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Fal

💛 Gold Member
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About Fal

  • Rank
    Dry

Personal Information

  • My pronouns are..
    he/him

My Kinks

  • I'm into..
    Bedwetting
    Watersports
    Bondage
    Exhibitionism
    Messing

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Fal's Achievements

  1. (40 words 212 characters) Irini's Regiment, the Amazon Musketeers had a long march ahead of them, Irini knew she wasn't going to finish the march dry, she knew many of them weren't. she just hoped that she wasn't going to be the first one. (47, 236) Irini had first watch as the army set up camp for the night. Irini had an issue, she needed to poop. If she just had to pee, she could probably get away popping a squat where she was and keeping watch. Second watch was still hours away. (44, 278) Irini's regiment approached the battlefield. hearing cannon and mortar fire shook Irini's soul. She felt her crotch. It was wet. "don't worry," said the woman next to her. "everyone pees themselves in their first battle." Irini looked around, and confirmed what her friend said.
  2. here's one that old mate Christopher Nolan would approve of: https://motherless.com/089A728
  3. Thanks my dude, I have a half written story on that topic that I hate now and will never finish. But I thought I should do something with the idea.
  4. Initiation rites: pee, 212 characters. It was expected that new initiates to the Watchers of Sigith would pee themselves undergoing the strenuous initiation rites. Serra set a new record by wetting herself from nerves before the rite had even started. The Barmaid: Both, 274 characters. "And remember girl, always wear a long dress on your shifts, all the sounds and smells of the inn will mean no one notices you discretely peeing behind the bar." "what if I have a … more solid need?" "Then you find a quiet moment to take your full panties out to the latrine." Four interlinked stories. High Seas: poop 279 characters. A horrific storm and swelling seas struck the ship Varan on it's way to the new world. There was no way Mary was going to get to the poop deck now, and squatting over a chamber pot was out of the question. She had to either hold it in, or fill her pants with last night's dinner. First Contact: pee, 277 characters. First contact with the amazons, three warriors greeted her. Mary noticed one had a wet crotch. A hissing sound brought Mary's eyes to a stream down another's leg, and a dampening loincloth. None seemed to care. Mary felt her own bladder, she's about to try this custom herself. Culture Shock: poop, 274 characters. The three warriors guided Mary and her party to the tribe's village. As they walked, Mary noticed one pull her loincloth aside, and calmly leave a couple of logs on the ground. This culture's mores about bathroom related things were like no culture Mary has seen or studied. The Queen: Pee, 275 characters. The three warriors brought Mary's group in to the chieftain's hall. There sat, on her throne, was the gorgeous, buff, amazon queen. Upon seeing the foreigners enter she barked out some orders to her guard, all the while forming a puddle to sit in. Mary's bladder was jealous.
  5. 36 words, 212 characters When she became a superhero, Wisdom got a lot of powers, super strength, flight, damage resistant skin, unfortunately for her, her bladder go no upgrades. So Wisdom often ends a mission with a pee soaked costume. 42 words, 215 characters The body has a fight or flight reaction, to power up the systems that help with escape or combat The bladder and the bowels help with neither, this is why Miss Danger ends all of her missions in a pee soaked costume 36 words, 211 characters Operative Daniels was sneaking through an enemy base. she felt a rumble in her bowels, she knew from experience that her catsuit could contain yellow moments, but if she let this out, surely she'd be discovered. 39 words 206 characters Cassandra loved a good mosh pit, so she wasn't going to let her nagging bladder distract her, after all, how often did she get to concerts these days? She just let it flow in her pants and kept headbanging.
  6. 27 words, 139 characters. 'I need to pee,' my girlfriend said. 'then pee,' I said, wondering why she told me. 'ok,' she said, and turned her jeans a much darker shade. 42 words, 239 characters. The fight of the century. Samantha's bladder vs the turbulence. Every time it looked like Sam's bladder was going to win, the turbulence came back in full force. It wasn't long before teary eyed Sam coated her seat in her warm humiliation. 25 words 140 characters "A long day of crimefighting leads to a very full bladder." Wisdom explained to the media, as the camera panned down to her soaked bodysuit.
  7. Much appreciated friendo, hopefully I can speed up my writing process so I can put out something in less than 7 months.
  8. Preface: Hello all, I making another attempt at writing a thing, all C&C welcome. Beware, if the story continues some messing may start cropping up, and other, stranger things. Chapter 1 On the Morning of October the 28th, along the barren, cold cliffside of the De Laarg Barony, Yolanda walked her way to her new job, along a rugged track that very few people had the pleasure of traversing. Most of the Barony’s coast was reserved for De Laarg Manor, with very few permissions given for others to travel near, or even see the Barony’s northern coast. Waves lapped against the base of the cliff, many meters down, accompanying Yolanda’s footsteps on the hard stone path. Yolanda had been accepted to work as a servant in De Laarg’s manor. Each footstep she made along the path was with apprehension, as she had heard some very strange rumours about what happens within, but rumours just follow secrets wherever they go, compounded, no doubt by the fact that the De Laarg family was one of the most powerful, and influential families on the continent. Part of the reason Yolanda went for the job was she HAD to know just what went on in there. Yolanda saw the manor come into view, the thing was massive, four or five floors with peaked roofs, battlements and banners all over the place, the manor, with its grounds and secondary buildings included was probably the size of your average fiefdom and probably employed as many people. Only the De Laargs could afford something as obscene, and so far away from any other settlement. Several hundred meters back along the cliffside from the manor was the manor’s security fence, guard towers dotted along it, and guards intermittently patrolling it with dogs, and other stranger creatures Yolanda had never seen before, they were like dogs, but with more legs, more snout, and more nostrils. Probably something that the family picked up on one of their expeditions to the new world. Two guards stood by the entry gate, each one covered in the heraldry of the De Laarg family, an intricate white compass on red, on the top left and bottom right, and on alternate corners, the sigil of the Ulven Mystics. As Yolanda closed in on the gate, the two men standing guard crossed their halberds, preventing entry. “Do you have a reason to enter the Manor Grounds?” one said. Getting right to the point, Yolanda thought, ruffling through her bag, for the appropriate letters. “here,” she said, handing them to the guard with the fancier plumage on his helmet, assuming he was the one in charge. He forcibly grabbed the letters, tore them open, said, “sure,” and unlocked the rather foreboding gate, that Yolanda now noticed had the Mystics symbol wrought into it, and passed back the now damaged letters. As she walked through the well-kept garden of local plants and new world plants, separated by lovely, intricate stone-paved walkways interspersed with gazebos, fountains, and statues of famous family members, Yolanda thought that this place looked radiant, and couldn’t help but let out a small smile. She caught a whiff of a bunch of strange new smells, some, of course, were the plants, but she’d never come across a plant that smells like death before, even in all her time in the Trader’s Guild, so she wondered if it was those foul creatures some of the guards had on patrol. The main doors of the manor had another two well equipped guards standing by them, and like the gate, each side of the mighty wooden double door had the Compass symbol from the family livery burned into it. Much like at the gate, a pair of halberds blocked her path, “Are we expecting you?” “Well,” Yolanda stammered out, “I’m the new servant. So you could be” she handed the guards the damaged letters. The one on the left took the damaged parchments, and chuckled, “I see Brontis is on the gate today.” He gave Yolanda back the letters and hit the door twice. As the sound of a dozen different locks unlocking came from the door, Yolanda’s excitement rose, she was about to enter an exclusive group of people to see inside De Laarg Manor. Standing in the way of the view indoor was a tall, old, strange man wearing a tatty, ratty version of an Explorer’s outfit, complete with morion helm, and amulets to Shahar around his neck, this man lacked a leg, and several fingers, but he made up for that lack in copious amounts of head hair, facial hair, and chest hair, and Yolanda assumed other types of hair as well. “Ah, Yolanda, welcome, Allow me to introduce myself, I am Ruis Raoul Trinidad Sao Marcos de Filipe. But you can call me Ruis, or Boss. I am the master of the help, and an old friend of the De Laarg family.” With a smile and a half bow, Ruis let her step through the doors. The main entryway was gigantic, with several mezzanine floors wrapping around the walls, the floors covered in complex rugs bought far away, and the walls were adorned with display cases filled with weapons and ornaments from this continent, the new world, and other far off strange places, from the truly ancient, like bronze tipped spears, to the horrifically modern, like arquebuses and rapiers, and some sort of multi-barrel pistol with moving parts. Gigantic renditions of the De Laarg heraldry and religious iconography hung freely from the ceiling were slightly caught by the wind from the doors opening. “Follow me.” he said and set off with a ‘tak, clomp, tak clomp,’ to compliment Yolanda’s normal footsteps. “Nothing special here, just famous implements from great members of the De Laarg family, and other such. I won’t give you the history, as you’ll have plenty of time cleaning the hall later to read all the plaques. First I’ll take you to your quarters to deposit your stuff, and collect your uniform.” Tak, clump, tak clump, tak clump. “That’s a good place to start, uniforms. There’s three.” Yolanda took out her mental notebook and began to focus, hard. “Two you choose between, so long as you maintain your status as a servant” “Maintain my status?” Tak clump, tak clump. Continuing as if he hadn’t heard her, “First is the same pseudo-militaristic blue and grey tailcoat and leggings with spats and sash optional. Generally used for service at fancy dinners and the like but you can choose to wear it on normal duties, second is a black and white short dress with hosiery and high heels. That one was chosen by Lady Amaryllis.” “Now,” Yolanda cut in, “what’s this about changing status?” Tak clump, tak clump. “Ah, yes. Amaryllis is big on rules and big on punishment. If, as a servant, you break a rule, your punishment is being downgraded to slave for an appropriate time, and the slave uniform is just cotton leggings and tunic. As a slave, you cannot move, breath, sleep or eat without the explicit permission of Amaryllis, or someone who acts in Amaryllis' stead. Normally we just find a stern servant to do the job, but you will be expected to continue your duties, of course breaking these rules as a slave extends your time as one, oh, and, your steadings will be in the stable, and all free time will be suspended until you get back to servant again.” Yolanda’s noggin was joggin’ listening to this. She was beginning to worry about what sort of kooky world she was entering by taking this job. To the point where she was only half-listening to Ruis’ explanations of other basics about the job. By this point, the two had climbed several staircases, gone down others, and looped and winded through several corridors, most of which were as well adorned as the great entry hall. Yolanda was worried she’d never find her way out again. “Ah,” Ruis said, “I think we’re about to see an example of a slave, poor Strumpet, never stays a servant for long.” The implications dripping from Ruis’ sentence, and the way he said it there made Yolanda’s anxiety act up. This may not be the relax-and-regroup job she thought it would be. The two happened upon a woman in the black and white dress uniform of a servant leaning on a wall, disinterested in the situation, and a woman in the all grey slave uniform, working on cleaning a display case containing a gilded dagger some claim to be Elven in origin, scholars on the topic, however, remain divided, as Elves are presumed to be mere myth, this, however, does not stop archaeologists and explorers from finding strange inhuman artefacts. Ruis smiled, “Perfect introduction to the system.” Ruis and Yolanda stopped to face the pair, “Hail, Strumpet, Ignacia.” “Hello Bossman,” Ignatia said, “Is this our new servant?” “This Yolanda of Everhill” Ruis began, She is the new general maid.” Ignatia smiled. “This will be a perfect demonstration for her. Bartholomea here got three weeks as a slave for attempting to sneak into the sublevels. This is her last day.” Ruis stated, “only carefully selected for, and vetted help are allowed down there, and only on a job, and with me, or a family member present.” Yolanda nervously laughed, “sounds serious.” her curiosity and her anxiety both acted up. At this point, Yolanda noticed an odd stiffness in the way Strumpet was standing. She wasn’t doing a particularly fantastic job cleaning the case either. She seemed preoccupied. Ignacia sighed. “Bartholomea, you’re never going to get the case clean if you clean it like that.” “Sorry ma’am, but I badly need to use a chamber pot,” Bartolomea responded. “Remember what I said about that?” Ignatia said. Strumpet, apparently really called Bartholomea, responded. “ that while I am your slave, my pants are my chamber pot, ma’am.” as her hand shot to her crotch, and she started wiggling and bouncing. “You’re the only one who turns this into a drama Barthie, most slaves I have just accept it and pee themselves whenever they need to, you’re the only one who even attempts to hold it.” Ignacia said. Yolanda shot a terrified glare to Ruis, he met it with a calm smile and said, “if you don’t want to be put in this situation, all you have to do is follow the rules.” Yolanda didn’t know what to say, what to think, or how to think it anymore. She became very aware of her heart beating in her chest, she started shaking. An entire extended family of butterflies made a home in her stomach. She couldn’t imagine being forced to ruin her pants in front of someone else. (though, she has peed herself in front of people before, but that incident was her own stupid fault.) This was one of her worst fears, besides, of course, spectres, the undead, the standard stuff. “Ignacia, as you can tell from her nun-like name is one of our more cruel servants when given a slave,” Ruis said. “So this isn’t normal?” Yolanda asked, terrified. Ignacia laughed. “The worse the punishment, the less likely we’ll get repeat offences. Not everyone embraces that idea. Humiliation is a great punishment.” Ignacia saw Yolanda’s terrified expression. “But don’t worry too much, if you don’t break the rules, I won't make you wet yourself.” She then hastily added, “and no, there aren’t many of us who go this far with our slaves.” Bartholomea let out a whimper, “please ma’am, not in front of the new girl.” and stood bolt upright. The crotch of her grey leggings darkened as a hiss pierced the ears of all nearby. The wetness expanded across and down her legs, her hand still jammed in her crotch, squeezed her thighs hard, and an expression of effort was strewn across her face. Yolanda looked at Ignatia and Ruis’ faces, both seemed unsurprised, accepting, even happy with present events, and the surprisingly large, surprisingly yellow puddle forming around the slave’s feet. Yolanda was impressed by how much that poor woman had been holding. She wanted to go and hug Bartholomea and tell her it was all ok, and that she had moments like that in the past, but she didn’t know if that was an acceptable interaction with a slave.
  9. title says it all. https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5f01680a6dedc#1
  10. I knew a girl who came from France, who really, really loved to dance, she got caught in a queue, trying to get to the loo, and now she's peeing her pants.
  11. Preface: I want to get better at writing so I want all of your constructive criticism, even if it's something minor like a comma in the wrong place, or annoying formatting. Be as harsh as you want. I'm pretty bad at proof reading. “Alright people! Ladies, gentlemen, and anyone i’ve missed,” screams a small, messy looking pasty man in John Lennon glasses into a radio mike, patched together with duct tape and sticks. “I don’t care whether you’re listening from your radio, your tv, your computer or your fucking smart fridge. This is old mate Tug Boat,” He sits in his messy studio surrounded by the budget versions of every piece of radio equipment, on his three year old $50 dollar office chair. “We don’t have the mic quality of the big stations, but Sheela and I have all the big hits, and that was Spirit of Radio by Rush.” His co host, Torres Strait woman, with an amazing hairdo barely held back by her headset cut in, from the other side of the clunky FM equipment on an old desk propped up by calculus textbooks. “And this is ya girl Sheels, and we have a very special guest for you tonight on Mystic 106.6,” She said, casting her eyes past the old studio equipment, and past the slowly degrading posters from prog rock concerts from the 80s, from before she, or Tug Boat, were even alive, to their guest. “Would you like to introduce yourself? Or should we take the honour” She said. The guest nodded, with a smile, “I kinda want to hear what you guys will say.” she said, sitting on the old ottoman the hosts dragged in from the foyer for her. Sheels and Tug Boat chucked, and shot each other nasty glances. “Oh man!” Tug began, “Sitting with us now is the woman of power, the booby brain lady,” Sheels and the guest chuckled nervously, “Member of The Victory Vixens, caster of Goddamn MIND BULLETS, the telekinetic titties, Miss Danger!” “Thank you for that, strange, strange introduction Tug, I don’t know whether to laugh or be offended.” Miss Danger said. “I should not be surprised though, I listened to your interview with Minister Geel, and the one with Dominique… the one with that rep from the Sex Party, and every other time you’ve embarassed yourself, ” she trailed off. “I love a guest who does their research!” Sheels said. “So, before we really get into it, are there any topics you don’t want us to delve into? And are there any things you want to bring up before we…” “Plug those depths!” Tug Boat cut in. “bring the conversation down to the sewers! Pretend to do investigative journalism,” “So,” Sheels said, “um. Start the conversation I was going to say.” “Sorry,” Tug Said, “I just got excited, I have so many questions, so many things I badly want to cover, and we don’t have that much time with you, do we?” Miss Danger took a deep breath leaned in to the mic, like she was the announcer in Chicago. “I guess, for all your listeners who live under rocks. I’m a super powered individual with telekinetic and psychic powers, I’m a core member of The Victory Vixens. I normally fight to protect the people of New Sydney, and do all I can to help Australia, and sometimes the greater world” “Did you practice that beforehand? Do you have that written down.” Tug asked. “I need it for like, school and workplace tours, and all the generic PR stuff I end up doing” “Wait, wait wait,” Sheels said, gesticulating frantically, trying not to laugh. Tug started laughing. “In your costume?” Sheels continued. “Like, at schools, in your costume? At schools? The Costume you’re wearing now?” Tug muted his mic and threw his head back laughing. It was a futile effort though, as the other mics in the studio picked it up. Sheels leaned in to her mic, put on a serious face, and calmly said. “For those listening at home, Tug just died, like, really dead. Like, I need you to stand facing the sunrise and play last post, died... He’ll be back in five, he needs to calm down.” She shot a sideways glance at Miss Danger, and let out a deep and windy sigh, “Yeah people, just like when we had The Legendary Hobo on.” She rolled her eyes. Miss, now seeing this strange radio dynamic play out in person suddenly put a few of the puzzle pieces. Tug clumsily stood up and stumbled out the recording studio knocking equipment and wires, as he shoved his fist in his mouth to stop the noise. He slammed the door behind him. “So I guess we start with the costume, then, Sheels.” Miss Danger said, nervously as she, more so than any of the other core Vixens, is a controversial figure, not for any material reason, or so Miss Danger thinks, it’s purely the pearl clutching wine mums, priests of this and that, who can’t handle seeing a bit of skin here and there… and there…. And there.... Tug’s laugh in the distance managed to overpower the sound proofing, and still picked up on the un-muted mics. Through the studio window Miss Danger saw a few tears appear at the edges of Tug’s eyes. “Now, because this is radio, and some people, who live under rocks, or in the past, or in other dimensions, or in their own world, or whatever the fuck else.... Or may be literally dead, may not have seen your costume, I’m gonna try my best to describe it.” Miss Danger smiled, “definitely better than Tug trying to. I think we both know what he’d spend his time talking about.” gesturing towards her chest. Tug still stood outside the studio, hand jammed in mouth, convulsing with laughter and going red. “Well,” Sheels said nervously. “They are like… right there.” A few seconds of awkward pause hung in the air. “Anyway, for those out in radio land, Miss Danger is in her costume right now, and if you haven’t seen it before, it’s like a white, one piece swimsuit. But it’s backless, sideless, with a neckline that goes almost all… all the way down. It’s got some arm bands, some epaulettes and a cute Hussar cape. So, Miss Danger. It’s a very extreme costume, compared to the rest of The Vixens, especially compared to Misha’s body armour and heavy shields.” “Well,” Miss Danger began, “Misha can’t fly or use psychic shielding. I need something lightweight to be able to fly properly, and if I have a psychic shield…” Miss Danger trailed off, and then paused and furrowed her brow for a moment.” casting her eyes around the studio, thinking about how truthful she wanted to be, she knows that anything she says on radio here will be listened to by possibly tens of listeners, maybe even dozens, to say nothing of on demand listening later down the line. What she says here, may indeed impact public perception of her, and may in fact reflect on The Victory Vixens on the whole. “Honey, you ok over there?” Sheels said, brows furrowing. “Yeah, I just had to do a big think for a moment.” Miss Danger said with a sharp smile, returning with a renewed confidence and vigor. “Honestly, the main reason, and in the spirit of you and Tug’s Show, I’m going to be blunt, and right to the point, and reach my arm right in to the sewer. (and by the way, I have a more conservative version of the costume when I’m at schools.) is I want to look, and feel sexy,” Tug burst back into the room and powered over to his decrepit mic and chair. “And girl, it fucking works.” “look good to feel good, healthy body begets healthy mind,” Miss continued “Aww,” Sheels sighed, “ and I thought we were going to have a civil discussion about something for once.” she sent a wry look at Tug. “That’s our bitch queen of the radio waves, being her normal self.” Tug responded. “Thanks Tug, really value your input.” Sheels winked. “Now I realised we didn’t do the proper intro. This show’s already off the rails, everything is already a nightmare, As often happens when Tug talks to normal humans. Are there any topics you don’t want us to talk about?” Miss Danger sat back on the old ottoman. “Look, I’m a long time listener, I know the kinds of things you bring up. I know the ACCC has issues with you. So let me say this. I’m not gonna talk political opinion, and I’m not gonna talk about that sort of stuff, but I’ll happily talk about the time I pooped myself on a date, the time I got trapped in Ouze, and other faux pas, also, how I came up with my costume.” she conceded: “ since we’re already on that topic.” Tug’s smile spread from ear to ear, and was threatening to leave his face entirely. “Oh, this is going to be perfect. This is exactly what I was after,” Miss wasn’t looking, but she was pretty sure that the degenerate radio host was standing to attention in his ancient cargo shorts. “Oh! That’s another reason why I chose this costume.” Miss Danger said, gesturing to her crotch. Sheels clicked a few buttons on her laptop and signalled something to Tug. Tug nodded. Tug started giggling like a bigger than normal idiot, adjusting his glasses “easy access for a cheeky post fight fuck?” “Mate, do I need to send you to the naughty corner?” Sheels said, angrily, sending the glare of the century in his direction, he just responded with a bit of a laugh. “Well, as a human being, I sometimes gotta pee. Sometimes I gotta pee real bad. Sometimes in a lull in a mission I gotta find a quiet rooftop and pop a super squat. I have the easiest costume in The Vixens to pee in.” “Fairo, girl.” Sheels said. “Those moments can be tough for us girls.” Tug leaned in to his mic, the smile still there, looking more sinister if anything. The women shot glances at each other, Miss; questioning, Sheels; apologetic. Tug began, “Do you, or any of The Vixens, ever like,” the smile went from sinister to curious. Legitimate concern flashed across Sheels’ face. Tug Finished, “not make it?” Concern changed to fear, Sheels butted in. “That’s right listeners, quality Mystic 106.6 content right here, talking about adult women having pee emergencies, and we’ll be right back after our guest’s first song. Wanna set this up hun?” “An old favourite from before I became powered, an old boyfriend got me on to; Steve Miller Band’s Fly Like an Eagle.” Sheels mashed enter and leaned back in her chair letting out a deep and meaningful sigh. “Fuck me. This is why we got a superhero on the show, to talk about whether she makes it to the toilet on time.” Miss Danger got a wry smile across her face. “I mean, this is cutting edge journalism.” “Fucking fuck me, for fuck’s sake” Sheels said, Miss Danger had no idea one of her favourite radio hosts had such a potty mouth. Sheels sank deeper into the budget office chair. Soon it’d be threatening to swallow her whole, like an Officeworks Kraken. “I mean, Have you heard of any other journalists who have talked about this topic?” Miss Danger said, “you two are the lead on this topic, breaking new journalistic ground.” “Ain’t it fucking exciting Queen Sheila?” Tug broke in, “we have an exclusive with booby brain lady about the normal lives of our great heroes. Humanising, and closing the gap between us and them. Showing the world how our inspirations are just like us, and suffer the same indignities as us, that there’s more to our heroes than costumes and otherworldly powers.” “Oh god I’m trapped in a room with two of them.” Sheels sank deeper into the Officeworks Kraken. “But, I guess that is a good point. Or maybe I’m just going insane. Booby…. Sorry, he’s rubbing off on me, Miss Danger, are you ok with this topic?” “Entirely. I knew what I was getting into when I came on this show. Do I have some stories for you. I appreciate your concern though, hun. Also, I think it’s a shame that the one time your boy Tug said something smart it was off air.” The three shared a good laugh. Sheels seemed to regain some life and win the fight against the Officeworks Kraken. “Ok people, we’re back on in thirty seconds. I’ll introduce the story, Tug asks the question again,” She glared at him, “more sensibly this time, and then it’s all on you Miss Danger.” her compatriots of the radio room both nodded. As the last few bars of the Steve Miller song faded out, Sheels mimed a five second countdown on her fingers. “Welcome back to Mystic, listeners to our tell all talk with Miss Danger. Sorry for the abrupt song break but Tug and I needed to confer with Miss Danger privately. Anyway, where we left off was a question from our esteemed Tug Boat, wanna set this up?” Tug ran his fingers through his hair, adjusted his glasses, made a big dramatic show of clearing his throat, and began. “Something I’ve always thought about, and I’m sure a number of our listeners think about as well, is ‘do our heroes ever have to deal with normal human shit?’ do you ever get parking tickets, burn your steaks, suffer breakups, or have embarrassing moments, like, say, pee-pee moments.” Sheels shot a shocked glance at Tug. Miss Danger started with a bit of a chuckle, as a nervous flutter entered her stomach, and she felt something lower down as well. “I’m here to tell your listeners that, yes on all counts, I’ve had bad break ups, got parking tickets, burned my food, and tying it back to before the song, peed my pants.” she began again, with nervous laughter. “In fact, that last one happens to me a lot more than it should, for a woman of my age. Like, I risk it whenever I laugh, get too drunk, and a few other situations. In fact, the stresses of the superhero life make it happen more than it used to.” Tug looked enthralled. “In fact, let me tell you the story from my first mission with the Vixens, and first mission in the costume. This wasn’t long after my powers had awakened, about two years back I would have been about 23. It was the battle of Sydney. Dominique, the lady with supernatural accuracy and I had been assigned to run defence on the harbour area while the main team drew the enemy force away from the city. Dominique sat perched on the Opera House, keeping an eye for any more of these aquatic bastards to turn up, I spent most of my time flying around the streets and the park area. Dommie and I idly chatted about a bunch of things, from Vixen life, to how our friends were doing, to my costume and her lack of costume.” Miss stuttered, “not to say she was nude, to say that she just wore normal ADF combat gear, as she was sort of our military attache. Anyway, so I flew over to Pinchgut Island, that little island in the harbour with the old timey fort turned pizza joint on it, and there was one of the bastards hiding. I notified Dommie, in fact, I think my exact words were, ‘we got an armoured fucker in the historic site hun!’ He was a big one, covered in rocks, chunks of boat, and coral. He’d been there for a while, as he was no longer dripping. I got his attention by telekenetic-ing a few chairs at him. He didn’t like that, and being a newbie, I didn’t notice his armament. He shot back. With some kind of thrown together shitcannon. Rapidly. Most shots bounced off the shield. One got me in the arm. I got flustered and worried, and I flew to hide on the other side of the building, the one on the Opera House side. I think my thought process was something like fuckfuckfuckfuck, i’m gonna die, i’m gonna die, fuckfuckfuckfuck.” Sheels said, “a fair enough feeling.” “ When I came back to my senses I heard a pitter-patter on the ground, I looked around to see where it was coming from, and then I looked down, and I saw it. The crotch of my costume was going bright yellow, a stream of fear was gushing from it, and a puddle of shame was forming around my feet. I glanced over to the opera house to see if Dommy had noticed my humiliation. If she did, she didn’t say anything. This was the worst day of my life, first mission with The Vixens and i’ve already showed them I’m a little pissy pants.” Miss Danger chuckled. “I wanted to wait at least until the post mission celebration to show them that.” Tug and Sheela laughed. “But I didn’t know this at the time, but it was about to get a whole, whole lot worse. While I was too focussed on peeing myself, the armoured bastard closed around the corner and opened fire again. This time the loud crack of firing shook me to my core, I flew away, fear still dripping from my yellowed crotch, and running down my thighs. I landed on the roof. Dommie kindly, and calmly asked me to try and make a hole in the armour, as she now had the beast in sight. By this point I was a real sight. Face bright red, tears in my eyes, pee stained costume, pee stained legs, and about to cry. But I mustered my last strength, and fueled by fear, I went airborne again, flew towards the big fucker, screaming in a combination of fear, rage, and humiliation. Using my left hand I grabbed for the fucker’s gun, and with the right, I tried to rip his helmet off. This must have looked funny to an outsider, I was a good ten meters away using telekinesis for both of these things. It took most of this second wind, but I got the helmet off, and the second I did, two bullets went into his head. Perfect. Dead centre. He fell over listless, dead. I felt a huge wave of relief, the worst experience of my life was over. I floated to the ground, still bright red, still on the verge of full on bawling. I landed, but my legs weren’t going to take my weight. I collapsed. There was a squish when I landed.” “You don’t mean?” Sheels said, emphatically. Tug just laughed. He looked like he was loving life right now. “A jolt of fear ran up my spine as I found the energy to stand again. Then I smelt it. Shaking and quaking, I felt the back of my costume. There it was, between my ass-cheeks, a big, solid, pile of evidence that I’m a terrified little mouse with telekinetic powers. My worst day got even worse. At that point, I just gave up, went in to foetal position on the ground and gave in to the fear. I began bawling my eyes out, made my costume even more yellow and brown. I must have passed out or something, because the next thing I remember is the rest of The Vixens helping me to my feet, and back to our base on Goat Island. So, listeners, remember, no matter how bad your first day on a new job was, mine was worse. “Thank you so much for sharing that story with us honey,” Sheels said, “That must have been hard to do. How did the rest of The Vixens take it?” “They were mostly really supportive, a few of them even shared their own similar stories. Though,” Miss Danger said with an embarrassed chuckle, “not one of them was as bad as mine. Not one of them involved crying your eyes out in a stew of piss AND shit.” She left a pause for comedic effect. “It was one or the other.” Sheels and Tug forced down laughter. “So let that be a lesson to all of you. Even superheroes cry, even superheroes feel fear, even superheroes sometimes even shit their costume. This is when I learned something about superheroes that makes so much sense when you think about it. All of The Vixens have like, five spares of their costume. Some are even kept in the team jet. You know, in case of damage... Or poop.” “Alright listeners,” Tug said, “we’ll be back after these short messages from our sponsors, feel free to call in on our number or text us questions for Miss Danger,”
  12. Look, I'm not going to go in to much detail, but I realised, despite having an account here for a few years I hadn't made an introduction, so i figured better late than never, and made the choice to leave the lurker shadows. I'm a guy, mid 20s, fucken' nerd. I'm not someone who really wants to do any of this stuff myself, but I am an avid reader, and viewer of this all this lovely wet entertainment. Now what's strange is while I'm somewhat bi in real life, I'm only interested in the omo with women. I'm not a psychiatrist I don't know what that's all about. Now we get to the other reason I'm making my belated introduction, I'm a few thousand words in to some of my own fiction, and thought I should at least make the attempt to make myself known to this lovely little group. posting fiction as a lurker didn't feel right. I'm intending to post it in the next week or two.
  13. Pee F, 263 Characters: Someone had gotten themselves in to a car accident, so Lara's bus was delayed by half an hour, normally when she got home her back teeth were floating, but today as she got to her front door, her shame was soaking through her pantsuit and pooling around her feet. Pee, F, 215 Characters: The two girls were sunbathing in peace until Jane heard a hiss, "what's that noise?" "I did say nothing was getting in the way of my sunbathing today." "that's just gross. Please tell me you don't have to poo as well." Poo F 242 Characters: Walking the other way on the trail, Lisa saw a woman not wearing pants, face red as you please, and a tear in her eye. Later down the track, Lisa found the reason, just hidden in the bushes were a pair of pants with some heavy brown staining.
  14. 135 Samantha, as usual, had put herself in an awkward situation, what was going to run out first; her cigarette? or her bladder's strength? 206 Alara, hand jammed in her nethers powered in to A public toilet stall. She turned up her nose at the swampy, gross situation that greeted her. 'I'd rather use my jeans,' she thought, and let the damn burst.
  15. 162 characters : Eileen, sitting on the couch in front of her idiot box, felt a common twinge between her legs. She let out a sigh, and then a hiss. She needed a new couch anyway. 106 characters: "Hey Mistress," "yes Eliza," "I need to pee." "darling, if you need to pee, go in your pants." "Yes Mistress," 228 characters: The Pen and Pilot has recently stopped doing 'free beer until you go to the toilet nights,' this has been to attributed to a few disagreements with unhappy customers who apparently had different definitions of 'go to the toilet.
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