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It was the last day of Léa's stay with us at Valerie's Docklands flat and we were having a farewell evening meal in a local bistro before she returned to France the next morning.

Léa's first visit to London had not started well.  She was a small, rather scrawny, nervous, shy and socially awkward girl who seemed much younger than her 17 years and she had wet herself during the long trip from Heathrow Airport to Valerie's Docklands flat (Valerie 20).

The following day, Valerie had taken Léa under her wing.  Léa had emerged from Valerie's local hair and beauty salon with a cropped, street urchin hairstyle and subtle makeup that skilfully enhanced her elfin features, after which the girls had gone shopping in Valerie's favourite boutiques for some well-chosen fashion classics.  Léa's transformation into a gamine beauty had given a boost to her self-confidence.

Not that this had stopped Léa wetting herself.  Only this morning, as Valerie and I were having breakfast, Léa had appeared in tears, pee dripping from her soaked boy-shorts and a large wet patch on the front of her t-shirt.  Between sobs she confessed that she had slept deeply all night and had only woken up a few minutes ago when she realised she was wetting the bed.  Valerie had put a comforting arm round her heaving little shoulders and led her gently away to shower and change.

As we dined by candlelight in the restaurant, I noticed that Léa, now looking poised and alluring in the peach-coloured dress she had bought earlier in the week, was attracting a great deal of attention from the young Italian waiter, who never missed an opportunity to top up our, and especially her, wine and water glasses.

Léa's soulful eyes sparkled with excitement as she talked enthusiastically about the mathematics seminar she had attended.  "I've decided to apply for a place at Imperial once I have completed my baccalauréat" she announced.

"Why there, particularly?" Valerie enquired.  Rather to my surprise, this innocent question caused Léa to blush deeply.  There was, she murmured quietly, a boy - "trés sympa, trés gentil" - who had engaged her in conversation during the coffee break on the first morning of the seminar and they had sat together for the rest of the conference.  He was a first-year maths student at Imperial and they had exchanged mobile phone numbers to keep in touch when she returned to France.

Léa, it seemed, was discovering that she could be attractive to boys and it was an entirely novel experience for her.  But suddenly her mood changed.

"What's the use?" she sighed, eyes downcast.  "It will never last."

"Why shouldn't it?" asked Valerie.

"As you both know by now, I sometimes have - accidents"  Léa replied in a subdued voice.  "Sooner or later it would happen when I am with him and that will be the end of it."

"Is there some kind of medical problem?" asked Valerie gently.

Léa shook her head.  "The doctors say there is nothing at all wrong physically, though I do have a smaller than average vessie - I don't know the word in English - so it can fill up rather quickly.

"When I started school I was too shy to say that I needed the toilet and sometimes I ended up making a puddle where I was sitting.  The other children teased me mercilessly and that just made it worse.  All the way through my school years I have been the rather strange, maigre girl who is a maths freak and wets herself. - I don't have many friends."  Léa was looking down, twisting her napkin in her hands and seeming close to tears.

"Well, you have some friends now!" said Valerie firmly.

"Oh, I know!"  Léa replied with sincerity.  "You have been so kind to me, Valèrie, and you too, Tom!"  Her French accent really was rather appealing, I thought.

"Going to university is an opportunity to re-invent yourself" said Valerie.  "The students there will almost certainly all be strangers so they won't know about your past accidents and how you were teased at school.  You can put all of that in the past."

"You'll probably still have accidents from time to time but you can manage them to limit the embarrassment and minimise the damage"  said Valerie. "It starts with wearing the right clothes so that if you do wet your knickers there is no obvious sign afterwards, even if it is embarrassing at the time.  Even better, if you think you might not make it to the loo you may be able to find somewhere to wet yourself discreetly without anybody seeing what you are doing.

"I often wet myself, sometimes by accident but more often on purpose.  I really don't like using public loos so in summer I wear a short skirt or dress and have bare legs so that I can easily wet my knickers instead.   And although I don't often wet myself on purpose when its cold, I never wear tights, just in case.  Thigh-length socks under a heavy winter skirt keep me nice and warm and I can still do a wee in my knickers if I need to, without getting everything else wet.

"So now you know why I suggested buying hold-up stockings rather than tights to go with that new dress of yours!"  Again Léa blushed in embarrassment as she contemplated the possibilities.

I signalled for the bill.  The young Italian waiter brought it over and topped up Léa's glass one final time.

"One other thing you need to know," said Valerie, "is that boys are not always put off by a girl wetting herself.  Although I often do, Tom and I have been together now for three years.  What's more, last summer I wet the bed in my sleep, just like you did this morning.  The only difference was that Tom was in it at the time!"  Léa smiled shyly at me.

"And you know that Emily and Amanda both wet themselves" Valerie continued "but Jack and Callum don't mind.  In fact, between ourselves, all three boys rather like it!"

Léa's large brown eyes grew round.  "Is that  - a thing, with boys?" she asked, almost in a whisper.

"Certainly with some boys" I confirmed.  "So if this boy of yours is put off by you having an accident, just tell yourself that he is not the one for you!  But somehow, my guess is that he won't be put off."

The waiter reappeared with our coats and was particularly attentive about helping Léa into hers.  "I think he wishes he could keep you!"  Valerie murmured quietly.  Another deep blush.

We left the warmth of the restaurant and stepped into the icy November wind that was gusting around the tall buildings.  Valerie shivered.  "I really should have gone to the loo before we left" she commented.

"Me too!" said Léa.

Valerie slipped one arm into mine and the other into Léa's and the three of us walked, heads-down into the cold wind off the Thames, back towards Valerie's flat.  "You might get a practical demonstration of how to wet your knickers under a winter skirt in a minute!" she said.

Léa giggled.  "The demonstration might be too late for me by then!"

After ten minutes of hurried walking we gained the relative warmth of the entrance lobby.  "Come on, come on!" muttered Valerie as she waited for the lift to descend.  Eventually the doors opened, we stepped inside and I pressed the button for our floor.

Both girls stood with legs crossed as the lift made its way up to our floor.  Léa started to cry. "I think I'm going to wet myself!"

"Me too!"  said Valerie reassuringly.  "Try to hold it until we get inside the flat if you possibly can.  Here, Tom, take off our coats, quick!"

The lift doors opened and Valerie hurried ahead with the key to her flat.  As she fiddled with the key in the lock, Léa sobbed in quiet distress and a few drops of pee spattered on to the stone floor beneath her.

The door opened and the two girls hurried in to the hallway.  "OK Léa, we can do it here on the floor" said Valerie.

In fact Léa was already wetting herself uncontrollably where she stood.  Hastily she lifted her dress out of the way, revealing white hold-up stockings, a small, very wet pair of plain white cotton briefs and a stream of pee that was splashing on to the hall floor between her parted legs, forming an expanding pool between her shoes.

Facing her, Valerie spread her legs wide, put her hands on her hips beneath her lifted skirt.  She gave Léa a mischievous grin then, with a look of sweet relief on her face, she started to pee through her dark blue satin panties, creating a second puddle that spread outwards until it joined up with Léa's.

I felt myself growing hard as I watched both girls straddling the flood beneath their feet and pissing steadily on to the marble floor until they were completely finished. 

I attempted to cover my embarrassment.  "Er - coffee, anyone?"

Valerie winked knowingly at Léa and both girls collapsed in helpless giggles.

I still don't know what the joke was.

 

 

Edited by Ondinist (see edit history)
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I always check the fiction section looking for a new chapter about Angela's Family. I'm always checking every chapter for something about this very sexy MILF.

Hard to imagine the girls turning out the way they are without Angela's guidance. Just love MILF's that wet their pants, ever since we had one, hot thirty something that lived down the street. She really had an affect on my life. I've written about her before, but have to wonder where she is today.

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Hi Lhansen!

Great to hear from you!  Yes, its definitely time to hear from Angela again.  I haven' forgotten your very sexy account of the ladies sunbathing and drinking wine on the shore of a river that was too cold to bathe in - with inevitable consequences for their swimsuits - but haven't found a way to work it into a story yet.  Unless......

One more Léa story on the stocks, then back to Angela and her girls.

 

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