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Apan

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Apan last won the day on June 2 2015

Apan had the most liked content!

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  1. The site might have been archived. Do you mind checking the URL? https://archive.org/web/web.php
  2. Love it! Especially #3 thus far. Hoping for more 'told-as-real' stories, as you put it. Those are the best kinds IMO.
  3. I really want to give it a thumbs up, if only for the mere effort since you obviously spent lots of time and effort writing it, but this time I'm gonna refrain from it. I do enjoy elaborate stories and don't mind lengthiness as long as it's called for, but there is a limit to everything and for me it was crossed maybe about a tenth into the story already. It had too many tangents and went into way too many non-relevant circumstances and characters (with way too detailed and irrelevant backstories at that) in order to keep up the interest. Also - and this is more of a subjective point, being a fan of realistic stories even if they are fictional, so it sort of doesn't apply fairly here - there was a bit too much betting on the suspension of disbelief with her exaggerated holding capacities, the implausible amount of obstacles thrown her way (all those drills, clogged toilets, indifferent teachers, being forced to pose as a model etc.) and the reactions of certain characters that were simply not realistic nor relatable (Ms. Kay being the most obvious case). The basic premise was there alright, but it was just too cluttered, drawn-out and unrealistic for my personal liking in the end.
  4. It's clear as day that your dad's behaviour is simply unforgivable and I'm sure you acknowledge that yourself as well, despite feeling otherwise. Yelling at their kids in public and creating a scene and on top of that abandoning them at the site, I can't even fathom what goes through someone's head who's calling themselves a parent and decides that's the way to treat their offspring. Or anyone, for that matter.
  5. For whatever reason, I just re-read this very promising story and realized that you Sir have got a job to finish. I'm surely not alone in wondering and anticipating about the ultimate fate of this newly qualified teacher.
  6. Looking forward to read it!
  7. That sure sounds like something for the board in its entirety. Care to post it in the near future?
  8. All of the above as long as an accident ensues. But that's a boring answer so let me ransack my premises and elaborate: - Sitting down, legs tightly together and squirming about while firmly gripping the sides of the chair/seat. - Standing with legs tighly crossed while curtseying down with her arms straigt down her sides, either fists clenched or hands wide open but all tensed up. - Same as above but with legs tightly together instead. Her not holding herself with her hands is sort of a token of her trying not to let on how desperate she is. That in turn implies humiliation which only adds to the arousal.
  9. Nah, she was obviously handed a pair of old trainers along with the sweatpants, you just decided they were not worth mentioning, right? Not everything has to be spelled out in detail, especially since we were past the climax at that point.
  10. I can only apologize for overstretching the definition of "the next few days", but hopefully the conclusion will redeem my tardiness. ------------ I looked down on her pants (or whatever they're called when part of a jumpsuit, just humour me on that one) and for about a millisecond I expected them to be drenched in urine. Did she piss herself in a pub full of ogling drunkards? Awkward. Serious. Emotional conflict. HOT! They were dry though, but her legs were still grinding against each other as she approached me. What happened? Was she told off for using the toilet not being a customer? But why wasn't she disallowed right away then? Was the toilet out of order? Why the wait then? I had no rational explanation for her abandoning the pub unrelieved given her utterly desperate state. "There was a queue and whoever was in there took forever to finish and no one let me cut in front!" Those weren't her exact words - you'll have to add in some frustration, panic and broken sentences - but in essence that was the gist of her immediate explanation for her retreat. I learned later on that there had been two women and one man in the toilet queue and that the person inside was taking his/her time for some unknown reason. After standing cross-legged behind the others for about half a minute, she tried persuading them to let her go next to which they all said no. Another minute onward with no sign of the toilet becoming vacant and she could feel the piss just about coming out from between her crossed thighs, she again pleaded the others to let her go first but still they refused. That's when she realized this would end in disaster if she didn't find an alternative NOW. In the time it took to deviate from the walk to my flat and for her to wait in line, we would have been at my place by now and the story would probably have ended. As it was, the pub was at about equal distance from my flat as the parking garage, meaning she was about five minutes from relief at best. But it was clear she didn't have five minutes - Every next five seconds was probably a miracle. The next possible salvation, and most likely the very last one, was the local grocery store, the very one I do my shopping at. I knew they had a toilet for customers and they were still open for about half an hour or so. I directed us towards it, yet another hundred or so meters. Panting, sobbing, panicking, waddling, braiding legs, grinding thighs, braiding legs, one foot stepping in front of the other, wiggling her hips, braiding legs, squirming, braiding legs, twisting, braiding legs, so awkward, so hot, please make it, please don't make it, please hold on, please piss yourself. I've never ever witnessed such intense desperation. And she could have been out of it had we not tried that pub and gone straight home instead! The grocery store being the one and only possible salvation, we entered it and I pointed out the toilet to the right of the entrance. She set off towards it immediately, before I even got the chance to add that you need to borrow a key from the cashier! Oh god, how Omo 101 can it get? She crashed onto the toilet door and started rattling the handle in panic, legs for once not crossed but very tightly pinched together as she bounced up and down. "You need a key! We have to ask the staff for it!" I chipped in. "Oh my god! This isn't happening!!" she said, almost breaking down in total defeat before waddling over to the checkouts of which only one was staffed as it was nearing closing time. "Excuse me", I started, "Do you have the key to the toilet?" "Sure," the cashier replied, "but it's being in use right now. You'll have to wait for the other person." Halfway through his reply I zoned out as a certain other drama was unfolding beside me. My friend suddenly half-crouched down with tightly clenched legs as a brief but audible hiss was heard! No, please, not here, not where I do my grocery shopping! Please hold it, I thought, please tighten your sphincher just another minute! It's so close! Corduroy is apparently really unforgiving. The wet streak was clearly visible on the back of her pants and I could even sense a faint urine smell, as if to underline just how close to a catastrophe she was. After receiving the information about the toilet being in use while clenching her legs together trying to avoid letting go right there, she spun around and ran back toward the toilet door. I say 'ran'; scurried with twisted legs would be more accurate, albeit in a more rapid fashion than ever before this evening. She knocked on the door, curtseying up and down, one leg in front of the other, thighs pressed together... SSSSHHHHHHHH A hiss, muffled between crossed legs and stretched fabric but still audible. Darkened and glistening wet streaks raced down the back of her legs, some urine even sprayed through the fabric onto the floor as she bounced up and down. I loved it. But I hated it, but I loved it. Hot. Serious. Emotional shit. Do you remember the Snuppa videos where she often was filmed from behind wetting herself with tightly crossed legs? That's what my friend was involuntarily re-enacting now. "No... nononono...please......please.......hurry.....", she started crying even more in total panic, rustling the doorhandle urging the person inside to at least make an effort to speed up proceedings. "No....no......" ....sssSSSSSHSSSHHHHSHSHHSSHSHHHHHH Do you realize just how saturated corduroy gets when soaked? I didn't, not until now. HSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHSSSSSSSSSSHHHSHSHHSHHHHH Waterfall doesn't even begin to decribe what I was witnessing. The wetness instantly raced down her legs and outward, hot piss forcing its way through the material and raining from her ass and the back of her crossed thighs onto the floor due to her bent over posture. Where the piss travelled down her calves, it drizzled off almost sideways as the fabric became so saturated it couldn't absorb the violent stream. The more enlightened part of my brain didn't want this, I didn't want this to happen to a friend, I didn't want her humiliated in public. But the caveman part of my brain saw a woman desperately pissing herself outside a locked toilet door, acted accordingly and sent primal orders to my chap. I couldn't help it, I involuntarily orgasmed in my jeans at the mere sight of the flood visibly streaming down her over-saturated corduroy pant legs and simultaneously seeping through the fabric and raining down beneath her leg-crossed semi-crouching body, all to the soundtrack of an irregular hiss and her devastated crying. She remained in that crouching corkscrew position while her overfilled bladder forced its contents out in the by now totally drenched lower part of her jumpsuit over the course of almost two minutes. I didn't time it of course, but it was definitely much longer than one minute of pure omo bliss and emotional devastation on behalf of a humiliated friend. I heard the rustle of a toilet roll from behind the door. "Oh my god, you didn't make it? You poor thing!" I was startled by a voice from behind and noticed a female staffer having arrived at the scene and spotting my devastated friend propping herself up against the locked door, all teared up and red in the face, unable to speak for obvious reasons. Remember how I said her jumpsuit wasn't tri-coloured at the beginning? It was certainly bi-coloured now, almost as if the lower half of it had been a separate pair of pants in a darker shade of brown-orange, if not for them being obviously and thoroughly soaked. The smell of hot steaming urine, which is somewhat different once it comes in the form of drenched fabric for some reason, filled the compartment. The female staffer was clearly more sympathetic than anything and said that they would take care of the mess and that we should leave to take care of my friend. Whoever was occupying the toilet still hadn't exited when we left the store. Just as well, my friend didn't need any additional witnesses to her misfortune. I'm not a man of words when it comes to emotionally charged situations and went down the practical route instead to help her out the best I could. I escorted her back to my flat where I let her wash herself off in the shower before lending her a pair of jeans and a shirt. She calmed down a bit thereafter but needless to say, we didn't see the night out over the planned beers and I followed her home to her own flat located downtown. The poor jumpsuit went with her in a double plastic bag. I reckon it would be restored with a couple of washings but I haven't seen her in it since then, it has to be said. Not that she has fully given up on the style, because I have seen her wearing a corduroy shirt dress in a similar fashion. Perhaps she has learned once and for all to avoid the jumpsuit jinx.
  11. Wow, just wow. Poor poor Abby. So frustrating, so despairing, so wet, so humiliating, but so hot. So unbelievably, incredibly, amazingly, scorchingly hot! The one thing, and the only thing mind you, I could ever complain ever so slightly about is the fact that you didn't come up with the second ending first and vice versa, if only for experiencing the pleasure of reading the whole thing for the very first time with the catastrophic climax looming ahead. But when I noticed your story update, I just had to read the whole thing once again with the second ending and the suspense was still mounting throughout, especially as one couldn't really forsee exactly how things would turn out in the end anyway. And kudos for not falling into the trap of making the alternate version more complicated than necessary. It was obvious that there was no room for any other outcome once arriving at the office, bar the first version with the vacant toilet, given that she clearly was on the knife edge by then. Trying to extend her holding even further would simply not have been realistic, so good on you there. Story of the year by a country mile, at least in the fictional section, and we've still got more than half of the year left. There, I said it! (Unless you're inclined to report on a plausible future situation with Abby in her business habitat wearing that pencil skirt I suggested earlier in the thread. A long pencil skirt paired with pantihose means a lot of cloth that might get soaked due to unfortunate circumstances...)
  12. Appreciate the appreciation! The final part will arrive within the next few days.
  13. Dutch or no dutch, there's always Google Translate. But I'd really like to read a more detailed version of this, especially with the hunt for a pub. Fictional of course.
  14. "Don't know", I commented upon seeing the darkened windows and relatively empty parking lot, "It doesn't look like it's open" "No, don't say that! Please! They have to be! I'm pissing myself! Oh god!!" She actually used the P-word now. Things were getting serious. She was rocking even more violently back and forth in anticipation of finding relief. I halted the car and it was obvious the place had closed down for the evening. "It's no use. But we're almost home...", I didn't even get to finish the sentence before she flew out of the car and hobbled towards the door. She grabbed the handle and shook it in frustration while bouncing up and down holding one leg tightly crossed in front of the other. I'd be lying if the caveman part of my brain wasn't incredibly turned on by the sight, but see above regarding my conflicting feelings about crying and serious and all that emotional shit. So the place was closed. It took a few seconds for the rational part of her brain to finally convince her of that and she climbed back into the car which I hadn't even bothered to turn off as I knew the journey wasn't over yet. We set off and I made an honest effort to step on the gas the last couple of kilometers to my parking garage. "We're just about there, if you've managed to hold it this far you can manage a few more minutes" I tried to assure her. She didn't immediately reply, instead I noticed her head hanging down, her face beet red and all teared up and I heard her sniffle. Crying. Serious. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Legs semi-crossed, thighs tigggggghtly pressed together, body squirming around. How much is a recond? Will it rid the interior of urine stench? I imagined working at the car recond firm while suffering from this fetish and being tasked with sanitating a urine-drenched passenger seat. His imagination would have a field day! And how will I be able to face my friend after her drenching her jumpsuit in total and utter disgrace? About a kilometer left to the garage. Red lights. Of course. "Oh no, oh please, please, oh PLEAAAAASEEEE! HURRRRRYYYYYY!!!!!!" She was openly crying by now. As if things weren't serious enough. I couldn't enjoy this, despite having all the makings of a bona-fide omo story. But I was incredibly turned on as it had all the makings of a bona-fide omo story. Green. Drive. Ok, turn right first and then drive like hell. Panting, panicking, squirming, whining. Two hours in the pub without a toilet break, and god knows how long before that. And an additional hour in a meandering car. And beer. I know just how viciously beer can make its way through you and have been guilty myself of taking emergency leaks in darkened corners in the middle of town after genuinely feeling the bladder being as full as it could ever be. She was there now, if not beyond, but minus the ability to take a leak. I hastily turned onto the next street and then into the lane of the garage. We're talking seconds here but I bet her experience extended them into minutes, if not hours. She had definitely given up on trying to be discreet and sat like a corkscrew, legs crossed, one hand in crotch, the other propping herself up from the seat, all twisting about trying to keep her vintage clothing and my vintage upholstery from demanding sophisticated cleaning measures. I raced into the garage, probably hazardously so, and didn't even bother to reverse my car into the parking slot, something which usually is part of my driving ritual. As soon as we stopped, she stumbled out the door and started waddling towards the garage exit. I locked the car and followed. Well out on the street she continued in her awkward, almost duck-like walk, keeping her chubby thighs together meaning her legs were constantly criss-crossing each other. About a hundred or so meters onward, she suddenly stopped and bent down, still with her legs tightly crossed and her hands supporting her upper body against her thighs. "I can't.... oh no... I'm pissing, I'm gonna piss myself! I'm actually gonna piss myself!!" She wasn't though, but she clearly was in full panic mode which was emphasized by her breathless speech. "We're almost at my place, just a few hundred meters more." I reassured her, ever so emotionally conflicted. I don't want my friend to wet herself. But I prayed for this woman to wet herself. "It's too far... I have to go NOW! I have to find somewhere IMMEDIATELY!!!" she replied with even more panic in her voice. By now, even stripping out of her jumpsuit out in the countryside behind the workshop would probably have made sense. But we were no longer in the countryside, we were in a lit up residential area with people passing by on every streetcorner. From where we were standing, the nearest place that might have a bathroom was one of those small local pubs/restaurants where middle-aged men go to spend their hard-earned salary (or not-at-all-earned allowance) on cheap beer and slot machines, sometimes accompanied by their cackly wives. Trying it would mean deviating slightly from the route to my flat though, but in her state, it seemed to be the last dignified option left so we set off towards it. She made a gargantuan effort to keep her hands off of her crotch, instead balling them up into fists down her sides as she walked, still cross-leggedly, on the street towards the pub. Supposedly she didn't want to let on more than necessary just how incredibly desperate and vulnerable she was when approaching a crowd of rawdy old men holding court down at the pub. Still, hands or no hands, there was no mistaking her actual state by the way she walked and by the utter agony displayed on her face. We arrived at the pub and she scurried inside. Finally she would get relief provided she wasn't confronted with some customers-only policy or a broken toilet or something. I waited outside, not seeing that much of the interior but I did get a glimpse through the front window how she made her way past the counter and the attendant didn't protest, meaning their restroom must have been up for grabs for anyone needing it. And boy, did she ever! I stood outside waiting, slightly off to one side in order not to get myself involved in some meaningless drunk chatter when after a couple of minutes, she advanced out the front door. Finally her ordeal was over and we could resume the night. I thought. For about a second. Then I noticed her red face and tears glistening below her eyes. My heart was beating faster. ----- Part 3 coming soon
  15. I'm not one to speak for anyone else, especially not the author of the thread in question so he's free to object to my ramblings here, but if the story is to be presented in an alternate and unadulterated manner I believe that he should be the one to do it and by his own choosing. None of us readers can for certain judge which parts are authentic and which are embellished and for anyone else to try their hands on sanitizing the original story would by nessecity mean guesswork. For instance, the passages featuring Victoria's supposed POW are likely based upon what he knew about her personality (after all, she was his girlfriend) and apparently he felt the story would benefit from some detailed depictions thereof, be it speculative, in order for it to make sense. I have already stated my personal praise for this particular story, but I have read tons of other accounts in the experience section on which I could heap lots of complaints regarding lack of storytelling, context, believability etc. but I choose not to simply because the author made a decision to present it in that manner. The way I see it, it's up to the author how they want to present any given experience and one should respect that. If he feels the story needs to be told in a completely unadulterated manner, at least I believe he should be the ultimate judge of that. Anyone else not happy with the presentation and eager to put forth their own take on it and I believe it should go into fiction.
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