Hooliday accident

I’ve never had a strong bladder and have always been in the habit of being cautious about trips where getting to a toilet might be a problem.
About ten years ago I was on holiday in New Zealand and decided to take a trip to a place called Doubtful Sound.
It involved driving to a lake where we would pick up a boat and this would take us to the other side of the lake. There we would board a coach which would take us to a visitor centre at an underground power station.
Then we would be taken across a pass by coach. But it was only a 20 kilometre drive which would take at most half an hour so I wasn’t too concerned. I planned to make sure I used the toilet before leaving the boat and restricting what I had to drink.
When we arrived in the morning we were told that it wasn’t going to be possible to visit the power station after all.
When we reached the other side of the lake we landed at the visitor centre which had toilets, which I used and a display all about the power station. Then we made our way by coach to the next stop and I had no problems.
I had prepared for the trip to some extent by getting a new pair of black corduroy trousers. These don’t show the wet much if you have an accident. Underneath I had on a pair of Y-front brand white cotton pants.
The trip on the boat was excellent and I was more relaxed having made the coach trip.
But on the way back up Doubtful Sound they announced that we could visit the power station on the way back but that if there was anyone who didn’t want to travel underground they could be dropped at the visitor centre.
But then to my horror there was the following announcement: “As there are no facilities at the power station you are advised to use the boat’s toilets before disembarking.”
It immediately set doubts in my mind and I wished I hadn’t drunk so much of the free tea and coffee on board. It hadn’t seemed a problem because toilets were close at hand.
But then I remembered that having been to the visitor centre in the morning I knew I could use the toilets there before going to the power station.
As we drove back across the pass to the visitor centre I had the first tell tale signs of needing to urinate but I wasn’t too worried because this journey was shorter because we were not taking photo stops.
As we got close to where the boats moored we seemed to take a different route and then the driver announced that he would have to phone ahead to the power station control centre to get the security gates opened. It became clear that we were going straight to the power station and not the visitor centre as we had seen that in the morning. The power station entrance was not actually at the visitor centre as I had expected!
I started to panic and as usual this made things worse. The actual drive and look around the power station main gallery took less than half an hour but by the time we boarded the coach again my bladder was swollen and I desperately needed to relieve myself.
To add to the nightmare a second coach came into the tunnel after us and we had to wait for that to depart before we could leave the building.
My friend, who knows of my bladder problems could tell that I was desperate and he told me to try not to think about it. Not easy when your bladder is screaming for relief and you are on the brink of embarrassing yourself in public.
I dreaded pissing in my jeans on the coach as I know I would wet the seat.
I had a black canvass bag with me and having placed that on my lap I was able to slip my hand under it and give myself a squeeze through my clothes to help hold it back.
Every minute or so I kept getting a wave of pressure that took me to the brink of leaking in my underpants but squeezing my legs together and hunching forwards I was able to hold it back.
When the coach stopped we tried to exit quickly but we were halfway up the vehicle and everyone was being very polite and letting those in front get out first. As I stood up I felt a burning hot jet of piss go into my underwear and trickle down the inside of my leg. I couldn’t grab myself as this would draw attention to my plight.
I regained control but felt my pants were already very wet and a quick glance down revealed an unmistakeable damp patch on my mid blue jeans.. I hobbled off the coach and hurried as quickly as I could to the gents.
I was greeted with two long lines of people queuing for the toilets. The line for the gents was shorter but still there were about six men in front of me. I kept losing control in little bursts and as I stood there I felt some more trickle down my leg as my underpants were now too sodden to absorb any more.
Suddenly I saw a chap come out of one of the cubicles and I broke the line and made a dash for it. No one raised an objection. Probably because they realised I was hardly able to walk and the look of sheer desperation on my face left little doubt as to my plight.
As I got my cock out I sprayed over the floor and toilet seat but at least I managed to do most in the bowl.
There was nothing else to do but get on the boat quick and sit behind a table until I dried out. That took a good hour although my underpants were still damp when I changed them back at the hotel.

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