Was there any better way to unwind after a long day of work than with a Friday night movie marathon? Claire certainly didn’t seem to think so, even though at the moment she wasn’t very unwound – if anything, she was more tense than ever. After four hours of watching film after film non-stop, it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

Watching movies obviously meant lots of salty snacks to complete the experience, and of course that meant lots of drinking to take care of the resulting thirst. Fortunately, Claire had planned ahead – she had an assortment of big junk food bags lying around within arm’s reach, and on the endtable next to her rested a party-sized bottle of soda and a plastic cup that could be easily refilled as needed. There was even a gallon jug full of water on the floor, just in case.

Over the course of four hours, she had drained a quarter of that bottle all by herself, and had even tapped into the water jug a few times for a little variety. So, naturally, she was having just a little bit of trouble with her bladder right about now.

In fact, she’d already been pretty full before the first movie had even started. As per her usual workday routine, Claire had relieved herself in the shower that morning, a good two hours before setting off on the hour-long drive to work. Eight hours of boredom and ninety minutes of inventing insults later, she returned home twelve hours after the most recent time she had so much as set foot in a bathroom.

So she had marched directly to her bedroom to change into a more comfortable outfit, eagerly removing her office clothes and especially the accompanying underwear – the bra and panties she had been wearing all day were tossed aside in favor of nothing but a pair of white boyshorts. Then she had squeezed herself into a pair of nearly-skintight jeans before leaving to finalize her plans for the evening.

All that with no more than a quick glance at the toilet as she passed by on her way to the kitchen. No surprise, then, that she was struggling to keep her focus on the movie as she bounced and squirmed in her seat. Of course, there was nothing stopping her from just hitting pause, running off to take a quick bathroom break, then coming back to pick up right where she left off.

But why would she want to do that? It was just barely eleven o’clock, and Claire wasn’t even halfway through the ten hours of movies she had lined up – and she couldn’t exactly call it a marathon if she didn’t watch them all in one sitting. Sure, staying up all night to get through all of those would have her finish at about five in the morning, twenty-three hours after her last restroom visit, but there was nothing to worry about. All the soda would surely keep her awake until the end, and she’d have plenty of time to do whatever else she wanted after watching the credits for the last film in her lineup.

Her bursting bladder just had to endure another six hours of holding in what it already contained, plus however much of the gallon-and-change of drinks she would end up going through. Not a problem at all, she figured.

But of course her body had a different opinion – her belly felt heavy and hot, loaded up with more than seventeen hours’ worth of urine, and it felt like it was pressing down hard against the liquid’s only escape while itself being pressed just as hard by the crushing waistband of her jeans.

Claire therefore found a compromise between her body’s desires and her mind’s, staying firmly planted in her seat but keeping her legs knotted and shaking, her thighs squeezed together, and her tongue hanging slightly out of her open mouth as she panted from the exertion of a mere seventeen hours of holding. She wouldn’t get up to go to the bathroom, but her wiggling and shifting and pressing her rear down into the couch cushion would serve to relieve some of the pressure instead.

For some time she stayed like that, her movements and breathing intensifying over the last half hour of the current movie. All the while she never stopped drinking despite the painfully obvious signs that she couldn’t handle any more; even as the credits rolled she refilled her cup with trembling hands, writhing and whining as she watched the soda flowing out of the bottle and rising within the cup until it had nearly reached the top. When she set the bottle down, she held the cup in both hands and kept her eyes on the drink within, watching it slosh around in her unsteady grasp and comparing it to what she imagined the ocean within herself must have looked like as she squirmed.

Claire raised the cup to her mouth, and though the thought of adding even more to her already-overloaded bladder made her whimper, she didn’t hesitate in tipping her head back to swallow as much as she could handle at once, at the same time squeezing her legs together as tightly as possible. In her haste, and with such an unstable grip, some of the drink ended up dribbling down her chin instead, and when she paused to take a deep breath with half of the cup emptied into herself, she quickly ran a hand over her face to wipe up the stray droplets before going right back to what she had been doing.

When the cup was emptied, she let out a long whining groan as she pulled her feet up onto the couch and curled herself up, crushing the empty plastic container in her hands while for several seconds she tried her best to fight off pulsing surges of desperation. She squeezed every muscle she could as hard as she could, and when the waves passed she leaned back with a tense sigh and tears in her eyes.

Daring to unwind her quaking legs, she carefully parted her thighs to allow herself a good view of her crotch. Her breathing came as rapid panting as she looked down and took hold of herself with one hand, squeezing hard and moistening her fingers as they pressed against soggy denim. Her visual inspection revealed that it was a little more than just her pants that had gotten wet – she could see a little puddle that had formed on the leather between her legs, the sight of which made her let out a deep moan while her tail wagged energetically in whatever space it could find behind her.

With a bite to her lip Claire silenced herself, still breathing heavily as with her hand still firmly between her legs she gradually lowered her feet to the floor and tried to rise from the couch. It was a delicate process, and she lifted herself gradually, careful not to disturb the precarious balance that had been established in her bladder – by now she had flooded herself so thoroughly with drinks that even a little shakeup could mean flooding her living room floor.

Panting, whimpering, and grunting, she slowly but surely rose to bounce on her toes in front of the couch with only a little bit of moisture seeping into the fur covering her fingers. Then, after taking a second to make sure she wasn’t going to explode, she stepped cautiously towards the single chair off to the side, upon which she had left her coat and purse after returning from work. Each footfall rattled her bladder and made her feel like she was about to lose control, but soon she stood before the chair with little more than a dribble having escaped her. She couldn’t help but moan loudly and dance in place as she leaned forward to reach into her purse with one hand, retrieving her phone and straightening up again within only a couple of seconds – at the moment, what felt like the most agonizing few seconds of her life. Then, unlocking her phone and navigating to the camera with one hand, she worked her way back to the couch.

Claire fumbled with her phone for a little while, and put on a strained grin as she posed with knotted legs in front of the table with her drinks and snacks – once she remembered how to hold a phone, she held it up and quickly snapped a few photos of herself, making sure that the soda bottle, the water jug, and the puddle she had left on the couch were all visible. Certainly none of those pictures were of particularly-impressive quality, but she would just pick out the least-blurry ones later to post online.

Then, still looking right at the phone with a forced smile and eyes wet from the stress she was forcing on herself, she switched to record video and started filming as soon as she could. For a moment all she could do was whimper and shuffle around where she stood, and once she worked up the energy to do something else, intending to speak, she simply let out a little squeaking bark. So instead of trying to force herself to produce words, Claire bit her lip and brought her phone down to get an unstable view of her belly and the clear protrusion that her stifling jeans were trying to suppress. She laid her free hand over her bladder and gave the firm skin there a little rub and a gentle experimental poke, gradually pressing harder until she was forced to double over with a groan and wind herself up in response to a hot jet bursting free and running down her thigh.

Thankfully, Claire was miraculously able to regain control without any further leakage greater than trickling, groaning again as she untied and spread her legs, at the same instant falling to her knees. She whined repeatedly as she hurried to set her phone up on the floor, using a stand built into its case to let it stand on its own at an angle that could capture all the interesting parts of her body.

Then she leaned back and rested both hands on the underside of her bladder bulge, keeping a hazy eye on the phone to ensure that it was seeing what she wanted it to see. After a few seconds of shifting her rear end side to side and more than a few droplets hitting the wood beneath her, she moved one hand down to rub at her crotch and the other up to caress her exposed breasts, feeling through her thick cream-toned fur for something fun to play with.

She held out for several minutes, moaning the whole time in response to her own touch, the feeling of involuntarily letting out increasingly-frequent squirts of pee, and the quiet pattering or splashing sounds as whatever she released found its way through her fingers and down to the floor. But one particular blast of urine into her underwear made her exclaim and press down as hard as she could between her legs, though staying in her spread-legged kneeling position to make sure that what happened next would be visible.

That leak didn’t end with just a few drops falling from Claire’s jeans – instead, it made her groan as for several seconds it gushed noisily through her pants and filtered through her fingers to only then splatter against the hardwood. Only with great effort was she able to keep that leak from going on for any longer than several seconds, her whole body quivering as her bladder sent out pulse after aching pulse of desperate need through every last nerve.

Panting heavily and with a whining tone, Claire used the fleeting control she had managed to wrestle back from her bladder to reach behind herself, moaning as she struggled with the button keeping part of her jeans in place over her fervently-wagging tail. The struggle continued even when the moment passed, and she felt her urine running through her and straining against its escape for the last time.

She tried to fight back, to keep the sweet burn of overwhelming and undeniable urgency surging through her body for just a little while longer, but by now she had pushed herself to the point where she no longer had the power to enforce compliance with her wishes. It started slowly, spilling from within her underwear to darken the denim covering everything from her thighs to her knees and trickling down from the saturated areas nearest to the source, quickly picking up to streaming more directly through her jeans and forming a rapidly-spreading puddle.

With a shuddering moan Claire continued trying to free her tail as her urine poured from her, hissing and splattering and splashing loud and clear even over the sound of her ecstatic vocalizations. Half a minute after the attempt started, the button finally came undone, and Claire pulled her tail between her legs, pulling it up against her crotch with both hands as she shifted to squeeze her thighs together and do whatever she could to stem the tide.

Her movements made her relief tone itself down to a weaker, spluttering stream, and she worked quickly to spread her legs again and allow her sodden tail to wag freely behind her as with a groan she unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, yanking them and her boyshorts halfway down her thighs before giving in completely. With a loud moan, nearly a howl, she tipped her head back and allowed her urine to flow freely into her lowered clothing, soaking through whatever parts had managed to escape the deluge before, and instinctively brought a hand down to toy with herself through her unstoppable spray.

Watching the video back later, she would notice the specifics of her actions that hadn’t even entered her mind at the time – the spreading of her lips to show off, and then to adjust the trajectory of the torrent so it would strike her phone’s waterproof casing for a moment, and the wiggling of her hips to help her puddle cover a slightly broader area. But mostly she was on video alternating between playing with her most sensitive part and blocking the free flow of her urine with her hand as she inserted various amounts of fingers into herself. It was hard to distinguish her fluids just from watching, but there certainly seemed to be plenty of both kinds – or, at least, the Claire on video seemed to be immensely satisfied, and was clearly having a lot of trouble maintaining her position on weak, quivering legs.

The last thing she filmed was her stream running dry, fading away to a trickle and some errant spurts before at last being reduced to merely the moisture still clinging to her fur falling in little droplets, and only a brief aftermath. Once she stopped relieving herself, she was panting heavily and stayed kneeling as she was for just long enough to pull her underwear and pants up again, zipping up her jeans but leaving the buttons still undone after trying and failing to fasten the one on the front. Then she fell forward onto all fours and grabbed her phone, moving it around to hopefully get a good view of the extent of her puddle, then capturing herself weakly smiling and waving at the camera. Her immediate collapse afterwards was not filmed, and for quite some time she remained lying in her puddle, breathing heavily and staring blankly at the long-forgotten television and whatever movie she was supposed to be watching.