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astralis

Soaked Member
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Everything posted by astralis

  1. Nah. The nice thing about desperation (at least the way I'm into it) is that at its core, it's a very basic biological need. Everyone pees. Every day. The simplest look at this fetish is that it's enjoying watching/listening to a person peeing. There will never not be opportunities to do that. Also, everyone gets desperate to pee at some point in their lives, even if they aren't into it sexually. So there are unlimited opportunities for that as well.
  2. Like other people in this thread have said I'm sure you can train your bladder to hold more like any other muscle. You'd probably have to pace yourself and be patient because I'm sure you could do damage to your kidneys or bladder if you pushed too hard, but that's also like all the other muscles in your body. The longest I've ever pissed was a little bit over two minutes, but usually when I do casual holds around the house I go for about a minute and fifteen seconds.
  3. I mean, technically isn't everyone on this site a content creator, though? Unless you're a lurker who never posts, you're making omo content every time you write about a personal experience or a fictional story, or putting up a video, whatever.
  4. I don't leak, but tbh if I was that desperate I'd probably just see if I could get into the men's room. I still absolutely would not cut in line. I'd rather get my dad to guard the door for me than face some angry woman glaring at me, lol.
  5. Definitely would stand and hold it in line and wriggle for all I was worth before I'd cut. It's rude, and also for me personally it would be so, so much more embarrassing than just doing a little potty dance. I can't even imagine drawing that much attention to myself lol.
  6. efjsdfkjf "Paulson's such a dumbass.... well, he's dumb, but his ass sure isn't.... I mean what- I mean - he's just so sexy- I mean- I have to go do guard things now. Like a guard. Because that's what I am." *yeets into the stratosphere*
  7. I am WEAK, okay. I am absolutely on the FLOOR right now, and you will have to scrape my insides up with a fucking shovel. Also it's cute how Bryce was nice enough to make a kind of STP prosthetic for Elizabeth!!! Awww. Tbh before reading your stuff I had no idea those existed so I felt super smart when he made it and explained it to her and I realized what was going on lol.
  8. I literally can't remember, which is so weird... must've been at least eight or nine years ago though since I've known the term omorashi for about that long. Probably I found it through the omo tag on Tumblr back when it was still super active in the mid-2010s before the NSFW purge.
  9. Probably a combination of touch and sight; the feeling of an overstrained swollen bladder and the way it pushes down on the urethra, and of course the feeling of finally getting to piss after holding for hours. And the sight of someone in a video letting go after stumbling around frantically, clutching themselves, and then the release of urine darkening their jeans, or the sight of the stream itself flowing out from under a skirt...
  10. Whoa, I've been on here for a year to the day... that's insane to me. I made this account as part of my very focused quest to try and distract myself from my then-recent breakup, and in the year since so much has changed about my life, about me in general... and it's still really nice to have this community of people that all want to talk about people wetting themselves, lol. 

    1. talks2much

      Happy anniversary! Great to hear that things are going well for you Astralis,... and yeah us all talking about wetting ourselves is pretty cool hey!

    2. astralis

      @talks2much thank you kindly, friend ❤️ it rly is very cool lol. it's nice to have just this one place to come and be like "ah yes, the full bladder," and no one is weirded out or anything, we all just Get It

      everyone over here just desperate and vibing hahaha

  11. They really are, and especially now that enough time has passed to where I don't feel as much raw bitterness or animosity over the breakup, when I do talk about this stuff or think about it it can just be pleasant to remember. One time I was with a girl who cared enough to indulge my kink that much. That's all. Got me hot under the collar just remembering it enough to type it out, lol! I have this insanely specific memory of being in my narrow twin bed in college and hearing her say that shit on my ancient little slidey-flip phone and getting so wet, losing my whole mind.
  12. wahhhhh ;-; (also I know there are like, at least 3k other words in this post! and I read them all! I know how this looks ok shh, I am but a simple farmer with simple Kenbryce needs and when they are met I must quote them)
  13. Not a face-to-face experience but I'd say it's tied for me between when I held for my ex and when she and I created our holding fantasies together. When I held for her it was this big planned thing and I was so excited to do it because my parents would be gone all day and I hadn't been able to hold in like, probably over a year at that point. I sent her a fuckton of voice messages detailing how desperate I was getting and then I recorded myself pissing after I think four hours; then I lost the first recording by mistake and had to redo the whole thing! So I had basically twelve glasses of water and tea coursing through me by the end of it. iirc I didn't stop needing to pee for like ten hours. It was so sexy and such a wonderful feeling to be able to be that vulnerable for someone else. The fantasies thing was more of an ongoing thing between us that started when we were first together and had started to have phone sex (we were long-distance). She invented this storyline where I worked from home (foreshadowing) and she would come home at the end of her work day and be desperate but "forget" about it until she'd sat on my lap and started being bratty, and then I wouldn't let her get up and she'd start getting more and more desperate and whiny and squirming around on me until she lost control and pissed everywhere. Then I had to punish her for getting my clothes and chair soaked. So I guess not so much one time as multiple phone sex convos we had were great bc she was super good at doing this breathy desperate voice that drove me to the edge pretty much instantly every time. I guess I'll always kind of regret that shit went south with us before we could do anything with piss in person, but ah well.
  14. Have just added a post to my about me with commission info, if anyone is interested. 

  15. Gonna post my own experiences with telling people to try and lighten the thread's mood up a little... it always makes me so sad when people can't share their fetishes with their spouses. My ex knew about my omo fetish and she kind of shared it, but it was really more my thing than hers especially as the years went on. However she was still very happy to indulge me in it, as I indulged her in hers. We made up a lot of fantasies together about the sorts of holds and wettings we'd do once we were in person all the time (we were long-distance) and she could really get me off talking about being desperate and losing control even though it was just talk. Aside from her I've told three of my friends; one of them was pretty indifferent to it, not rude about it or hostile but definitely very much not into it either. I don't talk to her anymore for unrelated reasons but my current best friend and another current friend both know about it and while neither of them are into it they're both very much non-judgmental about it. I don't really talk about it with either of them because I find it a little weird to talk about fetish stuff in detail w someone you're not sexually involved with but if I bring it up they're both kind of like "oh yeah, that's Laurie's thing, nice". One of my friends even has told me that she's had full-bladder sex and so she gets why people would be into this, so that's definitely a plus.
  16. SCREAM SCREAM AGAIN EVEN LOUDER UNENDING SCREAMING FOR ETERNITY the boys!!!!!!!! this is me rn: 🥰 PS when Bryce said "I'm worried about you" OUT LOUD. And I giggled when he was like "oh no.... don't be....... cry...." *pats back with a long-handled broom*
  17. filing this one under "more lines that absolutely slayed Laurie where she sat" or "more lines that Laurie made a really embarrassing noise of delight at"
  18. Me neither, but my commissioner wanted it, and who am I to turn down money?? Lol. Thanks for reading and commenting!! Thank you!
  19. Omg aww, wtf this is so sweet?? Thank you!!! 🥰 "unique and singular" I just adore when people compliment my writing haha, the phrases live rent-free in my brain for weeks. Also rly pleased you felt a reaction in your own bladder, I feel like that's the ultimate compliment lol. thanks for reading!
  20. oh man definitely add this to my list as well. that would be the fucking dream
  21. Commissioned fic for someone who wanted a woman with a bladder of steel and an unrealistically long hold -- I once worked with a girl on a week-long project at a conference out of the city. Peyton was a sweetheart; a little bit shy, but very businesslike when it came down to actually doing our work. Management had us room together in the hotel, and over the week I got to know Peyton a little bit better simply from spending so much time with her. She was smart, funny, knew endless trivia about television shows—and she never seemed to use the bathroom. Naturally this wasn’t something I was going to bring up; after all, how does one tactfully mention such a private matter? We shared a hotel room, and I knew she went into the bathroom sometimes, because she took showers, and I heard her in the mornings brushing her teeth at the sink. But all day when we were out at panels or on rides with our boss, she never used the bathroom. It wasn’t even that she was dehydrated; she kept up a steady intake of fluids through the day, water, Coke, those plastic orange juices you can get at a gas station. But she never used the bathroom. She never even acted like she felt the urge. In the middle of the week we were asked to go on an out of town ride to visit some potential clients in another city. The trip was going to take two hours going and coming, so four hours total, plus however long we spent in the city itself with our clients. As Peyton and I dressed for the day I jokingly said, “I really hope that there are rest stops on the drive! I’m sure we’re going to be dining with our clients and I don’t want to get caught unprepared.” She smiled a little at her reflection where she was putting in earrings. “I’m sure there will be,” she said, but didn’t add any other info about her own feelings on the subject. We went downstairs to the lobby and each had a portion of the continental breakfast. I had waffles and a banana, and she had cereal and milk. On top of that she also drank two small plastic cups of orange juice and a mug of coffee. By the time we were both finished eating it was almost time to leave, so I went and used the lobby bathroom. Peyton didn’t join me; when I exited I found her waiting quietly by the entrance, looking at her phone. She smiled at me and asked if I was ready to go. “Yeah,” I said. I thought about asking her if she wanted to use the bathroom before we left, but decided against it. I didn’t want to be late to our meeting and I was sure Peyton didn’t either. Besides, she knew her own body much better than I did, obviously! We set off in one of the company cars. We had decided between ourselves that she would drive there, and I would drive back. I sat in the passenger seat watching the trees and little towns pop up as we rode down the highway. For a while Peyton had the radio on, but eventually the station started fuzzing out, so she switched it off and started going over the questions we were going to ask our potential clients, what sorts of things we would discuss with them, etc. As we drove on talking about our work the sun rose higher, streaming in through the back window. About an hour into our drive Peyton turned to me and said, “Do you mind if we stop for a second at the next turn-off?” “Not at all,” I replied. My heart had kind of started racing; I wondered if all the liquid she’d consumed with breakfast had hit her bladder. Would I at last see Peyton use a toilet? But when we pulled over in the next town it was just so she could grab a bottle of water at a gas station. “The sun is making me sweat,” she complained as she slid into the driver’s seat again. “It’s so hot in here; it’s like a greenhouse.” “Right,” I said, watching in mild fascination as Peyton unscrewed the cap off the bottle and tipped it back to her lips. It was one of those giant water bottles you don’t see at every station, and it was covered in condensation from the store refrigerator. She must have taken at least six enormous swallows of water before screwing the cap back on and putting the bottle in the cup holder. “So much better!” she gasped out. She glanced at me: “Did you want some water, too? I don’t mind if you just wanna run in real quick and grab one, I think we’re ahead of schedule—” “No, I’m okay,” I said. It was definitely warm in the car from the sun beating down on the glass, but I didn’t want to fill my bladder up before we’d even gotten to meet our clients. Peyton shrugged. “Okay,” she said, just as pleasant as ever. She turned the ignition over and we set off. Luckily, there wasn’t much traffic, and we made it to the next city with about fifteen minutes to spare. By the time we arrived, Peyton had finished most of the water bottle; it was so close to being empty now that she kept the cap off and would just roll the condensation-slick plastic on her neck and cheeks, occasionally moving the bottle almost absently to her lips to drink. In spite of all of the liquid she’d consumed, though, she didn’t seem at all desperate for a bathroom. We’d gotten out of the car to stretch our legs and wait for our clients, and she wasn’t even bent over at the waist. Shortly after arriving, our clients pulled in as well. We were at their office, which was just a block or two over from the restaurant where we were going to have lunch. We shook hands and they let us into the building. As the four of us walked towards one of the conference rooms, the lady client pointed to a mini-fridge in the corner: “Would either of you care for a drink?” I was quite thirsty after the long drive and the hot sun, so I accepted the offer and took out an apple juice. I was—well, not quite shocked, but certainly a little surprised when Peyton also took a grape juice. I raised my eyebrows at her and she just laughed a little as we continued on into the conference room: “I told you, that car was a greenhouse,” she whispered. “I’m pretty sure my body doesn’t even realize I drank water.” We got settled in the conference room and began our meeting. There was a pitcher of water in the center of the table as well as individual glasses for the four of us, and we all took regular drinks from the pitcher, since it was such a warm day. About an hour and a half into the meeting I began to feel the effects of all the liquids on my bladder, and asked if I could be excused to the restroom. One of our clients said she also needed to go, and called for a five-minute break. I returned to the conference room first and found Peyton still sitting there drinking what looked to be her fourth glass of water. Finally, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut anymore. “Where are you putting all this water?” I asked incredulously. She must have consumed well over two liters of liquid at this point, but she was just sitting there calmly, sipping from her glass. Her legs weren’t even crossed. She shrugged in response to my question. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve just always been like this. When I was little my family used to joke that I was part camel.” We both laughed at that, and I took my seat again next to her, but couldn’t help watching as she finished her glass and then poured herself a fifth one, asking me if I wanted any. I said sure, so she turned—she was standing up—to pour me some water as well. Her blouse was tucked into her skirt and I noticed for the first time her midsection was rounded, sticking out noticeably against the loose cotton of her shirt and the stiffer fabric of the skirt. As she sat back down I couldn’t help wondering if that little bulge was her bladder. She was a petite girl, and I hadn’t noticed anything like that in the few days we’d spent together up until now—although of course I hadn’t really been looking, either. But I thought of all the times that we’d spent out, drinking with our boss, drinking during meals, and how she never seemed to use the bathroom, even in our room. After a few more minutes our clients both returned and the meeting continued. At noon we had a second break for lunch. By this point Peyton had drank another three glasses of water, and as we all stood up I couldn’t help glancing at her stomach again. It was even rounder now, stretching full and bloated against her waistband. But she walked steadily out of the room with us. She wasn’t even slightly hunched over. We walked the two or so blocks to the restaurant. Because it was the lunch hour on a workday, there was a significant line to get in. The four of us stood idly talking while we waited. Several times I saw Peyton smooth her hand over her round, distended bladder, but she didn’t seem to be in any distress. In fact, when we got into the restaurant and were seated, she ordered a sparkling water with lemon. She took regular sips from it throughout the meal, even asking for a refill—twice—before we were done. Both myself and our male client excused ourselves to the restroom during the course of the meal. As I returned to the table I noticed Peyton uncrossing her legs. She was very casual about it, so I didn’t say anything, but I made a mental note. It was the first sign all day—in fact, since the start of the week—that I’d seen her do anything to indicate discomfort. But for the rest of lunch she didn’t so much as shift in her chair. When the bill came our female client went to use the restroom as well, while Peyton and I sat continuing our conversation with the man. Soon she returned to the table, and the four of us waited for our cards, then left. The meeting in the conference room was over around two. Our clients wanted to show us some more things in their offices before we left, so we took a tour of the building with them, pausing to remark on various things we saw. Peyton was taking notes on her tablet, and I was paying enough attention to our clients that I could answer questions correctly and ask appropriate ones myself, but I was watching her out of the corner of my eye. Her bladder was by now so large it had begun to push up against the soft, loose fabric of her shirt, tightening it against her skin. She still wasn’t really restless or indicating any type of discomfort, but every so often when we’d move to a new room she’d press her thighs together subtly before standing still and lifting her tablet again. Eventually the tour was over. We shook hands with our clients and assured them we’d be in contact again very soon. Before we left I took one more opportunity to use the restroom, my bladder having filled up again from lunch, but Peyton said she was fine. Our clients asked us if we wanted one more drink for the road; I declined, but Peyton said yes, and took a can of pineapple juice. This time it was my turn to drive, so I got in the driver’s seat and pulled up the map to return to the hotel on my phone. In the passenger seat Peyton was sitting very still, and very calm. “I think the meeting went well,” I said casually as we turned to get onto the highway again. “I think our boss will be suitably impressed by the clients, don’t you?” “Yeah,” Peyton said. She was taking regular sips from her pineapple juice and soon had emptied it as it was one of those tiny aluminum cans. Most of the drive back was silent, except for the radio. I was watching Peyton out of the corner of my eye for any signs that she might need to urinate now that she’d drunk what must have been over three liters of liquid, but she did nothing. She was just very quiet, looking out the window. Occasionally she would cross her legs or smooth a hand over one thigh, but it didn’t seem to be out of any particular discomfort. Again, about halfway through the drive, we pulled over; this time it was so I could use the bathroom at a truck stop, and also refill the gas tank on the car. I asked Peyton if she wanted to use the bathroom too but she said she’d rather not, since truck stop bathrooms are usually pretty dirty. “But I’d appreciate if you’d get me a bottle of water,” she said. I tried not to let my surprise show on my face, but I must have not been as subtle as I thought, because she laughed: “I can’t help it! I’m just really thirsty!” I shrugged. It didn’t make any difference to me. I used the restroom and bought her a bottled water. We started off again. Traffic was light all the way up until we were maybe seven miles from the turn off that would lead to the hotel. We hit a bumper-to-bumper wall of cars. Peyton looked it up on her phone, but nothing had happened; it was just regular rush hour traffic. Still, the estimated time on my phone had changed now, and we weren’t scheduled to get back to the hotel until after six. Peyton sighed when I told her this, and I thought surely now she’s going to mention needing a toilet, but she just said she was sorry she wouldn’t have time to put on something more comfortable before we went to the usual company dinner with our boss and coworkers. As we sat in traffic Peyton began smoothing her hand more frequently over the soft bulge in her middle. Several times I saw her squeezing her thighs together, or crossing her ankles over each other, but she didn’t say anything. If she leaned forward it was just to turn the radio up, or change the station. We inched forward in traffic and made small talk to fill the awkward silence between us, Peyton telling me more facts about television shows she knew, me telling her about my crocheting hobby, but never once did she ask me to pull over, even when we passed two turn-offs before our exit. By the time we pulled into the parking lot of the hotel it was getting dark. We got out of the car and hurried into the lobby—the restaurant where we had our company dinners was in the hotel. I told Peyton if she wanted to go upstairs and change she could, I wouldn’t mind giving our boss her excuse, but she shook her head: “No time,” she said, and we walked quickly to the restaurant. Our boss waved us to her table and asked how the meeting had gone. “Fine,” we both said simultaneously. I began telling her details; when the server came to ask what everyone wanted, Peyton ordered a Coke and a water, saying that sometimes carbonation made her feel sick but water would cancel it out, and she needed the Coke to stay awake after our long day. I kept my mouth shut as the meal progressed but watched in astonishment as Peyton put back both glasses, plus a refill on her water, plus all the ice as it melted. With dinner finished and paid for we stood up and I caught another glimpse of Peyton’s swollen, overly full bladder. It now more closely resembled a watermelon she’d shoved under her shirt. I thought I saw our boss clock it as well, but of course she didn’t say anything. The rest of the evening and night was spent in our separate hotel rooms, entering information into our laptops and tablets, making last-minute calls, and other things. I used the bathroom a few times over the course of the evening, but Peyton did not; she only went in to brush her teeth. She changed into her pajamas in the bathroom with the door shut, as we weren’t that familiar with each other, but I didn’t hear her sit on the toilet, nor did I hear it flush. When she came out her pajamas—even softer cotton than her blouse, and of course much more informal—stuck out jarringly around her bladder. She was taking careful, slow steps as she walked back to her laptop, pressing her thighs together, but told me she needed to get her work finished before calling it quits for the night. I saw her wince as she lowered herself into the seat, but aside from crossing her legs tightly she made no other indication she needed the toilet. Eventually I began to fall asleep; I asked if she’d mind if I turned the light off, and she said, “No, go ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow!” I told her good night and switched the lamp off, my last glimpse of Peyton for that night being her sitting gingerly on the edge of her seat, typing rapidly away on her keyboard. In the morning when I woke I was startled to see Peyton had fallen asleep at the desk. I got up and touched her shoulder to wake her, and she lifted her head and blinked at me groggily. “Ooh,” she said, “I shouldn’t have done that; I’m so stiff…” Then she stood and winced. My eyes dropped to her bladder and I was even more startled to see it was still swollen, sticking out well past where it had been the night before. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer and said, “Peyton, didn’t you… you know… go?” She shook her head. “No, I just got so wrapped up in my work, and then I put my head down just for a second to rest my eyes when they got tired, and the next thing I knew you were waking me up—ooh.” She crossed her legs a little bit and bobbed up and down on the spot, gritting her teeth. “I do really, um—regret that decision now, though!” She gave a little laugh. I glanced further down and noticed two empty miniature water bottles in the trash can. I knew they hadn’t been there the evening before, since the maids had come in and cleaned. Had Peyton drank even more after I’d fallen asleep? For several seconds we both stood there, Peyton a little bent at her waist, fidgeting slightly. Then Peyton said, “Look, I’m really hungry; do you want me to go downstairs and grab us both a quick bite to eat?” I opened my mouth to protest; then shut it again. I told her sure. She nodded and walked over to her suitcase to get out a bra and some leggings to put on before heading out. Her bladder was so big it jiggled as she walked, and as she shut the door behind her I realized I really needed the toilet myself. I went in and did my business, then decided to take a shower while waiting for Peyton. I like long showers, so I took my time in there, enjoying the heat and steam from the water. By the time I came out Peyton had returned and was eating a waffle and drinking another one of those plastic cups of orange juice. I imagined I could see her bladder visibly swelling more and more as she drank, though I knew that couldn’t have been possible. I sat down on my bed to eat my own breakfast, watching as Peyton drank and chewed on her food. Her feet were dancing restlessly beneath the table, and her thighs were shifting, the soft fabric of her leggings brushing together. Suddenly she let out a sharp gasp, one hand plunging between her thighs. She looked up at me, biting her lower lip. Her cheeks were bright red. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “I don’t mean to be so unprofessional, I just—I really, really need to go to the bathroom!” I didn’t even have time to think of an adequate response to this obvious statement before Peyton was jumping up and running into the bathroom. She didn’t shut the door all the way in her haste, and I heard the toilet lid come up and her frantic shifting and moaning as she tried to get her leggings—which were quite form-fitting—down in time. Then I heard Peyton’s ass hit the toilet, and I was more than a little surprised at the loud, obscene moan she let out as piss gushed out of her. The spray of her urine was so forceful it sounded like it was going to come out of the toilet and onto the floor. She kept moaning raggedly as she pissed and pissed, sounding like a fire hose on full blast. I couldn’t help getting up and throwing my trash away on pretext of looking at her through the slight crack in the bathroom door. She was slumped almost completely backwards on the bowl, legs spread wide open. She hadn’t even gotten her leggings past her knees, and her pee was hitting the side of the toilet so hard I could see it, the stream thick and clear and strong. I couldn’t help noticing the time on my phone, and was amazed as her pee continued on for two, then three, then four minutes, never losing power or force. Finally, after nearly six minutes, it began to slow down, though it continued on for a while in a thin trickle, and then dribbling, before she finally stopped peeing nearly seven minutes in. I heard her breathing hard for a while, and occasional trickles of urine kept hitting the toilet water. Finally I heard her stand and flush, and she washed her hands before coming out. Her waistline was finally down to its normal size; her cheeks flushed, a smile of relief on her face. She sat down at the desk where she’d fallen asleep, booting her laptop up. She turned her smile to me and said, “Ready for another day?” My throat was completely dry after hearing the absolute waterfall she’d released in the bathroom, but I managed to make my voice come out normally as I responded, “Yeah, of course.”
  22. My biggest kink is when people have to resort to peeing in weird or unconventional places/things due to overwhelming desperation and not being able to get to a toilet in time -- bonus points if it's a small container you can only let a little into and have to try and hold the rest back! So I really want to pee into a flower pot, or a trash can, or one of those child's potties you see, or a tea cup. As other people in this thread have said I think a litter box would be fun! But definitely something small, and wait until you're so desperate you can barely even walk, and then crouch over it and try to just let out enough to take the pressure off, but not overfill whatever the thing is.
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