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Dimwitrolo

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Dimwitrolo last won the day on November 28 2019

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2,267 Omo Super-Idol

About Dimwitrolo

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    A lovely chap

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  • My pronouns are..
    he/him

My Kinks

  • I'm into..
    Bathroom Control
    Bedwetting
    Watersports
    Foot play
    Hypnosis
    Tomboys

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  1. Dimwitrolo

    DimwitRolo's Commissions

    Commissioned drawings See my thread here to know more: https://www.omorashi.org/forums/topic/46343-dimwitrolo-commissions/
  2. Dimwitrolo

    Rolo: Sketches

    An album for sketch work of mine - as opposed to full colour works
  3. Dimwitrolo

    Dimwitrolo's Misc Work

    Drawing's that I've made. It's mostly Scarlett. Enjoy!
  4. My D&D girl Vyola. Also an experiment to try to improve my colouring - feed back would be very appreciated.

    VyolaBase.thumb.png.c862a65ab033cddfbb49e329c2689d85.png

  5. "Jesus Dan! What do you eat?" Dan doesn't answer - instead he gives me a wink. "No!" I say recoiling and closing the bathroom door behind me. "I'm not using that - that ain't natural!" "Could use the customer toilet?" Dan suggests. "No you can't" Charlie says, walking in with three plates balanced on her arms. "They're broken." "How did someone break the toilet?" Dan asks her. She shrugs, nearly dropping a plate. "Doesn't matter." I say. "I'm a big girl, I can hold it." "Like you did on Friday?" Charlie asks with a grin. "Charlie, I will put you in the microwave if you mention that ever again." "Why, what happened on Friday?" Dan asks. "Nothing. Nothing happened on Friday, right Charlie?" She smirks at me. Dan gives us both a confused look. "Whatever you say, Amy." Charlie laughs. "You off then?" "Yup!" I smile. "About time too, today's been dragging on." Today has been dragging on, to be fair, but that's not the main reason I want to leave quickly. I really need to pee. Luckily for me, Dan's left the staff toilet a hazard zone and today I've forgot my HAZMAT suit. Customer toilet's down again - I don't know how they do it. Happens at least once a month that the thing packs in, which means letting customers through the kitchen to avoid needing to mop up. But whatever - home's not too far. I can make it. Probably. I take a seat in the staff room and pull out my jeans from my bag. Do I need to get changed though? The trains are pretty hit or miss, and a few minutes could make all the difference. Plus it means pulling my legs up, and being in my state, I'd really prefer not to. Too much pressure. I put my jeans back in my bag. I'll leave my shoes in my locker though, it's too much hassle keeping these at home and I don't want to risk putting up with an angry Angie again. I kick one shoe off, then the other. As I pick them up I hear the door open. "Did you really?" "Did I what?" I ask. Dan smirks at me from the doorway. "On Friday," he clarifies. I blush bright red. "She played it off like a champ though!" Comes Charlie's voice from behind Dan. "She would have carried on serving if I hadn't insisted that Angie give her the day off." "Really?" Dan raises a brow. "Yeah dude - Amy's biggest worry was that she wouldn't get paid for the whole day." "Not that she'd be wandering around in a pissy skirt?" "You realise she's a student, right Dan? She'd serve naked if it meant more pay." "I-I wouldn't," I cut in. I might. Depends on the pay, really. "Well you can thank me for insisting you got full pay." Charlie beams. "I'm sure I'll find a way you can repay me some time." "So what poor sod had to mop it up?" Dan asks. "Angie of course," Charlie grins. "I wasn't gonna touch it - plus she kinda caused it." "Explains why she threw the mop head away - she usually leaves that to me," Dan chuckles. "On the note of extra pay though - could I get one of you two in on Saturday? Brittney can't do Saturday - some family business." "Again?" I ask. "Yeah," he says rolling his eyes. "Can you do it?" "With overtime pay?" "Fiiiiine," Dan says with a silly smile. "If you insist." "I'll be there," I tell him. He gives me finger guns and ducks out. Charlie walks in with her sandwich. "Why did you tell him!?" "He asked," Charlie says, biting her sandwich. "Because you hinted to it!" "Oh come on Amy. It's funny." "You..." I say, trying to come up with something smart and witty. I can't though, so I just point at her. "Afraid he won't like you because he knows you pee?" She says before taking another bite. I blush bright red again. She smiles when she notices. "I think he thought it was cute that you were just gonna carry on." I can feel my face getting redder. I look away and pull my trainers out my bag. "Did you clean those already?" Charlie asks. "I'm gonna throw these at you." "I'd rather you didn't." "Then don't mention this again." "You sure you can make it home?" She giggles. I raise a shoe and she pretends to block. "I'm sure I'll be fine." "Should I get you the mop just in case?" "Oh, Amy!" I let go of the front door and turn to see Dan coming over. I can feel my heart leap a little, but I try to ignore it. "Before you leave, I uh..." he starts. My heart skips a beat. "I have... your share of the tip jar." Oh. "T-thanks," I say, putting my hand out. He smiles. "Plus a little extra for dealing with Angie like that - she ought to take it a bit easier on you after that." "You think so?" "Not at all," he laughs. "But you can use it as a get-out-of-jail free if you ever need it, I'm sure." "Could come in handy." "For sure," he says, grinning. "Anyway! See you tomorrow!" "See you tomorrow, Dan!" I say, pointing a finger gun at him. He gives me one back. Maybe I should have put up with the staff toilet. As I make my way to the station, I can't help but feel that I might be making a dumb choice, and my bladder isn't happy with me. It's almost enough to distract me from the wonderful sight of my train pulling out of the station. Shit. I tap my card on the reader and the gate swings open, letting me through. As I walk up to the platform I can see the train as it heads down the tracks, almost mocking me as it's swallowed by the tunnel. I suppose I could use the station's public toilets...Actually I'd rather wet myself. Last time I went in there it might have given me nightmares. God, the smell. I still wake up at night... Alright it wasn't that bad, but you get my point. I'd rather piss myself. But I won't, I can hold it. Probably. I'm desperate enough that it's pretty tempting to brave the wasteland that is station toilets. I'm not quite that desperate yet, though. How long is this train gonna be, anyway? Five minutes, the sign says - five minutes my arse. It's been five minutes since I got here. Least it feels like it anyway. I adjust my bag over my back and look around. It's not too busy today, which is good, but there's still enough people here that I probably won't be getting a seat. So that's cool. I'm starting to regret that last water at work though... The train finally pulls in with an excuse from the overhead speaker about signal failures or something exciting - doesn't change the fact that I've been stood here for a good ten minutes with an increasingly impatient bladder. I'm trying to subtly press my thighs together and hoping that no one's really watching me. The doors open and people swarm out onto the platform. I can't help but be a bit envious of the train getting to empty out... Did I really just think that? How desperate am I that a train is making me jealous? Regardless, once the people are all off, I try to make my way on. As predicted, all the seats are taken by the time I manage to squeeze on. I get myself into a corner behind a man who smells overpoweringly of curry powder and sweat. I don't have much wriggle room, and as the doors close I start to realise I might end up wriggling a fair bit more than I want to. Problem is I'm sure this man will be able to feel every movement I make, and I'm already rubbing my thighs together. I don't really think it's helping much though - no matter how much I rub my legs together, I still really need to pee. The train lurches forward - and instantly stops, almost throwing me onto the floor. Instead the curry and sweat man catches me in his huge backpack. "S-sorry!" How long is this train gonna take? It's only five stops, but I've only just reached the first. Trains aren't usually this slow, are they? I think I'm just so desperate now that it's slowing down time. Every second hurts. And I can't exactly hold myself on the train without looking like an idiot. I'm embarrassed enough awkwardly shuffling my legs while trying to keep still. Some beardy bloke at the far end of the carriage seems to have noticed me - I'm trying to ignore him and also not blush. It's not easy though, not when I've got a bladder demanding my attention. And it's getting harder to ignore that too - it's the only thing I can think of... Maybe I should read some of the adverts to distract me... or they can all be about drinks. One advert for water, one for juice, and one for some shitty light beer. Which looks like pee. And now I'm back to focusing on my bladder and how much pee is in it. At least the train's pulling out of the station. It's so distracting - the beer advert I mean. It's bad enough trying to ignore the ocean building up inside me, but this advert on the roof is almost mocking me. It looks like pee, it's being poured out, and there's the word 'Relax!' in big yellow letters over the bottle. Relax with a nice bottle of Budweiser. I mean you couldn't really get closer to that pisswater without actually peeing into the bottle. I'd kill for a bottle right now to be perfectly honest. Well, and some privacy too. Not just gonna pee in a bottle on the train while people are looking. But I'd be bloody tempted right now. My poor bladder's so full, and there's an advert with what might as well be pee, telling me to relax. Who designs these ads? When's the next stop anyway? Oh. It's here. Two stops down. O-only three more. Well now I can't move. Train's really packed on now, and I'm being pushed into a wall by curry-sweat's backpack. I can't move - not even my legs or I'll fall over. I've taken off my own backpack and put it under my legs...which was a horrible decision. I can barely close my legs now - never mind clamp them shut. And I'm certainly not brave enough to put a hand down there to hold it. I just need to try to look natural. Even though I can feel all the weight of my bladder practically at the gates - and I don't know how much more those gates can hold. Especially with the train bouncing every now and again. Each bounce brings me closer and closer to breaking point. ALL the weight of my bladder is basically slammed down for a second, with nothing but my muscles keeping the contents in. Very much against the will of my bladder. Each bump is almost enough to - Eep! I felt that. Big bump. Too much. I slam my thighs together over my bag, squishing it beneath my feet - but it's too late. There's a terrible warm feeling in my tights again. I'm getting flashbacks to Friday. Even over the roar of the train through the tunnel I can hear the drip - it sounds to me like thunder. My face goes bright red, and I daren't look down... but I have to know. I tilt my head down, trying to adjust my skirt to make it look natural as I do so - and then I see it. A single drop on the grey canvas of my bag, stained dark and directly underneath me. My heart sinks. Act natural. I look up and try to see if anyone noticed. No one seems to have seen - or at least they don't care if they did. I really hope they didn't. How much longer is this train going to be!? I can't hold it! I REALLY need to pee! I've already leaked once, and I really don't want to do it again - I've resigned to leaning against the wall with my thighs pressed together. Hardly subtle, I know, but I'd rather look desperate to pee than look very wet and very relieved. I must look a sight right now - packed into the corner of the carriage, legs clamped together, one eye closed, probably red with shame and desperation. The train's only just pulling into the fourth station now, and I've already dribbled. The heat has died down a little, but where my legs are so pressed together it's still warm. A cooler stripe is reaching a couple inches down my thigh, and that's gone cold. It's the worst feeling - not only am I bursting to pee, I've got this cold and clammy thigh. At least people are getting off at this stop... ...But not so many that there any empty seats. The carriage is empty enough though that everyone can see me, struggling to not wet myself on the train like a child. Mister curry-and-sweat got off at least, so that's an improvement. I can stand up and put my bag back on, giving me space to cross one leg over the over. It feels a little easier, but not much for sure. Every movement now seems to press down on my bladder. It feels like a brick, nestled inside me. Begging to be emptied. Every second makes me want to empty it more and more - but I can't. And anyway, it's just one more stop. And the train's pulled to a stop. But we're not at the platform. The overhead speaker comes on while I'm bending down a little with one leg wrapped around another. "We apologise for the delay, there's been a signal failure ahead, and the train's being held at the station while it's being fixed. We should be moving shortly." Well fuck. I hear myself groan as I bend down even further in a futile attempt to hold it all in. It hurts now to hold it, but I have to. P-people are looking at me. Why did I groan!? Fuuuuuck! How long will this train be stuck here! Fucking delays! Why now? I should have used the staff toilet at work, I'd rather have to deal with whatever Dan had left in the bowl than deal with what's built up in me now - what I'm scared will soon be running down me. I have to hold it! I can't let it go! But I want it to go - I can't! I can't let it go! I... I can't hold it! Another hot burst inside my tights and I know that I'm starting to lose this battle. I whimper out loud as I feel my bladder losing its grip again, followed by a warmth spreading down my leg. It's an odd feeling, losing control like this - I felt the pee coming out, and I can definitely feel it running down my leg - but I didn't feel my bladder push. It just...came out. This is...the worst. I'm going to wet myself again, aren't I? I've already started... The train lurches forward again, catching me off guard. Another hot spurt erupts in my tights - this time I catch it with a hand as I slam it into my skirt. Perfect. Now there's a wet spot the size of my fist, under my fist. It's so warm - my hand's wet - but I can't give up. I have to hold it! People are whispering and pointing - I can hear them - but I can't look up. I'm looking down through tears at my legs which are clamped tightly together and quivering. And that's when I feel it again. Those waves I got on Friday. My breaths begin to grow short - I can't breathe in fully because my lungs are even pushing down on my bladder. Every inch of my body wants this to end - and my bladder is starting to fight me. Hot pressure starts mounting in my gut - rising and rising. My breaths get shorter - I know this is almost the end. But the train's so close to the stop - just a few seconds more and FUCK! The train lurches again and I lose my balance. My legs unwrap and I have to kick down to find the floor. The slightest distraction from holding everything in - but I can tell already it was enough. The pressure inside me spikes and I let out a yelp, clasping for my groin with both my hands now. From the corner of my eye I can see people looking. Pressure keeps growing in me, and I can feel it pressing almost directly against the gates, ready to burst. A sharp breath, and the pressure grows even higher - I can feel, now with my fingers, something warm and wet beginning to trickle out of me. Staring down at my hands, I can see it running over a thumb. It's all too much - I can't hold it any more. My entire body lurches as my bladder forces itself to squeeze - and this time I can't hold it back. I hear myself gasp as pee begins to erupt out of me and into my hands, soaking them almost immediately, running through my fingers and splashing loudly on the floor. I can hear other passengers gasping as my bladder takes its hot, wet victory over me. Pee begins to splatter beneath me uncontrollably, cascading down my legs, soaking into my tights and shoes. Even hotter than the pee running down my legs is my face, undoubtedly bright red. I can feel a tear running down my cheek - pathetic in comparison to the rivers running down my legs. The relief begins to hit as I surrender to my bladder, sending a wave of warmth up my back. There's not much else I can do now - even if I could stop, what would be the point? My skirt's soaked and getting wetter by the second, people are watching me have an accident, and the puddle's beginning to run down the carriage away from me. One man picks his bag off the ground and puts it on his lap. I'd blush more if my face wasn't already more blush than skin. It's too late now to even try to stop it. I just stare at the ground as I let my bladder pour into my tights. I drop my hands limply by my sides, the sleeves of my hoodie dripping with the pee they've absorbed. They feel like weights on my hands, still warm and fresh with urine. Almost a reminder of my second accident - as if the soaked skirt and tights weren't enough. I can feel a lump in my throat as I stare at the growing puddle underneath me, still rippling and splashing as the last drips of pee fall into it. I keep staring down as the train finally pulls into the station. The puddle ripples with every movement the train makes beneath me. I can't look up - I know people are looking. I hear the doors open and that's my cue - I make a quick dash to get out, nearly slipping in the puddle as I do. My feet squish with every step in my sodden trainers. How could this get any worse? My skirt's soaked, my tights are soaked - and torn, I noticed while staring at my ankles. My shoes and socks are soaked. Even the sleeves of my hoodie are soaked. Now for the walk home... "Oh, hey Amy!" fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. I turn to face an all too familiar voice. It's Charlie. What's she doing here? In fact I'll ask. "W-what are you doing here?" "I thought that was you! I could tell by the-" "Charlie." "Sorry! I'm staying at my brothers this week - I didn't know you lived around here!" "I...uhh...yeah..." "Another accident then?" She asks me in what I think is an attempt to be sympathetic. I glare at her. "I did offer to get you a mop." I look down and sob once - it's all gotten too much. But then I feel something a bit unexpected. Charlie puts her arm over my shoulder. "Hey, there there Amy!" She says, pulling my shoulders a couple times. "It's not too bad - how far do you live from here anyway?" "A, um...about six stops on the bus from here." "Well that won't do - my brother's is just around the corner - don't worry, he isn't in for a good few hours," she says. I look up and give her a weak smile. "Come on, I've probably got some spare clothes there too." I look down at the wet clothes that I've left on the side of her tub, draped in so they can dry out. I've run the shower head over them to get them as clean as I can. Charlie's given me an old pair of trackies she used to use as jammies. They've got some significant holes in them, but they're better than walking around nude or wet. I pull them up over my slightly glistening legs and tie up the drawstrings. Turns out she's a couple inches wider than me and doesn't own any belts, so it's either these, tiny pyjama shorts, or a Pikachu onesie. The onesie looks more comfortable, but I will be walking home in these. I make my way out the bathroom and head into the lounge. Charlie's already set herself up in her own jammies. She's half-lying on her sofa with a controller in her hand and Battlefront 2 on the screen. She picks a second controller off the ground with her foot and kicks it onto the couch before patting there with her hand. "Fancy a couple games before you head off?" I smile and take the controller.
  6. "Are those uniform?" I turn to see Angie - my boss - leering over me and pointing at my toes. "Pardon?" "Those shoes," she says, looking me in the eye with her steely gaze. "Not really uniform are they?" "Err..." "You know there's a reason we have a uniform." "Oh come off it, Angie!" I moan, sliding a hand into my pocket. "My other shoes are dirty - I can get away with these for one day, right?" "How did your other shoes get dirty?" "The, err, rain yesterday. I got them muddy on the way home," I say to her. Actually I woke up late and couldn't find them, but it was pretty muddy yesterday. "Well they still aren't uniform," she says with a sneer. "What, you want me to take them off? Should I do my shift barefoot?" "...Don't let it happen again," she snarls at me. She turns to walk out the staff-room, stopping at the door and turning to me. "I'll be making a note of this." She says before walking out. I stick my tongue out at her as the door closes behind her. They're just trainers. Who really cares about shoes, right? It's not even like they're a bright colour - they're black, just like the uniform shoes. And a lot comfier, mind you. Does anyone even look at our shoes at work? Like who actually cares abou- "Forgot your shoes again Amy?" There's a voice from the door. It's Charlie, one of my coworkers. "Maybe," I say with a smirk. She smirks back. "Angie have a go at you?" "Of course." "The same Angie who spilled gravy on her shoes last week, then came in the next day in studded boots?" "Did she actually?" "Yeah," Charlie laughs. "She got a right earful off Mick." "You on your break?" "Yeah," She says, taking a seat on the little stool by the wall, pulling a sandwich out of her bag. "God! Been a long shift. Some customers, let me tell you..." "What's happened today?" I ask with a feigned sigh. "Oh, the usual... Well, not quite," She says, beginning to laugh. "Someone today complained about their gazpacho soup starter. You'll never guess what was wrong with it." "What was it?" "They wanted it warmed up!" She giggles. "You should have seen the way his friends looked at him when he angrily told me the chefs didn't know what they were doing! I could have died!" "Ha!" "His mates told him it was meant to be cold! I wish you could have seen him cringe! Went as red as the soup," she says, giggling all the while. "Still, he made up for it with a generous tip." I stand up and drop my bag to one of the other stools, taking out my work shirt. "Was he anyone I knew?" "Maybe," Charlie says, taking a bite out of her sandwich. "He was the regular with the curly hair." She goes on, spitting out bread crumbs. "Oh, him!" I say, taking my shirt off and draping my work shirt over my shoulders. "With the wide nose?" "That's the one." Charlie grins to me. "No time to iron, either?" "Hm? Oh!" I look down at my crinkled shirt as I do the buttons up. "Do you think Angie will notice?" "She notices everything," Charlie reminds me. "She had a go at me one time for wearing odd socks." "Really? Odd socks?" I say, dropping my jeans to my feet and stepping out of them. "You're telling me," she says through another mouthful. "I left them in her locker after my shift. She wasn't pleased with that." "Especially with the state of your socks," I smirk, pulling up my work skirt. "I'll have you know my socks are just fine." "Pretty sure they've set off the smoke alarms more often than the toaster," I add, tying my apron around my waist. She sticks her tongue out at me as I move to the mirror. Well, I'm not the best presented today, with my un-ironed white blouse and my black trainers, but I'd call myself passable. The rest of my uniform is more or less fine. Dark grey skirt, white apron, grey tights. Familiar sight. My hair could be better, but maybe my mussy hay-coloured ponytail will offset my wrinkled blouse. If not, the apron covers most of it. Still, I've come in looking worse. So's Charlie, for that matter. "Looking on point," Charlie says to me, biting into her sandwich and giving me the 'okay' symbol with her free hand. I give her some finger guns back. "Out to work then," I sigh, giving myself one last look in the mirror. "Gotta use the loo first." "Good luck getting past Angie," Charlie mumbles through bread. I roll my eyes at her knowingly. "Ah! Amy!" Comes a horribly familiar voice as I leave the staff room. "Got a couple sat down at table four, go and get their order." "I just gotta use the loo real qui-" "First the shoes, now this - no, go and server table four." "But I need to go!" "You're meant to go before work, get to it," she growls. I frown as she briskly turns away to deal with something in the kitchen. Technically, she's right. I should have gone before work. But I woke up late! I didn't have time to go this morning, and then I missed my train, so I bought some Red-Bull and missed the next train (Bloody thing was early!) so I had to wait for a third - I didn't know if that would be early too so I didn't dare leave the platform, then that train was late so I sat around for a good fifteen minutes for nothing, then I'm bricking it on the whole ride to work because I thought I was an hour late, then I checked the roster to find I'd been moved forward an hour and all my panicking was for nothing, then I got to work just on time. No time for a toilet break at any point, and the Red-Bull was a poor idea. Now Angie won't let me use the toilet. Bitch. Why did it have to be Angie today? Why couldn't we have Dan today? Dan's pretty cool. He doesn't get hung up on footwear, or stop us using the toilet. Sometimes he lets us have a drink on the job too. I like Dan. Still, it is what it is - and what it is is me trying to ignore an uncomfortably full bladder while I try to take an order from table four. I do my best to walk forward without rubbing my legs together as I make my way to the table. Work goes as one might expect from a usual day. I take table four's order and relay it to the kitchen. Then I direct in some more customers to a table. Then I ask Angie if I can use the toilet. Then I try not to frown as I take the new group's order after Angie's told me to hold it. Then I bring in table four's starters, one in each hand - it's a lot harder to balance when it feels like I've got a balloon in my belly. What's even harder is bring them a bottle of wine, hearing it swish back and forth, trying to look natural and ignore the fact I think I'm blushing as I put it on the table. It's agony to watch as I pour it into the glass for the girl, hearing it splash and trickle into the glass, watching her swirl it around the glass like she knows what she's doing, then pouring in more. I'm no stranger to holding it in for a long time - there's been plenty of long study sessions where I've put off using the toilet to finish an essay - hell, there have been plenty of close calls after the essays were finished. And there was one time that I ended up 'using the toilet' as I was finishing the summary. Worth it though, I got top marks on that paper. Desk smelled a bit funny afterwards... A crashing sound from behind me as I walk away from table four cuts my thought process short. I close my eyes before I turn around. When I open them I can see the wine bottle on the floor, shattered to pieces. A puddle of white wine is slowly making its way toward me. "Sorry!" The man says at the table, smiling at me. "It's quite alright," I lie to him. "I'll bring you a new one right away." The kitchen doors close behind me as I walk in, going straight for the cupboard. I ignore the call of the bathroom door to my right as I take out some cleaning roll, a dust pan, and a brush. It hurts to turn my back on it as I walk back out. Angie catches me before I can leave. "What's happened now?" She asks. "Dropped something?" "A customer, in fact," I say to her, frowning. "Dropped a bottle as I left the table." "Nothing to do with you then?" She asks. I give her a sickly smile and walk out. "Awfully sorry," the man says as I walk up to the table. I put the wine in front of him, then bend down to the floor. The pressure on my bladder skyrockets, and it takes some effort to not moan. "It's alright," I repeat, still lying. "It happens, right?" "Well quite," the girl says. "Good thing you'd walked away at least," the man says as I wipe up the wine. The wet touch of wine through the cloth makes me wince again as my bladder begs for relief. I'm almost jealous of the wine bottle and the fact it's now completely empty. I throw the wet tissue into the dustpan and start sweeping up the glass. "If you'd have been closer it would have spilled on your uniform," the man says. "Might have got some on your....shoes." It takes some effort, but I manage to not tell him to fuck off. Instead I smile at him and turn to walk away, bringing the dustpan with me. "Excuse me!" Someone besides me calls out as I'm walking down the restaurant. It's a middle aged man, waving his plate to me. "I ordered the steak well done - this is very pink," he says, prodding it with his knife. I look at the dustpan in my hand, then back at him. He doesn't flinch. "My apologies sir," I say to him, offering my hand out to him. He gives me the plate. "I'll bring it back to you well done." Well done? Who the fuck has their steak well done? It's enough to distract me from my bladder for a second, but not long. I push open the kitchen door with one foot, shooting pressure into my bladder again, making me wince. Angie greets me and takes the plate out my hand. "What's wrong with this?" "N-not cooked enough," I say to her. I blush at the stutter. "He wanted it well done." "It is well done." "Do you want to go and argue with him?" I ask, emptying the dustpan into the bin. She doesn't respond. "Can I go to the toilet now?" "No, you can go on break." "But Angie, I-" "No buts, you should have gone before." "I'm going to go in my uniform!" "You're going-" She shouts, turning back to me with a new plate. "To bring this to table eight." I frown at her. She smiles at me. It's no use arguing with her. I don't really have any other choice than to hold it. I don't really have long that I can though. I bring the plate over to table eight. They all give me some gormless looks and glance at each other, trying to figure out who it belonged to. After a painful minute they decide it belongs to the balding man on the end. "Oh, before you leave," says one of the women on the table. "Could you refill our water?" Fuck. "Of course," I say with a smile, taking the empty jug from the table. Filling it up is agony. The water splashes into the jug, swirling around as it fills. Each splash and drip is painful to look at, reminding me of the building pressure inside me, building up like a volcano, ready to erupt in my- Shit! That felt warm. Please tell me that wasn't what I thought it was. I shuffle my legs together on the spot, trying to figure out what it was. A quickly cooling feeling between my legs tells me it's what I was dreading. I leaked. It's only a little though. Just - just the tiniest of dribbles. I can hold it. Shit! It's coming out - not me, the jug! I've over filled it! I pull the jug away from the tap and pour some out, trying to ignore the splashing sounds of the water hitting the sink. I cross one leg over the other and pray that no one can see me. I turn around with the jug in both hands, trying to ignore the cooling spot in my tights as I walk back to the table. I place the jug down and- "Sorry, could I get a refill?" The balding man at the end of the table raises his empty glass to me. I smile at him and pick up the jug. My aching bladder begs me to put it down, but I mustn't. I bring the jug over to his glass and begin pouring. The splash is almost enough for me to relax on the spot, but I barely maintain my composure, slowly filling the glass. I really hope he doesn't notice me screwing my face up as it pours. "Thank you very much," he says, waiting for me to stop pouring. I almost flick water into my face as I yank the jug back, thankful that I don't have to hear it spilling out a second longer. He gives me an odd look, but I don't care. I smile weakly at him as I put the jug down. I can't hold it any more though - I need to pee, and I need to pee now. I make my way to the kitchen. My bladder almost gives way as I march into the kitchen at the back. The second I'm out of view of customers I slam my hands between my thighs, rushing to the toilet door. "Where are you going?" Comes Angie's voice from across the room. "T-toilet!" I shout back, turning to face her. "I can't hold it!" "Yes you can." She frowns, walking over to me. She hands me the steak from before. "Take this, you can go after." "T-thanks!" I moan, relieved just to hear that soon I can pee. I can barely focus on the plate in my hand as I walk out - the pressure from my bladder is just too much. Each step hurts - first as I lift my leg which pushes on my bladder, and second as my foot hits the ground and sends a shock-wave directly through it. With every single step. The short walk to the table might as well be miles for all it feels like. I smile as I reach the table, leaning forward to put the plate down. Another hot spurt in my tights. I can't do this anymore. I feel my eye twitch as I place the steak down - I don't wait for a response as I turn away, almost running back to the bathroom. "Excuse me!" FUCK. I turn around to hear the man from table four. He beckons me over. "Is our main going to be much longer?" He asks. I go to answer him, but no words come out. That's when I know I've gone too long. My bladder stops being painful - it goes up a step. I can feel all the built up pressure now, mounting up inside me in an unpleasantly hot wave, building up through my chest. I look down and force myself not to moan. I clamp my legs together, blushing at the thought of them looking at me. "Is everything...okay?" I hear the woman ask. I can barely bring up my head to look at her - it's as if my bladder is pulling my head in. I bring one leg up the other, trying harder and harder to resist the mounting pressure - the desperate wave that's about to push against me. I can feel myself tearing up. The pressure keeps building for what feels like hours, all the while this couple is watching my every move. I've never been as embarrassed - but something tells me the worst is yet to come, and it's going to come down my legs. My breathing gets short and fast as every last muscle in my body fights against my bladder - I can't go, not now! Not in front of customers. I just have to... FUUUUUUCK. It's back. The warmth between my legs. I felt it come out of me, and now I can feel it slowly trickling down my inner thigh - and there's nothing I can do to stop it. It's just a matter of time now until they can see it running under my skirt. Another powerful wave of desperation sweeps over me, and this time I can't stop a moan. The woman says something, but I can't make it out - all my focus is on stopping my bladder, and it's beginning to fail. The warm trail between my legs begins to pick up speed, now I can feel it coming out of me as I stand on the spot. One last burst of energy (and an embarrassingly loud moan) is all I can muster to halt the tide that's about to burst out of me - and it's not enough. I sigh out heavily, lurching forward as my bladder takes total control. I can hear the hiss as it forces itself to empty into my uniform. The warmth immediately cascades down my legs, splattering onto the ground at my feet. But I've lost the energy to care - right now, the only thing I feel is relief. And God is it good! All the pressure built up in me is now pouring out in a powerful stream, straight down my legs and soaking into my tights. It floods into my shoes, warming my feet as pee coats them entirely. The puddle beneath me ripples and splashes as pee pours off my legs, flicking hot droplets onto my ankles. The shallow pants from moments ago are replaced by long, drawn out sighs. The world seems to hold still, waiting for my bladder to empty. Watching and staring as urine soaks down my legs, soaking into even my skirt which clings to my wet tights, inviting in more pee and soaking them almost black as it seeps through the material in a round stain that blossoms around my backside. My knees begin to go weak, losing strength almost as quickly as my bladder loses its contents onto the floor below. I grab ahold of the table in front of me for balance. The relief begins to fade away from me as my bladder reaches half empty. The still growing puddle on the wood floor beneath me now engulfs both my feet. I squeeze my toes together and try not to giggle as they squish. I don't quite know why, but I'm getting the growing urge to giggle, even as warm pee continues to splash down my legs. It feels like hours that I'm stood there before the dripping stops. Stood there, in front of these people - in view of the entire restaurant...wetting myself. I'm almost expecting them to break into applause. I breathe out one last sigh and decide that the only thing I can do now is try to act like it never happened. I force myself off the table and stand unsteadily in front of the couple. I cast them a polite smile. "Your mains will be ready in just a moment." I'm about to turn away when the woman calls me back. "You might want to bring some tissues with you." I cast her a look so stern I could see her physically recoil. I quickly turn back to hide the smile from how proud I am of that. Well Angie didn't really want me taking this to management. Because she knows that she'd be fired. Ideally out of a cannon. So she struck a deal with me; I got to go home early - which was a given - but she also gave me Monday off. And today's Friday. And I have weekends off. She gave me her tips for the day too, and removed the note about my trainers. Maybe I should wet myself more often at work.
  7. you have been visited by the sofa girl of good sleeping

    FellAsleepOnTheSofaClean.thumb.png.3d81fab99b9abc720056c54bbd45228d.png

    Comment sleep tight sleepy head or your country will get invaded

    1. Theoneloser

      Sleep tight sleepy head

    2. Sake

      Joke's on you, 95% of the world is already a British ex-colony so invading won't do anything.

  8. Hey look it's more of Vyola

    VyolaLyingDown.png

  9. Vyola - one of my DnD characters, and fast becoming a favourite character of mine.

    VyolaFromBehindV2.thumb.png.520837faad8be894ecbb4614045e6c33.png

    Don't tell Scarlett.

    1. Wolfram

      You seem to love cute girls with red skin, and I agree!

  10. Hey you!

    Do you enjoy my work?

    Working on the assumption that your answer was yes - you can see my work nude on my patreon!

    It'd be a great way of showing a bit of appreciation for what I do - and a good way of seeing the girls I draw in the buff. Maybe boys too if I draw any.

    Just a dollar a month will unlock those nudes - and thanks from me!
    https://www.patreon.com/DimwitRolo

    InTheBathroomTeaser.thumb.png.21c7bc75b8a0b0251b0ddae82d5cb049.png

  11. My D&D Character, Vyola
    Here's hoping she doesn't get herself killed any time soon.

    VyolaFencing.thumb.png.c912ff29004621400fe38ebbfe0724e5.png

    1. Sake

      Vyola proceeds to immediately get stabbed in the abdomen and die.

    2. Bismiris

      Could she wear a helmet? Would she have to cut holes in one or do they make helmets for those with horns on their heads?

  12. "Come on Claire, what's the plan?" "It would be useful to have a gun..." "Right." "And I've already got the bullets for it." "How many?" "Twenty four." "That should be plenty." "But he looks pretty tough..." "Yeah but so do the others." "What if he hurts us?" "What if one of the others hurts us?" "They might not..." "They might be even bigger?" "I don't know..." "Too long, I'm deciding." "What?" Frankie slaps the lock to the door open and kicks it in. The Police captain rises to his feet, ready to attack. Frankie stands back and readies her wrench for her first swing - Claire hangs back a little, clutching her portafilter. The undead captain is the first to attack, lunging towards Frankie with all his weight. He lands head first in her chest, lifting her off the ground and throwing her back into the wall - Frankie takes a moment to steady herself before swinging back at the captain, hitting him squarely in the arm. He recoils to the side, giving Claire a chance to attack - she swings her portafilter at the captain's head, knocking him in the chin. The captain staggers with a growl, before swinging back at Claire - missing her face by mere inches. Frankie steps forward, bringing the wrench down onto his head with a crunch. The captain staggers back again and roars in pain, clutching his now bleeding head. "That hurt him!" Frankie shouts, readying her wrench for another swing. She swings but the captain catches her arm in his hand and follows up by punching Frankie in the chest, knocking her into the bars of cell. Claire swings at the policeman again, bouncing the portafilter off his arm seemingly harmlessly. The policeman doesn't even flinch before taking another swing at Frankie and slamming her back into the cell wall with a snarl. Frankie drops her wrench from the impact of the hit, leaving her defenceless. She flails her arm at the policeman, slapping him in the face - just enough to knock him back, giving her space to move. Claire kicks at the back of the policeman's knee, causing him to buckle over backwards. Frankie kicks him in the chest, knocking him entirely to the floor. She pants and wipes her face, bending down to pick up the wrench. The Policeman kicks wildly at her, hitting her shoulder and knocking her down. "Pin him!" Frankie shouts, clasping at her shoulder. Claire nods and steps on the Policeman's neck - he snarls back at her with venom in his dull grey eyes. He swipes at Claire's legs, but she manages to keep her balance. Frankie grabs her wrench, and stands back up. "Step back!" She shouts to Claire, lifting up her wrench. Claire leaps off the policeman, crushing his neck as she does. He gurgles at them, trying to pick himself off the ground. Before he has the chance though, Frankie brings down her wrench, landing a hit directly on the top of his head. The policeman gurgles again before going quiet. Frankie lifts her wrench and slams it down again into his head with a wet crunch. The policeman stops moving. "I think...I think he's dead." Claire pants, stepping back and leaning on the wall with one arm. "Better be sure!" Frankie shouts, slamming the wrench back onto his head. Gore splatters about the room as it hits. Claire covers her eyes as Frankie hits him again and then again with her wrench. When she moves her hand away she sees a bloodied Frankie, breathing heavily and standing over the body of the policeman. Where his head once was is now a grisly mess of skin and bone. "Jesus..." Claire groans, looking down at the mess before her, "Well..." Frankie says, wiping her forehead. "He hit me." "D'you think he's dead?" "Want me to hit him again?" "N-no! I think he's gone!" "Good...haah!" Frankie pants. "Damn, he hurt me bad...Wanna get his gun?" "I don't want to touch him." "Fine." Frankie groans, kneeling down over the body and patting down his waist. Claire looks away, trying not to gag. "I'll wait outside," she says. "You do you." Frankie flicks open the policeman's holster, takes out his revolver, and stands once more. The cell is gore-splattered, and the toilet is no exception. To think it was bad before there were zombie brains splattering it. "I'm not even gonna think about using that." Frankie sighs, holding the revolver by the barrel. "Jesus..." She grumbles, walking outside. "Here," Frankie says, tossing the gun to Claire. She catches it clumsily. "That was quick," Claire says, looking at the gun. "Didn't you have to pee?" "Did you see the state of that toilet when we left? I wouldn't even touch that, let alone sit on it." "You could stand up?" "Dude, it is hard enough to pee in overalls as it is." "You look like you're about to pee in them anyway." "...Shut up." "Come on, let's get a move on," Frankie says as the two make their way back to the newsagent. She's trying to walk faster but she's clearly bothered by something. "What's up with you?" "I have to pee," Frankie says. "How bad?" "Like I'm about to piss myself." "That bad?" "Yes it's that bad!" Frankie shouts. "Come on, let's go," she adds, hobbling forward. "Think you can make it to the newsagent?" "No," Frankie sighs. "Want to go on the side of the road." "And squat down bare naked when there's zombies around?" Frankie's hobbling begins to slow as they reach the halfway point of the road. She's clutching herself with one hand as she steps forward, practically limping. "Claire," Frankie says. "What's up?" "I can't hold it - We're stopping here." "What?" "I can't....Fuuuuck!" "What's wrong?" "I think I'm wetting myself." "What?" "Fuck- Yeah, I'm wetting myself!" "What do you mean?" "WHAT DO YOU THINK I MEAN!?" She shouts, bending over double and groaning loudly as a dark streak begins to blossom from underneath her backside. "Why didn't you say something earlier?" "I DID!" "I didn't think it was this bad!" "Well it is! Fuuuuck!" Frankie yelps, staggering on the spot. A few drips fall from between her legs and hit the floor beneath her. Frankie goes to take another step forward but buckles and lands on one leg. "Frankie?" "Fuck fuck fuck fuck...help me get these ooooooof!" "I-" "Just! Fuck!" Frankie shouts. She's now leaning on one knee, grunting as she tries to move. Her body doesn't want to cooperate though, and she barely manages to lift herself to one foot before falling back on one leg. "I can't hold it!" "Try to hold it!" "Claire I swear to Chriiiii-! Oh god, it's coming out!" She moans again, bending over further. "I can't stop it!" "Frankie?" "F....Fuck!" Frankie yelps, falling to both knees. She struggles and groans for a moment before going still. Before Claire can ask what's happening, she notices a puddle beginning to emerge from underneath her backside. "Fuuuuuuuuck...." Frankie sighs, leaning forward further, giving Claire a complete view of her backside as a dark patch begins to swell over it. Streams of pee begin to fall from off the denim as Frankie loses the battle to stay dry, splattering to the ground between her legs. Her hand clutches hopelessly to her groin as pee begins to flood over it, spilling out from between her fingers. The back of her pants grows darker still as more and more pours out of Frankie's bladder and down her legs, pooling at her knees. "Gooood...." Frankie moans. "Oh god that's better..." "Are you gonna be okay?" "Jesus Claire," Frankie sighs, more relaxed this time. "I'm just wetting myself." "Think you can stop?" "No point..." She sighs, dropping her soaked hand to one side, flicking it dry. "I'm already soaked...might as well finish." "I guess..." "Shut up." Claire watches Frankie as she sits on the floor, with a puddle spreading beneath her. The only sounds in the street are the splashes of pee hitting the pavement, and Frankie's laboured but relieved breathing. After what seems like a minute and a half, the splashing stops. Claire thinks for a moment as Frankie sits in silence. "Feeling better?" "Warmer, for sure." Frankie sighs. "God I needed that..." "Shall we start moving?" "I...yeah...let's go." Frankie sighs, lifting herself off the ground. More drops fall from her overalls as she stands. She flicks her legs off until they stop dripping, and then turns to face Claire. "Shall we?" "Err....yeah?" "Good." "Err, if you're done, I kinda have to pee too." "How badly?" "N-not that badly. I'm not about to have an accident," Claire says, shifting from foot to foot. After watching Frankie's accident however, she's not so sure any more. She'd been neglecting her own bladder until now, and now she realised quite how full it had gotten. "Could be worse, right?" Claire says, trying to cheer Frankie up. Frankie squishes slightly with each step as her sodden boots hit the ground. "Yeah I suppose." Frankie giggles. "There could be zombies here, or I could have needed to-" "Frankie!" Claire shouts, stopping her. "What?" "Zombies." "Where?" "Newsagent." "Looks like it's worse." Frankie scowls. She looks to the Newsagents, barely a few yards from them both. One of the zombies from inside has taken an interest in the two and is beginning to saunter outside. Claire readies her pistol. Frankie puts her wet hand in front of Claire, stopping her. "There's not many, save your bullets for later." "R-right." The two stand still and stare as the zombie begins to meander toward them purposefully. Another one comes out from within the Newsagent, staring at the two. "There's more of them, Frankie." "So there is... Maybe they can smell the pee?" "What?" "Well...they've all been hanging around toilets, right?" Frankie says. Claire thinks for a moment before nodding. "I guess they're attracted to the smell?" "Why do you think that is?" "It comes from living things maybe?" "I guess - why didn't you use the toilet before?" "Dude, did you see it?" Frankie asks. She slaps her wet thigh and smirks at Claire. "I think I made the right choice here." "I think there's a third zombie coming out the building." "What should we do? Think we need the gun?" 1) - "We need the gun." Claire will fire at the zombies as they come out. Low risk, but will use up bullets. 2) - "We could shoot one or two of the zombies." Claire will fire at some of the zombies, but Frankie will try to bludgeon the others. Middling risk, but uses fewer bullets. 3) - "We won't need the gun." Frankie and Claire will try to fight the zombies in melee. Higher risk, but it won't use up any bullets.
  13. I don't know when, or where I'll die.

    But I'd like to know before it happens.

    So I can hit a sick fukken dab

  14. "We should go to the police station. It's not too far a walk down the road, just past the newsagent," Claire says after a moment thinking. "It's the obvious answer." "Yeah that makes sense." Frankie nods. "Best case, we find police, worst case, we find something we can arm ourselves with." "Right-" Claire says, looking at the portafilter. "Think I could take something from here, in case we see more zombies on the way there?" "We're going just down the road, Claire." Frankie points out. "There's got to be something better in the police station any way, don't bother yet." "Yeah I guess so - What do you think we'll find in the station?" "Maybe more zombies. Maybe a weapon like a baton or something." Frankie says with a shrug. "Hopefully a toilet." Frankie swings the door open and steps outside,Claire following close behind and clutching her portafilter like her life depends on it. The streets are still mostly empty, but now there appear to be a couple of people sauntering around. They walk sluggishly, with limp arms and slow, heavy steps. These people are a fair distance away, but it's easy to see that they aren't normal people. "Quiet now," Frankie says, turning to Claire. "Don't want to attract anything." "N-no, we don't." Claire whimpers, looking up and down the street. "T-the police station should be to the left out of here, past the newsagent." "That's right." Frankie says. "I don't suppose we have time to stop for a pack of smokes do we?" "N-no, we don't" "Oh lighten up would you? End of the world or not, we can still have a laugh right?" "Hey! Hey!" A voice from somewhere above shocks the two girls as they pass the newsagents. "Who is that?" Frankie asks. Claire shrugs. "Up here!" Comes the voice again. It's a young man's voice. The two girls look up to see him waving out the window. "Oh it's you," Frankie says with a smile. "How's things?" "Not great" He shouts down. " - there's some nutters downstairs trying to get in! They killed Harry, now they want me - I've locked the door but I think they might get through." "How many of them?" Frankie asks. "I think there's about five of them!" The man shouts back. "Five's quite a lot." Frankie turns to Claire. "Think we can handle them?" "Err-" "Perhaps not. Hey Gavin!" Frankie calls up to the man in the window. "Me and Claire here are going to the police station - we'll try to bring help!" "Righto!" The man, Gavin, shouts back. "You just wait there!" "I don't really have a choice!" "Err, Frankie?" Claire says, tugging at her arm. "Someone's looking at us." She points to a disheveled man inside the shop. He's slowly making his way out the door towards them. "Shit, right." Frankie hisses. "Listen Gav - we've got to go - we'll be back as soon as we can! Keep them distracted!" She shouts, starting to walk away.The zombie attracts the attention of one of his friends on his own way out "Right!" Gavin gives them a thumbs up out the window. "Come on, let's move," Frankie says, breaking into a jog. "Don't want to leave him on his own for too long." "How do you know him?" Claire asks, hurrying after her. "Local newsagent - I go there all the time - they've got this drink you can't get anywhere else!" It's a short walk to the station - and a shorter jog. The light's aren't on, but the door's hanging open. There's no movement inside, aside from a desk fan slowly rotating on its own. "Not a great start." Frankie says, looking through the window. "Think there's someone inside?" "I...haah, I don't know." Claire says, panting. She's not used to running. "Want to check?" "N-not really." Claire answers timidly. "Tough, let's go." The police station is as empty as it looked from the outside - almost. There's a muffled banging coming from behind a door labelled 'cells', but not on the door itself. Otherwise the only sounds in the room as the girls enter are the quiet whir of the desk-fan and Claire's heavy breathing. "Well it looks like we aren't getting any help from here." Frankie says, stepping further in. "But there's also no one to stop us rooting around, right?" "Right." Claire says, looking around. "Are we looking for anything in particular?" "Well I'm gonna look for the toilet first." Frankie says, spinning on her heel and crossing her legs for effect. "I have to pee to no end." "And me?" "Yeah you can go after - but for now see if you can find anything cool." "Won't the doors be locked?" "Err, maybe." Frankie pulls on the handle of a door and it swings open with ease. "Apparently not - come on, let's see what there is." Frankie darts through the open door, and then Claire can hear her bump up a wooden staircase somewhere out of sight. Claire thinks for a moment in the silence about what to do. She starts by looking around the entrance room for anything interesting. It's quickly apparent that the only things she can take are either some chairs or the pen that's chained to the desk. She decides to move to the next room. Taking the door at the back of the room leads Claire into the area where a policeman would usually sit in, behind a glass dividing wall. There's nothing too useful lying around - it's mostly files and personal belongings. A half-empty coffee cup suggests that someone was here recently. Claire goes to feel it, dipping her finger into the coffee. It's lukewarm - someone was here earlier. She looks around again to see if there's anyone still here. Upstairs she can hear Frankie's foot steps, occasionally stopping in place and tapping quickly. Deciding there's nothing in the room however, she decides to open the door at the back. She pushes the handle, but it doesn't budge. "Dead end." She whispers. She looks to her left, her eyes catching a post it note on the wall. It reads 'Keys in first draw'. The writing is messy and looks rushed, and a bloody fingerprint on the corner makes Claire nervous. She follows its advice though. Sure enough, the drawer slides open and a set of keys jangle as they hit the front. Claire takes the keys out the drawer and over to the doorway. After trying the first two with no success, the third fits, clicks as she twists it, and the door is open. The room inside is nothing too exciting, a simple desk, some papers, and a half-open window - but something catches Claire's attention. Something small and brass on the desk, glistening in the light. Claire steps over to the desk and picks it up, looking at it. "A bullet." She says out loud, looking over it. It's not massive, but it's certainly more useful than a little coffee tool. She looks down at the desk, seeing a couple more. She walks around the desk, the chair behind it creaking as she takes a seat. She pulls open the two draws. One has a black box, the latches on either side hanging loosely open. The other has a number of more bullets. Claire takes her time to count them - twenty one in total, plus the three on the desk for twenty-four. Beside the box is a sturdy looking wooden baton. "So inside the box must be..." She says, slowly lifting the lid. "A note?" Inside the box is the padded outline of a revolver, but no revolver inside. Instead there's another bloodied note. Claire picks it up and reads it. "The captain has the gun." She says, reading the note out loud. The handwriting seems panicked, getting faint toward the end. "I left him in the cell and tool? Took. Took my own gun with me. To whoever reads this, may god help you..." Claire puts the note down, trembling a little. The note hasn't exactly set her at ease. "Hey!" Frankie's voice from upstairs cuts Claire's thoughts. "Fuck off!" "Frankie!" Claire leaps from the chair with a shout, kicking it backwards. She charges out the room and straight for the stairs, scrambling up them as fast as she can, hearing the sounds of clashing and swearing from Frankie. "Hey!" Frankie shouts, right as Claire reaches the top of the stairs, just in time to see a pale hand slap at Frankie's chest, tearing at the collar of her shirt. A chunk of fabric is ripped off before Frankie leans back and kicks hard as she can. Claire runs closer, leaning behind her. "What's going on?" "Found this fucker in the toilet." Frankie spits. Claire looks over to see a bloodied man staggering to his feet - his eyes almost completely grey. "You take one step closer and you're fuckin' dead." Frankie raises her wrench again, shouting. He steps closer. Frankie brings down her wrench with a sickening wet thwack. The zombie staggers back, but seems to regain his balance for a second. Frankie doesn't want to give him the chance though - she throws her arm upwards, hitting his chest with a thud. He staggers back further, landing onto the toilet, cracking it slightly off the wall. Frankie takes one more swing, this time at his head. A heavy 'thunk' and the zombie is knocked through the toilet bowl which shatters under the hit. The pipe bursts and sprays the now-very-dead zombie's back with water, throwing the body forward. "C-Christ...." Claire mumbles, staring at the body on the ground. His head is in pieces, but the water's washed away most of the viscera. "Bastard scratched me." Frankie says, panting. "You don't think you're gonna 'turn', do you?" "Well I fucking hope not." Frankie says with a smirk. "Keep an eye on me though, if I start getting bitey then-" "Stop!" Claire shouts. "I don't want to think about that." "That's fair. Well I found the toilet at least. You wanna go first?" "I wanna go out of here." Claire says. "Did you find anything cool at least?" Frankie says, wiping the sides of her wrench against her legs. "I found bullets." Claire says. "And a note that said someone's taken a gun, but that the captain also has one." "Think the gun's on this guy?" Frankie asks, pointing. "Maybe? I'm...I'm not touching him though." Frankie rolls her eyes. "He's already dead." "What if he starts moving?" "Then I'll clamp his nuts in this." She says, lifting the wrench up. "I'm serious." "So am I." Frankie says, walking over to the body. She rests the bottom of the wrench between his legs. "The second he moves then...crnnnch" Frankie starts to pat down the body. Water's still spraying from the wall, splattering on the floor. "I thought I had to pee before this." She says, looking up to Claire. "This splashing's killing me." "Just search him." Claire says, looking away. She can hear her pat against him a few times. "Nope, nothing." "So he can't be the guy who left the notes..." Claire says. "So there's someone out there." "Here's wishing them the best." Frankie says, walking back to Claire. "Now what about that police captain?" "Said he was in the cell." "Did it say anything else." "It said 'God help you'" "Huh, inspiring." Frankie groans. "Well let's check out this captain." "He should be through here." Claire says, putting a key into the lock of a door labeled 'holding cells'. "Think he'll come with us?" "Hopefully." Frankie nods. "Unless he's a zombie." "Well...I guess that'd explain why he's in the cell...." "So you're not gonna even mention the shirt here?" "What?" "Zombie dude ripped the collar." She says, flapping at the loose fabric. "I can pop my titty through it." "Err...." "Watch this." She says, flapping it open. "Bloop! Titty." "Are..." "Not gonna mention that at all?" "Err...no?" "Suit yourself." "Why aren't you wearing a bra?" "Do you have any idea how sweaty it gets at the shop?" Frankie asks. "I spend all day working, I don't want some sweat-collector on my chest. It's airier this way." "But what if something tears your shirt?" "Well usually that's not something I have to worry about...So you gonna open the door or not?" Claire doesn't say anything, but leans into the door and slowly opens it. A sudden clashing from inside the room causes her to slam it back shut. "What's in there?" Frankie asks. Claire goes pale and doesn't say anything. "Oh for...Let me go in there." "Wait -" Claire starts, but Frankie's already barged the door open. She closes her eyes for a moment and can hear rattling and snarling from inside the cell room. "Oh relax Claire." Frankie groans. "The guy's behind the grate. He can't hurt you." She insists. Claire opens her eyes. Behind the thick Iron bars is a large, built up man. He's about six-foot tall and he's clutching the iron bars of the cell. The cell door has a sliding bar keeping it closed, but it isn't locked - though for now he doesn't seem to be able to unlock it. "What the fuck is that smell?" Frankie asks, taking a step closer. "Aww, fuck - you want the good news or the bad news?" "Err...good news?" "Well, firstly, there's another toilet here." Frankie says. "Also this guy's got the gun on him." "The gun didn't come first?" "I am about to piss myself" Frankie insists, wrapping one leg around the other. "The pipe upstairs was too much - I can still hear it fucking splashing!" "What's the bad news?" "I think the guy's spent all this time puking into it." "The gun?" "No the toilet, genius." Frankie says. "I'm not sitting on that." "You'd rather wet yourself?" "Well, no...but it's a close call. At least pissing myself would be warm." "You sure you can't hold it?" "I might be able to make it to the newsagent...but it'd be fucking close." "Should we go now?" "And leave the gun?" "You want to risk fighting that guy?" "Dude, do you have any idea how great a gun would be right now?" "I mean-" "I would piss myself if it meant getting a gun. I'll do it right now." "No! D-don't do that." "So what's the plan?" 1) Kill the captain. He has the gun that the bullets were left for, although he looks quite tough. 1a) Frankie should use the toilet - disgusting as it is. 1b) Frankie can hold it until she reaches the newsagent. There's a toilet there, and with a gun, the zombie inside shouldn't be a problem 2) Ignore the captain and go back to the Newsagent. Claire will take the baton she found before.
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