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This was my favorite segment so far @herrokitty! I love the relationships that were built, and I really enjoy the relationship between the main character and Lauren. This is a delightful fantasy and I hope that the narrator and Lauren have more experiences together, despite having said that they never ended up dating.

In my opinion, this guy is absolutely stupid to pass the chance on a wonderful opportunity with a girl like that 😂 

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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

  • 2 weeks later...

Hey all, it's been a while but had a short chapter to continue. I probably only have about three or so scenarios in my head I want to write about for this series after this, but I haven't decided. Hope you enjoy.

Unfortunately, I did not find a job in the same town as my college. I know, I probably look like an idiot passing up on the chance to be with a dream girl. But I was ambitious, I wanted a career, and I wasn’t likely to find something in journalism in my sleepy college town (or my sleepy hometown, for that matter), and if I did it wouldn’t go anywhere. So, with my degree and years of work at the student paper, I took an entry level reporter job focused on local government and affairs for a newspaper in San Diego. Not the most prestigious city or the prestigious paper, but a major city with opportunities for a career (including possibly moving to the nearby LA, which is where everyone ambitious wants to go to but also doesn’t want to admit they want to go to because it’s such a cliché to want to go to LA and it’s such an overpriced, clogged city that doesn’t live up to the hype at all). My dream is to become an investigative journalist, and being a political reporter wasn’t a bad place to start to get there. Still working on that dream, though.

One thing adults don’t tell you about leaving college life is that your circle suddenly shrinks, especially if you move far away from everyone else. You stay friends, but you no longer see them all the time. You don’t make many new friends; you might make a friend at work, but mostly you want to keep them in the “friendly” area. No one wants their work life to dominate everything. So, what that means is that it’s a struggle to adjust to how much slower life is. And how much more boring. It also means that the rate of desperate ladies I saw went down a lot. But, after a handful of years in my early professional life, I did rack up a few stories.

The first was a coworker named Selena who was a photographer. I had a lot of respect for her - she was a San Diego local who never went to college, but her talents with photography meant she was successfully employed by our paper full-time and had a side gig as a private photographer. I always thought she looked a bit like Michelle Rodriguez, and on this fateful day she was dressed in a way that helped the comparison - she was wearing a red crop top and camo pants, like Michelle Rodriguez in this picture. The crop top was solid red, not the somewhat outdated design in that picture, and of course Selena had buttoned up her pants and wasn’t showing off her underwear (though it was clear from behind when she bent over she was wearing a black thong… I noticed because, ya know, secret perv). I always liked the fact that she dressed how she wanted and didn’t have any regard for “office professionalism” (which is something I personally hate but am too meek to stand up against). She was a good enough photographer in a paper struggling to retain talent that I think they would let her dress how she wanted.

On this day, about half a year into my career, I was covering a City Council meeting. One could guess what were the controversial policies of the day based on the agenda or previous stories, but you never knew what could blow up or sail through on any given day so my MO was generally to sit through the meeting, do a summary for the next day, and if there was any further controversial issues, interview community members and alders for a follow-up article the day after that. Some days there weren’t any controversial issues, but on this day, I saw the last resolution being discussed was about providing free tampons in government buildings. I know, SO touchy. I didn’t think it should be controversial, but we had one alder who was not only a die-hard conservative, he was the token old-school sexist and I knew this would get a rise out of him, if only him.

Selena actually wasn’t there for the first half hour of the meeting. When she showed up, she grabbed a seat by me in the city council hall’s wings (designated for press and community members) and whispered, “Sorry I’m late, had to cover a story about the teacher’s union Quin’s doing.”

Quin was a woman (the gender-neutral name doesn’t lend easily to figuring that out) who was our education reporter. I actually have a story about her too that I’ll tell a later time.

I whispered, “No worries, you haven’t missed anything yet.”

“I’ll get some pictures of the whole council and then I’ll come back and ask you which alders I should get pictures of individually.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

She stood up, but I noticed she crossed her legs when she stood up and paused for a brief second before walking out the wing to get a panorama shot of the meeting. I had seen a couple desperate ladies, but nothing substantial since I moved to San Diego, so my interest was piqued. I checked - yup, 85% full in her bladder. She must have had to hold it all the way through the last story and came straight here. I was distracted from the meeting, watching her take photos (which involves crouching, bending over, and other odd body angles to get the right shot - must have been a nightmare for her to do that while desperate), but I couldn’t imagine she really would be pushed hard, since there was a bathroom outside the meeting room.

She came right back to me, though, and asked what to look out for.

“Okay, so I think there will only be one agenda item with a lot of debate. We’re already halfway through the agenda and it’s been 45 minutes, so you haven’t missed anything. The last item is about free tampons and so you know you-know-who is gonna have a ton of stupid things to say.”

Selena rolled her eyes. Latina artists are rarely sympathetic to sexist white guys, in my limited experience.

To my surprise, Selena sat by me for the next ten minutes, probably hoping we’d breeze through fast enough for her to get the shots of debating and then head out. I didn’t have much to write so far, so I had plenty of time to side eye as she crossed her legs and tapped her foot. It was exciting and strange to see someone who usually exuded confidence and was a little larger than life have such a human need as being desperate to pee.

Then something happened that I didn’t expect. The agenda item before the item I thought would get controversy exploded. Something to do with the fiscal details on some land purchase. I really couldn’t care less, but the price tag pissed off some conservative who began railing against it as big government.

Selena knew she would have to take profiles of the politicians debating in case the story focused on one of them, so she reluctantly got up, now at 90% for her bladder. The alders were used to journalists taking photographs, so they weren’t phased as she stood on the sides and took photos. As the next legislator railed against the conservative, Selena bent down and stood in the empty space between the alders and the City Council President, who sat at podium facing the alders. She squatted to not block the President and got a front-facing shot of the alder speaking. As she squatted, though, I saw her bladder drop from 91% to 89%. The force of squatting must have caused her to squirt! I was personally glad I had my laptop on my lap…

Eventually, about half an hour later, debate subsided and they voted, Selena snapping one more photo. She walked up to me. “Hey, do you still need me?”

I was apologetic. “One more agenda item, then they’re done. I think it’ll have some debates so I’ll need you to grab a couple more photos.”

She nodded, not letting on that she was at a 95% for her bladder at this point. As expected, the Republican I had pegged stood up to criticize the legislation. Selena walked back out to take pictures, taking smaller steps than before. She managed to be still and not let on many signs of desperation while she took photos (just the minor foot tap and she crossed her legs while she waited for the next debater so she could take their photo), but unfortunately for her the debate stretched out for another twenty minutes, and by that time she was at 99%.

An alder on the front row was making a fiery feminist speech that I think Selena liked even despite her desperation, so she kneeled in front to get a shot of her speaking. As she kneeled, I could see disaster strike as her bladder dropped from 99% capacity to 95%. I didn’t see any sign from where I was standing, but Selena ducked out back to the wings and as she approached me, I saw a small dark patch that wasn’t really noticeable unless you were looking for it at her crotch. The debate was finally over so they were voting. Selena turned to get one last shot of them voting and I could see a larger wet spot the size of a fist on her butt. Again, with the dark camo, I didn’t think anyone noticed except me since I was staring and waiting for it to happen this whole time.

As she stood in front of me taking the photo, I saw the wet patch darken and then slowly expand into two trails down her thighs, stopping at about a couple inches below her butt on both sides. She was down to 90%. She turned to me, and I saw the crotch was now pretty obviously wet. She asked, spurting between words, “Do… Umm… You need me… For anything else?”

She could barely talk, she was so desperate. I shook my head. “Thanks, Selena. I’ll see you in the office.”

She rushed out of the hall as I watched the number go down and the dark patch expand down her legs. 85%. 84%. 83%. 80%. She then disappeared from my sights.

The meeting wrapped up after another minute and I had calmed down enough to get up, so I packed my things and walked out to beat the politicians out of the building. I got to the elevators just in time to see Selena get in one. She clearly had mostly peed in her pants, with the dark wetness going from her crotch all the way to past her knees, both from behind and in front. Her butt was totally soaked and I wonder if she just sat on the toilet and peed without taking off her pants. I pretended not to notice and dived into the elevator before it closed. I could smell the acrid pee wafting from her in the confined space as we descended in awkward silence. I could see her ears were bright red in embarrassment so I pretended not to notice anything. Her pants were so wet I actually could hear the occasional droplet falling off and onto the elevator floor, just residual drips from how soaked she was. As we exited the building, we parted ways to our cars and said our goodbyes like nothing had happened, which was also the vibe in the office when I saw her next, though I saw her cheeks redden as she likely remembered the embarrassing incident. I wish I could talk to her about it, but it was clear she wanted to never think about it again.

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Hey all, here's another couple of stories. The first has some messing references, I'll put in bold when you're safely free of that if you don't want to read it.

My next story involved a coworker named Dani. I didn’t know her well, as she worked on the video side for our website. She didn’t seem to take her job seriously and was the kind of person who was always Instagramming and going out, but I think they honestly had her do certain video reports (generally fluff pieces about cute things like pets for the website so we get clicks and ad revenue… print journalism is dead, don’t go into it) because she was good looking. She was actually younger than me and was hired the year after. This story happened two years into my career, so she had been working there for a year.

The head of the video department, Tom, stepped out of the video studio and into the room with cubicles for us reporters. “Hey, anyone seen Dani?”

We all shook our heads no. “Damn. She’s late. We’re supposed to do a video about the zoo’s upcoming exhibits and they brought animals so we’re on a time crunch.”

At that exact moment, Dani came rushing in wearing a somewhat gaudy pink skirt and blazer combo (she was both similar in dress and looks that day to Aly Raisman, and like Aly was much shorter than she seemed), though I had certainly seen her wear more revealing and less professional outfits before. I flippantly checked her capacity and realized she had probably slept in late - she was at 95% for her bladder and 98% for her bowels.

Tom shook his head and ushered her into the studio. I turned to Quin in the cubicle next to me. “They got zoo animals! I’m checking this out.”

Quin rolled her eyes. “That is not real journalism.”

“Hey. Don’t knock on Dani’s stories. They bring in the money that pays for us to do our stories. You know no one’s actually reading my write-ups about the City Council.”

Quin laughed. “Why did we go into this profession?”

I shrugged and stepped into the studio and stood to the side. It wasn’t uncommon for other employees to take a break and watch the shooting of a video, since they often involved cool things like animal visits and celebrities. I was also watching to see a different certain something happen…

She read her prompt on the teleprompter but was only slightly fidgety, stepping forwards and back a few times. Then the zookeeper pulled out the animals one by one and explained each one as Dani acted excited to hold the cute ones and scared of the reptiles (she probably wasn’t acting; the mammals and birds were pretty cute). I was surprised at how little desperation I was seeing, since I could see her numbers go up - 95%, 96%, 97%, 98%.

As the zookeeper finished putting away all the animals and turned to the camera to give her final spiel, I saw Dani freeze, a fake smile plastered on her face. She stood stiffly as the number for her bladder declined rapidly. 98%. 90%. 80%. 70%. The zookeeper talked for a whole minute (something about free admission day, I wasn’t paying attention obviously) and Dani hit zero as the zookeeper wrapped up. What astounded me, though, was I saw no sign of an accident. No trails along the legs, no puddle, no nothing. I was confused, and Dani proceeded to wrap up the story, reading from the teleprompter, like nothing was wrong, though her ears were a little red.

They went off air and the director gave Dani a thumbs up, who hurriedly shook the zookeeper’s hand before rushing out of the room. I still didn’t see any sign of an accident, though I saw she was at 100% of her bowel capacity. I walked out and decided I would go to the bathrooms, since I could assume that is also where she was headed to. As I followed, a few feet behind Dani, I saw the percentages indicate she was emptying her bowels as she walked. 95%. 90%. 75%. I still didn’t see any sign of an accident, and it dawned on me - could she be wearing a diaper? Why would she do that? Does she regularly wear one?

We were at the hallway that had both the men’s and women’s bathroom. At this point, she was down to around 35% and I thought I could see a faint bulge, really just like her butt was bigger than usual rather than anything obvious. I could, however, smell a faint trace of poop, and now that we were away from the cubicles and other employees, I could hear the crackling as she dropped to 0% as she got to the door. She rushed in and I went into the men’s and took care of business.

I stayed late that day, mainly to get a story done on time, but also because I wanted to confirm my suspicions when no one was around before the janitor came to clean up the place. I did also keep a close eye on Dani the rest of the day, who acted like nothing was wrong, but as we were all getting up from a staff meeting at the conference room, I saw a brief flash up her skirt and saw she wasn’t wearing any underwear (and was fully shaved, if you were wondering, which is bad for your health just so you know). When everyone was gone, I snuck into the girl’s bathroom and warily dug through the trash (trying not to think how much of an idiot pervert I was). Sure enough, about a third of the way down, I found a diaper wrapped up in paper towels. I shook them off and opened up the diaper to see the inside totally soaked with a large mound of poop inside. I smirked and threw it back in before hurrying out to finish my article.

I spent the next couple of days dying to know if Dani regularly wore underwear, but it took a couple months to piece together why. The day after, the zoo piece went live and I complimented Dani on it and said, “I wish I got to play with zoo animals…”

Dani said, “Thanks, man. To be honest, I was pretty hungover that whole time, maybe even a little drunk still. I got up late and went straight to work, I was even wearing what I wore out last night. I need to stop going out on weekdays.”

I laughed. “I wish I could still pull that off, I’m too far out of college to be able to survive working hungover.”

So… does that mean she was wearing a diaper when she went out? I confess, I watched the video more than a few times since I knew when she secretly wet herself, though there was so little tell by her body language besides freezing and stiffening for a minute and a fidgeting before and relative stillness after (though she was still tense, since she had to poop at that time).

I wasn’t close to Dani, but a couple months later, on a Friday, we bumped into each other in the break room and I asked if she had any plans. She said her friends from college were visiting and they were going to do a bar crawl. I joked, “I can’t drink that much anymore, I’d probably pass out and piss myself on the street after the fifth drink.”

She looked around and saw the break room was empty and leaned in, lowering her voice. “Real talk… the girls in my sorority would wear diapers when they went out so they could pee and keep drinking.”

I pretended to act shocked, though internally I was celebrating and piecing together that whole zoo story. “Damn. I don’t know what to say. That’s pretty ridiculous.”

“Don’t tell anyone!”

I winked. “Secret’s safe with me. If I see you out tonight though I may give you shit about it.”

She groaned. “That better not have been a diaper joke already.”

I laughed and we parted ways, me now knowing the whole situation. I guess she was lucky, in some way, because if she didn’t do that, she would have visibly wet herself on camera.

Wetting only here on out

My next story was my third year working at this paper. It sticks out in my mind because it’s a two-fer, if you get what I mean. An alder was in hot water from community activists for backpedaling on a campaign promise for more low income housing. I know, depressing and probably rather boring stuff. But there was a protest outside led by activists and non-profits, two hours of community testimony, an hour of debate on the floor (not to mention an hour to deal with everything else on the agenda), before it finally came to a vote, with the housing activists losing.

I followed the controversial alder back to his office, but once inside he denied me an opportunity to interview him one-on-one and directed me out the door. Personally, I agreed with the activists that he was a coward.

Once outside, I asked the group of protestors that were now blockading his office and chanting if anyone would like to give a final statement. Some activists pulled up a rather tall woman to speak to me and said she was the media contact.

Of all the people I expected to be protesting in defense of the homeless, a buff, Ronda Rousey lookalike in a jumpsuit like this was not it. She introduced herself as Chrissy, then she asked for us to walk and talk away from the protests so I could hear her, which I appreciated. As we moved out of earshot from the crowd, Chrissy said, “Thanks, actually I also really have to pee if we could walk and talk to the bathroom, I didn’t think we’d be here for so long.”

I looked and saw she was at 95%, which was very urgent. I’m surprised I didn’t notice her sooner. I replied, “Sure thing.”

I got my recorder and notepad out as we walked and asked, “So, Chrissy, tell me about yourself and why this issue is important to you.”

Chrissy said, speed walking out of desperation but focused on answering my question, “I was once homeless and thanks to the help of our safety net stabilized my life and got to go back to school. I’m now a social worker for a non-profit working in transitional housing.”

When she finished talking she stopped for a second to squeeze her right leg over her left leg before we kept moving to the end of the hall where the women’s bathroom was. “So, as someone with a background in this, why should we have more low income housing?”

“I got my life together because of subsidized housing! It’s hard to fix anything else in your life until you have a roof over your head. I--uhh…”

I looked and realized why she had stopped. The bathroom was being cleaned. She called out, “Hey, are there any other bathrooms open?”

A gruff voice replied, “No, I locked down the other ones for the night.”

“No rush, but how long until you’re done cleaning in there?”

“Five minutes, probably.”

Chrissy bit her lips. I asked, “You want me to keep interviewing?”

She nodded. “I need something to take my mind off things.”

For five minutes, I got quotes from her while she fidgeted and did a potty dance. It was arousing to see her dance around while trying to answer my questions (getting a bit less coherent as the minutes went on), but I was focused on being a professional. I got all the quotes I needed as she hit 99%. I saw her bend over almost 90 degrees and put her hands in her crotch. It was, for some reason, weird to see someone that buff desperate. “Well, that’s all the questions I had. Thanks for answering.”

She forced out a “no problem” before saying, “Ugh, I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

I watched, shocked at the admission. She looked at me. “The recorder is off, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I need your help. Can you unzip the back of this?”

I was taken aback, but I nodded and unzipped her jumpsuit on the back, which went halfway down. She pulled her hands out of her crotch and started shuffling back down the hall. I saw she had spurted, as she was down to 97%. As I followed her down the hall, it went down to 95%, 93%, and 90% before she arrived at the intersection with the main hallway we had come down and I realized what she was thinking. There was a fake tree in a pot at the intersection, and she pulled down her black jumpsuit, which now had a glistening though subtle wet spot the size of a dinner plate, revealing a very toned ass and regular white panties that were now visibly soaked. As she pulled down, I saw her spurt again and a trickle fall through her underwear onto the floor. She managed to squat over the pot though and let the rest out. I pretended to look away and willed myself not to be visibly excited by what I was witnessing. I turned back around as I heard the hissing trail off into a trickle. She finished peeing through her panties and pulled up her jumpsuit. Red-faced, she asked, “Could you zip me up?”

I nodded and zipped her back. She continued, “I’m so embarrassed. I weight lift, and I’ve definitely peed a little doing deadlifts, but this is the worst accident I’ve had. Is it visible?”

I gave her a once over. You could kind of see the wet spot on her jumpsuit, but due to the black color, you really had to look. “I don’t think anyone will notice, you have to really look for it to see it.”

“Okay good, thanks. I can’t leave the protest. Promise this won’t make the news?”

I gave her a reassuring look. “No worries, your secret is safe with me. Plus, I shouldn’t tell you this as a journalist, but that alder is an asshole.”

She laughed and we walked back to the chanting protestors, everyone else oblivious to what had happened.

I wrote down some of the chants of the protestors and got ready to leave, but as I did, the door opened and a staffer exited. Everyone rushed forward, but she shut the door before they could get in and she ignored the loud yelling and chants at her as she moved past them. I did want a few more quotes from the alder’s side, so I followed her as the protestors stayed at the door, waiting for the alder. I said, “Hey, aren’t you the alder’s media person? Sophia? Mind giving me a quote for the paper on his side of the issue?”

Sophia looked like actress Amber Heard and was dressed professionally in a button up and pants like Amber Heard wore in this picture. She grimaced and I realized it was more than just a touchy political issue. She was at 98% of her bladder capacity! I couldn’t believe it but then again, both the alder’s staff and the protestors haven’t had a chance to use the bathroom for at least four hours. She said, “I can give you one quick quote if you walk with me, but that’s it.”

“Perfect.”

I got out my recorder and notepad. It was hard to keep up with how quickly she was speed walking. “Alright, the alder promised this low income housing development and backed out of it, which killed the project this meeting. What’s his rationale?”

She said, not very convincingly, “The alder remains deeply committed to affordable housing. We’ve had concerns from neighbors at the site about this specific location and potential complications with the pricing of building here. We think we can do it more effectively for taxpayers and in a place that will upset less neighbors than the proposed location.”

“Great, thanks. Is there anything else?”

She opened her mouth to reply as we rounded the corner to the only open women’s bathroom. At the sight of the door, though, she said, “One second.”

We got to the door and it was still closed for cleaning. This janitor was a liar! Not that I minded… Sophia had also hit 100% as we arrived. She was doing a good job of looking like a stern professional without a trace of a potty dance, but this was clearly too much. She crossed her legs, put her hands on her hips, and bent over slightly and held that position before I saw her drop from 100% to 98%. She moved her hands from her hips into her crotch and whispered to me, “Look away, please.”

I saw the number start dropping in earnest as she squatted before I looked away and in the silence I heard the hissing and trickling of her peeing full-force through her black pants and onto the floor.

After about a minute I heard the trickle die down and completely stop so I turned around. “Umm… Sorry to bother… Was there anything else the alder wanted to pass on?”

Sophia shook her head no, though I’m not sure if that’s just because she wanted privacy. I had everything I needed, though, and left to go write the article back at my office. Later, I realized I never turned off my recorder and I re-listened to Sophia’s accident. The sound, that time, will always be stuck in my head as one of the most memorable sounds I’ve heard.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Hey all, I'm running out of ideas and writing this one felt kind of forced so this might be it for the near future. I might return to it one day, might not. Anyway, hope you enjoy!


My last story at this paper involved the education reporter I mentioned before, Quin. She was a serious and smart person whom I often asked to double check my work and given our similarity in job and age, we were probably closest in the office. We were also the same age and were hired at around the same time. This particular Friday, we were both in the office late trying to meet deadlines for our articles. She was dressed professionally, like Emilia Clarke (whom she also had a resemblance to) in this picture.

It was probably an hour after the office had “closed” and we were clearly the only two people in when I saw her get up and go to the bathroom. She was at 75% of her bladder capacity. So, I was surprised when she almost immediately walked back. We were pretty friendly, so I commented, “That was fast.”

She said, “The bathroom is locked, the janitor must have come by already. I thought he didn’t lock it when people were still working here!”

“He must not have noticed. Speaking of soul-crushing work, we haven’t even put on any music. Got a pick?”

I pulled up my chair around and sat next to her with my laptop to continue writing as we picked some tunes and she got back to work as well, occasionally making small talk and asking each other about edits for our articles. About an hour later, I could see she was up to 90% and now was incessantly bouncing her legs as she typed, rarely stopping to say anything at this point. I was almost done with my article, but my work had slowed down as I watched her desperation. “How are you doing on your article?”

She groaned. “This damn word limit… Trying to include all the people I interviewed without cutting them short but it’s not working.”

“I feel that. Fortunately no one in politics has anything important to say.”

She laughed. “I’ll be done in about half an hour, mind giving it a read-over when I finish?”

“Sure, same here.”

Truth was, I was almost finished but I would definitely stick around half an hour, both to help her and watch what she did with her full bladder.

Over the next half hour, I finished my article and surreptitiously watched Quin’s body language as the number ticked up. At 93%, she crossed her legs tightly. At 95%, she became hunched over her laptop as one hand seemed to permanently rest on her crotch. The skirt meant she couldn’t hold it, though, and at 96% she went back to typing with two hands.

She finished and we swapped laptops to read through each other’s articles. As usual, I didn’t really find any issues with Quin’s writing - it was clear, logical, followed formatting, was well organized. I noticed a couple typos towards the end that I quickly fixed up (though the editor would give it a once through as well), and I wondered if she was distracted.

I looked up at the same time as her. She said, “Looks good, I really don’t have any suggested edits other than a couple typos. I swear I’m not just saying that because I’m dying to pee.”

I laughed and pretended to be surprised. “Oh right you tried to go like two hours ago! We should get out of here so you can pee.”

We emailed our articles to the editor and shut our laptops down and walked to the elevator together. I saw she was at 100%. She must have been dying to go. When we got in the elevator, she immediately crossed her legs and bent her knees. I pretended not to notice. “Got any plans this weekend?”

She didn’t respond and then I realized the number was going down! 97%, 96%, 95%. She had her eyes closed. Soon, as the peeing sped up, I could hear the hissing and the trickling as it pooled on the floor of the elevator. As she kept peeing, I noticed her tight skirt was getting a wet spot at her crotch that slowly grew and ran down the front. I made sure her eyes were closed before I leaned back to look at her butt and saw a similar stain growing until it reached the bottom of her skirt.

After 30 seconds, we reached the bottom floor but she kept peeing. The door opened and closed as I watched for another half a minute before she was empty. The puddle was several feet wide and had reached my feet as well, but I didn’t mind. Her skirt was soaked. She finally opened her eyes and I could see her lip trembling slightly; she must have been feeling humiliated. I instinctively put my arm around her. “Hey. It’s okay.”

She looked at me like she didn’t really believe me. She was so cute with her big eyes looking up at me that I instinctively leaned in to kiss her. She stiffened for a second before leaning into the kiss. After another half minute, we pulled away. I was preemptively apologetic. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t appropriate…”

“No, I liked it… I just wonder why you’d do that right after watching me have an accident like a child.”

“I just… Uh… You looked so sad about it and I wanted to let you know it was okay and I don’t judge you at all for it.”

“Thanks… I wish you did that a previous time when I hadn’t just wet myself.”

I perked my eyebrows at that. She continued, “So… I walked to work today, and I don’t want to walk home.”

“I drove. I’ll give you a ride.”

She hugged me. “You’re a life saver.”

We walked together to my car and I drove her home (she was hesitant to sit with her wet bum on my seat but I told her I didn’t care). I parked outside her apartment and she shyly said, “I feel ridiculous asking this after peeing myself, but would you want to come in?”

I smiled and said, “100% yes.”

I leaned in to kiss her again to prove my point and reassure her I didn’t care about her accident (in fact, the opposite of what she feared…). I followed her up her stairwell, staring at her wet skirt the whole way up, before we entered her apartment. I said suggestively, “I think we should get you out of these wet clothes so you don’t mess anything up…”

“Are you just saying that to see me naked?”

“Absolutely.”

She undid her belt and unzipped her skirt as I pulled out her tucked in blouse and unbuttoned it. As her skirt fell down, it revealed a soaked white thong. I pulled her in close to kiss her before she could take it off, pressing myself against her so she could feel how excited I was. I tossed aside her bra and slowly worked my way down, kissing along her body until I got to her thong. I pulled it down and began to eat her out, the faint smell of her accident driving me crazy. Eventually, she pulled me up and she pulled me to her bedroom to finish the job.

The rest of the night was kind of a haze. We went out for tacos then came back to the apartment and had sex again. We knew each other pretty close from work, but we didn’t spend much time socializing. Maybe there was unspoken sexual tension from work that came through. Maybe it was because neither of us had had sex in a long time. Either way, after two rounds, you get pretty tired, so we drifted off to sleep together.

Warning: Messing mention, sexual content here on out

The next morning was a Saturday, fortunately, and I woke up to the natural light streaming in the room. I looked over and saw Quin was stirring awake, as well. I kissed her good morning, which seemed to wake her up considerably and she returned my kiss hungrily. It was clear we were still vibing from last night, and it escalated to her rolling on top of me, dressed only in a pair of full cut pink panties with me in boxers. Eventually, I rolled her onto her back and began to finger her over her panties. They felt damp, and I was encouraged by her moans of pleasure and kept going. A couple minutes in, though, I felt a clear dampening warmth in my hand and I quickly realized she had accidentally spurted into my hand. Having just woke up, her bladder was at 90% and her bowels at a 97%, but she was enjoying herself too much to notice. I decided I had to escalate before she realized just how precarious her situation was and pulled her back on top of me. She understood what I wanted as I took off my boxers and she slipped me inside her by pulling her panties aside, not even bothering to take them off. I watched with anticipation as the numbers went up as we had sex. Soon, though, she was cumming, and it must have been too much to hold back, as I felt her spurt with each contraction and saw the number go from 90% to 87% to 85%, eventually descending to 75%. Feeling her pee on me and watching the gusset of her pink panties get soaked was too much and I came with her. My entire hip was soaked and there was a puddle beneath me on the bed. As we collapsed into each other’s arms, I realized her bowels had dropped to 95%, and I realized she must be turtleheading even as she finished cumming. Her senses returning to her, she must have finally fully realized how wet the bed was and her poop descending. I pretended not to see the face of panic on her and kissed her before giving her an excuse. “A squirter, huh?”

She grasped the excuse. “Umm… yeah… That’s never happened before… Let me get cleaned up.”

She got off me and during the process her bowels started dropping again. As she got off the bed, facing me, I could see her panties were wet and could just hear a faint crackling as it went from 95% to 85%. I could faintly smell it, as well. She backed her way to the door and quickly turned to run down the hallway, and I saw one glimpse of her backside with a golf ball sized bulge and similarly sized brown stain in her pink panties that I froze into my memory. She came back ten minutes later, bladder and bowel empty, without any underwear on, and pretended nothing was awry as she slipped into bed and we continued to cuddle.

Despite the one and a half accidents I saw from her, I never saw her have another accident, though we continued a friends with benefits situation throughout our time working at the paper. Eventually, she got a job at a bigger newspaper and moved on. I still I look at our time together fondly.

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  • 5 weeks later...
  • 7 months later...

Amazing concept, and with an amazing writer like you, it just ought to be epic! This is literarily THE best series of the whole internet! It has everything, it is not super unreallistic, and all the interactions are really well written! There is sort of a plot, so it doesn't feel like the accidents just happens because it's a fetich story. It is a life story, accidents happen, and we get to experience it. We also have both wettings and messings, both desperation and carelessness, wich is the scenarios I love the most. It is perfect!

On 5/5/2019 at 4:52 AM, herrokitty said:

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She opened her eyes so I hurriedly looked away, but I side-eyed and saw her bladder was at 85% now and her bowels were inching back up to around 92%. We still had a few more minutes before my stop, though, and she had a whole half an hour. That and the exhaustion from holding it on both ends must have had her at her limit, though, because I saw her subtly lean over to her left buttcheek, lifting her right one in the air and unintentionally putting her face near mine. She was staring straight ahead, though, so I glanced over and realized what she was doing - letting it out! Her bowels slowly inched down, 91%, 90%, 89%... then suddenly dropped to 70%. I couldn’t even imagine… a turd curling up in her tight jeans. Would a bulge show? She must have gone for broke, though, because it dropped again. 69%, 68%... 40%. She slowly, gingerly lowered herself back to a normal seating position. Her facial expression was one of disgust, probably feeling her poop flatten and spread. I could definitely smell it. This didn’t smell as rancid - it smelled like a solid, regular load.

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I love this paragraph, and how you illustrate that it sort of comes out in logs!

On 6/5/2019 at 9:19 PM, herrokitty said:

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.

............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................... “Consider this a graduation present, you perv.”

Fantastic! This was my favorite of all the stories. It's so long, it has so many details, I had to read it several times.

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