It was late, and Natalia was drunk, or at least a little tipsy. Taking a deep breath to quell her dizziness, she surveyed the mess on her coffee table. Reaching out, she pushed three empty beer cans to the side of the table and grabbed a fistful of chips, shoving them unceremoniously into her mouth.
It had been a long week. Natalia was a research assistant at a lab in Boston, and she spent her days hunched over her computer, completing data analytics on the experimental measurements her coworkers collected from various psychological experiments. Shit. Here she was, thinking about work again. Natalia had canceled plans with her friends to spend Friday night here in her apartment; she desperately needed to relax.
That's why she was currently in her comfiest gray sweats and tank top, laid out on her couch, three beers deep and watching a random nature documentary on the ocean. Her skin felt pleasantly warm, and the whales in the documentary were making hypnotizing sounds. The apartment was dark except for the dark blue light reflected off the screen of her TV. Natalia's drunk brain helpfully supplied an image of her swimming underwater with the whales, a mermaid surrounded by the soothing sea. The combination of this feeling and the alcohol dulling her inhibitions gradually heightened her senses, and before she knew it, Natalia realized she was almost overheating, and maybe even a little turned on.
Hesitantly, she turned her attention to her body. She had wrapped the lower half of her body in a throw, perhaps unintentionally creating something akin to a mermaid tail. She knew without even trying to move her legs that they were fully entangled within the blanket. Stretching her arms, she gasped at the sudden sensation of her breasts rubbing against the scratchy-soft fabric of her tank top. The apartment wasn't cold, yet her nipples were hard points, tingling and causing sparks of sensation at even the briefest contact with her shirt. Natalia swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. An orgasm would be, scientifically, one of the best ways to relax.
When Natalia was drunk, she would invariably become insatiably horny. Her lust-addled, intoxicated mind would often encourage scenarios that she wouldn't normally engage in--situations that were insanely, embarrassingly, dirty and hot. And as she laid on the couch, she registered the uncomfortable fullness of her bladder. She had, after all, drunk three beers, and they had rapidly made their way through her system, leaving her aching.
Hazily, Natalia recalled some of her first orgasms. She had been a late bloomer, sheltered and naive, and hadn't touched herself until she got to college. She remembered covering herself in her comforter, snuggled deep into the twin mattress in her dorm bed, as she thrust her fingers in and out of her sopping pussy and tried to stifle her moans. The first time she had ever cum, she mistook her impending orgasm for an urgent need to pee, but had continued to touch herself with abandon, too far gone to care.
Now, in her apartment, Natalia admitted to herself that she probably would have derived sexual pleasure from pissing the bed that fateful night. She idly turned the idea over and over in her head, reaching down and pressing very lightly on her bladder. It was so full that it didn't give under her touch, and her clit began pulsing insistently. On her TV, the whales sang.
Natalia knew the smart thing to do would be to get up and make her way to the bathroom, relieving herself in the toilet. She was, after all, an educated woman. But Drunk Natalia was not that smart, and cared much more about getting off, anyways. Holding her breath, she pressed a tiny bit harder on her bladder. Shifting her legs very slightly, she felt the growing amount of slick moisture on her panties. She decided that she would explore this idea just a little further.
The next order of business was to prepare for the situation. Natalia tried to move her legs around some more and realized that they were, in fact, relatively trapped in the blanket. Of course, if she really wanted to, she could have extricated herself from the mess. But, lazily, she decided that she could just lay here instead. She grabbed her glass of water off the table, justifying the drink as a preemptive measure to not be hungover tomorrow morning. She left one hand on her bladder as she tipped her head back, gulping the water. She felt it travel down her throat and esophagus. She kept drinking more and more, until the glass was completely empty. She felt so full of liquid, to the point that she could feel it sloshing inside her organs if she rocked back and forth.