The Lady Godiva Game

She approached the fifth table, occupied by seven men and three women. A man had already prepared a glass of wine for her, and extended it to her as she approached. "No, please - I don't think I can handle the wine, thanks! Could it just be water or something else?"

The man emptied the wine into his own glass, then refilled the wine glass from an ice water pitcher. He extended it to her. "Welcome to our table! I must say, you put on a great show! Won't you sit down for a moment?" He made a gesture of rising, to offer her his chair.

"No, thank you," Sylvia replied, her nervousness still showing in her voice. "The rules say I'm supposed to show myself off to you - whether or not you want to look! And I've had more than enough wine - I have to be able to keep my composure through the rest of the evening!"

She sipped the water. One of the women spoke up. "I don't see how you can drink so much - I'd have been running for the ladies' long ago! Anyway - tell us, why did you offer your name? Everyone was so surprised when you were chosen!"

Sylvia finished the water. "I didn't like this game - I thought the idea was terrible! But it was done with the intent of just being fun. It would have spoiled the evening if enough women didn't volunteer! So I did - and, well, all of you lost - you got me!"

"I wouldn't exactly say we lost," another man replied. "you were very good about it; and, if I might say so, you look rather, well- " he hesitated, groping for the right words. "Attractive! Isn't that what you mean?" another man chimed in.

"I think he was starting to say old!" Sylvia answered. "But I don't feel that old!"

"How do you feel?" a lady inquired of her.

"I would love a trip to the ladies room - like one of you said! All of this wine and water! But otherwise; oh, I am really just feeling so exposed - I could never have even imagined doing this! Never, never, did I do anything like this!"

"Are you getting used to it?" a woman asked. "Would you?" Sylvia answered, with raised eyebrows. "No, I'm not," she answered her own question. "And if my husband is unhappy with me doing this, I'll remind him he was Vice President when the Entertainment Committee thought this up, and it would have looked awful if his own wife wouldn't participate!"

A man picked up the felt pen, to inscribe a notation on her body. "Where do we sign in?" he asked her with a smile. "Looks like everyone's been writing on your stomach- here, I'll use the space just down a little!" He started to write below her navel, just above her pubic hair.

"If you write there, please don't press hard", Sylvia cautioned. "You can write, but I'm getting really sensitive down there!"

"That's where all the drinks have gone!" another male commented, to his female companion.

"She's going to have to hold a lot more!" the lady observed.

As Sylvia moved to the next table, those she had just left followed her with their eyes. "Do you really think she looks old?" one man asked of another. "She's no young chick, for sure! Look at how her bustline's drooping- she can't hold those things up! But all in all, she's not bad - she's all female!"

"Without a doubt! No doubt at all - you can see the evidence - all the evidence!" a woman observed.

Another woman, older, possibly even Sylvia's age, was not impressed. "It's awful! Absolutely disgusting! I can't see how she could have offered herself for this. No decent woman could do this!" She wriggled her nose in obvious distaste.

By the time Sylvia reached her tenth table, her smile had faded. She was bravely trying to show herself as the rules required, but the discomfort of her overdistended bladder had now turned to real pain. Her condition was noticeable to those she approached. To make matters worse, at that very moment the group on stage completed their activity, and the spotlight flitted about the room for a moment, then focusing again on Sylvia. Somehow, she felt everyone in the room was aware of her intense discomfort and somehow enjoying it.

A woman addressed her "Mrs. Montfort, I don't see how you can go through this. All that staff you've been drinking - don't you need a bathroom stop?"

"The rules say I cannot leave the room," Sylvia replied, with obvious distress. "I need a bathroom stop - it probably shows! No, it really hurts -" her voice trailed off.

"You can't leave the room?" a man asked of her.

"That's right!" Sylvia replied.

"But they didn't say you couldn't have some relief if you stayed in the room, now did they?"

"Don't tease me," Sylvia responded, "It hurts something awful- I don't know how to get through this!" The distress and discomfort was showing.

The man was holding a large plastic cup which had held a soft drink. "I brought this in - it's empty, now. I'd let you fill it, if you want to, right here! It's big enough to help you at least a little, and I could empty it outside. It's white so no one would know what's in it!"

Sylvia looked at him at first with apprehension, then disdain. "Thank you, sir, but I don't think I could do something like that!" Her attitude was cool and a bit formal.

"Sorry, I meant no harm. Just wanted to help!" he commented as she moved away.

"How could you offer her something like that? You didn't expect her to accept that offer, did you? That was an awful thing to say! She's embarrassed enough at what she's having to do!"

"I just thought she might welcome a chance for relief - I don't see how she can keep going!" he shrugged.

She got through the next two tables with a minimum of conversation. It was evident that she was suffering considerable physical distress. She drank the obligatory drinks with formality, received the markings on her body, and moved on.

At the fourteenth table, Sylvia tried to keep up her composure, but she was rapidly losing it. Her mind was on her bladder, visibly swollen. As people wrote on her stomach, several had commented on the swelling or the hardness they could feel. The pain was getting to be intense, and she wondered how long she could restrain her need to urinate. Her internal torment was getting unbearable.

Suddenly she shifted direction. Instead of going to the next table in order, she retreated down the route she had come, her eyes searching out for someone she had passed earlier. A number of people spoke to her, but she ignored most of them.

Finally she found what she was looking for. She was back at the table where the man was sitting with the plastic cup. She stood beside him, greeting the others briefly, then turned to him. "You offered me the chance to - to use that cup, if I'd do it here?" she asked, in a rather low voice.

Every eye at the table now focused on her. "Yes, I did, but it didn't seem like a good idea. No one else here thought I should have done it. I'm sorry - I didn't mean to annoy you!"

"Is the offer still available?" she asked, averting the eyes of the others.

"If you want to, but I'm really sorry, I don't think it was a good idea!"

"Right now, it's the best idea that's come to me - really, I've got to do something - I'm sorry, too-"

She hardly knew how to continue.

He held out the cup. "Would you hold it in place - under me? And tell me when it's getting full, because I could probably fill it several times! Please?"

She felt her face flush, as those at the table stared/ The man, flustered, held the cup under her as she spread her legs slightly. "Please watch - I may be messy! I haven't done it like this before!"

A number of people around were staring, now, aware of what was about to happen. The man held the cup just under her genitals, with a gap of only an inch or so. She looked straight ahead, avoiding the eyes of all those staring at her. She tried to relax.

After a bit a stream began to pour into the cup. People stretched their necks, trying to see the action. The man holding the cup kept it steady, trying to see the filling contents. After a few seconds he told her, rather loudly, "It's getting full - can you stop?" She tried. It was difficult, even harder to stop the stream than to restrain her bladder earlier. She managed, however, and stopped before the cup was full - barely. She had let out perhaps a pint; nowhere near all that she contained, but enough to afford her a lessening of the pain.

Minimizing her eye contact, she said quietly to the man who had offered the cup, "Thank you - I don't know how I could go on without something like that - I hate to leave you with that, though-"

He held the cop, filled with her warm urine, a bit foamy. "Never mind - I'll take it out and empty it. Glad I could help you. Come back if you need more!"

"I've got to go on," she said, to no one in particular.

Relieved somewhat, she returned to her table visits. The entertainment program went on, as a folkloric group present a dancing and music exhibition. Still, many eyes focused on Sylvia wherever she moved. She knew that whatever was on stage, she remained a major attraction, and, every time the stage event halted, even for a few seconds, the spotlight was inevitably trained on her.

Her stomach was filled up with writing, and now people were writing the table numbers and signatures on other places. Her buttocks were beginning to accumulate some inscriptions, and at least one man had pointedly chosen to write his table's inscription on her breast, holding it gently while the writing was done. Sylvia had thought of objecting to this liberty being taken, but decided not to make an issue of it. At the table following, she motioned to the other breast when the pen was produced, suggesting "maybe I need some balance - why don't you put it here?"

At the table where she had eaten, her spouse and the other guests watchfully monitored her progress. Several had noticed the incident with the cup. After it, Helga had observed, "I don't see how she could do that! In front of everyone!" She shook her hook in amazement.

Freida was at least sympathetic. "After you drink so much, you're going to be so uncomfortable - well, you have to do something!"

Hans observed, "I think most women would just have headed for a toilet"

"Not Sylvia!" Marianne responded. "That lady's not going to give up - she's determined to do everything the game requires! But I know I couldn't have done it"

Art shook his head, just a bit. "That's my wife," he said with resignation.

After a number of additional table visits, Sylvia was observed to again depart from her route. Her eyes searched for the table of the man who had offered her the cup. Slowly, by a circuitous route, she moved toward the place where he had sat.

He saw her coming. There was eye contact. As if to offer aid, he held up, just slightly, the cup she had used before, now emptied. He nodded to her. She approached him.

"I don't know who you are, but no one else has offered to help me - would you do it again? I need it desperately - I'm so full, and it hurts so bad-" her voice was low, but shaking, and her distress was visible and real. The ritual of the cup was repeated, this time with many more watchers.

As the cup was about a third full, applause broke among the audience for the on stage performer. As he departed the stage, the spitlight was turned directly on Sylvia, standing and urinating into the cup. It took a moment for even those nearby to grasp what they were watching. A gasp went up from several, mild applause from a few others. The humiliation of it struck her; her muscles froze. Her stream stopped, her bladder still painfully full.

The man started to remove the cup. "Don't!" she protested, "I'm not finished - please hold it!" The cup was returned, the holder now clearly illuminated in the spotlight. She finished filling the cup.

"Thank you - I may be back -" she said, in parting, as he rose with the full cup, preparing to leave the room. Only at this point did the spotlight leave her.

A woman seated near the man stared at him. "How could you do that - right at our table! With that spoitlight on us! This was an awful spectacle without everyone seeing that here! I can't take any more. I'm leaving!" Fury was in her voice, as she and the man accompanying her arose and left the room. Others at the table followed suit, including, finally, the man who had come to Sylvia's aid.

Sylivia continued her required circulation.

She approached her own table. Art looked at her, "How are you holding up?" he asked her.

"All right at the moment, but it's been rough. Here, you an write on me - everyone has been doing it!" She presented her body. The guests looked at each other, wondering who she do the writing. They were looking at Art. "One of you do it - not me!" he requested.

"Are you ashamed of me?" Sylvia asked, plaintively.

"Never!" Art exclaimed, breaking into a smile. He took the pen, and started to write on his wife's stomach. He commented "Hard to find a place - look's like you're getting used up!"

She pointed to her breast, bearing only one inscription on each. "Here - might as well be you as someone else!" He accepted the invitation, and complied.

"We saw the guy with the cup - I don't see how you do that!" Helga observed, half in admiration, half in disgust.

"Well," Sylvia replied, after a moment's hesitation, "Let's say, a lady has to do what a lady has to do. I didn't think I could do it either, but the pain was killing me. I had to do something!"

Art just nodded. She accepted her required drink from them, then moved on.

After she had left, Art excused himself briefly. He located one of the hotel's serving staff. Explaining his identity, he offered his room key. "My wife's clothes and belongings are on stage, behind the edge of the curtain. I want you to collect her things and take them to our room. Bring me back the key!" He accompanied the man to the stage stairs, where he explained to the committee chairman the errand.

A few minutes later, after Art returned to the table, the man appeared, bearing the room key. The errand was completed, he reported. Art acknowledged the service with a suitable gratuity.

Meanwhile, oblivious to her husband's activity, Sylvia continued. Twenty minutes or so after leaving his table, her bladder was again very full, the result of her continued liquid intake. This time she sought relief before the situation became painful, as she knew it would. She ceased to move along the obvious route, and headed back to the table of the one who had twice assisted her with relief. Eyes all around the room followed her movements, anticipating her intention.

She reach the table where she had received the blessed relief before. No one was there - the table was empty. She glanced about quickly for a sign of the cup, or the man who had offered it. It was obvious he had departed, the cup accompanying him, perhaps to become a treasured souvenir.

Relief had obviously eluded her. She beganto wonder if she could make it through the remainder of the evening. The tension in her pelvic area was increasing as her bladder continued to distend. She would have to get by without any way to relieve herself.

Sylvia returned to her route and continued her movement. She reached the last table just as the final act came on stage. She finished her duties in short order, downing the last drink required of her - this time she accepted the wine. After collecting the signature, she moved to the table with the Committee Chairman. She approached him.

"I've run out of tables", she reported. "And every one in the room has stared at me! Is there anything left?" Her voice was impatient, reflecting her internal distress. She quickly got her response, as two committee members rose and approached her.

"We need to check the signatures and table numbers - did everyone sign in?" The first committee man smiled at her, looking at thge writing scrawled all over her body. "Looks like everyone did!" commented the second, viewing the accumulation of writing. "But we have to check!"

The two began going over her body, one calling out the tables which were recorded on her skin, as the second marked them off on a list. It was a laborious process, taking several minutes, and drawing the attention of all around. As the man looking her over read off the inscriptions, he reviewed her stomach carefully, then worked up her body. At one point he realized that some of the writing was obscured by her drooping breasts. Embarassed himself., he hesitatingly asked her, "Mrs. Montfort, I can't read some of the writing here - could you raise, er, lift your --?" Words failed him, as he could not think of a discreet word for her breasts. Sylvia understood, however, and raised her breasts with her hands, as he inspected the area under them. The review done, she lowered them.

After a few minutes, the officials conferred. "Mrs. Montfort, I think we can confirm that you have been recorded at all tables. I think you can return to your own seat until the closing event, which should be in just a few minutes!" Gratefully, she retired to her own table, where Art and the others awaited her.

"Is Lady Godiva allowed to return here? I think I've made it through all the tables!" Sylvia greeted them. Her expression and nervous demeanor belied her physical distress as well as her lost modesty.

She received congratulations from her table mates, but cut them short. "All I'm waiting for is the end of this thing - so I can get my clothes on and head for the Ladies' - all those drinks - you can't imagine how I need to go--"

"You had that cup a couple of times!" Marianne interjected.

"I could have it used it again and again - I never was able to empty myself - come on, let's get this over!" The urgency in her voice was apparent. She wasn't interested in further conversation. After a couple of minutes, she stood, in obvious discomfort, and began to nervously pace about at the side of the room.

As the last act moved from the stage, the Master of Ceremonies took his place to announce the end of the festivities and close the evening. After a thank you to the performers, the Entertainment Committee and some others, he then issued a call. "Sylvia Montfort - Our Lady Godiva! Please come to the stage!"

Sylvia, now standing at the side of the room, struggling to last through the last minutes of her ordeal, came rapidly forward. Unlike her earlier feigned nonchalance, she now held her body tightly with both hands - her right positioned just under her breasts, obviously to minimize the motion of those parts as she almost ran to the stage; her left tightly pressed to her pubic area. Some might have thought she was trying to preserve her modesty, though Sylvia herself had abandoned any hope of that. She only hoped she could keep her painful bladder from leaking through the last few moments.

She stepped up to the stage. As she moved to the center, her eyes searched for the clothes tree on which her dress and underwear had been hung. It was nowhere to be seen.

"Sylvia," the M. C. addressed her, "We never expected you to volunteer for this game, and, if you did, we never thought you would be chosen. We've known your husband for years, but until now we haven't seen much of you. Tonight we made up for that!" Laughter erupted from the audience as they contemplated the double meaning.

"Sylvia Montfort, you did everything the game required, and - I think we all share in this - you were magnificent!" He motioned with his hand to the naked woman standing beside him, as a round of applause broke out, turning to a standing ovation.

Sylvia accepted the applause, trying to smile as she endured yet another pang of pain from her swollen abdomen. Her hand pressed to the source of the discomfort, not unnoticed by those watching.

"Sylvia, I know this has not been easy for you; and, even now we can see how uncomfortable you are. You were great, and since you did everything the rules require, it is my privilege to present to you the prize money - you earned it well!" He held out to her an envelope holding the prize award.