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Wet Weekend in Margate


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Another story for you all. All my stories are fiction but based on real experiences, anecdotes, confessions and overheard conversations and such like so have a definite basis in fact.  Wet Weekend in Margate is in four parts.

Wet Weekend in Margate

The Prologue

Sometimes it’s nice to have a couple of days ‘me time', when I can relax and do whatever I want without demands from my husband or others. These opportunities don’t come along very often so when Brian announced that he wanted to go to a European Cup football match in Barcelona I was only to happy to agree. While he was away enjoying himself with his mates I could equally enjoy my own more solitary pleasures.

Brian flew out on the Friday afternoon and was not due back till Sunday evening giving me almost two clear days alone. The weather forecast was for grey skies and cold rain all weekend though I planned an equally wet but rather warmer couple of days. With the house to myself I could indulge my little personal pleasure, one that I usually keep very much to myself though it has caused me some embarrassing moments. You see, I love to wet myself. On the one hand it’s so relaxing to just go, whether in my knickers or my bed but it’s also the gorgeous feelings around my private parts from the release and the wetness around my bottom and down my legs. There is also a sexual element, but not all the time. Sometimes I pleasure myself after wetting, sometimes I don’t; it all depends on my mood.

Brian knows of my naughty tendencies but they do nothing for him, sexually or otherwise unfortunately and he prefers that if I must indulge that I do it privately. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t seen me in wet knickers or indeed actually wet myself, though those few times have largely been genuine accidents. Generally I keep it separate from the rest of our relationship.

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1. Discovery

My discovery of the pleasures of peeing myself came while at university. In my first year I became very friendly with Beth, who had the room next to me in halls. Beth was a highly sexual person and very open about her desires and was soon asking me about my own sex life, solitary as it then was. We were soon confiding everything to each other; then one evening, we were in her room talking about our preferred masturbation techniques when I noticed that she was fidgeting and holding herself as if she needed to pee badly. She admitted that she was actually desperate but when I suggested she ought to go to the loo (six feet away as we had en-suite rooms) she told me she loved the feeling and often held on as long as possible. 

I was more than a little intrigued as I too had found that a full bladder could arouse me in the right circumstances and admitted this to Beth, also telling her how I often found myself bursting to pee as I approached orgasm and sometimes actually peed as came. “That makes two of us then” came her reply! Our conversation quickly became even more intimate, Beth still sitting there wriggling around and clearly close to wetting herself but still putting off a visit to the toilet. “For goodness sake go to the loo Beth, you’ll wet your pants in a minute”. “Would it matter?” was her response, “It feels great and simply means a bit of extra washing. You ought to try it! 

“You mean wet myself deliberately? Hold on till I have an accident?”

“Exactly! As long as you do it in private then why not if it feels good” There was a brief pause then, “Oops! My knickers are wet! I’ll have to go to the loo now or there’ll be a puddle on the floor.” With that Beth hobbled into the bathroom and leaving the door wide open pulled her skirt up but left her knickers on and just sat on the toilet and peed.

“God that felt good. Just as good as always. There’s nothing quite like emptying a bursting bladder in your pants and then enjoying the feel of them afterwards. You really should try it.”

Beth put a towel on her chair before sitting down again and we talked further about bladders, wetting and embarrassing accidents till I decided to head for bed and leave Beth to whatever other pleasures she had planned. As I got up from the floor where I’d been sitting I realised that I too needed the loo badly and admitted this to Beth. “Well, now’s your chance to wet your pants and see how good it is”, was her response. I reddened and declined but have to admit that I was tempted to do exactly as she had done.

Back in my room and without an audience was another matter altogether. In fact I was actually so desperate that it was almost a real accident rather than a deliberate wetting. I started to wee in my knickers even before I could get into the bathroom and had no choice but to just to sit on the loo and go through my pants. God it really did feel good! From that point on I was hooked. 

Over the following months I had many more discussions with Beth and really explored my new interests. Initially I did no more than wait till I was bursting then wee through my knickers sitting on the toilet or standing in the shower but with Beth’s encouragement soon began to explore wetting in different clothes – knickers and tights, leggings and jeans especially. Each gave a different experience and I soon enjoyed them all. Beth even taught me how to secretly wet myself in a skirt when outside by, for example, sitting on a grassy slope with skirt pulled clear and legs pulled up. I would have a wet bum but only I would know it. It certainly felt very naughty to wet my knickers like that with other people around who had no idea what I’d done. I did it several times that summer at festivals and similar as well as on the beach. Actually I still do and on some occasions I’ve had ‘accidents’ when with Brian, though I suspect he knows I actually do it deliberately.

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2. Soggy Sheets

During one of our pee talks, several months after she had first introduced me to the pleasures of the wet side Beth suddenly asked me if I’d ever wet the bed and if so when was the last time. Blushing, I admitted that I’d only done it once that I could recall; when I was aged 11 and had been dry at night for years. Curiously I could remember the event quite clearly. It had been the summer of my last year at primary school and I was becoming very stressed over the impending attainment tests. Then the weekend before the tests it happened. I can still remember that at some point during the Saturday night I had a vivid dream. In the dream I was in the middle of the test and desperately needed the toilet but was too nervous to ask the strange teacher who was in charge if I could be excused. Of course I couldn’t hold on to the end and kept releasing long wet spurts into my knickers. In reality I was wetting my bed. When I woke in the morning I didn’t realise at first what had happened although my pyjamas were obviously soaked – I really thought I was just wet from sweating as it had been a hot night. I didn’t even say anything to my mother who only discovered my wet bed when she went to tidy my room. 

She didn’t even question me about it, but simply stripped the bed and leant the mattress against the open window to dry. It was only when she asked me to bring the sheets and clothes from my room for washing and I saw the wet stain on the mattress and picked up my soggy nightclothes that it finally dawned on me that I’d wet the bed. In hindsight I can’t understand why I didn’t get upset when I realised what I’d done but was probably too embarrassed to admit it, even to myself. Mum was obviously very understanding so nothing further was said by either of us. It was a curious one off incident and I’d never done it again. Not that I haven’t come close – those occasional but annoying dreams of desperately seeking a toilet and not finding one only to wake up bursting and on the point of having an accident have almost caught me out a few times, to the extent that I can recall three or four times when a change of knickers or pyjamas was required when I didn’t quite reach the loo in time. But I hadn’t actually wet the bed again. That was soon to change.

Beth then asked me if I’d ever been tempted to just pee myself when I woke up from these dreams. It had never even crossed my mind – the thought of dealing with a wet mattress was enough to stop me and anyway, grown women didn’t wet the bed. Beth stood up and pulled back her duvet and sheet, pointing at the mattress cover, something that was on all beds in the halls, though hers was also covered with a thick folded towel. Why did our beds have waterproof mattress covers if not because of bed wetting accidents which, given the usual drinking culture amongst students were probably quite common. At that I just had to ask Beth when she last wet her bed. Last night came the immediate reply! She had been woken by a bursting bladder in the early hours and, only half awake simply rolled over, peed herself and went back to sleep. 

She told me that for her there was something uniquely naughty and sensuous about wetting the bed whether by accident (she had two or three a year), laziness as last nights wetting had been, or deliberately just for the thrill. Initially I couldn’t quite see the attraction but of course, with good mattress protection, it simply meant extra washing. There was also the fact that, perhaps surprisingly I still had good recall of my own wet night of almost ten years earlier. Did the fact that I remembered it so clearly and hadn’t been phased by it mean that, for some reason I didn’t understand, actually enjoyed the experience? Were the regular pee dreams trying to tell me something? And what would happen if next time I told myself to just let nature take its course? 

I was intrigued by how it would feel to wake up in a wet bed and also what it would feel like if I did it deliberately but for a while couldn’t bring myself to do it, although I had made up my bed with a thick towel beneath me just in case. After all, it was best to be prepared in case of an accident! When it did finally happen, towards the end of term when I was tired out working all hours to finish essays and a dissertation it pretty much was a genuine accident. I had worked late on a Friday night to complete my final paper ready for checking, kept awake by numerous cups of coffee, finally collapsing into bed around 1 a.m. and immediately falling into a deep sleep. Now when I sleep deeply I also tend to have vivid dreams and sometime during the night had a pee dream in which I was lazing on a quiet beach and desperate for a pee. There were no toilets and the sea was cold so I wandered into the rocks looking for a cave or other private place to relieve myself but there was always a reason why it wasn’t suitable and I found myself again lying on my towel. By then I just couldn’t wait any longer so decided to just lay back and wet myself. So I did.

In reality I was in that odd half awake and half asleep stage. I knew I should get up and go to the toilet but as I peed in my dream I started to pee in real life and made no effort to stop myself. I was lying on my back and felt the first short spurts wet my pyjamas and trickle under my bottom followed by a slow steady stream soaking my pyjamas, thighs and the bed beneath me. It was warm, wet and a glorious relief; utterly relaxing to my tired body and though I was half aware of what I’d just done made no effort to get up and deal with it; I simply lay there and was soon fast asleep again.

When I finally woke up again several hours later I was bursting again and only realised that I was wet when rather groggily I got up to go to the loo. Having peed I went back to bed but still half asleep couldn’t understand at first why my pyjamas were clinging damply to me and the bed was so wet. Eventually I came round properly and the reality of my situation became clear. It had happened. I had wet the bed for the first time as an adult. Then I recalled the dream, my tired body and over-full bladder relaxing and the feelings as it happened, though I really wasn’t sure if I had had a real accident or had done it semi-deliberately. Not that it mattered. It had been a lovely feeling when I was wetting and it was a novel and interesting experience to be sitting on my bed in wet pyjamas looking at the large wet area on the sheet as I mentally chastised myself for being a bad girl who pissed her bed. Beth was right, it was a unique and lovely experience.

After I had stripped my bed and put the sheet, towel and pyjamas into a black bin bag to take to the laundry room I showered and went to confide my ‘accident’ to Beth. It turned out that she had also wet her bed, though in her case deliberately since, as she said, “I just couldn’t be bothered to get up and pee in the toilet.” After breakfast together we had headed for the laundry room, hoping that we would have the place to ourselves which fortunately we did. 

Since that damp awakening there have been several more wet beds, mostly deliberate but a couple were genuine night time accidents. While I do regularly wet my knickers for fun and relaxation I prefer to keep bedwetting as a special and occasional treat, a special experience that I’ve earned through working hard all week. While at uni and again when living on my own for a few months afterwards, wetting my bed on a Friday or Saturday night was my choice, but once Brian and I got together became much more difficult. For this reason I really looked forward to Brian’s regular football trips.

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3. Enjoying My Wet Weekend

Brian and I had met soon after we both started work at the same firm, me in PR and he in IT. We hit it off immediately and are compatible in so many ways, a joy after several short term and unsatisfactory relationships with often over-sexed and immature fellow students. Brian is gentle, caring and understanding, both generally and in the bedroom and we soon talked about and understood each others needs, both sexual and social. I’m happy to accept his interest in football and all that involves while he allows me the time to indulge my damp pleasures. When we are together I generally try to keep my pants dry (occasional little accidents excepted) and have never wet the bed with him beside me. But, when he goes of to away matches my time and pleasures are my own – it works well for both of us.

With Brian’s trip to Barcelona I was looking forward to my first two days of self indulgence for several weeks. That’s not to say there had been a drought so to speak; a girl can always wet herself discretely and hid the evidence from a partner if she needs to as I did when I needed to relieve work or other stress, but on my own I could really just let myself go – quite literally. 

My preparations started even before I got home from work by ensuring that I remained well hydrated so that my evening mugs of tea would have maximum effect. As soon as Brian left I made my key preparations – waterproof sheet and two thick towels on the bed over the usual quilted cover (also waterproof) plus a waterproof cover on the duvet under its cotton cover. Satin pyjamas and silky knickers were laid out ready for later plus my favourite wetting clothes for the next couple of days. There was going to be a lot of washing this weekend!

With the flat to myself I relaxed with a mug of tea, regularly refilled and chose the best ways to enjoy myself. I had already decided to be a good girl that evening, after all, it is possible to have too much of a good thing, but, after several glasses of wine, which always makes me sleep well, I was fairly sure that my fun would begin when I woke up in a wet bed the next morning. All the tea would ensure that I needed to pee while a long hot shower and the wine ought to make me sleep deeply resulting in both a full bladder and lovely pee dreams, something I hadn’t been able to enjoy for many weeks.

Fully relaxed I took a last pee in the toilet, pulled on my soft, silky knickers and pyjamas and tumbled into bed, rapidly falling asleep despite the frisson of excitement from knowing what was likely to happen later. It did. Sometime in the early hours I half woke from a dream in which I was on the bus home, stuck in traffic and desperate for the toilet (actually something of a nightmare for me as it’s not a nice thing to happen). Eventually in the dream I couldn’t hold on any longer and began to leak little dribbles into my knickers. Then suddenly we were at my stop and I dashed off the bus and into my flat, a trickle of pee running down my leg, straight into the toilet where I simply sat down and peed through my pants. In the real world I lay in my half way world between sleep and waking, a few dribbles dampening my knickers before a steady warm stream washed over my thighs and bottom, soaking my pyjamas and the sheet beneath me. As the dream faded I sank back into full sleep and was finally woken by my aching bladder at around 8 o’clock.

I came round; initially wondering why I was all wet till I realised that I’d wet the bed in my sleep. Usually I wake up as I’m doing it and can’t get back to sleep easily but waking to wet clinging nightclothes and a soggy sheet made a lovely start to my weekend. I lay back, luxuriating in the warm, comforting wetness, enjoying the sensuous feelings of running my hands over the silky damp material of my pyjamas and gently rubbing myself to control my now desperate need to empty my bursting bladder. My body reacted as expected and I suddenly found myself both coming and going – as I climaxed and lost control, flooding my bed for a second time. 

Sated, I lay there for perhaps another half hour before throwing back the duvet and inspecting the damage. My pants and pyjama trousers were almost totally soaked and my top wet halfway up my back. The towels had soaked up a lot of my pee but a great circle of wetness about a metre across covered the sheet together with a smaller wet area on the duvet cover. Pulling the wet towels off but leaving the sheet I headed for the bathroom, stopping to inspect my soggy state in the full-length mirror. Leaving the towels on the floor I stripped off my wet things, adding them to the pile then washed and showered. The bed I intended to leave, hoping it would be dry enough by the evening for me not to have to change the sheet as I wanted a new experience, that of sleeping in pee stained sheet with the aroma of the previous night’s accident in my nostrils. The room would have to be properly aired and plenty of air freshener sprayed round before Brian returned of course.

Shower and make-up completed I dressed in my first outfit – modest top and a jumper, a quite short and loose denim skirt and another pair of satin micro-fibre knickers with a pair of thick opaque tights over the top. This is a lovely combination of fabrics to wet in as it seems to hold the moisture for ages so prolonging the pleasure.  After a quick breakfast, including a couple of large coffees I walked into over two hours had passed since I last peed and I definitely needed to go but instead of finding a public loo headed for a café, sat down and ordered another coffee. By the time I had finished it I could hardly sit still but still didn’t use toilet.

I had intended to walk home but instead decided to take the ten minute bus ride instead. Sitting on the bus being bounced around was exquisite torture, every bump threatening a leak from my over-full bladder till, standing up to get off at my stop, I felt a first warm trickle in my knickers. It was a real challenge walking the last 100 metres to the flat, little dribbles escaping into my pants and tights with almost every step to the extent that by the time I got to my door the tops of my thighs were definitely wet. As I closed the door behind me I almost lost it, a long spurt soaking through my knickers and tights and running down my leg, a small puddle forming on the floor.
Quickly, before I completely lost it I hobble into the bathroom where I stood in the show and simply let it flow. What a wonderful hot, wet release!

Having enjoyed the wetness of my pants and tights against my skin for a few minutes I peeled them off and dried legs with a towel, added the wet knickers and tights to the wet pyjamas lying in a damp pile on the bathroom floor. I didn’t shower but simply pulled on clean dry satin knickers and black leggings under my skirt (which amazingly had stayed dry). Pottering at home doing the inevitable chores kept me busy followed by lunch, while I read forum post on my tablet and, of course, more coffee. I had already protected the sofa I was sitting on with a plastic sheet and thick towel, just in case of accidents you understand. Feeling very relaxed I sat there reading, enjoying the growing pressure, followed eventually by little dribbles and leaks, enjoying warm wetness slowly spreading from my crotch to the tops of my thighs and my bottom. Finally, my bladder began to spasm so relinquishing control I just sat there and wet my pants again! More clothes were soon added to the growing pile while I hung my skirt up to dry off, intending to wear it again later.

Usually I go for a run or two at the weekend as part of my occasional keep-fit regime. Having dried myself off again I put on my running top, cotton pants and lycra joggers (black of course), downed a bottle of water to keep myself hydrated, took another one with me and without peeing again headed out for my usual route. Leaky bladders when running are a well know problem for women, along of course with wetting ourselves when laughing hard. Half way round I had drunk my second water bottle with my rapidly filling bladder being bounced about as I ran I realised that it was beginning to threaten a rather too public flood if I wasn’t careful so I took a shorter route to cut the time. Even so for the last half mile or so I was leaking with almost every step. By the time I arrived home I was wet to the knees and hardly needed to wee by then – I’d already done most of it in my pants. At least when I checked nothing showed on the shiny lycra material and I felt amazed at myself for actually having an accident in public like that. Finishing my pee though my pants while sat on the loo I added them to the growing soggy pile, noticing the definite smell of wee in the bathroom, some of coming from me as I now definitely smelled as if I peed myself. I was hot and sweaty as well so did take another shower this time.

It was now late afternoon and so far I had wet my bed twice and my knickers three times. How much more washing was I going to create?

Out of the shower I chose some cotton knickers and an old, worn pair of jeans as my next outfit. Back on the sofa, sitting on yet another towel I watched a film on TV while I filled up with a large pot of tea. Tea always makes me need to pee and it didn’t take long before I was enjoying that desperate feeling again. I hung on till the end of the film, but had already started to wee in my pants so went to bathroom and again simply stood in shower and weed down my legs. More soaked clothes on the washing pile!
 
For my final outfit of the day I put on the same denim skirt from earlier (it was almost dry by then) and another pair of full-cut silky pants. With another film on the TV , a simple salad for dinner with a bottle of wine with coffee after I was feeling even more relaxed than ever as I reflected on my stress relieving day, wondering what my work colleagues would think of me if they knew what I’d spent the day doing. Eventually I stopped the film and went to wash up. Now that was torture! Standing with your hands in warm water when you are bursting for a wee is a recipe for disaster but somehow I managed to hold most of it though my knickers were quite wet and a couple of dribbles had run down my bare legs. To prolong my fun I went back to the sofa to watch the last 20 minutes of the film – still bursting, leaking, and with already wet knickers. As soon as the film ended I could hang on no longer and dashing into the bathroom finally wet myself completely sitting on the loo still with my pants on.

By this time it was after 10:30 and sleep was calling. The bed had dried with a lovely yellow stain on the old white sheet and that unmistakeable smell of bedwetting that  rarely have a chance to enjoy. I placed a new towel under the sheet just in case I wet the bed again (knowing I probably would), put on another pair of satin knickers and pyjamas and climbed into bed, breathing in the scent of the previous nights accident.

Sometime during the night I had another pee dream in which I was at a festival with the usual horrible toilets so after hanging on for a while sat on the grass and peed through my knickers. Of course, that was probably the point where I actually peed the bed as for the second day running I woke to wet pyjamas and sheet, a lively new wet stain inside the old one. Of course, I needed to wee again but lay there in the wetness until I started leaking then deliberately didn’t quite make it to the loo and wet myself again all over the bathroom floor. The large pile of damp towels came in useful to mop up my latest puddle.

Showered, dressed in clean clothes I surveyed the result of my weekend adventures while reminding myself that I had to stay dry from now on as Brian was coming home that afternoon. After breakfast my first job was to strip my wet bed and wash the sheets. Once these were in the dryer there was a still a pile of very wet towels and lastly my pee soaked night clothes, tights, joggers, jeans and knickers to deal with. Quite a washing load, but then I had wet the bed three times, wet myself clothed five times (not counting the final accident in the bathroom but my pyjamas were already wet when that took place).

What weekend! Now I had about six hours to make sure all the washing was done and the bedroom and bathroom clean and smelling fresh for Brian’s return and to hide my ‘wetting kit’ of waterproof bed covers and old sheets.  I was naughty one last time though as I kept putting of weeing as I did the cleaning and without intending too started to wet my knickers completely by accident, probably as a result of having simply wet myself so many times over the previous 24 hours. So, yet another pair of knickers to wash – the seventh. I’d have to be careful though and make sure I had regained full control by the end of the day. A wet bed that night or an accident at work on Monday would be a little difficult to explain.

It was several more weeks before I had another chance for some ‘me time’ but that was nothing like that wonderful wet weekend in Margate.
 

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  • 6 years later...

Brliiant - I absolutley loved reading these - I can relate to just about every aspect (even though I'm male) as my wife isn't into this kink but knows it's my thing, I keep private for me out of respect & love for her. She has seen me wet myself deliberately but it's just not her thing and doesn't excit her. So when she goes away for a few days then I get my chance to do pretty much all of those things.

Ensureing the bed or settee is protected.

Seleting my preferred clothes for wetting 

Gathering all the washing so that everything is washed & cleaned for when she gets back.

I do hope you writed some more

Edited by wetgarth (see edit history)
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