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Bethany of the Isle 4: Pee Perpetrator


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I kind of feel like I've been spamming this story lately, so forgive me if I should make it all on one thread instead. But I've been on a writing roll like never before! I'm really falling in love with Bethany and how things are proceeding. Link to Part 3. Bon Appetit.

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Strolling alongside her family, Bethany closed her eyes. The sun and breeze on her exposed limbs, the swish of grass under her feet, and the crash of ocean waves in the distance made for a dreamlike experience. Her panties were still sodden, but in the moment, she appreciated it. A good push let her produce one last trickle of pee. Most of it dripped right through to her thighs, where it got wiped away by walking, or evaporated in minutes anyway. She grinned; perhaps this was how people dealt with the island’s bladder tyranny.

Enhancing her comfort was the fact that no one brought up her barely-dressed state even once since leaving half her clothes in the truck. She even found it easier to listen to her grandpa’s flavor information about the area.

“Vinnie, the park, and most of the buildings we can see are part of Florentine University. Got my degree here when it was still called North Atlantic. Top-notch maritime academy, but they also have excellent history and political science programs. Thought much about college, kiddo?”

“Not really,” Bethany confessed. She had not even entered high school. And per the Canadian system which the island used, she had one year left of junior high.

She began to tell her grandpa this, but had difficulty speaking. She kept clearing her throat, to minimal success. After all that peeing and crying, it was too parched.

Her mother made mention of it. “You need something to drink? Come to think of it, we haven’t had anything to eat or drink since Montreal.”

“Well, the student services building has a food court,” her grandpa pointed out, “Everything in there is good.” There were no signs about a dress code, and they entered.

Her mom began to rummage through her purse, but Bethany’s grandpa pushed it down again. “Nance, please. My treat.” He handed her a $20 bill. “Get whatever you want.”

Her mom thanked him, but in turn handed the money to Bethany. “Get us whatever you want,” she said, sharing a chuckle before scurrying off. Above the corridor she had run down hung a sign saying “Public S.A.” Come to think of it, Bethany had wet herself twice-- three times if you count the dribble on the lawn just now-- in the time her mother had not mentioned a need to pee. She would surely adapt just fine. Impressed by her mother’s endurance, Bethany worked up the courage to approach the counter in her panties and ordered two fried fish platters with fountain drinks.

She rejoined her grandparents, and the group claimed a table. The partial cover of the furniture made Bethany feel a little better about what she was wearing, but so did watching other diners. She took a long drink of tea, cut into her fish fillet, and made a game out of spotting different kinds of people and how they dressed. It started developing into a point system for who was wearing or not wearing what, but before she was satisfied with the rules, her mother came back.

It had not occurred to Bethany how wound up the woman must have been until seeing her now, much more relaxed. “Thanks again, dad,” her mother said, “And you for the fish, Beth.” She leaned in to whisper, “Please don’t feel bad at all about what happened earlier, because it turns out I leaked a little, too. It was close!”

“I did not need to know that,” Bethany dismissed, “But thanks, I guess.” Even if she herself was damp all over with pee, it was still her mom. “It’s rude to talk about pee in public.” She drew herself up with mock smugness at winning the exchange.

The visit to the food court and period of lingering afterward proved immensely refreshing. After a little rest, hot food, and crisp iced tea, Bethany felt like a new girl. She also felt something else-- the initial squeeze of more urine announcing itself. The toilet was nearby. Before getting up, though, another thought occurred to her-- her underwear had dried almost all the way, but perhaps she should not overtax her bladder by holding any more than necessary until it could recover. The logic was shaky at best, but bolstering it was the real reason: a flicker of rebellion. If this island thought public facilities were inappropriate, there would be one natural result. Further, there was a good chance she could get away with it by claiming any wetness had already been there.

She focused. The tentative bit of pee that had withdrawn when she first resisted crept back to the opening, and was released. A runnel warmed her privates. She did not mean to make a puddle on the plastic seat, but the pee was flowing, and the longer her dirty deed went on, the more delectably bratty it felt. Soon, she had to stop, if only to save some for later.

When it came time to leave, she considered after standing to take a few napkins and wipe up the evidence. But then, that would defeat the purpose of her ‘message’ to the people here. She turned away, savoring the fresh moisture between her legs and even letting a little more out before getting outside. With luck, a few drops made it to the tile.

The foursome had not made it far at all before Bethany’s grandpa paused. “Oops,” he said, patting his pocket, “Left the truck keys inside. Would you ladies sit tight for a moment?”

Bethany took the opportunity to literally sit, plunking down in the grass. Her mother and grandmother stood nearby, but far enough not to notice when she urged the rest of her pee out. It was not much, but the shaky stream filtered through her underwear and seeped into the ground. It should not have been enough to notice even as she let herself run empty, but she would try to keep her much wetter butt out of view for a little while.

Once they reached the truck, she was all but home free. The ride was much more pleasant without the danger of pissing all over the seat. The truck passed scenery that was worlds away from her comparatively featureless hometown-- the assorted masts and outriggers of a hundred boats swayed in the harbor. Waves launched white mist over a promontory above the ocean, atop which stood a blue-striped lighthouse. Finally, the drab fisheries and warehouses gave way to wood-slat homes, each contributing to a cacophony of colors on the hillside. At the same time she marveled at the sights, Bethany fought resentment of her parents for never taking her here before.

Her grandpa pulled into a carport at one of the houses. It boasted a clear view of the bell tower above the capitol, and fittingly, was painted canary yellow.

“Here we are,” he said, unlocking the door, “Our Versailles de nouveau monde. You guys get settled in.” Bethany held her wad of peed belongings under one hand and rolled her suitcase inside with the other. Only the briefest of looks around and an arduous hike up the stairs were needed to identify which room would be hers; she left her things in a heap on the floor and tumbled onto the bed. The threat of getting pee on the comforter did not concern her.

She had only begun to take in the dark wood decor when her mom knocked on her door frame. “Beth, can I come in? I just wanted to talk about what happened at lunch.”

Bethany had no idea what she meant, but her stomach still dropped.

Her mom sat on the end of the bed. “Grandpa told me that when he went back to get his keys, he saw there was a little pee puddle on your seat.”

Such heat flashed to Bethany’s face, she swore she had begun to sweat. There was nothing she could say to answer that.

“I’m not mad at you,” her mom said, her voice low and soothing, “But you saw me go to the bathroom that was right there, and I felt like I should ask if you’re having problems holding it, or you did it on purpose, or what.”

Bethany considered lying. Wouldn’t work, she convinced herself. For one, she was terrible at lying to either parent in most cases. But for another, if she said it was an accident, it would lead her mom to believe she was stricken with an untimely bout of incontinence. That was not a tangled web that had any good ending. It was time to bite the bullet. She chewed her fingernails, to serve as a barrier between her mother and herself, and to steady her hands’ trembling. “Yeah, it was kind of on purpose,” she murmured, looking away.

“Well,” her mother began, her mouth working, “I’m not going to punish you, but grandpa wanted me to come and talk to you. He and grandma have been very nice because it’s our first day here and it’s been hard to adjust to not having many bathrooms around. But he thought you should know that while we can walk around town in our underwear if we want, what you did in the food court was unacceptable. Accidents are one thing, but you abso-lutely cannot leave pee puddles around on purpose. Never ever.

“I get it, mom,” Bethany groaned, heaving as embarrassment fused with frustration. This conversation had gone on long enough. “I won’t do it anymore.”

“You’d better not,” her mom insisted, “Beth, I’m serious. Would you like it if a stranger left bodily fluids on something you wanted to use?”

“No,” she confessed. More and more she felt like a criminal guilty of a heinous offense being grilled by the cops. “But I was already wet, and it was just a little pee. Not like it was anything dangerous.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t matter, and you’re a big girl. The people here don’t even talk about bodily functions. What makes you think they’ll want to look at it or touch it? It comes out of your private parts, and they treat going to the bathroom the same as having sex.”

“Eww, mom!” Bethany said, “I’ll never pee someplace other than a toilet from now on. Happy?”

“My point exactly. If that’s something you can do, then yes, that would make me happy. Otherwise, just be careful, alright?”

“Alright.”

“Good,” she said, finally standing up and gracing Bethany with a hug and kiss. “Love you, B. Daddy will be home soon, and someone will call you down for dinner.”

“Okay, love you too.” She sighed and flopped on her back. If she had any left in her, she would have peed more, right where she was, for the sake of spite.

It seemed like a moment later when a key rattled the lock on the front door, which then opened and closed. The blue sky outside her window had turned to black, however. She must have fallen asleep for hours. Her churning bladder provided another clue.

“Alex,” her grandpa’s voice echoed from downstairs, “Some people here would love to say hi.”

“Glad you made it, Nancy,” Bethany’s dad said, apparently hugging her mom in the foyer, “Where’s Beth?”

“Upstairs, probably taking a nap.”

Bethany froze. She had not yet found the bathroom, which was rapidly becoming necessary. Neither could she pee here in her room without escaping notice, and did not want to scour the house before greeting her father properly. While squirming with crossed legs and both hands gripping her crotch, she pondered whether she should at least put on pants. She had been too shy for years now to let him see her half-undressed, and they would at least hide any leaks that happened in the next few minutes. But she dispelled that mentality. What she understood from her mom was that accidents were okay. Island rules now. She flitted downstairs in only her tank top and panties to see him, hands full of shirt fabric and trusting she would stay dry enough in the crotch to pass muster. “Hey Daddy,” she said, squeezing him briefly around the waist. He smelled like fish.

He made eye contact with her, half-convincing Bethany he had read her mind and intuited the severity of her urge to pee. “Hey, baby girl. Long time no see. Looks like you’ve… taken to the local customs well enough.”

“I guess so,” she said, hugging herself and shifting on crossed legs. He had left it to her to figure out if he meant her clothes, her badly-disguised pee dance, or both.

He patted her on the arm. “Hey, I’ve been here a month or so now and I still get culture shock every now and then. But this place will feel like home to you too in no time.”

She raised her eyebrows and sighed. “I hope so.”

The conversation in the rest of the family turned boring, so Bethany took the excuse to retreat back upstairs. It lent her the chance to bury both hands in her crotch and plenty of time to think about what happened with her mother. She would probably get ratted out to her dad. But never mind the longer-term issues; now the press of her bladder was what daunted her. She had already moaned and released a drop or two, gratefully free to squirm as much as necessary. But still, the urge to pee on the floor did not survive. As the shock of the confrontation with her mom faded, its full effects began to sink in. What if someone walked in while she squatted in her room, a noisy stream pattering down from her girlhood? Or purposely through her underwear right after her mother warned her not to? How would she have handled discovering someone else’s puddle of pee? Or someone who had obviously gone in their clothes? Likely with revulsion. Again, now, how was she going to handle the lack of bathrooms-- accommodations, she reminded herself, seemingly anywhere? She tried bringing her left knee across. Then her right knee. Then standing with both feet on the floor and wiggling her hips quickly. Any and everything to calm the urge.

"Beth?" her father called up the stairs, "Everything okay up there?" They must have heard the thumping of her steps downstairs.

"Yeah," she answered instinctively, "Just looking around." Her voice cracked in the middle of the sentence when a spurt escaped her. Drops of pee skimmed her legs and made a handful of splats on the floor. Instead of looking for the accommodations, or understandably asking where they were, she committed to the lie. She was forced to poke around the bedroom for a few minutes in case anyone checked on her.

She bent low, turned her toes inward, and squeezed her crotch with every bit of strength. The people here do this all the time, she told herself, It has to be possible. As much as her body cried out for her to push, let it gush warmly down her legs and splatter on the floor, just hold it! Her crotch and thighs were growing hot. Her fingers caught enough pee that drops had crept around to the back of her hands. She risked removing one at a time to wipe it on her shirt, each move causing the slow trickle to pick up again. The fluttering of her bladder muscles signaled the end was upon her. But as her eyes darted around the room before the urge ultimately got her, there was one more thing to try. Beside her closet was a seemingly identical door. Even if it was another closet, she would have her accident in there. What she opened was the door to salvation. A sink, mirror, and toilet lay on the other side. She at once tried to pull her panties down and climb out of them. Naturally, she tripped, and nearly hit her teeth on the toilet supposed to save her from even more humiliation and punishment. Both hands bracing against the floor saved her, but now she was on all fours, her pee stream thundering on the tile. Her panties were looped around one ankle as she scrambled up and onto the toilet. Another "technical" success.

Fuck, Beth, it was right there. Do something besides pissing on everything and crying for a change. Still, a lump formed in her throat. There was no blaming this accident on lack of toilets. She had found it in time, and made it in time, but in her frenzy to get there, bungled the attempt. There was pee everywhere. Her hands, feet, elbows, knees. The floor was coated wall-to-wall. There was splatter on the walls for that matter as well, and the base of the sink. A lot was in her shirt. Her panties were a lost cause. She had almost forgotten a time when they had been clean.

"I'm okay!" she yelled, forestalling any rescue efforts upstairs. That was the last thing she needed. All that remained was mopping up the devastation, wringing out her panties, and hoping to air-dry enough to survive dinner. They called for her approximately an hour later. A cursory self-inspection turned out okay; it must have been just enough time. Other than returning downstairs for dinner and recounting briefly their travels, she stayed in the bedroom all evening, using her personal toilet several times, but even in between, not letting it out of her sight.

Edited by AliasnameTO (see edit history)
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2 hours ago, dudelobowski said:

This story needed a couple chapters to pick up steam but I'm glad you kept it up! Great story and I can't wait to see where you take it next with Beth's more cavalier attitude towards wetting herself and leaking throughout the day (especially in the same undies!)

Thanks, yeah it's a lot of world building and more of a literary, marathon pace. Glad you're enjoying it as the next chapter is coming soon.

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On 12/16/2018 at 11:33 PM, AliasnameTO said:

I kind of feel like I've been spamming this story lately, so forgive me if I should make it all on one thread instead. But I've been on a writing roll like never before! I'm really falling in love with Bethany and how things are proceeding. Link to Part 3. Bon Appetit.

As someone who's written a couple stories of my own on this site I've always been wondering what the proper protocol is myself with regards to chaptered stories.

In the past, I've always just added them on as replies to the original thread. I'm wondering though whether that means that they lose readers due to people not wanting to bother with scrolling through the chain.

I also tried doing a thing where the first post is just a table of contents with links to each of the individual chapters, but since posts can only be edited within a certain time frame that means the entire story would need to already be finished which isn't suitable for some stories or writing styles. (A lot of the time its the writer / reader interactions that generate interest, ideas, and motivation.)

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4 hours ago, Unbeknownst said:

<snip>

Yeah, good points all around. Looks like the most common convention is to put it all in one thread, mixing entries in with comments. But that seemed so roughshod to me. I experimented with writing the entire story at once and posting chapters in nested spoilers so you could hide and show them for maximum order, but either I or the forum dun goofed and it was just a mess. For this one the updates are few and far between enough that I feel like posting them under the umbrella title and chapter title with a link to the previous one was the best choice.

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23 hours ago, Unbeknownst said:

As someone who's written a couple stories of my own on this site I've always been wondering what the proper protocol is myself with regards to chaptered stories.

In the past, I've always just added them on as replies to the original thread. I'm wondering though whether that means that they lose readers due to people not wanting to bother with scrolling through the chain.

I also tried doing a thing where the first post is just a table of contents with links to each of the individual chapters, but since posts can only be edited within a certain time frame that means the entire story would need to already be finished which isn't suitable for some stories or writing styles. (A lot of the time its the writer / reader interactions that generate interest, ideas, and motivation.)

I prefer to both write and read multi-part stories that are contained within a single thread.

It does get somewhat weird to have to scroll through pages of both content and comments, but it's far more convenient than having to go looking for an entirely new thread to read the next chapter. I tend to even avoid reading anything split across multiple threads entirely, unless it's something like this which is high enough quality to justify the annoyance. The way I see it, it's absolutely not worth my time to actively pursue the next chapter unless it's really good, and it's just far easier for everyone to have it in one place.

That said, now that the blog system is back, that kind of trumps forum threads as the best place to put serial fiction. Having a series all within a singular thread is more convenient than having it spread across several, but having a blog where each chapter is its own entry is infinitely moreso. You don't have to worry about commentary in between chapters and you don't have to dig around to find the next chapter, since any given blog entry always directs to the entries immediately preceding and succeeding it. It does still have the 24-hour edit limit like forum threads (which I absolutely hate, both for threads and for blogs, and I'd prefer to see it gone) but as long as you've got a good polished version of something it's the best place on the site for it.

Edited by Sake (see edit history)
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15 hours ago, Sake said:

That said, now that the blog system is back, that kind of trumps forum threads as the best place to put serial fiction. Having a series all within a singular thread is more convenient than having it spread across several, but having a blog where each chapter is its own entry is infinitely moreso. You don't have to worry about commentary in between chapters and you don't have to dig around to find the next chapter, since any given blog entry always directs to the entries immediately preceding and succeeding it. It does still have the 24-hour edit limit like forum threads (which I absolutely hate, both for threads and for blogs, and I'd prefer to see it gone) but as long as you've got a good polished version of something it's the best place on the site for it.

Oh, huh. I finally figured out how to create one. I guess in the past I must have missed it because I was trying to create one using the "create new content" options next to profile / notifications / etc.

It seems counter intuitive to me considering that seems the go-to method for adding content to the site.

Edited by Unbeknownst
I can't English damnit. (see edit history)
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9 hours ago, Unbeknownst said:

Oh, huh. I finally figured out how to create one. I guess in the past I must have missed it because I was trying to create one using the "create new content" options next to profile / notifications / etc.

It was fairly recently made available again without any fanfare, and for the longest time beforehand, between the re-addition of blogs and their recent reopening, nobody could create any except for staff.

That, and I think the "Blog Entry" option on the create-new-content dropdown only appears if you've already made a blog to add stuff to.

Edited by Sake (see edit history)
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