Not well with a call from nature.

Some time later, she was standing with her back against the washer, her hands clasped firmly over her crotch, for a new discomfort had arisen, one that threatened to overwhelm her. The water she drank during her earlier jog now pressed urgently against her bladder, begging for release.

Abby shifted her weight, trying to alleviate the pressure. She crossed her legs, hoping to stem the tide. She tried to distract herself by thinking of anything else, but her mind kept drifting back to the bathroom upstairs, the one she had so hastily left.

As the minutes ticked by, Abby's predicament became more and more unbearable. With a growing sense of desperation, she considered her options. She can either stay here and risk wetting herself in the basement, or she can make a break for the bathroom upstairs.

The thought of being seen naked, of being **** in front of the guests, is terrifying. But the prospect of wetting herself, of losing control, is even worse. Abby knews she had to make a move. With a sense of resignation, she pushes off from the washer and starts to make her way back up the stairs, her hands still clasped over her crotch, her heart racing with anxiety.