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Gabby Jay

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  1. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to uap in MILF Wets the Bed   
    Thumbsucking is so cute, and she looks so embarassed, I really like this vid , thank you for sharing. 
  2. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to Fuchsa9073 in Maternal Responsibility Act   
    Erica Campbell looked at the email for the 4th time in as many minutes.
    Your daughter, Grace Campbell, has been referred to the Discipline Office for a violation of Section H of the Student Conduct Code. She has been assigned punishments that include after school detention for 4 hours, a written appology to her peers, and one month of reduced privleges. 
    The Maternal Responsibility Act requires you to attend a review hearing at 7pm this evening. This review hearing will be conducted by the PTA Conduct Committee. You and Grace are both required to testify at this hearing.
    Grace's after school detention will be served today from 3pm to 7pm. She will be released from detention at the time of her testimony.
    The Maternal Responsibility Act had been touted as a way to reduce the amount of crime being committed by young people. Under the Act any misconduct by a person under the age of 30 required the offender's mother to attend a hearing to determine if she was partially responsible. The mother could be found responsible if there was evidence that she had not properly disciplined her child while they were growing up. The Act applied to various offenses including school discipline infractions, traffic offenses, and criminal matters. Traffic and criminal offenses required the offender's mother to appear in court, infractions at school or college were handled by the school system. The PTA Conduct Committee often sanctioned irresponsible mothers in a manner  similar to how student may be disciplined by the school. The school system allowed corporal punishment for students and the Conduct Committee often used it for mothers as well. 
    Grace was a very well behaved high school senior. Erica wondered why her 18 year old daughter was being punished. Erica went to the school website to find a copy of the Student Conduct Code.
    Section H - Student Hygiene:  All students must maintain personal cleanliness at all times. Students shall be subject to discipline for failure to maintain control of bodily functions.
     Had Grace wet her pants?  The email notification was vague and left Erica wondering about her daughter's plight.  
    Erica spent the afternoon unable to focus. She wondered exactly what Grace had done. Did it happen in class?  Had her friends seen it?  Had she been denied permission to go during class?  What if it wasn't wet pants; if not, what else could it be?  If it was wet pants, why hadn't Erica been called to bring her dry clothes?
    Erica was also concerned about her review hearing that evening. Erica had been a vocal proponent of the Maternal Responsibility Act when it was first enacted 6 months ago. Erica was aware that her support of the Act might make for juicy gossip if she was found in violation of it.
    Maternal Responsibility Act hearings were open to the public. Erica had attended several public hearings after the law was enacted, so she knew it would be a humbling experience even if she was cleared of responsibility. She shuddered to think of the potential humiliation she might endure if she was found responsible for her daughter's behavior.
    At 6:55pm Erica entered the small auditorium being used for the review hearing. She was escorted to the right side of the stage where she was told to stand in line with the 4 other mothers who had to appear before the PTA Conduct Committee. The 5 person committee was seated at a long table in the middle of the stage. The small auditorium held approximately 75 seats for spectators, Erica's stomach flip-flopped as she realized it was a standing room only crowd. 
    At 7pm the students who were required to testify at their mothers hearings were led to the left side of the stage. Erica begin to tear up as she saw Grace walk-in. Her fear was confirmed; Grace's jeans had a large dark stain in the crotch and dark streaks running down the inside of each leg. When Grace made a slight turn her mother saw that her butt was as soaked as her front.
    The chairwoman of the PTA Conduct Committee called the hearing to order then read the docket alloud:
    Cathy Blake, age 41. Daughter Penny violated Section B-Unexused Abscence. 
    Sarah Kennedy, age 43.  Son Kevin violated Section C-3rd Tardy. 
    Diane Abrahms, age 38.  Daughter Hallie violated Section C-2nd Tardy.
    Laura Jonson, age 36.  Daughter Jessica violated Section F-Overdue Library book. 
    Erica Campbell, age 42.  Daughter Grace violated Section H-Urinated in her pants. 
    The spectators chuckled when the last offense was read aloud. Erica saw Grace's face turn beet red with embarassment as her shame was publicly announced. 
    Erica tuned out the chairwoman as the first case was called, she kept looking across the stage at her daughter. Grace was was staring at the floor as she fidgeted. Erica could see she was biting her lower lip and sniffling in an attempt to hold off crying. Erica's mind raced as she wondered about the emotions Grace must be feeling. Was it just embarrassment, did she feel guilty, was she angry? Without knowing what had led to Grace's accident it was impossible for Erica to imagine what was going through her daughter's mind.
    Erica's eyes kept focusing on the dark stains on Grace's pants. What does it feel like she wondered. The discipline notice had been emailed 6 hours ago, what must it be like to have that wet denim clinging to her legs for that long! The damp fabric must be cold by now, did it itch?
    Tardies and unexcused absences were routine business for the PTA Conduct Committee so the first 4 hearings were over quickly.  The Conduct Committee  found Cathy Blake partially responsible for Penny's unexcused absence and sanctioned Cathy to 10 swats of corporal punishment and 3 hours community service to the school.  Sarah Kenedy was sanctioned 8 swats of corporal punishment and 2 hours community service for Kevin's tardiness. Dianne Abrahms was sanctioned 6 swats of corporal punishment and 1 hour community service for Hallie's tardiness. Laura Jonson was relieved to be sanctioned with only an hour of community service to the school for Jessica's overdue book; she was thankful to have been spared corporal punishment. 
    The chairwoman called a start to Erica's hearing. Erica was lead from the side of the stage the very middle, standing in front of the Conduct Committee. She couldn't see the audience from this position, she suspected that several spectators were probably checking out her butt. Erica knew that for her age she had a good figure and she was quite proud of it. Today she was a little embarrassed knowing there were probably a several creepy dads in the audience hoping to see her butt get spanked.
    "The purpose of this hearing is to determine the level of responsibility you face for your daughters misbehavior in school today. In order to adequately determine your level of responsibility, and any appropriate sanctions, we must ask several questions of you and Grace" the chairwoman explained.
    "How old is Grace?
    "18" Erica replied.
    "At what age did you begin to toilet train Grace?"
    "Um, around 2."
    "Did she have any accidents?"
    "I guess there were one or two" replied Erica. I mean all kids have a few."
    "How did you handle them?"
    "Ah, I guess I cleaned her up and gave her dry pants."
    "At what ages did Grace wet herself?"
    " I don't know exactly. Probably one or two times before she was in school and then one time in elementary school. "
    "Any accidents since she became a teenager?"
    Erica didn't want to answer this question but she knew she could be charged with perjury if she lied during a hearing for the Maternal Responsibility Act.  She felt conflicted as she replied, "Just a small one a few weeks ago. I don't think it was a big deal. Grace laughed a little too hard and some leaked out."
    "I see" said the chairwoman." How did you handle her wetting?"
    "Well, uh, Grace took a shower while I put her pants in the wash. That was the extent of it. It's something that could have happened to anyone."
    "Speaking of it happening to anyone..." continued the chairwoman..." let's move on the examples you may have set for your daughter.  How many times have you wet yourself since being toilet trained?"
    Erica was stunned for a brief moment.  "Uh, only a couple" she stammered.  "I mean once in college when I was pretty drunk, I really don't have any recollection of it, I just know my friends teased me about it for a couple of weeks. The only other time was a few years ago."
    The chairwoman's harsh stare was the only prompt Erica needed to continue.  "It was 3 years ago. I had to go at the end of the work day, I thought I could make it home. Traffic was worse than normal and it took a lot longer to get home. I could barely move my foot from the gas pedal to the brake without losing control. By the time I got out of my car I could feel a spurt leak into my underwear. I was squirming at the door trying to get my key in the lock. I had to go so bad that it took three tries to unlock the door. As soon as I stepped inside I just lost all control."
    "Was anyone home? Did Grace know you wet your pants?" Inquired the chairwoman.
    "Yes." Erica admitted.  "Grace was standing there, she watched the whole thing.  Afterward I went to the bathroom to clean myself up, later I had to mop the floor. Neither of us said anything. For about a week afterward Grace giggled every time she looked at me."
    The chairwoman called Grace forward to testify. Grace trudged gingerly across the stage as the saturated denim clung to her legs. "Before we begin with questions, I am obligated to read a brief description of your offense into the record."
    'The Violation Report from 5th period Algebra, indicates that Grace was fidgeting and squirming in her seat as Mr. Swanson lectured. Mr. Swanson reported other students had difficulty paying attention to the lesson because Grace's fidgeting was so distracting. Mr. Swanson indicated that Grace made no attempt to request a restroom pass before the lecture began. The Violation Report goes on to say that after the lecture a quiz was handed out. Grace stood up partway through the quiz and walked toward Mr. Swanson's desk. As she got to his desk Grace let out an audible gasp and Mr. Swanson could see urine running down her legs. Grace left a puddle of urine on the floor and her jeans were soaked.'  The chairwoman looked at Grace with a mixture of disgust and pity.
    This was the first description Erica heard of Grace's accident. Erica felt her stomach drop as she heard the details of Grace's humiliation . She felt horrified that her daughter had wet herself in front of her peers. She felt angry that Grace was still wearing her wet jeans; she wanted to know why she hadn't been called to bring Grace home for the rest of the day (or at least bring her dry pants).
    "We are not here to discuss your punishment." The chairwoman explained to Grace.  "The school has already taken appropriate action against you. Today we are determining if your mother bears any responsibility for your actions.  If your mother is found to be partly responsible for your misbehavior then appropriate sanctions will be applied.
    "Grace, you heard your mother's testimony about your prior toilet training and prior wetting. Was your mother's testimony accurate? Is it true that at no time have you ever been punished or scolded for wetting yourself? Is it true that your mother never engaged you in remedial toilet training?"
    Grace look at the floor as she nodded and said "Yes, ma'am.  It's all true."
    "We would like some additional information about your most recent wetting; prior to today's incident. We need you to provide us with a detailed description of what occurred and how the matter was handled by your mother. "
    Grace sighed as she began, "We were in the backyard with my cousins when one of them told a hilarious story. I was standing on the patio and bent over laughing. I laughed so hard I had a hard time breathing... and then I just....felt it happen. My leggings felt really warm between my legs, I looked down and realized that I wet myself a bit. I didn't completely empty my bladder like I did today. It was just enough to put a 6 inch stain in my crotch and wet a couple inches down each thigh. As my cousins we're laughing and pointing at me I ran into the bathroom. I pulled my leggings down and finished in the toilet.  I put my dirty leggings in the hamper then took a shower.
    "By the time I was done showering," Grace continued, "mom had already put my leggings and underwear in the washing machine. It's never been brought up since then...until now."
    "Describe any times you have seen your mother wet her pants."
    Grace paused for a moment before saying "I've only seen it happen the one time she already told you about. I was sitting in the living room when I heard her fumbling with the key in the lock. When she opened the door she was taking super tiny steps with her legs half crossed. She dropped her keys and stuck her hand between her legs and began to groan. A moment later I saw her jeans start to turn dark between her legs. She peed, and peed, and peed, and peed; it kept running down her legs and on to the floor. I think she probably wrecked her shoes.  Her pants looked like mine do now.
    "She ran upstairs to shower and when she came back she was wearing clean pants and carrying the mop. We never spoke about it after" finished Grace.
    The chairwoman sent Grace back to her place on the side of the auditorium as the PTA Conduct Committee whispered amongst themselves. 
    Erica was nervous as the chairwoman addressed her. "The Conduct Committee has determined that under the Maternal Responsibility Act you are partially responsible for Grace's misconduct today. Urinating in one's pants is unhygienic, particularly in a public setting like a school. Your failure to adequately convey that message to Grace is unacceptable.
    "The committee feels that you should have taken Grace's childhood accidents more seriously. It was irresponsible of you not to use them as an opportunity to educate her on the importance a bladder control. 
    "We further feel the example you set an a mother was irresponsible. When you faced no consequences after wetting yourself, it likely impacted Grace's view that lack of bladder control is acceptable.  
    "We feel your lack of consequences for Grace's wetting a few weeks ago was irresponsible. If you had imposed remedial toilet training, or some form of discipline, Grace would likely have taken actiins to avoid urinating in her pants today.
    "The Conduct Committee has decided to sanction you with 30 swats of corporal punishment and 20 hours of community service to the school.
    "The corporal punishment will be carried out at 3p.m. Saturday afternoon at the PTA barbeque. We believe by making an example of you in front of your peers, it will help all the mothers in attendance to understand the importance of responsible parenting.
    "Your community service will be spent assisting in the school nurses office for 1 hour each day for the next 20 school-days. There are several students who, for a variety of reasons, wear diapers. Your community service will be to conduct the diaper changes so the nurse is free for other duties."
    The chairwoman babbled on a little longer before closing the hearing, but Erica had stopped listening.  Her brain was in turmoil with mixed emotions. Erica was trying to wrap her head around her sanctions. She didn't mind helping the nurse, but she certainly dreaded the upcoming corporal punishment. 
    As soon as she was dismissed Erica ran to Grace. She wanted to hug and comfort her daughter!  Grace and Erica cried as they finally embraced.  "I'm sorry you had a rough day" Erica said as they walked to the car. "Let's go home so you can get cleaned up. We can talk about it after you've had a long shower."
  3. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to Cat_Lovwet in My diaper leaked in my bed again.. (pictures)   
    Hiya!
     
    I'm starting to think that my punishment of only diapers till Monday really suits me quite well...
    As I've kinda wet the bed again.. 🥺

  4. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to derektor_2000 in A lot of women wet her pants in public for "art"   
    A Pleasure!
    Mijar nas calças é arte- E se for pago com dinheiro publico-.mp4
  5. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to Jonnaywets in I wet the bed   
    So I haven’t wet my bed on accident in years and if I do, I have an omorashi related dream and then I end up just barely wetting my bed. Like my undies are wet and that is about it. 2 nights ago was totally different though. I have been wearing diapers to sleep and then when I wake up needing to pee I just wet my diaper and then fall back to sleep. I wore diaper for about 2 weeks to and as the nights went on I was like half waking up and then starting to wet and then I would go back to sleep. At this point I was like I should probably stop this before I don’t wake up when I need to pee and then I start wetting the bed. (I’m sure a lot of people are wondering why? I have a GF and I don’t always sleep at home, I don’t want to be a involuntary bed wetter **even though it sounds fun**). Anyways, I decided I am going to stop wearing diapers to bed and then wake up and actually go to the bathroom, if need be. Spoiler alert, it didn’t go as planned. I wanted to sleep a deep sleep because I was off from work the next day so I took 2 melatonin gummy’s and fell asleep. I slept like a rock, a wet rock😂. 8 or 9 hours later I wake up little kid style, soaked undies in a soaked bed, I even felt like confused and startled. Don’t get me wrong once I fully woke up I enjoyed every moment of it. I was slightly worried but I didn’t wet the bed last night! 
     
    ~The End 
  6. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to CoffeeDrinker in Legit Male Fear Wetting   
    Personal story here from earlier this week. I was driving cross-state to a friend's house where I am staying for an event. At no point was I planning a hold or anything more, this was just a normal drive and I wasn't really in the mood for any type of pee play. A few hours into the trip, my pre-drive coffee had worked it's magic and I needed to stop to go, which was not a big deal because I was planning to stop for gas and food anyway.

    Around this time I entered some heavy rain that quickly became a hellacious downpour. My windshield wipers were on their highest setting and I was forced to slow way down. Traffic then entered a construction zone with big orange barrels on either side of the road. Both lanes of the highway were open, but both shoulders were closed off by the barrels and that made the lanes feel really tight. I settled in behind cars (some with their flashers on) in the slower right-hand lane and really had to concentrate -- both hands on the wheel at 10 and 2, leaning forward in my seat and locked in. I even shut off the radio. It was the type of rain where it is not uncommon to see cars waiting it out on the side of the road, but we had nowhere to safely pull over because of the barrels. To reiterate, my need to pee was present but not urgent by any stretch. Somewhere in the "I need to stop, but could wait another hour if absolutely forced to" range.

    A few minutes into this intense driving, a semi truck came barreling down the left-hand lane moving much faster than the right lane was. Semi trucks in this type of weather put out a crazy spray and I hate it. I try to avoid them at all costs. As the truck passed my car, it must have hit a deeper puddle in the road because the back right double tire on the cab suddenly launched a WAVE at my car. Like an actual wave of water from the ocean. I remember seeing it illuminated in the headlights and saying "oh SHIT" out loud before it smacked my car and my windshield with such force that it actually forced my car a little bit toward the side of the road. The sheer volume of water also completely blinded my view and the wipers couldn't clear it fast enough. For the next 4-5 seconds I was driving literally blind, trying to keep straight while knowing there were barrels to smash into on my right and a semi truck on my left. I was aggressively tapping the break to slow down and praying the car behind me didn't rear-end me. 

    Once my windshield cleared and the aggressive spray from the rest of the passing truck got beyond my car, my mind came back a little more into the present and I realized I was peeing my pants. I can only describe the sensation inside my body as something like the bottom dropping out of my bladder. Completely involuntary, with a feeling like my insides had all shifted so low during that moment of sheer terror that a trap door had opened in my bladder and the contents were gushing out. I was powerless to stop it. I can honestly say I have never felt this feeling before and in the moment, I was not feeling relief or turned on or anything at all. I was just peeing my pants.

    I kept driving until I passed through the worst of the storm and then pulled off at the next exit in a still fairly steady rain and found a parking spot at a motel off to the side. I drive an SUV so I opened the back hatch and got out and climbed into where my luggage bag was, closed the hatch again to change then continued on my way. 

    Even now as I re-tell the story, it's not a turn on for me like my more planned and fun accidents are. Maybe it will be over time. Right now it's nerve-wracking and I want a stiff drink! Writing it out has been a bit cathartic, and I hope you enjoyed it! Can honestly say my body has never had this reaction before, and I wonder if I had been earlier in my drive or if this had happened soon after I stopped to relieve myself if a similar thing would have happened with a smaller amount of pee. Maybe this was my first true encounter with honest-to-God "sheer terror." 
  7. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to Medieval Genie in Nerdy Faery's Wetting Videos   
    🚺 Here's a list of specifically wetting videos by Nerdy Faery, I figured a few of you would quite enjoy it. It's quite a list!

    Pissing my yoga pants on the COuch - https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph603fc7ad523ad I Peed in my Jeans for you - https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph602d57f73205d Desperate Public Pants Wetting On The Main Path - https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5d752194d3611 Weeing In My Panties - https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5d7285ca06049 Piss Panties For You In My Garden - https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5f75e01328f86 Desperate Wetting Accident After A Long Day At The Office - https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5dffdae909c67 Wetting myself while on the phone - https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5cf9891a370dd Smoking and Casually Wetting My Panties In The Grass - https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5d751d3d89593 Couldn't Hold It. Peed My Yoga Pants - https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5d1e75b03cb1f Sat On A Log And Peed My Panties - https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5d5a004600795 I Had A Piss Accident At Chris's House - https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5ecf1491ef6e7 Wetting my Leggings on the Long Hike - https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5f2b4e3e7c85a Peeing My Panties Into A Fastfood Restroom Toilet - https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5d3a13f9ef4a8 Farewell To My Sexy Boots - https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5ef5697622cb5 Locked Out Of The Bathroom. Total Desperation Wetting - https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5d375f63403be This is not even an exhaustive list of her wetting videos, so I recommend checking out some of the others as well. Please note that some will have nudity in them as well.
  8. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to CptTickle in The Incontinent Reporter   
    Part 4 for anyone interested.
     
    Another morning, another wet diaper to wake up to. Claire had been wetting the bed every night for more than two weeks now, and was almost getting used to taking off her wet Depend pull-up  in the morning. The doctor said there was nothing medically wrong with her, and her overactive bladder was most likely due to the stress of just moving. Luckily, she hasn’t had any daytime accidents since wetting her pants in front of those college basketball players. Claire stripped off her wet diaper, showered and got ready for work. She put on a pair of light grey plaid work pants that hugged her round ass, and a white button down short sleeve shirt that she tucked in. The outfit showed a hint of cleavage and really accentuated her wide hips. She scarfed down a bowl of cereal and a mug of coffee and left for work.
     
    Claire had her head in the fridge, grabbing a water bottle when she felt someone pinch her on the ass. “Was is Nick?” She thought to herself. It was a “a little aggressive, but she didn’t hate the idea of him coming-on to her either. When Claire turned around though, she laughed when she realized it was Megan. She really grew close to her redheaded desk mate. Megan smiled at her “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself, you look GOOD girl.” Claire was a little uncomfortable and jokingly said “You know I’m not gay right?” Megan laughed slightly “Yeah I know. I actually was hoping to talk to you about something. This guy I’ve been dating has a friend and….” Megan trailed off. Claire sighed “You’re not asking me on a double date are you?” Megan got really excited “Come on, It’ll be fun, plus he’s really cute.” Claire put her hands on her hips “Alright, I guess a couple drinks couldn’t hurt.” Megan squeeled at her answer “Perfect, I’ll set it up.” “So I’ll see you in the morning meeting in a minute then? Megan said. Claire pointed in the other direction “I’m actually covering the opening of the Bengals training camp today and will go live from there.” “Oooh, so they’re having you do sports now, didn’t take you for a jock” Megan joked to her. Claire laughed to herself “Yeah, I’m not exactly sporty, but I don’t think they have anyone else available. Wish me luck.”
     
    Claire was paired up with the cameraman Ryan today. He was cute, but a bit of a hipster for Claire’s taste with his large black beard, skinny jeans and flannel shirts. Ryan and Claire drove to the Bengals training facility in silence, as Claire started feeling a need to pee. She crossed her legs in her seat and made a plan to find the bathroom as soon as they got there.
     
    As soon as their SUV pulled up Claire’s eyes scanned the area for a bathroom. There were fans crawling everyone. She spotted a group of porta potty’s near the practice field, but the line was a mile long. She really didn’t want to wait in line, plus the thought of using a porta potty grossed her out. She hoped once she went inside the small building used for training she could find a bathroom. She turned to Ryan her camera man “Hey, why don’t you go get a few shots of players practicing, I’ll run inside and find the Public Relations guy and see what I can get for interviews? She said as she headed briskly walked to the building.
     
    Claire could really feel the pressure in her bladder now. She had small quick steps as she went into the lobby and walked up to a receptionist, an older blonde woman dressed in a blazer. “Excuse me” Claire said gently “I’m looking for Mark Clemens, I’m with WAAR” The receptionist looked up at Claire “He’s actually in a meeting for the next couple hours, but he did want to let everyone in the media know that Coach Lewis is doing a press conference at 4:00 on the field after practice.” Claire looked at her watch, an hour to kill until then. “Thanks” Claire said quietly leaning into the desk “Do you have a bathroom I could use in here, I really need to go.” The receptionist gave a sympathetic smile “Sorry, it’s employees only, you’ll have to use the porta pottys by the field.” Claire lifted her right heel off the ground and pressed her thighs together, really feeling the pressure building in her bladder. She would be fine she thought “I still have plenty of time before the press conference.”
     
    She caught up with Ryan outside who was shooting practice, and tapped him on the shoulder “Hey, there’s a press conference in an hour, I’m going to run to the bathroom, I’ll be back in a minute.” Ryan nodded “Take your time, I’ll just get a few more shots here.”
     
    Claire’s face dropped when saw the line. There had to be 50 people waiting for two porta pottys. “Who plans these events” She thought to herself as she started fidgeting with her shoulder length brown hair.
     
    Ten minutes later, it seemed like the line barely moved. Behind her was an overweight bald middle aged fan in a Bengals jersey, in front of her was a pretty blonde girl in a bengals t shirt and tight jeans. Claire was standing with her feet crossed, constantly wiggling her hips back in forth. Claire tapped the girl in front of her “Excuse me, I hate to ask this, but I’m really in a rush, do you mind if I cut in front of you?” The Blonde woman turned around “Sorry, I actually really need to go, I’m dying for the bathroom, otherwise I would.” Claire just smiled back at her “It’s okay, I totally understand” she said warmly but in her mind thinking “Shit, this line needs to hurry up.”
    There were about five people in front of her now, Claire couldn’t keep herself from constantly shuffling. She couldn’t grab her crotch openly in public, so shoved her hands in her small back pockets, lifted her right leg up slightly and rubbed her thighs together. Claire heard behind her “can’t take the long lines, haha” The guy behind her joked as he clearly noticed how bad she needed to pee. Claire was a little embarrassed about her predicament , tucked her hair behind her ear and said “Yeah, they probably should have had more than two of these things.” Claire noticed the blonde girl in front of swaying her hips side to side now. Watching her dance in place didn’t help, as Claire felt a spurt rush out of her urethra. Claire bent over at the waist and instinctively grabbed her crotch with her right hand. Luckily she was able to stop her flow before it left her body. But she really had to be careful now. Her tight grey plaid pants would show any sign of wetness and she had nothing to tie around her waist if she had to. She hated that she had to think ahead how to handle wetting her pants in public, but after the incident a couple weeks ago, she knew it wasn’t out of the question. The blonde girl in front of was next in line. She openly was grabbing her crotch every few seconds and constantly shifting her weight back and forth. As soon as she saw someone come out of the porta potty, she blonde woman darted in and slammed the door behind her. “One more to go Claire thought to herself” She stood up straight as an arrow, with her thighs tightly slammed together, trying to keep her bladder from contracting for just a couple more minutes until she can finally pee. Just then, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped around to see Ryan “Hey, they’re wrapping up practice a little early, Coach is going to talk to the press in ten minutes, we need to get going. Claire looked longingly at the locked porta potty “Now” Ryan said urgently “Or we’re going to be late” Claire just shook her head yes and followed him, taking tiny quick steps to avoid peeing her pants on the spot.
     
    The other reporters and camera men were giving Claire the side eye as everyone was setting up. She was openly dancing in place with her hand in pressed firm against her outer thighs. “Hey are you okay?” Ryan asked “You look like you need to pee” Claire turned red faced, realizing everyone, knew she need to piss. She forced a smile and said “I’ll be fine.” Ryan looked at the players finishing stretching after practice “Do you know who you want to interview for you live shot at 5:00?” Claire was so focused on not wetting her pants, she forgot about work, and her live interview in an hour. “Ummmm” she mumbled to herself when Ryan cut her off “I think Dalton would be the best bet, and the Bengals media people already said he would be available.” Claire barely knew who Andy Dalton was even when she wasn’t under distress, so thought it would be best to just agree with whatever Ryan suggested at this point. “Yeah, that sounds good, you know more than I do about this.” Claire said jokingly.
     
    The coach walked up to the group of reporters very informally. “Alright, let’s get this started” he said. Claire was happy to let the others ask the questions and just stand back. She couldn’t think about anything but her now painful bladder. Her legs were crossed tight and her butt was constantly wiggling back and forth as the press conference seemed to last a lifetime. She couldn’t take in a word the coach was rambling on about.  She felt the tiniest bit of pee escape and Claire slammed both of her hands into her crotch. She noticed the other starring at her awkwardly, and she stood up, trying to keep it as professional as she could right now. She could feel a tiny bit of wetness in her black silk thong, but when she looked down her crotch her pants were dry. She gently felt her ass with her hands, checking for wetness, but thankfully found nothing on her rear too.
     
    As the couch finally finished talking, he saw Ryan Jog over to the quarterback Andy Dalton, talking him into a live interview “Thank god he’s on top of things today, I’m useless right now” She thought to herself.  She saw Dalton waiting around talking to a teammate as Ryan jogged back to her “Alright, he’s good to go, I told him you would do a couple minute interview at 5:00.” Claire looked over at the porta potty’s, there was only about 10 people in line right now. “Great, I’m going to run over to the bathroom first” Claire said, with a quivering lip. Ryan looked at the line, then at his watch “I don’t think we have time” You’re up in 20 minutes. Claire looked longingly at the bathrooms, with tears starting to form in her eyes now. “Don’t worry, you can go when you’re done” Ryan said sympathetically, realizing just how bad his gorgeous co-worker needed to pee.
     
    Claire tried to make idle chit chat with the player before the shot, but found it hard with her bladder. She couldn’t grab her crotch in front of him, but had her right leg was raised about a foot off the ground, rubbing her thighs together, doing everything she could to keep the pent up pee in just a little longer. “So you live in town long then?” He asked her. Claire’s voice was shaking and could barely put a sentence together “Umm, what? Yeah a long time…. No, I just moved here, what am I saying.” Ryan Dalton looked at her “Don’t be nervous, I’m really just like everyone else.” Claire thought to herself “Dodx he think she was nervous because she was a fan? I wish that was case right now.”
     
    Ryan counted her down, and when the red light went on and she was live on air, she was actually able to put her bladder out of mind. “Hi, I’m live here with Andy Dalton, whose getting back to the gridiron for the first time since last season. How’s it feel to be back?” Once her question was asked she relaxed a little bit, which at this point, was the worst thing she could do. She felt a slow two second spurt of pee escape her, and her neck snapped down to look at the damage. She panicked as saw a small wet stain the size grape on the crotch of her tight plaid, grey pants. Ryan noticed her face drop, and so did the thousands of people watching live at home. Claire was now visible shaking, “So ummm, how do you, ummm, keep in shape in the off season.” She asked with her thighs and heels pressed together tight. The quarterback was the only one watching Claire who didn’t realize something was wrong. He started talking for 20 seconds, when Claire felt another spurt escape her… except this one kept going she kept her eyes on Dalton as she felt the warmth run down her toned left thigh… then down to her knee…. Then down her right thing… then back up her perfectly round ass. Andy Dalton stopped mid sentence “What the!!!! Am I on a prank show? He shouted looking down at her. Tears were streaming down Claire’s eyes as she looked at her pants. She had a plate sized wet patch on her crotch which then shot down both of her legs past her knees. Both her ass cheeks were soaking wet, with pee stains running down to the back of her knees on her tight grey pants. “What is happening here?” Andy Dalton asked in astonishment. Back at the station, Nick had a disgusted look on his face as he watched his co-worker pee her pants live on air. Megan looked heartbroken, feeling awful for her friend. Some of her other co-workers were rolling on the floor with laughter, others just starring in amazement.  Claire could do nothing but put her trembling hands on her outer thighs and stare down at the ground I horror. Back in the studio they had cut back to the main anchors at the desk who looked shell shocked. ”We’ll be right back after this” said the older male anchor. Claire and Ryan walked back to the car in silence. He put newspaper on the car seat to protect it, and not a word was spoken between the two as he drove her back to the station, and she made her way home.
  9. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to CptTickle in The Incontinent Reporter   
    Alright guys, here's chapter 2. It's a bit of an off-shoot with a dream sequence. I'll try to get more on track with the main storyline in the next couple though.
     
    Claire laid sound asleep in bed, but her mind was racing with a vivid dream, reliving one of the most embarrassing days of her life. She was back in college, taking her final exam for her psychology class. She was sitting in the front row of a 300 person lecture hall, wearing tight,  light blue jeans and maroon University of Minnesota t-shirt. She had been drinking coffee all morning, cramming for the test. She was so focused on studying, she didn’t remember to use the bathroom before taking her seat. She really needed to go, but now that the teachers assistant was handing out the exam and she was stuck.
    Claire took out her pencil, crossed her legs, and put her in the test, not her bladder. She whipped through the first 20 multiple choice questions in about 15 minutes. Once that section was complete, she looked up at the clock, recomposed herself, and realized just how badly she needed to go. She found herself mindlessly bouncing her leg up and down with her thighs squeezed together tight. Her bladder started to hurt even. Claire noticed the pretty blonde girl Alison, looking at her bouncing legs. Alison gave her a sympathetic smile, able to tell she badly needed to pee. Claire was a little embarrassed that what was basically a stranger knew her predicament. She only has about an hour left in the test, and decided to just focus on her work.
     About 30 minutes past, and Claire was really bouncing now. She was wiggling her ample butt in her chair constantly, and bouncing her legs up and down. Just then, she felt a small, warm, wet spurt jet out of her. Claire jumped up in her seat, and grabbed her crotch. Her jolt got the attention of several students around her. Alison leaned over and asked “are you okay?” Claire, now really embarrassed about her situation, whispered “Yeah, I’m fine”. Claire could feel a small wet patch on her ass, but didn’t think it would show on her jeans yet. She was looking around the room, hoping to ask someone if she could run to the bathroom, when the TA came over, a good looking college guy with short brown hair in his early 20’s. “Are you okay” He asked. Claire meekly spit out “I was wondering if I could use the bathroom?” The T.A. gave a cold answer “Sorry, students aren’t allowed to leave during the exam.” And walked back to his desk.
    Just then, Claire could feel a longer, 3 second burst of pee come out of her, instantly wetting her panties. She feared there was now a wet patch on her ass if she stood up. She had to hold on, she couldn’t pee her pants in front of a room full of 300 people. She decided she would rush through the rest of the test, and run to the bathroom before it gets any worse.
    Only a couple questions left. Claire was bounding up and down, wiggling her butt back and forth, and crossing and uncrossing her legs every few seconds. Other students definitely were aware of her situation now. The students surrounding her looked up at her every few minutes, wondering is she was going to make it. With her mind focusing on the last couple questions, Claire didn’t realize she started to release her bladder. She stood straight up in her seat, and she felt a warmth slowly trickle down her butt for several seconds. Claire reached her hand down to her butt, and her heart skipped a beat when she realized her ass was soaking wet. There was no way she could get up now without other people seeing.
    She finished her test a few moments later. Claire looked around the room, with the students with their heads down in their tests, she hoped she could scramble to the front and walk out of there without anyone looking at her wet butt. But when the moment of truth came and she stood up, she heard Alison start snickering. Claire whipped her head around to see Alison with her hand covering her mouth. Claire looked down at her jeans, she had a wet patch on her ass the size of a small plate. She quickly walked to front of the class to hand in her paper to the T.A. As she walked though, her bladder released even more, peeing 4 or 5 seconds as she made her way to hand in her exam. The T.A looked up, and Claire noticed his jaw drop when he looked at her, she didn’t realize just how wet her jeans had become with the last spurt. She now had a hand sized wet spot on the crotch of her faded jeans, which trailed off a couple inches down her left thigh. Tears formed in Claire’s eyes, as she realized now this cute T.A and her classmate were fully aware she peed her pants. She stood at the front of the room frozen with embarrassment. She heard from the back of the room a guy whisper “What the fuck”. Teary eyed, she moved her hands in front of her crotch trying to block anyone else from seeing her pants. But it was all too much, and Claire started forcibly peeing her pants. She stood straight up with her thighs tightly clasped as her light colored jeans almost instantly darkened. She had a plate sized wet circle on her crotch, jetting down past her knee on her pant leg, and the pee forcing it’s way up her butt, completely soaking her large, firm ass. The entire 300 person lecture hall was now fixated on her. To her left, Alison and a group of her friends were openly giggling at her. She looked to the right, and a group of guys were pointing and talking among themselves. Others, stared in shock as this gorgeous girl pissed her pants in front of everyone. Claire started crying and walked as quick as she could out of the room…. And woke up from her deep sleep.
    She woke up to the sound of hissing, with a warm feeling around her crotch and butt. She sat up puzzled for a moment, before she realized what was happening. "oh fuck" she muttered as she quickly jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom still peeing. There was already a dinner plate sized wet patch on her left butt cheek of her pajama pants where she was laying down and the inside of her left thigh had a growing streak as she ran to the bathroom. She yanked down her pajama's and panties in one motion, and finished off in the toilet. It was a little too late, her pajama pants were soaking, even her white tank top had a yellow pee stain on it, where she was laying down. "God what is happening to me" she whimpered to herself, humiliated that she just wet the bed.
    Claire had to put it behind her though, and get ready for her second day of work as a reporter.
  10. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to CptTickle in The Incontinent Reporter   
    Hey everyone, This is my first attempt at writing a story. If it goes well, I'll try and add new chapters soon. Any criticism would be appreciated!
     
     
     
    Claire wanted to get to bed early that night, because tomorrow was her first day working as a reporter for WAAR, the top rated news station in Cincinnati. After four years of college she wanted nothing more to work as a T.V reporter, and this was finally her chance to get into the business. There were hundreds of applicants for the job, but she knew she was the right fit. She was poised on air, tenacious in getting interviews, and her looks didn’t hurt her chances either. Claire was striking with her pale skin, small upturned nose, and huge brown eyes. He slightly curly light brown flowed past her shoulders, perfectly framing her face. She was 5’6 with an hourglass figure, C cup breasts and large, but very toned butt.
     
    Clair had just moved to Cincinnati from Minnesota, where she grew and went to college. She had already found a nice, one bedroom apartment, but without knowing anyone in the area, it didn’t quite feel like home yet. She wanted to fresh and ready for her first day tomorrow and make a good impression with her co-workers, So she decided to go to bed early that night. She put on a soft light blue tight t-shirt and a pair of cute red booty shorts that said "FLIRT" across the butt and crawled into bed.
     
    She was sound asleep, but suddenly jolted awake when her alarm went off at 5:00. It was much earlier then she needed to get up, but wanted to leave plenty of time to get ready. She sat there for just trying to adjust to being awake, and realized just how badly she needed to pee. It took her a second to realize just how urgent it was, she threw the covers off and shot out of bed. She felt herself almost leak as she stood up. Trying to keep her posture perfect in and prevent any leaks, she waddled her way to the bathroom door down the hallway. She felt her bladder spasm, jammed her hands in her crotch, and felt a one second spurt escape her and slightly wet her light blue cotton bikini panties. She took a gasp of air, and continued walking down the hallway to the bathroom, after about 5 steps she felt another small warm burst of urine hit her underwear, feeling the warmth against her. Claire just grabbed her crotch and powered forward, finally reaching the bathroom door, but having a slightly larger bladder spasm, wetting her red booty shorts for two seconds, this time making a quarter sized wet patch. She crossed her legs, bent forward, and starting to let out a slow trickle of pee out, which ran down her toned right thigh, leaving a trail on her shorts. She quickly yanked down her shorts and panties in one motion and flung her butt onto the toilet seat, releasing her full bladder into the toilet. Claire moaned softly to herself, embarrassed at the fact that she had just wet pants a little at 23 years old. Feeling defeated, she gently tossed her slightly wet clothes in the hamper, and got in the shower.

    After the shower, Claire returned to her bedroom to get dressed for her first day of work. She was still a little shaken that she just wet her pants, but put it behind her, and focused on her new job. She knew just what to wear for her first day, a pair of extremely tight light grey pants which showed off her perfect butt, and a clean white button down shirt she tucked it, revealing just a hint of cleavage. Claire looked in the mirror "perfect" she thought, professional but still sexy, especially loving the way her ass looked in these pants. Now she was off to grab a quick coffee before arriving.

    She arrived at the station for the first time, a smaller building then she imagined, and quite unspectacular, but it was located right downtown, in the heart of where everything was happening. She walked in, nervous and not entirely sure where to go, but was greeted right away by Mr. Harmon, the news director she interview with. Mr. Harmon was in his 40’s, a little pudgy, wearing black dress pants and a tucked in blue shirt without a tie. “Hi Claire, welcome aboard” he as he shook her hand. "Come on I'll show you around the facility and introduce you to some people." Claire nodded "yeah that would be great" she responded smiling.

    Mr. Harmon showed her around the office, an open pit with 40 or so desks, and a couple office along the walls. Claire quickly locked eyes with a very cute young reporter walking bye, he smiled at her, and she shyly said "hi" tucking her hair behind her ear. "oh that's Nick, he's another one of our reporters, you'll actually be shadowing him today" said Mr. Harmon.

    Claire was starting to feel the pressure on her bladder from the coffee earlier, nothing major, but before she could ask where the bathrooms were, Nick walked up to her.

    "Hi you must be Claire, I'm Nick I understand you'll be shadowing me today.”  The two engaged in chit chat on their way down to his car in the parking lot, but all Claire could think about how hot this guy was.

    Claire was feeling her bladder build up a little bit in the car, but figured she could hold it in, and felt a little embarrassed about confessing to Nick she need to pee. "so what's this story that were going to be doing?" asked Claire trying to engage in conversation. "oh, it's not the most exciting thing in the world, it's just a soft news piece about this elderly couple who have owned their own business for the past 65 years and are finally retiring, sorry it's not Watergate or anything" said Nick. "oh no, it actually sounds kinda cute, I don't mind doing soft news stuff" said Claire, growing a little more aware of here bladder.

    They arrived at the store they owned, where she helped nick set up the camera for the story. Claire tried to soak up all the knowledge she could as Nick interview the couple. Halfway through the interview, Claire felt her bladder fill up even more, and began shifting her weight back and forth, and kept her eyes open for a nearby bathroom. Once they were finished shooting the piece, they packed up their equipment and walked out of the building. Claire noticed a bathroom sign on the way out, but still didn't feel comfortable enough to tell this cute guy she needed to pee. “It just didn't seem professional” she thought.

    When the two got back to the car, Nick seemed to notice Claire fidgeting a little, but didn't say anything. Claire noticed him looking a little bit, and gave an awkward smile. The rest of the ride back the two engaged in chitchat, talking about the process of making a news package like this, and Claire's career goals. After driving for a while though, they seemed to hit a traffic jam, and Claire became more aware of her desperation tightly crossing her right leg over her left one.

    Sitting in traffic, the conversation between the two seemed to die down a little. They didn't know one another all too well yet. And Claire began to tap her left foot, with her legs still crossed. "Nervous for your first day" asked Nick. Claire looked over, slightly embarrassed that he noticed her fidgeting, but not wanting to reveal her need to pee she lied saying "saying I guess I'm just a little anxious." "Don't worry, you'll do great, and a girl as attractive as you should have no trouble making it on air" said Nick calmly. Claire bushed a little bit and nodded.

    When they eventually got back to the office, Claire wanted to make a quick dash to the restroom, however Nick just led her to the editing computer where they could go over the footage together. "Damn it" she thought to herself, looking over her shoulder at the bathroom sign. As they sat there going over the footage, Claire crossed and uncrossed her legs, and shifted in her seat, now thinking about her bladder every few seconds. Again, Nick noticed her fidgeting "are you uncomfortable or something" nick asked. Claire, turning a little red, and embarrassedly admitted she needed to use the bathroom. Nick chuckled a little inside, and pointed to where the bathrooms were located. Claire got out of her seat, and as she was standing up, felt the tiniest spurt release into her pink, satin panties. Claire made a face as this happened, but not wanting to show any signs of anguish she quickly walked down the hall to where the bathrooms were. When she reached the stall she felt another tiny spurt wet her panties, although not noticeable on her pants, there was a definite wet patch on her panties "god what is happening to me lately" she thought to herself as she finished off a powerful minute long stream into the bowl.
  11. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to DsGSilver in The Rookies   
    Here's something new I've been working on. A more innocent and relatively lighthearted story, while still having lots of fear accidents. Hope you enjoy!
     
    “Run! Run!!” Valery screamed to her friend. It took all of her willpower to wait a second and ensure Morgan had begun to flee, before starting her own flight. An arrow whistled through the air, sailing just by Valery’s ear before embedding itself into the dirt road. Behind the pair, the vicious snarling and howling of a pack of gnolls filled the air, along with a light hail of arrows and thrown spears. Valery heard a metallic clang, and felt something strike the back of her breastplate. She gasped sharply, fearing the worst, but when she didn’t fall over dead, she figured her armor must’ve actually saved her.
    She blinked away tears, and choked back the bile in her throat, concentrating only on outrunning the gnolls. Beside her, the young mage was clearly struggling to keep up. Morgan was never particularly fit, and as terrible as this little exercise was to Valery, she knew it must’ve been ten times worse on Morgan. Additionally, Morgan had no armor, meaning when one of these arrows hit the target, Morgan was a goner. Valery quietly cursed the fact that she was the only one of them with any protection, “Do not stop running, no matter what!”
    It seemed like Morgan needed no convincing, but Valery slowed her own pace down, until she was just behind the mage. Though it was hardly what she wanted to focus on, the sudden foul smell she detected as soon as she was behind her friend was difficult to ignore. She could hardly blame her, though; there weren’t many good reasons to soil yourself, but this was absolutely one of them. She lifted her shield arm up, high enough to cover her own head and Morgan’s back. Sure enough, something slammed into it, and then something even heavier impacted the shield, nearly knocking the young fighter over. She quietly pushed away the mental images of what would’ve happened if she hadn’t moved to intercept the shots.
    Morgan stumbled a little. Her thin arms weren’t pumping energetically as she ran, more flailing wildly. Her rapid footsteps became uneven. Exhaustion was taking her, and in just a couple of moments, she would collapse. Valery’s muscles screamed in agony, as well. Another howl sundered the air, hurting her ears, but this one sounded distant. Strangely, what followed was quiet. The snarling had stopped. There wasn’t much time to think about the implications of it, as Morgan finally crumpled to the ground with a groan and a whimper.
    Out of options, Valery spun around, shield and sword ready. She would have to stand her ground and hope for a miracle. Except… it looked as though the miracle had already come. The gnolls were backing off, their terrifying hyena-like faces disappearing into the brush. Many of them still looked at the women, mouths watering and fangs bared, yet they still retreated. It finally dawned on her that the great howl a second ago was a command of sorts. Some sort of gnoll alpha had called them back. For what reason, she couldn’t even begin to guess, but it was exactly the miracle she needed.
    Valery fell down to the ground, landing on her rear, and panting heavily. She muttered prayer after prayer to the gods, thanking them for sparing the two. At some point during the ordeal, her hair tie had come loose, and her platinum blonde hair now hung messily down to her shoulders, and in her face. Her clothes were ripped and torn all over. Her brown pants (which she supposed would’ve been of more use to Morgan) were mostly undamaged, but her green tunic was falling apart, save for the bits covered by her cheap breastplate. Once she’d finally caught her breath, and the unpleasant odor of her friend’s accident had become intolerable, she got to her feet to check on the unconscious mage.
    Morgan had fainted, and showed no signs of stirring. Despite the terror and mortal peril they’d just endured, the dark-skinned mage looked more like she was sleeping soundly, without a care in the world. Her long black hair had a bunch of leaves in it, and she needed to change her underwear, but otherwise she looked downright peaceful. Her blue robes covered her accident pretty well, too.
    When enough of her strength had returned, Valery scooped up her best friend, and continued their trek to the town of Far Haven. Though it was a comment she planned to keep to herself, she had to admit that Morgan was heavier than she looked, and she had to keep herself going by either convincing herself that it was just exercise, or else imagining what would happen if the gnolls returned. After some time, her legs were about to give out, and she had no choice but to find a place to rest. She settled upon a small clearing in the trees, just off the road.
    She set down her friend, then made sure to lay her magic staff and backpack down beside her. Valery carefully set her own equipment down, and then proceeded to collapse face first onto the ground. She savored every second of the nothingness; no monsters, no running, no imminent death. It was bliss.
    She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Morgan finally began to awake. Valery got to her feet quickly, to make sure her friend was unharmed. “Mmmmm, Val?” She groaned in a timid, trepidacious voice.
    “I’m here,” She crouched next to her, “Don’t worry, it’s over, we’re safe.”
    “We are?” The mage sounded incredulous, “How? What happened?”
    “You fainted. I covered you, and then the gnolls just left. It was nothing short of a miracle… ”
    Morgan reached a hand over and clasped her shoulder, “Don’t be modest. You saved my life, didn’t you?” She was asking a question, but the look of gratitude and admiration on her face made it clear she already knew the answer.
    “W-well, I mean… ” Valery stammered out, blushing, “Maybe a little.”
    “Thank you, Val,” Morgan leaned forward, and wrapped her arms around her. After everything the day had thrown at them, the hug was almost too much, and Valery felt tears threatening to emerge. Once the hug ended, and Morgan fully sat upright, her smile vanished instantly. “Oh, um. Oh no… ”
    “What’s wrong?”
    The mage seemed to shrink in embarrassment, wiggling her thighs gently, “Ummm, It’s just… I think I may have, uh, messed my pants.” Oh right. Forgot about that, Valery thought, That lovely, tender moment… interrupted by messy panties...
    Blushing from the sympathetic, secondhand humiliation she felt, the fighter averted her eyes and said, “Oh, yeah, I think that you did. Um, I think it happened while you were passed out, and you know, I’ve heard that it’s pretty common for people to do that when they faint. So don’t even worry about it!” She figured that the accident would seem less embarrassing if it had happened while she was unconscious, rather than while she was fleeing in horror. A little white lie to maybe make her friend feel better.
    Morgan still looked distraught, and more than a little ashamed at herself. “I didn’t help in the fight at all, I passed out, and then I pooped myself while you carried me to safety… I’m sorry… ”
    “Hey now,” Valery responded with a gentle voice, “It was a bad day. If I’d had anything to eat or drink beforehand, you better believe I’d need a change of pants, too. Besides, there wasn’t much of a ‘fight,’ remember? I was running, too.”
    The mage once again looked at her with gratitude. It made her heart flutter. Valery was pretty sure that Morgan didn’t know about her preference for women, rather than men; and was thus sure that her feelings for her closest friend were known only to herself. When Morgan collapsed, the only thing she felt was the urge to protect her, no matter the cost. When she… soiled herself, she felt sympathy for her, not disgust.
    “We still have our pack, right?” The mage asked, as she gingerly stood in an attempt to not agitate her mess any further. “I believe I packed some spare underwear.”
    “Yeah,” she turned and opened the pack, but her search was interrupted.
    “Ah! Valery!” Morgan shouted, hands covering her mouth.
    “What?! What?!”
    In reply, Morgan stepped behind her, and gripped… something. She jerked on her armor, then walked back around to her front. “Did you not notice this?!” She was holding an arrow, which had been lodged in the back of her chestplate for hours. Valery could only laugh an empty, exhausted laugh.
     
    ----------------------------------------------------------
     
    Not much later, Morgan washed herself off in a nearby river, while Valery waited close by. She wasn’t close enough to stare, but close enough to hear if anything went wrong. As she waited for the mage to finish up, she reflected on the last few days. Contract work for adventurers was drying up all the time, the two had been working with dwindling coin reserves for months. At last, there’d been a ray of hope in the distant town of Far Haven, established across a long stretch of unexplored wilderness, teeming with beasts. The town was meant to serve as the first of many settlements in uncharted territory, but was almost immediately overwhelmed by the monsters surrounding it. And so, back by the treasuries of a dozen interested kingdoms, they put out a call for adventurers, warriors, wizards, and everyone else to journey there, and deal with the threats. They promised more contract work than anyone had ever seen.

    Of course, they’d also promised that the trip there would be safe, and that went poorly to say the least. But still, it was their best hope to make a living. With night nearly upon them, Valery wanted to at least make it out of the woods before they stopped to camp. As soon as Morgan finished cleaning herself up, it would be time to get a move on.
  12. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to liesjeversteven in Some vids I hadn't seen here yet   
    I hadn't seen any of this Pornhub user's videos here yet, so here's a couple.  Enjoy.
    https://nl.pornhub.com/model/sexymystic/videos
     
    Hun Kan Ikke Holde Det Og Grise i En Bil! Pige PEE Bilsæde -.mp4 Hun Holdt Den Længe, Men PEE i Bukser i BIL-trafikpropper - .mp4 Some more
    Hun Længe Holder Piss Og Pisse i Trusser På Sæder Bil - Tiss.mp4 Liderlig Kæreste Pisser På et Bilsæde - Våd Sexet Bodysuit T.mp4 Ung Pige, Der Pister i Trusser - Våde Trusser Lækker! - Porn.mp4
  13. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to Present in [Female] JAV - SAND-023 19-year-old Girl Pure Flower Incontinence   
    View File JAV - SAND-023 19-year-old Girl Pure Flower Incontinence
    JAV movie. School uniform, diaper, kimono, and masturbation wetting.
    Submitter Present Submitted 05/23/2019 Category Female videos Clothing Diaper
    Pajamas
    Panties/Undies
    Skirt  
  14. Upvote
    Gabby Jay got a reaction from WetDave in Wetting or messing in wedding dresses?   
    (Sadly) Most of this seems untrue. It obviously happens sometimes, but it's not common/accepted like the article claims it to be. In addition to this, the bridal diapers mentioned in the article seem to be a myth originating exclusively from a different tabloid, which this one uses as its sole source. A quick google search didn't reveal any kind of buying options, and any semi-reputable sources I found discussing them dismissed them as a myth.
  15. Upvote
    Gabby Jay got a reaction from Bismiris in Wetting or messing in wedding dresses?   
    (Sadly) Most of this seems untrue. It obviously happens sometimes, but it's not common/accepted like the article claims it to be. In addition to this, the bridal diapers mentioned in the article seem to be a myth originating exclusively from a different tabloid, which this one uses as its sole source. A quick google search didn't reveal any kind of buying options, and any semi-reputable sources I found discussing them dismissed them as a myth.
  16. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to Present in March of the Valkyries   
    My second story that took far too long to spitball ideas for. I created a 1800s-ish alternate universe and tried to keep it somewhat period-correct, but they're probably a ton of chronological errors (besides the diapers) that I'm too uninformed to notice. History majors beware. Without further adieu,  your 11.5k word story
     
    “Pour me another!”
    A rich and golden brandy flowed from the old oak pitcher into the waiting pewter mug. Frothy foam rose up the interior and trickled down the old vessel’s sides and into the sides of the woman’s rough and calloused hands. Fifth drink of the night. But years of these excursions had made the liquor like water to her. She raised the grimy mug to her lips and took a long gulp, and sighed as she felt the alcohol envelop her body in a warm embrace.
    “Another, another.” The boom of Saga’s voice. When the spirits entered her crystal glass, its image bathed in soft candlelight danced across the battered oak table. Such sights were rare in the North, where the days were short and the winters cold, where men toiled to live without understanding or experiences of beauty. The ornate crystal cup, as with all beautiful things, was brought here in conquest.
    “For the virago queen!” Always dramatic, the tall, brash enchantress.
    “For queen and country!” Cheers erupted from across the room, voices of all walks booming in unison at the toast. The ruthless scourge of the continent’s battlefields, singing in a chorus content with alcohol.
    “Stingy as always, Freja? Can you afford nothing better than that slop?” The brandy-drinking woman suddenly felt Saga’s slender elbow dig into her shoulder.
    Freja was not amused. “Some of us don’t like to piss the beds of inns afterwards”.
    Saga’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment, much to Freja’s delight. “I’ve never! And you can’t speak much yourself! Do you think I’ve forgotten-”
    She was interrupted by the chilled draft suddenly entering the tavern, extinguishing the candles resting upon counter nearest to the door. All heads fell upon the small, wiry man standing in the door frame. The honors would have been delegated elsewhere to the newfangled telegraph—only in the North was this task bestowed upon an unfortunate messenger.
    He stammered to get the words out. “The q-q-queen has c-c-called f-for mobilization!” The effort left him gasping for air. From a leather satchel he fetched a letter on the finest parchment, and threw it upon the rough oak counter.
    Silence fell heavy over the bar. An indiscriminate cheer, a deep and throaty male voice, broke the spell. Reserved but drunken Freja was second to join him. Droplets of liquor splashed into the air and fell like rain, sacrifices of the umpteenth toast. The bartender rushed into the bag to fetch another keg, and bottles of the finest vodka.
    Untouched was the diplomacy of the parchment upon the counter. All that was important was the glory and wealth that war would bring to the down-on-its-luck town. All across the nation, a new tempo gripped the population. The beat and rhythm of an impeding war.
     
     
    “My liege, the finest of the Trondesburg armory”. In the young maiden’s arms laid a musket polished to a shimmer, enveloped in a shroud of ceremonial silk. She placed the firearm delicately upon the marble steps leading to the throne before retreating into a deep curtsy.
    Ulrika raised an eyebrow, unimpressed as always. A resolute spirit and absolute coldness to subject and foe alike had surrounded her reign since her ascension at only 23. Treachery and blood gave her the throne from the hands of her incompetent father – and she would employ those same methods to shake the nation from its hundred-year slumber.
    Gone to be were the days were young damsels with a smile and flourish could hawk subpar wares to the crown. Young Nora would have the Amazon queen to contend with. Ulrika arose from her throne in the ungainly fashion of a drunkard, and paced with enough deliberation to send her long silver hair flying messily behind her. Nora gulped at the woman’s intimidating figure towering over her. The queen’s scowling glare sent a hot trickle of fear into her cotton panties.
    Geriatric kings of the bygone era handled presentation weapons as treasured heirlooms; Ulrika in turn reviewed the musket in the rough nature of a common soldier. The gun in its mahogany-and-gold splendor was a bare-faced lie. Ulrika knew as well as her infantry that by the time such a prototype ever reached production it would have been turned into a cobbled-together tragedy of pine and rusty iron, without either the power or dependability of any adversary’s armaments. Worse still, the gun presented to her wasn’t even good. The design was outdated, the features barren, the machining imperfect, and the ergonomics unwieldy. An embarrassment to the nation.
    “Absolutely. Disgusting.”
    Nora had not expected a showering of praise from the stone-faced queen, but her disgust registered as a shock to someone accustomed with the cordial royal tradition.
    “I-I’m sorry?” It was more of an apology than a statement of disbelief.
    “It is you people who have resigned Scandia to this coffin of stagnation.” Venom poured forth from her lips. “Have you remained ignorant of the arms our enemies are brandishing against us? Our tributaries in the Southwest, those barbarians content with their stupidity, have presented to me a weapon far superior to the drivel you produce. Your incompetence shall doom us all to servitude and ignominy! Should you not present me something worthwhile before the summer, I shall have you all upon the gallows. At a wave of my hand!”
    The queen, Nora knew, would very well make good on her promise. She had run her bladder in fear as soon as the tirade started, made embarrassingly obvious by growing stain appeared on the pure white fabric of her dress. The clattering of the musket thrown onto the floor proved too much for the terrified brunette to handle. She collapsed upon her knees in teary-eyed terror, falling into a puddle of her own piss on the marble floor. A foul smell hung over the air as her bowels slackened, filling her panties and staining the rear of her starched dress.
    Ulrika recoiled in disgust at the spectacle before her. How weak and timid her subjects had become, withdrawn too long from the battles which granted them their idle lives. But there was no sense in wanton violence against one’s own subjects.
    “Take her outside the palace and let her go”. Nora sobbed at the queen’s mercy, having expected imminent execution for her sullying of the palace. She scampered away from the throne on all fours before breaking into a run, her face swollen and streaked with tears and her dress stained by her cowardice.
     
     
    “Affix your bayonets!” Mobilization in such a primitive land occurred at a snail’s pace, helped not by the layers of snow that blanketed what few railroads the nation had. In the interlude, derelict barracks would house the idle army and their time occupied by rote training. Freja grimaced at her roughly-hewn uniform that chafed and failed to keep out the cold. But whatever her grievances were, she would never have voiced them; Saga, however, had no such reservations.
    “How do they expect us to win a war, when they cannot afford even to clothe us! Should we fight next with our broomsticks?”
    “Brigadier! How dare you say such things about our great empire!”
    Saga glanced at her accuser to decide whether to bristle or to bay. It was Svea, the young recruit from the capital without a scar or callous; drunk on the high brass’s windy speeches while not knowing an iota about fighting in war. Saga’s annoyance at the woman’s mannerisms had been rising for days now, and now Freja could see it boiling over.
    “How I talk is not worth a damn! What matters is how I fight! You think yourself so grand, recruit. Then, spar with me!” Saga tossed to Svea a wooden staff from the pile of training equipment.
    The recruit did not back down. What a fool you are! Saga held her own staff at the ready, taunting Svea to strike first. She took the bait and swung clumsily. Without even blinking, Saga parried the blow with enough force sending Saga stumbling sideways. With her physical strength and years of experience, she utterly outclassed the young recruit.
    “Try again!” Svea obliged with indignation, only for her attempt to be struck down again. Again and again she approached Saga, failing with each attempt until she had exhausted herself from the effort. Saga’s mouth curled into a grin. “My turn.” Svea could not hope to block Saga’s swing with her fatigue, and only numbly lifted her arms to protect her face from the amazon’s wrath. But Saga had aimed for her stomach, and there the blow landed, eliciting from the recruit a yelp of pain. The staff carried with it only a fraction of Saga’s strength, for fear of hurting the girl, but it was more than enough to work from Svea her dignity. The recruit emptied herself into her clothing, giving Saga a full view of her pee drenching the front of her pants and the shit escaping noisily into her panties, before the small garment was filled allowing her mess to leak down her legs.
    Freja had to intervene now, and she rushed to the side of the teary-eyed recruit. “Go get yourself cleaned up. Don’t worry, these things happen to even the best when luck gets the better of us.” She then turned to Saga, as Svea hurried away in embarrassment. “How could you! I’ll personally ensure your punishment for this!”
    Saga was indignant. “When did you become so subservient to those old men’s orders? She was a private, she had no right to talk to me so!”
    Freja sighed. “You have no discipline. None at all!” She turned away and picked up her own falling-block Mossberg hunting rifle, bought with her own money and brought from home. A hunting weapon, for shooting elk and reindeer; better made and better designed than anything given to the soldiers. The quality of the gun was a spot of envy for Saga, who seemingly could never save up enough to buy even a bottle of akvavit. A habitual cursory inspection revealed nothing amiss with the weapon. Time to go.
    With the rifle over her shoulder, Freja strode into the cold. No sooner as the rays of the sun begun to peak over the snow-capped peaks, the order rang out across the regiments huddled in the valley. “Load the wagons! Our march will begin today!” Cheers erupted. The lethargy had ended.
     
     
    The last war had been disastrous for Scandia, but this time, Queen Ulrika had promised, only victory should befall the soldiers. Her Grand Army marched as one across the muddy fields of spring, through the frigid south of Scandia and into the impoverished lands of their tributaries. Where the citizens in their villages had previously cheered and hollered as the marching regiments passed, the disgruntled farmers here would only jeer and throw rotten fruit. And once they had crossed into the territory of the Livonians, the restless and disgruntled army faced the hurling of rocks and curses; in response they took from the villagers what the supply wagons did not hold. Queen Ulrika had commanded them to march eight hours each day; and trudge on they did, cutting through the Livonian countryside to meet their adversary at their weakest state. On their second week, the generals were granted their wish.
    The defensive lines of the Livonians were strong, Freja had been told told, but the speed of their arduous march had ensured that the enemy could not respond with their fullest strength. Scandia’s spies had reported of a dispersed detachment, spreading the defenders thin across the hills separating the army from the Livonian interior. The previous night had seen naive recruits glumly drinking down stiff akvavit, preparing their naive minds for the battle up ahead. But now morning had broken, and the final marches begun, each delivering a small component of the Grand Army toward their objectives and the guns of the enemy.
    As a red flare exploded at hung high above the fortress, gunfire erupted across the land. What could not be pillaged for the journey beyond this fight burned behind. The cavalry’s majestic steeds shot across the countryside, towards the stone of the defensive lines hastily constructed to slow the advance. Such a small fort could be no match for the heavy Scandian cannons, but the ponderous and heavy machines had yet to be brought to bear. Freja’s lungs burned and her heart pounded against her chest as she sprinted in the forest with her saboteurs. Each step took her further and further away from the safety provided by the rear guard.
    “Towards the left wall!” The contingent slung their rifles behind them and rushed towards their designated target. Screams were erupting; blood was already being shed in the fight. Smoke concealed the movements of the enemy behind the wall, and deafening explosions concealed their communication. Forty yards … thirty yards. Freja pawed her side for her hand-grenades. A cannon-shot from behind the fort, contained by the cacophony of the firefight, barely registered in her consciousness. It was followed by a deafening explosion and a shock that nearly threw her to her feet.
    She half-stumbled and half-ran into a ditch in the rolling ground as fine earth rained all around her. Her boot hit a rock and her boot punctured the ice she had not noticed. Frigid water at her feet sent her senses rushing back to her. With a twist of her body, she threw herself back-first into the gentle bank, hiding her body from the gunfire from the fort. While she scrambled for the rifle lying across her waist, her hand brushed the damp wetness of her pants. Only when she looked down at the growing stain at her crotch did she become aware that she was still wetting herself. She clenched her bladder with a curse and a prayer that her compatriots would not notice.
    The rest of the company had not fared much better in the onslaught. Saga had been closest to the detonation, which handily threw her tall and muscular frame to the ground as if she were a rag doll. Shards of the casing mixed with fine earth sprayed into the air and came down like rain, coating Saga’s body splayed out on the ground. All of her senses had been stunned by the explosion, in an instant, the cacophony of combat was drowned out by a ringing emanating from within her eardrums, and her sight stunted by flashes of blue, violet, and green. The explosion had disintegrated Saga’s usual remarkable hold over herself – her bladder had released soaking herself before she had even hit the ground, and her bowels had followed quickly filling the rear of her slacks with a solid mess. A second, more distant explosion abruptly shook her from the shock and allowed her to find her squad nestled in the relatively safety of a sunken creek. Saga threw her body sideways in a fast roll into the refuge, inadvertently squishing the mess contained in her bulging pants up against her. She purposefully fell directly into the thin layer of ice covering the creek and plunged into the freezing water, shivering as she allowed the rushing stream wash away as much of her accident as it could.
    “Behind the ramparts! Shoot back!” Freja grabbed her rifle and twisted into a prostate shooting position, in the process taping the soaked fabric of her slacks to her inner thighs. Her sheer mental focus did much to suppress the sensation as she peeked out over the small bank, finger on the trigger and eye locked into the sights. There lay the enemy – the lookout for the cannon peering over the ramparts of the fort, scanning the area for the invaders. He was a small, swarthy man who looked at the war-torn world from behind the sights of a rifle. His eyes locked on to Freja’s head; his quarry noticed his slow scan cease.
    Oh, you weren’t fast enough. The Scandian’s bullet was already slicing through the air in a fatally true trajectory. Center mass. Before the soldier even had a chance to fall to his knees, Freja was already on the move. Immediately behind her, Saga’s powerful strides mustered an imagine of dignity, despite being half-soaked in freezing water and with a mess squishing in her pants. The Amazons gripped their rifles tightly and threw themselves at the first wall of the first wall of the fort, a packed earth mound with spiked logs preventing the traverse of cavalry. Ten yards. The group dispersed. Freja peeled right with entire body pounded in the rhythm of battle. She barely stopped herself at the base of the wall, slicing her arm at a sharpened wooden point. The gunfire was slowing dying down and the screams were subsiding; the enemy was being overwhelmed. Time to go! She affixed the bayonet to her musket, and with a great leap hurled herself over the fortification and into the fray.
    Swirling smoke hung over the bloody ground, pouring from the tongues of flame that leapt across the fortification. The grenadiers had done their work. All around, blue-coated Scandian infantry were pushing themselves up over the fortifications and into the enemies’ arms. With a pulsating determination, Freja ran towards the small fort with her bayonet at the ready. Trenches lay in her way, the lifeless trenches where Scandian and Livonian blood laid the beds of corpses. While the recruits balked at the prospect at trampling over the fallen soldiers, Freja’s hardened mind from her previous campaigns gave no such reservation. Into the bloody trenches she went. She ran through the fallen defensive lines without meeting resistance, towards the screams and explosions of brutal melee ahead of her. Her heels dug into the earthen mound that compromised the final defensive layer. She fell forward to climb the rampart, and dug her bayonet into the ground to give some leverage.
    A flash of navy blue, an Livonian body falling over the wall to her left. A bloodcurdling scream – the shrill and desperate cry of a soldier – not a cadaver, a deserter! His arms still held a rifle, that instrument of death, and Freja realized that her own rifle stuck in the earth could provide no defense now. An absolute terror at the face of death washed over her and shot her arms in from of her face. Her bladder had all but emptied from her earlier accident, spilling only trickles of hot piss into her panties, but her previous bowel continence shattered helplessly in fear. The flailing, panicked enemy could not shoot, and drove his rifle into her stomach – Freja’s life was spared – but the impact only forced the mess into her panties. The stench of death covered the smell, not that Freja had even noticed soiling herself, preoccupied as her brain was with that simple thought. I am going to die.
    The man screamed in an unintelligible language and threw his rifle aside. What are you doing? He gesticulated wildly at Freja, movements exaggerated and twisted by the sheen of tears running from her eyes. His voice rose in panic. Screaming now, he grabbed Freja’s head and threw his elbow around her neck, and began to drag her through the mud in a choke hold. It dawned upon her. He wants to take me prisoner – he wants to spare his life. No sense in anything but complying. As the young deserter dragged her, she gave him little resistance, shifting her weight to lessen the pain of the constrictive arm around her neck. The infantry was moving forward, into the fort, crushing the resistance of the steadfast Livonians who refused to surrender in the face of rumors detailing the barbaric Scandians who gouged out the eyeballs of prisoners before shooting them in the knees. Freja and her captor crawled below the melee in the fort, out of view and out of attention of the soldiers concluding their scuffle.
    He suddenly stopped, and Freja felt the grip on her neck release. Seizing the opportunity, she bolted up from her lying position, facing the young Livonian’s back. He was on his knees, his arms raised in surrender. And then Freja saw, beyond the soldier’s outstretched arms, the jubilee of victory in the short battle – the Scandian cavalry, spurning their horses at full gallop towards the fortification’s flanks. So you have won your own battle – but there shall be nothing for you to do here. Will you accept this soldier’s mercy?
    Freja propped herself up on her elbows. Leading the cavalry was a figure clad in majestic blue and gold on the back of a beautiful white steed. An officer’s horse. No, it was too beautiful to be an officer’s horse. A royal horse! From under the figure’s tricot hat there flew a plume of silver hair – the same falling silver hair as was in the town’s treasured painting framed in the town hall.
    Queen Ulrika!
    This was the same woman who, clad in the opulent dresses of the monarch, gazed with a gentle smile from within the cheap bronze frame. But here she was the image of the Vikings of yore, the terror of weaklings, marshaling a nation behind her back with the long-forgotten Northern fighter’s vigor. With a crack of the reins, her beautiful white horse bolted ahead of the pack, and in one fluid motion adopted a shooting position and raised her rifle. Freja could hear the Livonian’s pleas for clemency turn into prayer. But the outcome was obvious.
    You’ll die in ignominy. The bullet tore through his uniform. His body slumped over in front of Freja, granting her a full view of Ulrika and the cavalry she led. The regiment, and indeed Ulrika herself, bore the marks of the battlefield’s ravages – wounded horses, battered clothing, and all covered in a layer of smoke and dust. Freja’s eyes locked with those of her Queen for a second before a realization of the state she was in forced her to look away. But Ulrika had greater concerns than a lone soldier. She pulled from her coat another bullet that she fed into her rifle, a bolt action representing the most advanced and expensive the nation had to offer. Freja watched in awe as Ulrika shot at unfathomable speed. At this range, she cannot miss. Each shot was followed by a fast swivel to another point above her. The battle continued to ring chaos all around, but Freja was completely mesmerized by the absolute power radiating from Ulrika.
    With her as our guide, soon all of the continent will be ours!
     
    “Iris – please carry up for me my personal belongings.”
    “Of course, madam”. The young raven-haired woman lifted two bound leather bags from the back of the wagon. She trailed her mistress, the fashionably dressed lady with hair tucked under a scarlet bonnet. Iris’s attire was quite plain in comparison, compromising only a simple black dress and white apron. An officer’s wife and servant. They entered the small inn together.
    The light oak floor creaked under their combined footsteps. Flickers of evening light shone through dusty windows and basked the lobby in luxurious warmth. A piano, long past its heyday, sat lonely and unused in a corner. Behind the counter there hung a trophy of an elk’s head, attached to a wooden plaque. Tallow candles for staving off the long winter nights burned in their brass holders hanging off the walls. A perfectly mundane inn by any other means – but this one was completely devoid of inhabitants. Iris and her mistress walked in an empty lobby.
    The servant-girl leaned hastened her step to walk with the taller lady, and leaned close to the woman’s ear. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Everything has been prepared, Your Majesty. Only we shall occupy the story”.
    “Good.” A distinctively unladylike voice, rough and harsh in tone. Both women climbed the narrow staircase to the guest residences. From her dress pocket, Iris produced a key and unlocked the first room on the right. She allowed the lady to enter before her. After placing the bags down on the hardwood ground, Iris curtly turned and locked the door behind her.
     
    “Oh, better than the camp”. Ulrika sighed as she removed her hat, letting her now matted silver hair fall down around her. “But I do abhor these ridiculous dresses”. She let the heavy crinoline fall off her shoulders and onto the white sheets of the bed.
    “Yes, Your Majesty. But of course, we cannot afford to be seen. You are far too important … “
    “Of course! Do you take me as a fool?” Iris knew better than cower at the violent retort.
    “I understand. Do you wish I assist you with your attire?”
    “Fetch my undergarments and my gown please.”
    Iris looked away.“Erm … Will you require - “
    Ulrika grimaced. “After such a battle … perhaps it would be unwise to refuse”. A tinge of red had appeared on her chiseled cheeks.
    “Shall we cleanse first, then, Your Majesty? The washroom is on the floor below us”.
    “Of course.”
    Iris walked to the leather bags on the ground. A brass clasp held the contents safe from prying eyes. From it, she produced fine silken dressing-gown and a towel of fine cotton. Tucked underneath layers of clothing was a large sack, drawn closed with string. With two fingers she reached inside and clasped soft plastic, producing from the compartment Ulrika’s personal secret. A diaper.
    She discreetly tucked the garment under her apron. “Right this way, your majesty.”
    Ulrika stood at the side of the metal washtub while Iris fetched bucket after bucket of water from the well. She removed the gown from her body and placed it at the chair beside her, leaving her wearing only the large tabbed diaper on her waist. Ulrika held her head up high, refusing to look down upon the infantile article, made more humiliating by the previous whiteness soaked and swollen yellow with urine. The back too was heavily stained by queen’s incontinence; the snug fit of the diaper coupled with the charge on horseback had the effect of pressing Ulrika’s mess up against her behind. The sodden bulk between her legs had been a source of irritation for hours now, and she was all to glad to have it removed.
    At least it has not leaked. The prospect had greatly disturbed her when she had wet the diaper for the second time on the ride through the countryside. She gritted her teeth with a burning shame and tried to avert the memory; but could not help but recall the absolute mortification when, as she sat desperate in the carriage, her completely filled bladder had failed her and she helplessly wet herself wrapped in the already soaked padding of the diaper. Those few seconds that she spent wondering whether the diaper would fail her too were absolute torture. But thankfully it seemed that she had been saved from the embarrassment of wetting the heavy crinoline dress.
    Iris had returned with a sponge in hand. She kept her head low and averted Ulrika’s eyes, trying her hardest to avoid leering at the queen. When Ulrika moved her hands to crossed in front of her chest, Iris reached behind her and grabbed at the diaper’s tabs, pulling off the four of them one by one. She cradled the bottom of the diaper by its plastic shell and lowered it between the queen’s muscled thighs. It seemed heavier than usual, and the padding seemed to be still a bit warm despite the battle having ended hours ago – perplexing Iris until she recalled Ulrika’s fidgeting in the carriage, and her constant refusals to visit the bathroom where she could not remove the diaper. With the diaper now off, a foul odor quickly rose from Ulrika’s mess, requiring Iris to quickly ball up the soiled garment and sponge off the shit spread over the queen’s behind. Moving forward, she cleaned off the urine at Ulrika’s crotch, and with a second sponge slowly scrubbed off the dirt that covered her powerfully built body.
    When all was done, Iris helped her mistress dry herself off with a towel. She had no mind to speak, but Ulrika still growled “I can do it myself” in a low voice. Iris obliged, looking away as Ulrika placed the heavy tabbed diaper on the chair and sat herself on top of it, and clumsily wrapped the absorbent garment around her crotch and behind. Although she occasionally grew slightly impatient at the queen’s propensity for pride, Iris far preferred this arrangement to the tirades that she used to endure whenever she had suggested to Ulrika that she wear diapers for the night. It had taken years and many soiled sheets to convince the prideful queen of her bedwetting problem that always emerged after she fought her battles. With her nighttime protection securely taped on, Ulrika commanded Iris to dress her in a silken nightgown and extinguish the candles in her room. Iris retreated to her own room for the night.
     
    Wagons stalled and horses bucked in the quagmire of mud and puddles making up the earth for as far as the eye could see. The cursed Bohemia, always lashed by the infernal rain. They had marched like this for days now, placing the entire expeditionary force in low spirits. But now, in the face of battle, there was not one in the throng who would think about anything other than the task before them.
    Hooves and footsteps clattered upon the stone bridge at the throat of the valley, spilling the Grand Army’s might towards the hills in the distance. Men and women prepared their arms and prepared their souls for the fight ahead. A muted roar in the distance drew closer with every footstep. There they were, the Livonians, calling their mighty cavalry and impeccable sharpshooters to arms. All knew that the fight today would be bloody, but none considered their own deaths.
    Blue Scandian banners flew high over the regiments and the battle-drums sounded. The army had passed the choke. Surely the Livonians could see the Army now from their hilltop regiments. Ulrika’s hussars cantered behind her white steed; the young and fearless warriors who the Virago Queen had once handpicked to replace the incompetent and deteriorating old guard. Scandia’s dragoons and cuirassiers, both of a similar crop, trailed the faster light cavalry. Assembled here was the cream of the Northern crop.
    Only one more hill to cross before they would be in the throes of Livonian fire. Ulrika stopped her horse and turned to her troops. Whatever her misgivings were about her subjects’ domestic affairs, on the battlefield she retained an absolute faith in the children of her homeland.
    “Soldiers! The cheers of a people smile upon you. Never have these lands seen an army of our caliber, of our spirit! We shall drive the invaders from our stolen lands. They will receive today their overdue fate. Do not fear death for our homeland! Upon those who conqueror, there shall be bestowed the praises of our nation, but for those who fall, they shall be granted their immortality in Valhalla! Soldiers, advance!”
    Cheers erupted in the crowd. “For the Queen! Glory to Scandia!”
    Virago Queen indeed! With the consort’s words embedded into the fabric of their souls, the Scandian cavalry launched themselves into the enemy’s fire. Mighty were they, under the auspices of their fearless Queen Ulrika, the specter that struck fears into the hearts of complacent kings and queens all over the continent.
    So much was known to Ulrika herself. She knew herself as face of her nation’s renaissance, a symbol of a beast awoken from a centuries-long slumber. And Ulrika’s own duty was to continue the place she had reserved in the heart of every Scandian. Here she was, then, leading the army of ten thousand into battle against the might of Livonia’s bulwark – wrapped in a thick diaper tucked underneath her fine blue tunic. Shamefully, despite years of training and combat, the queen had still found herself no less likely to piss and soil herself in the heat of battle than the cowardly princesses of years past. As bloodthirsty and feared as her reputation was, Ulrika was not without her weaknesses.
    Scandia’s lancers, on their fast, small horses, shot ahead of her with bayonets at bay. The roar of a charging army enveloped her and reached the heavens above. Above the killing grounds, Ulrika’s engineers had towed Trondesburg’s heavy cannons to their hilltop positions and brought them to bear against the fortified Livonian positions. Deafening roars shook the earth and sky, horses whinnied in protest and each soldier felt the teeth rattle in their skulls. Harbingers of death to only the Livonians, of course, but her entire body shook at the tremor and her bladder flinched in fear. She scowled as a jet of piss escaped her control and hot piss encompassed her crotch, before being soaked up by the thick padding.
    The lancers had moved into range of the sharpshooters. Shots began to ring out and cries of death began to punctuate the charge. The main wave of the Livonian reinforcements had arrived, and their infantry gathered on the hill fired and reloaded in their squares. Scandia’s muskets were poor but nevertheless lethal to the Livonian musketeers, who fell and died in their ranks. The mud on the ground was running red with the lancers’ and grenadiers’ blood.
    On the other side of the field, the infantry had regrouped time and time and again but failed to blunt the spearhead. The field widened before it met the Livonians’ fortified hill and the cavalry dispersed in turn. The hussars drew their falling-block rifles and Freja drew her bayoneted bolt-action, and spurred her horse to charge faster at the regrouping Livonians. In light of the ever-widening muddy field, Jan fell away from her left flank and Leif from her right, each to go and engage their own targets. Ulrika’s attention fell upon a collapsed Livonian infantry square, reeling from bombardment. She pulled back on her reins and raised her rifle, placing a reloading Livonian squarely in her sights. His shako, that tall, foolish adornment of officers, marked him for execution. You’ll die!
    Fire exploded out of the rifle. Ulrika heard the scream echo in her head. Time stood still for both murderer and victim as the Livonian reeled and toppled back. Then the blood, sanguine and bright despite the overcast sun, erupted from his chest and drenched his white uniform. More screams now, his comrades, lost in their panic, immobilized and easy targets. Pull the bolt back, chamber the round. She adjusted her sights to aim at a cowering woman attending to the fallen officer, and shot again; the bullet curved through the air, entered the small frame, and exited, and blood again ran down the hills. Yet the woman had not fallen, no, she was reaching down for a fallen rifle now. Have I missed? Another round, another shot, the spilled blood shot high and coated the navy blue-clad regiment. The woman was aiming her rifle now. No! Impossible! Adrenaline was shooting through her entire body now, pumped by hear heart pounding with the realization that she had utterly lost control of the situation. The queen usually did not notice her accidents, but this time Ulrika suddenly found that she was fully cognizant of her bladder emptying in white-knuckled terror, and she clenched down with all her might, but try as she might she found herself completely unable to stem the torrent of hot urine drenching the padding warming between her thighs. The crack of a rifle grabbed her focus away from herself, and she pulled the reins sharply on her horse; the steed whinnied and bucked, pulling her sharply down and to the right, away from the Livonian guns, away, away. An animal screamed a dying scream, full of agony and sorrow. Ulrika was still falling, falling down and to the right, and she suddenly noticed that her hands were coated in blood. My blood?
    The impact into the ground was softened by the mud, that forgiving earth watered with the lives of thousand of brave soldiers. Her horse was dead, the majestic white mane dyed red by an Livonian bullet. Ulrika tore open her eyes. I have to move! But her body lay still and silent, trapped in the bloodied mud, the mud that wrapped around her legs and stomach. My rifle! She forcibly lifted her head with her arms and gazed around, at the wide and infinite field; Jan and Leif were swallowed by the horizon. Her strength was gone now, sapped by the earth, and a wave of dread crashed over her soul; she looked up and saw her own self mirrored in an Livonian’s bayonet. White-hot fear and pain melded into one unbearable burning that tore her chest apart from the inside. Mere drops of urine fell from her emptied bladder into the soaked padding, but her bowels completely relaxed in terror, voiding a warm mush into the seat of her diaper. The mess pressed against her butt, and felt warm against her thighs as it escaped the diaper’s plastic cuffs - but Ulrika’s failed to notice, her senses cast fully upon the bayonet impaled in her breast. The soldier was falling back now, as if he were melting away, that face of unadulterated rage melting and melting until Ulrika could no longer see the whites of his eyes, recessed as they were into his skull. The hill was close and gigantic, the officer’s regiment was close and gigantic, and they stretched their arms out to her, arms growing longer and longer as if those of wraiths. The closer they drew, the more the humanity was melting away; their eyes disappeared and from their backs sprouted blackened and tarred wings. Their uniforms had been absorbed into their sallow bodies, and the fingers elongated and sharpened until they became images of the bayonet lodged deep in Ulrika’s heart. She could not now question her humanity or her mortality, for all that her mind could command her to do was throw her head back and scream from the darkest crevices of her soul, emerging from her mouth as a relinquishment of the last shreds of her being. The queen’s guttural cry of death spilled, like a black tar, over the fields of blood in the apocalyptic world, and the demons were drawn like moths to a flame to feed on her lifeless body.
     
    Ulrika’s eyes snapped open in the wave of consciousness crashing over her. She was drawing breath in great gasps, compelled by her burning lungs. Her hand scrambled to make sense of the situation. A cold sweat had leached into her nightgown and the white sheets. The battlefield was gone, replaced by an unfamiliar but calming room, and her chest bore no grievous wound. It had all been a nightmare. Her gasps had stopped now, and she let out a long sigh, imaging to herself that the dream was expunged from her body with the breath. But her exuberation was cut short when her roaming hand reached the front of her diaper and felt the warm squish of sodden padding. It happened often, but the proud queen could not help but be humiliated at having wet herself during the night. Sitting up into her own mess confirmed what she dearly wanted to deny but all but already knew. Forcing herself off the bed revealed to Ulrika her soiled diaper’s mass, the image of which she covered quickly with her nightgown. Trying her best to contort her face into something of grace and poise, she opened her door and walked into Iris’ room.
    “I ask of you to assist with … cleansing myself for the morning”. Her growl dripped with indignation.
    “Of course, Your Majesty”. Iris had known this would happen.
     
     
    Onwards the Scandians marched, trouncing the scattered defense of the Livonians and routing the under equipped and unprepared Gothian army. Their disputed territorial boundary now firmly restored, Ulrika led the expedition on a campaign of revenge against the coalition forces that had shattered the pride and absorbed the vassals of the empire a hundred years ago. Behind the Scandians trailed a path of conquest, of newly reformed duchies with ousted local dukes replaced by governors friendly to Scandia’s southern interests. So abundant were their spoils that the many blue-clad regiments had swapped their standard-issue arms for the superior Teutonic designs, out of practicality if nothing when the depots overflowed with more Gothian-made rounds than they had Scandian ammunition. The Grand Army ate and drank like Scandian nobility and dreaded the day they would finally have to give up beef and beer for their homeland’s staple of salted fish. News of the military’s successes had reached Scandia and sent the entire kingdom into a fervor, and every day men and women sang the praises of their great Queen Ulrika.
    But they could not act with impunity forever without facing opposition. Across the continent governments had marshaled their troops in preparation for a decisive battle against the Northern scourge. The Teutonic coalition’s victory over the Rûm Sultanate granted them the coveted Eastern trade routes and allowed their much-maligned army to requisition and reform into a threat eclipsing anything they had previously fielded. Meanwhile, Ulrika had saw the Scandian supply lines become more and more stretched and the relative strength of the expedition fall in turn. Her own safety too could not be fully secured, for the fame she had garnered in battle would surely draw assassins; in response she had begun keeping her location a closely guarded secret at all times. And winter was soon approaching. It could very well be time to withdraw.
     
    Intermittent snow had slowed the steady march of the heavy Scandian units, scattering the army across the foothills of the imposing snow-capped Visigoth peaks. Where their campaign had earlier took them to lush and green hills that rolled gently in the wind, these hills were sparse and rocky, as inhospitable as the peaks towering above them. As the year waned, the nights were growing longer and colder. Small fires burned all around the camp to provide the sleeping troops some iota of respite, troops which Freja regarded with a burning envy as she paced around the camp staving off the creeping fatigue. The fires had another purpose – in the pitch blackness of the starless night, they were the only way the night guard could navigate.
    Freja’s eyelid grew heavy and she pressed the back her hand into the cold steel of her rifle to jostle herself awake. For all the looting her compatriots had done, she held no weapon in higher regard than her reliable hunting rifle. What a shame that I have not used it for an eternity. Every night, they waited for an enemy that was too afraid to come, to weak to fight, and too stupid to find them.
    The flap of a birds’ wing startled Freja away from her musings. A thin layer of powdery snow fell from the top of a pine tree and met the slush on the ground. She sighed and unrolled her finger from the rifle’s trigger. Perhaps she had grown complacent in the time she had not seen combat. It was hunting season back in Scandia – the perfect time to perfect one’s aim and reflex, and yet here she was, wasting the time reveling in the excesses of a land where she was an unwelcome guest.
    Svea burst out of the brush. “Brigadier. I saw a massed movement to our southeast. May I suggest that we investigate?”
    “They should likely be bandits. We are more than capable of addressing them”. Years of widespread decline under imperial subordination and a widely incompetent provincial government had made these lands almost anarchic. Bands of rogues roamed the mountains at night and struck their occasional raids against civilians and the Gothian military alike, and now their most valuable target would be the encamped Grand Army. But though they were fearless in combat, the roaming bands were usually driven back by the Scandians’ superior training and equipment. The more you fight us, the more we bring justice to this lawless land.
    “Then, I shall call upon the rest of the guard for action.”
    “It could be useful, yes.” Freja untied a brown paint horse from its post. She had never been trained as cavalry, but her seniority required that she be mounted to lead the night guard. And while she was more in her element on foot, she was more than capable of shooting and grappling on horseback. As Svea went around the camp collecting the rest of the guards, Freja affixed a bayonet to her rifle.
    “Ready.”
    “Affix your bayonets. March!”
    Svea trailed closely behind Freja, bayoneted Livonian rifle in hand. Out of all the recruits from southern Scandia’s barracks, she had turned out the best of all. Her small stature and youth belied a fighting spirit easily comparable to that of the old guard, and her reflex and survival sense were second to none. Having fought alongside her for the entire campaign, Freja had developed a close-knit soldiers’ camaraderie with the unorthodox soldier. Even haughty Saga had learned to respect her.
    Under the light of a kerosene lantern, the group pushed into the ridges of the rocky hills. Each soldier held their rifle close with the expectation of combat, but no real fear of measurable retaliation. They crested the ridge that Svea had marked and assumed, as per their training, a hollow square. Fingers curled around brass triggers, waiting for the movement that would signal their volley.
    Movement sounded in a bush. Two hastier guards discharged their muskets, while Freja held her fire with the expectation that the sound was from a beast and not a bandit. Groans and curses sounding from the bush, however, confirmed that the shots had found a human mark, and Freja aimed at the movement and prepared to fire. Her convictions were suddenly interrupted by the foreign shout that sounded from her left, a voice that was not the crude drawl of an outlaw. Clear and commanding, full of presentation and order – an officer!
    Svea reiterated Freja’s conclusion. “The Gothian army! Ambush!” Upon Svea’s shout, from seemingly behind every rock emerged a rifle-wielding soldier. The Scandians’ hollow square collapsed instantly as they ran for cover. Carl, carrying the gas-lantern, was all too easy a target for the hidden gunmen and was struck in the chest by several bullets; the lantern dropped and rolled down the side of the gravelly hill. Tenacious as she was, Svea was still young and inexperienced soldier; and faced with the claustrophobia of being surrounded by the vengeful Gothians her bladder and bowels released in wide-eyed terror. Freja, beating a fighting retreat on her horseback, could see the torrent of pee soak through Svea’s panties and pants streaming from the crux of her thighs, and as Svea ran past her a drifting odor made obvious the mess that she had spilled into her undergarments. At the display, the mounted Freja could not help but notice a slight twinge in her own bladder, filled from the copious coffee that she had drank in the night. She cursed herself for not having relieved herself sooner.
    With all pretense of secrecy in their assault lost, the pursuing Gothians scrambled and yelled, rallying each other to pursue the retreating Scandian contingent. But the dark had disoriented them, compounded by the difficult terrain alien to them as it was to Freja’s guards, and they rushed around wildly in attempts to regroup. In the time that the discombobulated ambush stumbled and bumped into each other in the dark, the Scandians retreated further and assumed defensive positions. The camp was stirring now, the soldiers awakening and preparing for battle, readying their positions to create an impregnable citadel of infantry supported by a handful cuirassiers. A flare shot high into the dark night sky and exploded against the pure black backdrop. Lookouts from all across the foothills scrambled to ready Scandian cavalry.
    The Gothians bore down upon the flare like moths to a flame, their ranks and discipline restored quickly by the signal of their target. Over the hill the regiment went, running with bayonets out and behind them the sharpshooters in ordered positions shooting at anything that moved. The Scanians were dug in well, and their shots rang true in striking down anybody who dared rush down the cleared path to the camp. Yet for each enemy struck down by a bullet, there seemed to rise from behind ten more to take his place; and as the minutes drug on the Scanians could hear the enemy’s yells in the night grow louder and more numerous.
    This was not a mere scouting party, Freja knew. This was a premeditated assault. There were more and more of them, more and more bayonets and rifles and hand-grenades and sabers, and soon they would be too much for even the Scandians to handle. She crouched behind a large boulder, and counted the rounds she still held. They could not win this war of attrition.
    Please let the cavalry come relieve us, and please let their arrival be swift!
     
    An eruption of gunfire and muted shouts in the distance startled the sleeping queen awake. No dreams had haunted her sleep, and nothing had confused her from finding herself exactly where she expected to awake. The tent was pitch-black in the depth of the night. Ulrika propped herself up on the small mattress by her hands and her thick diaper crinkled with the motion. She put one hand to the front of the padding – it seemed dry. Footsteps sounded outside prompting her to quickly drew her hand away and cover the humiliating diaper with her nightgown.
    The figure burst into the tent with a calm grace. It was Iris. She leaned down close to Ulrika’s ear, and spoke in a hushed whisper. “Your Majesty, we are under attack by the Gothians. Our cavalry shall arrive in due time. The soldiers of our regiments are holding strong against their attacks. There is nothing to worry about. You may return to sleep if you so wish”.
    She knew that she could not convince Ulrika. “I shall fight alongside them.”
    The servant gritted her teeth. “Your Majesty, I beg of you please regard your position. You have not your horse, and you must not incite them unnecessarily to strike against our soldiers. We cannot be sure of their strength yet. I implore, let them not rally around collecting the ultimate Scandian trophy.”
    Ulrika hated the pleading but could oppose the sense. “No alternative, then. You shall help me with my attire.”
    Iris moved over to Ulrika’s leather bags. There lay inside a gently folded lilac pelisse and matching bonnet, in the fashion of the Gothian vassals caught between the Gallic and Germanic styles. The servant unfolded the dress and let the long skirt fall down to her knees, and drew from the bag the queen’s plain chemise undergarment. Ulrika removed her nightgown and was left wearing only her thick diaper, as dry and clean as when she had put it on herself. Iris quickly draped the white silk shift over Ulrika’s broad frame before the queen’s revealing state would boil into anger. Next came the starched pelisse, long enough to fall to the queen’s knees, followed by tying up the queen’s long silvery hair into a fashionable bun underneath her bonnet. An application of rogue and whitening powder had completed the transformation. Queen Ulrika the First of Scania had never entered this camp – only Alisa, Duchess of Selonia, envoy of the Kingdom of Courland. She could not been seen with her rifle, of course, but hidden in the shawls of her dress was an ivory-handled revolver, dispensing rounds that could incapacitate ten men and a horse.
    “Shall we bid a retreat, then, Your Majesty?”
    Ulrika’s mouth curled into a smile. “No. I wish to see the spectacle.” That order was final.
    Iris frowned imperceptibly. “Very well then.” The creeping dread of having to stand in battle made her bladder seem suddenly quite full, but excusing herself to the call of nature in the face of diapered Queen Ulrika was out of the question. She prayed that the fight would end soon.
     
    Freja propped the barrel of her rifle against the hard granite and lifted her head above its sights, scanning the world for the tiniest hint of movement. She slowed her breathing. When the cover night made movement deadly, staying concealed was the only thing which could grant her life. From over a hill a flash of navy blue was accompanied by the dislodging of stones. What a fool the Gothian was. She pivoted her rifle on its stand, took quick aim, and pulled the trigger with the shadowy figure in her sights. The enemy was too slow to react and too slow to aim, and without a shot erupting from his musket fell back into the night. Freja’s retreat took the form of a ground-hugging roll away from the retaliatory fire; although bullets dug into the ground all around her she was safe in a pocket of cover. Her next roost was within a cratered hole in the ground, next to a small patch of brush. Scandian gunfire and Gothian screams were sounding all around them; and the Gothians’ continuous withering volleys and lobbed grenades were taking their toll on the Scandian troops. Nearer and nearer the Gothians drew before they were invariably cut down by musket-balls and bullets. Now there came pair of grenadiers, charging and firing indiscriminately into the night, lobbing their hand-grenades and screaming like furies as they approached the defenders’ positions. There was no need to move now, for the chaos and dark had eliminated precision from the Gothian doctrine. They were all too easy to cut down at this range. But Freja’s ammunition was depleting fast against the fast-encroaching waves of the enemy. Seven shots, six … five … I’ll use them well!
    Shouts drew near, most prominent of all the staccato barks reverberating with authority. That’s the officer. Freja’s mind fell into a state of absolute intensity, melting away the rest of the world around her. Her ears listened only for her quarry’s voice, and her eyes saw only down the barrel of her rifle, waiting for the Prussian shako that would mark a man for death. Shots rang from behind the peak and explosions in front of her, removing not an ounce of her concentration. Three seconds. Soldiers crested the kill and fell to her Scandian bullets. Freja held her fire. Two seconds. Markus screamed in agony. One second. The officer’s hat appeared over the crest. At his flanks were two Gothian grenadiers. They charged with weapons brandished and rallying cries. Freja aimed her shot.
    The hammer fell, and the powder lit. Recoil shot the rifle into her shoulder. The bullet was still spiraling in the barrel when the Gothian grenade detonated to her left. Fixated as she was upon her shot, the explosion of the charge consumed her consciousness and struck deep into her soul. She staggered back into a collapse; and continued her flight on all fours with her eyes squeezed shut. Her full bladder came spilling out in an instant, drenching the front of her pants with flood of pale yellow urine. With seemingly all the focus she could muster in her incapacitated state, Freja turned herself upon her elbows and knees, and began crawling towards the camp with her pee still pouring through her clothes and onto the ground in a shameful stream. The sounds of the advancing Gothians behinds her hastened her pace but kept her pinned to the ground; standing up into the firefight would be suicide. Her rifle was gone, her bullets depleted. She felt no pain, but when she brought her hand to her side it came back coated with blood. Freja could fight no longer.
    When her hands and elbows had been bruised and cut by the sharp gravel, Freja forced hope her eyes and allowed her composure to slowly return. She found herself on the slope of the small hill, below the clashing soldiers. Her side was radiating with pain, enough to make her wince. And she had pissed her pants. A quick glance showed her a torn uniform and dripping blood from her abdomen, seeping slowly from where her flesh had been punctured by the explosion. An approaching roar drew her attention away, and she raised her head; her eyes were greeted by the image of hundreds of charging cavalry with weapons drawn and the Scandian flag flying steadily in their wake.
    Salvation had arrived.
    Above her, in the battle on the ridge, the shouts intensified. The dark of the night was broken by the fire spat from the barrels of the mounted riflemen. Screams of agony began to echo all around the foothills, and closer and closer the horsemen of Gothian demise rode. Now fire was raining down into the cavalry’s ranks. A saber-brandishing dragoon uttered a shout of pain and was thrown off the back of his horse, and his neck snapped loudly as it hit the ground. His horse, devoid of rider, continued its charge before encountering the growing chaos of the battlefield, and it peeled away from the fray cantering towards where Freja lay. It was all the signal she needed to stride up and pull at its reins, placating it enough for her to mount its muscular back and force it back towards her comrades, stopping only along the way to retrieve the killed dragoons’ dropped saber and pistol still strapped to his waist. Her pain had disappeared. She would fight on.
     
    Ulrika had watched the engagement from afar, alone in the camp deserted by its soldiers gone to defend their materiel. Iris stood by her side but did not make her presence known, afraid of disturbing the queen enraptured in the heat of battle. As with her soldiers, she had been surprised at the length of the engagement, but held an unwavering trust in the resilience of her small contingent as it fought off man after man of the larger Gothian force. It was a shame, really, to be sat in the back as an observer instead of throwing herself in the fray, but it was certainly better than escaping at the first sign of violence. At any rate, all the horses in the camp were already occupied in the fight.
    The queen had been first to see her cavalry divisions advance into the enemy flank. At that point, the assaulting divisions’ defeat was nothing short of certain. Her dragoons and cuirassiers gained an immediate upper hand over their scattered enemy and cut down resistance like barley in the harvest. In the fire-illuminated battlefield, Ulrika could witness the rear guard of the invaders fleeing from their duty, leaving their encircled comrades to die at the hands of vastly superior Scandian troops. How repulsive the enemy was.
    But the reformed coalition forces was not to be defeated so easily. The surrounded troops had seemingly assumed the courage their contemporaries had callously left behind. Coldness had crept into their cries, coalescing into furious oaths; together they mounted a desperate breakout over the entrenched Scandian infantry guarding the route to the camp. Ulrika watched with an impeding dread as soldiers armed with the resolve of glorious sacrifice shot and hacked their way deeper and deeper into the defensive lines, fighting with their knives after their bullets ran dry, and fighting with their fists when their knives broke. They tramped over corpses of their own in their wild fight and flight away from the approaching cavalry.
    A bullet missed its target and flew into the camp behind, striking a lit lantern which burst with a loud shattering of glass. Ulrika recoiled at the violent explosion, and a stream of urine soaked into the diaper’s thick padding before she could bring her quivering bladder under control. Young, naive Iris had been much worse for wear – the shock extracted from her a scream of raw terror and overwhelmed her potty training. The pee she had been so desperately holding back gushed out into her cotton panties and into the folds of her pleated skirt. Iris’ s humiliation was furthered by her bowels voiding noisily into her panties, filling the small garment and leaving the sobbing servant thoroughly wishing she had on one of her mistress’s diapers. Ulrika grabbed the petrified servant by her neck, taking some care to avoid contact with her heavily soiled skirt, and pulled them both into a ditch at the side of the tent. Iris was crying profusely, and she pulled the young woman’s face into her chest to silence the her.
    Gothian shouts were coming terrifying close now. In her trapped and defenseless position, Ulrika felt almost as terrified as Iris did. Each ringing gunshot and each resounding explosion brought into her padding another fearful trickle of urine, despite the hand Ulrika had jammed tightly into her crotch in a futile attempt to stem her bladder. They had grown more and more desperate, fighting for longer and more furiously through their dying breaths, breaking in closer and closer to the camp. Please, how much longer, how many more? She looked up. A soldier, clad in the Gothian grey, twisted his pockmarked face and found Ulrika’s eyes in the ditch. A final kill before his own death. The soldier charged at his target. His cry echoed in the heavens and drowned out all of the queen’s consciousness. All that she could make out of him in the dark was the glint of a bayonet.
    Those eyes – that cry – he was the one who would killed her, who had killed her. It was the sum of all her fears, the rawest of all terrors that she could experience. What was left of her quivering bladder poured into her already soaked padding. Her lying position allowed a trickle of urine to escape the sodden padding and leak onto her thighs, dampening the fabric of her skirt. The rear of the diaper strained and bulged as Ulrika also messed herself, soiling the back of her ass with her own shit. So consumed was she in her own terror than she could not even feel her own infantile act; all the fallen queen could do now was squeeze her eyes shut and wait for her life to end.
    Hooves clattered near. A gunshot. The Gothian oaths fell silent. Ulrika forced her eyes open and looked up. A still black horse, darker than the night, towered serenly over her. A soldier mounted atop held a smoking pistol in her hand. The queen scrambled to her palms. A stern blonde, wearing a blue uniform. Scandian. Tears of rapture and relief flowed from her eyes and a quaking sob, so uncharacteristic of the Virago Queen, escaped her chest. She buried her face in her palms.
     
    Who is this noblewoman, and why has she found herself within our battle? Ulrika dismounted her horse and extended a hand to the distraught lady on the ground. “Brigadier Freja Lindgren, of the Scandian Grand Army. Do not distress, madam, for we have completed their defeat of the enemy. There shall be no more battle tonight. May I ask who you are?”
    I must not allow myself to be known. Ulrika opened her mouth to speak in the pruned and gentile voice her family tried to beat into her, that voice she had despised since she was a princess. It emerged from her choked in sobs and tears. “I- I am Duchess Selonia of Courland … envoy to the Scandian c- crown. I had been camped with you for the night …”.
    That was enough for Freja. “Worry not, madam, please trust in the Scandian army to defend your continued safety.” Ulrika accepted Freja’s extended hand, only for her left leg to be wracked by a shot of pain. It was not her most grievous wound, but assuming the manner of Selonia meant feigning a collapse down to her knees. Freja scrambled down on her knees. The noblewoman’s fine pelisse was covered in blood. And Freja noticed for the first time, lying in the ditch with the noblewoman, her fainted servant.
    “Madam, you have been hurt! I can attend to you… Svea! Please look after this lady’s servant, upon the ground!”
    This was bad. “Oh … I do not believe it to be serious …”. But how could she refuse in this costume?
    Freja would not budge. “Please, it is of no trouble to me. Lend me your arm, I can help you to a bed.”
    Ulrika was trapped. “I … I wish only to be attended to by a physician.”
    “Madam, there are no physicians here. I am the only one who may be of help to you. Let me prove to you the great skils Her Majesty Queen Ulrika has bestowed upon us.”
    Oh, what could be done? Freja had already draped Ulrika across her shoulder, leading her into an unfamiliar tent. With the gentle deliberation to inflicting further pain, she set Courland’s envoy upon the bed. Her satchel revealed a bottle of rationed akvavit – the standard-issue drink of soldiers drowning their hesitation before entering battle. She had no desire for the poor northern liquor in the land of bountiful schnapps and vodka. But the biting spirit could be of some use here.
    “Madam, some alcohol for your pain, perhaps?” Freja held up the bottle of akvavit.
    Ulrika hated akvavit as much as Freja did. But her disguise could not permit a refusal. “Oh, it shall do nicely for me”.
     
    Freja fed the duchess her anesthetic in a silver spoon. With the light of a lantern shining down upon Selonia, she could better examine the wounds her patient had received. Her fine lilac dress was stained with blood close at her thigh. To bandage Selonia’s would, she would have to remove her layers of dress. Freja blushed at the prospect.
    “Madam, I, ah … I may not be able to treat you with your full dress.”
    Ulrika bit her tongue. “It is fine, so long as you may attend to me better.”
    The fine Courish coat came apart at the front, and a laced and tassled skirt underneath removed clumsily at the shoulders. The duchess’s fine white chemise revealed a sanguine stain and tear where her flesh had ostensibly been cut. Freja gulped. In her best effort to preserve the envoy’s modesty, she opted to pull the chemise up from the hem instead of removing it from Selonia’s shoulders.
    Her left leg was streaked with fresh blood, as she had expected. With a small towel, Freja wiped away the sanguine stains on the envoy’s thigh. Much to her relief, no new blood spilled forth; the wound would not be of great concern to the envoy’s life and immediate health. Freja tore a bandage for her patient. She lifted the dress further to better address the wound – and saw the duchess’s undergarment that she wore at her crotch. What was this strange piece of Courish dress? She looked closer at the curious white underwear, and noticed the yellow stain that covered the front. A stain – from the duchess’s own urine. It was a diaper, that which infants wore. Freja tore her eyes away and suddenly found herself awash with mortification.
    Ulrika could not bear the humiliation. Her face, flushed completely red, turned as far away from her soldier’s gaze as possible. The brigadier applied the bandage gently and firmly to her wound without a word, and when done, returned the chemise over her diaper as if she had seen nothing. The silence continued to hang as Freja retrieved the fine dresses and placed them at Ulrika’s bedside. She turned curtly to leave, but froze and let her voice break the silence.
    “I’m sorry – ach, well I, if I may speak to you frankly …” The brigadier retried the bedside lantern and held it at her waist. “Please do not think too badly of me … but do not consider yourself alone in your … accident …”
    Ulrika could only just bear to look up. The light revealed the wet stain at the crotch of Freja’s pants. The soldier who had saved her life had wet herself in the fight. Had she been Ulrika, she would have chided Freja for her cowardice – she had no qualms with disciplining soldiers even as her own dry clothes belied a very soiled diaper. But she had obviously come across as much worse than her grenadier tonight; and surely Freja could see that the hot embarrassment had still not faded from her face.
    She sighed. “Ah… then, Brigadier, we shall be the keepers of each others’ secrets.”
     
  17. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to JackedUp in Japanese girl's Twitter page   
    I found a Twitter page belonging to a Japanese girl who frequently posts omorashi pictures and videos:
     
    https://twitter.com/peeingpeeing/media
  18. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to rachelkirwan in [Female] JAV - RCTD-240 - Alien Pee Brainwashing...   
    View File JAV - RCTD-240 - Alien Pee Brainwashing...
    So you know how in JAVs sometimes you can figure out what's going on with the story line even if you don't speak Japanese? You know, how there's acting and a plot, but it's straightforward enough to follow? This is not one of those JAVs. 
     
    Um so there are aliens, and brain washing, and golden shower circles of alien girls in bathing suits.... This is a strange one, but it literally has something for everyone (bedwetting, school girl accidents, desperation, pissing). So download and enjoy.
    Rach
    Submitter rachelkirwan Submitted 02/02/2020 Category Peeing  
  19. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to TVGuy in Photos - Peeing in Her Shorts Outdoors   
    Enjoy these photos of Alisha peeing through her shorts while showing off for our camera.
    This sizable gallery features more than one hundred photos of Alisha in the great outdoors.  In these photos, she is wearing a gray t-shirt and light-colored shorts.  For the first part of the photoset, she is simply posing for the camera, showing off what she is wearing.
    Then she intentionally pees in her shorts.  We can clearly see a thick, impressive stream pouring from the leg of her shorts as they grow dark with wetness.  After she is done peeing, she shows off her pissy-wet shorts for the remainder of the photos.




  20. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to Citrus in Wetting my School Girl Cosplay   
    ❤️ Hi all! ❤️ 
    It's been a little bit since I last posted a story, so I figured for this time i'd tell you all about the time I wet myself in a Schoolgirl cosplay
    Before I begin I do want to say sorry in advance. I'm a bit drunk at the moment, because my GF and I recently did a drunken holding contest that ended in some big puddles. With that out of the way we'll begin.
     
    For those that do not know my GF, Libby, has a birthday that's 6 days before my birthday (Hers is August 11th, mine is August 17th), so typically our weekends in between the birthdays can get pretty wild. For this year I wanted to do something super special for her, so I bought an anime schoolgirl cosplay so I could lose control in it. Libby has always wanted to see a schoolgirl wetting in person, so I figured i'd get that scratched off her bucket list.
    The cosplay is pretty boring and standard. Plain white button up dress shirt, red plaid skirt, and some black knee socks with 3 white stripes at the top. Libby doesn't really like knee socks too much, so I swapped those out with some pantyhose. Underneath I wore her favorite pair of underwear that I own.
     
    Before she got home from visiting her family I made sure to prepare the apartment for her arrival. The day before I had gone out and bought all her favorite drinks, and I went to Dairy Queen to get her a chocolate ice cream cake (Libby is obsessed with chocolate). Once I got everything in its place I prepared myself for her arrival. About 5 minutes after I finished setting everything up I heard the deadbolt on our front door unlock.
    "Clementine!"
    "Yes Libby?"
    "I brought us some leftovers. My mother cooked a bunch of..."
    At that point she had turned around and seen me standing in the living room looking like I was REALLY late for school.
    "Clementine Olivia [REDACTED]. Are you..."
    "Happy Birthday Libby!"
    Immediately after saying that to her I was on the floor. The speed at which she had ran from the door to tackle and hug me was too fast for me to see
    "OH MY GOODNESS! I CANNOT BELIEVE I GOT TO COME HOME TO SOMETHING AS CUTE AND ADORABLE AS SCHOOL GIRL YOU!"
    "Oh believe me, you're gonna like this a lot more in an hour or two haha. Come to the kitchen real quick"
    I took her by the hand and guided her over to our kitchen and showed her the display I made on the island.
    "I bought all of your favorite drinks, and drink mixes. And I made sure to get you your favorite type of cake!"
    Libby looked like she was going to cry.
    "Clem thank you so much for this display! This is leagues better than what my parents had given me when I arrived"
    "Anytime girl. Now cheers!"
    Libby created one of the tastiest long island iced teas I've ever had. You couldn't taste any alcohol in the drink. After drinking 2 long islands I poured myself a tall mug of green tea to really get the kidneys going. In the meantime we sat together on the couch and got caught up on a few of our shows. After an hour of watching Netflix stuff I was really starting to feel a need. I kept my mouth shut and continued watching shows with Libby as she stroked my hair and rubbed my back. After another 30 minutes I was starting to shift my position on the couch a lot. This caught Libby's attention.
    "Something bothering you sweety?"
    "No, i'm fine haha. Just getting comfortable"
    "Are you sure darling? You did drink a lot. It really looks like you need to go to the bathroom"
    "Well what if I did need to go?"
    "Then that would be quite the exciting moment for me"
    "Well alright. Let's say that I did need to go pee. What would you do?"
    "Goodness Clementine. You already know what i'd do"
    "Can you give my memory a quick refresher?"
    And with that Libby had probable cause. It took her maybe 10 seconds to get me pinned to the floor so she could examine me. She moved her way down to my lower stomach region and found that pressing on my bladder made me squirm around a lot.
    "Aww. Someone didn't pee in between classes"
    "Permission to go to the bathroom Ms.[REDACTED]?"
    "Permission denied. You need to learn to manage your time more efficiently so that you don't waste my time"
    Libby had me sit down at our kitchen table. At this point my need was starting to get very severe. I was fidgeting to myself in the seat, and my left hand was pressed into my crotch to keep the flood waters from breaching the dam. After sitting there for a few minutes Libby came over to the table with a tall glass of water, her two pairs of handcuffs, and our Trivial Pursuit board game. After she hand cuffed my hands to the arms of the chair she explained the rules to me.
    "Here's what we're going to do. We are going to play a game of Trivial Pursuit, however it's going to be a bit different than what you know it as. I will be asking you the questions and you have to guess what the answer is. If you answer correctly, you move closer to the finish line. If you answer incorrectly, then you'll have to take a drink from the glass. We'll keep this up until you either win, or let me watch you soil that cute outfit of yours"
    "I'm not about to pee myself in my new cosplay. I'm taking you down"
    "Oh, I bet you will"
    As confident as I was I am not very good at trivia games. Most of the topics that are in these games are Greek to me. It didn't take very long for me to answer a bunch of questions wrong, and for me to finish off the first glass of water.
    "Impressive. You've gone through a whole glass of water, and are still determined to win this"
    "I told you, I ain't peeing myself in thi... AH"
    As I was finishing that sentence I felt a really big leak escape out of me. I squeezed my legs as tight as I could to stop the leak from letting anymore out. After squeezing super hard for about 10 seconds I was back in control, but a small wet spot was noticeable on my skirt.
    "Aww, is someone losing composure? Don't worry, You won't last much longer"
    "I. AM. NOT. PEEING. MYSELF. NEXT QUESTION!"
    Libby picked up the card and started to read the question
    "Category is human anatomy. What is the average amount of urine that the adult bladder can contain before its contents are forced out?"
    Hearing that question made me leak again. As I was forcing myself to keep it all in I screamed at her.
    "LIBBY I KNOW THAT'S NOT THE QUESTION!"
    "You are correct about that, but I don't care. Do tell me the correct answer Clementine"
    "I...Uh...Fuck I don't know what to guess"
    "Time is ticking Clementine. I need your answer"
    "Uhh. I guess...OH FUCK!"
    Thinking about what to answer was too much for me. Despite my efforts to keep it all in, I began losing control right then and there. I could hear a loud hissing sound as pee started rushing out of me. It was getting into everything. My panties, pantyhose, butt, skirt, kitchen floor, and onto my white dress shirt a little bit as well. 
    "HAAAAAH!" I was in heaven. Holding in all of that pee for me to end up peeing myself was so much more stimulating than normal. My body was shaking as my bladder muscles kept squeezing the pee out of me. I couldn't keep my composure, I was in euphoria. After a solid minute of me releasing an oceans worth of pee I finally emptied out the last drops from my bladder. I was shaking with ecstasy. That was one of the greatest accidents of my life, and I got to experience it as part of Libby's birthday present. I could tell she was satisfied with how red her face had gotten watching me.
    "Goodness Clem. You really seemed to enjoy that one. I'm partially jealous"
    "You look like you enjoyed it in your own way too. I don't see you get that red often haha"
    "I have to admit. Watching you pee yourself in a school girl cosplay has to be one of the most arousing things I have ever seen. I'm burning up just thinking about it"
    "Well release me from these cuffs and I'll help you cool off haha"
    "Certainly"
    SPOILER ALERT: Our evening after that was beyond enjoyable. It was one of the best evenings of our lives
     
    Hope you guys enjoyed this one! As always I appreciate constructive criticism so that I can write my stories better
    ❤️ Thanks for reading! ❤️
     
  21. Downvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to basss37 in How does boob size corrolate to attractiveness?   
    Reading this actually made me kinda sad...
    Its so pathetic that people judge on boob size...
    This whole fcking thread in general... Even asking the stupid question... Of course it doesn't colorate... Id rather have a 100% flat girl with no boobs as all than one with fake boobs or fat packs hanging on her... Making jokes about flat breasted woman is just stupid...
    To answer the question though, every man is different. I personally prefer a girl with a good ass and look less at the boobs in general... Though the most important thing when it comes to attractiveness is someone's personality... Id prefer a "ugly" girl that is honest and actually cares about me as well than an "perfect" model who's ignorant, selfish and a total bitch....
     
    Anyhow, i think this topic should be put straight into the bin... Why are we even talking about this? Is it cus the OP has big tits or to make fun of flat chested woman?
    I seriously just cant understand why anyone would be so stupid to ask a question like this on a forum... The forum is for fetishes... Not to make flat chests feel worse about themselves...
  22. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to daniel2 in Bully Makes Girls Pee Themselves After Gym Class   
    Its porn u retard
  23. Downvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to FUBOT in Why is female omo appreciated more than male omo?   
    I'm not into male Omo, but I think this sounds accurate. It probably has a lot to do with the kind of people sharing the content, production value, appearances. Much of the stuff that seems to pop up looks like Uncle Greg, with unshaved legs and beer paunch, decided to tape himself pissing his pants with  his phone from 2001. There is never story, never anything to make the situation attractive, and always so amateur. 
    On top of that, the amateur content that is put out, it is done with the usual thought process that men tend to have for lewd content. That is to say, some guy trying to force it on people, even if they don't want it. I don't know how often I've bumped into uploaded male pissing or omo porn on sites that clearly have a 'male' section labeled. It stinks of 'I'm going to show everyone my thing, whether they want it or not'. 
    But as others said, it is a niche of a niche. There just may not be a large enough audience for the content. Even then, it likely wouldn't turn up on sites that are built for straight male views, it would probably show up on gay sites or female oriented sites, and the two would probably be filmed very differently.
  24. Upvote
    Gabby Jay got a reaction from AliasnameTO in Why is female omo appreciated more than male omo?   
    Well, most straight guys just aren't really into male content. With them being the primary audience for porn in general, this means that videos which center around women tend to be viewed more and make more money. With this already being a pretty niche fetish, with a smaller audience, if you really wanna make money producing videos which center primarily around omo, you are much better off producing female ones. Because of this, the amount of professionally produced male videos is very small, and so, the vast majority of male content is amateur stuff.
    Now, there's a lot of good amateur porn out there, and that includes male omo, but generally speaking, amateur porn is a lot more hit or miss than professionally produced stuff. Thanks to this the ratio of good to bad content is a decent bit worse for male omo than for female, and since the amount of male stuff is smaller to begin with, that results in there being a much smaller amount of legitimately good male content.
    So, with an already small audience, and a small pool of good content for that audience to watch, male omo gets a lot less appreciation and attention than the female variety. Which is a damn shame really, though I'm not hugely into it myself, there's definitely some amazing male omorashi out there, but it gets largely ignored due to the small audience.
  25. Upvote
    Gabby Jay reacted to liesjeversteven in more videos like this pls   
    Of course they do.
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