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satyr

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satyr last won the day on October 14 2016

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About satyr

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  1. Oof, that doesn't sound fun. I was just worried you were a literal kid on an 18+ board!
  2. satyr

    Yoga Pee

    Version 1.0.0

    485 downloads

    Kind of low resolution, but the girl is hot!

    Free

  3. View File Yoga Pee Kind of low resolution, but the girl is hot! Submitter satyr Submitted 10/10/2019 Category Female videos Clothing These guys share a lot of short clips on reddit, but most of it is being pissed on, drinking piss, that sort of thing: https://www.reddit.com/user/BruceAndMorgan/. Some of it is really good and within our interests though. Here is a great one even though it involves nude peeing: Another wetting:
  4. Wait, you were at the store with your babysitter a couple of years ago? How old are you, exactly?
  5. This is one of my big fantasies. Someone who clearly has to go, but denies it... Especially when they don't quite make it. I guess it's the additional childishness of refusing an opportunity and then leaking or having an accident that gets me going.
  6. In the medical literature, there exists a case of a person with a 6 liter bladder. The man had no urinary symptoms for 15 years. There is also a report of a person with a 11 liter bladder, although he reported significant urinary symptoms including incontinence (yes, having a too large bladder can actually be correlated with incontinence). In general, I don't find it unlikely that in rare cases a person might have a bladder in the range of 2-3 liters with no medical urinary problems whatsoever. After all, there are cases of much larger bladders in people who took many years to develop any urinary symptoms. The guy with the 6 liter bladder showed up at the hospital not because he was having troubles with his huge bladder, but rather because he had rectal cancer. People who have giant bladders but don't have any medical issues related to that are unlikely to show up to the doctor except when they have other unrelated issues. So there's probably many giant bladders that go unreported because their owners simply don't have any reason to go to the doctor specifically for bladder issues.
  7. This story is set in the same universe as Desperate Demon. This story will be considerably darker. Chapter 1: The Kind Lady Cassandra took a sip of her tea, which was lukewarm and tasted stale. She’d been at the books for hours, trying to make sense of things. Now the autumn wind was howling outside her window and the tree outside rapped rhythmically on the glass. Begging, perhaps, to be let in out of the cold and the rain. Cassandra had cross-referenced several ancient tomes, but now it was nearing midnight. The late hour did nothing to help her connect the dots. She was a member of an informal group brought together by a shared love of mystery and the occult. The name of their group was an eternal subject of debate: The Dark Seekers, the Eldritch Explorers, the Scooby-Doo College Gang. It was a favored drunken pastime among them to come up with ever more ridiculous names for themselves. Although formally registered as a student organization, giving them access to a room on campus one night every week, they met more frequently in private apartments and bars. The core was made up of a group of six or seven people, all of them current or former students at the university, and they largely shared a distaste for the more mainstream expressions of occult fascination: Neo-Paganism, Satanism, black metal, ghost hunters with infrared cameras, anything with a flavor of New Age and the Age of Aquarius. Members largely came through one of two entry points: the Urban Explorers, who fancied boots on the ground and got an added thrill from any rumor that the properties they trespassed on might be haunted; and the Scholars, whose preoccupation was very old books and the secrets they might contain. Cassandra was a Scholar. She drained the dregs of her tea and closed her eyes, almost resolving to call it a night. She just needed to gather her thoughts before sleep took her. A sharp knock on the window sent a jolt of fear through her spine, touching on her filling bladder. She opened her eyes. It was only one of the finger-like branches of her least favorite tree come a-knocking again. If only I owned a chainsaw and the guts to defy my landlord, Cassandra thought. Normally, she had a rule never to research the arcane long after sunset. She was mildly ashamed to say she was afraid of the dark, legacy of some disturbing childhood memories. The darkness gave everything a sinister bent, clouding her judgment. She’d been researching the Salem Witch Trials, again. Twenty women and men were executed during that infamous witch-hunt: nineteen by hanging, and one man was crushed by heavy weights for refusing to plead guilty. Witch-burnings were common in Europe, but contrary to popular belief, no one was burned at the stake at Salem. No one, that is, except possibly one woman, a woman whose name only showed up in very obscure documents. Her name, if she existed, was Anna Mire. English spelling was still in its anarchic phase at the time, and Cassandra had also found her surname spelled Myr, Myre, Mair, and Mayer. But always Anna. Anna was a conundrum. Why was she alone burned, and why was her existence all but buried? Cassandra had a theory so ridiculous that she’d barely had the courage to bring it up with her fellows. Maybe, just maybe, Anna Mire alone had been possessed of, or involved in, actual witchcraft. And maybe, possibly, the whole affair had gone so horrifyingly wrong that even the witch hunters of Salem found it best to bury it. It was a blasphemous idea: Scholars all agreed that the witch-hunts were the result of a toxic mixture of superstition, misogyny, and mass hysteria. To suggest that even one of the victims of the mob was actually guilty of something resembling what they were charged with, was to disrespect the memory of all those innocent women (and a few men) who had suffered so grievously. Not to mention how much it flew in the face of modern science. And yet. Certain strands of evidence pointed in that blasphemous direction. Cassandra got up from her chair, groaning. Her feet were stiff after sitting still for so long, and her neck hurt from bending over to decipher tiny Gothic letters. Her bladder screamed for release. She made her way to the hall, careful to flick the switch to turn on the light before she exited her room. She had learned a long time ago never to enter a dark hallway alone. She stopped to cross her legs for a moment, then made a mad dash around the bend of the hallway, away from the single light in the ceiling, and into the bathroom. While sitting on the porcelain throne, she thought back on her last meeting with Amy. Amy was her favorite among the Eldritch Explorers. Like her, she was a Scholar through and through. A kindred spirit, almost. Amy was far more skilled at locating and making sense of obscure books and forgotten documents than Cassandra would ever be. But something had happened to Amy that Spring, something she wouldn’t discuss in detail. It was clear that whatever it was, it’d spooked her. She became withdrawn. Eventually, she stopped coming to their meetings altogether. Cassandra had called her and they’d met in a coffee shop, just the two of them. “Cassie, I’m sorry,” Amy had said. “I just don’t think I can be a part of the Scooby-Doo Gang anymore.” Cassandra, Cassie, Cas: her name became shorter the more intimately you knew her, with the exception of her mother, who called her by a different name altogether. Amy drained her cup of coffee and made to leave. Cassandra put a hand on Amy’s hand and squeezed. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m your friend.” Amy looked her sadly in the eyes and said something that still haunted Cassandra. “I think we were always more like colleagues working in the same field, Cassie.” It hurt to hear that. Sometimes, Cassandra couldn’t sleep, and she lay awake wondering if her obsessions were pushing her away from genuine friendship. Did everyone she thought of as a personal friend see her like Amy did, as nothing more than a colleague or an acquaintance with a common hobby? Trying to swallow the lump in her throat, Cassandra pressed on. “As a colleague, then. If you can’t tell me what happened to frighten you so, at least give me one last chance to pick that big brain of yours. If you won’t be my friend, at least give me the courtesy of sharing your notes with a colleague before you leave us all behind.” Amy sat down again. Her brow furrowed, and she sat up straight as a ramrod, as if posture equaled resolve. “Oh, Cassie,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was unkind.” But it was honest, Cassandra thought, and now the cat’s out of the bag I won’t be able to forget it. “Okay,” Amy continued. “I’ll tell you a few things to help you on your way, but if you pursue this, you might find that some things are better left buried. You might come to harm, and that can’t and won’t be on my shoulders, you hear? I’m warning you now.” “Out with it!” Cassandra said, releasing Amy’s hand, which had gone clammy. “I take full responsibility.” Amy sighed. “I know you’ve been looking into this Anna Mire angle.” “Yeah? You know something about her I don’t? She was real, wasn’t she?” “Probably, yes. But it’s not her you should be looking into. It’s her mentor.” Cassandra leaned back in her chair. Now this is interesting. She hadn’t had much luck connecting Anna to anyone else. It was as if the woman simply appeared in Salem in 1693 just in time to die. But she must have come from somewhere. Someone must have been her father, her mother, her friend. And if Cassandra’s suspicions were correct, someone must have been her teacher and mentor in the occult. “His name was Adam Musgrave,” Amy said. “An old man, a very old man from England. Unusually old, you follow?” Cassandra nodded. “Author of a legendary manuscript presumed lost in the great London city fire of 1666, the Daemonic Dictionary. Presumed dead around 1660 in Plymouth. Before then, he had time to take on some students, including your mystery lady.” Cassandra leaned across the table. Her expression must have been quite intense, because Amy involuntarily drew back on her chair. Cassandra cursed her eagerness and leaned back in her own chair. “Please,” she said. “Where did you find this information? What more can you tell me?” “I’m sorry,” Amy said. “That’s about as far as I can aid you. Going further would mean talking about things you promised you wouldn’t press me on.” “I shouldn’t have been so forward.” “It’s not just me, you know. The secrets I keep? I don’t just keep them because it pains me to talk about them. I keep secrets for other people, people who trust me, okay?” “Sorry. Is there nothing more, strictly business, you can tell me?” “Look into this Musgrave. His trail turns cold around 1660, and my best guess is the dude just up and died, after living well past his allotted years. But he has living descendants. Or at least, there are people alive with his name who can be traced back to him, although I couldn’t say if they’re genuine blood relations. Good luck, Cassie.” They shook hands like colleagues. “Next time we meet, we’re gonna get stupid drunk and gossip about celebrities and who our friends are hooking up with,” Amy said. “And if you talk shop I will turn and leave the room.” There was a false levity to the first statement, a barely concealed threat in the second. Cassandra had heeded that last one. They had met early in the summer, and now it was October and she hadn’t seen Amy since. She’d watched Amy turn, pick up her backpack with a teddy bear motif on the back—Amy spoke like an aging scholar, drank like a sailor, looked like a young woman, and dressed like a middleschooler—and walk out of her life. Cassandra rose from the toilet, relieved. She flipped a middle finger at the spider that sat on the bathroom mirror. She might be afraid of the dark, but spiders were simply a nuisance. She splashed some water on her face, studied her reflection for a moment. A woman in her mid-twenties, an oval face with dark skin, brown eyes, frizzy black hair almost reaching her shoulders, and rings under her eyes. She hadn’t bothered with makeup today but her meager skills couldn’t have hidden that haggard look. Cassandra had been driving herself hard, looking for answers to questions perhaps no one else in the world would even care to ask. The only other person she knew who was remotely interested had rejected her and her entire line of research. She brushed her teeth, then trotted back out into the hallway. Someone had turned off the light, and she could barely see in front of her. Damn it. The familiar dread crept up on her. She felt a drop of sweat slide down her neck, and the shock of it nearly made her jump. Good thing she’d already peed, or she might have just then. Cursing her dumb housemate, she turned the corner, jogged down to her door, flicked the switch on the wall, and escaped into her room. Her housemate would turn off every light Cassandra left on in an unoccupied room, to save on the electricity bill. Sensible enough, except Cassandra had impressed upon her that she was pathologically afraid of the dark, that admitting this was kind of embarrassing at twenty-five years of age, and could she please just leave the hallway light on at night? Fucking bitch. She’d chosen the room at the end of the hallway, because for some inexplicable reason, that was where the light switch was located, right outside her door at the end rather than at the entrance to the hall. But that didn’t help much when you were going the other way. Heart thumping like a marching band, Cassandra collapsed onto her bed. In order to distract herself and forestall a panic attack, she set about mentally sorting what she’d learned today. She’d begun researching this Musgrave fellow shortly after her meeting with Amy. She’d turned up little on the man himself beyond what Amy had told her, except for some whispers about the legendary lost manuscript he supposedly authored, the Daemonic Dictionary. Cassandra might be willing to entertain ideas that witchcraft might be real, but she wasn’t so eager to believe as to assume that any old myth or ghost story that came her way was true. As best she could tell, this dictionary of demonology was just a tad more real than H. P. Lovecraft’s Necronomicon. Realer, insofar as near-contemporary sources claimed it was real—she could not trace it back to an outright work of fiction printed in a pulp magazine. But neither could she find any actual excerpt, nor any legitimate reference to any person who might have possessed a copy before the manuscript supposedly went up in flames together with more than half the city of London. Probably a myth, then, and certainly a dead end unless she could find some better sources, and her search had taken months and had been very thorough. The only person who might have found it, were it real, is Amy, she mused. She’d had better luck tracing the descendants of Adam Musgrave. As Amy had said, it was unclear whether any of them were blood relatives, but she had found references to the family name near Salem and Plymouth in the 17th century. Could be a coincidence, an unrelated family bearing the same name, but several scions of that line had published pamphlets, books, or written private letters later preserved in collections of correspondence with more famous pen-pals that referenced demonology and the occult. Two of these books were dedicated to Adam Musgrave. Closing her eyes and kneading her eyelids with her knuckles, Cassandra strained to focus. There were three distinct, living lineages of the Musgrave family she’d found. The Musgrave-Lloyds had become wealthy industrialists in the 19th century. They had lost much of their fortune in the Depression era but several living descendants appeared to still be doing quite well for themselves. Old money. They were the least interesting for her purposes, because no one of that line had ever made any interest in the occult public. She knew there was a family mausoleum in town dedicated to that branch of the family, though, and intended to visit it soon. The second line bore the name Musgrave plainly, and one of them, a Bethany Musgrave, had lived in town until recently and might be living there still. She would have to find an excuse to visit the old lady. The third line bore the name Leclerk, or Leclerc, or more recently, just Clerk. The daughter of another Adam Musgrave had married a French officer who’d fought in the American War of Independence, and their descendants had spread across North America and beyond. They had once owned a family manor estate near Cassandra’s city, and the history of that place intrigued her. Trying to juggle these disparate strands of information, she fell asleep. The Kind Lady and her two Attendants came to her that night. Cassandra had always had terrible nightmares. As a young child, she suffered horrifying night terrors. Vague dreams she could never quite recall, but the fear they invoked in her didn’t abate when she woke. She would scream, and scream, and cry, and sometimes it took an hour of her mother cradling her to calm her down. To bring her back out of that twilight state between waking and nightmare. Once she got older, the night terrors ceased. But fifteen years later, she could still remember her first meeting with the Kind Lady. Ten years old, Cassie had woken up in the middle of the night. The house was eerily silent. Usually, the floors and ceilings creaked and groaned at night. Usually, she could hear the soft patter of raindrops or the whooshing of the wind outside her window, or perhaps the meowing of the neighbor’s cat, which had annexed Cassie’s family’s yard as her own. This night, it was all so very still. Cassie tried to sit up, but found herself unable to move. It was as if her limbs were pinned down by heavy weights. This was unusual, but a strange calm had settled upon her. Cassie was not afraid, not yet. Then she discovered her eyes were closed. With effort, she lifted her lids and looked into the darkness. She was not alone. The sight that met her caused her to scream, but the scream was little more than a wheeze by the time it left her lips. Standing at attention like soldiers, at the two far corners of the room, were two men. Cassie could just barely see them out of her peripheral vision from her vantage point, head glued to her pillow and weighed down by an invisible force. She could tell they were men, that they carried themselves in the manner of soldiers or perhaps personal attendants to some noble lady or lord of ages past, but she couldn’t tell you their height, never mind the color of their hair or the size of their bellies. Between them, at the end of her bed, stood an abomination. She was a tall woman, so light of skin that she practically glowed in the dark; impossibly thin, her arms all bone and sinew. Her cheeks were hollow, the eyes dark and blue. Her hair was gray and hung in tatters down from her scalp, and she carried a large scar from the top of her nose going up to where her hair line ought to be. She wore a stained white nightgown. The woman stood bent over Cassie in a manner that gave the impression that she had no spine. It looked less like she was bending over and more like she was a broken reed, whispering in a summer breeze. Go away, ghost! Cassie tried to scream, but again, all that left her lips was a wheeze like that of a dying old woman. “I come bearing gifts, dear,” said the Kind Lady. Cassie didn’t know how she knew, but she knew: that was her name. The Kind Lady. “A present of knowledge.” Her voice was a rasping bass conducted through a tin can telephone, like the one Cassandra had made together with her cousin. Go away! Leave me a-a-alone! “I am afraid I cannot,” said the Kind Lady. “I understand that my appearing here frightens you. But I came to give you advance warning.” Warning? “Sad to say, dear, but Whiskers is not long for this world. Say your goodbyes, dear, say your bye-byes while you can!” She intoned. She sounded like a jazz singer in a dark smoky bar, playing on a broken record player. A broken, husky sing-song. Whiskers was the neighbor’s cat, and Cassie’s surrogate pet. The Kind Lady leaned over further and reached for Cassie, who tried to flee but was still held down as if by heavy weights. The Lady put her fingers gently on Cassie’s brow and pushed her eyelids closed. “Sleep now, sweetheart.” Cassie slept until morning and woke up feeling ill. That was the first of many visits by the Lady, and the birth of an obsession. On those nights, and only those nights she was visited by the Kind Lady, Cassandra wet the bed. Her sheets were soaked, and she had to shamefully collect them and wake up her mother, who said only, “Oh, Millie,” and gathered her up in a warm, wet hug. Her mother never called her by the name everyone else did, but rather her middle name, which she shared with a dead great-grandmother. There was a rational explanation, of course. Sleep paralysis. It had a name recognized by doctors and scientists, so it couldn’t be real. But Cassandra hadn’t heard of many people who were visited by the same apparition, the same hallucination, for years. Gradually, she came to understand that the Kind Lady intended her no harm. No, the truth was more frightening. She always came bearing gifts, just like she said, presents of knowledge. Without fail, it was an ominous warning that harm would befall someone Cassandra knew and loved in the near future, either a friend, a relative, a neighbor or a classmate or a pet. The warnings were always vague, vague enough that Cassandra could extract no useful information out of them. Nothing actionable. Even if she were certain they were actual prophecies, she could do nothing to thwart them. The morning after that first visit, after Cassie had tearfully related the events to her mother, who kissed her on the brow and sent her to shower off the urine that clung to her pajamas, she’d run out to find Whiskers. Whiskers was still alive. Cassie scooped up the cat and clung to her, long enough that the cat got tired of cuddling and swiped her with a claw, leaving a nasty red gash on her hand. Two days later, Whiskers was gone. It took Cassie another week of secretly listening to conversations between grownups to learn the truth they were shielding from her: the cat had been run over by a car and died. Just like the Kind Lady had said. So it went, for years. The Lady would come at night, her Attendants standing ominously in the back, the Lady performing blasphemies upon the human anatomy as she delivered her messages of doom. Sometimes, it was a minor misfortune. Sometimes it was major. But they always concerned someone close to her, and they always came to pass. It was the Kind Lady who had informed her first that her father was dying, that he would be dead within the year. Two months later she learned that Dad, who was somewhat estranged from Cassie’s mother but still visited his daughter once or twice a year and always, always remembered her birthday, had terminal cancer. Four months after that he was in the ground. It was the Kind Lady who had inspired Cassandra’s obsession with the occult. But the Kind Lady had not appeared to her in years. Cassandra woke, and the Kind Lady stood before her again. Her Attendants at attention in the back, as always. Cold fear shot up through Cassandra’s spine. She did not fear the Kind Lady anymore, not as much as those first few appearances. She was still an unnerving sight, so impossibly thin and frail and moving as if she had no bones in her even though Cassandra could see the bones protruding, stretching her pale skin taut. But the Kind Lady had never hurt Cassandra, never made any move to hurt her. No, what Cassandra feared was not the messenger, but the message. Truth be told, Cassandra had become withdrawn, almost reclusive in the past year or two. Her social circle was limited to her Scooby-Doo Gang and her housemate and very rarely, lunch with a former classmate. Her father was dead, she was an only child. No boyfriend to speak of. If the Kind Lady came to deliver another forewarning about impending misfortune to her loved ones, there was only one person Cassandra could think of. One person left. No, please, not mother. Anyone but her. Please! The Lady looked down at her with sadness. Her face was dry almost to the point of desiccation, but a tear rolled down her cheek nonetheless. “No, sweetheart, not your mother. Do not cry for your mother. I see no major misfortune to befall her in many years.” Why are you crying, then? Cassandra had learned that, when she could reign in her fear, she could converse with the Kind Lady. Cassandra couldn’t move her lips, but the Lady responded as if she had. She would rarely answer a question plainly, but she would at least indicate that she had understood. “I weep for you, Cassandra dear. I come delivering a message I had hoped not to deliver for many years. But deliver it I must.” What? What is it? Who’s dying this time? “I came to tell you that your fortune is at an end, Cassandra.” What? Are you telling me I’m going to die? “All mortals die. If I had seen your death, I would not foretell it plainly. But I have seen a terrible tragedy in your future, before the year is ended.” The Kind Lady laid two hands on top of Cassandra’s. She squeezed them affectionately. Her hands, unlike her visage, were warm. They reminded Cassandra of her own mother’s. “Your inquiries,” said the Lady, “lead you down a path of ruin.” My inquiries? You mean my research? What if I just, I don’t know, give it all up? “You will not and cannot. Be honest with yourself. Good bye, Cassandra.” She leaned down and kissed Cassandra on the forehead, and then she was gone. In the morning, Cassandra awoke to find out she’d wet the bed for the first time in years.
  8. satyr

    A Sisterly Rivalry

    It's flattering to see that people are still enjoying this six years later. I encourage people to look back in the archives, I'm sure there's a lot of good stories there that many members haven't seen. The forum has gained a lot of new members since 2013. If you find an author you like, check out their profile and read their backlog. That said... When a thread has been dead for six years, you can safely assume that it's not coming back. I don't necessarily mind people necro-ing threads because they enjoy them and want to bring them to the attention of a wider audience or compliment the author. But pestering an author to continue a series that's been dead for many years is kind of rude!
  9. satyr

    Weekend at the Grandparents - rewrite

    I feel the same way, Bismiris. Damn, time flies!
  10. satyr

    Ehotlovea Chaturbate video

    The conceit is that she has a vibrator hooked up to donations, so when people give her tips it turns on and the bigger the tip, the more intense it gets. Lots of camgirls have them, but I suspect many of them are faking it. I watched a bit of her stream and that Yee-haw! sound effect indicates that someone gave her a huge tip, which, if we pretend she actually has a vibrator hooked up to tips, means she's being stimulated to the max in this clip. I think this girl is probably faking it, but some camgirls do it for real, and some girls really do get that loud.
  11. satyr

    A Brand New Wet Obsession

    In my experience, the interest kind of comes and goes. It never really goes away, but one week or even month it might be something you think about every day (even if you don't necessarily engage), other times you might almost forget about it. I guess if you've finally come to terms with something you've been ashamed of and tried to suppress, you might be experiencing a kind of rush. It's new and exciting. In time it will be old and probably still exciting, but not every day exciting.
  12. Decided to try something I haven't done much: Write a story about casual, unplanned desperation where having an accident is played off as not being such a big deal. Not because this takes place in some alt-universe where incontinence is drastically more common than IRL, but just because the characters roll with the punches and take a laidback attitude to the whole thing. When I feel like it, on a totally idiosyncratic schedule, I might update this thread with other one-offs, although this one turned out quite long and I can't promise that every time. Casual Desperation 1: Lifesaver Nina rolled out of bed and shivered as her bare feet hit the floor. The shiver seemed to travel simultaneously up from her toes and down from the top of her spine, both sensations merging at her abdomen. Specifically, her distended morning bladder. She needed to pee. Quickly, she jogged across the hall, through the living room and up the stairs to the bathroom, trying to keep her hands from straying to her crotch. Pulling down her pajama pants and her panties in one go, she seated herself on the toilet and let out a satisfying tinkle. Today was going to be a busy day. Nina and her boyfriend were having their friend Jacob and his new girlfriend—Maya? Anna? What was her name again?—over for dinner. Which meant that she was going to be playing cook and hostess, because Michael was terrible at that sort of thing. He tried, bless him, but he was a bad cook and while he could talk sports and cars and motorcycles with the guys, his conversational charm if you didn’t happen to share those particular interests was an acquired taste. Washing her hands, Nina smiled at the thought of her boyfriend regaling Maya/Anna with tales of his latest project, restoring a gasoline-guzzling veteran motorcycle. She didn’t know much about this mysterious new girlfriend, whom she’d only met once very briefly, but from what Jacob had said, she was a treehugging, save-the-environment sort. Probably those two would have to be chaperoned so conversation didn’t take a bad turn. Just another thing Nina would have to look out for. Nina threw her pajamas in with the laundry and stepped out of her panties. She blushed a little bit at the sight of a small damp spot on the crotch of the panties. Perhaps she’d sweated a lot during the night—they were having a bit of an Indian Summer—or perhaps she’d leaked a bit when her bare feet hit the floor, or when she’d hurriedly tugged down her panties to pee. No matter. She had more pressing things to worry about. After a quick shower, she sat down in the kitchen with a bowl of porridge, today’s newspaper and a coffee for breakfast. Michael had finally roused himself, still sporting an epic bedhead. He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. Truly, a gentleman. “Going to work on the bike in the garage for a couple of hours,” he said. This was his typical Saturday morning ritual. “Unless you need me for something…?” “I’m going for a haircut and then shopping for dinner, which I’ll be making, if I know you,” she said, distracted by her newspaper. “I did offer to cook,” he said, sidling behind her and putting his arms around her shoulders. “I know, and I offered to be on standby ready to call the fire department,” she said, not unkindly. He laughed. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” “Go play with your bike, big boy,” she said, patting his hand on her shoulder. “I will,” he said, chuckling all the way out of the kitchen. Michael was about as useless in the kitchen as she was in the garage, but they complemented each other. Nina had never been of the opinion that like should seek out like. She was tall, just on the healthy side of skinny, and blonde. He looked like a lumberjack. Picture a lumberjack, short, stocky, bearded, wearing a red and black checkered flannel shirt, and you got it. But he was handy, kind and funny, and she was… Responsible? Down to earth? And not unkind to the eye. That’s what she’d overheard him saying to his friend after their first date, when he didn’t think she could hear him. Not she’s hot, or even she’s cute, but She’s so down to earth, and not unkind on the eyes. It was a silly thing, maybe, but that’s when she decided she was going to take their dating more seriously than her recent dates. Some women might not consider that statement flattering (or even fully grammatical), but she found it refreshingly honest and non-creepy. And five years later they were still together. Nina put away her newspaper, drained her coffee, and picked up a bottle of water for the road. She drained half of it before she set off. Right. The mall. A haircut—which she had to hurry to make, she realized—and then maybe shopping for some new jeans, then for ingredients for dinner. She’d found one of her pairs of jeans unfashionably full of holes at the back of the closet and realized perhaps part of her wardrobe could stand a makeover. She was parched, for some reason, and couldn’t be bothered to carry the water bottle with her, so she drained it and threw it in the side compartment. Then she ran out of the parking lot, through a warm late-summer drizzle to the mall. The hair salon’s opening hours were greatly reduced on Saturdays, and when she’d booked the appointment, the matronly voice on the other end of the phone call had delivered a sermon on arriving on time or she’d have to come back on Monday. By the time she arrived at the salon, she was breathing heavy. She walked in five minutes late, but the middle-aged woman who ran the shop wasn’t in today. Thankfully. Instead, she was shown to a chair by a bright-eyed, overly cheerful young woman. “Good thing you came in just now, I was thinking of closing up early,” the hairdresser said, favoring Nina with a smile so sweet and incongruous that Nina immediately began speculating about what kinds of dark, dark secrets this girl must harbor. There was just something off-putting about people who smile all the time when there’s nothing to smile about, wasn’t there? Could anyone truly be that joyful all the time? Nina wasn’t exactly depressed, she was quite happy with her life, but she wasn’t bouncing like a bunny in springtime every day at work. As she sat down, she felt a tug from her bladder. There was definitely some pee in there, but it wasn’t too bad. She didn’t want to ask for a restroom break and keep the girl longer than necessary when she was already late to her appointment. Oh, well. She could wait. The hairdresser chattered endlessly, a string of inanities about celebrities and how pretty Nina’s hair was, which would have been flattering if all the hairdressers she knew didn’t say all the same things to all their customers. She had blond hair cascading down to her chest, with just enough waviness to it that she could never decide if she should wear it straight or go full curly. She closed her eyes and let herself relax as the girl fussed over the hair, combing and trimming. One time, the girl tugged a little too hard on a strand of hair, which surprised her so much that for a moment, she felt her bladder give a push. No, not today, Nina thought, casually crossing one leg over the other. Wouldn’t it look silly if I peed myself in the hair salon like a little girl? The thought amused her so much that she had to giggle. The girl assumed she was laughing at some little joke she must have made which Nina had missed entirely, and launched into a series of anecdotes about embarrassing situations the hottest celebrities had been getting into lately. Finally, her hair was done. She got up and stumbled a bit as she put her weight on her left leg. Damn thing was about to fall asleep. Nina rubbed at her thigh, her hand casually straying close to her crotch—the need to pee was now urgent enough not to be ignored, but far from desperate—and then made her way to the counter. She looked around to see if there were any customer restrooms, but couldn’t see any, so she paid and took her leave. Now, she might have made her way to the restrooms, but as far as she knew they were on the other side of the mall. Now that she was walking around, the urge wasn’t so bad. Instead, she headed over to a clothing store. On a whim, she entered one of the more expensive fashion brand stores, the kind where there are no price tags and if that’s a problem, you’re not welcome. She amused herself browsing clothes she had no intention of buying, including a set of sexy lingerie that she knew would drive Michael mad in the bedroom. Perhaps for his birthday. She probably couldn’t afford it, but a girl can dream, right? The urge to empty her bladder was still there in the back of her mind, but she quickly forgot about it. Nina spent half an hour browsing haute couture, until she noticed that the shop attendant was giving her looks and sort of fidgeting with her hands, opening and closing her mouth as if she was debating whether to say something. She got the message: buy something or get out. On the way to a shop more in her price range, she picked up a coffee to go. She absent-mindedly sipped at it while doing a little recon, walking in a circle around the mall to see if any interesting new shops had popped up. It’d been a while since she was here last, and the turnover of shops in this mall was quite high. Seems like every month one shop goes bankrupt and another one pops up. Must be high rent. Make it big or go home, that sort of place. Nina had a tendency to let her mind wander if she wasn’t engaged in anything in particular, which was why she preferred to stay busy. By the time she’d circled back to her favorite store, she’d drained the coffee and the need to pee was back, a bit more urgent now. She paused, casually crossed one leg in front of the other, and exhaled. Then she put the urge away in the back of her mind—it was getting worse, but it was no crisis yet—and entered. “Nina!” A large woman in a very colorful dress waved her over. Oh, Danielle said she was taking weekend shifts here. She’d forgotten. Nina walked over to her friend by the counter, very careful not to jostle her full bladder. As she reached the counter, a little spasm hit her, and she had to do an awkward little curtsy to avoid leaking. “You okay? You’re looking a little fidgety over there,” Danielle said. Cursing herself inwardly for being so obvious about it, Nina straightened up. “Yeah, just got some things on my mind. We’re having Jacob and his new girlfriend over for dinner tonight, and I’ve barely met her. Apparently she’s kind of a treehugging hippie or something, and Michael’s whole life is about gas-guzzling cars and motorbikes.” “Oh my! Tell me more,” Danielle said. She was a good friend, and an even better gossip. But unlike the hair salon girl, Danielle had gossip about people Nina actually knew. It was gossip she could appreciate, in moderate doses. Nina made sure not to fidget anymore, although it did tax her abs to hold it in with muscle power alone. They talked for a quarter of an hour until Danielle had to go help out a customer. By the end of it, Nina knew everything about at least a couple of rumored affairs in her extended friend circle, and about poor Roger—actually an ex she was on good terms with still—who might lose his job because he’d lost his driver’s license speeding. Not a great look for a cabbie. As fun as it was to listen to her personal TMZ, when a customer showed up, Nina was grateful. It was getting harder and harder to pretend that she didn’t really need to pee. Like, very soon. She walked over to a tall clothes stand and crouched down pretending to tie her shoelaces, but actually squeezing her crotch. After sitting on her heel for a minute, she felt composed enough to get up again. Thankfully nobody had seen anything. This is getting silly, now isn’t it, Nina, she thought. Just ask Danielle to use the restroom. Even if they only have one for staff, she won’t give a crap, her manager’s not here and will never know. But then she thought that might look a bit silly, and then she looked at her watch and noticed she’d wasted so much time she better hurry to get what she came here for done if she was going to have dinner ready in time. I’ll just visit the restrooms on the way out of the mall, she decided. Nina had a tendency to put it off, and this was a familiar situation. It usually worked out just fine. Standing, now, it wasn’t even that bad. Okay, it was actually kind of bad, but not, like, about to flood the linoleum bad. Nina hurriedly grabbed a couple of light blue jeans in different sizes and headed to the fitting rooms. Just buy the damn jeans, then groceries, then toilets. That order. Quick and orderly. Organized. She dipped into a vacant fitting room, shut the curtain, then set about unbuttoning her current jeans. They dug into her bladder as she began to pull them off, and she had to let go, pants hanging off her upper thighs, hopping between one leg and another and squeezing her crotch. Oh, my! Well, she was in too deep now. Surely she wouldn’t wet herself in the next five minutes. Nina got her pants off, then grabbed a random pair of new jeans and stepped into them, then began shimmying them up. When she tried to button the jeans, she realized two things: One, these jeans were two sizes too small and even her slender frame could never pull that off. Must be made for anorexic girls. Two, the half-buttoned jeans were now digging savagely into her bladder, which was starting to bulge out over the waistband. And it hurt. Fuck, that’s painful. She felt her bladder give a push and sank down on one knee, furiously digging her hand into her crotch, even sticking one hand down her panties, or as far as she could with such tight jeans halfway buttoned up. She sat like that for a minute, two minutes, praying that she wouldn’t start peeing. These weren’t her pants, and she certainly wasn’t intending on buying them. They were hardly even jeans, they were more akin to a torture implement. Several waves of pressure crashed against her urethra, and she clenched with all her might. Finally, one of the buttons she’d managed to pull closed popped loose and rolled down onto the floor. Now she’d ruined a pair of pants, but on the bright side, the additional pressure was gone, and her bladder seemed to take a chill pill and leave her alone long enough to rise. Well, damn. She blushed, not so much over her childish pee-dancing as over the thought that she’d ruined a pair of jeans she hadn’t intended on buying. The pee-dancing was, well, not quite a regular occurrence, but not unheard of, and no one had seen her. Nina pulled the pants off and debated whether to abort mission and run for the toilets. But the relief from the torture-device of a pair of jeans had lessened the pressure so much that she put it off. Instead, she picked the largest pair of jeans she’d brought and tried them on. They fit snugly. She turned around and craned her neck to admire her backside in the mirror. It looked really good in these jeans, if she did say so herself. Nina fished out her phone from her purse and sent a quick snap to her boyfriend, showing off a little. Then another bladder spasm nearly dampened her panties. Time to get out of here. She quickly undressed, re-dressed, and picked up all three pairs of jeans. The button that had come loose stared up at her from the floor, silently yelling J’accuse! With an audible moan, she bent down and picked up the button. Her old jeans dug into her bladder, but the pain was now almost familiar and her panties escaped unscathed. For now. This was officially an emergency. Well, she reasoned, I came all this way, I might as well buy these jeans and then I’ll be free to run off to the potty. Nina walked with very careful steps over to Danielle by the counter. “Find something you like?” Danielle asked. “Yeah, these,” Nina said, biting her lip and producing the jeans she’d looked so good in. “Good choice! These will make Michael go wild, I just know it,” Danielle said with a wink. She was one of those women who could pull off the cartoonishly obvious wink, and took frequent advantage. Nina blushed as she laid down the pair that had given her such grief. “I, eh, this is a bit embarrassing, but these were super tight and I kind of… A button came loose,” she stammered. “Oh!” Danielle chuckled. “Hey, it happens. Between you and me, it should be illegal to stock such tight pants without a huge red warning sign next to them.” She gestured to her own body, which could stand to lose a few kilos. “It’s a nightmare, especially for someone like me. Anyway, I won’t charge you for ‘em, but you’ll owe me some juicy gossip about that new girlfriend of Jacob’s next time we catch up.” “Deal,” Nina said. Grateful more for the thought of ending the conversation and rushing to the bathroom than for the favor. She paid and took her leave. Then she noticed the time. She’d spent so much time gossiping and averting disaster in the fitting room that now her schedule was really tight. She needed to buy groceries and rush home if dinner wasn’t going to be delayed embarrassingly long. Better that the guests wait for food than that the food waits too long for the guests, her mother used to say, but she wanted to make a good first impression on Anna/Maya/Hannah/Whatshername. Sighing, Nina made the decision to put off the toilet for a little while longer. After all, she’d made it this far without even a little leak, which was—well, it wasn’t super common, exactly, but she was a busy person, and sometimes she got caught up in things, and then she was a little late, and sometimes she leaked a bit in her panties, and what business of anyone’s was that—the point was that she wasn’t at the point of no return. And come to think of it, I was really only on the edge there when I put on those ridiculous jeans. Bah! Satisfied that nothing bad could possibly come of this decision, she bypassed the restrooms and made her way to the supermarket. Well, it wasn’t pretty, but she made it to the till dry. She only had to stop and cross her legs twice, maybe three times, max. And she only ducked behind a fruit stand to crouch down and sit on her heel while pretending to tie her shoelaces once. Blushing a little, bouncing like a schoolgirl, she waited in line. Once the elderly gentleman who insisted on counting out the change twice before he was satisfied was done, she paid. The cashier girl gave her a questioning look, but Nina ignored it. As she passed by the restrooms on the way out, her eyes lingered on the sign on the door. It was a pink, female silhouette, with legs crossed and arms in her crotch. It was enough to send a sympathy jolt to her own bladder, and she couldn’t very well grab herself with shopping bags in both hands. Another wave crashed into her overworked bladder muscles, and she felt herself give up for a second. A small, hot spurt shot out, warming her panties and cheeks alike, but she got it under control. Not like I haven’t been here before and made it in time, she thought. Nina adopted a confident walk with long strides, almost daring her bladder to betray her again, but it held. She threw the groceries into the back seat and stumbled into the driver’s seat, almost drunk with desperation. She dared a glance down at her crotch. Her panties were damp, but the jeans, a light gray that would surely show an accident, appeared dry. She tentatively stuck a finger under the waistband and touched it to the front of her panties. Yup, clearly wet. Well, it should be a short drive home, right? Pain. The overwhelming sensation she felt for those fifteen minutes of driving was pain. A hot pain around her bladder and abdomen, a sequence of waves crashing against a willpower that was eroding like a seaside cliff over geological time. Somehow, she didn’t run the red light she really wanted to run. Truthfully, it was only the thought of Roger, her former lover turned friend who’d lost his license and possibly his job being cavalier with driving rules, that stayed her hand. And a good thing, too, as she noticed a police car in her rear-view mirror. If she’d been stopped, her nervous demeanor would probably cause them to test her for a DUI, and while she’d pass with flying colors, the same couldn’t be said for her jeans. She shuddered at the thought of wetting herself in front of a cop. When you have to pee so bad it’s starting to come out, it seems like thinking about anything else becomes impossible. It’s like telling someone to not think of a pink elephant. What’s the first thing that’s gonna pop into your mind? Pink elephant. Wet jeans. Full bladder. Nina had had her share of mishaps, almost always as a consequence of her own bad choices. Usually, she made it in time, sometimes with damp underwear. But once or twice—okay, maybe more like four times in her adult life—she didn’t. The last time had been coming home from the movies with her friends. She’d thought she could make it home. And she did, mostly dry, but unlocking her door had unlocked her bladder. She’d stood there and spread her legs and peed down them, urine pouring down from under her skirt for a minute, as her friends stood by, either shocked or giggling. And then she’d laughed with them, and shrugged, and gone inside and changed, and it hadn’t been that big of a deal. It was just something that happened sometimes. A bit embarrassing in the moment, but easily forgotten. Nina really didn’t want to have an accident in front of strangers—that would be mortifying—but she’d survived accidents in front of her friends before. This time, she made it home, scooped up her shopping bags, and ran as fast as she could inside, not even bothering to lock the car. Another wave hit her as she crossed the threshold, and she had to put down the bags and squeeze herself, but she didn’t leak. Nina gingerly bent down and picked up the groceries and the bag with her jeans. She only had to put the groceries in the kitchen, then: relief. Glorious relief. Michael was in the kitchen, washing his hands. The sound of the water hitting the sink caused another spasm, and she felt a little trickle leak out despite her clenching. Crossing her legs, not daring to look down to see if it was visible on her pants, she called out to her boyfriend: “What are you doing here?” “Um, washing my hands, obviously,” Michael said, shooting her a puzzled look. “Oh, Jacob called and said if it was fine by us they’ll be coming over half an hour earlier. Apparently they had to pick something up at Hannah’s work at a specific time, and it’s on the way to us, and it’d be kind of dumb to go all the way back home just to turn in the hallway and go back here. I said it was fine by me.” “Uh, yeah,” Nina said. Her legs were trembling, and she was trying to fix Michael with a gaze to avoid him noticing. Fuck fuck fuck. That means they’ll be here any minute, and I haven’t even gotten started on the food… “You okay, babe?” Michael asked. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m good. Just go change or whatever, I’ll get started on the cooking.” “O...kay,” he said, clearly confused by her nervous demeanor, but too polite to say anything. Once he was out of the kitchen, she put down the groceries and dared a glance between her legs. There was a very small wet spot, about the size of a single droplet if she’d been careless at the sink. Nothing too obvious. Now she had a problem. She needed everything ready an hour ago, preferably, but she also needed her butt on the toilet, now. She had to make a choice. Standing up straight, she was in pain, but it was a pain made duller by familiarity. It seemed like her little leak had taken the edge off. It was still very, very urgent, possibly even at that stage where the next spasm would turn her lower half into a faucet, but it didn’t feel impossible to wait another ten minutes. New plan: Just get the stew cooking, then call Michael over to watch it for five minutes while I pop to the toilet. Quick change of underwear and a little perfume, maybe. Six minutes, tops. Not even Michael could accidentally burn down the kitchen in that time span. Nina set to work. Every time she had to bend down, she had to do it in stages: Crouch down to one knee, squeeze herself between the legs, steel herself, clench until the waves of pressure died down, then fetch whatever it was she’d so stupidly put in the lower cupboards. Once or twice she felt herself leak a little bit, but she was so close. She got the meat on the skillet with some butter, then got started chopping vegetables. Once the meat was properly browned, she pulled it off the hot plate, just in time for Michael to yell at her that they were here. Nina crossed her legs and steeled herself. She locked down and noted that the wet spot was now the size of a thumb, but it probably wasn’t too noticeable. Surely they came here to shake her hand, not stare at her crotch. She quickly ran her fingers under some water, which caused another jolt, another tiny leak. Can’t shake hands covered in pee, now can I? That would be silly. And rude. Satisfied that she was presentable, if walking oddly, she made her way to the living room. Hannah—that was her name—did not look like a treehugging hippie. Nina didn’t know what she’d expected, but this bubbly brunette in a black evening dress—which put Nina’s damp, worn-out jeans to shame—was not it. They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries for a couple of minutes, Nina rocking back and forth on her heel and trying very hard not to pee herself in polite company. “You okay there, Nina?” Jacob asked. “Y-yeah, got something on the plate,” she lied. “Be right back!” Nina rushed into the kitchen. Five minutes, she estimated. Five more minutes of prep, then she could let the stew cook and have Michael watch it while she ran off. She managed to finish up what she’d been doing without leaking anymore, although the pain was now so bad she was hunched over the kitchen bench, subconsciously grinding into the knob of one of the drawers. She was in deep, but finally, it was all done. Oh, crap. Just as she turned around to call Michael over to watch the stew, she remembered something Hannah had mentioned. She wasn’t a vegetarian, exactly, definitely not vegan, but she did try to minimize how much meat she ate out of concern for the environment. I better whip up a salad for a side dish, then, Nina thought. Fuck me and my empathy. She leaned down to grab a salad bowl from one of the lower drawers, and that nearly did her in. A wave rose in her abdomen, a tsunami in the making. It broke against her tortured sphincter, and she sank down on both knees, clenching her crotch, but the wave was too powerful. She felt herself slip, let out a little leak, and then that turned into a trickle, warming her lower half. It went on forever, it seemed, although the wall clock would probably have said three seconds. She felt her hand get wet; she bit her lip and clenched and pulled at the fabric between her legs; it subsided. Almost scared to look, she rose, the salad bowl forgotten. She was still in pain, she still felt little waves threaten to overpower her, and the wet spot between her legs was now the size of a peach. Nina had to go now. She powerwalked out of the kitchen, through the living room, ignoring the bemused looks of her guests. “Michaelpleasewatchthestewforaminute,” she fired off as she hobbled up the stairs towards the bathroom. The sight of the bathroom door nearly unmade her again. The pain was so intense, she felt herself pushing involuntarily, and then she was peeing full force into her pants. Crossing her legs, she managed to shut off the flow. Nina hobbled into the bathroom, not even bothering to close the door properly. In five seconds, she had her pants down and she was already peeing through her panties. It splattered onto the tiles, but she had the presence of mind to lower her panties and kick the pile of clothes into a corner. Finally, she was on the toilet, gushing. Nina closed her eyes, leaned back, tried and failed to suppress a moan of pleasure. The pain had been so intense, but also lasted for so long that she’d almost gotten used to it. Having it suddenly disappear left her almost as euphoric as a good orgasm. It lasted for well over a minute, maybe two—who’s counting? Eventually, the faucet ran dry with a little pitter-patter of a trickle. Nina opened her eyes, wiped, flushed, then rose, nude from the waist down, to face reality. She picked up the panties. Soaked, of course. It was the jeans that worried her. She picked them up and examined the crotch. On the front, there was a half-moon larger than a peach, a bit smaller than a dinner plate, with a few droplets down the thighs. The back looked about as bad, a big wet patch between the legs, not so wide as in the front, but practically dripping, all the way up the waistband. There were also small trickles down the back of her legs. She’d probably only emptied one-third of her bladder into these pants, but no one who didn’t know the epic struggle and the awesome release would guess she hadn’t had a full-blown accident. What qualifies as an accident, anyway? She mused. Well, time to face the music. Unfortunately, the architects of her house had not considered the very specific needs of a twenty-eight year old woman who’s just peed her pants upstairs and needs to get past her guests to retrieve clean, dry clothes. She’d need to pass through the living room to get to her bedroom, as the upstairs only had the bathroom and a bedroom too small to comfortably house a double bed, so they’d made it into a home office. Nina pulled on her wet clothes and took a few deep breaths. Walked back and splashed some water in her face to hopefully cool the rosiness in her cheeks. Truth be told, she didn’t know if she was blushing because she was embarrassed or just from the intensity of the experience. If it had been just Jacob downstairs, a friend of many years, she would have proudly showed off her accident and laughed and he would only have teased her lightly and never mentioned it again. His new girlfriend, however, was almost a stranger. Oh, well. You’ve made your bed, might as well sleep in it, she thought, and walked downstairs. She cringed as she noted a few droplets she’d left on the way. Courage left her two steps into the living room, and she ran past her guests while mumbling something that vaguely sounded like “gotta check up on the food”. She ducked into the kitchen for appearances’ sake. Michael turned around with a grin on his face, gesturing at the stew which he had obviously managed not to ruin. His grin disappeared as he took in the state of his girlfriend. “Oh my god, you’re soaked,” he whispered. “What happened?” She shrugged. “Series of bad decisions and a bit of bad luck, I suppose.” “You okay?” “Yeah, if Hannah hadn’t been here I wouldn’t sweat it, but I’m sure she saw me like this and that’s a first impression I’d have loved to have avoided.” Nina shrugged again, trying to calm the beating in her chest. It wasn’t so bad, really, but she had to admit it was a bit embarrassing. “She might have, I mean,” Michael gestured at her wet front, “it’s kind of obvious. But don’t worry, she’s really nice, she won’t make a big deal out of it if you don’t.” “Yeah,” Nina said. “Might as well finish up here before I go change.” “What?” Michael said. “You’re gonna cook in pants you’ve pissed in?” He said it a bit louder than necessary. “Just chop a few vegetables and see to it you don’t burn the stew. When you cook, do you cook with your crotch? No wonder it tastes like dick,” Nina said, sticking her tongue out at him. “Ha. Ha,” he said. “But seriously, just tell me what to do and I’ll do it, then you can go get comfortable.” Nina rattled off her instructions the way you might to a five-year-old child. Michael took it in good humor. Then she took a few deep breaths and walked out of the kitchen—she’d have to pass through the living room again to make it to the bedroom. She couldn’t hide, so she just walked out and stood there, letting them take in the disaster downstairs. “Oh my god, you really did it,” Jacob said. “I thought I saw it but this one,” and he nudged Hannah, “said I was seeing things.” “Oh, my, I’m so sorry,” Hannah said, and then she broke into a giggle. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny, I don’t mean to make fun of you but I just can’t deal and when I don’t know what to say I laugh,” she managed to get out between giggles. Nina could see the humor in it. It was certainly silly, her, a grown woman, peeing her pants because she kept making excuses to put off going to the bathroom. She began to laugh as well, better to laugh than to cry, and Jacob joined in. Soon they were all laughing, but Hannah seemed unable to stop. She was shaking with laughter, tears rolling down her face, trying to apologize between waves of giggling. Then suddenly, she held a hand to her mouth and blushed. Nina noted that she glanced quickly down into her lap, and her cheeks were rosy red. That seemed to be the end of her fit, though. “You okay?” Jacob asked. “Y-yeah, I’m fine,” Hannah managed. “Just glad I was able to stop, I’m so sorry, it was funny but not that funny.” “Don’t sweat it,” Nina said. She made her apologies and made her way to the bedroom to change. Dinner was lovely, and no one brought up Nina’s accident again. Hannah complimented the salad, had half a plate of the stew, and several times, she told Nina she shouldn’t have made something extra just for her. She was about as lovely and ordinary as you could have hoped, and she didn’t flinch at all when Jacob and Michael started discussing Michael’s motorcycle restoration project. Perhaps Jacob had been playing it up when he described her passion for the environment: she might care, but she was no fanatic. After dinner, the two men excused themselves to go check out the bike in the garage. Hannah waited until the two of them were out the door before she rose. “Um, this is kind of awkward, but I have a favor to ask,” she said. “Oh?” Nina arced an eyebrow. “Yeah, it’s a bit embarrassing, but earlier, when I had that laughing fit… I’ll just show you. I hope it’s not too weird.” She pulled the chair out from under the table, very carefully. Nina could see a shiny spot, and when she moved closer, it resolved itself into a small puddle, resting in the depression in the chair. “Oh!” Nina said. Hannah was blushing, but Nina put an arm around her. “After what happened to me, that’s nothing, dear,” she said. “It happens sometimes when I laugh too hard,” Hannah confided. “But this is the part that’s a bit weird. Do you think… Do you have something I could borrow? Like, underwear?” “Oh, girl, you only had to ask,” Nina said, stifling a chuckle and guiding Hannah towards the bedroom. Hannah dropped her voice to a stage-whisper. “It’s just, this is our fifth date, and I have a rule about fifth dates… I can’t let Jacob see me like this.” “Oh, feel free to raid my panty drawer,” Nina said, gesturing to a drawer in the wardrobe. “You go get that tiger.” She winked dramatically. It didn’t come across as natural as her friend Danielle’s winks, but it did elicit a little giggle from Hannah. “Just put your underwear in with the dirty clothes in the hamper, I’ll throw ‘em in with my own pee pants and you can collect them later. I’ll leave you to it.” That night, feeling a little naughty, Nina spilled the dirty clothes on the floor instead of throwing them directly into the washer. She spotted a pair of pink panties that didn’t belong to her and picked it up. There was a faded oval on the front, partially dried but still noticeably darker than the rest, and an even bigger one on the back. Damn, that wasn’t just a tiny leak, Nina thought. She shook her head, suddenly self-conscious about holding her friend’s dirty underwear, and threw them in with her own wet clothes. The following morning, she found a text on her phone from Hannah, sent around two in the morning: “Ur a lifesaver. xoxoxo” The thought of what might have transpired last night sent a little shiver down to her crotch. She felt herself flush, and suddenly she was overcome with horniness. She nudged her boyfriend awake and, when he tried to roll over to go back to sleep, she took his hand and placed it on her breasts. That woke him up. She hadn’t peed since her accident last afternoon, and had to go quite urgently. But that could wait. She had other needs that held higher priority. Nina could always wait.
  13. satyr

    Desperate Demon

    Well, if you count one person almost dying and barely escaping eternal torment in the afterlife, and the other person having to abandon everyone and everything she’s ever known and loved forever to go live in another dimension, to not be a sacrifice. I just didn’t heap additional sacrifices on top of that in the prologue.
  14. satyr

    Desperate Demon

    Yes, I did, but I didn't want to spell it out. Here are the hints I put into the story: I think with those hints it doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out what I had in mind, but I didn't want to dwell on it because that's not the story I wanted to tell this time around. However, I do enjoy Amy as a character and this universe as a setting enough that I might return to tell her story at some point in the future. That's just a tease, not a promise! I don't want to promise something I don't know I can deliver. I confess I don't know much about making documents accessible to people who rely on screen readers. I wrote this in LibreOffice and I don't know if that software spits out any more suitable format. I was a bit surprised to see multiple people expect a darker ending, but I'll keep that in mind when writing future stories. Managing reader expectations is an author's job, and you can't really fault readers for reading the tone differently than you intended unless they obviously fail at reading comprehension, which is not the case here, I don't think. I did tell you guys it was going to be a romance, and I had a happy ending in mind all along. While I did have a rough endpoint in mind (the graveyard scene), I didn't plan out all the lore in advance. I have half a mind to write at least one more story set in this universe, although it won't feature these characters in anything but peripheral roles. Last year I wanted to write a Halloween story, but couldn't get it done in time. I can't make any promises, because I tend to alternate between periods of extreme productivity and periods of nearly zero productivity. It's not something that I can just force. But look out for new, possibly darker stories in the future! In the meantime, thank you all for your support!
  15. satyr

    Desperate Demon

    That sequence was a little rushed, but it's too late to edit the post now. (Also, thanks for your support!) I've improved on it a bit in the final edit, however. There is a final edit! I've finished this thing. It took me five months to write. 35.500 words, or 82 manuscript pages. 4/5ths of a short novel or 1/3rd of a longer one. It's finished. Below is the epilogue. But first: I've cleaned up the formatting and made a couple of minor edits, and the best way to read the whole thing is probably via PDF: asha.pdf. I also made an ePub version but the formatting might be a bit wonky: asha.epub. If anyone reading this was on the fence, well, now the whole thing is finished, and it's nicely formatted if you want to read it somewhere other than on the forum. On to the sappy, sopping epilogue! Epilogue: Going to Church “Hey, asshole.” Adam opened his eyes. He was in a hospital bed, a bandage wrapped around his neck, with an IV drip going into his right arm. Judging by the light streaming in through the blinds, it was somewhere between late morning and early afternoon. “I was afraid you were going to die on me. That just wouldn’t do.” Amy was sitting on a chair next to his bed, her face red and puffy around the eyes. “Thanks.” Adam said, not knowing what else to say. “Don’t think just because you saw me naked one time it’s okay for you to flirt or think dirty thoughts about me,” Amy said. “Amy, you know I love you, but you’re like a sister to me,” Adam said. She clenched her fists together and for a moment she looked like she might punch him, but seeing his condition, she unclenched. “Don’t lie to me, Adam. You never saw me like a sister.” He tried to rise, but quickly found his limbs had no strength, so he simply sank back into bed. “Okay,” he sighed. “I’m going to admit something you probably already know. I used to have a big crush on you. But nothing happened between us, so I was happy just being your friend. Sometimes you’d do something irresistibly cute and I’d feel it tug at my heartstrings, but overall I was happy being your friend. That was before I met her. Now, I wouldn’t care if you flashed me, even if you offered.” Amy crossed her arms. “Thanks, dude. Just what a girl wants to hear from her best friend: I used to masturbate to fantasies of you naked, but now I got a girlfriend, so I’m not gonna do that anymore until I become single again.” “Hey,” Adam said, coughing, “that’s not what I said at all. And also, if I did say that, between the herbs and the blood loss and whatever the good doctor put in me, I think I could be excused.” Amy stuck her tongue out at him and winked. He began to laugh, but it hurt his chest, and he doubled over in pain. Amy was there immediately, by his side. “Don’t make me laugh,” he croaked. “We told them you got bit by a mad dog,” Amy said, more serious now. “It was really sketchy there for a while, but they said if you wake up, you’re not in any big danger anymore. I’ve been sitting here for hours waiting for you to open up your eyes.” “Good call,” he said. “Hey, guess whose mausoleum we ended up in?” Amy said. “Who?” “Why, the illustrious Musgrave-Lloyd family.” Adam wracked his brain, trying to make connections through what felt like four layers of cotton and haze. “Lloyd, like that opera?” He didn’t get it. “No, you doofus, not Andrew Lloyd Webber. He’s totally unrelated to them, as far as I can tell. Musgrave. As in, the author of the Daemonic Dictionary.” “Huh. That can’t be a coincidence, can it?” “I’m going to try and find out,” Amy said. “But my research will be strictly limited to books. Any, ah, hands-on experiments, I’ll wisely leave to others.” “He died with no descendants, didn’t he?” “The biography we read only said where and when he was presumed to have died. Said nothing about him having or not having descendants. Or even if there’s any concrete proof that he isn’t still alive.” “You think someone could be still alive after, what, six hundred years?” “Stranger things have happened. I’ve seen stranger things with my own eyes,” Amy said, and Adam couldn’t argue with that. Amy turned to leave. “Hey, Amy, am I really your best friend?” “Don’t let it go to your head.” “Where are you going? Where’s Asha? Amy! Amy, wait!” Amy walked around the corner and left. A terrible realization hit him. Asha might be gone. Contemplating the idea felt like dunking his heart in an ice bath. Of course, she might stay on Earth, but with the binding broken, there would be nothing tethering her to him. Why would she stay with me? I bound her, I hurt her… Then he heard a flush, and a familiar face, a familiar pair of green eyes appeared in the doorway to the adjacent bathroom. “Adam,” she said, a rare look of uncertainty on her face. Her face was freshly cleaned, but there was still some snot dripping from her nose, which she dabbed at with a paper towel, and the whites of her eyes were red. Amy’s eyes might have been red with exhaustion, but there was no doubt Asha had been crying. “I thought you were dead,” she said, at the same time he said, “I thought you were gone.” She took the chair Amy had vacated. “I do not like hospitals,” she announced. There was a strain in her voice he’d never heard before. “Don’t listen to silly doctors. You have to forgive me.” “Forgive you? For what?” She hid her head in her hands, but then she thought better of it. Her tears were all out. She looked him in the eyes. “It was a mercy,” she said at last. “What? What’s going on?” “I thought I killed you,” she said. “Look, it’s like I said: in order to defeat even one hell-hound in this state, bound to you, I needed to take from you so much life, you needed to freely give me so much life, that you ought to be dead. It was a mercy: I know that if the ritual had failed, or if it had sent me back to Hell, I couldn’t have returned that gift of life to you, and you’d be dead long before the hounds or the blood loss got you.” “How could you do that?” Adam asked. “I mean, literally how could you do that. I thought you couldn’t harm me, not seriously?” Asha shook her head. “A loophole. The alternative would have been much worse than death. It was a gamble. I didn’t know if it would work. It’s the sort of stupidity hellknights do in the dumb romances my father never let me read.” “You did read them, though,” Adam said, a smile creeping up on him. “I did. And I didn’t kill you.” “You’re my knight in flaming armor, then.” “Yes,” she said, with not a trace of sarcasm. Adam closed his eyes. Seeing her had revived his spirits, but he was still weak from blood loss and medication and whatever life-draining operation Asha had performed on him. He needed to ask the two most important questions now, before he slipped out of consciousness. “What happened last night? Why are you here, and not where you… belong?” Question one. Asha put her hand over his. “The Rite of Return forced me to make a decision. Or rather, it acknowledged a decision I had already made, perhaps. It sent me to the place where my heart was. Which turned out to be the same place I already was, right there in the graveyard, only free.” Adam opened his eyes. “And will you stay?” Question two. “I don’t think I can ever go back to Hell,” she said. “No, will you stay with me?” “Amy’s offered me to stay at her place for a while.” “Oh,” Adam said, and he couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice. It made sense. Theirs had been a whirlwind romance and they had not spent a moment apart since the affair began. She would want to distance herself from him for a while. Maybe the bond between them had been entirely magical and never emotional.. She squeezed his hand. “Oh, you meant, will I stay together with you, not literally, will I live in your dirty little room in your ugly house,” Asha said. “Of course.” Adam opened his eyes, tried to blink away a tear. “I’m going to go, visiting hours are almost over,” Asha said. “I will be back later. Don’t go anywhere.” As if he could. It was odd, seeing her leave the room while he stayed in it. She didn’t bend over clutching her stomach in agony, she didn’t vomit all over the floor, and there was no tug on that invisible rope that had once connected them. Asha simply strode out of the room and, blowing him a kiss, walked out of sight. Adam closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless slumber. Three days later, he was out of the hospital. At home, he was greeted by Eddie and Ryan. They thrust a pack of aspirin and a beer into his hand. “We weren’t sure if medicine or painkillers were called for,” Eddie said. “So we got you both. If you were expecting flowers, though, go fuck yourself.” Eddie gave him a big, long hug, and Ryan did the same, a little more reserved. Adam put down his coming-home gifts on the table and folded himself down onto the couch. “Thanks, guys,” he said. “I really appreciate it.” “We haven’t seen a whole lot of you lately,” Ryan said. “And then you get yourself into an accident and land in hospital. What happened?” “Got bit by a crazy bitch,” Adam said. “Stray dog?” Eddie asked. “We heard something like that.” “Something like that, yeah,” Adam agreed. “So,” Ryan said. “About what’s been going on with you lately...” Adam had had a good think about what to tell them while he was laid up in his hospital bed. These were his friends, and he’d completely neglected them while all the crazy shit had been going down. He’d settled on telling them a story that was as close to the truth as possible, but also entirely mundane. He didn’t like lying to them, and, he reasoned, if they would never believe the truth, was it not honest enough to give them an allegory that captured everything important but the details? “Look,” he said. “I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you guys. Usually, when I got shit on my mind, I would share it. I’m not fully operational yet but I’ll give you a summary of what’s been going on.” Eddie sat down in a chair facing Adam, nodding his encouragement. “So, I met this girl,” Adam said. “And it turns out she was in a spot of trouble. She didn’t have anywhere to stay and I couldn’t in good conscience throw her out on the street.” “That’s the one I met, right?” Ryan said. “Yeah.” “She’s a looker.” “Oh, she is, and so much more. Anyways, yeah, we had a bit of a thing and then she’s out on the streets, and I let her stay with me. But it turns out this thing was more complicated than I’d bargained for. There were some… family complications, and people were out to get her and hurt her. I got caught up in that and didn’t really know how to focus on anything but the next crisis coming along. Anyway, that stuff’s resolved now. It’s over.” “I hope you went to the police,” Eddie said. “If these people, her family members or whoever, were really out to hurt her.” “It’s been dealt with by the appropriate authorities,” Adam said. “It’s done. No one’s going to hurt her, or me, or you, or anyone else who gets close to her.” “We heard you guys fighting,” Eddie said. “Oh, yeah. We’re a match made in Hell. But fuck me, I fell for her. She’s not getting rid of me and I’m not getting rid of her, so you’ll probably be seeing her around. I found her a place to stay with a female friend of mine until she gets sorted.” “Were you really bitten by a random wild dog?” Ryan asked. “You didn’t fall on some sword or get caught up in some gangsta shit to protect your lady love, did you?” He slapped Adam on the shoulder, a friendly gesture between mates, except Adam was still weak and had to suppress a wince. “It was a mad bitch, like I said. Crazy fucking coincidence. Although truth be told, being laid up in hospital wasn’t so bad. Let me clear my head. Well, once they stopped giving me painkillers, anyways.” “Glad to have you back,” Eddie said. “The moment you’re recovered, you and me are popping some cold ones and shooting some hoops, eh?” “Looking forward to it.” And that was how Adam got back in with his housemates and friends. “I’ve been thinking,” Asha said. It was end of semester, nearly three months after the Rite of Return. They lay curled up together in his bed, staring up at the dirty ceiling. She had her hand on his hip, and he had one arm around her shoulder, and their legs were intertwined. “Your lease is up soon, right?” “Yeah, but Ryan and Eddie are thinking of renewing and I’m probably just gonna be staying on with them. It’s not much, but it’s been home for two years and I could stand to make it three.” “I’ve been thinking we should find a place and move in together,” she said. It was honestly what he’d been longing for, but he didn’t feel like he had any right to ask. They’d been dating all this time, and had navigated that odd state of a relationship were circumstances push you to become very intimate, very fast, and once the dust settles, you have to figure out if you actually like each other or if you just got caught up in a whirlwind romance. They’d found they did. But the fact that Adam, although unintentionally, had forced her into that intimacy still weighed on his mind. He’d resolved not to ask her to make any further commitment to him until she was ready for it. He had no right. Now she was asking the question he’d been burning to ask her for the past month. “Don’t you like living with Amy?” “Love it. But I’d love to live with you more. Also, I think Amy needs her privacy, but she’s too polite to say anything. There’s a side to her that she can’t bring herself to reveal to anyone—not to me, or to you, or to Peter. She needs privacy to live that side of her life until she finds it in her to reveal it to someone she cares for.” Adam didn’t ask her to elaborate. He knew better than to ask. Instead, he said, “I’d love that. Moving in together. If it’s what you want.” “Silly mortal,” she said. It was her pet name for him. Truth be told, they didn’t know if she was mortal or not anymore. She could still make flames dance across her eyes or her fingertips, and Adam suspected there were things she could do still that would terrify him. Asha was still finding her way in this world, and sometimes, she would wake him up, mumbling in distress, and she’d tell him she had a dream of the old country—Hell—and say no more. She’d given up everything she ever knew to be here, with him, and he wasn’t about to forget it. In many ways, she’d taken to mortal life quicker than he’d expected. Asha was technically an illegal immigrant, with no ID, no passport or citizenship, albeit from another dimension rather than a foreign country. But she could be very, very persuasive. Preternaturally so. Soon after she moved in with Amy, Asha got a job as a waitress, and she brought in a lot of tips. Unreasonably high tips. He didn’t ask and she didn’t offer to elaborate on how she swung that. Nor how she procured a bank account with no legal identity. One day, she showed him her new driver’s license, in the name of Asha Pride, with her picture, and his year and date of birth. “Do you even know how to drive a car?” He’d asked. “No,” she’d said, “that’s what’s so fun about it! You get to teach me. On the open road, without a learner’s permit!” “Yeah, I think we’ll start off on a parking lot somewhere.” “Good. I’ll start looking for a car.” “It’s settled, then,” Asha said, pulling him back to the present. “We’re finding a place and moving in together. It’ll be just like old times!” She gave him a peck on his cheek. “Does that mean I have to clean up your piss all the time?” She gave him a look. “Only when we feel like getting naughty. I know you enjoy it,” she cooed. Well, he didn’t exactly enjoy the cleanup, but he did enjoy the part that came before. “Also,” Asha said. “I want you to take me to church on Sunday.” “What? Are you taking up religion? Don’t tell me you’re planning to burn it down.” “None of the above,” she said. “Look, remember the thing that used to happen to me whenever someone invoked the name of the Lord?” Adam shuddered. He could see it in his mind’s eye. Her skin warping and bubbling, as if someone had poured boiling water onto the layer between skin and bone. “That doesn’t happen anymore,” Asha said. “Try it.” “Jesus Christ. God.” He looked over, and she smiled back, her skin perfectly smooth. “Allah. Buddha. Odin. Shiva. Yahweh.” He struggled to recall any other gods or god-like beings he could invoke, but she cut him off. “See? Nothing happened.” She licked her lips. “And so I was thinking, what if one of our friends gets married? Or, Satan forbid, you get in a terrible and utterly unpredictable car accident while teaching me how to drive, which I miraculously survive because I’m me and I’m amazing, and then your next of kin decides on a church funeral?” She fixed her eyes on his, and this time, she was serious. “I want to know that I can walk into a house of worship and when the worshiping is done, both I and the house will still be standing. Not because I like churches, but because maybe there will be an occasion where I’ll want to be there because of the other people I care about that will be there. And I want you to go with me and get me out of there if something goes wrong.” “Okay,” Adam said. It made perfect sense, but it was strange, hearing it from a demon. “You won’t make a scene?” “Not deliberately. I will sit quietly in the back with my hands folded like a good little Catholic schoolgirl. I need you to be my backup in case something unexpected happens. Nobody’s done what I did, what we did, Adam. Just… Walked away from Hell, never looking back. I don’t know much more about how any of it works than you do. In fact, I’m almost certain Amy knows more than either of us.” So it was that they found themselves walking hand-in-hand to Church that Sunday. It was a warm day in early summer, and flowers and trees were blooming. It was almost too beautiful to be true. There were at least eight churches that held Sunday services they could reach on foot or by bus, but he’d picked one within walking distance from Amy and Asha’s place. Not only was the place close by, but it was also the perfect size for their little experiment. Not too big, not too small. Adam wanted to avoid being some of the only people at the service—he wanted them to sit unnoticed in the back, attracting no attention whatsoever, whether anything out of the ordinary happened or not—but he didn’t want it to be so big that, if something did happen, there was sure to be someone filming them with a phone before they could make a discreet getaway. Asha was wearing a plain white dress that went down to her knees, and he was wearing jeans and a button-down, unsure of Church etiquette. Not exactly his Sunday best, but not so shabby as to attract attention either. Adam knew that attendance for regular services had been trending down in recent years, so he reasoned that they wouldn’t be too prissy. Also, wasn’t that Jesus fellow all about taking in the poor and destitute? Hardly seemed right to turn someone away at the door for being under-dressed. They took a seat on a pew near the back. He was happy to see there were about forty people scattered about the first few rows of pews. Enough so that they’d blend in, probably not enough to incite a riot before they could make their escape if they needed to. As the service began, Asha put her hands in her lap, just like she’d promised. But soon, she was squirming, moving about silently but clearly in distress. Adam put a hand on her shoulder and mouthed an “are you okay?” Asha gave him a wicked smile, then spread her legs out and lifted the hem of her dress, giving him a look at her red panties. “I haven’t peed since last night at five,” she whispered. “Deliberately.” “Asha, that’s...” He tried to do the math. “Eighteen hours!” “Forgive me, then,” she said, and grabbed between her legs with both hands. Adam took her hand and removed it. “You can’t do that in a church,” he said, squeezing her hand tight. “But Adam, I might have an accident,” she whispered in her sweetest, most innocent voice. “Do you want me to take you to the bathroom?” “Nooo, I can hold it.” She kept her legs apart and squeezed his hand, and she let her dress ride up frequently to give him a peek, as the preacher droned on and hymns were sung. Towards the end of the service, she stifled a moan, then lifted her dress to show him a little wet spot on her panties. “You better not piss yourself in a church,” Adam hissed, suddenly worried now. “You promised not to make a scene.” “I won’t,” she promised, and gritted her teeth, continuing her hands-off struggle. Finally, the service was over, and Adam caught her hand and dragged her out the door before she could leak any more. She gave an audible moan as he pulled her up, but when he put a hand where she’d sat—still warm—it was dry. The little moan was drowned out by the general din of people rising, dressing, heading down the aisle and out into the sunshine. “You’ve been very naughty,” he said to her as they walked out of the church yard. “Do you disapprove?” She favored him with her most seductive, boner-inducing grin. “What you almost did in there was very disrespectful to those nice little church-goers. I could almost bring myself to be offended on their behalf, almost desecrating their place of holiness like that… If I wasn’t so unbelievably turned on.” They stopped in the shade of a large oak hanging over the fence from the church yard and kissed. When they broke for air, he asked her if she wanted to find a place to go pee. “No, I’d like to hold it,” she said. “But you’re bursting! You already leaked.” “Nobody will see under the dress. You know you love it when I do this. Don’t deny it.” He couldn’t, at that. They took a side road lined on both sides by tall cypress trees and reached a dead end. At the end of a little cul-de-sac sat a very small house with a lovely garden. It was flaky red and looked like it was barely larger than an ordinary one bedroom apartment, but it sat on its own lot, almost hidden behind lovingly tended bushes and trees. A sign on a brown picket fence said “Small house for rent, cheap.” An old woman stood on the porch, and she waved at them. “Oy there! Have you come for the house viewing?” She yelled, favoring them with a gap-toothed smile. “We didn’t,” Adam began. “We were just out for a walk and ended up here. We do happen to be looking for a place, but we were thinking a small apartment. Don’t think we can afford a house.” The woman came down to the end of the garden and opened the gate. “You’ve come to the right place, then,” she said. “How fortuitous. I’m looking to rent this out very cheap. Truth be told, all I want is for someone to take care of the house and the garden. Had a couple coming to see it today but they never showed up. Why don’t you have a look? Lovely young couple like yourselves, I’m sure we can work something out.” He glanced over at Asha. She was squirming, doing a very good job of hiding it, but she was surely on the verge of losing it. She simply nodded. Oh, well. This might be the opportunity of a lifetime, and she could always ask to use the bathroom in the house. “Well, I suppose having a look is free, can’t hurt, right?” The old woman smiled and offered him her hand. “Bethany Musgrave,” she said. “Not of the wealthier and more famous branch of the family, I’m afraid. Pleasure to meet you.” Well, isn’t that a crazy coincidence. “Adam Rogers.” They shook, and then Bethany shook Asha’s hand. She was shaking, no doubt from the effort of keeping herself from overflowing. “Oh, are you nervous, dear?” Bethany asked. “It’s just… This would be our first home together,” Asha said. Her improvisational skills continued to impress. “I can’t believe it’s really happening.” “Ah, young love!” Bethany smiled. “Such a pleasure to see. Don’t worry, dear, before you know it you’ll have a child and a dog and you’re wondering where the years went.” She chuckled. “Come, come. This is the garden. There’s an apple tree, and cherries, and I grow carrots and potatoes in the back, and then there’s a variety of bushes and flowers. I dare say we can work out a deal that will be more than affordable, but there’s one non-negotiable clause. You must keep the garden well maintained. I care little for cutting the grass to a specified height, but the flowers and fruit and berries and vegetables are my pride and joy. I will leave you well alone, but I will be coming by to check up on the garden.” Adam knew nothing of gardening, but if he could rent a house for the price of a tiny apartment, with such a pleasant landlady, and learning to turn his fingers green was the price to pay, he’d pay it. He shot a glance at Asha, and she was doing her very best not to curtsy or cross her legs or betray her desperation. It was adorable and hot and not what he needed to be thinking about now. “Here’s the hall,” Bethany continued. It was small, and by unspoken accord they all removed their shoes, but when they came into the living room, it was larger than he’d have guessed from the outside. “It’s bigger inside than it looks, isn’t it?” Bethany said. The space was entirely empty of non-fixed furniture, but surprisingly spacious, with a large living area and a kitchen nook that had all the necessities, aside from a fridge. “My husband and I lived here for forty years,” Bethany said. “Sadly, these days he’s not so well, so we’re moving to an apartment that’s closer to the hospital and the home nursing unit. That’s why I’m renting this out for cheap. Like I said, I really just want someone to take care of the house and the garden. I don’t see myself ever moving back here, but I can’t just part with it, you know? In a few years, if you take good care of it, I might be ready to part with it for a song and a dance. But for now, I want dependable, young, healthy people to take care of it for me. I want to know it’s still there, still being looked after, which is why I don’t want to sell and give away all my rights to come and slap a backside if the new owner’s lazy with the gardening.” She chuckled. “My husband and I moved out two weeks ago. It’s the first time I’ve been back, and being back almost makes me want to back out, but I’m getting on in years myself. I know between my own age and caring for my husband, I can’t maintain a second home to my liking.” Adam spotted Asha out of the corner of his eye, crossing her legs and bending over. He quickly redirected Bethany’s attention to the back hall, asking about the bedroom and bathroom. The two left Asha behind as Bethany showed him the bedroom, which was more than large enough for two wardrobes and a double bed, and she pointed out a large adjacent storage room which, she said with a wink, might come in handy if they ever found themselves in need of a second bedroom. The bathroom was small, but had all the necessities. Bethany showed him the small basement, which had a few shelves for storage and plumbing set up for a washing machine. All the while, she gently pried him for details of his life. He told her about his studies, about Asha’s job as a waitress. “Any experience gardening?” She asked. “None,” he admitted. “But I’m willing to learn.” She nodded and smiled, as if he’d passed a test he didn’t know he was taking. When they emerged back upstairs, Asha had composed herself. Adam could see her wiping something on the floor with the sole of her sock. Was that a little wet spot? We better wrap this up, because it doesn’t look like she’s going to ask to use the bathroom, and she can’t keep holding it much longer. Bethany walked over to the counter top and picked up a sheaf of papers. “This is a contract,” she said. “I’m willing to sign it right now and hand over the key right now if you are.” “We haven’t spoken about rent,” Adam said. Bethany offered a figure. It was barely more than he currently paid to live with two housemates, and they’d be splitting it between the two of them. “Asha?” “I like it,” Asha said, straining to put on a pleasant smile. “I really like it. What do you say, Adam?” “I’d say we take a good thing when it comes to us. I’m in.” Asha nodded. “We’re in. But are you really sure this is okay? You just met us and you’re handing over the keys, we haven’t even exchanged any money?” Bethany nodded. “This contract is for three months, with an option to extend to three years if both parties are pleased with the arrangement at the end of the summer. Sign here and here, and I’ll expect the money no later than next Friday.” They signed. Bethany dropped a key on the counter top. “It’s all yours. You’ll have to have it copied so you get a key each, and a spare wouldn’t be amiss. I’ll come by next weekend and we can get started on teaching you two how to care for the garden. Do feel free to pick and use anything that’s ripe for the picking. It wouldn’t do to let it rot on the branch or in the ground, now would it?” Adam began to thank her, but she simply shook her head. “The house is yours,” she said. “Make yourselves at home.” And she was gone. “Oh my devil,” Asha said. “I can’t believe it. We just rented a house together.” “I know,” Adam said. Asha crossed her legs and grabbed herself through her dress. “I’m about to lose it! Having to stand there and smile and be pleasant and pretend I’m not about to piss myself was so...” “Terrifying?” Adam offered. “Fucking. Hot.” “Can you walk? There’s a bathroom down the hall...” Asha moaned, and then he could see a trickle emerge beneath the hem of her dress. It spattered on the floor, transparent urine soaking into her sock, but she cut it off. “Oooh,” she moaned. “I needed that, but I still have so much left!” “Do you want to go here, or in the toilet, or…?” “Let’s go outside and see this garden I’ve heard so much about!” She bent down and began removing her socks. As she did so, she turned around and her dress rode up, giving him a good look at her red panties, which had a peach-sized wet spot extending up the contour of her butt crack. As she worked on the socks, her body shook, and another little leak emerged, teasing him as it ran down her thigh, but she managed to regain control. “Nineteen hours,” she said. “It’s gonna be a new record!” Barefoot, she ran out into the garden, and Adam scrambled to follow her. Asha stood beneath a tall tree, shielded from the road. She held her dress up, giving him a good look at her wet underwear. Her lips teasing him through the semitransparent fabric. “I can’t move,” she said, and laughed. Adam walked up, put a hand on her panties, another in her hair, bent her back towards the tree and kissed her deeply. He heard, and felt, the hiss as her dam released. Warm pee trickled over his hand as they kissed in the garden of their new home. It was a fairy tale ending if he’d ever seen one. She shuddered as he began to work her between the legs, still peeing, and before they knew it, his underwear and hers were both off. Leaning on the tree, after, he said, “I love you.” “Love you too.” “We should get married,” Asha said. “Really? Isn’t that a bit soon?” “We just spontaneously rented a house,” she pointed out. “Seems like good things happen to us when we live in the moment.” “Are you proposing to me?” “Maybe I am.” “Well, traditionally, the man would get down on his knee and offer a ring...” “We aren’t a traditional couple, are we, mortal?” “Guess not.” He shrugged. “Will you marry me?” He looked her in the eyes. “Yes.” “Great. We’ll do the civil ceremony, and then a private ceremony on All Hallow’s Eve in the woods. It’s the way of my kind. Amy can officiate.” “Whoa, there,” Adam said. “Amy’s sworn off anything to do with rituals. And you really want to get married in the woods on Halloween, like some spook?” “It’s not a magic ritual. Entirely symbolic. We can even skip the traditional blood-drinking ceremony.” “I think we’ll leave the details for later. And I’m going to insist on a ring, because that’s the way of my kind.” She leaned on his shoulder. “Love you, mortal.” “Love you, my little demon.” The old lady knew the way of the woods behind the house, and she had little trouble making her way unseen and unheard to a spot where she could listen and watch how the young couple would dispose of their new home. She did not avert her eyes at their perverse sexual games, but simply nodded to herself and stored it away in her vast memory for possible future application. Their declarations of love brought a tear to her eye, and the spontaneous engagement was the cherry on top. She popped a homegrown apple into her mouth. Seeing the young couple reminded her of her current husband, now senile and in need of care, but so vital, so lovely and so horny in earlier years. No. It reminded her more of her first husband, before he grew old and died, and before her second, who was crueler but also, like most people, eventually found his way to the eternal sleep with no illicit help from his wife. Yes, she decided. I will let them have their happiness. It pleases me to do one more good thing before I sod off this Earth. Bethany Musgrave threw the core of the apple into her garden—Asha and Adam’s garden, now—and walked off into the woods, humming a nursery rhyme that went out of style a hundred years ago.