She shifts back and forth, this way and that, barely lasting 30 seconds in between recrossing her legs by this time. At that point, which usually came about 30 or 40 minutes after she first starts showing signs of being desperate, she will start sneaking quick grabs to her crotch if she thinks no ones paying attention, as her breathing gets more rugged and beads of sweat form on her forehead. It gets harder for her to be still, even for a second, and as her need grows even worse by the minute, fueled by the copious amount of tea still trickling through her system. By now she's lost all focus on the book, or whatever other task she has been distracting herself with thus far on this particular occasion, and all of her concentration is funneled into keeping the ocean contained in her bladder for now, while somehow managing to stay composed.
She doesn't outright hold herself though she wants to, instead she has to settle for just quick, awkward presses against her pee hole to aid her aching muscles in their seemingly endless struggle. If she wasn't so wrapped up in her own self induced predicament, she might notice that her husband is acting odd, but given her situation, she's too distracted to take note of the way he is subtly observing her every movement, or the obvious bulge he is trying hard to conceal.
Now, at this point, its painfully obvious to Henry's trained eye that she is quickly nearing her breaking point. she is quivering, slightly trembling with the effort its taking to remain in control. her thighs clenched in a death grip, an urgent groan escapes her lips. There's no choice but to give in and awkwardly rush to the bathroom as quickly as possible while still keeping her thighs pressed tightly together, all the while doing her best to somehow maintain her composure and not reveal how close she is to completely losing it, to soaking herself, flooding the floor, and everything in a large radius. It's a nearly impossible task, the pressure so immense that her bladder must be screaming at her to find somewhere - anywhere! - to empty itself before she's forced to give in and helplessly let nature take its course right where she stands. Henry imagines her thoughts during these moments, wonders if she ever panics, struggling to hold the torrent back just a bit longer, feeling her last bit of control start to slip away as her tired bladder demands relief.
Sometimes the struggle will end as soon as she entered the bathroom, unable to fight the pressure for another second as her aching muscles give out and her bladder starts spurting into her panties. It takes everything in her to cut it off when this happens, still denying her body the relief it is absolutely begging for. After cutting the flow off once or twice, she doesn't have the strength to do stop it again, and she just has to hope there's time to get over the toilet before she helplessly loses it completely. Other times, however, as Henry could tell from listening outside the door (it's not creepy if it's your wife, right?) she manages to fight it a bit longer, prolonging the agony, doing a full blown pee dance now that she was out of sight.
She would try to be quiet, but she has no way of knowing her husband is lurking right outside the door, where it's easy to overhear the rustling sound her pants made as she desperately bounces around, putting up a final fight against her tortured, swollen bladder. Ahh, how he loved that sound, complete chaos as she grinds her thighs together, breathlessly gasping as she fights against herself, her poor bladder spasming constantly, trying to force itself to push the obscene amount of piss out. Not as much, though, as he loved the frantic groans and hisses that would escape her as she struggled to control herself a bit longer, about to loser her mind from the sheer desperation. Her whimpers and moans drove him crazy as he closed his eyes and envisioned her frantically hopping around, bouncing and twisting, trying to contort her body in a way that would ease the pressure on her bladder that was stretched to it's absolute limit.
Henry had lost track of how many times he'd stood there, spying on her outside the bathroom door, as her long battle drew to an end, barely daring to breath as his dick, hard as a rock, strained against his waistband, ready to blow at the slightest touch. Eventually, they are both forced to give in to the needs they can no longer suppress, as they each reach their limit. Norah finally jerks her pants down and drops onto the toilet, reveling in the orgasmic relief that runs through her entire body like electricity as waves of pleasure wash over her. As the burning piss pours out of her uncontrollably like a seemingly endless waterfall, she sighs with relief, losing herself in the blissful feeling of releasing her pent up bladder. As this happens, Henry too loses control, most of the time without even touching himself, and he erupts into his pants, creating a hot sticky mess of his own.
