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P. Anonymous

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  1. Yes, it's nice to see there are so many dutch people on this forum. It makes me wonder why there isn't a similar forum in the dutch language anymore. Or am I missing something?
  2. It's always nice to get credits for your work, but for me the most important thing is that people like the stories. It makes me want to write more. By the way, you can find the official translation of the story here: https://www.omorashi.org/topic/56743-in-trouble/ The translation by ChatGPT is amazingly good, but it still contains a few sentences that were translated incorrectly. I'm currently working on the translations of my other stories.
  3. I'm glad you liked it! Yes, I will publish at least 2 more stories about these ladies. But as always, it may take a while...
  4. Yes, this is a translation of the second Dutch wetting story I wrote, back in 2012. It's nice to see that it still emerges somewhere now and then. The translation is different from the official translation I made a few years ago, but I like it. Was this done manually, or was it done using Google Translate or a similar tool?
  5. Hi everyone, After almost two years I finally found some time again to publish one of my Dutch wetting stories. You can find it here: https://vochtigeverhalen.home.blog/verhalen-13-eerste-rang/ I hope you will enjoy it!
  6. I once tried to Google translate my own stories from Dutch to English, but in my opinion the result was terrible. The stories were readable (more or less), but the whole "feel" of the stories was completely lost. Once in a while I try to manually translate one of my stories to English, but that takes a lot of time.
  7. Thanks for the comments, I will try to update my site more frequently.
  8. For all the Dutch and Flemish people here who like to read stories in their native language: Yesterday, I finally found the time to add a new omorashi story to my site Vochtige Verhalen. https://vochtigeverhalen.home.blog/
  9. Thanks, I will keep that in mind! But I'm not yet sure if I want to expand my site with stories from other authors. The reason: with everyone here being anonymous, I can never be sure that someone providing a new story is the original author of the story. I don't want to offend anyone by publishing a story that I'm not allowed to publish. Let me think about this!
  10. Hi Skaat, nice to hear from you! It's too bad that most of your dutch omorashi stories are no longer available on the Internet. Actually, there is hardly any dutch content available nowadays. That's why I started my own story site a few years ago: https://vochtigeverhalen.home.blog/ It contains 11 of the dutch wetting stories I've written. More of my stories will be published in the future.
  11. Thanks! I'll try to finish my next translation as soon as possible. But I'm always busy with other things too, so don't hold your breath while waiting for it.
  12. Back in 2012, I wrote my first few Dutch omorashi stories. It wasn't until 2019 that I finally managed to finish the English translation of my first story and post it here. Now, almost one year later, I'm proud to announce the translation of my second story. Many thanks to arg08 for checking my English spelling and grammar! I've already started translating my next story, but it might take a while before I'm done. In the mean time, you can read the Dutch versions of my first 11 stories on my site: https://vochtigeverhalen.home.blog/ In trouble “Who wants to go into the city and have a few drinks?” someone asked. “Sorry, not me,” Susan said, “I’ve completely had it for this week. I’m going to get in my car and drive straight home.” “I’ll catch up with you on the way,” Bart smiled. “My car’s not working, but in fifteen minutes the lease company will deliver a replacement vehicle.” The cheerful twinkle in Bart’s eyes made Susan’s heart melt. After Will had left her, she had slowly grown to really like her new colleague. But being an insecure person, she hadn’t had the nerve yet to act upon her feelings. As a good-looking woman, she was very much aware of her appeal to the opposite sex. Strangely enough, this didn’t give her the self-confidence she needed to ask Bart out on a date. After all, he had never shown any sign of interest in her. Either way, right now Susan’s mind was occupied with something completely different than her attractive colleague. “Everybody have a nice weekend!” Susan grabbed her bag and walked into the hallway. She really needed to pee. The three big glasses of water she’d had this afternoon, had not been ineffective. She passed the ladies’ room and headed for the exit. She took her smartphone and checked the traffic news. A delay of at least one hour on her route, she concluded with a content smile. Before she got into her car, she carefully covered her seat with a big plastic bag. She made sure her long coat was on the back seat. Check. Everything was going according to plan. Susan felt a pleasant tension in her belly. Today it was going to happen! Ever since it had inadvertently happened to her half a year ago, she had constantly fantasized about it: peeing her pants in her car, amidst hundreds of unsuspecting other road users. The time she had involuntarily lost control over her bladder, had been a revelation to her. She had discovered the thrill of doing something a grown-up woman wasn’t supposed to do. In the past few months, she had regularly peed her pants in front of her bedroom mirror, enjoying the nice warmth between her legs and the look of the steadily expanding stain in her pants. The arousal this caused in her body had invariably resulted in an electrifying self-induced orgasm. Two weeks ago, Susan had first hit the streets in her wet pants. Her heart pounding from excitement at the thought of the secret hidden underneath her long coat, she had crossed the city for an hour. But she wanted more: just like last time, she wanted to feel the thrill of almost losing control, having nowhere to go, being overwhelmed by an untamable force of nature. And thanks to her overloaded bladder and at least two hours of slow-moving and stationary traffic, exactly that was about to happen. Just as she wanted to leave the parking lot, someone knocked on the passenger side window. It was Bart. Red-faced from exertion, he opened the door. “I’m glad I managed to catch up with you,” he gasped. “The lease company just informed me that they are unable to arrange a substitute car today. Would you mind giving me a ride?” Bart lived less than a mile away from her, and she had just firmly stated she would drive directly home. So Susan couldn’t think of an excuse to refuse Bart a lift. “Sure, no problem.” She forced a smile. A second later Bart was sitting next to her, talking nineteen to the dozen about his plans for the weekend. Susan slowly started to panic: here she was, highly desperate to pee, with a few hours of traffic jam ahead of her, sitting next to the man she wanted to impress more than anyone in the world. Without visiting a toilet, there was no way she would be able to make it home dry. She had done everything in her power to make that impossible. The restroom in the office building lured her, but with only thirty feet behind the wheels, it felt awkward to turn around for a bathroom break already. That would make a very strange impression on her passenger. Anyway, she had always had a hard time talking about toileting. Although she knew everybody did it, she preferred not to remind other people that she too had such primitive needs. Today there would be no way around it, but she decided to wait until the first gas station along the highway. She should be able to make it till there. To relieve the pressure on her bladder, she pressed her thighs tightly together. While Susan agitatedly drove to the highway, she did her best to sociably chat along with Bart. But she could barely focus on what he was saying. She felt she could lose control over her bladder any moment. If she didn’t get to a toilet soon, she would pee her pants like a baby, right before the eyes of her handsome colleague. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bart watching her. “Hey, why are you sitting on a plastic bag?” he suddenly asked. Damn. At the side, that stupid thing was sticking out from under her legs. “Er, the color of these pants rubs off on the fabric of the seat,” was the first thing she could think of. She immediately realized how silly it sounded: she had deliberately put on slightly bleached jeans because these would give the most exciting stains on getting wet. But Bart seemed to be satisfied with her explanation. Six miles down the highway she took the life-saving exit to the gas station. “Sorry, I need to go to the bathroom,” she excused herself, hastily getting out of the car. “No problem, that’s better than wetting yourself,” Bart joked. Susan felt her face turn red. Bart would be shocked to know that was exactly what she had planned to do. Moments later, she sighed in relief while she emptied her bladder in the somewhat gross, but more than welcome Shell toilet. Her stream seemed to go on forever. There was no way she could have held it for a few more hours. As she pulled up her panties and jeans, she praised the Lord for the fact these would remain bone-dry today. “All right, we’re ready to go,” she said cheerily when she retook her position behind the wheel. Shortly afterwards, they joined a long queue of cars. According to the radio, it was an extremely busy rush hour. It was going to take them at least two hours to get home. Even though her original plan had just gone down the drain, this was music to Susan’s ears: this way, she was going to have Bart to herself for a long time. Thanks to the relief of her bladder, her shyness had suddenly vanished. She relaxedly chit-chatted with Bart about all kinds of things. And he seemed to enjoy it as much as she did. When they had started talking about their vacation plans, Susan became aware that she felt the urge to pee again. It was not as bad as it was earlier, but much worse than one would expect only twenty minutes after using the toilet. She made a mental list of all the drinks she’d had that day. The three long drink glasses of water she’d drunk that afternoon accounted for at least two pints. But to make sure she’d be about to burst on leaving, she’d already knocked back some tea and coffee in the morning. And a cup of milk at lunch... She didn’t know the bladder capacity of the average female, but after cumulating her moisture intake of the day, she could only conclude that the pee she’d had earlier had only been the tip of the iceberg. Now her body had started to get rid of the remainder of the superfluous fluid. Initially Susan didn’t worry much about it. Today she had already proved she could hold her pee for a very long time, so she should be able to make it through a few hours in her car. But it didn’t take long before she realized that her bladder was filling at an increased rate. Struck by a slight panic, she feverishly tried to remember where the closest toilet facilities were. At full speed, she reckoned, it would take her at least half an our to reach the next gas station. But traffic had just come to a complete stop, so the saving toilet might as well have been in Timbuktu. “You’re so quiet all of a sudden,” Bart remarked. “Sorry, I’m a little tired,” Susan replied. In the next thirty minutes they covered a lousy three miles. It was less than an hour after her relieving bathroom break, but once again Susan felt like her bladder was about to explode. She restlessly squirmed back and forth in her seat. She might be able to hold on for another quarter of an hour, but her self-created destiny was inevitable: whether she wanted it or not, she was going to pee her pants. Susan thought back to what had happened last time. She had fought tooth and nail against the power of nature, which had resulted in her completely losing control over her body for ten seconds. She figured it might be better to take matters into her own hands, now and then releasing a bit of pee in a controlled manner. In this way, it would hopefully take longer for the crotch of her pants to get drenched. The water she passed was bound to flow to the lowest point, so with a bit of luck it would reach her butt unseen. If, in the meantime, she acted as normal as possible, maybe Bart wouldn’t notice a thing! Keeping a close eye on the man next to her, she carefully relaxed her sphincter. Immediately she felt the already familiar sensation of warm moisture filling her briefs. Then, with some effort, she retook control over her bladder. She inconspicuously looked downward. Between her legs the fabric of her jeans showed a small wet spot, but from his position, Bart could probably not see it. Again, Susan released some fluid, this time a little bit longer. She felt how her rear end started to get damp. Unconsciously, she heaved a sigh. “Yeah, this traffic jam is frustrating,” Bart said. “Yes, very annoying,” Susan said, while she secretly let a third warm stream escape from her body. “Could you please hand me my bag?” Bart passed her the handbag he had put on the floor in front of him on entering the car. Susan took out a tissue and pretended to blow her nose. Acting nonchalant, she left the purse on her lap, covering up the slowly growing wet patch in her crotch. She dared to relax a little again, but she constantly remained aware of her now soaking wet buttocks. Two endless hours later Susan pulled up in front of Bart’s house. Her bladder was still on the verge of bursting. During the drive she had managed to restrain the pressure by repeatedly letting out a dribble of pee, but the limited absorbency of the back of her pants had forced her to hold back. If she had opened all floodgates, the liquid would undoubtedly have reached the front of her pants. Her purse would no longer have sufficed to hide her disgrace from Bart. As a matter of fact, to her shock, Bart had offered to put her bag on the back seat. Luckily, she’d come up with a pretext to keep him from doing that. “You know, I was thinking,” Bart said, “you’re probably too tired to make yourself a meal. Why don’t you grab a bite at my place? I’m gonna make a delicious risotto.” Dinner at Bart’s home! There was nothing Susan would have loved to do more, but she had made it impossible for herself. “Er, I’d certainly like to do that sometime,” she stammered, “but I’m terribly tired. I’m gonna go home and lie down on the couch.” “I have a couch too, you know,” Bart said invitingly. “No, thanks, I really prefer to go home.” Bart looked disappointed, but didn’t try to persuade her. “Okay, have a nice weekend then. And thanks for the ride!” Susan let out a big sigh. She had made it. She had wet her pants, but Bart hadn’t noticed a thing. As her stress level dropped, Susan was no longer able to remain in control of her protesting bladder. Before she reached the end of the street, she felt her bodily fluid turbulently gush from between her legs. She flung her purse on the back seat. In astonishment she looked down at her pants, that got soaked in just a matter of seconds. Lightning fast, the modest wet spot in her crotch extended to her inner thighs. The fabric around her butt was completely saturated now. Moisture started to drip from the plastic bag onto the floor. Without a doubt, the improvised protective layer would be inadequate to keep her seat dry. She didn’t care, and didn’t make the slightest effort to regain the power over her sphincter. She kept peeing in one big spurt, that seemed to last forever. She was wetting herself like a baby, but she felt stronger than ever. No one on earth could touch her. She just did what she felt like doing, ignoring all rules and conventions. She couldn’t help pushing the gas a little harder. When a traffic light turned red she quickly made a dash for it. The adrenaline was rushing through her veins. Therefore it took a while before the stop sign of the police car reached her consciousness, and made her land back on earth with a bang. “Well ma’am,” the policeman said after Susan had lowered her window, “it looks like you’re in a pretty big hurry. You just ran a red light at full speed. Do you have an explanation for that?” “No, officer, I’m sorry,” Susan said timidly, “I just wasn’t paying attention. I’ll understand if I get a ticket for that.” With her arms, she tried to hide the wet spots in her pantlegs as best she could. “You’re right, I have to fine you for this,” the cop said. “Can I see you driver’s license, please?” Damn. Susan’s driver’s license was in the bag she had just carelessly tossed on the back seat. It was far beyond her reach. She would have to make a quarter turn and stretch her body in order to grab it, giving the officer a full view of her sopping wet bottom. She broke out in a sweat. For the second time today she had gotten herself in trouble. “No, I’m sorry,” she replied as friendly as possible, “I accidentally left my license at home this morning. Maybe you can access my personal information through my license plate number?” “Could you please get out of the car?” the policeman asked. “We can talk easier that way.” He clearly didn’t intend to let Susan get away with it easily. “Er, can’t we just do it like this, I, er...” Susan stuttered. “Ma’am, I firmly ask you to leave your vehicle,” the man repeated in an insistent tone. It was obvious that the cop didn’t like to be argued with, and that she’d only make things worse for herself if she refused to cooperate. Reluctantly she opened the door and stepped out of the car. She felt the drenched fabric of her pants stick to her legs. She was so embarrassed she wished for the ground to swallow her up. “As you probably know,” the officer-of-law started preaching, “as of 2005, every citizen from the age of 14 is obliged under the Identification Req...” He didn’t finish his sentence. The harsh expression on his face was replaced by bewilderment. It took some time before he fully realized what he saw. In front of him stood an attractive young woman with shoulder-length blond hair, bright green eyes and female curves in all the right places, who had peed her pants. The big wet spot in the crotch of her jeans, which she fruitlessly tried to cover with her hands, didn’t leave any room for interpretation. In the reflection of the car window he could see the material around her well-defined buttocks was soaked. Full of shame, Susan looked down at her feet. “I... I guess you’d better go home,” the stupefied cop stammered. “We all make mistakes sometimes.” After a last sheepish glance at Susan’s pants he walked back to his car. Her heart pounding, Susan slammed the door of her house behind her. The car ride home had turned out more exciting than she could have imagined. First she had secretly peed her pants in the presence of her colleague, subsequently she had totally revealed herself to a complete stranger. She had gone through some fearful moments, but now, in the safety of her own home, arousal prevailed. She took off the long coat that had hidden her wet pants from the eyes of oblivious passers-by on the street. In the mirror in her bedroom she inspected the dark blue blots in her pants. She flopped down onto her bed. When she rolled over, big damp stains marked the place where her buttocks had touched the sheet. She lay down on her back and ran her hands over her wet pantlegs. She pulled down her pants and swept over her saturated briefs. Then Susan could no longer suppress the desire to touch herself in that one sensitive spot. Instants later she experienced her most explosive orgasm in ages.
  13. Thanks, Pastafari! Although I like my stories to always contain some peeing, in most cases it will be preceded by desperation. I think you will like the next few stories better.
  14. It's a fascinating concept, Markj9494! Please continue. And you're right, you'd better not mention every single question asked in the show, as the exact questions are not important for the story. I think you'd better focus on what everyone is thinking/feeling while the others are answering questions.
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