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Laurentian_

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About Laurentian_

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  1. This is so awesome P.G.! Thanks for putting so much time and effort into this. It really paid off, and your images all look great! The four panels add a lot as well, making it feel like a mini-comic with a lot more involvement, more fleshed our story. Looking forward to your next art submission already!
  2. Thanks for taking the time to upload these! The variants are an awesome play off of the original and super cute imo. I'm looking forward to your next image!
  3. @P.G. Thank you so much for you reply! What luck that you happened to have exactly the thing I was thinking of already created. I love the scat variant of the image as well, both versions are fantastic in their own right. Thanks for taking the time to include this one in your reply. I totally get where you're coming from regarding scat images in general, and I definitely don't mind them being tacked onto a variant of a peeing scenario, as I love pee desperation and peeing as well. You honestly can't go wrong with either one in my mind. I would definitely love to see a gallery of all the scat variants. Thanks for offering to post them. I look forward to seeing them, as well as whatever new pee scenarios you come up with!
  4. This is some really good stuff! Thanks for posting, I really enjoyed what you've done so far and I hope you'll keep it up! My favorite thus far is definitely the two girls in the woods, with the one shy girl unable to go. That contrast between the two characters is a great dynamic. As far as requests go, I think that one could def. be taken in a hot direction with a scat reinterpretation, but per your guidelines, def. don't do anything your not comfortable with! If that's less agreeable, I think the idea of two girls of differing shynesses could be done in other interesting scenarios, maybe two friends in one of those bathrooms that don't have stalls, with one girl peeing super strongly and the other one sitting next to her but too embarrassed to go. At the end of the day, I'll be excited about whatever new work you put out. Thanks again for contributing to the community!
  5. Hey everyone! Glad you all like the ending. I wanted to provide a few more details on the coming epilogue and bonuses that I briefly mentioned at the end of part 4. With the epilogue, I am planning a final desperation scene with one of our three girls, as it seems that one of them still hasn't used the toilet all day. I imagine she's getting quite full, even if she doesn't want to admit it (such are the perils of being the "cool" one of the group) The other thing I have planned is a full rewrite of the entire story to include another type of desperation, specifically of the #2 variety. I'll be uploading to the forums in another thread, so that those of you who are averse to that type of content won't have to worry about seeing it (it will of course also be tagged thoroughly!). I'm excited for the re-write, as that type of desperation is one of my favorites, but it's one I rarely come across in fiction. So for those of you who similarly enjoy that kind of thing, keep an eye out in the forums. Abigail's got quite a bit to look forward to. Thanks for reading my story! I've never really done much creative writing (beyond the occasional spiced-up email for work haha), so this is all quite new to me. I really appreciate the support and I'm having a lot of fun. Stay tuned!
  6. Chapter 4 - Finale By the time bus pulled into the parking lot of their final destination, Abigail’s legs were a tightened corkscrew. A thin layer of perspiration had gathered at the top of her forehead. Oh my god, it hurts. I need to go. I need to go. I’m going to pee my panties. Three cups of coffee, a large Sprite, and no relief since she’d gotten up that morning and shyly gushed into the bathroom attached to her and Bryn’s dorm room. “Come on girls, let’s get going!” said Bryn. The busload of women was beginning to disembark. Abigail forced herself to stand up and grab the sign she’d decorated earlier. Her bladder cried out in protest. For the past few hours, Abigail had felt like she was starting to fit in with the girls and the movement. Bryn had laughed at some of her jokes and Charli had even felt comfortable enough to tell a really embarrassing story from two weekends ago about how she’d tried to use the bathroom in her roommate’s closet after a night of drinking. Maybe Bryn would invite her last minute to that concert she’d talked about! Maybe she would be the friend drinking with Charli this weekend! But now, with liters of hot piss pressing up against her petite bladder, she felt like a giant fraud. Everyone must see her for what she was, a simpering little girl from prep school, too weak to even make it through a bus ride to a protest, let alone the main event. Couldn’t even use the gas station bathroom, could you? You need your own private, porcelain throne to go potty in, don’t you? You’re a desperate little pee princess who thinks she’s too good for the rest of us. We all have to pee, hold it in. This is bigger than you and your temporary discomfort. In her head, the voices sounded like Bryn, and Brittany, and the loud woman who’d yelled at her in the stall. Abigail’s hand trailed around in between her legs. Her pussy was desperate for a squeeze. Her blonde ringlets softly bobbed up and down as she bounced in place. Outside of the bus, the parking lot was swarming with people, all making their way to the heart of the city. Abigail looked around desperately for some sign of a rest area, but there was nothing in sight, save for a port-a-potty at the very end of the lot. But a line seemed to already have formed around it and the crowd was moving in the opposite direction, so she grit her teeth. They’ll have someone I can go once we’re a little deeper into the city, Abigail thought to herself. They can’t just leave a bunch of bursting women packed like sardines with no place to relieve themselves. Bryn surveyed the crowd, and then with confidence began forging a path, moving with the current of women out of the lot and into the city. Abigail and Charli followed close behind, clutching their protest signs. As they turned the corner, Abigail caught sight of Brittany facing the bus, squatting with her panties around her ankles. Pee had begun to pool around her and trickle away in little rivulets. Abigail had a crazy urge to yank down her designer jeans and release her floodgates right alongside her. She didn’t even mind if Brittany looked. She could stand guard while she did her business, and maybe as a thank you, Abigail could wipe between her legs for her… But the crowd pressed forward and Abigail was swept onward after Bryn and Charli. The sound of pee hitting pavement and Brittany’s sighs of relief faded into the distance as they stepped onto the main streets of the city. God I need the toilet. I need to go. Suddenly, it was a lot more congested. And the crowd had begun to chant. But Abigail couldn’t hear them anymore. Her bladder was straining against the tight confines of her waistband. Her legs had begun to involuntary shake. She didn’t have much longer. I’m going to pee myself! Abigail stopped walking and jammed her hands inside her panties. Tears pooled up at the edges of her eyes. “What the fuck Abigail?” Bryn asked. “Why’d you stop?” “Woah.” Charli looked Abigail up and down, saw her quaking thighs and eyes full of agony. “Do you need to pee?” “Desperately,” Abigail whispered, surprising even herself with the honesty. “Could we, p-please find somewhere I can go?” She said it to the ground. She couldn’t bear to look at Bryn. She was the pathetic little princess Bryn had always thought she’d been. Bryn let out a sigh. “We just got here. Didn’t you piss at the rest stop? “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I can wait a little bit. I can hold it.” Abigail said. “I mean really, two piss breaks in a row! You should be able to hold up for at least another hour.” “I...I…” Abigail trailed off. She hated talking about how often she went. But a wet spot was forming in her panties where pee had begun to escape. “What?!” Bryn demanded. “I haven’t gone since I woke up.” Abigail said, a few tears silently falling down her face. She wiped them away quickly, before jamming the hand back between her leg. “That’s it, we’re finding you a bathroom,” said Charli. She grabbed Abigail’s free hand and began to lead her through the crowd. “We’ve got a bladder emergency!” They pushed and shoved their forward, and in the distance, Abigail spied a clump of port-a-potties. They pushed forward. The entire area was packed with women. There was no semblance of a line, just desperate protesters pressing forward and jumping into a door whenever it swung open. There were about three port-a-potties, and about eighty women. “Excuse me, we’ve got a girl on the brink of pissing herself!” Charli said, tugging Abigail forward. “We’ve all got to piss, yelled someone back. “Do you think you can hold it for a little bit?” Charli asked? Abigail squeezed her legs as tight as possible. “I’m barely holding on,” she whispered. Bryn looked embarrassed. “I’m really sorry Abby,” she said softly. “I didn’t know how bad it was.” One of the women standing in the throng beside them spoke up. “Honey, you should just go in a cup. Seriously. We’ve all done it.” “Anybody got anything we can use?” Charli asked. From the crowd, somebody produced a plastic shopping bag and passed it along. “Abby, can you use this?” Charli asked. The women around them looked on sympathetically. “We can form a circle around you for privacy,” the woman with the cup suggestion said. She linked arms with Charli and Bryn and a couple of other nearby women. They all stood with their backs facing her. Charli turned around to hand her the bag. “You’ve got this girl,” she said with an encouraging smile. Then she turned back around. Abigail stood in the midst of the circle clutching the bag. Outside, hundreds of thousands of women pulsed and shouted and squirmed. She couldn’t do it. Not here, in front of all these people. In a plastic bag. But she could not stand to walk around in pee-soaked jeans for the next eight hours. Abigail Shearman could not have an accident. Princesses don’t pee their panties. Abigail tugged her jeans down. Then, she slid off her tight pink panties and let them fall to the street. She squatted down, a handle of the plastic bag in each hand. She held it under her quivering pussy. For a moment, she was struck once again with pee-shyness. All these women were sitting around waiting for her, they were probably tired of waiting. And they would hear her desperate release! She closed her eyes. Then another, more powerful feeling washed over her, the utter biological necessity to empty her stretched out bladder with it’s rolling yellow ocean. With a gasp, a hot spurt of pee shot into the bag. Abigail cried out softly. Her curvy ass squat in the air over a shopping back, her little red lips pursed, her beautiful blonde curls thrown back. Her body tensed, and piss began to gush from her lips. The golden liquid hissed as it struck the plastic, and the bag quickly began to fill with cups of her pent-up piss. Abigail’s cheeks burned red, but a smile of relief had also crept onto her face. She continued to go, her bladder slowly relaxing as she released its terrible contents. When she was finished, the bag was almost halfway full with a yellow liquid that anyone would have known was pee. Damn coffee dehydrates at the same time it fills you up. If it was clear at least the fact that it's...my pee...wouldn't be so in everyone's face. But, I guess at this point... Abigail laughed a bit. She tied up the bag with a knot and admired its contents for a second. Then she pulled up her pants. “All finished,” she said, her cheeks even redder than before. The circle laughed and also cheered a little for her. “Damn Abigail! You filled that thing up!” Charli said. “Nice work.” “Good stuff,” Bryn said, giving Abigail a small smile. “That’s how you do a protest. Now, how about we get back to the chanting? Though I’m sure we’ll be hearing from you in the next five minutes too, won’t we Charli?” Charli laughed. “Definitely. But as long as we got plastic bags, we’ll be good right?” Abigail laughed too. “It's not as fun as it looks.” She looked around. "Shall we get going?" “Maybe you should throw away that bag first,” said Bryn. “Oh, right.” Abigail looked around a spotted a trash can. She pushed her way through the crowd, bag in hand. With a smile and a flourish, she tossed it in, making eye contact with the protesters standing around the can. *There will be an epilogue & bonuses to come in the future - stay tuned for details! The adventures of Abigail Shearman are far from over.
  7. Chapter three is here - sorry for the wait! Work has been ridiculous, but I found some time to finish the chapter today. Hope you all enjoy! Chapter 3 The next forty or so minutes seemed to take forever, but finally the bus pulled off of the highway and merged into the parking lot of a rest area. Brittany stood up immediately, one of her hands jammed between her thick legs. “I’m on the brink,” she told Jason. “I need to get to a toilet now!” “Can you hold it for a few minutes?” “I don’t know,” she said. She leaned into Jason’s ear. “I already leaked a little into my panties.” The bus came to a stop and the driver opened up the doors. “Please, I really need to pee!” Brittany said as she pushed her way from the very back of the bus to the front of the aisle. Abigail watched her big denimed ass swing from side to side as she squeezed her way through the tight rows. She thought she could make out a small dark spot, but perhaps it was just her imagination. “Sorry, I really need to get to the toilets!” Brittany said as she pushed in front of a woman who was trying to get out. “You’re not the only one who needs to piss!” yelled a women near the back of the bus, but Brittany was already jumping out the door. The woman in question had jet black hair and even darker eye makeup than Brittany. She wore a tight black camisole that revealed more breasts than Abigail was typically comfortable looking at. Too much fucking orange juice, Abigail heard her muttering to herself. The woman’s whole look was kind of gross to Abigail, too much makeup, too dark and gloomy. But yet there was something about her that lent itself to fantasizing: the all black clothing and hair, counterculture, telltale signs of a former goth. Abigail imagined what she must have been like in college, black lipstick and pale skin, alienated from social life on campus. There was just something about the idea of an unpopular girl getting bullied. Looked down on by all the pretty girls who saw her. Nothing but self-loathing shame. Mocked all the time. Maybe even mocked whenever she had to do the unspeakable, whenever she absolutely had to answer nature’s call. When everyone could tell she was squirming through her tacky ripped jeans. Ducking desperately into bathrooms when she thought no one was around in order to do her bursting business, a filthy little outcast. Maybe almost crying when she found one of them already waiting for her in the toilets, sitting on the sink with an evil grin on her face. Maybe even struggling, arms held behind her back by a throng of preppy girls who suddenly rushed into the bathroom, forcing her to use her panties, laughing while she desperately struggled against their grip, trying everything not to piss her black lace, her too-tight spandex… What the fuck. Abigail caught herself mid-thought. Bathroom anxiety had a funny way of manifesting itself. What's gotten into me today? She gave a final glance to the squirming woman with the jet black hair. What the fuck... –––––– Brittany was the first person to get inside the bathroom from the bus. The rest area had two stalls, both of which were available. The only problem was that the stalls were much tinier than she was used to. She shuffled into the first one, and found that it was accompanied with a toilet that was much to small for her as well. She yanked down her jean shorts and her expansive panties, and then set herself to the task of fitting her enormous ass onto the tiny, cheap plastic toilet seat. She plopped down and her sizable bottom spilled off the sides. She shifted around, desperate to get comfortable in the cramped quarters of the stall. The plastic seat shifted around, a screw was loose, or else her bottom snapped the hinge. She would have to make do. Her bladder was a swollen water balloon of piss. Whenever she had to go this badly, she would always remember her time as a freshman back at her small Midwestern college, back when she would down gallons of cheap beer at the Delta frat house, where the only bathroom was a gross, piss-covered set of stalls in the basement, where the line of young, bursting women always extended out the door, bladders pushed to capacity with boxed wine and gas station beer. She would stay on the dance floor, grinding up against whoever was there with her massive ass until she absolutely couldn’t hold it anymore. She couldn't wait for the line. So she went behind the house, squatting in an alley next to whoever was smoking cigarettes and lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. Those had been difficult holds. But right here, in the rest stop bathroom, this might have been worse. In an instant, pee gushed out of her, liters of iced-tea liquid built up over the two hours on the bus. The bathroom echoed with the sound of her pee hitting the water. Brittany heard the bathroom door swing open, followed by the quick, high-strung steps that could only belong to a Type A woman on a strict bladder schedule that demanded utter restraint. The type of women who held it for hours on end up until the designated time, a bladder that demanded immediately relief as soon she reached her 5 minute block scheduled as a “Serenity Break” in her phone calendar. The kind of woman who would sit legs crossed with perfect grace in her cubicle, obsessive and determined to master her body, waiting for the telltale beep from her phone to signal that at last it was time for her allotted relief. A wealthy business woman who still participated in protest, a remnant of her college days. At least, that’s what Brittany got from the fast, hard footsteps of the women in question. The stall door opened and slammed shut, followed by a powerful stream. No sighs from the Type A, but Brittany could imagine the relief spread across her uptight face. The door to the bathroom swung open again, and again, and suddenly it was filled with skinny-jeaned double-crossed legs, a busload of punks who despite their rebellious spirit could not avoid the physics of small bladders and large coffees. Charli was among them, red hair bobbing up and down with her body. There were shuffling legs. And tapping shoes. Frantic little taps, occasionally punctuated by a little moan. Then the knocking on the stall doors began. “I’m almost done, don’t rush me!” Brittany called out, as her stream continued full-force. “I’ve really gotta go, please hurry, I really don’t wanna wet myself!” The rest of the cramped bathroom called out in agreement. –––––––– Bryn waited outside the rest area, propped up against the wall with a lit Parliament in between her fingertips, her bleach blonde hair set off against her black leather pants and jacket. If she needed a toilet, it was obvious to no one. Meanwhile, Abigail saw the droves of women heading to the bathroom and resolved to stick to her plan. Crossing her legs, she grabbed a soft pretzel from the counter. But she was feeling unusually hungry, and decided to grab a large hotdog as well. There was a sign that read Weekend Special, Large Fries FREE With Every Hotdog Purchase, so she grabbed one of those as well. “Want a drink with all that food? All that salt’s gonna make you thirsty”, remarked the check-out girl. The idea of another drop of liquid entering her already bursting bladder made Abigail squirm. But the coffee had dehydrated her. Plus she didn’t want to have to whine about being thirsty once she got to the protest, that wasn’t much better than needing a potty break. “Yeah, that sounds good.” Abigail replied. “Can I get a Sprite?” “Sure. Upgrade to large for only a quarter more?” “Sounds like a good deal to me.” The check-out girl filled up Abigail’s drink, which was larger than she had imagined, and swiped her credit card. Abigail immediately sunk her teeth into the pretzel, and walked over to the candy aisle right beside the bathrooms. She began sneaking glances out of the corner of her eye whenever the door swung open, trying to gauge how long they’d have. Bryn called over to her. “That food looks good. I think I’m gonna follow your lead.” “You should!” Abigail told her. She watched Bryn walk up to the counter and order the same thing. Even her walk looks cooler than me. How the fuck to some girls do that. There was a line outside the bathroom door, and every so often it swung open, so that Abigail could see the two occupied stalls and the crossed legs waiting on the other side of them. Slowly, women began to emerge from the bathroom, with looks of relief spread across their face. Apparently she had not been the only one who’d overhydrated that morning. But after a solid ten minutes, the line had disappeared into the bathroom. The desperate knocking and urging of the women in line had picked up the pace, with women peeing as quickly as possible to avoid the anger of the desperate women who were waiting. The busdriver stuck his head in the door of the rest area. “Five minutes till we ship out.” It was now or never. Abigail ducked into the bathroom and found that there was only one girl in front of her. Thank goodness. The first stall opened and the girl shot in. Then, the sound of a flush. The other stall opened up, and before she knew it she was on the toilet with her jeans around her legs and her panties down. I’ve gotta go so badly. Please please let me pee. Abigail concentrated as hard as she could. She tried to imagine she was in a quiet bathroom all alone. There was a faucet dripping in the bathroom from a girl who hadn’t tightened the handles all the way. She focused on the drip, drip, drip, the pressure in her bladder mounting… The door swung open. Within seconds, there was a pounding on both of the stalls. “I’ve been drinking all morning and I’m about to explode, one of you better get the fuck out of there so I can piss!” From the other stall, a weak voice replied, “Sorry I’m feeling super light headed from the drive. I don’t wanna leave the toilet until I absolutely have to.” The pounding shifted completely to Abigail’s door. “Hey you! What’s the hold up? I just downed two Millers in the parking lot. I've gotta go NOW.” Abigail didn’t know what to say. Her bladder was screaming for release, but nothing was happening. “The bus is about to leave! I’m on the verge of an explosion here, get the FUCK out of there!” Abigail jumped and yanked up her pants. She unlocked the stall and the women pushed her out of the way. The woman sat down without closing the door and immediately began to gush. Abigail practically sprinted out of the bathroom. Her heart was racing. She hadn’t ever been yelled at like that by someone in public, much less, never, in regards to… She found her seat beside Bryn and Charli. If they said something to her she didn’t notice. Within minutes, everyone was on the bus and they were back on the highway. But Abigail didn’t even register the bus pulling out of the parking lot. Her mind was filled with sound of pounding knocks and shaking metal partitions that sounded like they might collapse with one more good hit. “Are you alright?” Charli asked. Abigail snapped back to reality. Charli sounded like she’d already asked the question once before. “Yeah I’m fine sorry!” she quickly replied. “I totally just blanked out there for a second. Not enough sleep I guess!” Charli and Bryn didn’t look convinced, but neither girl said anything. Abigail breathed a sigh of relief. But this was followed by a sharp jolt in her bladder, reminding her of the urgent matter of business she had failed to attend to. It was impossible to ignore at this point. Every passing thought brought her back to pee. Every billboard advertisement mocked her with the thought of a clean, single stall bathroom. She needed to a potty desperately. Two more hours. I can make two more hours, Abigail thought to herself. A passing billboard showed a woman downing a bubbly Coke. Abigail shut her eyes and pressed her legs together. End of Part 3
  8. I found it! http://www.geocities.jp/koji0808koji/NTirasuto48.html Additionally, here is a link to the site with potential additional content (I haven't explored it yet) http://www.geocities.jp/koji0808koji/Okubyounatoirenohanakosan.html Use google translate and you'll be set!
  9. This was absolutely fantastic. Thank you so much for the detail you put into this, and for satisfying my always-growing desire to see the Twelve Fanatics girls in a poop desperation scenario (all the more so given the fact that poop desperation stories are few and far between, especially well-written ones. There's poop content that exists in the world, but very little that focuses on the desperation aspect, which I think is way better). Also, I thought the sort of "medieval" ways in which you described pooping were super cute, like the dragon leavings for instance. Please write more stuff like this, you're fantastic! - Also I don't know about everyone else, but Hecate desperation is where it's at. Her whole princess temperament mixed with shyness is always fun.
  10. Chapter 2 After about an hour spent on the highway, three things became abundantly clear to Abigail: Number One: Bryn was even cooler than she had imagined. Charli brought out of her all sorts of stuff that would never have come up around Abigail. It turned out that this was Bryn’s third protest of the month, and it was to be followed up by a Titus Andronicus concert tomorrow, which according to Charli was the punk-rock- indie outfit to go to see that week. Apparently the fifth song off the album Monitor was an absolute jam the last time they played it live. Abigail pictured Bryn’s curves squeezed into a tight pair of leather pants and a ripped up band tee, bouncing up and down as she danced around in the pit. She promptly chastised herself for allowing her thoughts wander there. Number Two: This protest was not going to be the usual college chant-for-a-few minutes-then-grab-pizza sort of meet-up. About 100,000 women were expected to filter into the city that was equipped to satisfy a population around half that size. The city had been prepping all week trying to get ready, designating walkways with road barricades and installing a few port-a-potties throughout the downtown area. However, the night before city officials had put out the PSA that they were way in over their heads, so protestors should prepare for a bit of chaos. No amount of preparation could accommodate the sheer numbers they were about to deal with. Number Three: Abigail Shearman needed a potty break. Badly. The coffee had hit her bladder, and it had gotten too uncomfortable to ignore. But Bryn and Charli were right next to her, so she placed her hands on her lap and clamped her legs together. This attempt at nonchalance lent itself to an unnaturally stiff pose. She looked like a statue, or an extremely uptight librarian. “Loosen up Princess,” Bryn said when she noticed Abigail's tightly composed frame. “This isn’t a debutante ball, no one’s gonna tell on you for bad posture.” Abigail forced a laugh and tried to loosen her posture without pulling her legs apart. “Ooh man, is this bus gonna stop anytime soon? Because I seriously need to tinkle”, a woman in the row ahead of them turned and said to a man that looked to be her boyfriend. The woman must have been in her early twenties. She had sea-green hair and wore plastic-rimmed glasses and dark eyeliner, a slightly chubby woman with the kind of stomach that poked out of her Death Note graphic tee and sat just over the the lining of her jean shorts, the kind of ass that stretched to the fullest extent the denim would allow. This is the way shorts are supposed to be worn thought Abigail in the more secret parts of her mind that lay beyond the impossible body standard that had been commonplace at Westover. The woman had also admitted her predicament with the cutesy awkwardness that accompanies women whose more conventional sensibilities prevent them from announcing their needs with direct, harsh phrases of “I need to take a piss”, the kind of girls who dance around the subject for a full minute before announcing their need to freshen up, only for them to release hours of pent-up jets of pee they’ve been holding in tightly for hours, their bladders swollen and pressed against the panties. Or maybe Abigail was just projecting. This woman, after all, had announced her need in public, something she would never have done. The green-haired woman bobbed up and down in her seat. “You shouldn’t have sucked down that bottle of sweet tea Brittany, you know how quick that hits you,” the man said back to her. “You know I can’t help it Ned. I’m a sucker for Lipton. But baby I’m serious, my bladder feels like a balloon. Can you ask the bus-driver to stop?” Brittany said, her voice hitting a small whine. “Can you hold it for another forty-five minutes?” Ned asked. “We’re supposed to be scheduled for a rest stop half-way through the journey.” “I guess so. But if there’s a long line once we stop I’m going potty in the sink.” Abigail turned her head towards the window in embarrassment. She hoped they hadn’t noticed her listening. She tried not to picture the woman with her enormous ass squatting over the bathrooms sink, trying her best to balance as she released a powerful stream of piss, her head tilted back in relief. She tried not to picture it, but to no avail. Oh wow, I really needed to tinkle, said the imagined Brittany, her green hair falling around her cute face as she made eye-contact with imagined Abigail. The thought was so vivid it made Abigail’s need even worse. “Thank god there's going to be a rest-stop, I could really use another bathroom break,” said Charli. “It’s been an hour!” Bryn said with a laugh. “You better get it all out of your system, because I’m coming to march, not to wait in line at the port-a-potties all afternoon while you empty your tiny bladder. You're gonna have hold it or piss in the grass.” “Shut up Bryn,” said Charli. “We can’t all have big strong bladders like you. Or have the coffee-drinking abilities of Abigail.” Charli turned towards her. “You were pounding back coffee like a champ and you only need one toilet break. What’s your secret?” “Uh, I don’t know, I guess I just drink so much of it all the time, you know? No effect.” Perhaps saying so would convince her bladder it was true. No such luck. “Well then I’ve got first dibs on those toilets when we get there" Charlie said. Nature’s call has now started to yell at me.” Abigail contemplated what she was going to do about the toilet situation. The bathrooms were going to be public. It wasn’t like she couldn’t use them, if things got bad enough. It was just…harder. All those people would hear her peeing, and it was definitely not going to be a couple of cute little spurts. This put-together princess had to piss like a racehorse. Abigail concentrated. I need a plan. Maybe she could get something to eat first, and then go in after those who needed the toilets were done using them. Then the toilets would be all hers. That was a good plan. She only had to wait forty-five more minutes. With renewed resolve, she attempted to distract herself with some conversation with Bryn. That was what this was all about anyways, making some friends. She forced herself to engage, and tried to ignore the sound of a desperate Brittany reminder her boyfriend how badly she needed to pee, tried not to picture her thighs jiggling up and down, her hands pressed between them, tried not to imagine a few drops of pee spreading onto a pair of extra-large Hot Topic panties. To Abigail's right, Charli squirmed in her seat, her red hair beginning to match a rising color in her cheeks, though she kept smiling and laughing and giving Bryn shit back whenever she got teased. It was nice to know she wasn't the only one. Her bladder on the other hand, did not need these reminders. Forty-five more minutes. Abigail Shearman crossed her legs and waited. End of Part 2
  11. Ah thank you both for sharing this additional content! I'm especially looking forward to checking out all of the stuff you've got in your group @Foxlover, thanks for pointing me towards it. The above drawing but with even more desperation than its already got sounds fantastic.
  12. Apologies if this has been posted on here before, but I stumbled across this image a couple of months ago and thought I'd share. An enjoyable, over-the-top desperation scene with some great facial expressions. Unsure of who the artist is, but absolutely sure that I love a good port-a-potty scenario, desperation or otherwise. Anyone feel similarly?
  13. This story is inspired by a true account I once read about a women who really needed to use the bathroom while at a protest. In this first chapter, I set the stage for further desperation to come, as Abigail Shearman ventures into a crowded city for her debut in collegiate activism. Incidentally, this is also my debut desperation fiction for this website, so I hope you all enjoy! Abigail Shearman and the Protest Potty Chapter 1 Abigail Shearman never considered herself political. She was the type of girl whose soft-brown curls and bright green eyes and prim little nose people would expect to see in a Casely-Haylford clothing advertisement, or plastered on a brochure for a New England boarding school. But people’s assessments, as it turns out, usually tended to be fair, because Abigail Shearman was exactly that type of girl. With a mother in orthopedics, and a father in investment banking, Abigail had spent her high-school years boarding at the Westover School. She’d spent four years under the austere rules of the headmaster, adhering to strict uniforms, study hours, and limited visitation with the opposite sex (dates at Westover were rare, but when they happened, they were with the men of Warburtons’ the partner school down the road). But it had all paid off. Abigail had gotten into Oberlin. Her parents hadn’t wanted her to move away from Massachusetts, preferring that she attend Boston University, but she had been insistent. And now here she was, a month into the semester, painting protest signs in the dorm room with her roommate Bryn and one of Bryn’s friends, a sophomore named Charli with bright strawberry hair. Truth be told, the first couple of weeks of university had been rough for Abigail. Given that Oberlin was the oldest coeducational liberal arts college in the country, she hadn’t expected much of a transition. The classrooms would still be held in gothic buildings, the weather would still call for merino sweaters in University colors. But despite these similarities, Abigail had found that any mention of her alma mater brought immediate derision from her classmates. She’d gotten more than a few stares when she wore her Christopher Kane ensemble with the Westover insignia to the dining hall. And another girl had audibly scoffed when she mentioned offhand that one of their Biology TA’s reminded her of a prefect she’d hated. Then there was Bryn. With the pink streak in her bleach blonde hair. With the bangs she’d obviously cut herself with a spare pair of scissors (probably rusty). With the small septum ring that ran a perfect metallic circle through her nose. During move-in, when one of the movers she'd hired was hauling in a box full of dresses, Bryn had thrown the name Princess right at her. As in, "Hey Princess, want to head down to the dining hall? No dress-up required." It wasn't said with a particularly mean-spirited tone, and after that, Bryn had treated her nicely enough. But Abigail knew she had to be judging her, she just knew it. This self-conscious fear shot through her every time she typed away on her brand-new laptop. It ran down her spine whenever she picked out a pair of pumps from her dorm closet. So when Bryn had asked her if she wanted to come with her to the protest in a nearby city, she jumped at the chance. And now here she was, awake around 7:30 in the morning on a Saturday, prepping for a protest. All of the girls were finishing up the signs they had started painting the night before. Charli had brought a pourable box of coffee from the campus Dunkin Donuts around 7:00. Abigail had poured herself a cup and took appreciative gulps to wake herself up. She’d developed a bit of a bad caffeine habit during her Westover days as a result of many late night assignments, so a.m. sleepiness was more of an excuse than anything else. The girls had been working non-stop for the past thirty minutes, with Bryn and Charli discussing the trip as Abigail stared longingly at their signs. Bryn’s said, in bright pink glitter block letters, “I’m Too Clumsy to Be Around Fragile Masculinity!” The protest was a women's march in response to a corporate executive firing around twenty women from a national headquarters after it was revealed that they were a part of a secret group chat that was used to mock leading members of the board. What had been intended as a harmless joke had resulted in the termination of twenty careers. The protest had snowballed into hundreds nationwide, so Bryn had picked the city with a march that was closest to the college. They were scheduled to take a bus into the city at 8:00. Abigail hadn’t ridden the Greyhound before, but when Bryn told everyone it was time to go, she drained the last of her now thrice-emptied coffee cup, grabbed her sign which read in a neat marker cursive, “Free Speech, Fragile Egos” (she’d looked up “cool protest slogans for posters" on the internet the night before after Bryn had gone to sleep) and began the trudge through the autumn morning to the campus bus-stop. The girls got to the bus-stop around 7:45 a.m. Abigail tucked her sign under her arm and scanned the nearby buildings. She could already feel the first twinges of coffee, the type of discomfort she was at the moment too embarrassed to name, even in her head. The bus ride was supposed to be four hours long. She scanned the area surrounding the bus-stop. She could run into the nearby academic building and search for the toilets. But what if the bus was late? She might hold everyone up, and then Bryn would regret ever inviting her. Or worse, they’d leave without her and her one shot at some semblance of friendship on campus would be ruined. She decided she would be fine staying where she was. Post-coffee twinges weren’t important enough to be addressed. After all, she told herself, she wasn’t a high-maintenance princess. She was an Oberlin student, a protestor, dare she even say it, an activist! Taking a toilet break at every little discomfort wouldn't be very counter-culture. She clutched her sign and stood tall in firm resolve. About ten minutes later, she snuck another glance at the building. But it was now 7:55 a.m. The bus would be arriving in five minutes. If she couldn’t go then, she definitely couldn’t go now. At 8:05 a.m., the bus still wasn’t there. The lack of punctuality annoyed Abigail almost as much as the twinges, which seemed to press with just a bit more intensity when coupled with the knowledge that she could have gotten relief by now. “I’m sure it will be here in a minute or so,” Bryn said. “I’m just going to run into that building for a second while we wait for it then,” Charli said as she took off on a light jog towards the building. “Coffee went straight through me!” “You’re so lame!” Bryn said with a laugh. “Can’t even hold down a kid-sized cup of coffee. Your body’s gonna put you out of commission long before the police can take the march down.” “What can I say, god blessed me with a big ass and cursed me with a small bladder,” Charli yelled over her shoulder as she ran towards the building’s front entrance. Abigail stared longingly after Charli as the doors closed behind her. She considered following after. But the thought of getting teased by Bryn the way Charli had been made her burn with shame. She gave her legs a little cross, and tried to concentrate on the bus-stop. Instead her mind turned towards the three cups of coffee that she had pounded down with such eagerness over the last hour. She imagined it draining down, filling her up drop by drop until it there was a liter of liquid sloshing around inside her, pushing up against the tight band of her new Paige and Givenchy jeans… “I’m gonna go, I better, um, I better check up with Charli,” Abigail told Bryn. She placed her sign on the ground by her feet. She then turned towards the building and half-walked, half-jogged her way over in an effort to be casual. For all Bryn knew, she just wanted to make sure Charli was on time and to grab a drink of water from the fountains. She went inside and then gave the hallways a quick back and forth. In the corner, there it was, a Ladies room. Thank goodness. She pushed her way inside and entered the empty of the two stalls. She could hear Charli wiping in the stall next to her. Abigail pulled down jeans and pink panties and sat down on the cool porcelain of the toilet. She tried to concentrate on the task at hand. She waited patiently for Charli to pull her pants up, flush, and exit the stall. The idea of her sitting next to her, hearing her, made her blush. During her time at Westover, she would start her mornings an hour earlier than all the other girls just so she could relieve herself in peace. The idea of other girls knowing what she was doing, imagining her in the act, picturing her body squatting on the seat, seeing her panties around her ankles: the whole thing made it so hard for her to go. So when Charli finally finished washing her hands and the door swung shut behind her, Abigail breathed a nervous sigh of relief. The bathroom was empty but she had to be quick, the bus could be there any second. Please, please, let me go, she silently willed her bladder. She tapped her feet up and down and tried to re-imagine the sound of running water pouring from the sink. A little spurt shot out, followed by a small little stream, she’d gotten it started, it would be okay…. The door to the bathroom burst open and Abigail’s little stream came to an immediate halt. “Abigail, is that you in there? Come on, finish up! The bus is leaving!” The sound of Bryn’s voice had Abigail to her feet, pants and panties pulled up, in a matter of seconds. “Sorry I’m totally ready let’s go! I’m so sorry!” Abigail ran out of the bathroom and out of the building, on the tail of a now-sprinting Bryn. Charli stood at the entrance of the bus, holding all of their signs and telling to the bus driver to wait for just a minute longer. They caught the bus just in time. They filed their way to the back of the bus towards a three person seat in the very back of the bus. Abigail face was bright red. She tried not to make eye contact with the rows of faces, people she’d kept waiting. People she’d held up by using the bathroom. She sat down to the right of Abigail and turned towards the window, pretending to be interested in the gray, now-empty bus stop. Then the bus lurched forward and they were on their way. By the time they had merged onto the highway, the initial shock of Abigail’s embarrassment had faded away a bit, and she began to talk to Bryn and Charli about the march to come. But with her thoughts no longer dominated by shame, they returned to the initial source of the problem. This was a four hour bus trip. Abigail gave her legs a tight squeeze and tried not to think about those three cups of coffee. But it was more than a twinge now. However, Abigail Shearman wasn’t about to make two scenes in one day. She wasn’t going to fulfill any more high-maintenance Westover stereotypes. She was uncomfortable. But for now, she was in control. She glanced at her watch, then glanced at the long expanse of highway ahead. With a quick cross of her legs, she turned her mind towards the march ahead. End of Part 1
  14. This might not be on the level of some of the others intensity-wise, but video is notable for both a cute dress and the fact that the woman in question comments on how her pee bulge. https://www.xnxx.com/video-jnd0tb5/sophia_smith_ballgown_pee
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