Sapphire3619 340 Posted February 17, 2019 Popular Post Share Posted February 17, 2019 This was a request from @sandiego78. I don't do a lot of female wetting, but I *do* do a lot of hurt/comfort! Enjoy! *** Stella Bettio stumbled, breathless, into the classroom at the end of the hall, sliding into her seat just as the bell rang. Panting, she initially stared down at her lap, but then shyly looked up to see an encouraging smile from Miss Heston. Cherice Heston was only in her second year of teaching English Literature at Linville High School. She definitely felt more confident than she did in her first year, but she still didn’t feel completely settled and authoritative. There were still plenty of things students did and said that could catch her off guard. Still, Cherice loved her job, and loved getting to know her students, and Stella was one of her current favorites. Stella was an 18-year-old senior, tiny but strong. Yes, she was a good student – quiet, a trait always appreciated by English teachers – but Cherice had developed a close relationship with Stella over the year. A short woman herself, Cherice had recognized a fellow gymnast in Stella the first day of classes. When Stella took to stopping by Cherice’s classroom after school to discuss the finer points of The Handmaid’s Tale, Cherice was eventually able to work gymnastics into the conversation and got confirmation that, yes, Stella had trained at a very high level for a very long time. It had taken months for Cherice to get more of the full story, and when she did, it was told in an almost casual way. Cherice had formed her hypotheses, of course, mistreatment of young girls in intense training situations being so common, unfortunately, but she knew that she wasn’t entitled to Stella’s story. It had been a chilly afternoon in late November, just after Thanksgiving break, when Stella had calmly mentioned some of what her former coach had done to her. Cherice had started to say how sorry she was, but Stella had just very deliberately moved onto another part of the conversation, making it clear that she wasn’t up for a dialogue. She’d mentioned a few more things over the following weeks, but only ever as one-offs, horrific tidbits thrown into otherwise standard conversations. Cherice came to understand that pretty much no one in the entire school knew what Stella had gone through and that Stella was sharing exactly as much as she was comfortable with. So Cherice continued to welcome the student into her classroom after school, where they would chat over a jigsaw puzzle (Cherice loved puzzles and always kept one in her classroom – at least 1000 pieces – for her students to work on if they needed a break). Cherice was determined to provide the kind of support that Stella needed, even if that meant shutting up and not asking any questions. So it didn’t cross Cherice’s mind to ask why Stella was almost late to class, not that she’d ever call her out on it, anyway. She just proceeded with her lesson – they were in the middle of Last of the Mohicans – leading the class in a discussion of colonialism. In her seat, Stella could barely pay attention to the information. She never cut it so close getting to Miss Heston’s class, but today, Señora Cortez had kept her after class for a few extra minutes to talk about the AP Spanish exam. Of course, it made her feel bad that she was almost late to English, but more importantly, she had missed her midday bathroom break. Stella shifted in her seat, settling in as much as the old, hard desk would allow. English was her last class before lunch, and because she had the latest lunch period, she couldn’t always wait until then to use the restroom. Because the Spanish and English classrooms were in the same hallway, she’d developed a habit of going to the bathroom between those two classes, taking a quick pee before going to Miss Heston’s class. Today, she missed that chance and was now sitting nervously in her desk, frantically trying to figure out if she’d be able to make it the whole 50 minutes of class. Under other circumstances – that is, if her bladder was exactly this full, but she wasn’t at school, and she wasn’t aware that she’d just been denied a regular opportunity to use the bathroom – Stella would have almost certainly been fine. But now, the anxiety of being in class (even though she sat in the back) was causing her need to spike, and she was uncomfortably desperate. And they were only five minutes into class. Stella tried to focus. She genuinely liked Last of the Mohicans; Miss Heston would occasionally give them quiet reading time in class, and she’d play the soaring, violin-heavy score from the movie adaptation with Daniel Day-Lewis. Stella knew that a lot of her classmates got bored with the excessive descriptions of nature, but she liked being able to picture the vast settings. Today, however, she couldn’t do it. She rarely participated in class discussion, but she was almost always attentive, listening to her classmates' comments and questions. She often bring up her own ideas after school, during her visits to Miss Heston’s classroom, but today, all of her attention was on her bladder. Her thoughts were sliding, careening toward a dark place as class went on, and she couldn’t control them. The remaining rational part of her brain as telling her that she was 18, not 8, and that needing to pee wasn’t a moral failure. But the deeply-ingrained part of her that said that she had to hold it or else was becoming more powerful. And more terrifying. Cherice tried not to look at Stella too much as she taught; she didn’t want to draw attention to the girl. But Stella was clearly uncomfortable, at best. She hadn’t looked up from her desk once, and she looked tense and fidgety. Cherice was starting to worry. In the back of the room, Stella wound her fingers together under the desk. There was still a half hour left in class, and all she could think about was getting to the bathroom. Well, more accurately, all she could think about was not having an accident. Stella was slipping. With every second that ticked by, she was drawn further and further back to her old gym, her coach standing on the mats, alternating between booming shouts and unnerving growls. Then, in private lessons, his voice would flip to low and silky, a voice that 8-year-olds should never hear. She always wanted to please him, to make him happy, yearning for those instances when he would look genuinely pleased and proud of her. Of course, those moments were few and far between, and she spent much more time feeling like she did now – sweaty, tense, and scared. She hated that feeling and thought she’d gotten past it, but here she was, a senior in high school, sitting in class with her favorite teacher, utterly unsure of whether or not she’d be able to make it to the end of class with her underwear dry. Stella’s shifting took on a more obvious quality, and Cherice realized that her student had to use the restroom. The teacher’s thoughts raced as she tried to balance teaching with her concern for Stella. She was convinced that calling Stella out, asking her to go on some errand or something, would only embarrass the girl and possibly damage the trust in their relationship. Perhaps should could think of some excuse to let class out a few minutes early… “…but if Magua is the bad guy, then how are we supposed to understand the impact of colonialism?” another student was asking. Cherice blinked, grateful for her familiarity with both the class and the source material. “That’s a great question,” she replied, risking another glance back toward Stella, who still hadn’t lifted her head, “and many people don’t actually stop to consider anything beyond just a single ‘bad guy’ in a story…” Stella was only vaguely aware that Miss Heston was talking and certainly wasn’t internalizing any of the lesson. She desperately wanted to hold herself, to shove a hand between her legs. There was no doubt that such an action would have made it certain that she’d last until the end of class, but she just couldn’t do it. What are you doing?! Filthy girl! Get your hands away from yourself! Shuddering at the unbidden memory, Stella clenched her hands under her desk. She was definitely shaking now, and perilously close to being too lost in her old trauma to even focus on the implications of losing control of her urine in a high school classroom. Dirty brat… Up front, Cherice would have sworn she saw tears in Stella’s eyes. She wanted to help so badly, but hadn’t been able to think of a reasonable solution. She couldn’t let the class go early, because some of the students weren’t going to lunch, and she’d get in trouble if she let them loose in the hallways, and she’s already dismissed any thought of singling out Stella and letting her leave (not that Cherice had been able to think of a good lie as a cover for that story, anyway). All she could do was hope that Stella could hang on for the last few minutes of class. Glancing at the clock, Cherice started to wind down the discussion. She hated the thought of cutting off curious and engaged students, but she didn’t want to end up in a situation where the class ran over. She wanted to make sure the students – well, Stella, obviously – could stand up as soon as the bell rang. There were just five minutes left in class, and Cherice could tell her plan was working. Most of the students were shuffling at their desks, making the kind of unsubtle movements that meant they wanted to start packing up their things, but hadn’t gotten permission just yet. Cherice refrained from sighing in relief as she finished answering one more question. “I think we’ll stop here for today,” she said authoritatively with three minutes left before the bell. Instantly, the noise in the room amplified as students started openly picking up their things. Cherice allowed herself a small smile. She’d made it, she’d- “Oh my god!” A burst of noise, different than the general sounds of shuffling, arose from the back of the room. Cherice’s stomach dropped as she saw a bunch of eyes fixed on the still-seated Stella. Pale yellow liquid streamed down all sides of Stella’s chair. The girl stared at her desk, not quite oblivious to the snickering of her classmates. “What the hell?” “Miss Heston, can you…” Another girl gestured unnecessarily toward Stella’s trembling form, a disgusted sneer on her face. Cherice couldn’t speak for a several seconds; she just slowly walked toward the back corner of the room, pushing her way through the smirking, murmuring students. “That’s enough,” Cherice finally said, raising her voice more than she would have liked. “Please line up by the door – class is almost over.” A few students didn’t move right away, but thankfully, the bell rang seconds after Cherice finished speaker, and that was enough to urge the class out the door. The last student, actually looking sympathetic instead of amused, shut the door behind him, muffling the sounds from the filling hallway. Stella’s heart beat so hard, it almost hurt. She wasn’t sure if she was still peeing or not. She hadn’t even really noticed when she’d started – all of a sudden, she’d actually been having an accident instead of barely holding back. Her head spun. It had been a long time since she’d been in front of an authority figure, soaked in pee, but the sensation took her right back to childhood, and she felt like a giant band was being squeezed around her chest. In the relative quiet, Cherice took a step toward Stella. The girl hadn’t moved. She looked positively frozen in place, every muscle in her body clenched, and her breaths were so shallow, Cherice was worried she’d pass out. “Stella…” Cherice whispered, taking another step. Stella twitched at the sound. Even though her head was down, Cherice could see the fine sheen of tears in the girl’s eyes, held in place by sheer will. Or terror. Cherice stood for a second, hand half reached out. She wanted nothing more than wrap the girl into the tightest hug, holding her as long as necessary, but Stella looked utterly petrified, and Cherice knew enough to know that touching her right now would probably make things worse. “Stella,” she said again, even softer. “You’re safe. It’s OK.” Stella quivered from head to toe, but didn’t jerk back, so Cherice slowly and quietly sat in the desk in front of her, facing backward toward her student. “Stella,” she repeated, voice low and soothing. “I promise you’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you. No one is going to get mad. I’m not mad,” she promised earnestly. Stella still didn’t look up, but she looked ever so slightly less tense. “You can stay here as long as you want,” Cherice continued, keeping her voice low and even. “I don’t have a class this period, so you’re safe here.” Finally, cautiously, Stella raised her eyes. Her chin still trembled, and the look she gave Miss Heston was one of pure supplication, silently begging for reprieve, for forgiveness, for mercy. Even as her heart broke, Cherice maintained eye contact, gazing at Stella with every bit of reassurance she could manage. “I promise,” she soothed. “I’m not mad. It’s OK.” Stella stared for another second, and then her face crumbled into quaking, painful sobs. She cried like she was releasing years of bottled up shame and terror through a drinking straw, like she had too much anguish to let out in an orderly fashion. Cherice leaned forward as Stella collapsed onto her desk. The teacher reached out and stroked along the back of Stella’s head, gently running her fingers through the girls hair, whispering reassurances while she cried. “It’s OK, sweetheart, it’s OK. You’ll be OK, don’t worry.” Stella’s entire body heaved as she cried into her arms. For an indeterminate amount of time, teacher and student sat in a half-embrace, the only sound in the classroom Stella’s sobs. “I’m sorryyyyyyy,” she wept, her voice muffled against the desk. “I didn’t m-mean toooooooo!” “Shhhhh,” Cherice whispered, still brushing her hand along Stella’s hair. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Stella. It was just an accident.” Stella cried a little bit harder, feeling the wetness all through her underwear, the fabric of her skirt chilly and sticky beneath her. She’d completely peed herself in high school, in the middle of class. All of her classmates had known what happened, and, as far as they must be concerned, it was for no reason. It’s not like she even asked to go to the bathroom, or was doing anything important. She’d just been sitting in a regular class and decided to pee in her chair like a belligerent toddler. “Please breathe, sweetie,” Cherice pleaded. “It’s going to be OK.” Leaning into Miss Heston’s gentle touch, Stella felt a shiver of release go through her body. She was exhausted from crying and from humiliation, and she knew she was almost all cried out. She inhaled deeply, listening to Miss Heston’s repeated reassurances. With one final sniffle, Stella sat up and looked at the kind, earnest face of her teacher. Stella could tell that Miss Heston wanted to fix things. She probably felt like it was her fault somehow, that she hadn’t done enough to make Stella feel safe, and Stella felt an extra layer of guilt for making her teacher worry. Cherice didn’t speak right away; she let Stella take a few minutes to compose herself (as much as one could while sitting in a puddle of their own making). She did, in fact, want to fix things, but only at Stella’s own pace. “I’m sorry,” Stella finally mumbled, wiping the back of her hand across her nose. “Oh, honey…” Stella shook her head, cutting off Miss Heston’s consolation. “I…” she stammered, “I know that you would have let me have a hall pass, and I’m not, like, scared of you or anything.” Cherice frowned sympathetically. She was at least pleased to hear that Stella hadn’t thought that she would have been denied permission to use the restroom, but she knew that the girl’s trauma ran deeper than that, anyway. Stella looked like she wanted to keep talking, but gulped instead, trying to steady herself. “Honey, is there anything I can do?” Cherice asked, filling the silence. Stella shrugged and wiped at her eyes. “It’s not your fault,” she said, not exactly answering the question. Cherice sighed. She correctly assumed that Stella’s accident was related to what her old coach had done to her, but she wasn’t sure why or how. She figured by now that Stella wasn’t going to offer any more information about her abuse, at least not at the moment, so she decided to try a different tack. “What was different today, honey?” she asked. “I don’t think you’ve ever had to go to the bathroom during my class before.” Stella’s eyes re-watered. The acute humiliation of wetting herself as a senior in high school wasn’t going to go away any time soon, and she had to take another few breaths before she could answer. “I…” she whispered, feeling young and a bit silly, “I usually go after Spanish, but Señora Cortez wanted to talk about the AP exam today, and I didn’t want to be late.” Cherice nodded, grateful for a distinctly solvable problem. Granted, her pending solution would have made a much bigger impact before the girl had an accident in class, but still. “I’m sorry that happened, Stella,” she said quietly. She paused to let her sympathy sink in before offering her suggestion. “If that ever happens again,” she began cautiously, not wanted to actually suggest that Stella would ever be at risk for peeing on herself again, “you can go to the bathroom. You can be late to my class, and I won’t write you up.” Stella bit her lower lip. “Everyone will know,” she whispered. “If I come in late, and you don’t write me up, everyone will know that you’re giving me special treatment because I…” Inhaling, Cherice thought quickly. She patted Stella’s hand and stood up, walking briskly to her own desk at the front of the room. She rifled through a stack of papers until she found the envelope she was looking for. “Here,” she said, handing it to Stella, “keep this with your supplies for my class. It’s a note from the administration, to me. If you ever have to be late again, you pull this out, and we’ll act like you were running an errand for me.” Stella looked up, eyes shining with tears again. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Cherice promised. “I don’t think you’ll ever have to use it, but we have it, just in case.” Stella sniffled again, taking the envelope. “Thank you,” she whispered. Cherice smiled and held out her hand. “Ready to get cleaned up, honey?” she asked. Glancing down briefly, Stella nodded. She rose to her feet, but started shaking when she saw the full size of her mess. This time, Cherice didn’t hesitate before wrapping the teen in her arms. Stella whimpered against her teacher’s shoulder, still trembly from the emotional demands of the past hour. “You’re OK,” Cherice murmured, holding Stella tightly. “You’re OK.” Stella nodded deliberately, standing up straight, letting Miss Heston release her. The teacher smiled encouragingly, and Stella smiled shakily in return. “I’ll clean up here,” Cherice promised. “You just go take care of yourself. Come get me if you need anything.” Stella nodded again and headed to the door, looking to make sure the hallway was empty before sneaking out to her locker. Cherice watched for a moment after Stella left, then turned back to the puddle on the floor, knowing that the mess she was about to clean up was nothing compared to the mess that Stella had to face in her own mind every day. TheOwl, desperatewet, facade and 5 others 8 Quote Link to comment
theeclipse 4 Posted February 17, 2019 Share Posted February 17, 2019 This is really good Quote Link to comment
plas broek 23 Posted February 17, 2019 Share Posted February 17, 2019 I love how realistic your stories are and I also like the psigological aspect in your stories. Quote Link to comment
Melificentfan 1,215 Posted February 17, 2019 ✨ Legendary Member Share Posted February 17, 2019 Damn that was fantastic Quote Link to comment
AliasnameTO 335 Posted February 17, 2019 Share Posted February 17, 2019 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. Quote Link to comment
facade 1,947 Posted February 17, 2019 Share Posted February 17, 2019 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. Quote Link to comment
Sapphire3619 340 Posted February 22, 2019 Author Share Posted February 22, 2019 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! AliasnameTO 1 Quote Link to comment
desperatewet 152 Posted February 22, 2019 Share Posted February 22, 2019 You really know how to make a person feel emotions. Good job! Also. I want to hurt that coach. I really do. Even though he's fictional. Is that weird? Slightly off topic. I never read last of the mohicans, but I loved the movie. Especially the score. The score was so beautiful. Quote Link to comment
Sapphire3619 340 Posted April 24, 2019 Author Share Posted April 24, 2019 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. WaityKaty, OmoLem and arg08 3 Quote Link to comment
Melificentfan 1,215 Posted April 24, 2019 ✨ Legendary Member Share Posted April 24, 2019 That was fantastic poor Stella though but I really enjoyed that Quote Link to comment
Manowar 170 Posted April 24, 2019 Share Posted April 24, 2019 I love this story. And yes, poor Stella. Quote Link to comment
Sapphire3619 340 Posted April 29, 2019 Author Share Posted April 29, 2019 On 4/23/2019 at 11:42 PM, Melificentfan said: That was fantastic poor Stella though but I really enjoyed that On 4/24/2019 at 4:46 AM, Manowar said: I love this story. And yes, poor Stella. Thank you both so much! I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to get any more distance out of these characters, so I'm glad you enjoyed it :) Quote Link to comment
Psalm23_4 52 Posted July 4, 2021 Share Posted July 4, 2021 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. Celestia 1 Quote Link to comment
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