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On 2/16/2019 at 11:27 PM, theeclipse said:

This is really good

Thank you! I'm glad you liked it.

On 2/17/2019 at 12:02 AM, plas broek said:

I love how realistic your stories are and I also like the psigological aspect in your stories.

Thank you so much! Yeah, I definitely like to focus on the thoughts and emotions, too.

On 2/17/2019 at 1:19 AM, Melificentfan said:

Damn that was fantastic 

Thank you ❤️ 

On 2/17/2019 at 2:52 AM, AliasnameTO said:

I love how your stories are hardly even about peeing: they're about connection and healing. Stella's coach must have really done a number on her. The only shame is that we don't get a sense of her progression after the incident.

The wetting is nothing to me without the human context! Maybe one day, I'll try a truly long story that doesn't have omo at every turn. 

On 2/17/2019 at 3:50 AM, facade said:

A very good take of a classic school wetting. I'm inspired by this. It is indeed very real and a wonderful hurt/comfort aspect.

Thank you! You're absolutely right - it's such a classic setup, so I'm glad I was able to make it enjoyable!

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  • 2 months later...

I managed to eke out one more chapter in Stella's story. I hope you like it! 

***

    “You ready?” 

    Stella drew in a breath and paused before nodding. “I actually think I’ll do better this time because I’ve taken it once already. I know what it’s like.” 

    Cherice nodded, pleased with her student’s response. It was 7:30 on Saturday morning, and Cherice had just picked up Stella to drive her to the high school for the ACT. Stella had already taken the exam once and gotten a good enough score to get her into her top choice college, but she’d been advised that scoring 2 points higher would make her eligible for a full-tuition scholarship. 

    Stella’s parents were out of town, and Linville High was an official testing location, so Cherice had willingly offered to drive Stella to the school. She’d do some grading in her classroom while Stella took the test in the computer room.

    It had been a month since Stella’s accident in Cherice’s English class. They hadn’t spoken about it directly – Stella hadn’t brought it up, and Cherice hadn’t pushed – but Stella had continued her habit of visiting Cherice’s classroom after hours, working on puzzles and chatting. 

    Of course, Cherice wanted to know more about Stella’s experience. Not that she wanted the details of the girl’s trauma, but seeing an 18-year-old wet her pants without even so much as asking to use the restroom spoke to a wound that still hadn’t fully healed. 

    They reached the school in plenty of time. Cherice never said it, but she wanted to make sure Stella had time to go to the bathroom before the text began. 

    “Just come get me when you’re done,” Cherice told her student before they went their separate ways. She reached out and clasped Stella’s arm. “Good luck!” 

    Stella smiled gently and turned toward the testing room. She actually liked standardized tests and didn’t feel too stressed about taking the ACT again. 

    She rounded the corner and approached the check-in table, ID ready. Even though Linville was hosting the exam, the proctors were from other schools in the county, so no students were seen as having a full “home court” advantage. Stella didn’t recognize the woman at the check-in, but she seemed nice enough. 

    Stella knew the computer program wouldn’t “unlock” until 8:00 exactly, so she just sat at her assigned station and scrolled through her phone. She knew that some testing locations had students turn in their phones before entering the room, but Linville had a set of smaller rooms that made it much easier for proctors to see and hear any illicit electronic usage. Therefore, the rules just stated that students had to turn off their phones – a proctor would examine each one to make sure it was truly turned off – before the test began. 

    Other students filed in as the start of the test approached. There were at least 3 adjacent computer rooms being used, with a proctor from a different school in each of them. The current staff in Stella’s room was a tall, elderly woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Davis from Canterburg Prep the next town over. 

    Mrs. Davis read the official instructions, then oversaw the students turn off their phones and turn on the computer. At exactly 8:00, the first questions appeared, and Stella and her fellow test-takers began. 
    
    Stella moved methodically through the English section. It had been her highest-scoring section last time, so the comparative ease of the questions helped bolster her confidence. 

    After the first section, there was a very brief break, just long enough to stretch and give her eyes a short break from the screen. In the back of the room, Stella focused on her computer screen, ready to start the math section, but she looked up when the proctor began to read the instructions.

    Instead of Mrs. Davis, it was a new teacher. Apparently, this time, the proctors switched between rooms, and now, Stella’s room was being overseen by an older gentleman who Stella recognized as the basketball coach from the biggest school in the county. The shock was a minor one, and Stella proceeded to complete the math section with little trepidation.

    Math had been Stella’s lowest-scoring section last time, so she’d spent most of her study time working on strategies and common types of questions. She paid close attention to each question, making sure not to make any silly mistakes. Though they wouldn’t get their scores for a few weeks, she felt reasonably confident about her performance.

    Now halfway through the test, the students were given a proper break – fifteen minutes for snacks, walking around, and bathroom breaks. Stella took the first few minutes to stretch, dispose of her scratch paper from the math section, and eat a granola bar. She let her mind wander, taking a much-needed mental break from the multiple choice questions. 

    Eventually, she wandered out of the testing room and toward the restrooms. She knew she could pee, but she wasn’t close to desperate. Still, she’d rather be as empty as possible for the remaining two sections of the test. 

    Stella rounded the corner and cringed. There was a line for the women’s restroom, and Stella soon realized that the girls’ track team must be having an early practice and were in the middle of their own break. 

    She glanced at her watch and bit her lip. There were only five minutes left in the break, and she didn’t want to risk being late. Although her nerves spiked at the idea of not using the bathroom, a quick body scan told her that she would easily be able to make it through the remainder of the test. 

    Sighing, Stella returned to the computer room and barely noticed the new proctor. The moderate confidence she’d held throughout the first half of the test was gone; now, she just wanted finish. She could combine her scores – take the higher of the scores from each section – and she’d done the best on reading last time, so she wasn’t overly worried about how her nerves would affect her overall chances at the scholarship now. 

    The proctor read the instructions, and the next section began. Without overtly noticing it, Stella relaxed a bit. She loved to read, and even though the passages in standardized tests weren’t exactly thrilling material, she still enjoyed it and was found most of the questions fairly easy. 

    Before she knew it, time was being called. Stella stretched her legs, preparing for the final section of the exam. As she stretched, she felt her filling bladder. It still wasn’t awful, but she checked her watch anyway, knowing that it wouldn’t show her that she had enough time for a quick bathroom break. 

    “The science section will begin in two minutes.” 

    Stella casually turned to look at the latest proctor, the last volunteer to switch into her room, and froze. 

    The teacher standing in the middle of the room this time was young and quite well-muscled, with dark hair and thick eyebrows. He stood with his arms folded, in the way that many young, well-muscled men in positions of minor authority tend to stand. 

    Stella’s heart started to beat faster. She tried to calm herself, mentally repeating that this obviously was a different person, and there were plenty of differences in their appearances, but these thoughts were drowned out by a single, undeniable coincidence. 

    The teacher looked like her old coach. 

    Stella’s body went numb for half a second, but she tensed up when she felt herself nearly leak into her underwear. She spun back around to face her computer screen, her thoughts careening wildly between traumatic flashes of memory and attempts to focus on the remaining test section. 

    The proctor’s voice was a drone. Stella didn’t pay attention to a word of the required instructions, not that she needed it at this point. She squared her shoulders deliberately forward, away from the teacher, trying to maintain a semblance of calm. 

    She blinked, momentarily caught off guard as the first question flashed onto the screen. Breathing shallowly, she rested her hand on the mouse and started clicking through answers. For several minutes, she existed in a state of tense, fuzzy focus, reading words and choosing responses, not seeing anything but the screen in front of her. 

    The blurring of reality didn’t last for long, though, and Stella’s attention was soon drawn back to her left leg, which was bouncing erratically. Another second of awareness told her that her need to urinate had skyrocketed with her anxiety. 

    Stella choked down a whine. She’d already been unconsciously clenching her muscles, but now, she actively pressed her thighs together. Science was the shortest of the sections, so she knew she didn’t have too long to wait, but she couldn’t shut out the lingering terror from seeing the proctor. 

    Miraculously, she kept answering questions. Stella was a diligent student and a good test-taker, so her academic instincts were able to operate almost independently of her unease. The science section was more about the ability to interpret graphs and figures than to memorize facts, anyway, so the cognitive burden wasn’t nearly as great as it was for the math section.
    
    Which was lucky, because the majority of Stella’s current cognitive ability was being consumed by the untamable anxiety from memories of her coach and the very real fear of wetting herself in public. While most high school students wouldn’t give in to such fear – what 18-year-old can’t hold it for a few more minutes, anyway? – Stella, obviously, had recent, verifiable evidence that peeing her pants at school was a very real possibility. 

    Stella bit down on her suddenly-trembling lower lip. She wasn’t a particularly over-emotional person, but the cumulative memories (and associated feelings) of her abuse and her previous accident were proving impossible to suppress. 

    “Five more minutes.”
    
    The voice of the proctor was both intrusive and welcome. Stella twitched at the reminder of the familiar-looking man in the room, but let out a small sigh of relief at the limited remaining time. 

    She finished the last few questions, no longer caring about her score. Shaky and teary, Stella longed to press her hand between her legs, but knowing that there were other people in the room stopped her. 

    The hairs on Stella’s arms stood up, and she shivered. She felt so exposed, so out of control. She found herself longing for Miss Heston’s soft, soothing voice – a safe person, a comforting presence. 

    Just a few more minutes, Stella told herself, keeping her thighs tightly clenched. She could escape the presence of the proctor, use the bathroom, and then hurry to Miss Heston’s room. The preemptive thought apparently excited her bladder, and she leaked into her underwear. 

    Stella clenched her jaw and steeled every muscle in her lower body, cutting off the leak. She shut her eyes, forcing herself not to look down to check for a visible wet spot between her legs. 

    “One more minute.” 

    Inhaling deeply, Stella opened her eyes. Her phone was already in her pocket, so she wouldn’t have to gather anything when time was called. She rocked slightly in her seat, preparing to rise to her feet. She’d finished the final section of the test, and the computer would log her responses automatically, so literally all she had to do was walk out of the room and go to the bathroom. 

    She started counting, slowly, just to distract herself. By the time she reached 27, the screen in front of her flashed with the “End of Test” message and the proctor called time. Stella was vaguely aware of the proctor speaking, probably some pseudo-comforting congratulations or something, but Stella was striding as fast as she could without actually running toward the door. She found herself almost short of breath with anticipation as she rounded the corner toward the bathroom…

    …only to see a line of girls out the door. Stella hadn’t even taken into account the fact that her assigned test room was the furthest from the bathrooms – seemingly every girl who had just completed the ACT had headed straight to the bathroom. 

    Stella felt the last vestiges of rational thought slip away. She spun around, bumping into another girl behind her, and practically stumbled off down the hallway. 

    She could hear her breaths turning into whines as she rounded a corner. Without bothering to make sure that no one was around, she shoved her hands between her legs, clumsily lurching forward. Her vision blurred as she turned down the final hallway toward Miss Heston’s room. 

    In her classroom, Cherice heard the sounds of someone coming down the hall. She’d checked her watch a minute ago, so she knew that Stella was due any second and had started gathering her work to put away. 

    “Stella?” Cherice called as the sounds from the hallway got closer. “How did it-“

    Cherice cut herself off as Stella burst into the classroom and into tears. Cherice was on her feet in an instant, but the reason (well, at least a reason) for Stella’s distress became apparent before Cherice could open her mouth to ask what was wrong.

    Stella started to pee her pants as soon as she crossed the threshold into Miss Heston’s room. Urine gushed over her clutching hands and down the insides of her thighs, hot, forceful, and humiliating. 

    Her pitiful sobs turned into wails as she wet herself, peeing uncontrollably onto the floor. With every new sensation – the stream against her hand, the wetness down her jeans, the sound of liquid dripping into a puddle on the floor – Stella only cried harder, sounding more and more like an emotionally compromised child. 

    Cherice had stopped short, first staring and then sighing silently. She knew that students got breaks during the test and that they’d arrived plenty early for Stella to use the restroom before the test, so she was more than a little baffled at the fact that the teen was, once again, releasing her bladder onto the floor of Cherice’s classroom. 

    Finally, finally, the puddle under Stella’s feet stopped growing, but the girl’s cries didn’t diminish. Cherice waited a few more seconds, then took a step forward. 

    “Stella? Stella, you’re okay, honey,” she said gently. “Deep breaths. You’re okay.” 
    
    Stella whimpered, sucking in hiccupping, broken breaths, but Cherice could tell the girl was trying to stop her cries. 

    “That’s right, honey, you’re fine,” Cherice soothed, repeating soft, comforting phrases. “You’re okay.” 

    Stella reached up to wipe at her runny nose, and Cherice grabbed the box of tissues off her desk. Stella smartly plucked a handful from the box, using some to first dry the urine from her hands before blowing her nose and wiping her eyes. 

    Cherice waited a few more seconds before speaking again. 

    “Let’s get you back home, honey.” 

    Stella sniffed and nodded, then stopped. “Your floor.” 

    Cherice looked down at the puddle and tried to keep any annoyance off her face. She didn’t want the girl to feel any worse, but Stella had a point. The janitorial staff wouldn’t be around until Monday.

    Luckily, all the classrooms had a small supply closet with, among other things, rolls of the stiff, brown paper towels used in school bathrooms. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was better than leaving the puddle to dry and smell over the weekend. 

    Stella whimpered a bit as she stepped out of the puddle while Miss Heston wiped it up, using nearly half a roll of the barely-absorbent paper. Cringing by way of silent apology to the future janitor who would have to empty it, Cherice threw away the sopping mass of paper towels into the trash can and pushed herself to her feet. 

    “All done!” she said with too much forced cheer. “Come on, honey, let’s get you home.” 

    Stella followed Miss Heston out the door, head down. “Your car,” she murmured, too overcome by shame and trauma to form full sentences. 

    “Just sit on your jacket, sweetie,” Cherice answered. “It’s a short drive.” 

    Stella peeled off her cotton hoodie as they reached Miss Heston’s car and spread it out on the passenger’s seat. She felt the fabric of her jeans squelch as she sat down and was sure that she was going to get Miss Heston’s car dirty. 

    But Miss Heston was right, and it was a short ride, which was a small mercy for Stella, but physically (as her pants were cold and chafing) and mentally (as the silence of the car ride was practically crushing). 

    Still feeling fuzzy as she walked through the back door of her own house, Stella was mildly surprised when she heard Miss Heston come in behind her. 

    “You go shower, sweetheart – I’ll start the laundry.” 

    Stella’s lower lip trembled, but she didn’t argue. She let Miss Heston follow her upstairs, then handed the teacher her pile of wet clothes from the bathroom, carefully keeping her burning face behind the door. 

    Cherice placed Stella’s soiled outfit in the washing machine, trusting that a cold cycle wouldn’t impede the student’s shower too much. She didn’t want to make herself too at home in someone else’s house (one that she hadn’t even properly been invited into), but she knew she couldn’t leave without at least attempting a conversation with Stella. So she sat, somewhat awkwardly, at the kitchen table and tried to prepare for what would likely be a very uncomfortable talk. 

    Stella didn’t shower for long. The hot water felt good, and she was in no mood to indulge in pleasant feelings. She quickly scrubbed down her entire body, furiously rubbing at her legs until they turned red. When she shut off the water, she listened for a second, correctly suspecting that Miss Heston hadn’t left. She didn’t hear anything, so she then peeked out the window of her room to confirm that her teacher’s car was, in fact, still parked behind the house. 

    Resignedly, Stella pulled on sweats and a t-shirt, squeezing the excess water out of her hair with a towel, but not bothering to even pull it back into a ponytail. 

    She quietly descended the stairs into the kitchen. Miss Heston was sitting at the table, staring at her in an expectant, but not aggressive way. 

    Stella stopped by the island in the middle of the kitchen, unable to go any closer. 

    “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

    Cherice sighed. “I know you are, Stella, but I didn’t stay here to get an apology. I’m not upset with you.” 

    Stella stared at the ground, pretty sure she knew what else was coming. 

    “I’m not mad,” Cherice reiterated. “And I want you to know that you don’t owe me anything. I only want to make sure you’re safe, and…” Cherice drew in a deep breath. “…you don’t seem life you feel safe. You’ve had two accidents in the past month –“ (Here, Cherice deliberately avoided saying “that I know of”) “- and that tells me that something’s coming up that you haven’t fully resolved.” 

    Stella felt her eyes fill with tears. Miss Heston was right, of course, but Stella was more than a little unprepared for how quickly her teacher had come to the correct conclusion. 

    “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” Cherice promised. “But honey, I think you should tell someone. I know it was just me today, and I won’t tell anyone, but I know the last time was no secret.” 

    Sniffling, Stella nodded in unnecessary agreement. She was neither popular nor unpopular, so she was mostly able to skate by under the radar at school, but an 18-year-old peeing at her desk in class was more than enough to garner plenty of unwanted attention, even if most of it came in the form of giggles and whispers as she walked down the halls. 

    “Please know that I want to support you, no matter what,” Miss Heston continued, “but you and I both know this isn’t normal behavior, and even though it’s not your fault, there are going to be some social consequences if you don’t get help.” 

    Stella frowned miserably, and for an inexplicable moment, she felt like she was going to have another accident in front of her teacher out of sheer anguish. But she took a deep breath, allowing the feeling of uncontrollability evaporate. 

    “Coach used to make me pee in my leotard,” she said blankly, without any preamble. 

    Through an abundance of professionalism (and a little bit of luck), Cherice did not outwardly react, and Stella, relieved by the lack of judgment, spilled out her story. 

    “It was part of the abuse, of course, I know that now, but I never really told my parents or therapists about it, because the touching seemed so much more important, you know? But I think…I think he liked seeing me wet myself.” 

    Stella paused, realizing that she’d never actually admitted that thought to anyone. It made perfect sense, now that she said it out loud. The horrible man enjoyed making her, as a child, lose control of her bladder. 

    Stella rolled her shoulders back and continued. “He’d yell at me if I put my hands between my legs, calling me a dirty brat and why couldn’t I hold it like a lady? I’d always cry when I had accident…even though they weren’t accidents,” she interrupted herself with another realization, “it was definitely something he made happen on purpose, but I always felt so bad.” 

    Stella finally looked up at her teacher, whose own eyes were now glistening. 

    “Anyway –“ Stella shrugged, practically out of emotions after the stress of the day – “that’s part of why I was scared the first time, because Coach would never let me go if I asked, and having to pee in your class made me think of that even though I know you wouldn’t have been mad. And then today, one of the volunteer teachers…”

    Stella trailed off, shuddering involuntarily. 

    “He looked like him,” she finished simply. “And between that and the test and having already peed myself once, it made me freak out, and then there was a line at the bathroom when the test was finished, so I just lost it.” 

    Cherice exhaled, exhausted from just hearing Stella’s awful summary. “Thank you for telling me, sweetheart. I know that can’t have been easy.” 

    Stella tilted her head to the side, an “eh” kind of gesture. At this point, she was just ready for a nap. 

    “I know you’re right,” she said sincerely. “I knew before today, I guess, but then when I saw the guy that looked like him, the part of me that wasn’t spazzing definitely knew that I need to talk to my parents and go back to therapy and stuff. I just…”

    She shrugged again. “I want to be done, you know? I’m so mad that I have to keep dealing with things that someone else did.” 

    At this, Cherice finally strode across the kitchen and wrapped her favorite student in a hug. She couldn’t say anything to contradict Stella, of course – it was the burden of the victimized that they had to keep living with the repercussions of someone else’s actions – but she could do everything she could to help the girl along her journey. 
 

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  • 2 years later...

Apologies for necroing this thread but oh boy did it touch a nerve. I don't really have traumas comparable to Stella's extent but for some reason I was lucky enough to have had a teacher who was willing to care about and comfort me like Cherice did to Stella, and I had actually written a story based on my experience. Thank you so much for a story that brought me to the verge of tears and also thank you for your other stories - so warm and so real.

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