing. After all, with her jeans crushing her tight, heavy bladder so viciously, even the slightest amount of pessimism or doubt could leave her with a lot of washing to do. What else could she do at this point but just try and convince herself that if she just kept walking, everything would be fine? If she just kept walking, she would soon be at home, tearing her jeans down to sit on her own toilet and... ... Well, maybe it would be best if she didn't think about that right now, lest she actually do it right now. No, instead she just had to keep telling herself that she'd be home soon, without allowing herself to think about why that was important. But alas, it was most difficult indeed to think of anything else, the pressure against her waistband and the weight bearing down between her legs consuming every last scrap of her consciousness. Those thoughts were so potent, in fact, that she couldn't help but feel like "soon" wasn't going to be soon enough - something needed to be done right now to avoid disaster, and though she forced herself to ignore the feeling and press on, she found herself scanning every alley and side street she passed by. And that just meant she was prepared when she felt the first blossom of heat between her legs. She had to take a moment to put a hand down there and squeeze, but as soon as she recovered from the initial shock she jumped right into action, rushing into the nearest alleyway and trying to unfasten the button holding her jeans so torturously in place. There was no time to think, no time to do anything but just hide herself behind the first large object she saw and frantically try to get her pants out of the way, but the button refused to yield. All the while, she stood with her thighs pressed together and her butt stuck out behind her, wiggling around in a desperate attempt to stop the succession of larger and larger spurts that seemed to be spilling out into her jeans with every panicked breath she took. By the time the button finally came loose, she could feel the damp heat in her fur all the way down to her knees, but with just a shred of hope that she might avoid getting even more wet she forced her zipper down and brought her hands up to her hips to start tearing her jeans down. And though she pleaded with it to cooperate, her bladder had exhausted its patience, and just as her hands reached her waistband she felt the flood drenching her pants, and alongside the pounding of her own heart she could hear the muffled hiss as far too much pent-up urine spilled out across so much denim. But still she tried to save herself; she yanked her jeans down, but by the time they had gone far enough to expose the aching source of her torrent, her jeans were already soaked all the way down and there was already a puddle forming at her feet. She was too late, and the fur on her cheeks was nearly as wet as that of her legs as the considered this, now-uselessly pulling her jeans down the rest of the way and dropping into a squat to finish what she had already done far too much of just a moment too soon.\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t | \n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
Short story written by \r\n\t\t\t\t\t
| \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t | \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tBottleOfSake\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t | \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
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