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female So close, and yet so damp

She knew she'd held it too long - too busy studying to get up and use the toilet - and that was about to bite back.

Charlie bolted up the stairs, handrail in one hand and herself in the other, leaping two steps at a time. There was no time to lose before she, well, lost.
Her bladder felt like fire as she slammed into the door, knocking hard enough to shoot a warm spurt into her underwear. Hot shame clinging to her body, Charlie clasps the door handle, twists and pushes - but the door doesn't budge.

"Hey! I'm in here!" The voice of her room-mate comes from inside - Charlies heart sinks through her stomach pressing harder on her bladder. Sure the saying is figurative, but the pressure is very real.
"H-how long will you be!" Charlie shouts, pressing her face into the door and bending over double, feeling herself beginning to leak. A warmth blossoms over her nethers, slowly spreading over her groin and toward her backside. With a prolonged moan and a lot of effort, she manages to stop the leak. She can feel a damp patch in her jeans, roughly the size of her palms. The thud of a drip hitting the ground makes her blush red in shame.
"Calm down would you?" Comes the voice from inside. "I'm just about done."
"NNaaaaaaahh!" Charlie shouts back. She's not quite sure what she meant by this.

The door opens suddenly and Charlie falls through, headbutting her room-mate in the tits.
"Hey, be careful would you?" Her room mate says, barely having time to respond as Charlie pushes her out the way. She's too stunned to realise the wet hand-prints Charlie's left on her shoulder.
"GottaPeeGottaPeeGottaPee - Get out!" Charlie shouts, hopping on the spot. She's losing control again as warmth begins to spread over her groin once more. Her Room-mate notices the damp patch growing underneath Charlie's hand and decides not to question her. She backs out the doorway.

With the pressure from her bladder mounting and mounting - growing and growing - Charlie is too pre-occupied with her hands to shut the door with them. She spins on the spot and slaps it shut with her backside, splattering a few drops onto the tiled floor as she does.

Now what?
Pants. Down.
Charlie tries to unbuckle her fly, but the second she takes her hand from between her legs she realises her mistake. The warm trickle begins to pulsate in stronger bursts, one hot spurt after the other, not even stopping as she holds them back. She can feel streams running down her thighs under the denim - down her calves even, soaking into the tops of her socks.

Far too frantic and far too leaky to undo her fly, Charlie makes one last attempt to get her jeans down - she clasps them by the waistband and pulls - but the exerted effort is too much - the rhythmic spurts end and make way for a steady stream, pouring straight through her underwear.
Sweating and panting, Charlie pulls harder and harder at her waistband - but each pull is met with nought more than a harder spurt - by now the wet stain down the front of her legs is halfway down her thighs.

The pressure is growing more and more.
The hits of relief from every spurt are growing too strong to ignore.
The warmth down her legs is almost bliss in comparison to the hot pain welled up inside her.
One last attempt to pull the jeans down causes her to slip ever so slightly.

Charlie slaps one hand against the door to keep balance - but the distraction is too much.
Charlie's no longer in control.

Heat bursts down Charlie's thighs as any resistance she had left in her is lost - her bladder has won, it's prize is a powerful wave of relief.
Charlie's bladder practically sprays its contents into her underwear with a hiss, echoing around the small room, inter-cut with splashes as fresh pee hits the tiled floor.
Her head is pushed back against the door and her eyes clamped shut as she moans in relief - the once unwavering pain of her bladder has gone - now Charlie only feels intense relief, as well as the warmth now coating her legs.

Her thighs are soaked.
Her calves are soaked.
Her feet are soaked.
As the flood begins to falter, Charlie begins to realise just what's happened, pee still pouring from the soaked denim, pooling by her feet and running between the tiles toward the....toilet.

The toilet in front of her, barely three-feet away.

She was so close, and yet...
 


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17 minutes ago, The Dark Wolf said:

Key in latch wetting, maybe? Either way, she definitely needs to change her pants.

Does she have a name?

You got here too quick for me to write the story!

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