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Hey all, I kind of wanted to create a premise that I could write about a series of (fictional) desperate scenarios, so I've created a rather flimsy premise that takes some inspiration from stories lik

Hey all! I actually had written this bit when I wrote part two but I want to give a heads up for those who aren't into it that there is a lot of messing in this one. And in order to compensate for the

Like last time, the first story has messing so please skip if you're not into that. In the fall of my junior year, the staff of the student newspaper got to go to a conference about student journal

On 5/11/2019 at 4:25 AM, RagingPython said:

SPOILERS! WHAT THE HELL, MAN!?

I literally just realised it didn’t actually delete all the text in the quote I tried to delete. Whoops.

It was supposed to just be the text about the musical’s ending, which was claimed to be a spoiler in the story.

I can’t delete the post though, maybe a moderator can for me or something.

19 hours ago, Alex Oxford said:

Why we gotta quote the whole damn story 😂 

I didn’t mean too man, I tried to delete it, and I didn’t realise it didn’t actually delete.

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21 hours ago, RagingPython said:

I literally just realised it didn’t actually delete all the text in the quote I tried to delete. Whoops.

It was supposed to just be the text about the musical’s ending, which was claimed to be a spoiler in the story.

I can’t delete the post though, maybe a moderator can for me or something.

I didn’t mean too man, I tried to delete it, and I didn’t realise it didn’t actually delete.

Les Miserables was written in 1862 is it still a spoiler if it's almost 200 years old jk jk just giving you a hard time, sorry about not giving a heads up. Thanks for the positive feedback overall, though! I'm almost done with a couple of short stories, one messing and one not. Again, looking to post both so people who aren't into messing have new content.

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2 hours ago, herrokitty said:

Les Miserables was written in 1862 is it still a spoiler if it's almost 200 years old jk jk just giving you a hard time, sorry about not giving a heads up. Thanks for the positive feedback overall, though! I'm almost done with a couple of short stories, one messing and one not. Again, looking to post both so people who aren't into messing have new content.

I don’t really mind that much, to be honest I’ve already forgotten the character’s name and it probably won’t affect my eventual viewing experience at all.

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Here's another two stories! The first has messing and is short, so I'll bold where you're free to skip to if you're not into that.


I unfortunately didn’t witness anything like my high school senior year during exam weeks in college, but there was one incident. The end of sophomore year, I had to miss a final (I genuinely had to travel due to a death in the family, but I felt weird telling that to the instructor knowing she probably didn’t believe me) and I was scheduled to make it up the last day of finals week in the office of our TA. Selene was also there to make up the final. She was on our track & field team and in my discussion group. They had their last meet on the day of the final, so she was making it up as well. When I got there, she was telling the TA that they had their end of the year celebration last night. She did seem a little hung over, dressed in a plain tee and green athletic shorts. She looked a lot like (and had the build of) track star Michelle Jenneke, but her athletic shorts were the loose, baggier, comfy kind, not the kind you wear when actually running.

We got started with the exam, with me checking Selene’s capacity out of habit now. 60% bladder, 70% bowels. Seemed high right before a final with six essays, but not so high I was anticipating a “moment,” if you will. She must have been hung over and just wanted to get this final over with. In the silence, punctuated by furious writing, I could hear her stomach grumbling. I’ve firsthand experienced the kind of uncomfortable stomach that comes after a long night of drinking and didn’t envy her attempting to try to concentrate on her exam.

I was sitting at the desk next to her, so I could side-eye and see as her legs crossed at 65% and 75%. She started tapping her foot and bouncing her legs at 70% and 80%. She leaned forward, probably in mild pain, when her bowels hit 85%. I was so distracted I was probably only halfway done with my essays. The whole time, she was just continuously writing and writing. The TA was just sitting at her own desk on the other side of the room on her laptop, oblivious - which gave me more time to observe this desperate, attractive, athletic lady. I saw her face wince and she leaned so far over her nose was practically on her paper. At that point I saw the bowels hit 90%. She eventually straightened up when the wave of desperation subsided, though, and resumed writing. I realized I was not on track to finish my own essay at this rate and forced myself to ignore her and get to finishing my own writing.

Focusing on the final, I breezed through the next three essays. I looked up, debating turning it in and leaving so I could be done with the semester, but I glanced over and saw Selene at 95% of her bladder capacity and 99% of her bowel capacity. One hand was dug in her crotch and as I looked, I realized I could smell a faint fart. She was lucky it was silent - the TA didn’t notice anything. In fact, as I kept staring (probably very obviously if anyone was looking), I saw her subtly lift her butt up and in the quiet room, I could even hear another “silent” fart - like the wind blowing.

A couple seconds after that, though, I heard another quiet fart, but this one ended in a quiet squelch. I saw her bowel capacity had reduced a percentage. She must have sharted! Her ears started to burn red as she stood up and gave her final to the TA, who didn’t suspect a thing - though her percentage lowered by another point as she handed her final. Her bladder reduced sympathetically, from 95% to 93%. She muttered goodbye to the TA and myself and quickly walked out. I couldn’t see any sign of her small accident yet, though I could smell a faint poop smell. I couldn’t miss this - I gave the TA my exam.

I quickly followed after Selene, pretending like I was just happening to use the exit by the girls’ bathroom. Selene heard my footsteps and straightened up and removed her hand from her crotch, pretending nothing was wrong.

This was her demise. I saw as she slowly walked down the hall, with me quickly catching up, her bowels immediately began to drop from 98% all the way down to 0% over the course of about 30 seconds, the time it took for me to catch up to her. I could see her shorts, though loose, start showing a bulge at around 50% and it becoming quite obvious as it reached 0%, the bulge implying something the size of an orange trapped within. In the quiet and empty hallway, I could hear the crackling and the occasional quiet fart (though not as bad as you might imagine given her recent drinking) and saw her bladder was also decreasing in spurts - 95% to 90%, 90% to 80%, all the way down to 50% by the time I was beside her. There were trails of her pee along her toned legs and a couple of yellow splotches on the white floor behind her. I, of course, was in heaven, and it was very visible I was enjoying the show. I couldn’t let Selene know I was a perv! I dipped left while she went right and immediately entered the men’s bathroom. I was so horny I really thought about jerking off right there in public, but I entered a stall and sat down to calm down and eventually pee.

Fortunately for me, though, I heard the door bang open and footsteps as someone entered the stall next to me (there were only two stalls). I looked down and saw familiar running shoes, shaved legs, and trails of wetness. It was a girl! It was Selene! Why was she here? She must not have known I was in the bathroom and perhaps the girls’ bathroom was closed for repairs or cleaning. She must have seen my feet in the stall next door but probably didn’t recognize my shoes and also didn’t care - she probably didn’t want to walk all the way home with a load in her shorts. I heard her slowly lower her shorts and heard a loud splash as she must have dumped the load into the toilet. The bathroom began to smell like her poop as she lowered her shorts the rest of the way and sat down to pee. I could see the inside of her shorts, wrapped around her ankles. You know how some looser women’s shorts have, like, compression shorts or a pseudo-underwear inside? Often of a mesh pattern. Kind of like men’s swimming trunks. Anyway, if you can picture that, it was like that, so she wasn’t wearing underwear. The lining was white and there was a clear brown stain the size of an orange and a yellowish tinge further up. The sight of that and the sound of her peeing was too much and I sat there on the toilet, willing myself to be silent as I came. I believe she was none the wiser as she pulled up her shorts, not bothering to wipe or clean up (I guess what’s the point at this rate) and walked out. I waited for a certain… issue to subside before doing the same, though she was long gone by the time I left.


Wetting only here on out, next part.
 

My junior year, I was lucky to witness three events. The first was at a protest I was covering as a reporter for the student newspaper, a break from student government I was happy to take. The protest was about sexual assault, as this was around the time the #MeToo movement was gaining visibility, and campus had a few blatant cases of sexual assault being ignored by administration. But you’re not here to hear about depressing college politics.

The protest marched all throughout campus for a couple hours, stopping to disrupt places like libraries and administrative offices. I didn’t expect to see any desperation and the thought was furthest from my mind as I took my job seriously and wanted to cover the protest well, walking along and jotting notes and pulling people aside to interview. However, ¾ of the way through, a friend named Melissa came up to me. I knew her through journalism because she was a photographer for the student newspaper, but today someone else was doing that and she was participating as a protestor. Melissa was a skinny blonde who you’d easily expect to be at a protest, with hip high-waisted shorts and dreads, like this Instagram model. I personally thought it was a bit weird to have dreads as a white person, but you’re also not here to hear my opinions on these things. Melissa was a nice person, we got along in the office, and she was an excellent photographer.

Melissa stepped out of the stream of a couple of hundred marchers and came up to me as I stood to the side on the sidewalk away from the road, notepad in hand. She looked a little panicked. She stood close so she could talk quietly. “Hey, where is the nearest bathroom? I gotta pee…”

As if to emphasize her point, she squirmed then, lifting her left leg and wrapping it around her right, holding her crotch with her right hand for a couple seconds. I couldn’t believe she was so blatant about her “potty dance” in front of me, but she was always a pretty forward person. I looked at her bladder capacity… she was already at 95%. Yeah, that’s potty dance in front of your friend levels, for sure. I realized she asked me a question and I should stop staring at her like a creep. “Oh… uhh… there’s a coffeeshop a couple blocks away, the march should go right by it. I’ll point it out when we get there.”

She looked relieved. “Thank god. I didn’t know we would be marching this long, I didn’t use the bathroom before coming here.”

I didn’t have an answer to that so we walked at the back of the pack in silence, Melissa occasionally stopping to cross her legs and bounce in place for a couple seconds. A block away from the coffeeshop, I saw she was at 98% and had taken to permanently having her hand in her crotch, no longer caring if people saw her. I said, encouragingly, “It’s just a block away, hang on!”

All she could muster was a muffled “Mhmm” in response. Her steps were getting smaller and smaller until we were at the front door. She stood there, hand in crotch, hunched over, veryy clearly needing to pee to anyone looking and very clearly waiting for me to open them. The protestors were just marching by without caring, and were fortunately grabbing most of the attention, but I saw a couple people sitting on the outside patio giving her a strange look. She was at 99%. I swung the door open, willing myself not to be… too visibly excited at watching this very desperate lady, and she shuffled in. Bathrooms were for paying customers only so I told her I would buy one while she went before a barista would yell at us. The bathrooms were behind me so I couldn’t watch while she walked over, but apparently there was a wait because by the time I bought a coffee and walked over, she was still in front of two doors, each locked. Must have been single occupancy bathroom. I saw her number was down to 95% and couldn’t help but look down. I didn’t see a visible wet spot from behind as I walked towards her, but I as I got closer I could see just one wet trail along her upper left leg as she crossed her right leg over in front. In fact, as I got to her, I saw it go down to 93% and the trail grew in size. I tapped her shoulder. “How long have you been waiting?”

“Ugh, there was someone in front of me before and she just went in so who knows. I don’t know what the other person is doing but they’ve been in there the whole time.”

We were at the back of the coffeeshop and I saw her eyeing the door to the back alley. Was she… thinking about peeing in the alley? I was honestly so turned on at the thought. Her percentage suddenly dropped to 90%. Standing beside her, I could see her front and could now see a wet circle at her crotch. She muttered, “Fuck it.”

She started running to the door as I saw the number begin to drop steadily. With each step, it was 89%, 88%, 87%. Trying to be helpful and also wanting to see the action as the pervert I was, I ran ahead to open the door for her. She rushed out, now more than one trail running down her leg as the wet spot kept darkening and growing. From behind, I could see it climb up her rear and appear along the legs of the shorts. I followed her out into the alley, which fortunately for her, was empty and closed the door so people inside the coffeeshop couldn’t see. She swooped her shorts down and squatted, revealing a surprisingly effeminate flower-patterned panties. I was surprised her panties didn’t go down with her shorts, and maybe she was too, because I clearly saw the already darkened crotch glisten with renewed wetness as a trickle dripped down her bottom and onto the ground. It stopped before a full on spurt came out, pushing through the cotton and forward a little towards her feet. She finally got control and pulled aside her very wet gusset, revealing her vulva as piss shot out. She peed freely now, audibly sighing in relief and not caring as some of it dripped down her vulva back into her panties. The puddle below her grew and grew, bubbling a little and frothing where the pee landed. I could easily hear the hissing of the piss coming out of her over the sound of it hitting the asphalt ground. The puddle was a couple feet long by the time her percentage hit zero and I watched as the last drops trickled down and was absorbed by her underwear. She let go and the gusset slipped over, covering herself. She gingerly stood up, wincing at how wet it probably felt down there. The wetness was less than a third up the front of her flower-patterned underwear, though I suspect it was much higher up in the back given her squatting. She pulled up her shorts, which showed a relatively small circle on her crotch the size of a fist before finally making eye contact with me. That was, of course, when she raised her eyebrow at my obvious arousement. She walked up to me. “I would say thank you for helping me out, but it seems I already paid you back.”

I was deeply embarrassed. I didn’t know how to answer. “Uh… Sorry…”

She smirked. “It’s fine. Actually, it makes me feel a little bit better about myself. Now, you need to calm down so you can go back to reporting on the rest of the protest while I go home and change.”

I nodded and she turned and walked away. I could see a similar fist-sized wet spot from behind as she walked down the alley and turned and disappeared before I went to trying to distract myself so I could go catch up to the protest and report on the rest of it. I hoped I hadn’t missed anything important…

Melissa and I continued to work for the student newspaper for the next two years (she was a year ahead of me and graduated after that) and stayed friends through that, but we never did bring up that incident and I never saw her that desperate again. Ah, well, that’s probably the best possible outcome in real life - mutual ignoring of an embarrassing moment for everybody.

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I'm working on a somewhat ambitious story, but I wrote a short one while I was working on that, so here it is. Just a short made up anecdote.


Senior year was a wild one from a desperation standpoint. Before I explain that, let me tell a quick anecdote from graduation, because the rest of senior year might take a while to tell. I witnessed one accident at graduation. I’m surprised I don’t hear more stories of it - hundreds, sometimes thousands of people stuck in a long ceremony (and often hungover and chugging water…). Anyway, I was lucky because the girl it happened to was sitting next to me. Her name was Rosie, a half-Black half-Latina woman and she was wearing an outfit much like this and looked much like her as well, showing off her midriff. I could see her outfit as we lined up to enter the auditorium and take our seats because she had come in late and hurried into position in front of me, zipping up her graduation gown (our colors were blue) over the outfit. I knew her briefly because we shared one class our junior year so I said a quick hello and she returned it with a quick and distracted hello.

Lots of people party the night before graduation and I wonder if she was running late after a late night. Curiosity piqued, I checked her bladder (easy since she was in front of me) and saw she was at 80% capacity. I had enough experience at this point to know I might be in for a show.

She finished zipping up her gown and we were immediately ushered into the front of the auditorium to take our seats as the ceremony began, no time for her to find a bathroom. Immediately upon sitting, Rosie crossed her legs tightly. Unfortunately for her, we immediately had to stand as the university president entered to give the introductory address. She winced as she stood, keeping her legs crossed. I imagined how tightly she was clutching her muscles under her graduation gown. We sat as the president spoke, a boring and cliché address that he probably repeated every year with tired trivia about our college and pleas for us to be “active alumni.” Rosie looked even more bored than me, her legs not only crossed but now bouncing up and down, her hands at her sides gripping her chair. Someone glancing at her would assume boredom; I knew it was more than just that. By the time the president finished, she was at 85% of her capacity. It would be touch and go for her…

After the president was the student speaker. I had no idea who he was and his speech was similarly boring and rote. Something about being proud of each other and our accomplishments and how important this school was for us. I was just excited for thousands of dollars of tuition finally paying off in the form of being sort of qualified for a job that might not be as meaningless as some. And, at the moment, it was more interesting to side-eye the ever more desperate Rosie. At one particularly corny line, Rosie groaned. Others assumed she just disliked the speaker, who was genuinely bad, but I saw she had just hit 90%. She was now bent over, in addition to her shaking crossed legs and hands gripping her seat.

Finally… the speaker was done. Unfortunately, graduation is all pomp and circumstance, and there was yet another speaker, the keynote, before we could get our degrees. The speaker was a former student who now played professional sport, the closest our school had to a celebrity graduate. He was okay, but again - corny, stereotypical, not interesting. Certainly not engaging enough for Rosie, who I saw creep up in percentage as the speaker went on. 91%. 92%. 93%. Sweat was forming on her forehead. She stared straight ahead, zoned out and not focused. Even if the speaker was interesting, there’s no way she would be paying attention.

At 96%, the keynote finally ended. She finally smiled and applauded along with the others, probably seeing the end was near and she could soon go to the bathroom. However, she was mistaken, as now the students earning PhDs and Masters degrees lined up to be brought on stage and handed their degrees. There were probably a hundred students before we could even line up to get ours. I saw Rosie’s face fall and eyebrows furrow with worry as she realized the setup. I tried to make small talk. “This ceremony is so boring… I paid thousands of dollars, I just want to get my degree and go.”

Rosie nodded. “Honestly, I’m hungover as shit, too. We stayed out until 4 AM last night.”

So… no admitting you had to pee, too. “Damn, what bar was open that late?!”

“We went to a house party… big mistake. I’m wearing the outfit I went out last night, I just threw on my graduation gown when I got up and ran here.”

“Well… you look pretty good for rolled out of bed and hungover.”

She smiled, thankfully, and didn’t think my flirtatious comment was over the line. “Thanks… UGH how many graduate students do we have? Don’t go to grad school here, we’re not that good.”

I laughed at that. She was now at 98% and rocking back and forth. The line of graduate students still paraded through stage, each person stopping to pick up their diploma and shake the president’s hand. It was moving for their family, I’m sure (mine out in the crowd somewhere, too), but so incredibly boring to watch. The rocking was a bit more noticeable, and I wondered if she was getting to a point where other people would notice.

Fortunately for her, as she hit 99%, it was our turn to get up and line up backstage to wait for our turn to cross the stage. She stood up and stiffly shuffled her way along the line as I followed, pretending to stare at my own feet when really I was staring at her and waiting for her to lose control. As we reached back stage and came to a halt, waiting to be sent on stage, I saw her hit 100%. Now that we were standing still, her legs returned to their crossed position. She had to be close to losing it.

As it was, that was when she lost it. I was so glad she was in front of me so I could stare at her without anyone noticing and keep her number visible. Before the first undergraduate was even announced across the stage, I saw her drop to 98%. I looked down, but saw nothing yet. As it dropped to 95% a few seconds later, I saw the first droplets roll down the back of her lower leg, which was just visible past the hem of her gown. She slowly uncrossed her legs and stood with them slightly apart as I saw a steady stream begin to fall. I could hear the faintest hiss and trickle as it hit the growing puddle beneath her, but no one not paying attention would likely notice in the dark backstage. The names began to be called out as the people at the front of the alphabet began crossing the stage. Rosie shuffled forward, still peeing. People were cycling through quickly and we were roughly in the first 25% of the alphabet, so we got all the way to the edge of the stage before I saw her stream die out completely. It was a long piss, probably over a minute (and she was likely trying to keep it from being full strength, to be fair). I saw she was still at 30% when she stopped, a small puddle leading to her feet going back about 15 feet. I had to imagine someone noticed wet spots on the ground, but I guess without context one would assume spilled water.

She had no obvious tell she had just done the deed and confidently grabbed her diploma and walked out on stage, shaking the president’s hand and waving to the crowd before exiting off stage. I was grateful for the gown which hid my otherwise visible excitement over what I had witnessed. I grabbed my diploma and walked out on stage. With the bright lights, I saw there were still small droplets on the ground, probably drops falling from her wet legs (and presumably her underwear). The brazenness of her… I was impressed. I shook the president’s hand, who was none the wiser, and exited. By the time I had exited, I saw she was running off backstage, likely to a bathroom.

I didn’t see her again until after the ceremony outside, where she was posing for pictures with friends and family. I could see she had unzipped her gown and her crop top and skirt were on full display but there was no sign of wetness. She had gotten away with it! I wondered if she was wearing a wet pair of underwear or if she threw them away. Both thoughts excited me. It was an enjoyable end to my college life, that was for sure, and I admit I may have looked at her social media photos from her graduation after that, knowing what she had done just an hour before those pictures were taken.

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On 5/11/2019 at 5:47 AM, Alex Oxford said:

Why we gotta quote the whole damn story 😂 

I have an extension I've coded for this site with many features, one of them is merely deleting peoples posts if they're more than 70% quotation and exceed 100 words. Same goes for posts that quote large pictures with a 3-word reply.

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So I organized this story a little different, it’s a fiction based on living with some girls for a whole year. Also, just a reminder that the behavior of the first person protagonist is often creepy and not acceptable in real life, so please don’t interpret my stories as me endorsing this kind of behavior lol. This is fantasy, after all. This story was inspired by a series called The Best Place I Ever Lived In on a Tumblr site called The Yellow Safe.

 

The reason why senior year will take a while to explain is that up until senior year, I lived by myself. Senior year, through happenstance, I lived with four girls. And somehow, I witnessed all of them have accidents. Between that and the sex at the end of junior year, my life may have peaked. I, of course, did my best to be a respectful and not creepy roommate… but I’m not sure I always succeeded.

What had happened was a good friend from the student newspaper and fellow journalism major, Yannelly, had agreed to live in a house with three other girls but they were looking for a final roommate. Desperate to sign the lease before someone else swooped it up, she asked me to join and I did without hesitation. Yannelly was model-level beautiful, a Latina woman who looked like this model, but we bonded easily at the paper over similar opinions on social justice, where journalism should go, and a whole variety of issues. We also worked well together, often working on similar or parallel political coverage. We were also the same year in school. The other three were friends of Yannelly. One was a black girl named Amy, who was a bit curvier than Yannelly. I knew Amy, too, and we had mutual friends and got along before living together (she was a big activist and thought I covered her issues well on the paper), though we weren’t close before senior year. She was a year younger. Veronica, who was model pretty and also on the curvy side, I had met before at some house parties - she used to be a big party-goer (which is how she met Yannelly) and was in the same year as Yannelly and myself. Lastly, there was Lauren, who became friends with Yannelly through a class. She was a year younger and was the only one I hadn’t met before, but the other three vouched for me. I know it seems ridiculous, but if I were to compare Lauren to someone in terms of looks, it would probably be Kendall Jenner (though she, fortunately, did not have the personality of one of the Jenner/Kardashian sisters).

I won’t lie, I was pretty excited to live with such attractive women, but my main focus was the cheap rent and being a good roommate. In fact, I wanted to prove as a guy, I could be a normal and not creepy roommate. I hadn’t anticipated, even remotely, witnessing what I did that year.

We were a surprisingly good mix for people who didn’t know each other well and ended up all close friends over the course of the year. We had movie nights, did chores and went grocery shopping together, often walked to campus together, and generally hung out (and since Veronica had a car, we often carpooled to different places, like late night food runs). I got to know all of them really well, ranging from their social lives and hobbies (Veronica loved The Office, Amy was a nature lover, Yannelly and Lauren worked out regularly, and they all partied like stereotypical college students) to their boyfriends (and sometimes girlfriends for Lauren!) and their sexual proclivities. Yannelly was still a party hound and would regularly bring home boys for very loud, often slightly drunken sex, which the rest of us would often proceed to poke fun at the next morning after the guy had slipped out. Her, Lauren, and Amy loved to gossip about sex and masturbation. I kept my mouth shut to not be a creep, but secretly I loved listening to them talk about that kind of stuff. Lauren was seeking more of a dating situation, but aside from a few flings, nothing stuck for her first semester and she complained regularly her only dependable partner was her trusty collection of vibrators, which she showed off proudly. In fact, since she had the bedroom next to mine, I could hear her masturbate, though I of course did not tell her (in part so I could continue to enjoy hearing it!). While Amy loved to gossip with them and was very open-minded, she lived her personal life more conservatively. She was often out of the house in the wilderness with her boyfriend who she had all through that year. Veronica was more of a mystery; she grew up a bit more insular and while supportive of her housemates’ lifestyles, I never once heard her give detail about her own sex life. Her refusal to admit un-ladylike habits extended to never talking about her bathroom habits, which made it more exciting whenever I did notice she was at her limit (since whether they behave like they’re desperate or not, my power meant I could see where they were really at!).

Veronica, in addition to being the least upfront about desperation, seemed to have the best control. She seemed to always come home from class or parties or events with her bladder 80-90% full and sometimes her bowels similarly high, but I rarely saw her actually not make it. Sometimes, she would come home and not even go to the bathroom right away, cooking herself dinner or doing a chore as I surreptitiously watched. She would be at 90% of her bladder capacity and just stand there in the kitchen over the stove and cook as if she wasn’t minutes away from pissing herself. She would finally pee in the 95-98% range.

The first time I had any inclination that she, too, had the occasional accident like the other girls was in late October. It was one of the last warm days and she had gone out to the bars with some friends of hers to enjoy the warm weather. She was wearing a sundress like the one in the earlier picture. Similar to that picture, her curvaceousness and big butt meant the dress always seemed a bit shorter. When she went up the stairs wearing sundresses, I realized from the bottom of the stairs I could always catch a glimpse of her butt and underwear, though I tried to not take advantage of that too often. This one day, though, she came home and was 0% of her bladder capacity. She regularly held it in public, so this surprised me. After she said hi she went upstairs and I followed her to go into my room. Looking up, what I saw was both surprising and unsurprising. Her full cut gray panties were soaked, going halfway up her butt. Her legs were dry so she must have cleaned up or wasn’t standing when she went. I was deeply curious about what happened but obviously had no way of broaching the subject. Later in the evening, it was clear she had changed out of it and that was that.

You might think three months into living with each other is actually pretty early to witness an accident, but I quickly found out desperation was common for these four girls. Amy was, frankly, lazy and seemed to always procrastinate. This meant she often seemed to come home desperate, probably having run out of time to use the bathroom while out, and sometimes it meant leaving the house desperate because she didn’t give herself enough time to use the bathroom (there was only one for all five of us).

Yannelly just seemed to have poor control, actually. I realized quickly that she regularly came home and went directly to the bathroom before going directly to the bedroom to change because she often only mostly made it. She also had one helluva metabolism and seemed to always be stinking up the bathroom, not that you want to hear about that, but it seemed she was always desperate. It was funny to me that she was, because I had never noticed before when working with her at the paper and she was a very determined person who took herself quite seriously as well (before going into journalism, she wanted to be in government and regularly went to student organization meetings well into the night on weekdays).

Lauren seemed more like Veronica at first, with no seeming out of the ordinary desperation or accidents until a certain situation late into the first semester that I’ll get to.

My first inclination that I had accidentally roomed with girls who were particularly attractive for my… preferences was literally a week into living together in early August. Since school hadn’t started back up yet, we were doing a lot of socializing and partying together, in part to get to know each other. One night, we all went out to a friend’s house party but most of us came home early. Yannelly stayed out late and I had no idea when she got home but when she did she must have passed out on the couch because I saw her there, out cold, when I came downstairs for my breakfast. She was wearing a short black dress like this one. She was passed out lying stomach down and in her passed out state, the back had ridden up somewhat and her left leg was hanging off the couch, spreading them apart. As I turned to go to the kitchen, I could see directly up her dress and saw a pair of simple, translucent pair of full cut white panties. What most intrigued me, though, was what seemed to be a stain. I furtively looked around to make sure no one else was awake and around and walked closer to her. I’m not proud of doing this, but I squatted down so I could directly see her underwear and saw her entire gusset to halfway up the back of her underwear was a clear yellow stain. She must have fully pissed herself at some point last night before she got home to pass out. Excited but not wanting to be caught, I went to the kitchen and went about my day. At some point as I was eating breakfast she woke up and muttered hello before sauntering up the stairs, clearly very hungover.

Partying certainly didn’t go well with continence. We hosted a party at the beginning of the school year and the morning after I saw Amy rush down the hall into the basement where our laundry was with the clothing she was wearing last night. I had my suspicions and snuck into her bedroom. Sure enough, her bed had a wet spot about three feet in diameter. I quickly hurried out before she returned, since I’m sure her next goal was to wash her bedding.

Similarly, a couple weeks later Yannelly came home from working out while I was on the living room couch watching TV. She muttered hi and rushed past me to the stairwell, and I could have sworn her leggings were glistening a little. She joined me on the couch in athletic shorts a few minutes later. I really felt like I could smell just a hint of acrid pee, but I didn’t say anything. Later, I checked her laundry pile while she was out of her room and found, hidden under a top layer of clothes, a pair of very wet leggings. They indeed smelled of urine. I wondered if Yannelly had an accident while working out, which wasn’t unheard of, and just walked home.

Indeed, at the beginning of October, I witnessed the first accident first-hand and it was Yannelly. It wasn’t a big one, but on Mondays I didn’t have any late classes or newspaper related meetings, so unless I had something to cover I was home first. This Monday, Yannelly was home next. She had a presentation for a class so was dressed a little fancier in a dress much like this. I was in the living room scrolling through some homework on my computer with the TV on when I heard the rattling of a key and the door burst open and slam shut as Yannelly kicked off her shoes. I suspected immediately and checked; 96% full… which suddenly dropped to 95% continued to drop. I pretended to look at my laptop as I watched. She frantically dropped her backpack by the front door and speed-walked to the stairs, presumably to the bathroom. As she came in full view, I saw glistening streaks along her tan legs before she disappeared up the stairs. By the time she left my view she was down to 80%. When I heard the bathroom door shut, I immediately headed over to the front door. Unsurprisingly, I saw droplets and little puddles leading from the door to the stairwell. They continued up the stairs and down the hall, but I went into my room rather than get closer to the bathroom so as to not arouse suspicion. I suspected Yannelly would want to clean up and didn’t want to do that with me watching. When I saw her next that evening she was dressed in casual clothing and there was no evidence of wetness on the floor.

It turns out this would be a regular occurence. A couple weeks later, on a Sunday morning, Yannelly came home from spending the night either passed out from a party or a hook-up, dressed in this very revealing dress (with similar underwear). I was vegging out on the couch (a common occurrence on the weekend), having spent the night in. Again, she came bursting in and stumbled up the stairs. I could see the numbers go down, 90%, 89%, 88%, as she disappeared up the stairs, along with the rivulets down her legs. This time, I was too lazy to make my exit and continued to lounge on my couch. A few minutes later, Yannelly reappeared wearing a tank top and sweatpants. I wondered what she would do about the trail of piss from the door to the hallway. As she came in, she dragged her feet slightly and I realized she was wearing socks and was subtly soaking up the droplets with her socks. She muttered a hungover hi to me, grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, and walked back up. I was impressed by her ingenuity, though maybe this had happened before. Over the course of the year, I saw this pee-while-running-to-the-bathroom routine a whopping four more times from Yannelly, once in purple athletic shorts where I saw rivulets along her legs as she rushed home from the gym, once in jeans that left a small wet spot visible before she disappeared to the bathroom and her room to change, and once in a romper like this that very visibly showed her growing wet spot. I had to sneak in to her laundry pile after that time because I couldn’t believe she would have mostly made it with the difficulty of taking that off. I wasn’t wrong, as the romper in her laundry pile, unlike the tennis ball sized wet spot when I saw her enter the house, now had a wet spot in the front the size of a dinner plate. *messing mention* The last occurrence was in leggings, and this time not only did I see her black leggings glisten as her bladder counted down from 99% to 90% in front of me, I saw as she entered her bowels were at 100% and then 95% by the time she passed me. I swiveled my head to follow her and saw just a hint of a bulge the size of a golf ball by the time she reached the stairs, her bowels reduced to 90%.

Oh, actually, as an aside, I did once see Veronica, who almost never displayed any poop desperation, come home from a jog late in the spring and was similarly turtleheading as she entered. Her workout leggings looked like this and the tightness along with her curvaceous butt meant despite it only being a little bit out, I could clearly see the bulge as she rushed up the stairs.

Back to Yannelly, another time, she came home from a night out wearing that dress from earlier. I was grabbing a late night snack from the kitchen when she burst in. At this point, when one of my roommates burst in with such urgency, I always automatically checked if they were desperate. This time I saw she was only at 50% of her bladder capacity and 0% of her bowel capacity. I couldn’t figure out why she was so urgent until I smelled a faint smell of poop. She said a quick hello as if nothing was wrong and proceeded to the staircase. Given the sheerness of the dress, I saw very obviously the bulge in her full black panties. Afterwards, as usual, she changed and acted like nothing was wrong. She must have decided not to go at the party and pooped herself on the way home. I wondered if anyone saw; a translucent dress is never a good option to hide your accident. *messing mention end*

It was funny how different Amy was the first time I witnessed this almost-accident happen to her, since her personality was much more down to earth. This was a chilly fall day, and she burst through the door in tight black jeans and a blue college sweater. Amy in tight jeans always had that effect of thick thighs but with a thigh gap due to the tightness of the pants, and that was always secretly a look I liked. Like Yannelly, she frantically threw off her tennis shoes and rushed to the staircase. I knew at this point to just immediately check and saw she was at 95% of her bladder capacity and dropping by the second. Despite the black jeans, I could see a glistening circle about the size of a tennis ball on the front and in behind when she started going up the stairs.

Unlike Yannelly, afterwards Amy came back downstairs with a towel to wipe up the floor, not hiding what she was doing in front of me (and still wearing her black jeans). I feigned ignorance. “Amy, what are you doing?”

She looked up. “Well, to be honest, I’m cleaning this trail of piss I left behind.”
I started laughing at her openness. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry that happened. I’m just glad you didn’t leave it to someone else to clean or something.”

“Don’t worry about it, it is kinda funny. I just didn’t bother to go during class and afterwards I didn’t want to walk and saw the bus right outside so I just jumped on… but I shouldn’t have put it off because I started peeing the moment I got to our door.”

She walked up to me. “Can you see?”

If only she realized how exciting this was for me. “Oh yeah, I can kind of see a darker patch… it’s like perfectly round.”

She looked down and chuckled. “Oh yeah, it is.”

“Good thing you’re wearing black pants so if anyone saw you from the outside they wouldn’t notice. So… you gonna change or you just gonna keep wearing those?”

“Honestly, it’s tempting… it’s too much effort to change… but I should. Besides, my boyfriend Ryan is coming after he’s done with class, I wouldn’t want him to see. I’ll change after I clean up the floor.”

That’s what she proceeded to do. I saw her again that semester have a similar minor accident in this outfit. It stuck out in my mind because that time she didn’t change and despite the fact I knew she peed a little, she spent the rest of the evening in that skirt. By the end of the night, with all the sitting and moving around, the only sign she was still wearing wet panties there was a tiny wet spot on the back of her skirt, but she generally got away with it. I only noticed because I was looking for a sign. At one point she was sitting across the living room from me and when she adjusted her seat, I saw a pair of yellow panties with a darkened crotch, confirming my suspicion that she hadn’t changed.

One night towards the end of the first semester when we had all become friends, we were all hanging out to watch a movie. It was a comedy, but it wasn’t that funny. We did spend the movie making fun of the characters and dumb plot. I don’t remember what the comment was, exactly, but with all the jokes and laughing, Lauren said something that just made us snap. We were literally on the floor laughing for a minute. Amy, who was wearing overalls and an outfit like this, suddenly shouted out between wheezes, “I’m peeing!”

I looked up from the floor where I was sitting and could see. Each renewed laugh was accompanied by a few percentages dropping. She repeated herself, dropping from 90% to 88% to 85% between words. “I… can’t… stop!”

The situation made everyone laugh harder. Veronica kept some sense to her and said, “Get off the couch! Don’t mess up the couch!”

Amy got up, but doubled over with laughter and desperation as she tried to shuffle to the bathroom. Now I could see a growing wet spot. Wet streams appeared along the inside of her overall legs. Halfway to the stairs, she tried to preemptively take off her overalls, undoing the suspender-esque belts. As the front and back fell away, she kicked off her overalls and stood in front of us in a black thong. I could see her pee at full strength at this point, running down her legs and also going straight down onto her crumpled overalls. She gave up and turned around, shouting, “It’s too late, I can’t hold it!”

I tried not to show how amazed I was to watch a wet stream shoot out of her thong. Everyone else was now laughing even harder at the ridiculousness of the situation, but eventually Amy finished peeing and the rest of us got control of our laughter (and me of something else). Amy picked up her drenched overalls mournfully. “I guess I should clean this up…”

Lauren stood up to help. “No worries, this happens to everyone. Once, in high school, my friends and I tried to hide to jump out and scare our friend as a prank and her reaction was so over the top I peed my pants laughing. I’m sure you’ve all peed your pants, right?”

I shook my head no. Veronica also claimed she didn’t pee her pants (which definitely wasn’t true!). Lauren pouted. “Okay, perfect people, you don’t count. Yannelly, back me up here.”

Yannelly never admitted those desperate small accidents, so I wondered how she would handle it. She was plenty open about sex but weirdly too uptight to talk about her bladder regularly, but she defied my expectations revealed perhaps the most inappropriate story yet. “Well… umm… actually, once I was hooking up with a guy and I had to pee but I didn’t want to ruin the mood… and I actually peed a little during sex. The guy thought I had squirted so he didn’t know but I knew it wasn’t that.”

Lauren confessed, “At least you got away with it. Once I didn’t go after class and came home and didn’t quite make it and THIS GUY over here was just hanging out and saw the whole thing and even saw me have to clean up…”

I replied, “That was nothing compared to this! But you’re among friends, no one here is judging. Who knows when any of us will piss ourselves in front of each other…”

That caused us all to start laughing again before we all chipped in to help Amy clean up.

Amy had another accident early second semester in front of me. The winter really hurt her motivation and she often rolled out of bed to go to class at the last second. On this day, Thursdays, we had class the same time and took the bus (to avoid walking in the snow) together to get to campus. This particular day, I was about to head out when I saw her door still closed. I banged on the door. “Amy! We gotta get to class!”
Amy opened the door, clearly having woken up only five minutes ago and having just pulled up a pair of pants (black jeans like earlier) along with a white tee I suspect she had slept in. She threw on a coat and grabbed her backpack and we wordlessly walked to the bus stop, since Amy was barely awake yet, and sat down to wait. I then realized she was rather restless for a barely-awake person, shuffling her legs up and down. Right… she just got up and hadn’t used the bathroom. She was at… 90%. Wow. That was full. The ride to campus wasn’t far, though, since it was in theoretical walking distance, and there were plenty of bathrooms on campus, so I still expected her to make it. She grumbled, “Where is this damn bus?”

“Amy. We’ve only been waiting like three minutes. It’ll be here.”

“Why can’t we have like a train or streetcar system so we’d know exactly when it would be here.”

“Damn, Amy, early in the morning for infrastructure policy proposals. You switching major to urban planning?”

She laughed. “No… I just didn’t get a chance to pee before we left. I could NOT wake up this morning.”

“Yeah… I noticed. That you couldn’t wake up, not that you had to pee.”

Which was a lie. At this point the bus showed up so we got on and grabbed seats in the back together. She was at 95% of her bladder capacity, and her tight black jeans must have felt like they were relentlessly pushing in her ballooning bladder. She crossed her leg and stuck her left leg in her crotch under her backpack, though I could see what she was doing. I instinctively raised my eyebrow at the obvious desperation. She noticed and whispered, “I’m sorry, I have to go so bad, I feel like a little girl but I just have to literally hold it in.”

Her words turned me on and I was glad I had my own backpack on my lap, but I didn’t let that on. “It’s a short bus ride, you’ll make it.”

The bus had to stop at every single stop as college students universally chose the bus on this winter day rather than walk, so it was slow progress. I watched as Amy squeezed her hand and legs tighter together as the number went up. 96% at the next bus stop. 97%. 98%.

We were two bus stops away from Amy’s usual stop (I stopped the one after that) when she was at 100%. The bus was really full and we were surrounded, so I leaned in and whispered, “You doing okay?”

She just shook her head no. As the bus took off, the jolt caused what I saw was a drop to 98%. She let out a meep but no other sign she had leaked was visible. As we braked for a traffic light, I saw that cause another drop to 95%. She held on until the next stop. However, as we departed from that, she started leaking at regular minute intervals. I began to see a shinier wet spot grow where her thighs met her crotch. At 90% it was like a golf ball. At 85% it was a tennis ball. At 80% it started elongating down her thighs. A minute away from her stop, disaster struck as I literally heard a hiss as she let out a five second leak that dropped her down to 65%. I looked down to see urine pool in-between her thighs between her hand and backpack before it slowly seeped down. She looked to me, panic in her eyes. “I’m pissing myself, what if people see?”

Thinking fast, I whispered, “You’re wearing black jeans, no one will notice. I’ll get off this stop and walk right behind you to block it just in case.”

“You sure? It’s not your stop.”

“It’s literally a three minute walk to the next stop, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, thanks.”

We arrived at the stop and Amy stood up and scooted past me out of our pair of seats. Her butt was directly in front of my face and I could see her whole butt was darker and glistening and I saw her seat was totally soaked. Fortunately, the padding meant it wasn’t a literal puddle, so it wouldn’t be obvious until some poor soul sat in it. Hopefully not for a few stops so no one would put together who had done it. I got up and followed Amy closely, awkwardly keeping my backpack in front of me to hide my arousal and to better block Amy’s butt, and we got off the bus without anyone noticing. Amy threw on her backpack and lowered it as far as it would go to cover up her butt. She turned to me. “Is it noticeable?”

Looking right at her crotch, I could see the darker patch around it and going down almost to her knees, but it was only because I knew to look. As I looked, I saw a sudden glistening as she must have let a little bit more out.  Her left hand, which was in her crotch, was obviously wet too. “I can tell because I’m looking for it, but it’ll dry soon and no one will notice. Do you want to skip class and change?”

She shook her head no. “Can’t miss any more class…”

I walked with her to her building, backpack now on my back and hopefully she wouldn’t notice my front. She lowered her voice and leaned in, “I gotta confess. I always put off going to the bathroom last minute and I love black jeans because if I leak no one will notice. But I think I full on pissed myself this time. This is, what, the third time I’ve pissed myself in front of you!”

“Hey, no judgement. That’s what friends are for. Make sure to get my back when I inevitably piss myself at some point.”

She laughed before heading to the bathroom. “You better get to class so you’re not late. Thanks, man.”

I nodded and headed off. When I got home from my classes (and a newspaper meeting) I saw Amy was on the couch, still in her black jeans. I raised an eyebrow and she looked down and laughed. “Oh, yeah, when it dried off it was totally not noticeable so I got lazy and haven’t bothered to change. I got away with it, in part thanks to you!”

I high-fived her and we didn’t talk about that incident again.

Amy was in a committed relationship, but the other girls weren’t and that mattered twice in my time living with Yannelly and Veronica. Our relationships were generally platonic, but they had a sexual turn in conjunction with two accidents I witnessed.

Yannelly sometimes did yoga in front of the TV in the living room when she didn’t want to go out to the gym, so late in the first semester during winter she did this quite often. She had a very stylish rotation of athletic clothes, and on this day was wearing a matching pair of leggings and sports bra. At this point, we were comfortable enough that I could be on the couch on my laptop and half-watching whatever show Yannelly was watching while she did yoga.

I, of course, may have checked out her butt as she posed first face down kneeling and then with her butt in the air. She seemed to have noticed, and I don’t know if she was feeling horny that day, hadn’t hooked up a while, or what, but she seemed to play into it when she noticed and teased me by pointing her butt at me during various poses and holding some poses longer than others (not much time on planking… but seemingly much more time than should be warranted on down dog poses). She also regularly pulled her leggings up to keep it tightly wrapped around her butt. I kept an eye out on the show, but I didn’t pay much attention until about halfway through her workout when I saw her pause very briefly as her arm grabbed her crotch mid-lunge. She must have thought I wasn’t looking at that moment. I then saw she was working out at an 85% full bladder. Not accident-worthy in normal circumstances, but exercising puts strain on the muscles. I continued to work on a paper on my laptop but kept one eye on her.

I didn’t see any accidents until she switched to a rather old school set of crunches (is that yoga at that point or just plain working out? I’m not an expert on these things). A couple crunches in, I saw the number drop from 86% to 84% when she lifted her upper body. She didn’t stop, though, and for fifteen reps I saw the number drop a percentage or two with each crunch. Her leggings had to be soaked in the crotch, but she was facing away from me and towards the TV. By the time she was done, though, she was down to 79%.

She stuck her arms beneath her butt and began doing leg lifts. As she raised her legs, I saw a faint glistening on her crotch, more visible once in a while as she let out another spurt ery five or so reps. On her last rep, she peed a full 15% spurt down to 60% as her legs were in the air and I saw a trickle roll past her leggings and along her exposed abdomen. This seemed like her wake-up call because she immediately dropped her legs and got up, exposing a foot-wide puddle on her mat and a clear wet spot covering her whole butt. She quickly looked to me and I raised my eyebrow at her to signify I had seen what had happened. She froze before saying, “Oh my god, I peed while working out, I didn’t even notice until that last rep…”

“Yeah… I noticed just now… but don’t worry about it I’m not judging.”
“You just noticed? You weren’t looking that whole time?”

“Uhh…”

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind. In fact, I think I ought to help you keep this a secret…”

She walked up to me and moved aside my laptop, which was hiding a now obvious boner in my jeans. “I thought so.”

She grabbed it before unzipping my pants and slipping her hand inside. She straddled me on the couch and I had a straight view to her wet crotch before she started making out with me. She began stroking me and said, “This is me paying you to keep a secret. Is it enough?”

Enough?! This was far too much payment! But I was fine with that and nodded. Despite the awkward angle, I managed to slip my hand in her very wet leggings and began to finger her. It wasn’t long before I could feel her cumming, which was accompanied by several spurts that directly hit my hand before soaking into her pants. The feeling of her literally peeing on me was too much and I came in my pants. She pulled her hand out and stood up, grinning. “Guess we both had accidents.”

She winked at me before going to go clean up. We never talked about that incident again, but for the next couple of weeks I blushed a little when I saw her and she smiled knowingly at me.

Early second semester, Veronica and I went to a house party together because a student org she was in was having a keg fundraiser (money for cups for alcohol went to the student org). Against school policy, but everyone did it. Despite the cold, Veronica dressed in a striped miniskirt and black top under her coat, which she took off immediately upon arriving at the party. I loved when she wore short dresses and skirts, because her curvaceous nature and big butt meant it always seemed to almost be too short.

For the first half of the party, Veronica and I just drank and had a good time. However, around 11 PM, the volunteer collecting money asked if I would be willing to do it so he could have a drink. Grateful for an opportunity to sit down (in a nice armchair couch, no less!), I agreed. A few minutes later, Veronica came by to keep me company. She was clearly drunk, as evidenced by her trying to start toasts with the people I was collecting money from as they entered and drawing penises on their hands (gotta draw something to know who’s paid!). At one point, she dropped the marker she was using and bent over right in front of me to change, giving me a straight shot of her butt and white thong. Her drunkenness culminated with her sitting on my lap to take over talking to newcomers while I just kept a close eye to make sure her drunkenness stopped any financial mistakes. I don’t think she intended to sit on me as a sexual act, since she almost never was upfront about sexual things, but she kept shifting back and forth as it dawned on me she had drunk a lot and not yet peed at this party. I tried to will myself to not get turned on, but between the literal shifting of her butt left and right and the knowledge that she was at 90% of her bladder capacity was too much. She had to feel that… Despite my embarrassment and to my surprise, she stayed sitting and actually shifted more vigorously on my lap. She rocked back and forth as she collected money from people arriving. It had to look like she was trying to be sexual now. I put my arms around her waist, just as much to keep her steady as a flirtatious move. She didn’t move away. I was shocked. Veronica, the iron queen with the poker face, was rubbing her butt on my dick on purpose. And she had to pee. I had flashbacks to Cory in that Uber.

The stream of late party-goers died down for a little bit and she took the opportunity of the privacy to say to me, “I gotta pee but I’m not gonna go until you cum.”

I had never heard her remotely be that sexual before and the change in personality caused my dick to twitch in anticipation. She was at 97%... She unzipped my jeans, pulled out my dick, and proceeded to sit on it, pulling her thong aside so I could slip in. I paused for a second. “Are you sure you’re not too drunk?” She gave me a look, like “Don’t question my actions again.”

I didn’t protest any further and she pulled down the front of her skirt as I settled in and now it looked like she was semi-innocently sitting on me but it was so much more than that.

She bounced up and down, gripping the arms of the chair, only stopping when someone showed up to the door. It was surreal to talk to people who were oblivious to the fact that you were literally having sex in front of them. After the foot traffic died down again, I slipped my hand in her crotch and fingered her as she rode me. Soon, I could tell she was cumming, though she kept the volume down to a minimum as she shuddered. I felt a wetness on my hand and then on my lap as I saw her let go of her bladder, from 98% to 95% to 90%. It was too much and I came in her as she kept peeing, 85%, 80%. I felt warmness spread along my legs, up my crotch, seep under me and pool under both of us on the couch. She sat there, shaking, until she was totally empty, probably a minute. She slowly slipped off me and readjusted her very wet and yellowed thong and pulled down her skirt, which miraculously showed nothing. She laughed. “Now it looks like you’re the one who pissed themselves.”

I couldn’t be too mad given what had happened and zipped myself up. “Well, Veronica, I think that means you’re on door duty by yourself because I gotta go home and change.”

She eyed the wet couch, then pulled up the back of her skirt so it wouldn’t get wet and sat right down. “It’s not gross if it’s my own pee.”

I laughed and headed out. Unlike Yannelly, there was no acknowledgement the next day that had happened and we carried on being platonic friends for the rest of the year.

Speaking of hook-ups, I should now get to the Lauren stories. I didn’t notice any accidents from Lauren until late first semester. She was cramming for finals and jokingly complained at me for playing video games. She yelled down the hall, overhearing my games, “I can’t believe you can play games at a time like this! I got four exams to prepare for and I still have five million chores to do!”

I paused the game and peeked my head in her door. “Want me to help you with any of those chores? My finals are all papers I can do on my own time.”

“Yeah, do my laundry!”

She meant it as a joke, but I went over to grab her laundry basket. “Wait! Really? You’ll do it? I hate doing laundry.”

“Yeah, of course. Don’t stress it, focus on studying.”

I took it to the basement and began grabbing clothes to throw in the washer. About halfway through, though, I felt wetness. I grabbed what felt wet and held it to the light. It was a pair of brown leather pants and a yellow thong inside. It must have happened days ago, since she hadn’t worn that pair of pants today, but it was clearly soaked at one point. Now it was mostly just damp, but the thong stayed wet due to being inside her pants. I sniffed the thong and sure enough… the acrid smell of pee. I wondered what happened. I’m ashamed to admit, but I pocketed her thong and finished throwing everything else in the laundry.

Nothing else of note happened that day, but not long after that she came down to the kitchen to cook while I was on the living room couch and reading a book wearing gray sweatpants and a sports bra (a common lounging outfit for her) and began to cook while tapping one foot and the other. I didn’t pay much attention until she started crossing her legs as she fried something. I looked over and saw it. 89% full. She was never the kind to hold it for no reason… I could have sworn she glanced at me and bounced up and down now that she knew she had my attention. I kept an eye on her as she cooked while desperate. When she finished (some stir fried vegetables), she grabbed a seat by me and turned on the TV, crossing her legs and setting her plate on her lap. She was at 96%. “Hey, how’s it going?”

I replied, “Not bad… dinner looks good.”

She said, “Yeah, I was really hungry but I really had to pee the whole time…”

What was she doing? This wasn’t like her at all. “Oh… Why didn’t you go?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.”

She must have noticed the effect her desperation had on me as she stuck around to eat and make small talk. Finally, though, it got too much and she leaned over as I saw it drop from 100% to 96%. I didn’t see any evidence, but she said, “Alright, I really do have to pee.”

She got up to rush to the bathroom and I saw just a slight wet spot on the back of her sweatpants. And that’s the story of how I realized she knew I took her underwear and instead of being creeped out, wanted to tease me for the rest of the year.

That was almost the end of first semester, but she proceeded to be desperate in front of me all second semester, which bit her in the ass a few times. She regularly asked to study together and twice I saw her run off, wet spot growing on her sweatpants once and khaki slacks another time. She had an internship second semester and would regularly come home desperate, often wearing khakis similar to the one before, but instead of going straight to the bathroom would sit and talk to me, crossing her legs and only disappearing when she had begun to lose control. I must have seen a wet spot on those khakis two more times that winter.

Another time, I came home from class and she was already home. I went to the bathroom and was shocked to see her peeing with the door open, jeans at her ankles with a pair of rainbow striped underwear inside, a clear small wet spot at the center. She feigned embarrassment but I knew she did it on purpose. I wondered if I should make a move… There was no doubt she was attractive. I felt like I dodged a bullet by hooking up with Yannelly and Veronica without it affecting roommate relationships, would this?

Late winter and early spring meant basketball season and another time she went out dressed in a cheerleader outfit (a common outfit for our sports fans) and came home clearly desperate and leaking. Like the other girls, she kicked off her shoes and I saw shuffle to the bathroom, streams glistening down her toned legs. However, she didn’t change and proceeded to come out to talk to me, sitting on a different chair across from me. I swore she intentionally let me see up her legs multiple times, showing off the dark blue patch on her underwear. It was too much and I swore I would make a move.

Merely three days later, on a Friday, she came home desperate from her internship in tight white jeans (like the one on the left, with rips - must have been casual Fridays) and a blue blouse under her coat. She was at 85% as she danced around the kitchen, preparing a snack and giving me a show. I took the chance. “Hey, I was gonna watch a movie in my room tonight, want to join me?”

She seemed slightly surprised and I wondered if I had misread things for a second, but she said, “I would love that. Let me finish putting together this cheese platter.”

“Jesus you’re fancy. The rest of us just grab a bag of chips, ya know?”

“You just wish you were at my level of fancy.”

“You’re not wrong.”

We settled in on my bed as I set the laptop on my desk chair to play an underrated comedy I had been meaning to check out, The Heat with Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy. Also, I think Lauren would have appreciated a choice involving women leads.

First third of the movie, nothing in particular happened except us eating snacks and me noticing Lauren’s knees bouncing. Around the first half, she hit 95% and crossed her leg and put her hand in her crotch. It was not subtle. I breathed in to gain my courage and scooted closer to put my arm around her. She reciprocated, leaning onto my shoulder, still with her hand in her crotch. I was distracted from the movie as I saw the number go up… 96%... 97%... 98%... 99%... 100%.

She turned to me. “I don’t think I can hold it any longer.”

All I could say in response was to kiss her. She kissed me back hungrily, a release of several months of sexual tension. We made out as she squirmed with her hand in her crotch for a couple minutes before she gasped, breaking off the kissing. I opened my eyes and saw she had dropped down to 95%. She stood up as it continued to go down and I saw a growing wet spot on her white jeans. The wetness turned her pants translucent and I could see the outline of a tan skin-tone thong start to appear. She pulled me up and led me to the bathroom, the number dropping - 90%, 88%, 85%. From behind, I saw the wetness grow along the bottom of her butt and down her thighs. We entered and she closed the door, jumped in the bathtub, and dragged me close as she made out with me and peed her pants. I could hear the hissing, followed by the tinkle of liquid hitting the tub and then liquid hitting liquid as a puddle formed and grew before draining away.

After she finished peeing, I eyed her up and down. Her white pants were soaked from her crotch to the seams at the bottom and they were clearly translucent. In fact, I could even see the outline of her trimmed brown-colored pubic hair. I said, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I proceeded to unbutton her blouse as she unbuttoned her pants, throwing them aside, followed by her tan bra. She pulled off her pants, then her soaked thong, and I undressed and joined her in the shower. You can imagine what happened from there.

Lauren remains the only person I hooked up with who knew my sexually deviant preference and played into it on purpose. That being said, we began casually hooking up for the rest of the semester and they weren’t usually piss-related. The other roommates knew soon enough and were fine with it as long as we didn’t start any house drama, which we didn’t (I wondered if Yannelly and Veronica would reveal our past hook-ups, but they didn’t, unsurprisingly). Often, Lauren and I would study together or watch a movie to de-stress in one of our rooms and things would escalate from there. While we grew closer as friends over it, we didn’t date as I was graduating and likely to move. There were a couple more stories with Lauren involving accidents, though.

 

Warning: Stories involving messing from here on out. Skip if that’s not your thing.

Before I get to that, though, there are two more accidents involving my other roommates. Late spring, as it got warm, I saw Amy mess herself. Amy had gone to a festival over the weekend with her boyfriend and she got home Sunday evening. When she came in the door, she was wearing corduroy striped pants like this and a black crop top (with a white bra somewhat visible underneath). It was a pretty hip outfit, perfect for a festival, but my attention was drawn to something else. She clearly had to go. Her bladder was fine, at around 30%, but her bowels were at a 97%. I then realized that Veronica was taking a shower…

Amy headed up the stairs to the bathroom but quickly returned downstairs when she realized it was occupied. She squirmed as she poured herself a glass of water. I pretended nothing was wrong. “Hey, how was the festival?”

She took a seat by me. “It was awesome, we saw all the bands we wanted to see, got pretty wasted, camped out in the woods, you know. Festival life. Hey, how long ago did Veronica enter the shower?”

“Uh, I think she just went in.”

She groaned. I innocently asked, “Why, do you have to go?”

We were pretty close friends at that point, so she confessed, “I could NOT poop out in the woods, so I held it all weekend and I really have to go.”

“...Oh. Yeah I can’t help you there.”

She jokingly glared at me before turning on the TV to distract herself. I continued to work on my laptop as I side-eyed her constant rocking back and forth, hands around her stomach. At one point, she leaned to her side and was clearly letting out a fart. This went on for about ten minutes, at which point she was at full capacity. She muttered, “I can’t hold it any longer…”

She stood up to go back to the bathroom and wait for Veronica, but when she stood up she lost it. She immediately hunched over and I watched in fascination as a bulge began to push aside her tight corduroy pants. The tight pants kept the bulge size to a minimum, but over the course of a minute I heard a soft crackling and Amy involuntarily grunting as it began to droop to her left thigh, trying to find space. When she finished, she stood up straight and it looked like a fist along the seam of her butt and a pear-shaped droop down her left thigh. I wondered if she was wearing a thong or something that didn’t contain it in. She turned to me. “Not. A. Word.”

I threw my hands up. “Your secret is safe with me.”

At that point, we heard Veronica leave the bathroom, so Amy rushed upstairs to clean up, and that was that.

While I had seen Yannelly start to poop herself and once saw her after she did, I once also saw Yannelly do the whole deed in front of me. This was early spring and it was a late Tuesday evening. She had stayed out late for some political meetings (something about student organizations trying to get proper funding? I had moved up from covering student government meetings, so I immediately stopped paying attention) but texted our roommate chat frantically around 11 PM. It said: “Guys, I forgot my keys at home. Is anyone at home or free to help out?”

Amy responded first. “At my boyfriend’s, sorry.”

Lauren texted: “Late night at the library, won’t be home for a while.”

Veronica didn’t text at all, likely already asleep. I jumped in. “I’m at the newspaper office but am wrapping up. Wanna meet me here so we can walk home together?”

Yannelly confirmed that plan and met me in the journalism department. She was wearing a professional white jumpsuit like this along with a black bomber jacket to deal with the early spring chill.

She said, “Hey, is there a bathroom here? They shut down the one in the student government building because they were closing it for the night.”

I shook my head no. “They locked down the bathrooms in this building an hour ago, we just get to stay late to work on the newspaper if we’d like.”

She groaned. I knew to check… 95% bladder and 97% bowels. How did she get so desperate?! “Couldn’t you go during the meeting?”

“Ugh, people were playing politics and I didn’t want to miss out and have someone do something stupid. People kept finding new things to complain about!”

I had no idea what the issue was, so I didn’t respond and we headed out to walk home. Occasionally, Yannelly crossed her legs for a second or stopped walking, but she put on a brave face generally as we walked. She was trying to explain what had happened at the meeting, but she was so desperate she didn’t really talk in complete thoughts. A block away, I could tell this was going to end in an accident. She was at 100% on both ends and was now walking in baby steps. Despite her desperation, it seemed she didn’t want to be too obvious in her desperation and just held her arms crossed. Since she was walking so slowly, I got to the door first and watched as she shuffled over. That’s when I saw the wet spot form on her white jumpsuit. It was very obvious, though she made no sign she was peeing herself. It grew as she got closer until it was the size of a baseball on her crotch and halfway down her thighs on both sides. I checked her bowels and saw those were dropping too… 95%... 90%... When she got to me it was down to 80% and I could hear the crackling of her continue to poop, though she again made no visible tells that she was doing that. I opened the door and she rushed in. Now I could see her from behind and saw an obvious bulge that was staining her white jumpsuit brown, not aided by the wet patch creeping up her butt. She threw off her jacket onto the living room couch and wordlessly walked up the stairs, but as I followed I saw the bulge continue to grow and the wetness continue to spread down her legs until she was leaving a trail of piss all the way down the hall to the bathroom door. By the time she got there, she was clearly at 0% on both ends, her bulge the size of a baseball and her legs totally soaked. Even if we had gotten home a minute sooner, I knew she would never have gotten that jumpsuit down in time.

In typical Yannelly fashion, though she had to know I saw everything, she never acknowledged what had happened. I guess poop was just too embarrassing to talk about. I never saw that jumpsuit again. I wonder if it was too badly stained to clean.

Two accidents stand out with Lauren in the late spring as the end of school drew near. The first was in April and Lauren had dragged me to the gym to make me try working out, in part so she would have company and in part because I had once asked her to make me but was too lazy to follow through. She was wearing an outfit much like this, gray matching workout leggings and sports bra. When outside, she also wore a windbreaker like this, since it wasn’t quite summer weather. The workout itself wasn’t of interest, except that Lauren was really into fitness and drove me into the ground, roasting me as I just tried to survive. Afterwards, though, she suggested we go to the local mall so she could reward me with ice cream and to pick up some make-up she wanted to buy. I asked, “Doesn’t eating ice cream ruin the point of working out?”

“I feel kind of bad of how much I made fun of you. I’m trying to get you to keep coming the gym. Next time there won’t be ice cream.”

“Fair enough.”

We walked down the block to the bus stop. This whole time, I hadn’t noticed any desperation from her, but as we waited at the bus I thought I saw a grimace. I checked, just out of curiosity, and saw she as at 65% of her bladder capacity. Not nearly desperate territory yet. However, she was at 75% of her bowel capacity. Not an emergency, but uncomfortable. At that point, I didn’t think anything of it, since I assume she would have easy access to a bathroom at the mall.

We got there and first grabbed ice cream, sitting at the food court and just hanging out. It was good comfort after that workout, but I felt like I just ate all the calories I burned. At one point, I’m pretty sure I smelled Lauren fart, but neither of us commented on it. We then spent half an hour at a makeup store as I stood around, overwhelmed all the products I didn’t know existed. Later I learned apparently once a month they have one free product for members, so Lauren had to go every month to get the deal. While in a lip gloss aisle, Lauren audibly farted, an abrupt brrap sound. She looked at me in surprise before giggling at my surprised face. She then let out a longer, lower-register fart and said, “That’s better.”

She pulled me to another aisle. “Quick, before someone smells that monstrosity.”

Knowing she had to poop was making me a little aroused and I kissed her. She was a little surprised, but returned the kiss. We made out for a few seconds before splitting off so we wouldn’t cause a scene, but she grabbed my crotch and could feel my interest. “We might have to take care of that before we go home…”

As we checked out, I could start to see Lauren fidget, crossing her legs every few seconds and tapping her foot. From behind, I definitely saw her clench her butt for a few seconds as well. She was at 80% for her bladder and 90% for her bowels. I was surprised at how quickly it went up, but perhaps the ice cream jogged her insides into action.

At that point, I assumed she would use a bathroom and that would be that, but as we walked past the nearest set of bathrooms, I saw they were cleaning it. Lauren looked longingly as we walked past. The other set was on the other side of the mall. Still no emergency, but I decided to take action. I pulled her close and kissed her and to whisper in her ears, “I think you should hold it until we both cum.”

She looked at me in surprise. “I would… I’ve been wet all day from making you work out for me... but… I don’t just have to pee…”

“I know.”

At that, she raised an eyebrow at me but decided to accept my game. She pulled me into a clothing store (Forever 21, I think?). As she looked through each aisle of pants, she stopped to make out with me, which I gladly reciprocated. At another aisle, she slipped her hand in my pants and jerked me off for a few seconds. At one particularly secluded aisle, I came up to her from behind and pressed her butt into me, which I could feel was tightly clenched. I kissed her and my hand wandered down and I returned the favor. She wasn’t wearing underwear, and I fingered her for a little bit, listening to her moan softly. I could feel a wet spot form on where I was pressing her leggings into her, probably only the size of a quarter but it drove me crazy. She quickly grabbed a pair of pants so we could go to the fitting room, and once inside, we continued our make-out session. It escalated to her lowering her and my pants just enough to sit on me, facing away and towards a mirror, as she rode my dick. Seeing her try to have sex with me in that position while desperate to go was a huge turn-on, and I could feel her fart a couple more times but she was too much in the heat of the moment to care. She was at 90% for her bladder and 95% for her bowels and was going strong. I knew I wouldn’t last long like this so I began to finger her at the same time so she would cum. My gambit worked, and in a couple minutes she muffled her moans of pleasure as she orgasmed. I noticed she squirted a little bit of pee on me as well, but I don’t think she really noticed. She pulled up her leggings and turned to me. I could see the wet spot on her crotch from her arousal. She smiled. “That was amazing… I think you deserve a reward for how well you did.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m gonna wait until we get home to make you cum.”

This was a dream come true. I re-did my pants and we speed-walked to the bus stop, getting there just in time for our bus. While we sat together, she whispered, “So… You don’t just like it when I have to pee.”

“I have to confess, I just really like seeing you desperate, either way. You’re the only person that knows that about me.”

She smiled. “Your secret is safe with me, I’m not here to kinkshame. But don’t get used to me doing this for you, poop is a lot messier than peeing.”

I kissed her. “I’m amazed you’re even doing this for me right now. Know that I don’t ever expect you to participate in my… eccentricities.”

“Well, I like to drive you crazy once in a while. You know… if you weren’t about to graduate and probably move to a whole new place… I would definitely go out with you. Like on a date. The sex is great and you’re not a half-bad human being, either, which can’t be said for most of the guys I’ve dated.”

“How’s this for a deal? If I don’t move to a new city to get a job, I’ll ask you out on that date.”

She smiled at that. Her smile was interrupted by a cramp, though, and she bent forward, holding her stomach. 95% bladder, 99% bowels. I put my arm around her and kissed her to distract her. When we were almost at my stop, she hit 100%. She grabbed the side of her seat and ground her butt into the seat. It dropped to 99%, which signalled to me that it started coming out and she held it in with the bus seat. The effort caused a drop from her bladder, though, from 97% back to 95% and then to 92%. I saw the wet spot, originally from arousal, now grow with urine to the size of a fist. At that point, we got to our stop so she quickly rushed out the bus before anyone could get too close a look and I followed her out. Her butt was clenched extremely tight and sported an obvious wet spot on the back as well, but we made the one-block walk to our house, my arm around her, without any further accidents. At the front door, though, she murmured, “I think I’m losing it.”

I looked, and indeed she was pooping, going from 99% to 95%. I grabbed her butt and felt a turd push her cheeks apart and press against my hand. She held it in place, though, and I unlocked the door and she waddled in and up the stairs. No one else was home, fortunately. I followed her up, staring at what was now the faintest sign of a bulge. It started to grow as she walked up the stairs, curling up into a ball the size of a clementine. She was down to 75%. She dragged me into my bedroom and shut the door, and ripped off my pants, continuing where we left off. She blew me as I watched her really begin to lose it from both ends. I heard a trickle and a crackle at the same time. Hearing her have an accident was too much and I came in record time. As she stood up, I saw the now dinner-plate sized wet spot on her crotch grow as she peed full force, running down her gray leggings. She turned around to show me her butt, and I saw it was totally drenched and now had a bulge the size of an orange. She grunted, and it grew again, doubling in size, accompanied by a cacophony of farts and crackling. The not-entirely-unpleasant smell of fresh and healthy poop permeated the room. I checked and she was finally empty. Now that we died down from our illogical horniness, she started laughing at the absurdity of what had happened.

I stood up to hug her. “I think now I owe you… Perhaps I can pay you back by cleaning you up.”

She nodded, grinning at me. “You better. This is the grossest thing I’ve done for a guy.”

“Fair enough. In a weird way, this is also the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

I cleaned her up in the shower, which unsurprisingly led to round 2 of sex.

The second accident is a shorter anecdote and it happened at one of the last weeks of the school year. Lauren wanted to unwind by going to a beach that was at a nearby state park before having to make the deep dive of finals studying. It was probably a twenty minute Uber ride. Since I was the closest thing she had to a boyfriend at the time, she asked me to join her, which I gladly agreed to. Once there, we laid out a towel to claim a spot and undressed, revealing our swimsuits. She was wearing a green bikini like this  one.

We spent most of the afternoon laying on the beach, reading books, chatting, and drinking some beers we had brought. We did go into the lake for a bit, but the water was still quite cold as summer hadn’t been going on long enough to really warm it up, so we returned to our towel. Lauren actually fell asleep for a while, and I took to reading my book. I heard her fart a couple times in her sleep, and that’s when I realized - while she slept, her needs had gone up significantly. When she woke up with a start, she immediately grimaced. I recognized that face now, and saw she was now at 90% for both ends. She turned to me. “Umm… I have to use the bathroom.”

I looked around. “There’s a porta-potty on that end of the beach. I’ll walk you there.”

We walked down the beach, but when we got there I saw there was only one and it had a rather long line. The beach was extremely busy as people took advantage of the first days of summer. She looked panicked, but got in line and I stood with her to keep her company. We chatted about different things to pass the time, but it was clear she was distracted by her growing need. At 95%, we were only halfway through the line. I said, “Just pee in the lake.”

“I don’t… just have to pee.”

“Oh.”

It was obvious how clenched her cheeks were in a bikini. Unsurprisingly, many of the people in line were desperate to poop, since people could just pee in the lake, but it meant the line moved slowly. I certainly enjoyed the view of people in swimsuits having to poop, since women’s swimsuits did nothing to hide the flexing of those muscles, but I didn’t want Lauren to be embarrassed in front of everyone. When we were second in line, Lauren gasped softly. I saw that she had hit 100% on both ends and immediately let out a spurt. I could see pee trickling down the side of one of her legs. She forcefully whispered, “I can’t hold it any longer!”

I dragged her along to the ocean. I could tell she was peeing as we walked, trickles running down her leg with a darker spot on her bikini (which had dried out from when we had gone into the lake earlier), but I don’t think anyone in line noticed and we were walking too fast for anyone on the beach to get a close look. As we got close, Lauren practically ran into the water and I joined suit. I held her hand and even though I couldn’t see her pee, I could see her number go down. I put my hand in her crotch and felt the warmth jet out of her. She said, “Yeah, you’re probably enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

She moved my hands to her butt. I felt her lose control as she began to poop into her bikini. She slipped her hand into my swimsuit and stroked me as I felt her bulge grow to a similar size as last time. It all stayed contained in her bikini, but I imagined what it would look like. The thought and feeling her poop herself was too much and I came. I couldn’t believe we did that in the lake on a public beach, but to outsiders it just looked like we were holding each other in the water. I slipped down her bikini bottom and dumped the poop out before pulling it back up. She grimaced, since her butt and bottom weren’t exactly clean, but at least there wouldn’t be a bulge.

She gave me a quick kiss. “Thanks for your quick thinking.”

We stepped out of the water. “Is there a stain or anything?”

I checked. “Nope, your butt looks as fine as ever.”

She laughed, but we took this accident as a sign to head home. Once home, she took off her bikini to show off a circular brown stain wider than an orange to me on the inside. She was about to throw it in the laundry, but then she handed it to me. “Consider this a graduation present, you perv.”

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