Poseidon

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  1. Poseidon

    Men's Tena Active fit pants?

    From personal experience (due to prostate issues) I can say that they are quite comfortable to wear when I've used them as a precaution when travelling but will only hold one typical wetting - the usual 400 - 500 millilitres. Surprisingly with that amount absorbed they don't tend to leak even if you cannot change for an hour or more. Just don't wet them twice - they will leak badly if you do. I read somewhere that a typical pull-up of this type actually safely absorbs about half the amount stated on the pack so be warned. The Tena Men premium pants (actually cheaper) hold more and look more like underwear ( styled like briefs) rather than the full pant, quite ruffled style of the Active Pants.
  2. Poseidon

    Would you lick a girl who's peed her self?

    Been there, done that many, many times. Pure ecstasy!
  3. Poseidon

    Bladder Capacity is Getting Ridiculous

    These are classic enlarged prostate symptoms as I know only too well from similar experiences. Had it checked out by the doc to be told that it's perfectly normal at my age. I also find that coffee and alcohol don't help the resulting bladder issues either. I've learned to manage the symptoms but urgency can still be a problem so in situations where I know I won't be able to easily reach a toilet e.g. on a long road trip precautions are required just in case.
  4. Poseidon

    Agony and Ecstasy

    Correct - its from my "Wet Confessions" series which uses my earlier stories from the sites mentioned above plus many others written more recently. Peewit Nickson is of course a corruption of Pee With Knickers On and is the pen name I use on Kindle books.
  5. Poseidon

    Agony and Ecstasy

    I put many stories on the old Shara & Ger site under the same user name (and previously on Wetset as well) so you may have seen it there.
  6. Poseidon

    Agony and Ecstasy

    Agony and Ecstasy It all began last summer, after a nightmare journey home from work one Friday evening. I had left work in a rush, not bothering to use the loo, although I needed to, as my journey is usually less than 30 minutes. But not tonight! A lorry fire on the motorway caused a huge traffic jam and my short journey took well over two hours. Not having peed earlier I found myself becoming increasingly desperate as time went on. How I held it I still don't know as several times I thought I was going to wet myself in the car but somehow managed to hold it; but by the time I reached home I was in agony. As I hobbled from the car to my front door I was almost doubled up with pain but somehow made it indoors and upstairs to the loo, though feeling myself leaking as I struggled up the stairs. I closed the bathroom door and at that point really began to lose it, a steady dribble of peed running down my leg as I simply pulled up my skirt, sat on the loo and and just peed through my knickers, a steady trickle splashing into the bowl for five minutes or so before my aching bladder was empty. Oh the relief! Afterwards I threw my wet underwear into the laundry bin, showered and went to prepare dinner for my husband and myself. While I told him about the journey from hell I kept quiet about wetting myself in the bathroom. I may have emptied it but my bladder still hurt like hell so to avoid cystitis I drank plenty of water during the evening - as it turned out my poor strained bladder and the couple of litres or so of water were to be my downfall later. Tom noticed the amount of water I drank and understood why but still joked that I would either be in the loo all night or we would wake up in a flood. The water went through me quickly and I peed every half hour or so during the evening and by the time we went to bed most of my bladder pain had gone and I felt much more relaxed. I had to get up for a wee about one o' clock but then slept soundly until the alarm woke me from a lovely dream. This dream relived part of our recent holiday on Mediterranean island. I was laying on a sun lounger at the water's edge, the warm sea washing gently over my legs and bum wetting my thighs and bikini pants as I lay there totally relaxed. I knocked the alarm off and began to doze off again, but something was nagging in my subconscious. I had been dreaming about the warm sea washing over me but in the real world why did my bottom and legs feel warm and wet? In my half awake state, part dreaming, part reality it didn't make sense. As I gradually came round there came a dawning realisation that something wasn't right. My pyjama trousers and knickers were sticking to me comfortably warm and yet feeling strangely wet - the same feeling as when I had peed through my pants on the loo he previous evening. In some trepidation I reached down and felt my bum, legs and the bottom sheet. Then the full horror dawned. My knickers, pyjamas and the bed beneath me were soaked - I'd wet the bed! This had only happened to me once before as a adult, after a drunken student party when apparently I had wet myself during the evening before being stripped of my wet clothes and being put to bed by my friends. I woke up soaked again and with an almighty hangover. The only consolation was that two friends both did the same thing - one in her boyfriends bed! Strangely he apparently didn't mind at all! But this was different. I was stone cold sober, and my husband was lying beside me -and would soon know what I had done. I just lay there, terrified of getting out of bed to inspect the damage to the sheets and worse, the mattress, in case I woke Tom and had to explain what I had done. If I stayed in bed and pretended to be asleep maybe he would get up and leave me alone for long enough to deal with the evidence. But I I knew it was a vain hope and totally mortified I simply burst into tears just as Tom woke up, immediately asking me what was wrong. He soon found out as he rolled over and put his arm round me - and discovered the wet sheet and my soggy nightclothes. Instead of the angry or disgusted response I expected he just held me close, telling me to calm down and that it was alright, that I'd just had an accident because I'd strained my bladder. He also reminded me that the mattress would be OK as the cover we used to prevent stains from lovemaking, my periods and similar was waterproof. I began to calm down and Tom held me tight, kissing me gently till I suddenly began to panic as I realised that he was now lying in my wetness, his pants soaking up my pee. I started to get out of bed but he wouldn't let me go, holding me close, kissing me passionately. Then I felt his hand between my legs as he gently fondled me through my soaking pyjamas. I tried to push him away, telling him that I was a disgusting mess who had peed herself. In response he just held me tighter and I felt his erection against my thigh as his hand moved inside my knickers and found my clit. Despite my embarrassment at wetting the bed the warm wetness wasn't uncomfortable and although I couldn't fathom why it felt strangely pleasant. My pussy was also responding to Tom's fingers, becoming wet in another way. I suddenly felt incredibly aroused, kissing Tom vigorously as I rubbed his erection through boxer shorts damp from the wet sheet. Our passion seemed to last for hours, Tom eventually puling down my pyjama trousers but leaving my wet pants in place as he entered me. We both came almost together and I have to admit it was one of the most intense orgasms I'd ever had, so intense that I wet myself again as I came, the hot flood around my bum adding to my pleasure, and so it seemed, to Tom's. Breathless, we lay entwined in the now even wetter bed, savouring what had changed suddenly from a horrible embarrassment to an incredible moment of passion. We lay there in silence for some time then as I came down from the sexual high asked Tom what had just happened. He told me that he had been aroused by my story of desperation the previous evening and intrigued as to whether I'd made it home dry, later checking the laundry basket and finding my wet knickers! If it hadn't been for my aching bladder he would have had me there and then but contained hmself. In the morning he had woken before me and finding the sheet wet realised that I'd wet the bed even before I did. Not sure how I would react he said nothing till I began crying but once his arms were round me was just desperate to feel me and make love to me in the wet bed. Quite why my wet knickers and bed wetting turned him on he could not explain though he did say that he would sometimes pull my dirty knickers out of the laundry basket to check for evidence of accidents. As I do leak a bit when sneezing or laughing when bursting - my little oops moments that, if the Tena adverts are to be believed are common to many women. Finding pee stained or pee damp knickers usually led him to masturbate. Although we were quite open about our sexual needs he had never told me any of this, mainly because he thought I would find it disgusting but on finding that I'd totally wet myself in bed just had to tell me. Though not saying so directly I knew that he wanted me to do it again or at the very least to wet my knickers for him. However, I wasn't sure that I would be able to do it. The wet bed had been a total accident, though with an underlying cause and while I did sometimes wet my pants slightly it was always unintentional. Either I would have to wet myself consciously and deliberately or put myself in positions where an accident was inevitable. I explored ideas with Tom over the next several days, both to understand what he really wanted and to work things through in my own mind. I quickly realised that it would probably be much easier to wee in my pants than to do to in bed but how to be able to at an appropriate time - a public accident was not something I wanted to experience, at least not yet. Over the next several weeks I tried to train myself to deliberately wee with my knickers on. Initially I would arrange to arrive home from work with a full bladder and then wee through my pants sat on the loo. Once I could just let go like this I tried it standing in the shower gradually finding it easier and easier to overcome years of conditioning. Most of the time i kept this secret from Tom, though once I knew that I could do it at an appropriate time I did stage a little accident for him, with very enjoyable results. The strange thing was, I began to find wet pants quite enjoyable and on some days when I had the house to myself would wet myself and then keep my wet knickers on till they dried. One warm and sunny Saturday Tom was out all day and I spent it in the garden, drinking lots of water and just going in my pants as the urge arose, bringng myself off by rubbing myself through the soaking gusset on three occasions. This was getting interesting! Deliberately wetting the bed was a different matter however and there was obviously less opportunity to practice - a wet bed during the working week would have been a real nuisance. My chance came when Tom went away for a long weekend with his football mates. I took Friday off work so had three days to myself - this was my chance. On Thursday night I drank plenty of water and deliberately wore the same knickers and pyjamas that I had on when I had my little accident. I woke up bursting for a wee but stayed in bed, getting more and more desperate. I tried to let go but it was far more difficult laying down and I only dribbled a bit. Then suddenly my desperation became overwhelming, I relaxed my control and it happened. A hot flood poured over my thighs and bottom soaking my pyjamas and the bed. I'd done it - I'd wet the bed on purpose and OMG, it was a fantastic feeling. Just touching myself through my soaking nightclothes brought me to shattering orgasm and I then laid there in my wetness for over an hour, pleasuring myself twice more. I repeated the experiment on Saturday and again on Sunday. On the third occasion I woke up with a full bladder as expected but this time just rolled onto my back, relaxed and let it flow. I had done it, I could wet the bed and my pants as and when I wanted to so long as my bladder was pretty full. Now I'll just have to wait for the chance to do it for Tom.
  7. Where I'm from the usual terms are 'knickers' or 'pants'. Love to hear a woman say something like, "my knickers are wet" or "I've wet my pants".
  8. Poseidon

    Motorway nightmare

    This sounds all too familiar - the trials (and pleasures) of an enlarged prostate, something that affects most older men to some degree. Holding on is getting more problematic these days with stress leaks and sudden urgency when having had to hold on such as during a journey and finally being able to dash to the toilet. As I'd rather not take the usual OAB drugs due to side effects I've chosen to live with it and just take sensible precautions away from home if I know getting to a toilet might be difficult. The Tena shaped pads for men are very good for smaller leaks while in a high risk situation, for a long road trip, flying etc the new male Tena pants take away the stress and deal discreetly with an accident. Ironic really that after years of enjoying woman having accidents in their knickers I'm now having accidents myself, though as apparently over 20% of men over 50 have incontinence problems it's actually quite common, just not talked about.
  9. We’ve all seen those adverts on the TV. You know the ones; the sexy woman in the clingy red dress, confident that if she wets herself laughing too much it won’t show thanks to the Tena pants that she’s wearing. Then there are those two young women in tight jeans dancing the night away knowing that their ‘sensitive bladder’ issues won’t result in a visibly wet crotch and thighs thanks to their Always Discreet pants. What initially surprised me was the way in which these products were clearly targeted on young women, women of my age. I must say, it did make me wonder if any friends or work colleagues used them or similar ‘protection’, after all, according to Tena 47% of women suffer from some bladder weakness so there must be an awful lot of us who do sometimes wet our knickers. I must admit that I don’t always manage to keep my pants completely dry, but then I doubt I’m any different from most women. We all tend to leak a bit if laughing too much, sneezing, or coughing when out bladders are full or we have left it a little bit too late before rushing to the loo. But it’s normal and doesn’t happen often so I don’t think I need ‘protection’. However, something happened the a couple of months ago that changed my perspective. I was at my best friend Rachel’s flat for a quiet evening of chat, wine and a soppy film on TV. We were just onto our second bottle and getting a little merry when the Always pants advert came on. I need to wee by then and for some reason found the ad amusing, quipping to Rachel that a pair of those pants might come in useful if I didn’t go to the loo fairly soon, adding that I doubted that they worked or would save my skirt from a flood if I couldn’t hold it. “Oh, they work very well actually,” came Rachel’s the unexpected response. “What do you mean? How do you know?” This unexpected answer had me wondering what on earth she meant. Rachel’s face went red with embarrassment as she looked straight at me, murmuring quietly, “Because err I’ve used them!” Oh God. That’s too much information. This is so embarrassing, Oh God, what have I said.” Tears welled in her eyes. “It’s OK Rachel, we’re best friends; you can tell me anything,” I said, giving her a quick hug for comfort. “Now just explain it all to me.” Composing herself Rachel explained everything. It all began about three months earlier when she had had a nasty bladder infection. She had told me at the time, but only the basic details but it seems that apart form the usual pain and generally feeling unwell she was not only having to pee frequently but was unable to hang on very long. A nuisance at home and work but a real problem when out. She had tried drinking lots of water to flush the bug away but this only had her running to the bathroom even more often and, as she shyly admitted, not always making it in time. After she had wet herself badly for the third time she had immediately booked a doctors appointment. A course of antibiotics would sort it out but when she mentioned the accidents the doctor suggested she talk to the continence nurse. It was her who had suggested that for peace of mind it might be a good idea to wear protection till the problem cleared, suggesting that the new Always Discreet Pants were just that, secure and very discreet. The nurse even went down to the on-site pharmacy on Rachel’s behalf to get two packs for her to try so she did not have the initial embarrassment of buying them herself. At home she had taken her time before trying on these special pants for the first time but after another close call left yet another pair of damp knickers in the wash she had given in – after all it was only till the infection cleared. She said that the pants were actually very comfortable and didn’t really feel very different to her normal underwear, nor, to her surprise, were they visible –certainly not under a skirt and not even under quite tight jeans. The real question though was how they would perform if she had an accident so rather than risk visibly wet jeans decided to initially wear them under a skirt. I was getting strangely excited now as well as desperate for the loo but I just wanted to know more, especially if they worked, so I just asked outright, “Come on then Rachel, spill the beans - did you pee yourself in them and if so what happened.” She blushed scarlet again before admitting, “Yes, several times. Usually it was just leaking badly when I couldn’t quite get to the loo in time. The first time, amazingly, although I knew I’d wet myself quite a bit the pants felt dry on my skin so I just kept them on – well I was probably going to have a another accident later, so I thought I might as well.” By now I was wriggling around and holding myself and really should have gone to the loo there and then but I still wanted to hear more so encouraged Rachel to carry on, despite the fact that I was absolutely bursting. She continued, explaining that the pants were quite comfortable even after several bad leaks and though the crotch swelled up they still remained comfortable. Having worn them during the day at home and, as a precaution, in bed she felt confident to wear them out of the house including at work fining to her relief that nobody appeared to notice anything, even when she knew that she was wet. Not only that but they could cope with a complete accident. On her second day back at work her bus home had been delayed and although she had peed before leaving work she had been desperate again by the time she got to her stop. The short walk was agony but the stairs to her flat were the final straw - as she reached her front door, having leaked several times already her poor bladder just gave up and she felt a hot flood soaking her bottom as she completely wet herself. But, the Always pants held it all – no trickles down her thighs and her skirt stayed dry. After that she had absolute confidence in them. She looked across at me, my legs tightly crossed and jigging about as I tried to keep control of myself and continued with a grin, “You remember our girls night out a couple of weeks ago?” “You mean the time when Linda wet herself after we got out of the cab?” “Yes.” How could I forget it. We had all had a little too much to drink and in the taxi home Linda had been dying for a wee, so much so that she kept complaining that she was going to wet the seat before long. Fortunately she didn’t but the moment she got out had just stood there, a torrent of pee pouring down the legs of her jeans and forming a big puddle round her feet By the amount of laughter this caused I suspect one or two of the others also needed a change of knickers when they got home. “Well,” said Rachel, flushing red again, “Linda wasn’t the only one who wet herself that evening. I had an accident as well - I peed myself sat in the taxi but thanks to my special pants no-one knew except me. I’m still not sure of myself after that horrible infection so I still wear them as a precaution – thank goodness I had them on that evening!” I just looked at her in amazement – my best friend admitting that she’d wet her pants in a taxi. The picture in my mind of her sat there calmly peeing herself with all her friends around not knowing made me giggle. And giggling was not the best thing to do at that moment. The extra pressure on my swollen bladder was just a bit too much and I felt myself leak. “Shit! I’ve got to go for a wee or it’ll be too late,” I blurted out, dashing for the door. I made it to the loo just as the dam burst. A spurt of pee ran down my leg as I pulled my skirt up and hurriedly sat down still with my pants on and peeing uncontrollably, but what a relief! I really had left it too long this time and now I had really wet myself for the first time in ages and all because I had been so intrigued by Rachel’s story. Mopping myself up took some time and much toilet paper but nothing could change the fact that my pants were now very, very wet and I would just have to admit to Rachel what I’d done. Taking a deep breath I stepped back into the lounge. “Err, Rachel. I left it a bit late – do you think I could borrow some knickers please, mine are a bit wet!” Rachel just burst out laughing, “Jan you idiot. Why didn’t you go sooner? I saw you fidgeting for ages but you kept putting it off like a silly teenager. Now you’ve wet yourself like one. Are you sure you don’t need Always pants as well? “It was listening to you explaining their virtues that made me hang on – I was fascinated actually and more than a little intrigued,” I explained. “Stupid I know. But now I’m stood here in wet knickers and it wouldn’t be a good idea to sit on your sofa like this. So, could I borrow some clean ones? Please?” “Come on then, let’s find you something suitable Miss Pissy Pants!” she laughed as we went to her bedroom. Opening a drawer she took out a pair of rather thick looking pants, handing them to me saying, “Perhaps you had better wear these in case you have another accident.” “What are they,” I queried though I already knew. “Always pants of course. Ideal for leaky women everywhere - and we certainly qualify on that count at the moment. Not that I’ve known you wet your pants for a long time though; at least not since that drunken week in Ibiza when we were students. I blushed deeply, “I’d rather forget that, though it was probably great at the time. I seem to recall that we all wet ourselves at least once when drunk as well as for convenience on the beach because the toilets were so disgusting. And didn’t Linda wet the bed one night? Not our finest hour I’m sure but we were a lot younger then. God, it would be horribly embarrassing now. Don’t let’s talk about it. Rachel chivvied me up. “Come on girl, get those wet knicks off and put these on, then we can get back to the wine.” I lifted my skirt and pulled down my wet pants, dropping them on the floor to more giggling from Rachel as she saw just how wet they were. My face scarlet with embarrassment again I took the protective pants from her and inspected them closely. They did look very much like disposable paper pants but with padding from front to back and were surprisingly thin. Urged on by Rachel I carefully pulled them on. To my amazement they felt just as she had described earlier, quite comfortable and certainly no worse than big pants with a sanitary pad and invisible under my skirt. The knowledge that I was wearing what was, to all intents and purposes a pull-up nappy gave me a strange frisson of excitement, not to say arousal, especially after the gorgeous relief of emptying my bursting bladder a few minutes earlier together with the naughtiness of having done so through my knickers. And now I was wearing a pull-up! We went back to our wine and poured another glass but then I realised that Rachel hadn’t used the toilet since I’d been there. My mind was working overtime – she hadn’t had she . . . “Rachel, are you wearing Always pants right now, only after all that wine I would have thought you needed to pee as much as I did but I haven’t seen you go all evening.” “Guilty as charged,” she responded with a wicked grin, “And yes, I’ve wet them before you ask. I was about to go when that silly advert came on and we got distracted. Then you were in the loo and I couldn’t wait any more, so while you wet your knickers in the bathroom I wet mine sat here. Actually I’d better go and change just in case I leak. Back in a minute.” She came back a few minutes later, lifting her skirt and flashing a dry pair of Always pants at me. “Better safe than sorry. That wine goes straight through me,” she giggled. We carried on chatting for some time, both using the toilet like good grown-ups when necessary but somewhere towards midnight I decided I ought to head for home, which was only a 5 minute walk away. I was just about to say goodbye when Rachel suddenly said. “Haven’t you forgotten something? I put those wet knicks of yours in a bag for you and, in case you need them, a some Always pants as well!” I stuffed the bags she gave me into my shoulder bag and headed home. I actually needed to pee again but it was only a short walk back to my flat. However, the wine and the cold night air made me suddenly desperate and by the time I reached my front door I was close to wetting myself again. Quickly closing the door behind me I was about to dash into the toilet when an outrageous idea hit me. Still feeling curiously turned on from the events earlier in the evening and realising that I was still wearing the protective underwear I suddenly wondered what it would feel like to pee myself in this absorbent garment. Was it as effective as Rachel not only claimed but had demonstrated? I also had a rising curiosity as to what it would actually feel like to do a wee in them. As it was, my bladder was warning me that if I waited any longer I was going to find out anyway. Without thinking I quickly sat down on a kitchen chair just as I lost control. It was quite different to my earlier accident. A warm wetness enveloped my whole crotch and bum, the hot wetness tickling my already sensitive clit gave me a wonderful feeling that just kept building. As my finally bladder emptied I squeezed myself though the now hot and bulky padding, surprised that the outer layer was dry and so was the chair. The extra pressure on my clit sent me over the top and came, not once but several times as I enjoyed the exquisite feelings of relief, the warmth and wetness around my bottom, the sheer naughtiness at what I had just done and of course the resulting effect on my sensitive little button. I was going to have to try this again. Once I had recovered my composure I went to wash and get ready for bed. As I went to put on some knickers under my pyjamas I remembered the bag Rachel had given me. Inside was a small bag containing the knickers I had wet earlier in the evening plus another containing 3 pairs of Always pants – she obviously expected me to try them out more than once! Taking a pair out I decided to wear them instead of my usual cotton night time panties and after a final pee (in the toilet!) pulled them on and went to bed. Somehow I slept through, despite the wine but woke about 8 o’ clock dying for wee. I got up and headed for the loo but then remembered the wonderful pleasure of the previous evening – was it just a one off or had I discovered something interesting. Heading for the kitchen I sat down in the same chair. I must have looked a site - a woman of 26 sitting there with her hand down her silky pyjama bottoms squeezing herself through a pair of incontinence pants partly to stop herself wetting them and partly through the sheer sexual excitement that she was about to do just that. My poor bladder was absolutely at its limit and I felt myself leak a bit, feeling damp then strangely dry again as the pants did their job. My excitement at fever pitch I managed to just about control myself, leaking little spurts and trying not to just let go. The feelings were driving me wild – hot, wet leak, then feeling dry again, then another leak and another. Then I came; an incredible orgasm overwhelmed me and I almost cried out with pleasure. As it subsided my bladder released and again the hot wet flood washed over my clit and around my bottom until absorbed by the now soaked and bulging protective pants. A quick squeeze and I came again. Exhausted, I sat there for several minutes before heading for the shower. Peeling off the Always pants I dropped them on the floor with the pair from last night, laughing at myself as I looked at two wet nappies and a wet pair of knickers laying there on the floor. I had wet myself three times in less than 24 hours and two of those times it was deliberate! After my shower I dressed normally – top, skirt, knickers, tights and got on with my usual Saturday chores. As I did so I couldn’t help thinking about what had happened last night and again this morning. In some ways I felt disgusted with myself; what the hell was a mature woman doing not only wearing protective knickers when she didn’t need them but then deliberately peeing in them and enjoying it to the extent that she had an orgasm. I just could not rationalise it immediately but those orgasms had been incredible. But the more I thought about it the more sense it made. I did have a tendency to hang on when I needed a pee and had quite often masturbated with a full bladder, partly to help me hold it but also because the sexual feelings were much more intense. Because I tended to hold on till I just had to go I’d also had quite a lot of near misses; those ‘just made it’ moments when you only just get you knickers off in time. Even then I had often leaked by the time I reached the loo and last night had not quite been the first time I’d weed through my knickers because I couldn’t get them down in time. But I had never knowingly or deliberately wet myself for sexual pleasure, though there must have been some hidden desire there, something that had been released by wearing the Always pants. I was a good girl for the rest of the day but the following morning chose to wear the protective pants rather than my usual knickers. Not that I had any intention of using them but I was curious to see what it was like to wear them all day as I’d realised that they could at least be a useful precaution on boozy nights out, long journeys, flights or in other places where the loos were either in short supply or smelly portable toilets and it was preferable to hang on. In the afternoon I realised that I need some food and other bits and pieces to save me having to shop during the week so pooped out to the local superstore. Standing at the checkout I realised that I needed to pee quite badly and thought of using the store toilet, though that would have meant carrying all my shopping in with me so, remembering what I was wearing decided to wait till I got home. However, as I began walking, weighed down by my heavy bags my need went rapidly from needing to go to bursting – my earlier escapades must have weakened my bladder temporarily! Despite my protection I really did not want to have a big public accident so struggled on, with a rising fear that I might not make it home. As I neared my block I felt myself leak. A warm trickle in my pants that I quickly clamped off before it became a flood. Every few steps another leak though each time I managed to stop myself though by the time I was inside my flat had done so much in my pants that had I been wearing my usual knickers and tights they would have been soaked to the knees. Thanks to the Always pants my legs were dry and there was no evidence of the accident. I quickly put down my shopping, dashed into the bathroom and finished my pee in the toilet, pulling the Always pants back up instead of changing – well, they didn’t seem too wet and I wanted to see what it was like to wear them after a little accident. All part of my exploration! Shopping put away and a couple of cups of tea later I needed another wee. So I simply sat in my chair and weed in my knickers. The feeling was exquisite and I had another very satisfying orgasm though as I cam down from my high realised that this time I had overwhelmed the protective pants, having done more than I expected in them earlier and my bum and skirt were now wet. This time I had to change so cleaned myself up and put on normal pants and a clean skirt, having learned the limits of my special underwear. Since then I’ve experimented more and now keep a stock of the most absorbent Always Discreet pants in my underwear drawer, wearing them when I feel the need for extra security. This usually means nights out with the girls when the alcohol flows but I have even worn them to work on occasions when I might be stuck in long meetings or have to go out on site visits. They certainly help reduce stress levels when no toilet is immediately available. For total relaxation and the ultimate self-pleasuring I wear them at home, wait till I’m bursting and them just wet myself in them. Pure bliss! Rachel had asked me about my experience of the absorbent pants when we next met and I had to admit that I had ‘used’ them for their intended purpose, though not mentioning the sexual effects! From subsequent conversations I do suspect that she has discovered much the same thing; I’m going to have to ask her at some point. Several times when together we have admitted to each other that we are wearing them and even have a code word, asking each other whether they are wearing their ‘dancing pants’. I do know that we have both found them useful, especially on nights out and while unlike Rachel I haven’t peed myself in a taxi I did do it in the backseat of a friends car on one occasion. Naughty, nice and much more comfortable that trying to hang on till I could get home. I might not have a particularly ‘sensitive bladder’ but I can certainly dance all I want with utter confidence that if I forget myself it just won’t matter, I’ll always be discreet about it!
  10. Poseidon

    Mattress covers

    These are very good - https://www.win-health.com/waterproof-breathable-mattress-protector.html .
  11. Poseidon

    Late Developer

    At the ripe age of 52 I thought I knew myself sexually yet, I recently discovered a new facet, totally unexpected and very much by accident. The accident in question being in my knickers, down my legs and in a spreading puddle on the bathroom floor! I wet myself! I'm still not sure why it happened. I can usually hold on quite well when desperate, though as with many women my age Tena Lady are essential wear when I have a bad cough, as having had three children does rather weaken ones pelvic floor. Anyway, I had utterly and completely wet my knickers, tights, control pants (which I wear over my tights), skirt, everything, something that I had rarely done before in my adult life other than a few occasions when pregnant (when I had also once wet the bed). That was a long time ago and any woman who has been pregnant will have similar tales to tell. So there I stood. Soaking wet, face flushed red with embarrassment and a strange excitement, wee still dripping down my legs but with a feeling of incredible release almost akin to an orgasm and hornier than I had felt in years. The feeling as the hot wee filled by pants and washed over my clit before pouring down my legs was unbelievable and once it started I didn't want it to stop. Without thinking I had pulled up my skirt and squeezed myself through my pants, the extra pressure on my throbbing little button sending me over the top, gasping and crying as waves of pleasure rippled over me. And all the time my husband stood there watching me, a huge bulge in his trousers! As my orgasm subsided I felt him pull me to him, kissing me wildly on the lips, one hand between my legs caressing me through my soaking undies as I moaned in delight. Then, grabbing the towels from the rail he dragged me to the bedroom, pulled back the covers and threw the towels onto the bed pushing me down on top of them, all the time fondling my wet bottom. Then, slowly, he pulled my undies down and took me more passionately that I can ever remember. I actually had a multiple orgasm for the first time in years and peed myself again as I came. It was some time before we came back to earth. After mopping up the bathroom floor and putting the towels and my underwear in the washing machine we poured a glass of wine and tried to make sense of it all. We were on holiday in a small chalet we own on a little park in mid-Wales and had strolled the half mile or so down to the village pub for a drink before dinner. I'd only had a couple of gin and tonics so wasn't drunk and did not feel the need to visit the ladies before the 20 minute walk home. We had only been walking for a few minutes though when I suddenly found myself needing to wee and badly. I started to walk faster and when my husband asked why I told him that I was suddenly desperate for the loo and explained that I hadn't needed to go when we left but the gin seemed to have gone straight through me! With a smile he suggested I duck behind the hedge and when I pointedly refused said that going behind the hedge might be better than wet pants- how prophetic. I told him in no uncertain terms that my pants would stay very dry thank you very much, but with the chalet park in sight I was becoming increasingly unsure of my ability to hold on. However, my husband seemed to be walking so slowly, and he had the door key. I urged him to hurry, saying that I was desperate and I was, jiggling around and crossing my legs and squeezing my thighs as I tried to control a bursting bladder. He just laughed telling me that I looked a right sight and to act my age. By now I was sweating and in a panic and just blurted out that if he didn't hurry up I really was going to have a very public accident. How I made it to the chalet without embarrassing myself I really don't know. As we reached the door I almost lost it, the anticipation of reaching the loo making me momentarily lose control and I felt a hot trickle in my knickers. Hubby fumbled with the lock as I urged him to hurry as I was doing it in my pants. As the door swung open, I dashed for the toilet but the battle was already lost. That first trickle became a flood as I felt a hot wetness fill my satin knickers, initially held back by my tights and control briefs then flooding down my thighs just as I got into the loo. I tried to pull my skirt up and undies down but it was far too late. I suppose I could have sat on the loo and just done it through my pants that way but I was in shock at what I was doing and just stood there, a seemingly never ending torrent in my knickers, cascading down my legs, into my shoes and across the floor. Thinking about it now the sexual outcome was a result of the feelings from my bursting bladder, my tight underwear rubbing me in the right places, the tension as I became desperate and nervous of what might happen and the sudden loss of control. Add the hot wee over my already sensitive clit and it all started to make sense. My husband said that when I first mentioned my need he had treated it as a joke. I sometimes sit fidgeting at home waiting for a break in a TV programme and telling him I need the loo. He admitted that he wondered if I always made it dry (I usually had) and had sometimes pulled my pants out of the laundry basket to see if they were wet or had pee stains! However, the little leaks that I, like most women have, remained my secret - the Tena Lady or my private wash bin saw to that. He then admitted that the idea of me wetting myself, whether a damp gusset from leaving it a bit late in getting to the loo or soaking wet following a full on accident excited him. When he realised that I really was bursting as we walked back he had had trouble hiding his excitement and had to walk slowly to hide the huge erection he was sporting. The more he delayed the more desperate I became, adding to his tension (and mine!). When I lost control in front of him and just stood there wetting myself he had almost come in his trousers! He had wanted to hold me close then but was afraid of my reaction but when I made myself come he just had to grab me, feel my wet pants and ravish me. We made love again that night, slowly and delicately; it was gorgeous and we then talked further about me wetting myself. I didn't quite promise to do it again but privately was intrigued by the feelings that I had experienced. A couple of days later hubby went off fishing for the day and I had the chalet to myself. I sat in the sun reading and drinking copious amounts of iced water. The sun was warm, my book interesting and I kept putting off going to the loo even though I was getting very full. In fact I was quite enjoying the feeling. The deck at the back off our chalet is very private, overlooking woodland and fields. With no one about I slipped my hand up my skirt and began to rub myself through my cotton knickers, partly to help me hold my bursting bladder and partly because my need to pee was making my clit tingle. I was in heaven as I gradually let myself become desperate again. So desperate that it was pointless trying to get up from my sun lounger; I already knew I wouldn't make it to the loo. Then it happened. A hot flood poured into my knickers and over my hand and I came almost immediately. I lay there for some time, quite enjoying the feeling of wet pants on my private parts. Now I knew that the feelings when I had had the earlier accident in my pants were not an aberration but an incredibly sensual experience and one that I had just repeated, albeit in private. However, I knew two things, one that I loved the feeling of wetting myself and secondly that it would also turn my husband on if I could pluck up the courage to do it in front of him again. The more I thought about it the more I knew I had to do it. Ever practical I decided that the deck was rather more suitable for wet activities than the bathroom floor and that some protection on the bed might be beneficial. As hubby would not be back for some time I took the car into the nearby town and bought a waterproof mattress cover which went straight onto the bed with a thick towel over it and under the sheet. That evening we went to the pub again and this time I drank lager, which I know always makes me want to pee. My husband knows it as well but said nothing as I refrained from using the ladies before we left. I was soon desperate again and this time laughed and joked about my condition, loving his response to my very genuine desperation. I almost misjudged it and had already leaked badly by the time we arrived back at the chalet. My knickers and tights were quite wet as were the tops of my thighs but nothing was yet visible. Pulling hubby out onto the deck I kissed him passionately and pulled his hand between my legs, hearing him gasp as he felt my wetness. “God Cal, you've peed yourself!”. He gasped as another trickle warmed my crotch. “I'm bursting,” I whispered. “I can't hang on; I'm going to have an accident in my knickers.” Then his fingers found my clit and I lost all control, totally wetting myself for the second time that day. Muttering that the bed was protected I dragged him into the bedroom where he practically took me by force, ripping the gusset of my tights and having me through the leg of my dripping wet knickers. Exhausted, we drifted off to sleep, he naked except for a T-shirt and me with just my top and still in my pee-soaked underwear. The bed was wet beneath me but I didn't care and fell asleep immediately. I awoke a couple of hours later, badly needing to pee again, and almost panicked at first as my underwear and the sheet were still damp of course and as I came round imy first thought was that I had wet the bed! This gave me an idea that initially shocked me. I needed to pee again and was already wet so why not just do it as I lay there? The sheer naughtiness of deliberately wetting my bed intrigued me; what would it feel like? I knew how good it felt to wet my pants so wetting the bed was really a logical next step. I rolled over and put my arm round my husband. Still asleep he stirred as I gently rubbed my wet knickers against him. We lay like this for another half hour until I could hold my bursting bladder no more. As I lay on my side gently cuddling hubby I felt the now familiar hot wetness flood my pants and pour over my thigh, spreading under me, soaking my top and the damp sheet, a warm spreading wetness, enveloping me and my beloved. As my flood soaked him he woke, wondering what was going on but I simply held him tight whispering into his ear that I’d had another accident and wet the bed. We made love again in the warm puddle on a soaking sheet. Let's just say that the rest of the holiday involved a great deal of washing - sheets, towels and many pairs of my knickers and tights. I wet my pants every day, usually for hubby as much as myself, but a couple of times for my own pleasure. On several mornings I simply wet the bed rather than get up to use the loo and each time enjoyed not only the experience but the sex that followed. Back home now I have to be more careful. While on holiday I’d rather got used to letting myself get desperate, not caring if my knickers were wet when I eventually went to the loo and of course, simply wetting myself for hubby. After some near misses at work (I carried spare pants following an afternoon spent wondering if anyone knew my knickers were wet) I limited my waiting and desperation to weekends. I had to be careful of the bed wetting as well. It had almost become a habit and on one occasion I woke bursting in the early hours and simply let go without thinking, falling back to sleep afterwards and only realising that I had wet the bed when I woke up again. Of course it was a work day and although I just had time for a quick shower I had to leave the bed till I got home. The sight of our wet bed that evening made me realise that I had to make sure not to lose control of myself where it could be embarrassing, especially as I had been bursting for a wee on the bus home and didn’t quite make it to the loo in time and simply wet myself sitting on the toilet - there was little point taking pulling my knickers and tights down since they were already rather wet as I’d leaked badly walking from the bus stop! I really need to be more careful.
  12. Poseidon

    Wet Weekend in Margate

    3. Enjoying My Wet Weekend Brian and I had met soon after we both started work at the same firm, me in PR and he in IT. We hit it off immediately and are compatible in so many ways, a joy after several short term and unsatisfactory relationships with often over-sexed and immature fellow students. Brian is gentle, caring and understanding, both generally and in the bedroom and we soon talked about and understood each others needs, both sexual and social. I’m happy to accept his interest in football and all that involves while he allows me the time to indulge my damp pleasures. When we are together I generally try to keep my pants dry (occasional little accidents excepted) and have never wet the bed with him beside me. But, when he goes of to away matches my time and pleasures are my own – it works well for both of us. With Brian’s trip to Barcelona I was looking forward to my first two days of self indulgence for several weeks. That’s not to say there had been a drought so to speak; a girl can always wet herself discretely and hid the evidence from a partner if she needs to as I did when I needed to relieve work or other stress, but on my own I could really just let myself go – quite literally. My preparations started even before I got home from work by ensuring that I remained well hydrated so that my evening mugs of tea would have maximum effect. As soon as Brian left I made my key preparations – waterproof sheet and two thick towels on the bed over the usual quilted cover (also waterproof) plus a waterproof cover on the duvet under its cotton cover. Satin pyjamas and silky knickers were laid out ready for later plus my favourite wetting clothes for the next couple of days. There was going to be a lot of washing this weekend! With the flat to myself I relaxed with a mug of tea, regularly refilled and chose the best ways to enjoy myself. I had already decided to be a good girl that evening, after all, it is possible to have too much of a good thing, but, after several glasses of wine, which always makes me sleep well, I was fairly sure that my fun would begin when I woke up in a wet bed the next morning. All the tea would ensure that I needed to pee while a long hot shower and the wine ought to make me sleep deeply resulting in both a full bladder and lovely pee dreams, something I hadn’t been able to enjoy for many weeks. Fully relaxed I took a last pee in the toilet, pulled on my soft, silky knickers and pyjamas and tumbled into bed, rapidly falling asleep despite the frisson of excitement from knowing what was likely to happen later. It did. Sometime in the early hours I half woke from a dream in which I was on the bus home, stuck in traffic and desperate for the toilet (actually something of a nightmare for me as it’s not a nice thing to happen). Eventually in the dream I couldn’t hold on any longer and began to leak little dribbles into my knickers. Then suddenly we were at my stop and I dashed off the bus and into my flat, a trickle of pee running down my leg, straight into the toilet where I simply sat down and peed through my pants. In the real world I lay in my half way world between sleep and waking, a few dribbles dampening my knickers before a steady warm stream washed over my thighs and bottom, soaking my pyjamas and the sheet beneath me. As the dream faded I sank back into full sleep and was finally woken by my aching bladder at around 8 o’clock. I came round; initially wondering why I was all wet till I realised that I’d wet the bed in my sleep. Usually I wake up as I’m doing it and can’t get back to sleep easily but waking to wet clinging nightclothes and a soggy sheet made a lovely start to my weekend. I lay back, luxuriating in the warm, comforting wetness, enjoying the sensuous feelings of running my hands over the silky damp material of my pyjamas and gently rubbing myself to control my now desperate need to empty my bursting bladder. My body reacted as expected and I suddenly found myself both coming and going – as I climaxed and lost control, flooding my bed for a second time. Sated, I lay there for perhaps another half hour before throwing back the duvet and inspecting the damage. My pants and pyjama trousers were almost totally soaked and my top wet halfway up my back. The towels had soaked up a lot of my pee but a great circle of wetness about a metre across covered the sheet together with a smaller wet area on the duvet cover. Pulling the wet towels off but leaving the sheet I headed for the bathroom, stopping to inspect my soggy state in the full-length mirror. Leaving the towels on the floor I stripped off my wet things, adding them to the pile then washed and showered. The bed I intended to leave, hoping it would be dry enough by the evening for me not to have to change the sheet as I wanted a new experience, that of sleeping in pee stained sheet with the aroma of the previous night’s accident in my nostrils. The room would have to be properly aired and plenty of air freshener sprayed round before Brian returned of course. Shower and make-up completed I dressed in my first outfit – modest top and a jumper, a quite short and loose denim skirt and another pair of satin micro-fibre knickers with a pair of thick opaque tights over the top. This is a lovely combination of fabrics to wet in as it seems to hold the moisture for ages so prolonging the pleasure. After a quick breakfast, including a couple of large coffees I walked into over two hours had passed since I last peed and I definitely needed to go but instead of finding a public loo headed for a café, sat down and ordered another coffee. By the time I had finished it I could hardly sit still but still didn’t use toilet. I had intended to walk home but instead decided to take the ten minute bus ride instead. Sitting on the bus being bounced around was exquisite torture, every bump threatening a leak from my over-full bladder till, standing up to get off at my stop, I felt a first warm trickle in my knickers. It was a real challenge walking the last 100 metres to the flat, little dribbles escaping into my pants and tights with almost every step to the extent that by the time I got to my door the tops of my thighs were definitely wet. As I closed the door behind me I almost lost it, a long spurt soaking through my knickers and tights and running down my leg, a small puddle forming on the floor. Quickly, before I completely lost it I hobble into the bathroom where I stood in the show and simply let it flow. What a wonderful hot, wet release! Having enjoyed the wetness of my pants and tights against my skin for a few minutes I peeled them off and dried legs with a towel, added the wet knickers and tights to the wet pyjamas lying in a damp pile on the bathroom floor. I didn’t shower but simply pulled on clean dry satin knickers and black leggings under my skirt (which amazingly had stayed dry). Pottering at home doing the inevitable chores kept me busy followed by lunch, while I read forum post on my tablet and, of course, more coffee. I had already protected the sofa I was sitting on with a plastic sheet and thick towel, just in case of accidents you understand. Feeling very relaxed I sat there reading, enjoying the growing pressure, followed eventually by little dribbles and leaks, enjoying warm wetness slowly spreading from my crotch to the tops of my thighs and my bottom. Finally, my bladder began to spasm so relinquishing control I just sat there and wet my pants again! More clothes were soon added to the growing pile while I hung my skirt up to dry off, intending to wear it again later. Usually I go for a run or two at the weekend as part of my occasional keep-fit regime. Having dried myself off again I put on my running top, cotton pants and lycra joggers (black of course), downed a bottle of water to keep myself hydrated, took another one with me and without peeing again headed out for my usual route. Leaky bladders when running are a well know problem for women, along of course with wetting ourselves when laughing hard. Half way round I had drunk my second water bottle with my rapidly filling bladder being bounced about as I ran I realised that it was beginning to threaten a rather too public flood if I wasn’t careful so I took a shorter route to cut the time. Even so for the last half mile or so I was leaking with almost every step. By the time I arrived home I was wet to the knees and hardly needed to wee by then – I’d already done most of it in my pants. At least when I checked nothing showed on the shiny lycra material and I felt amazed at myself for actually having an accident in public like that. Finishing my pee though my pants while sat on the loo I added them to the growing soggy pile, noticing the definite smell of wee in the bathroom, some of coming from me as I now definitely smelled as if I peed myself. I was hot and sweaty as well so did take another shower this time. It was now late afternoon and so far I had wet my bed twice and my knickers three times. How much more washing was I going to create? Out of the shower I chose some cotton knickers and an old, worn pair of jeans as my next outfit. Back on the sofa, sitting on yet another towel I watched a film on TV while I filled up with a large pot of tea. Tea always makes me need to pee and it didn’t take long before I was enjoying that desperate feeling again. I hung on till the end of the film, but had already started to wee in my pants so went to bathroom and again simply stood in shower and weed down my legs. More soaked clothes on the washing pile! For my final outfit of the day I put on the same denim skirt from earlier (it was almost dry by then) and another pair of full-cut silky pants. With another film on the TV , a simple salad for dinner with a bottle of wine with coffee after I was feeling even more relaxed than ever as I reflected on my stress relieving day, wondering what my work colleagues would think of me if they knew what I’d spent the day doing. Eventually I stopped the film and went to wash up. Now that was torture! Standing with your hands in warm water when you are bursting for a wee is a recipe for disaster but somehow I managed to hold most of it though my knickers were quite wet and a couple of dribbles had run down my bare legs. To prolong my fun I went back to the sofa to watch the last 20 minutes of the film – still bursting, leaking, and with already wet knickers. As soon as the film ended I could hang on no longer and dashing into the bathroom finally wet myself completely sitting on the loo still with my pants on. By this time it was after 10:30 and sleep was calling. The bed had dried with a lovely yellow stain on the old white sheet and that unmistakeable smell of bedwetting that rarely have a chance to enjoy. I placed a new towel under the sheet just in case I wet the bed again (knowing I probably would), put on another pair of satin knickers and pyjamas and climbed into bed, breathing in the scent of the previous nights accident. Sometime during the night I had another pee dream in which I was at a festival with the usual horrible toilets so after hanging on for a while sat on the grass and peed through my knickers. Of course, that was probably the point where I actually peed the bed as for the second day running I woke to wet pyjamas and sheet, a lively new wet stain inside the old one. Of course, I needed to wee again but lay there in the wetness until I started leaking then deliberately didn’t quite make it to the loo and wet myself again all over the bathroom floor. The large pile of damp towels came in useful to mop up my latest puddle. Showered, dressed in clean clothes I surveyed the result of my weekend adventures while reminding myself that I had to stay dry from now on as Brian was coming home that afternoon. After breakfast my first job was to strip my wet bed and wash the sheets. Once these were in the dryer there was a still a pile of very wet towels and lastly my pee soaked night clothes, tights, joggers, jeans and knickers to deal with. Quite a washing load, but then I had wet the bed three times, wet myself clothed five times (not counting the final accident in the bathroom but my pyjamas were already wet when that took place). What weekend! Now I had about six hours to make sure all the washing was done and the bedroom and bathroom clean and smelling fresh for Brian’s return and to hide my ‘wetting kit’ of waterproof bed covers and old sheets. I was naughty one last time though as I kept putting of weeing as I did the cleaning and without intending too started to wet my knickers completely by accident, probably as a result of having simply wet myself so many times over the previous 24 hours. So, yet another pair of knickers to wash – the seventh. I’d have to be careful though and make sure I had regained full control by the end of the day. A wet bed that night or an accident at work on Monday would be a little difficult to explain. It was several more weeks before I had another chance for some ‘me time’ but that was nothing like that wonderful wet weekend in Margate.
  13. Poseidon

    Wet Weekend in Margate

    2. Soggy Sheets During one of our pee talks, several months after she had first introduced me to the pleasures of the wet side Beth suddenly asked me if I’d ever wet the bed and if so when was the last time. Blushing, I admitted that I’d only done it once that I could recall; when I was aged 11 and had been dry at night for years. Curiously I could remember the event quite clearly. It had been the summer of my last year at primary school and I was becoming very stressed over the impending attainment tests. Then the weekend before the tests it happened. I can still remember that at some point during the Saturday night I had a vivid dream. In the dream I was in the middle of the test and desperately needed the toilet but was too nervous to ask the strange teacher who was in charge if I could be excused. Of course I couldn’t hold on to the end and kept releasing long wet spurts into my knickers. In reality I was wetting my bed. When I woke in the morning I didn’t realise at first what had happened although my pyjamas were obviously soaked – I really thought I was just wet from sweating as it had been a hot night. I didn’t even say anything to my mother who only discovered my wet bed when she went to tidy my room. She didn’t even question me about it, but simply stripped the bed and leant the mattress against the open window to dry. It was only when she asked me to bring the sheets and clothes from my room for washing and I saw the wet stain on the mattress and picked up my soggy nightclothes that it finally dawned on me that I’d wet the bed. In hindsight I can’t understand why I didn’t get upset when I realised what I’d done but was probably too embarrassed to admit it, even to myself. Mum was obviously very understanding so nothing further was said by either of us. It was a curious one off incident and I’d never done it again. Not that I haven’t come close – those occasional but annoying dreams of desperately seeking a toilet and not finding one only to wake up bursting and on the point of having an accident have almost caught me out a few times, to the extent that I can recall three or four times when a change of knickers or pyjamas was required when I didn’t quite reach the loo in time. But I hadn’t actually wet the bed again. That was soon to change. Beth then asked me if I’d ever been tempted to just pee myself when I woke up from these dreams. It had never even crossed my mind – the thought of dealing with a wet mattress was enough to stop me and anyway, grown women didn’t wet the bed. Beth stood up and pulled back her duvet and sheet, pointing at the mattress cover, something that was on all beds in the halls, though hers was also covered with a thick folded towel. Why did our beds have waterproof mattress covers if not because of bed wetting accidents which, given the usual drinking culture amongst students were probably quite common. At that I just had to ask Beth when she last wet her bed. Last night came the immediate reply! She had been woken by a bursting bladder in the early hours and, only half awake simply rolled over, peed herself and went back to sleep. She told me that for her there was something uniquely naughty and sensuous about wetting the bed whether by accident (she had two or three a year), laziness as last nights wetting had been, or deliberately just for the thrill. Initially I couldn’t quite see the attraction but of course, with good mattress protection, it simply meant extra washing. There was also the fact that, perhaps surprisingly I still had good recall of my own wet night of almost ten years earlier. Did the fact that I remembered it so clearly and hadn’t been phased by it mean that, for some reason I didn’t understand, actually enjoyed the experience? Were the regular pee dreams trying to tell me something? And what would happen if next time I told myself to just let nature take its course? I was intrigued by how it would feel to wake up in a wet bed and also what it would feel like if I did it deliberately but for a while couldn’t bring myself to do it, although I had made up my bed with a thick towel beneath me just in case. After all, it was best to be prepared in case of an accident! When it did finally happen, towards the end of term when I was tired out working all hours to finish essays and a dissertation it pretty much was a genuine accident. I had worked late on a Friday night to complete my final paper ready for checking, kept awake by numerous cups of coffee, finally collapsing into bed around 1 a.m. and immediately falling into a deep sleep. Now when I sleep deeply I also tend to have vivid dreams and sometime during the night had a pee dream in which I was lazing on a quiet beach and desperate for a pee. There were no toilets and the sea was cold so I wandered into the rocks looking for a cave or other private place to relieve myself but there was always a reason why it wasn’t suitable and I found myself again lying on my towel. By then I just couldn’t wait any longer so decided to just lay back and wet myself. So I did. In reality I was in that odd half awake and half asleep stage. I knew I should get up and go to the toilet but as I peed in my dream I started to pee in real life and made no effort to stop myself. I was lying on my back and felt the first short spurts wet my pyjamas and trickle under my bottom followed by a slow steady stream soaking my pyjamas, thighs and the bed beneath me. It was warm, wet and a glorious relief; utterly relaxing to my tired body and though I was half aware of what I’d just done made no effort to get up and deal with it; I simply lay there and was soon fast asleep again. When I finally woke up again several hours later I was bursting again and only realised that I was wet when rather groggily I got up to go to the loo. Having peed I went back to bed but still half asleep couldn’t understand at first why my pyjamas were clinging damply to me and the bed was so wet. Eventually I came round properly and the reality of my situation became clear. It had happened. I had wet the bed for the first time as an adult. Then I recalled the dream, my tired body and over-full bladder relaxing and the feelings as it happened, though I really wasn’t sure if I had had a real accident or had done it semi-deliberately. Not that it mattered. It had been a lovely feeling when I was wetting and it was a novel and interesting experience to be sitting on my bed in wet pyjamas looking at the large wet area on the sheet as I mentally chastised myself for being a bad girl who pissed her bed. Beth was right, it was a unique and lovely experience. After I had stripped my bed and put the sheet, towel and pyjamas into a black bin bag to take to the laundry room I showered and went to confide my ‘accident’ to Beth. It turned out that she had also wet her bed, though in her case deliberately since, as she said, “I just couldn’t be bothered to get up and pee in the toilet.” After breakfast together we had headed for the laundry room, hoping that we would have the place to ourselves which fortunately we did. Since that damp awakening there have been several more wet beds, mostly deliberate but a couple were genuine night time accidents. While I do regularly wet my knickers for fun and relaxation I prefer to keep bedwetting as a special and occasional treat, a special experience that I’ve earned through working hard all week. While at uni and again when living on my own for a few months afterwards, wetting my bed on a Friday or Saturday night was my choice, but once Brian and I got together became much more difficult. For this reason I really looked forward to Brian’s regular football trips.
  14. Poseidon

    Wet Weekend in Margate

    1. Discovery My discovery of the pleasures of peeing myself came while at university. In my first year I became very friendly with Beth, who had the room next to me in halls. Beth was a highly sexual person and very open about her desires and was soon asking me about my own sex life, solitary as it then was. We were soon confiding everything to each other; then one evening, we were in her room talking about our preferred masturbation techniques when I noticed that she was fidgeting and holding herself as if she needed to pee badly. She admitted that she was actually desperate but when I suggested she ought to go to the loo (six feet away as we had en-suite rooms) she told me she loved the feeling and often held on as long as possible. I was more than a little intrigued as I too had found that a full bladder could arouse me in the right circumstances and admitted this to Beth, also telling her how I often found myself bursting to pee as I approached orgasm and sometimes actually peed as came. “That makes two of us then” came her reply! Our conversation quickly became even more intimate, Beth still sitting there wriggling around and clearly close to wetting herself but still putting off a visit to the toilet. “For goodness sake go to the loo Beth, you’ll wet your pants in a minute”. “Would it matter?” was her response, “It feels great and simply means a bit of extra washing. You ought to try it! “You mean wet myself deliberately? Hold on till I have an accident?” “Exactly! As long as you do it in private then why not if it feels good” There was a brief pause then, “Oops! My knickers are wet! I’ll have to go to the loo now or there’ll be a puddle on the floor.” With that Beth hobbled into the bathroom and leaving the door wide open pulled her skirt up but left her knickers on and just sat on the toilet and peed. “God that felt good. Just as good as always. There’s nothing quite like emptying a bursting bladder in your pants and then enjoying the feel of them afterwards. You really should try it.” Beth put a towel on her chair before sitting down again and we talked further about bladders, wetting and embarrassing accidents till I decided to head for bed and leave Beth to whatever other pleasures she had planned. As I got up from the floor where I’d been sitting I realised that I too needed the loo badly and admitted this to Beth. “Well, now’s your chance to wet your pants and see how good it is”, was her response. I reddened and declined but have to admit that I was tempted to do exactly as she had done. Back in my room and without an audience was another matter altogether. In fact I was actually so desperate that it was almost a real accident rather than a deliberate wetting. I started to wee in my knickers even before I could get into the bathroom and had no choice but to just to sit on the loo and go through my pants. God it really did feel good! From that point on I was hooked. Over the following months I had many more discussions with Beth and really explored my new interests. Initially I did no more than wait till I was bursting then wee through my knickers sitting on the toilet or standing in the shower but with Beth’s encouragement soon began to explore wetting in different clothes – knickers and tights, leggings and jeans especially. Each gave a different experience and I soon enjoyed them all. Beth even taught me how to secretly wet myself in a skirt when outside by, for example, sitting on a grassy slope with skirt pulled clear and legs pulled up. I would have a wet bum but only I would know it. It certainly felt very naughty to wet my knickers like that with other people around who had no idea what I’d done. I did it several times that summer at festivals and similar as well as on the beach. Actually I still do and on some occasions I’ve had ‘accidents’ when with Brian, though I suspect he knows I actually do it deliberately.
  15. Another story for you all. All my stories are fiction but based on real experiences, anecdotes, confessions and overheard conversations and such like so have a definite basis in fact. Wet Weekend in Margate is in four parts. Wet Weekend in Margate The Prologue Sometimes it’s nice to have a couple of days ‘me time', when I can relax and do whatever I want without demands from my husband or others. These opportunities don’t come along very often so when Brian announced that he wanted to go to a European Cup football match in Barcelona I was only to happy to agree. While he was away enjoying himself with his mates I could equally enjoy my own more solitary pleasures. Brian flew out on the Friday afternoon and was not due back till Sunday evening giving me almost two clear days alone. The weather forecast was for grey skies and cold rain all weekend though I planned an equally wet but rather warmer couple of days. With the house to myself I could indulge my little personal pleasure, one that I usually keep very much to myself though it has caused me some embarrassing moments. You see, I love to wet myself. On the one hand it’s so relaxing to just go, whether in my knickers or my bed but it’s also the gorgeous feelings around my private parts from the release and the wetness around my bottom and down my legs. There is also a sexual element, but not all the time. Sometimes I pleasure myself after wetting, sometimes I don’t; it all depends on my mood. Brian knows of my naughty tendencies but they do nothing for him, sexually or otherwise unfortunately and he prefers that if I must indulge that I do it privately. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t seen me in wet knickers or indeed actually wet myself, though those few times have largely been genuine accidents. Generally I keep it separate from the rest of our relationship.