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wh4tsupgr3g

Dry Member
  • Posts

    3
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Personal Information

  • My pronouns are..
    she/her

My Kinks

  • I'm into..
    Bathroom Control
    Sadism / Masochism

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wh4tsupgr3g's Achievements

  1. lately, yes. walking into any bathroom - my own, at a friend's, at work, in public, etc - i'll usually leak a little before sitting down or even getting into the stall. that was from the 2-3 second leak, yes. i was potty dancing when it happened, lol. i really thought i would be able to make it but the urge came on so suddenly. i was surprised i was able to stop peeing in time to make it (mostly) to the toilet.
  2. I (23/f/United States) just walked to the bathroom to pee before grabbing a shower and unexpectedly leaked for a good 2 or 3 seconds as I was hanging up my towel. I had to bend over slightly to reach the rack when the pressure in my bladder increased tenfold and my detrusor muscle just gave out. Pic of the damage to my shorts is attached, lol.
  3. Hi, new here—22/f/United States—I thought I'd post about some experiences in the realm of omo + actual desperation and wetting I've had with my boyfriend, one that happened last night, in particular. Btw, you can call me "A" 🙂 So I'll start with last night: TLDR; that day I had emergency surgery, i.e., a dilation and curettage, to remove a ruptured uterine fibroid. In post-op, one of my docs debriefed me on my discharge instructions and what to expect from my body as it recovers from surgery. One of (the many) things to expect? Incontinence, lasting up to a week. As someone who already deals with mild-moderate stress and urge incontinence, I wrongly thought I knew what was in store for me—though luckily, I did have a 9-pack of Goodnites on hand, sparing me from an embarrassing trip to the CVS across from my apartment. I get dropped off at my apartment around 4:30 pm. Having not had any fluids several hours before arriving at the hospital late that morning, I quite literally toss back a glass of cranberry juice and a 16oz Poland Spring, still wearing the disposable cotton underwear and maxi-pad provided by the hospital. Not even twenty minutes later, as I'm fiddling with the DVD player in my living room above the TV, my bladder begins to void—no warning, no bodily cue letting me know I had to go. Within seconds, I peed through the maxi-pad and disposable underwear, soaking my sweatpants and making a DVD player-sized puddle on the floor. I'm caught off guard by this, but ultimately unfazed—I clean up and put on a Goodnite. 6 pm: I'm on my couch watching a movie, about 2/3 of my way through another Poland Spring, nursing a bowl of chicken noodle soup. My very worried boyfriend (25/m)—who had been utterly in the dark about my surgery until I FaceTimed him in an anesthesia-induced fugue state in post-op—calls me to ask if he can swing by in a couple of hours. I, of course, agree. Thirty-ish minutes later, I feel myself leak, followed by a massive wave of urgency and pressure in my bladder. Caught off guard and, I guess, against my better judgment, I stand up from my position on the couch in an attempt to make it to the bathroom. Immediately, I begin peeing at full force. I grab myself in a semi-successful effort to control the stream, i.e., it slows, but doesn't stop; with my hands between my legs, I make it five feet from the couch before the pressure in my bladder surges beyond my ability to hold on any longer and start to pee uncontrollably. The feeling of involuntarily voiding my bladder makes me reflexively bend over, sending the majority of my stream of pee to the front of my Goodnite, which quickly, and audibly, saturates and overflows. Streams of pee begin running down my bare thighs (all I had on was one of my boyfriend's sweatshirts which, on me, pretty much function as a nightgown) and accumulate in a small puddle at my feet, maybe 5 inches in diameter. Frustrated, but now with an understanding of what the doctor meant when she mentioned "incontinence" as something to expect, I clean the floor, shower from the waist down, put on another Goodnite, and resume watching my movie. My boyfriend (let's call him T so as to avoid the phrase "my boyfriend" littering the remainder of this post umpteen times) comes over at around 8 pm. T is familiar with (and sympathetic to) my weak bladder—I've leaked, unintentionally and intentionally, in front of him before, in situations that contextualize/more or less excuse it, e.g., on walks, hikes, long car rides, etc. I've told him about full-blown accidents I've had; his response is always that "it's cute." However, I've never fully peed myself in front of T. The most I've leaked in front of him—up to this point—is a teacup-sized wet spot on my jeans (this happened earlier this month, on hour three of a seven-hour drive.) And I've certainly never worn, nor desired to wear, protective underwear (let's just call them what they are, diapers) diapers in front of him. He knocks on my door with a bouquet of flowers and card in hand, and we continue watching the movie I'd put on three hours earlier (the movie is Paul Thomas Anderson's 1999 film Magnolia, it's really, absurdly long, but otherwise fabulous). Before T arrived, I'd finished my soup, and had roughly 1/2 of a 20oz bottle of Gatorade—upon his arrival, I'd made each of us a peppermint tea with which, at 8:30, I was just about finished. Around 8:45, the credits roll—T and I are on the couch, his head is nestled in the crook of my neck and shoulder, and my legs are swung over his lap. I shift to place a pillow behind my back, scooching closer to T in the process, and feel a twinge in my bladder—followed by a leak. T seems oblivious, and I don't doubt he is, but given the likelihood and imminence of an accident, I open my mouth to say...something. Something, yeah? Anything. To tell him—tell him... Tell him what, exactly? That his 22-year-old girlfriend has no bladder control, at least for the next few days, and needs to wear a diaper? Well, fuck. Here goes nothing. "This is so embarrassing, but—feel my butt," I say. T shoots me a look best described as curiously amused and reaches under my sweatpants (the same pair I'd had an accident in earlier, they'd finished in the wash before T came). For lack of a better term: he gently feels up my padded butt. With his hand still there, I shake my head, breaking eye contact, "I—it's protective underwear," I swallow. "Just—with the surgery—you know, not for forever...for a couple of days, though, I can't—I can't really hold it, like, when I need to pee." I look back up at him. "Can I see what they look like?" asks T. I must look a little taken aback, because T shoots me another look as if to say, "Don't be weird." Sheepishly, I lower the band of my sweatpants. T moves the hand he has on my butt to graze the fabric of the top of the Goodnite, putting a negligible (but in my case, substantial) amount of pressure on my bladder, causing me to spurt. I bite my lip to stop the flow, which must look like my discomfort related to T's touch, who gently lifts his hand. "Don't be embarrassed, I don't care," he says. "I—I'm not embarrassed, it's, um," I stutter, squirming as more pee dribbles out of my urethra. "I just—I need to pee, like, now, and I can't, you know, I can't really hold—" T cuts me off. "Just go." To my surprise, my eyes well up with tears. "It's embarrassing," I say, quietly. T hoists me onto his lap; the motion of this, of course, causes my bladder to spasm, and, against my will, my detrusor muscle relaxes. Continuing to squirm and futilely squeeze my thighs together, I begin peeing uncontrollably into my Goodnite, on my boyfriend's lap. I pee at full force for 45 seconds before the stream of pee wanes to a dribble, and am fleetingly put at ease upon making the judgment that the Goodnite has managed to contain the wetness, when my bladder spasms again. Pee begins audibly hissing against my swollen Goodnite before soaking the fabric of the seat of my sweatpants - my boyfriend's sweatpants. The stream tapers off soon after this, but not before my pee pools onto my boyfriend's lap, saturating his jeans. Slackjawed, I mumble, "I—I couldn't hold it, I really—I couldn't hold it." I feel T nod and gently begin to pet the back of my head. We sit for a minute before T helps me change. I put his jeans and my sweatpants—his sweatpants—in the wash. I'm apologizing profusely at ten or twenty-second intervals throughout all of this, of course, which T responds to by covering his ears and kissing my forehead. 10:00 pm, probably: T insists I go to bed while the washing machine finishes. 11:00 pm, maybe: T takes the clothes out of the dryer. 12:15 pm: Next to me, T reads the second-to-last chapter of his book, when he feels - well, hears - hears the sloshing of me shifting positions in bed, specifically, and reaches his hand between my thighs to check if I'm dry, which I am - albeit not for long; T leaves his hand there for some time, likely weighing his options— To wake me, or not to wake me, that is the question / Whether 'tis nobler in the mind... —and decides to do the latter, which means one thing: he thinks I'm asleep. I'm very much awake. ***More experiences in story form soon, I promise! This took me way longer to write than anticipated, though, so I'm cutting myself off for the day, lol*** Xoxo, A
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