Of course, not. Emma is to prolong her exposed state as well as her discomfort.

Emma's eyes darted around the lobby, her desperation growing with each passing second. The receptionist, still oblivious to her plight, continued to ask questions, delaying her bladder relief further.

"Okay, Miss Watson, can you please confirm your room number again?" the receptionist asked, tapping away at her computer.

Emma nodded, now BOTH her hands clutching her crotch, her arms just barely covering her nipples. She didn't even bother to cover her breasts anymore; she was beyond caring. Her sole focus was on getting back to her room and finding relief. "It's...ah...room 514," she replied, her voice tight with discomfort.

As she spoke, Emma’s bladder protested with increasing urgency. She started to hop from foot to foot, her legs trembling with the effort of holding on.

The receptionist, still none the wiser, continued to chat away. "And can you please tell me your date of birth, Miss Watson?"

Emma's eyes widened in frustration. Didn't the receptionist understand? She didn't care about her date of birth right now, she cared about finding a bathroom! But she tried to remain calm, knowing that losing her temper wouldn't help her situation.

"It's...ah...April 15, 1990," Emma replied, her voice barely above a whisper, her breasts now swinging a bit from her body shaking.

The receptionist nodded, still typing away. "Okay, Miss Watson, I just need to verify a few more details. This will just take a minute."

Emma's hopping grew more frantic, her face contorted in discomfort. A minute? She didn't have a minute!