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Found 3,542 results

  1. MrJoseRocha

    Britney's Gaming Accident 2018

    From the album: JinkToons

    Britney has been playing for about 7 hours but never had a bathroom break.

    © Jose Rocha

  2. Version 1.0.0

    ONLY ONLINE TIL CHRISTMAS! Another one of the custom commissions that was recently finished is a story written by OmoOrg's own @Lakur about a pair of roommates and a bed-wetting problem. Sabine is very studious and tidy, whereas Nora redefines sloppy to the point of not always finding her way to a bathroom when she needs one. Tired of finding soiled sheets and other garments around their apartment, Sabine adds a condition to their agreement that involves Nora using adult diapers until she shapes up. But ever defiant, Nora takes her diaper off under the covers and dozes off with a full bladder. Let's just say it's too bad their room is shared, because chances of hiding this kind of aftermath from Sabine are slim. As the preview shows, there is a fair amount of nudity in this one, since the star's climactic accident happens while she's completely naked. But there are several other leaks big and small sprinkled (^_^) throughout this one, so you really don't want to miss "Nora and Sabine" ....especially since, due to its personal nature, this comic will only be available for a 2 week window. This was arranged with permission of the author/commissioner of the work, and is mainly so I can make some revenue back for the time spent fulfilling these orders - time that each month is typically spent on a new public comic. From now through the 15th this 23 page comic (18 regular pages, 5 animated frames of the 19th) will be available for the low price of $3.50. Then it'll bump up to $4 before disappearing by Christmas Eve, so if you want to check out this very special release now is the time to do so. After this time I leave it to the client to decide its status, as I can only claim credit as an illustrator for this one. I apologize for the lack of releases this year. Not only has my full time work taken up a lot of my time, but my plans to produce more ToiletStool comics in 2018 had to be pushed back to accommodate all these custom orders I took on in September - some of which still haven't been completed and I deeply apologize to my clients for not having a better system in place. I hope to round out 2018 on a good note with promises for another round of wetting-related content in the new year.

    $4.00

  3. View File Tumblr Refugees - Wetting Content My final Tumblr content, this time wetting clips, salvaged from the sinking ship that is Tumblr. Not every video survived or will survive, but I managed to find these on my favorite blogs before they went tits up (pun definitely intended). ***Contains Nudity*** Enjoy Rach Submitter rachelkirwan Submitted 12/12/2018 Category Female videos Clothing  
  4. In Universe 2 of Dragon Ball Lore, God Of Destruction Helles was doing her duties to destroy some planets that oppose her Ideals & refuse her demands but Helles was feeling odd while doing her duties... U2 Angel: Wow Lord Helles you seem to be angry today over these planets your destroying Helles: Well they opposed & refused anything I tell them to do U2 Angel: You aren't Beerus you know, is it because of that 1 Planet that called you 'ugly'? Helles: Mmm... maybe... *starts blushing & squirms* U2 Angel: Hmm? You feeling okay my Lord? Helles: I need to use the facilities U2 Angel: Oh that is a bit troublesome since there isn't any facilities nearby so I guess you have to--- Helles: No! I refuse to urinate out in the open, it is unladylike-like & embarrassing for a God to resort to U2 Angel: I was going to say to use that Uninhabited Small Planet to use so no one can see you nor myself Helles: Oh... *blushes* That's a good idea, I'll be right back U2 Angel: Don't take too long, we got to meet up with the God & Angel in Universe 10 Helles: Alright then (Helles makes her way onto the Uninhabited Small Planet) Helles: Okay then since no one is around here I'm going to be relaxed by taking off all my clothes, I've always loved admiring my own body (Takes off all her clothes & whatever the heck she wears on her head) Helles: Aw feels nice, time to take care of business *squats & starts peeing but her urine shoots out so powerful like a gardening hose* Helles: Oh my I didn't know I had to go this badly! Oh but feels so wonderful *makes a Orgasm-like Face* *continues peeing* Helles: *still peeing* I don't know why but I kind of want to... *starts playing with her breasts while still peeing* Oh my god this feels so... relaxing and... thrilling *giggles* Helles: *stops peeing then rubs around & plays her groin area while still rubbing her one of her breasts* Oh god, who knew just urinating while being naked can be such a turn on like me! U2 Angel: Hmm she has been taking too long I should check up on Lord Helles *quickly flies towards destination* U2 Angel: Lord Helles what's keeping you---*gets in shocked* Helles: Oh, oh, ah, ah, oh---Oh my, um, this is not what it looks like... U2 Angel: Really? Because it looks like you were enjoying yourself & ignoring your duties. We are heading back to your place to get cleaned up & going straight towards Universe 10 for our meeting. Helles: Fine... (I'll satisfy myself some other time)
  5. Hey, everyone! I'm very pleased to announce the (probably not very) highly anticipated third part to Bethany of the Isle! See part 2 here. This story is really coming into its own and I've already got big plans for the future. I'd love some thoughts on it, whatever they may be. WARNING for those who'd like to know: There is partial and implicit non-sexual nudity in adults and minors. Nothing worse than before, but If that's too leery a subject matter, I do apologize. ------------------------------ The stares were inevitable. Not only was the pee in her jeans as plain as day in the pale denim, but still heavy enough to swish, squelch, and slap with every step. The people who otherwise would have missed noticing were turning around to see what the wet ruckus was. Her face remained some more or less intense shade of red until away from the crowds. Calling the Uber would give her something else to think about for a minute. Not that it worked very well, as she had to wipe the pee droplets that had seeped through her pocket off her phone too. All that remained was minutes of stewing in being so wet. Shortly afterward, the SUV they were expecting appeared in the pick-up loop. The driver rolled down his window to greet them. Upon seeing her dark jeans, however, his welcoming smile fled. “Did you have a wetting accident?” No, doofus, I did a split in a kiddie pool. “Yeah, sorry!” Bethany said instead, wincing. Maybe he would take pity. “Oh, I’m sorry, but I can’t take you.” “What? Why?” she whined, “I could put a towel down or something. Please!” Her mother stood by in silence, likely too shocked to think of something helpful. The driver gave a sympathetic frown, but did not relent. “I think you should get rid of those wet pants if you want any rideshare drivers to take you. They won’t want to dirty their cars. Sorry again but best of luck.” He conspicuously canceled the ride on his phone and drove away. Bethany’s lower lip curled and tears again filled her eyes. “Great, now what?” she squeaked, “I’ll have to change in front of everybody in that weird shower room and put my wet pants in with the clean stuff! Or throw them out I guess.” She tried to resist hyperventilating while watching the traffic pass by. “Shh, it’s okay baby,” her mother said, rubbing her pitiful daughter’s back, “You don't have to do any of that. How about this instead? I’ll call the grandparents. I know they hate the airport, but they’ll come here for us.” It was fitting Bethany would arrive to them like this. She had not seen them in person since being recently out of diapers. Her mom made the call, revealing “Beth had a little bladder accident” as the reason for asking their help. Bethany had begun to grow numb to the shame that had cut at her regularly for the past hour or so. At least meeting them here would beat being stranded until she sunk low enough to face the guy at the desk again. In twenty minutes, her grandpa’s old crew cab rumbled into a parking spot nearby. The statuesque couple-- he with his boater’s shirt and swashbuckler’s goatee, and she barefoot beneath a sleeveless, floral-print sundress, emerged. Bethany hung back, letting the others exchange greetings first. “Ooh, Nancy, so glad you’re back!” her grandpa said, squeezing her mom tightly, “How was the flight?” The chit-chat was not to last forever. They wanted to see her. “And is this Bethany?” her grandmother asked with a huge smile, “The girl I remember wasn’t three feet tall! I knew you would grow up to be beautiful, but my goodness.” The woman wrapped her in an enveloping hug, as if she were not a reeking mess. Bethany answered, barely audibly, “It’s great to see you guys too. Great to finally make it here. Sorry I peed.” She rubbed her hands down her thighs to speed their drying, nominally as it worked. At least the elephant in the room had been addressed. “Phooey,” her grandma said, “Don’t even mention it. Cress is a… ‘special’ place. Takes some getting used to.” “Thanks,” she said, surrendering to the first hopeful smile in recent memory. Her grandfather took charge again. “But you ladies didn’t fly across the ocean to stand in the parking lot,” he said, “Let’s get you home.” “Should we put a towel on the seat or something?” Bethany asked. “Nah, don’t worry about it,” her grandpa said, “You look only a little damp anyway.” The fact that the grandparents she hadn’t seen in over ten years were discussing the amount of pee in her pants was not overlooked, but there was nothing to be done about it. She just nodded and climbed in the back with her mother. Home. The word echoed in her head as they departed. It was no longer “the grandparents’ house” as a barely real concept on some far-flung island. It was now Bethany’s house too, and this was her island. For better or worse. Despite how well the family took her accident in stride, in the moment it was for the worse. Any humiliation suffered here could not be escaped by flying back. This was it. Furthermore, that new humiliation was coming fast. She had to pee again. She swallowed and breathed deeply while looking out the window, trying to will it away. But this was not a feeble, beginning twinge. She crossed her legs and pressed on her crotch, wet as it still was, and hoped to go unnoticed. “Shall we take the scenic route?” her grandfather asked, “Cape Mackie’s got plenty to see from the road.” Her mother started in with something, but Bethany interrupted, “I’d really rather just get there, please.” “Alright, I’ve gotcha, kiddo. There is one statue on the way I can point out though.” Any possible excitement was lost on her. However little pee could have collected in the short while since her bathroom visit drove into her like a spear. Coupled with the rough ride in the truck, how she could make it there without getting wetter so far eluded her. After a particularly jarring bump, her pee made a run for the tired muscles keeping it back. A bolt of pain accompanied. When she tried to let out a drop to ease the urge’s sharpness, it came as a thin stream. Her chilled panties were temporarily warm again, and there was plenty more to come. Not again. Not here. No way the grandparents’ forgiveness would extend to peeing herself in the truck. She whimpered a little too loudly. “You okay, Beth?” Her mom asked. “Yeah,” she answered, recalling that it was crude to announce one’s need to pee, no matter how dire. Her mother must have seen her twisted pose, so the lie was purely formal. “Is there anywhere to stop with accommodations? Or if we could pull over to take a walk. I just feel bad sitting back here in smelly pants.” “I guess we could stop by Vinnie,” her grandpa said, “Vinnie Vitruvian. It’s what we call the statue I mentioned. You’ll know it when you see it.” Bethany prayed it was close by. It was. Only a few minutes of bouncing her knee and dreading another accident had gone by before a colossal bronze statue, stretching his limbs and framed by a circle and square like da Vinci’s famous sketch, loomed ahead. “There he is,” her grandfather gushed, his voice full of awe, “If you hadn’t guessed already, the Cress love renaissance men and other thinkers. Da Vinci is something of one of the island’s cultural founders. He believed the human form was among the most exquisitely beautiful things in nature.” “That’s cool, Grandpa,” Bethany groaned, “But I really want to get out now. Can we find a place to park, please?” Her bladder muscles trembled. “What’s the rush?” he replied, “This truck’s been through worse than a little- what’s that sound? Uh-oh.” He was interrupted by the splashing of liquid in the back seat. There was no hope for Bethany to save herself. Seated, buttoned, and buckled in, she had run out of strength. Piss rushed unchecked into her jeans, hot and forceful as before. The foaming urine ran in a river and pooled around her in the leather seat. Some even soaked into the hem of her hoodie, and on the sleeves where she held it back with her hands. She was beyond wanting to cry this time as the flow trailed off. Shock and shame had given way to resignation. This was her life now. “Sorry,” she mumbled, “I tried not to.” Her mother rubbed her on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry about a thing,” her grandpa said, finding a parking spot and stopping the truck, “You told us you wanted to get out, and it’s been a long day. But I bet you’ve had enough of sitting in those wet things. We can throw ‘em in the back if you want.” “That would be nice, but where am I gonna change?” There were certainly no bathrooms around. “Huh?” her grandpa began, as if that were an odd question, “What do you mean? What’s wrong with here?” Bethany’s jaw dropped. He's joking, right? The huge statue in the park stared over the dozens of people relaxing on the lawn before it. Some reasonably went without shoes or shirts, but curiously, it was not only the boys. Some of the girls went around in their bras, others without that too. A smaller, but still considerable number played and reclined without pants. Or in a few cases, bottom underwear. “I’m supposed to get half-naked in front of everyone?!” “Continentals, dear,” her grandma reminded him. She turned to Bethany and said, “It’s just like your grandpa was saying. The people here respect and admire our bodies. It’s not embarrassing or necessarily sexual to be seen with no clothes on. And on a warm day like this? It would be crazy to cover up!” Bethany was about to disagree, but came up with no counter. “Sooo, you’re nudists.” She simply sighed, “When in Rome, I guess.” “Well, some of us make a lifestyle out of it,” her grandma said, “But for most it’s just normal.” Her grandpa reaffirmed, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But you can.” Bethany’s heart thumped. They really expected this teenage girl to strip down in full view of her family and a hundred strangers. But her clothes were cold, smelly, and binding. Outside of her old school's locker room, she had not been in less than a swimsuit around anyone other than her parents when they taught her bathroom habits. It appeared the time that would change was now. “Alright,” she said, “I’ll do it.” Her grandma smiled. “Nothing your mother hasn’t seen before, at least.” They all exited the truck. The sun in the cloudless sky warmed Bethany’s face and scalp, while a brisk breeze chilled the wet spots in her clothing. Slipping her shoes off and letting her bare soles touch the asphalt completed the sensory smorgasbord. First she shed her hoodie as a baby step; she still had a pale green tank top on underneath. After that, there was no more stalling. She took a breath, unbuttoned her jeans, and climbed out of them. At least the bold two-tone blues in her underwear were dark enough to prevent them from turning see-through from the moisture, but her grandparents were right; no one was paying attention when she deposited her wet clothes in the truck bed. The air and sunlight were a balm to her bare legs. “Still want that walk while we let everything dry out?” Her grandpa asked. Bethany tried another deep breath to relax herself. It worked a little. Maybe time would make strutting around in her underwear feel less wrong. “I guess,” she said. When they started across the grass, her grandpa clapped Bethany on the back and grinned. “Not too shabby, Beth. Your first day here, and already a true islander. Welcome to Cress.” She returned his smile. This kind of intro could be one more worth remembering.
  6. satyr

    Cuck Confessions

    Author's note: My first new story in a while. As usual, you can never please everyone: most stories will contain elements that don't appeal to some subset of readers. As with this one. I worry a lot that my stories are becoming same-y, variants on stale fantasties, which is why I struggle to write new stories. My hope is that quality of writing can make up for lack of originality. Most of the best stories on this site don't tell entirely original stories. I also think good characterization can go a long way towards improving an old storyline, even if characters often descend into stereotypes to facilitate particular scenaros. I'm always working on new takes on the age-old desperation, wetting and humiliation themes, but coming up with something new is hard, as I'm sure any writer can appreciate. Welcome to Cuck Confessions. I am what many would consider a “beta cuck.” Of course, it should go without saying that I am not a subscriber to the “based redpilled theory” of human sexual psychodynamics, but nevertheless, it can’t be denied that I am a man who is often bossed around by the women in his life. I’m more or less a stay-at-home dad to two daughters now about ready to fly the coop, doing only a little consulting working on the side. I’m supported by my beautiful, confident wife, who runs a successful law firm; her sister is the administrative head of the organization and my wife its head lawyer. While they earn the big money, I do housework and look after the kids, who are now getting to the age where they don’t need much looking after. It’s not uncommon that I hear good-natured jokes about being a doormat, even from my loved ones. And in the online community of angry men, I will no doubt be accused of being a willing victim of female hypergamy. My wife is probably fucking some handsome Chad while I do the dishes, they will say. But that’s not what this blog is going to be about. Oh, no. There have been times when the overconfident women in my life have had to come to me begging for help, humiliated. Often in one peculiar way, in fact. This is the story of those instances. These are my Cuck Confessions. One day, around lunchtime, I received a frantic call from my sister-in-law, Emma. She was whispering and hard to make out, but there was a definite note of despair in her voice. “Emma, is that you? I can’t hear you very well,” I said. “I’m in a bathroom at the Ritz,” she whispered. Now the peculiar acoustics made sense. “I need you to bring me a pair of Anna’s underwear and beige slacks, very quickly.” This was, to say the least, a peculiar request. I couldn’t understand what might prompt this, so I prodded. She would only tell me she had a wardrobe malfunction and she was currently in a business meeting, and the clock was ticking. Maybe she suddenly had a violent period? I didn’t know, but I grabbed the clothes she requested and hurried over to the Ritz, one of the classier places in town to have a business meeting. I didn’t look like I belonged at all, dressed in jeans and t-shirt, carrying a backpack with women’s clothes. The maitre’d looked me over with a skeptical eye. “I have an urgent delivery for Emma Louise Batton,” I said. I tried to affect the hapless errand-boy, which seemed to please the maitre’d. After confirming that Emma had a table reserved, he waved me through. That was the easy part. Now I needed to get into the ladies’ bathrooms. It had already been fifteen minutes since the call, and I imagine whatever business associates Emma was entertaining were beginning to wonder. I circled around and found the bathrooms. Just as I was about to enter the ladies’, I was hailed by a waiter who pointed to the sign of a very gentlewomanly lady crossing her legs on the door. “I believe that’s not your restroom,” the waiter said diplomatically. “Right you are! I’ve got an urgent delivery to make and I’m a bit distracted,” I improvised. It’s one of my better qualities, perhaps what attracted my wife—to most, considered way out of my league—to me in the first place. I can come up with a plausible excuse at a moment’s notice. Instead of entering the ladies, I entered the gents’, standing by the sink for thirty beats of the heart, listening for movement from the corridor outside. When I thought the coast was clear, I reentered the hallway, and it was empty. So, happily, was the ladies’ restroom. “Emma?” I called softly. “Here,” came a muffled cry from one of the stalls. I walked over and pushed open the unlocked door. Whatever I was expecting, it was not this. Let me set the stage for you. Emma was in her mid-thirties, a natural brunette with a sunny disposition and subtle curves—I’m a sucker for those. She was dressed in business casual, beige slacks and a blazer over a white collared shirt. But her slacks were at her ankles, a wide trail of liquid running down both pants legs. Their source was clearly her exposed, pink panties, which had gone partially see-through. She was sitting on the toilet, runny mascara and puffy eyes, and a wide pool of vaguely yellow liquid extended a foot from the toilet stool. “Emma! What happened?” I asked, incredulous. I even forgot to whisper. “It’s—long meeting, I didn’t have time… Please, the clothes. I’ll thank you later,” Emma muttered. I opened the backpack and handed her the clothes. “Thanks,” she said. “Please don’t mention it to anyone. I’ll thank you later.” And then she shooed me out of the cubicle. I was stunned. I’d just witnessed my sister-in-law, always so confident, so assertive, so in her element, clearly in the aftermath of a major potty accident. I couldn’t believe it. But to be sure, I wouldn’t forget it. If I heard one more comment about who the real man in the house was, I’d give a smirk that said, “Remember that time you pissed your pants at a business meeting and came to me literally crying for help?” I like to think that I’m not a petty man, but there’s only so much a man can take. Our society has increasingly moved towards a division between angry men who believe women lie, manipulate and cheat their way to the top, and men who believe in gender equality, but still can’t find it in them to see a man taking on a traditionally female role as a real man. And I’m caught up in the middle of it. The following weekend, my wife was away and Emma came over. She gave me a kiss on the cheek that was perhaps a little more affectionate than familiar. She explained that she’d been late to work for once, and hadn’t had time to go to the bathroom before her meeting. She had hours of prep work to do. Then the meeting dragged on, and she felt compelled to have a coffee to compensate for poor sleep the night before, then a customary glass of white at the lunch. Her business associates expected such niceties. They were wealthy potential investors. As the meeting continued, so did the pressure in Emma's bladder. Finally, an hour in, she couldn’t prevent a leak. She considered excusing herself to the restroom, but just then, it seemed like a favorable agreement might be tabled. “It’s vital to pounce on these opportunities before the mood evaporates,” she lectured me. Even while recounting her most humiliating experience, she couldn’t resist showing off her business acumen. And then the inevitable happened: the leaks grew to a flood. Mortified, Emma hoped her associates couldn’t hear the pitter-patter of her pee cascading off the chair. Once she was well and truly soaked, she picked up her purse to hide the evidence as best she could, muttered something about a feminine emergency and ran off. Then she called me. “What happened with the meeting, then?” I inquired. “Oh, they weren’t exactly in the mood for a deal after waiting for me hiding in the bathroom for more than twenty minutes,” Emma said. “Although they feigned sympathy, and I think I got away with it. We didn’t make the deal but it’s still not completely off the table.” “Seems like you might want to take some precautions next time,” I said. Just couldn’t resist. She blushed. “This will be our little secret, okay? I brought Anna's clothes, dry cleaned, not a spot on them.” Then she leaned in and gave me a kiss, full on the lips. I didn’t resist—after all, who was the cuck now?—but it did leave me feeling guilty. After that, we drank a cup of tea and talked of other things. Seemed like Emma needed some time to return to her baseline mood. When she left, she blew me a kiss. I never mentioned any of this to my wife, of course. I find confident women irresistible, and they like the way I have of acquiescing to most demands. But I must admit, sometimes it feels good to see them humiliated. Does that make me a bad person? I would never set up a situation to humiliate the women in my life, but sometimes they do a fairly good job of that on their own. My older daughter had just turned eighteen, and her friend was seventeen. She’d been begging me for weeks to let her go on a trip to her friend’s parents’ cabin. I imagine partying wildly was on her mind. But in the end, it transpired that the only way any of this were to occur was if both families provided a parent as chaperons. Though thoroughly miffed at this idea of parental supervision, eventually the dynamic duo decided to go ahead with the plan anyway. Naturally, I accompanied Julia, my daughter, while her friend Veronica was shackled by her mother. The cabin was a few hours’ drive from the city where we all lived. All was well until we got there and the girls discovered it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Veronica’s parents had recently inherited it and she’d never been there herself. There was elecricity, barely working light bulbs, but no plumbing. We had to bring bottles of drinking water to put in the gas-driven fridge. The evening progressed, we adults chatting amiably about this or that, and the girls enjoying their first parental-sanctioned glasses of wine. After a while, their corner of the room was quite lively, laughter and giggles interrupting conversations like percussive intrusions into a mellow tune. Then came the subject of toilet facilities. I could see from Veronica’s shifting about that she needed to pee. As for my daughter, she is known to hold for long periods of time, but even she was getting fidgety. There was only an outhouse, and a quick look was all it took for Julia to decide she was never ever using that smelly little hole. Eventually, Veronica shuffled out into the darkness and returned, looking relieved, but also casting suspicious glances down at her crotch. We parents had already availed ourselves of the facilities, which honestly weren’t that bad, considering they consisted of an outhouse with a bench and a hole. By midnight, we were all pretty tired. Julia was now fidgeting openly. “Honey, you should really use the restroom before bed,” Veronica’s mother tried. Julia shook her head. “But you’re clearly bursting! Poor thing. You’ll wet the bed!” Julia has inherited her mother and sister-in-law’s stubbornness and pride. “Of course I won’t,” she said, and that was her final word on the matter, even as she sat with her legs crossed, shivering and holding her abdomen. “I won’t clean up after you,” Veronica’s mother said. “If you insist, you’re sleeping on a towel.” “Daaaad,” Julia yelled. I gave her the look. The look that I so rarely get to give. And she gave in. She agreed to protect her bed against a possible bedwetting. My confident, strong-bladdered daughter of eighteen. We woke by dawn. I knocked on the girls’ bedroom. “Are you decent? Breakfast soon.” “You can come in,” Veronica said. She sat on her bed fully dressed. I gave Julia an expectant look. “Well?” She triumphantly threw off the covers, showing not a spot on her pajamas. What was apparent, however, was the bulge in her midsection. I decided not to comment. We ate a pleasant breakfast of eggs and bacon, although I could see my daughter struggling to compose herself. I tried again to encourage her to use the outhouse, citing the long journey ahead, but she refused. Veronica, apparently, had also had enough after one experience with the outhouse. We piled into the van and drove off. The drive itself was supposed to be three hours. We stopped early on to pick up some coffees to go. It was still early, and not much traffic on the road. But then we hit the major highway, and traffic picked up. The local radio reported on the end of a nearby music festival, perhaps accounting for the heightened traffic. About two hours in, I glanced back and saw Veronica crossing her legs, while my daughter was hunched over, red in the face. I wondered if either of them would last the full journey. Then we hit a jam. All those trucks driving heavy musical equipment apparently hadn’t coordinated very well, and there had been a major accident. A big truck lay turned over on its side, the radio reported. It was still a while ahead of us, but traffic had slowed to a crawl. We were on the highway, too, with no way off. An hour passed, and we had made five minutes’ worth of progress. “Mom, I, uh, kinda need to pee,” Veronica announced. It had been obvious for a while, what with her fidgeting, and now openly holding herself. Even Marjorie, Veronica’s mom, had begun fidgeting a bit when she thought I wasn’t looking. “I’m sorry, honey, but it looks like this is gonna be a while.” “Are you alright, Julia?” I asked. She was hunched over, clutching herself, twisting her legs every which way. “’M fine,” she growled. Clearly, she was not. The scenery changed very slowly. It took us another hour to get to the accident point—by now, the rescue crew was almost done getting the vehicle upright and out of the way of traffic. “No major accidents, luckily, although one driver was taken to the hospital with minor injuries,” reported the radio. A small miracle. Not much help for the desperate ladies in our van, of course. Even I was feeling some slight pressure in my nether regions now, but I knew I could last hours yet. Suddenly, Veronica moaned loudly. I looked back, and saw that she was losing her battle: a wet patch had begun spreading across her lap. The light denim darkened quickly, and the little drips were rhythmic, hypnotic; clench, release, clench, release. After five minutes, her lap was soaked. She put her head in her hands and began sobbing softly. “Oh, honey,” her mother said. “I’m so sorry,” Veronica said. “It’s not your fault,” her mother reassured her. “Your friend, on the other hand, refusing every reasonable opportunity...” Julia was in miserable condition. She had her hands partially cramped in her crotch, partially holding her abdomen, and her entire lower body was shaking. But she was holding on. “I’m fine, thank you very much,” she announced. The accident on the road was finally cleared, and traffic slowly picked up again. We agreed to turn off at the nearest gas station for the girls to change. Julia reminded us she was in no need of a change, but none of us really believed she could hold on. About five minutes before we pulled into the gas station, I noticed a smell. Subtle, unpleasant, emanating from the backseat. Julia was still hunched over, so much so that she was hovering slightly over the seat. I said nothing yet. We got out, and Veronica’s mom busied herself finding a change of clothes for her daughter. I stepped out of the car and gave Julia a hand, since she was in no condition to exit the car on her own. When I pulled her upright, she began walking briskly towards the main building. But the way she walked was funny, a sort of waddle, and then I spotted it: a little bulge between the cheeks of her bum, protruding from her jeans. I caught up with her. “I know,” I whispered. “What?” She said, clearly both annoyed and embarrassed. “About your little pants situation.” Her demeanor changed completely. Her face flushed, she cast her eyes down. Her waddle became more distinct. She was still holding herself between her legs, stopping and squeezing intermittently, clearly still desperate for a pee. “I told you I wouldn’t pee myself,” she huffed. As if this were any less embarrassing. “Don’t count your chicks until they’re hatched,” I said. Julia made her way to the gas station restroom. It was unoccupied. She stayed in there for a long time, leaving her friend standing awkwardly in wet jeans outside. The attendant stared at her. She was a matronly woman in her fifties, and her wrinkled brows told the tale. Girls this age shouldn’t be pissing themselves. Finally, Julia emerged, a smile on her face and a fresh application of perfume wafting off her. Clearly, she was playing it off as a close call. Nothing was visible on her jeans. Veronica eyed her friend sadly, then picked up her mother’s bag of clothes and entered the restroom. Ten minutes later, she emerged dry but humiliated. The rest of the drive was uneventful, but I certainly wouldn’t be forgetting my daughter’s stubborn accident. I found her panties in the laundry bin a few days later: they were utterly ruined. I double-bagged them and threw them in the trash. The jeans she wore that day, I never saw again. “I heard you had a close call on the way home,” my wife told Julia the next day. Julia shrugged. “I made it, like I always do.” I said nothing, but I gave her the look. She blushed and excused herself to her bedroom “to study.” One night, my wife was away on business yet again. Some big court case. At four in the morning, there was a soft knock on my bedroom door. There stood my younger daughter, holding a pair of wet bed sheets. “Dad, I don’t know what happened,” she said. “It just… I must have been sleeping heavily and...” I gave her a hug. Unlike my wife, my older daughter, and my sister-in-law, my youngest Courtney has never been arrogant. She’s always been a bit of a daddy’s girl, listening to my advice and respecting me far more than she respects her mother. I couldn’t find any reason for schadenfreude here. We cleaned things up, and I assured her that I loved her, accidents or not. Unlike her sister, Courtney has a bit of a weak bladder. Usually, she manages it well. But occasionally, she doesn’t. One time, we were on a family vacation in a tropical location, and Courtney wet her bathing suit waiting in line for a water slide. It got us all thrown out of the park, souring everyone’s mood. But my wife’s reaction was what really pissed me off. She showed absolutely no empathy, berating her teenage daughter for acting like a baby, quite loudly I might add. I rarely get pissed enough to deal with any marital issues in a more aggressive than passive way, but this was one of those times. One night, the girls were in the hotel watching a movie, old enough to look after themselves. I decided to ply my wife with alcohol. I wanted a confrontation. Things had soured between us lately. Her sister’s mishap at the business meeting had spoiled a deal that could have propelled the firm into the stratosphere, and now suddenly acquisitions made contingent on that deal going through were leading to potential financial troubles. And Anna took her frustrations out on me on a daily basis. My cooking was suddenly no good; one uncleaned dish was evidence that I wasn’t holding up my part of the deal, where she made the big money and I was the homemaker. My closeness with Courtney was also becoming an issue. I think she was jealous she couldn’t connect as well with her younger daughter—who had inherited more of my mild-mannered genes—than her assertive older one. She was happy to drink. By the fifth drink, she had yet to excuse herself to the bathroom. This was when I launched my strike. I told her that her treatment of Courtney’s accident was beneath her, bad parenting. I told her she should be more empathetic, and maybe then her youngest daughter would actually like her. This last comment was quite mean, and cut too close to the truth. My wife exploded, sending a series of loud expletives my way. It was all I could do to keep us from getting thrown out of the restaurant. Finally, I offered her another drink, to calm things down. All the while, everything was working its way throw her system, and she was now noticeably drunk and fidgeting. But she would not simply walk out of an argument: she had to win. So we spent another hour circling around the issues, more calm in tone but no less acidic in content. By this point, Anna could not sit still. I suggested we call it a night. On wobbly legs, we made our way back towards the hotel. On the way back, she continued to make references to our earlier spat. “She’s just a brat and needs to learn how to control herself!” “Might say the same of you,” I remarked. Anna was clenching her butt, walking gingerly, occasionally squeezing her crotch. “What did you just say to me?” She demanded. “I said you look about to piss yourself right now.” For a moment, she looked like she might slap me. Then she hunched over, and it seemed like her entire energy deflated. Hands between her legs, face scrunched up, she fought to remain in control. I waited in silence. Finally, she rose. “Let’s get home,” she said. Her tone, now, was milder. Anxious, even. We crossed the hotel lobby and entered the elevator. Anna was tripping on her legs, shifting her weight every which way. She was dressed in tight jeans, and I could see the bulge protruding over the waistband. At times, her knees buckled. I steadied her, and she let me. Then we were at our floor. Anna shuffled towards our room. I opened it, since her hands were occupied squeezing between her legs. The room was a suite—perk of the high-class lawyer lifestyle—and the girls were asleep in the other room. Anna turned to me, on trembling legs. I could spot moisture in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been a terrible wife lately, and a bad parent. These business issues are taking their toll.” Well, she didn’t say it exactly like that. She was slurring slightly and shivering all over her body, interrupting her sentences with quick and instinctive curtsies. She moved towards me. Took my face in her hands. Moved in for a kiss. When you have a wife like mine, reconciliatory sex can be a blessing or a curse. She guided me onto the bed, switching our positions so I was on top. She began caressing my face, and I made a tentative move towards her breasts. I cupped them through her shirt, and she moaned. Then her entire body spasmed under me, and a little “noooo” escaped her. Laying on top of her, I could feel the flood. Her pee pressed through her jeans, moving upwards towards her shirt, pushing into my own pants, and spilling all over the bed. It lasted over a minute. By the end, I moved off her and began undressing my clothes, covered in her pee. She lay on top of a wet bedcover, streaks of pee going from her crotch up into her shirt, down both pants legs, and ending in a large pool under her butt. I said nothing, and she did nothing except blush and cover her face. I stripped naked and re-dressed in clean clothes. Then I told my wife, “I think it’s time you had a talk with Courtney.” She was crying now. “Hush, baby,” I said. “Remember that talk about empathy? Now be an adult and actually do it.” I walked over into the other room and woke up Courtney. Told her her mom had something important to tell her and she should come into the main room. Bleary-eyed, she followed my lead. There she was, my wife, standing just off the soaked bed, still in her piss-stained clothes. “Oh my god, mom!” Courtney said. “I’m so sorry, honey,” Anna managed. “Sometimes accidents happen, and I shouldn’t have called you a baby.” Now, like I said, Courtney is a sweet soul. She had already forgiven her mother, well, at least she was open to the possibility of forgiveness. The two of them hugged it out, and for once, Anna listened when Courtney spoke of her problems, the embarrassment, the fact that she felt like her father was the only one who understood. The next year was very good, family-wise. I have one final tale. Both my daughters were now in college, and they were home on summer vacation. Courtney came running into the house one evening, heading straight for the bathroom with urgency in her stride. She’d gotten an internship at a local ad agency. Julia had a part-time job, but she had the day off, and she happened to observe this. She had managed to escape her accident dignity intact—only she and I knew about it. And she couldn’t resist making a quip about her sister’s frequent mishaps when Courtney emerged from the bathroom, dry and relieved. “Oh, fuck off,” Courtney said. It was a rare case of her cursing. “You might have a freaking balloon for a bladder but that doesn’t give you the right to judge me. Every balloon can burst.” I happened to observe this exchange discreetly from the top of the stairs. “Sure thing, little sister,” said Julia. “I could outlast you even now, and I haven’t been since last night.” “I’m not playing your stupid games,” Courtney said. “Just go away.” That’s my girl, I thought. “Because you know you’ll lose, like always,” said Julia. “I’m doing it anyway, bitch.” How could I have raised two such different daughters? I sometimes wonder. Perhaps the truth is Julia was raised by her mother, and Courtney by me. Courtney walked off, seemingly done with the affair. Julia lounged in the family room watching re-runs of Friends for the next two hours, sipping lemonade. She made no move towards the nearby restroom, and by the end of it she was squirming. At dinner, she had a glass of wine, with water on the side. By now, her movements under the table were obvious. Courtney gave her the silent treatment. After dinner, I took Julia aside. “What the hell are you doing?” I asked. She sat on the couch, legs crossed. “Lounging, currently,” she said. “I mean your whole challenge thing.” “You heard that?” “I did. And I think it’s mean and immature.” “Courtney needs to learn her place,” Julia said. She had begun seeing herself as her mother’s heir, already in her second year law program, and clearly thought Courtney going into advertisement was a disgrace to the family name. A name made not by Julia, mind, but by her mother and aunt. “You might want to forget, but I remember the camping trip,” I chided. She blushed and puffed up her cheeks. Made her look rather like a scared pufferfish, rather than the defiant daughter. “You were hallucinating,” she said. “Call it off and be reasonable,” I said. Julia left the room to grab another drink. Well, I thought, let her dig her own grave. I approached Courtney, who was always up for a little father-daughter chat. I told her Julia was still going with her silly challenge. Courtney shook her head. “Why does she have to be so mean? We’re supposed to be sisters.” “I tried and pleaded, but she won’t listen. I suggest you make use of the restroom and let her prove a lesson to herself. Truth be told, makes me feel like a bad father, but I can’t exactly drag my college-aged daughter to the bathroom.” Courtney nodded. The evening wore on. We all gathered in the family room to watch Netflix. By now, Julia was moving erratically, still sipping on her lemonade, unable to sit still. Halfway through the movie, she interjected, “Have to go potty yet, little sis?” “Nope,” Courtney said, and continued watching the movie. When it was over, it was getting late, but none of us were particularly tired. Julia was hunched over on the couch, holding herself. One of the perks of wealthy life in the summer is having your own private swimming pool in the yard. And this time of year, the temperature stays bath-able through midnight. “Hey, fancy a swim, sis?” Courtney piped up. Julia groaned. “It’s so relaxing, cooling off at the end of a hot day,” Courtney added. “Fine,” Julia said. Fifteen minutes later, Julia had contorted herself into a rather revealing one-piece bathing suit. It displayed her protruding bladder prominently. I grabbed a beer and sat down in a lawn chair, watching as the two of them waded. Julia couldn’t move much at all anymore. Every little movement was accompanied by a squeeze, a grab, a contortion designed to contain her flood. Courtney swam gracefully like a swan. After a while, the two of them climbed out of the pool. Courtney gracefully, Julia clumsily, more like a rhino than the lithe young woman she was. Both of the girls seated themselves on lawn chairs beside me. “Fancy a night-cap?” I asked, waving my bottle of beer. Courtney nodded. They were both of age. I emerged with three bottles, pre-opened. Julia took hers with shaky hands. Anything holding up one of her hands was an impediment to her efforts to hold it in. Courtney savored the beer—a fine Belgian—while Julia sullenly sipped at hers. I was anticipating something to happen soon. Julia set her beer on the nearby table. “I think I’m calling it a night,” she announced, and rose gingerly. Courtney smirked. Julia shuffled towards the house. I couldn’t believe how she was still holding it. Although I hate to write this—I harbor no such feelings towards my children—you might want to know that you could clearly see her glutes working overtime, contracting every muscle of her lower body to hold it. “Are you ready to call it off?” I asked her. She turned, pained. “Of course not.” We all went to bed. Early the next morning, Julia came banging on my office door. She was cross-legged and hunched over. “What’s going on with the bathroom?” She demanded. “Oh,” I said. I had genuinely forgotten, but I’d had some electrical problems in the bathroom recently and had an electrician over early. “Got some work being done there right now.” “I have to pee!” Julia exclaimed. “Yes, I told you yesterday, call it off.” “And the bathroom’s closed off.” “For the next few hours.” “Fuck. Well, I’ll just hold it.” Just then, Courtney showed up, somewhat jittery herself, complaining about the same issue. I explained the situation. “What are we gonna do?” Courtney asked. “I’m taking you to the nearest coffee shop,” I said. “What? No!” Julia said. “Do you want to pee in your pants?” “Of course not!” “The sink, then?” She conceded. We piled into the car, Julia frantic, Courtney clearly in serious distress herself. When we got to the coffee shop, Julia insisted on buying a coffee—most stores only allow customers use of their facilities if they buy something. But I imagine it was also a ploy to prove she could still outlast Courtney, who happily headed for the restrooms. By the time Courtney was back, relieved, Julia had a cup of coffee in a shaky hand which she immediately handed over to me. I followed her towards the unisex single-stall restroom, needing a leak myself. Meanwhile, a line had formed. A young woman in front, then an older lady with a little girl behind her. Julia was potty-dancing like a toddler. The older lady gave her a raised eyebrow. The young lady entered, and by now, it looked like Julia was on her last legs. I politely inquired of the older lady, “Might my daughter jump the line? I’m sorry, but she’s about to have an accident.” “Dad!” Julia exclaimed. The older lady sighed, but allowed Julia to go in front. When the young lady exited, Julia ran in. She was in there for five minutes. I didn’t expect her to make it, but when she exited, she was dry as the Sahara, smiling. The little girl and the old lady did their business, and I did mine, and that was that. Courtney looked a little disappointed when her sister emerged dry, but said nothing. Julia took the now-cooled coffee from me and immediately downed it. Then she ordered a soda, saying she needed to rehydrate. But the saga doesn’t quite end there. By the time we got home, the electrician informed me it would be an all-day job. Julia didn’t take it well, having finished another two lemonades by the time I broke the news. By dinner, Julia was frantic again. Her mammoth hold must have weakened her—her kidneys still in overdrive. She refused a glass of water from her sister, who gave an amused smirk in return. Courtney announced she hoped the damn bathroom would be in order again soon. Then she went rummaging in her closet and found something very old—a half-used pack of bedwetting pants she had occasionally used up until her teens. She presented her find to her sister. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Julia said. “Well, I’m gonna wear one, just in case,” Courtney said. Just then, another spasm wracked Julia, and she had to hunch down to keep it in. When she rose, she accepted a pink pull-up from her sister. “This doesn’t prove anything,” she said. “It’ll still be dry by tonight.” “Whatever you say.” So now I had two daughters in their early twenties, both wearing what amounted to diapers. Both were fidgeting, but one much more so than the other. The electrician informed me that although it would involve overtime, he really needed to fix this tonight to get his other assignments done the next week, and he wouldn’t charge any extra. It was crunch time. We sat down on the couch, trying to zone out to the television. I fancied a quick pee myself by this time. None of us could keep their attention on the screen. Both girls were scrunched up in an almost fetal position, holding themselves. At one point, Julia went rigid, thousand-yard-stare, squeezing herself with all her might. After that, she was more or less crumbled into a ball. Then Courtney gave a yelp. “No!” She moaned. Then she announced, matter-of-factly, “I peed a little. I need to go change.” Julia jumped on the opportunity. “I knew it. You’re just not as strong as me.” “Let’s see yours, then,” Courtney countered. Being present for this exchange made me quite uncomfortable as a parent. But all details for you, dear readers. Julia looked down. “Let’s see it!” With a groan, Julia managed to stand up. “Well, then?” asked my younger daughter. Julia blushed. Slowly, she lowered her pants. It was quite obvious. Her pull-up was swollen and yellow. Courtney laughed. “Oh my god.” Then she walked off to change. Julia, now thoroughly humiliated, attempted to do the same. But halfway across the room, she stopped and crouched down. A loud hiss could be heard, and soon the urine broke through the leak guards, trailing through her jeans and down onto the floor in a massive puddle. Tears were welling up in Julia’s eyes. Courtney came back refreshed to see her sister sitting in a puddle of her own making. At that moment, the electrician showed up to announce he was done. “Oh my,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” He quickly arranged to send a bill in the mail and disappeared from the scene. I had expected my younger daughter to gloat, but instead she helped her sister up and took her to Courtney’s room. I wasn’t privy to the following conversation, but had it related to me later. “I’m sorry,” Julia said. Courtney nodded. “Accidents happen,” she said. “Actually, I wanted to tell you something that might cheer you up.” “Nothing could possibly do that.” “Try me.” “When I got to my room, I realized I didn’t just need to pee. And… it just happened. I lost control. Notice the air freshener?” Courtney rummaged threw her laundry bin and retrieved a pair of jeans. There was a distinct brown mark on the seat of the pants, and a bunch of used wet wipes poorly concealed by paper towels on top of a double-bagged pull-up in the paper bin. “Oh my god,” Julia said. “I would never poop my pants.” “Let’s agree to let toilet matters be private matters from now on,” Courtney said. “Deal.” That marks the end of my peculiar series of humiliating incidents involving my cocky women. For now. Am I a bad person for sharing these stories? Perhaps. Am I cuck? Who knows. But these are my Cuck Confessions, and you perverts are now accomplices after the fact.
  7. Phentaiee

    Zone Pink

    I’m pretty sure I need to put a warning for this, so WARNING! There IS nudity here! There are also a few things I need to say before I start. There is not going to be any omo for a short while. I promise it will be here soon, but it’s not here yet. Also I made the first drawing a while before I made the second drawing. I was going to make them on the same day, but I forgot that I had 2 images rather than just one. You can tell there was a definite time gap between the two drawings An eighteen year old girl named Emily Omono was laying in the middle of a road, unconscious. She was not hit by a car. There are no working cars for miles. She had not passed out here after a night of drinking, as she didn’t really exist before this. At least, not here... Emily was in the middle of a simulated world called: “Zone Pink.” “Hello? Wake up already! This is the seventh time I’ve checked in on you!” A voice near to her called out. The voice was male, but not intimidating in the slightest. It wasn’t a high pitched voice, it was just… unthreatening. That’s the first thing Emily thought when she heard the voice. “Who- who are you?” She asked, waking up, very unaware of her surroundings. “You are not to know who I am! I am not your friend!” The voice called out. Emily looked around. She saw what looked like an abandoned city. She didn’t see anyone, but she did feel pretty cold. Why was she so cold? “I am not with you, I am just the announcer voice. You are in a deserted area. Nobody is here, but that’s good for you! While I’m sure you wouldn’t want anyone seeing you like that… that’s the least of your concerns right now! There are monsters in this world. But the worst monsters of all, are the humans that inhabit it.” A quieter voice was heard saying: “Nice!” And a high five was clearly heard following it. Emily was wondering what he meant by that when she realized why she was cold. She was completely naked! Emily stood up and started frantically searching for clothes, or something to cover her up. “Your efforts are futile! There is no clothing here! Your best bet would be to search the desert to your left, but it’s enormous. You could never search the whole thing.” Emily noticed that she was on a city’s edge, and was bordering a desert. She also noticed that the sky was a pink grid. Emily started walking towards the desert, but was very slow, since she was trying to cover her privates. “Nobody is here, I am the only one who can see you, and I’ve seen enough of you while I was waiting for you to wake up. Shit, that sounded creepy! Wait! Why am I worried about being creepy? You should fear me!” The voice announced. “I’m not afraid of you at all!” Emily groaned, already annoyed with this guy. “Just tell me what to do to get out of here!” She asked. “The only way out of here is to die, and you won’t be returning home afterwards. Your body has been transported here, and it will remain here for the rest of eternity! Your job is to make do in an apocalyptic wasteland and survive as well as you can.” The voice said. Emily took her hands off of herself, and started briskly walking over to the desert. She was terrified on the inside, but wasn’t going to let this annoying voice get the satisfaction of scaring her. After a good twenty minutes of walking, Emily stopped caring about her dignity. She was losing hope of this being some “big prank”. She started to realize she was actually stranded in a desert, naked. Just as she was about to give up, she noticed a skeleton in the distance. She ran over to it, and found a rusty spear, and some boots. “Is… Is that it?!” She yelled in frustration. “That’s only a start! You’re lucky you found a weapon before something else found you! Also, you won’t get blisters now!” The voice said. “Wha!?! I forgot about you! Have you just been looking at me this whole time?!” Emily asked. “Yes, but I won’t be able to for much longer, the thing I’m using to contact you is running out of power and you're not interesting enough for me to waste money sending in a new one. If you have any questions, ask them now, because you won’t get any more.” The voice said. “Ok, what is this place?” Emily asked. “This is Zone Pink, a simulated nightmare!” The voice answered. “Wait, are there other zones? Like zone orange, or zone yellow?” Emily asked. “No. Zone Pink is the only zone, as far as you know.” The voice said. “As far as I know? Does that mean there are more and you don’t want to tell me?” Emily asked. “No! Zone Pink is the only zone! As far as you know…” The voice responded. “It sounds to me like the author of this story hasn’t decided whether he wants there to be other zones yet and has decided to make it cryptic so that he can decide later.” Emily exclaimed. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” The voice sighed. “Oh, also, you said this was simulated? Like a game?” Emily asked. “Yes I suppose you could say that.” The voice answered. “Ok, so if I were to put on these boots and they were to give me 2 defense, would that be 2 overall defense for my entire body or just 2 defense for my feet?” Emily asked. “Oh! That is actually a very good question! And the answer is…” What is the answer? A. The boots give her 2 defense, regardless of where she is hit. B. The shoes only protect her feet.
  8. satyr

    Another tumblr archive

    Version 1.0.0

    837 downloads

    I went through whatever stuff I'd saved on tumblr over the years and downloaded what seemed most worthwhile. I put it all in a zip file because that seemed easiest to up/download. There are 100+ images, in addition to 17 video files. I can't guarantee that any of this is unique; a lot of it probably exists in some folder somewhere on this website already. The content is a mix of wetting, diapers, and a little bit of softcore messing (sorry if that isn't your thing). I've tried to confirm that everyone is 18+ even though some of these ageplayers do dress very young.

    Free

  9. omorashi king

    My finals experience

    Alright so as most of you know most college students are currently doing there finals I had just finished mine yesterday and I wanted to share and experience that happen in one of my exams. So the exams started after lunch. During lunch I drank a coke and still a bottle of water. While waiting for 1:30 when the exams was supposed to start I didn’t feel any desperation at all. As soon as I sat down in the exam hall I felt a little something in my bladder but I didn’t bother with it. 30 mins later I got to a point where I couldn’t put it off to much I was thinking to ask to go the toilet Buh then someone ask to go. So I thought that I’ll wait the they came back right after they came back someone else ask to go. The teacher watching us then send no one will be allowed to go outside again. There goes my chance to go but in my head I wasn’t to desperate I could wait till I finished my exam. Well as I continued to do my exam I felt my desperation grow and grow as was probably a 7/10 and I wasn’t even half way thought the exam. And in my head I couldn’t even focus on the exam all I was thinking bout was my quickly filling bladder. It actually got to a point that if I put to much focus on my exam I would leak a little into my boxer. And I wasn’t planning to hold myself in a room full of people like that. When I finally finished the exam just to get up was a fight I leaked a lot when I did but no visible wet spots thank god. I gave the teacher my exam paper and made a straight b line for the toilet and peed i felt so releaved and I know I wasn’t the only one desperate in the exam cause may other people made a rush to the toilet after leaving the exam
  10. Jimmy Olsen

    A Messy Migraine

    I wrote this almost 3 years ago and then forgot all about it. This shouldn't happen to me. I'm 19. I go to a university. I interviewed for a job just a few hours before the incident. I felt like such an adult then. I was confident and serious and knew just what to say. I remember checking myself out in the mirror before I went. I looked elegant and sophisticated in my skirt-suit with my hair in a bun. Things went downhill when I went home for the weekend. I was hoping to spend time with my boyfriend and bring some of my stuff back to my dorm. My mom gave me a ride. I felt a migraine coming on while I waited for her, and it got steadily worse during the hour we spent on the road. I texted Jeremy from the car to cancel our dinner. It was heartbreaking, since it was the anniversary of our first date, but I was in no condition to function in public. By the time I got home, I couldn't even function in private. Every light was blinding and everything else was blurry. It felt like I spent hours rummaging through the medicine cabinet. I finally wound with some Advil in my hand. I put my lips under the tap because I couldn't even manage holding a cup. I dropped a couple tablets down the sink, but I felt 4 or 5 go down when I swallowed. I thought I'd feel better when my professional yet uncomfortable clothes were off. That was a real chore. I had to either work in the dark or face a million rays of light stabbing my brain. Each button was an ordeal. I fumbled with my bra for so long you'd think I was wearing one for the first time. I wanted to put my clothes away neatly like an adult, but I couldn't manage. I was yelling in frustration when Mom came in. I felt silly standing there in just my panties and stockings trying and failing to hang up a suit. Mom took care of it for me. She put me to bed and turned off every last light upstairs. That's the same bedroom I had all through childhood, and now I was back in the role of a child. It was chilly, so I looked for something to put on that wouldn't take much effort. All my current clothes were packed, so I pawed through the things I left behind in my dresser. There were pyjamas left over from my girly pink phase in 11th grade. They fit and I wasn't in a picky mood. The pain in my head only dropped by 10 or maybe 20 percent. To make things worse, my stomach started hurting. I asked Mom for more pills, but she scolded me when I told her how many I'd taken already. "You need to get something in your tum-tum besides medicine," she said, and she brought me some juice and soda crackers. Yes, she actually said "tum-tum" to her 19 year old daughter. It got worse, too. She put a light on in the bathroom in case I couldn't find it in the dark and needed to "go potty." The food and drink didn't help. My "tum-tum" hurt more and started gurgling loudly. Pretty soon I did have to "go potty." By this time I was in such bad shape I knew walking was going to be a bother. I got my feet out from under the covers and sat on the side of the bed. I thought I'd sit like that for a moment and adjust to the light. When I tried to turn on the lamp I couldn't find the knob. When I finally did, I couldn't seem to grip it to turn. I felt so awful that even my sense of touch was off. I ended up knocking the lamp off the night stand. Some sounds and sensations down in my guts told me I needed to be on a toilet soon, light or no light. That was when I heard Mom and Jeremy talking downstairs. He wanted to bring me my present. Mom said I was feeling good enough for a brief visit. I didn't want to go to the bathroom while he was around to hear and smell me. I'd have to keep my cheeks clenched for the time being. At that moment I was more concerned about the lamp. I slowly and carefully walked over to the light switch. The pain and the blinding blurriness were back. With my squinting strained eyes I was eventually able to see the lamp. It didn't look broken, but it was hard to tell from the opposite side of the room. I started walking, but got all dizzy and tippy. I lurched forward to try to grab onto the bed to keep from falling. I couldn't see what was happening but I knew my hands were feeling the soft mattress and not the hard tile floor. I felt something else. Bumpy lumps in my underwear. Some oatmeal-textured nastiness was burbling out between my buttocks. It stopped after a moment and it didn't seem like very much made it out. My heart was racing. More could come out any second. I needed to plop that rump on a toilet before I exploded. I could barely stand up much less walk, but I had to do something. I slowly took my hands off the bed and tried to balance without standing all the way up. I shifted my right foot and turned my body 90 degrees. Something went wrong. The next thing I knew I was in a squatting position. My bowels took that as the signal that they should push everything out. As luck would have it, that was the moment Jeremy walked in. With a quivering voice and tears welling in my eyes I said, "I had an accident." He didn't need me to tell him that. He could see the damp brown stain on my pink PJs, the big lumpy bulge sagging between my legs, and the little muddy puddle on the white tiles under me. He stammered something about our anniversary and how he hoped I felt better soon, then he left. I immediately started weeping. I don't blame him for leaving me along to wallow in my mess. I must've looked pathetic to him. I shamefully walked down the hall, around the corner, and into the bathroom. Mom was by my side before I knew it. She helped me get out of my messy clothes and into the tub. In tears I protested that I could clean myself up. I did but she stayed in the room with me. I didn't feel like a complete failure until Mom lectured me about the mess I made in the medicine cabinet. It seems I'd been careless as well as clumsy. Mom has trouble getting her Ex-Lax tablets out of the paper strip, so she cuts them all out ahead of time and keeps them in an empty Advil bottle with "Ex-Lax" written on it in magic marker. Those were the pills I took.
  11. Jimmy Olsen

    The Pyjama Zipper Crisis

    Based on a prompt by @TheMaskedVoid. I want to share a funny, embarrassing, but strangely pleasurable experience I had a couple years ago. It was Thanksgiving, so a lot of relatives were in town. My mom's brother and his wife stayed at our house for two nights. It wouldn't normally be unusual or uncomfortable for me, but a lot had happened in my uncle's life since he was here last. He had a new wife and a teenage step-daughter. This girl—let's call her Jill—was in the same grade as me, and as good-looking as any girl I'd noticed at school. She was a strawberry blonde a head or so taller than me with a very developed feminine figure. Thanks to the ridiculously warm weather we were having that fall she was disturbingly underdressed the first time I saw her. She was wearing tight jean-shorts and a blouse made of material so thin it might as well have been tissue paper. My family always hugs when we see each other, but the hug from Jill almost gave me a heart attack. Now, it was normally a little bit awkward to have a female cousin staying in the bedroom next to me, using the same bathroom as me, walking by my door at night half-dressed etc. This time it was someone I didn't really know who wasn't really related to me. I knew I was gonna be on edge the whole time this girl was in my home. I'll cut straight to the most awkward part. It was the wee hours of the night after Thanksgiving. Something woke me up in the middle of the night. I laid there a while trying to get back to sleep and inevitably thinking about the nubile young woman sleeping on the other side of my wall. Much to my surprise I heard her whispering at my door. "Are you awake?" Jill asked. My heartbeat sped up and my nerves all went on alert. Why was she talking to me? "Yes," I meekly squeaked. "Can I come in?" she asked. After wrestling with my fight-or-flight instincts I jumped out of bed and threw on some clothes. As I was making myself decent, she said, "I need you to help me with something." My heart pounded faster, my nerves stretched tighter, and I started to feel light-headed. "Yes," I faintly croaked between shallow breaths. "You can come in," I timidly added when it seemed like she hadn't heard me. I was worried she'd be wearing something seductive, or nothing at all. When she stepped into my room I saw it was the polar opposite. She had on loose-fitting pink one-piece pyjamas—the kind with attached socks on the feet and a zipper down the back. It was an odd choice of sleepwear for a young woman of her age, but I was thankful for the utter unsexiness. My nerves and pulse were just starting to settle down when she told me why she was in my bedroom. "I need you to unzip me," she said. Noticing I was at the brink of heart failure, she cleared up what she meant a moment later. "My zipper's stuck. I can't get it to go down. I need another set of hands." She was talking quickly and nervously, and I guessed she felt at least some fraction as uncomfortable as me. The situation wasn't as serious as I'd thought, but it was still amazingly awkward. "Wouldn't your mom be better at this?" I asked. "She's asleep." "Or my mom? Or your dad?" "Everybody's asleep but us." "Then why don't you go back to sleep and worry about it in the morning?" "I gotta go to the bathroom," she explained. I was starting to see why she looked so nervous. "Like, really, really bad," she added a moment later. "Let's take a look at that zipper," I said when it seemed I had no other choice. My hands were shaking. My brain couldn't block out the knowledge that there was a shapely naked female torso under that zipper. Even just seeing her shoulder blades made me sweat. I'd be seeing a lot more if I succeeded in unzipped her. If I unzipped her too far I could be seeing a lawsuit. Jill was nervous too. She kept fidgeting around, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and even jerking away sometimes when she felt my hands touching her. The zipper had grabbed a mouthful of fabric off her pyjamas. After messing with it a few minutes I freed the fabric, but something was still wrong. The zipper didn't want to move up or down. Each time it went a little way the track it would stop again. I wasn't making any headway. "Hurry up!" Jill whisper-yelled impatiently. "It's an emergency!" After hearing that I gave the zipper the hardest yank I could. The tab came right off and flew into my closet. "What just happened?" Jill asked. "I jerked it too hard and now I can't use my hands on it," I said. I cringed when I realized how that sounded. "The little tab thingy that you pull on came off. Now I can't get a grip on the zipper." "Well do something," Jill said, squirming urgently. I ran to my desk and got a pair of scissors out of a drawer. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?" "It's an emergency isn't it?" "I don't wanna ruin my PJs!" "They're gonna..." I started to say before shutting my mouth. I had the sense to stop myself before telling her she'd ruin her pyjamas if she had an accident in them. "I'll get the pliers," I said once I'd reconsidered. I left my room and headed to the kitchen where I'd remembered seeing needle-nose pliers in a drawer. I tried to move fast 'cause Jill's issue was urgent. I also tried to move quietly 'cause everyone else was asleep. I ended up moving pretty slow. I opened every drawer in the kitchen, but failed to find a single pair of piers. I wound up getting a pair of forceps from my dad's fishing vest. When I got back to my room Jill was in really bad shape. She was sitting backwards on my desk chair with one of her feet under her. I never saw anyone sit like that, but I guess it was helping her keep her contents inside. She wasn't sitting still though. She was squirming worse than before. She was also sweating very noticeably. "I thought you were never gonna come back," she said when I walked in the room. She didn't sound like she was yelling at me this time. She had a very worried look in her eyes, and was obviously glad to see me. I got the forceps into the hole where the tab used to be, but it was hard to get the leverage I needed to move the zipper up or down. I thought it might go better if I wasn't crouching like this. "Can you stand up?" I asked. When Jill got out of the chair she suddenly gasped in panic and grabbed the seat—not the crotch—of her pyjamas. An instant later I heard a noise I never though I'd hear from a girl's tush. All this time I was assuming she had to pee, but she actually had to poop. I thought about all that Thanksgiving dinner coming down the pipeline. Things could get really messy if I didn't unzip that zipper. I fiddled around with the forceps 'til the zipper started moving. I got it to go all the way up to her neck, but when I tried to move it down it wouldn't budge at all. I was back where I started. "Get going!" Jill shouted mutedly. "Get it back down already! This is really an emergency!" "I can't," I replied. "I'm doing the best I can." I was pulling harder and faster now, but all that did was make the forceps slip out of the hole in the zipper and make me almost fall on the floor. "It's a really, really serious emergency!" she said as if I didn't know already. "Are you sure you don't wanna just cut it off?" "I'm not gonna wreck my PJs! I looked everywhere before I found a pair like this!" "That's 'cause you're the only girl over the age of 7 who wants to dress this way," I thought, but didn't say out loud. Now Jill was shaking worse than ever, she sounded like she was hyperventilating, her face was red as a beet, and there were tear-drops as well as sweat-drops streaming down. I kept missing the hole when I tried to grip the zipper with the forceps. "It's too late!" she eventually announced. "Back off! I'm just gonna get it over with!" I backed up 'til I was sitting on my bed. The gentlemanly thing to do would've been to look away at her time of bodily function-induced humiliation, but I was too stunned to think of that. I sat there stupidly with wide open eyes and probably open mouth too. Jill sprouted a tail. It must've been a foot long by the time it finished growing. Then it broke and she had something the size and shape of a banana resting in the crotch of her pyjamas. Nothing much happened in the next few minutes. I sat motionless while she stood motionless. Her breathing got slower and quieter 'til it was almost normal. My body also came down from red alert. "At least it's hard," I said, breaking the silence to put my foot in my mouth. Jill gave me a look, and I tried to explain myself. "I mean, your poo won't leave a stain," I said, putting my other foot in my mouth. She continued looking at me, and she continued not saying anything, and I continued trying to save face. "I mean, I wasn't looking, but I noticed you did a solid poo," I said. I'd now done the impossible—I'd put a third foot in my mouth. Jill ended up not responding to any of the dumb things I said. "I needed that," she sighed. "Now it's not an emergency anymore. Like, we can take it slow." Without our shaking and our frantic thinking the zipper problem wasn't that hard to solve. I managed to find the tab, fit it back where it went, and bend the metal so it wouldn't come off again. With a little squirt of cooking spray the zipper moved along the tracks pretty good. I unzipped the pyjamas halfway down Jill's back and trusted her to do the rest. She was finally ready for the bathroom. Through the thin wall I could hear the splash of her disposing of her accident and the plops and sprinkles of her taking care of the rest of her business. She stopped by my room once more before she went to bed. She still looked like she'd been through a disaster, but she was smiling, and her messed-up looks just made her smile seem sweeter. "Thanks for your help. My PJs are gonna be just fine. Like, there's only an itty-bitty stain nobody's ever gonna notice. Sorry you had to see that...and smell that." "It's no biggie," I said. The grossness was actually nothing compared to the stress of the whole experience. "This'll be our little secret, okay?" I wish I'd thought of something clever or flirtatious to say then, but all I managed was, "Uh-huh." Then we both went to bed, although I spent a lot of time laying awake thinking about the strange events that had just taken place. Even though that night was the most awkward experience imaginable it made things a lot less awkward between me and Jill. We have a sort of a comfortable closeness now. Not like family, though. I don't think about family the way I think about her.
  12. MrJoseRocha

    Jessica 2018

    From the album: JinkToons

    So I created a space girl in my last picture but I thought she needed a name. So I gave her name Jessica

    © Jose Rocha

  13. MrJoseRocha

    Space Girl 2018

    From the album: JinkToons

    So it been awhile since I posted a picture but here another character I created. A space girl who forgot to go before going on her mission.

    © Jose Rocha

  14. Sapphire3619

    The Aftermath of the Snow

    It is the end of the semester, so I have a ton of things that I don't want to do before break, so I wrote this instead. I wrote it fast and sloppy, so I'm sure I missed some fairly ridiculous mistakes! *** Cami rolled her eyes. “No one in this whole state knows how to handle snow,” she lamented. Damien, her somewhat impromptu companion, shrugged good-naturedly. “Donna wanted milk, too, right?” “Yes, skim,” Cami clarified, reaching for a carton of eggs. The grocery store was, as expected, packed, with people scrambling to buy necessities before the storm hit. In fact, it was already snowing outside, and Cami had resisted when her mother, Donna, had requested a trip to the grocery store. Dr. Donna Patrick was a professor of international relations at the university. She lived 20 minutes or so out of town, in a large house that befit her academic rank. Her daughter, Dr. Camille Patrick, was a clinical psychologist and was in town for her mother’s yearly end-of-semester celebration. It was finals week at the university, and Donna, with her children grown, had developed a habit of inviting students to her house for a meal at the beginning of winter break. Mostly, she got students who lived close by, but occasionally, she got one like Damien, who would spend the night after the dorms closed. Damien was a junior who had first met Donna the previous spring semester in her popular intro course. Even in a class of 150 students, Damien stood out with his superior writing and thoughtful, critical answers in class. This semester, he had taken Donna’s advanced seminar, and Donna had gotten to know him even better. She knew he was a transfer student and that he wanted to go to law school. She’d been pleased when he accepted the invitation for the end-of-the-semester party. Because the dorms closed the last day of finals, Damien had agreed to say overnight at Donna’s house. Donna had explained that her husband, a professor in the chemistry department, was at a conference and would be back the following day for the party, but her daughter, Dr. Patrick (“Call her Cami”) would be in town. Cami was a few years older than Damien’s older sister, so he didn’t mind idea of sharing a house with the two women for a night. Damien had followed Donna to her house to find that Cami was already there. Introductions were made, but then the discussion turned quickly to the weather. Over Cami’s objections that no, Mom, there was really plenty of food in the house, no need to venture out, Donna decided that a trip to the grocery store was necessary, and that Damien should accompany Cami, just to be safe. Neither Cami nor Damien particularly minded having to spend time with each other, despite having just met. They were both outgoing enough that conversation wasn’t a problem. On the drive into town, Cami got to know the young man and his interests, and Damien asked about Cami’s experience in grad school and her current practice. Now, however, both were feeling ever so slightly more tense. Cami knew the roads were getting worse and didn’t want to waste time. She was doing her best not to take out any of her anxiety on the innocent student. Little did she know that Damien was working to suppress his own anxiety. He, too, was eager to get back to the house. His bladder was getting full, a sensation he really didn’t enjoy. Realistically, he could have used the restroom in the store, but it wasn’t an emergency, and he’d rather help Cami out with the shopping to speed things along. By the time they wound their way through the crowds and made it to the registers, the lines were all a half-dozen people deep. Damien drew in an unexpectedly harsh breath, but thankfully, Cami didn’t hear him. He knew he could just go. He could run to the bathroom and be back before Cami even reached the register. But the anxiety was already making him illogical, and he chose to stay where he was. “I suppose we’re part of the problem!” Cami was saying. “We’re being the kind of people who act like they’ve never seen snow before!” Damien managed a grin. The line was moving at a decent pace – at least the checkout employees were prepared for snow, apparently – and he knew he could make it back to the house. It took another 15 minutes, but eventually, Damien and Cami headed toward the exit, bags in hand. As they reached the door, however, Cami groaned. The storm had hit. Fat, heavy snowflakes coated the air, sticking to everything they touched. The cars in the parking lot already had a layer of snow, and the roads were no longer black but gray, lined with tire tracks in the rising snow. “Uuuuuuugh,” Cami moaned as they trudged across the parking lot to her car. “Mom better have wine waiting for me when we get back.” Damien gave a half-laugh. “We’ll be back, soon, though,” he said, more a question than a reassurance. “Ehhhh,” Cami shrugged, closing the trunk after putting in the last bag. “With the snow falling like this, the highway probably isn’t going to be much better. I’m guessing it’ll take us at least twice as long to get back.” Damien’s face fell, but Cami didn’t see as she slid into the driver’s seat. “Aaaaand, we have to stop for gas,” she sighed, seeing the illuminated signal on the dashboard. Cami pulled across the parking lot to the adjacent gas station. Damien looked around, but the station building was no more than a single-person kiosk. There was no public bathroom that he could use while Cami filled the car. His mind started slipping. He hadn’t had to go that badly, but nerves made his situation so much worse. Well, nerves and other things… Filling the car only took a few minutes, and Damien tried to use his last vestiges of rational thought to convince himself that he could make it through the drive home. But when Cami finally made it on to the highway, those last vestiges evaporated. Traffic had been slow enough in town as cars tried to avoid skidding through intersections, but on the highway, away from the buildings and signs, the view was almost entirely white. Snow swirled around the car, which Cami had moving at barely 30 miles an hour. Damien did some quick math in his head. At this rate, it would take them nearly an hour to get back to Donna’s house. He unconsciously turned toward the window, trying to hide his growing panic from Cami. Cami kept the radio off, focusing on the road. Although it was still daylight, visibility was terrible, and she and the other drivers kept their lights on. She drove for about 20 minutes in silence, going barely 10 miles. She knew the atmosphere in the car was tense, but she didn’t want to waste any energy trying to make conversation. Besides, Damien seemed to be OK with the silence. Until he wasn’t. At an undetermined point on the highway, Cami became aware of uneven breathing from the boy next to her. He was almost whimpering, his breaths sharp and shaky. Cami risked a quick glance sideways, but couldn’t determine anything, other than the fact that Damien was almost entirely turned toward the window. “Damien?” she asked cautiously. “You doing OK?” Out of the corner of her eye, Cami saw Damien press back into the seat. When he answered, his voice was…different. Nervous, definitely, but more…robotic, almost. “I need to go to the bathroom,” he said dully. “Please.” “Oh!” Cami couldn’t hold back her shock. Damien hadn’t said anything before, and even driving slow, he should be able to make it back to the house, right? “That’s OK,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road. “We’ll be back to the house soon enough.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. The only other exit between here and the one for Donna’s house was residential, so it wouldn’t have any public bathrooms to use, and it wasn’t like she could pull off the side of the road in a blizzard. Surely Damien knew that. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Damien did know that. But Damien wasn’t really thinking logically. He wasn’t thinking much at all. His movements were twitchy and uncontrolled, and after another 10 minutes, he let out a whine and shoved his hand between his legs. “Damien?” Cami asked again, more worried this time. “Are you OK?” “I don’t know if I can hold it,” Damien respond in the same flat voice. It was as if he was reading from a script, responding in a way that most college students wouldn’t. Looking down at the speedometer, Cami pressed her lips together. She really wasn’t comfortable going any faster. “You’ll be OK,” she said. “You can make it.” “I don’t know if I can.” Damien’s voice had a small tremor now. “I don’t want to have an accident.” Cami was truly bewildered now. He sounded childlike, or like an adult’s impression of a child. She risked another glance to the right – Damien’s legs were twisted tightly, hands buried between his thighs. He certainly looked like he badly needed the bathroom, but Cami couldn’t imagine a nearly grown man not being able to hold it for another 20 minutes or so. Cami kept driving. She was going as fast as she thought was safe, which wasn’t very fast at all. A few miles from their exit, Cami hard a small whine and then a hiss of breath as Damien sucked in air forcefully between his teeth. She didn’t know what talking would do at this point, but she still felt the need to ask. “Damien? How you doing over there?” “I-“ Damien’s voice was definitely shaking now. “I just peed a little bit in my pants.” “You’re OK,” Cami replied, automatically. She’d softened her own voice, as if she were talking to someone much younger than Damien. She didn’t want him to feel bad, but she also definitely didn’t want to have to clean pee out of her car. “We’re almost there,” she promised, which, while geographically correct, wasn’t quite temporally accurate. “Look, there’s our exit. Just another 10 minutes. You can do it.” A plaintive sniffle was all she got in response. She pulled off the highway, and peeked over at her passenger while stopped at the top of the exit ramp. Every muscle in Damien’s body seemed tensed. He was bouncing arrhythmically in the seat, seemingly not in control of his own body. As Cami turned, Damien felt the wetness of his underwear pressed against his skin. As tightly as he squeezed, he couldn’t make himself feel in control. Jeans weren’t the best for holding yourself, and he leaked again. “I…” he stammered, as if the words were being pulled out of him by force. “I had an accident again. M-my pants are wet.” “Honey, we’re so close,” Cami pleaded, abandoning all pretense of social correctness. The boy was in pain, and she wanted to comfort him. “Just hang on a few more minutes, OK?” “I’m…trying,” Damien answer, voice strained but still emotionless. “I’m trying not to pee my pants.” Oddly, but thankfully, the road to Donna’s house was clearer than the highway. A plow must’ve just been by. Cami took advantage of the comparatively good conditions to speed up a little. She made one final turn, the only sound in the car Damien’s hitched, desperate breathing. “There’s a bathroom in the basement,” Cami informed him. “Just off the garage. You can go in there.” “I’m going,” Damien squeaked, and Cami wasn’t even sure he’d heard her. “I’m having an accident and I can’t make it stop.” Cami hit the garage door button as she turned into her mom’s driveway. “Just one more minute, Damien, we’re here!” Pulling into the garage, Cami stopped as fast as she could. Damien was already unbuckled and fumbling with the door. He kept a hand pressed between his legs as he stumbled into the house. Cami puffed out her cheeks and sighed. She checked the passenger seat and didn’t see any wetness. She took that as a good sign and hoped that Damien was able to make it to the bathroom. Stretching out of the car, Cami gathered a few of the bags from the trunk. In the basement, the bathroom door was shut, so at least Damien had made it that far. She headed up the stairs, ready to confront her mom with some very important questions. In the bathroom, Damien had slammed the door behind him, but the sight of the toilet had been too much. As soon as he set foot on the tile, his bladder relinquished its tenuous hold, spilling urine around his tight grip. Twisting his legs together and bending forward at the waist, Damien scrabbled at his fly, but it was drenched in pee and his fingers kept slipping off. Heat coursed down his shaking legs, soaking into his shoes and socks. Damien felt lightheaded. He swayed on the spot, but didn’t fall. Several voices babbled in his head. I’m peeing in my pants…Did you have an accident?...Did you have to go potty?...I couldn’t hold it, sir…What kind of freshman can’t stop himself from wetting his pants? A pale puddle expanded around Damien’s feet, soaking into the bath mat. His head spun as he looked down at the streaks of pee still snaking down his jeans. He felt the stream of urine expelling from his bladder through his saturated boxers. He was whining softly, aimlessly. He had a huge accident all over his professor’s bathroom. He didn’t know what to do. Meanwhile, Cami had made a second trip down to the car to get the remaining groceries. She saw the bathroom door was still shut, but she knew that Damien had gotten his pants a little wet in the car, so she figured he didn’t want to come out just yet. Upstairs, Donna had come to the kitchen and was starting to put things away. “Hey, sweetie! How bad were the roads? Where’s Damien?” Cami set the bags on the counter and fixed her mother with a pointed stare. “Soooo…is there anything you know about Damien that you want to tell me?” Donna drew her head back, astonished. “Nothing that fits with the tone you’re asking me in!” she answered honestly. “What happened? Where is he? Is he OK?” Cami cringed. “He’s not hurt…” she equivocated. “But on the drive back – which took forever, by the way, I can’t believe you made me go out in this – he started acting really weird. He had to go to the bathroom, and apparently, he had to go really bad.” “Poor kid,” Donna sighed, definitely not understanding the full extent of the issue. “That must’ve been embarrassing.” “No, Mom,” Cami insisted, “it was way more than that. He was…I don’t know, narrating or something. Any other college kid would try to play it cool or laugh it off or not say anything at all, but Damien…he was describing what was happening and how he was wetting himself.” “He wet himself?!” Donna exclaimed. “Yes,” Cami rolled her eyes. Donna wasn’t a psychologist – she wasn’t focusing on what Cami thought was the important part. “And he’s still in the bathroom downstairs.” Donna frowned. “I’ll go get his bag. Poor kid. Thank God no one else is going to be here until tomorrow.” Donna was a great mom, Cami thought, and of course she’d take care of Damien, but Cami could tell – this was more than just an unfortunate accident. When Donna came back with Damien’s things, Cami followed her downstairs. Donna knocked gently on the bathroom door. “Damien?” she called. “I have your things out here, in case you need them.” There was a pause, and then the door opened slowly. Cami held back a gasp. The 20-year-old in front of her bore scant resemblance to the cheerful young man she’d met just hours ago. His eyes were red-rimmed and tear-filled, and there was nary a dry spot on the front of his jeans. Damien tugged unconsciously at the bottom of his hoodie, pulling it downward. Not that covering his crotch could do anything to distract from the drenched stretches of fabric all down both of his legs. “I…” his eyes were glassy and his voice, though definitely scratchy, had the same blank quality that Cami had heard in the car. “I didn’t make it,” Damien said, blinking. “I…I had to go so bad and I c-couldn’t get my pants undone in time and I h-had an accident on the f-floor.” Donna tilted her head sympathetically. Cami definitely felt the same, but she kept her body language neutral. “It’s OK, Damien,” Cami said softly. “It was a long ride back, and you tried really hard.” Damien flinched and looked down at the ground. Making a mental note of the boy’s reaction, Cami decided that now wasn’t the time for excessive comfort or encouragement. “We brought your bag, Damien,” Donna cut in, holding out the duffle bag. “You can get cleaned up and changed. There are clean towels on the rack in there.” Damien looked up just enough to take the bag. “Thank you,” he mumbled. He paused for a second, then turned and walked back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Both women stood silently for a moment before Donna let out a very low whistle. “Woooooooow.” She turned back toward the stairs, and Cami followed. “I don’t know what I expected when you told me the kid had an accident, but that wasn’t it.” Her words weren’t judgmental – just stunned. Cami understood completely. It wasn’t even that Damien had apparently lost all control in the bathroom; it was the continued blankness in his voice, like he was being compelled. There was still emotion there – the unconscious attempt to cover his wet pants, the shaking voice – but the way he spoke throughout the whole ordeal indicated…something. “Can you do anything?” Donna asked as they reached the top of the stairs. Cami pressed her lips together. “You know I can’t force anything on him.” “I know, I know,” Donna waved her hand, mildly irritated at her implied lack of understanding. “But can you do anything?” “I’ll try.” Cami shrugged. Damien certainly needed some sort of care, and she had plenty of experience working with teens and young adults in her practice, but if Damien kept up this robotic narration, then there just wasn’t a lot she could do. Downstairs in the bathroom, Damien stared blearily down at the giant puddle. He heard himself whine softly and realized that his lower lip was trembling. He could barely think, but he knew that he had to clean up. Himself and the bathroom. In a fog, Damien reached for a towel. He dropped it into his mess on the floor, then started to strip off his wet pants. Several drops of urine squelched from the denim with the movement, spattering noisily onto the tile and making him cringe. Every part of him felt dirty – his hands, his feet, certainly his legs and crotch… The towel was sufficiently sopping by the time it absorbed his accident. Damien looked dazedly around the bathroom before deciding just to heap all the wet clothes in the corner. He finally turned on the shower. Upstairs, Cami listened for the sound of the shower while she finished putting away the groceries. She ran through Damien’s behavior in her mind, trying to decide what she would say to him if given the chance. The shower ran for about 15 minutes. Donna had retreated to her study to grade papers, feeling it was best not to overwhelm Damien. Cami set herself up at the island in the kitchen, working on her computer. After a few more minutes, Damien stepped into the kitchen, hair wet and duffle bag in his hand. Cami didn’t look up at first, not wanting to make him feel trapped, but when he stopped at the side of the island, she raised her eyes. Damien’s eyes were no longer blank, and his skin had regained some color, but the blankness in his face was replaced with complete shame. “I…” Even his voice was back to normal, though quiet. “I think I should leave.” Cami gazed at the young man, even though he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were down, seemingly fixed on the countertop. She took a breath before responding. “If you want to go, of course you can,” she said. “But please know that you’re welcome to stay.” Damien still couldn’t look at her, so she put every ounce of honesty she could into her voice. “Damien, no one here is mad at you or judging you for what happened. It’s not your fault. We won’t tell anyone, and we don’t have to talk about it ever again if you don’t want to.” Damien inhaled shakily and grabbed his left arm, wrapping himself in a half hug. “If you do want to leave,” Cami pleaded, “at least wait until the roads are a bit better. I’d really rather you didn’t drive in the snow, and I know Mom wouldn’t like it either.” Damien looked out the window, where fat flakes were still falling copiously. His shoulders fell – Cami was right. As much as he wanted to escape, trying to drive anywhere right now was a terrible idea. Besides, he didn’t actually have any place to stay. He’d only thought as far as getting out of the house. Cami was still looking at Damien; he could feel her gaze, but he couldn’t meet it just yet. “I…I put the…things…in the washing machine,” he explained, just for the sake of having something to say. “I hope that’s OK.” “Of course.” Cami smiled encouragingly. Damien didn’t respond, but he also didn’t move. “Damien, can I get you something? A snack, or some hot chocolate?” Cami offered. “We weren’t gonna have a big dinner with just the three of us, but-“ “I’m sorry.” Cami stopped at the quiet interruption. Damien’s voice was stretched and raw, and his eyebrows were drawn together. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he struggled to compose himself. “Damien…” Cami reached her hand across the island. “You have nothing to apologize for. I promise it’s OK.” Damien shook his head and finally looked up. To Cami’s surprise, he smiled sadly. “It’s not,” he said, shrugging. “I know it’s not, and-“ He raised his voice slightly, preempting any argument from Cami. “-I want…you deserve an explanation.” Ever the professional, Cami kept the pity she felt out of her face. She respected Damien enough that she didn’t bother telling him that he didn’t owe her anything. Shifting from foot to foot, Damien pulled out one of the bar stools and pressed himself up onto it, letting his duffle bag drop to the ground. He fidgeted a bit, trying to get comfortable in a decidedly uncomfortable situation. For her part, Cami kept quiet. “Donna told you I’m a transfer student?” he began, and Cami nodded. “I started at…another school as a freshman.” He clasped his hands together on the counter, steeling himself. “I didn’t know a lot about college, I guess. I just wanted to have fun and do well and make friends. So I decided to rush a fraternity.” Cami felt her chest tighten. Even if she hadn’t witnessed the young man have an accident, she knew enough to know that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant story. “For this place-“ Damien seemed determined not to give any identifying details. “-they would assign each new guy to an active brother. There was group stuff, too, but basically each brother who wanted it would get one or two recruits that were…well, he could do what he wanted with them.” Damien was winding his fingers together, intertwining his joints. “The guy I was assigned to…he…I didn’t get it at first. He had me and this other recruit kneel for a long time, which was pretty standard, I guess, but then he…he kept giving us water. I thought it was weird that he wasn’t giving us booze, but then I figured maybe they were being more careful not to get freshman drunk so they wouldn’t get in trouble. “It was the other guy first. He started kind of wiggling and stuff, even though we both knew we weren’t allowed to talk, but the brother…he was, I don’t know, watching for it, I guess. So he said ‘What’s wrong, recruit?’ and the other guy said that he had to pee, and the brother just told him to hold it.” Shuddering at the memory, Damien took in a deep breath. “I just…I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t know people could just be like that. I thought for sure that he’d let us go to the bathroom, but he didn’t. And I know…” Damian hunched he shoulders, ashamed. “I know the other guy and I, we could have just, like, stopped, or got up and walked out, because there were two of us and only one of him, but…we just didn’t know. We thought this was normal, and we didn’t know each other at all, so we didn’t know what each other would do.” Cami had heard it all before, of course. Almost everyone who had ever been abused blamed themselves for not doing more to get out of the situation. She opened her mouth to tell Damien this, but his story wasn’t over. “So the other guy finally peed himself, and then the brother kept us there until I…I had an accident, too. I thought maybe I’d get…maybe he’d be proud of me or something, I don’t know, if I held it longer, but it didn’t seem to matter. And then I thought that, OK, he made us both pee our pants, we’ll move on to the next thing, but we just…that was it.” A tear slipped down Damien’s cheek, but he didn’t seem to notice. “We had a whole week. Every free minute we had was supposed to be with our assigned brother, and all weekend. So that’s all we did. He would just make us drink a whole bunch and not let us use the bathroom. And he…it wasn’t just peeing ourselves. He wanted…he wanted us to talk about it. So he’d ask ‘What’s wrong?’ or ‘Do you need something, recruit?’ and we’d have to say that we had to pee or that we were going or stuff like that. If we didn’t answer or if we said something he didn’t like, he’d use the wooden paddle on us. So we had to…describe…everything.” Cami didn’t say anything, but she pulled a tissue out of her purse and passed it across the counter. Damien sniffled and wiped his nose. “We tried so many things.” Damien’s voice was like gelatin, thick and shaking. “And we never knew what he was going to do. Sometimes, we’d ask to go to the bathroom, and he would let us, but then he’d block the toilet and wouldn’t let us use it. Sometimes he’d act real mad that we had an accident, calling us babies saying that he could never let recruits in the fraternity who couldn’t keep their pants dry. But then sometimes…” Damien crumpled up the tissue and swiped at both of his eyes, but he was crying freely now. “Sometimes, he’d, like, comfort us, and say it was OK and we tried really hard to hold it, and he wasn’t gonna get mad as us for having a l-little a-a-accident.” Cami’s jaw was clenched so hard, she thought she’d crack a tooth. This was the Stanford Prison Experiment on steroids. This was the height of sadism. Although it definitely explained Damien’s odd narration earlier, it hurt to hear what he’d been put through. “At first, I just thought it was weird,” Damien continued, “but after a few days, I was so tired and sore and embarrassed that I started to cry, and then I couldn’t stop, and this other guy and me, we were just so tired and we never knew what to expect.” Drawing in a raggedy breath, Damien shrugged again, brushing off the hard part of the story. “I didn’t pledge, obviously. I don’t think the other guy did, either, but I don’t know. I barely made it through the semester. I was just hazy and off and confused. My GPA tanked, so I dropped out. I did online classes in the summer and fall before transferring here last year.” Damien finally looked up. His eyes were red and glistening, but the tears had stopped falling for now. “I really am sorry about today. I’m sorry I was weird and just kept saying weird stuff. I…I couldn’t stop myself. It’s like I knew it wasn’t the same and I wasn’t back in the frat house, but I didn’t know, because it was the first time since…” He trailed off and sniffed again, lowering his head. Cami gave him a moment before she decided it was her turn to speak. “I’m so sorry he did that to you,” she said simply. “No one deserves that kind of treatment.” Damien nodded in acknowledgement. “Damien, please believe me when I say you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything that was hurtful or on purpose, and Mom – Donna – and I just want to make sure you’re OK.” Picking distractedly at his nails, Damien nodded earnestly. “I’m fine,” he promised. “I went to therapy and stuff, and I know all that, and it helps. I’m just…” He paused, lip trembling again. “I’ve been really careful since then, so I wouldn’t have to feel like I…like I was gonna wet my pants, so then today was just…” He hesitated before glancing up at Cami. “I was scared,” he admitted. “It’s not like I think you or Donna are gonna be mean to me, but I didn’t know, and it’s not like it’s OK to have an accident in a stranger’s car, anyway.” “Damien, I know you don’t know me,” Cami acknowledged, “and I know that just trusting that everything is going to be OK probably isn’t going to happen. But I promise you that you’re safe here, and Mom and I will do whatever we can to take care of you.” Damien’s mouth curled upwards, almost imperceptibly, but then he frowned. “If…” His voice caught, and his face flushed. “It’s still OK if I say here?” “Of course,” Cami assured him. “Then…” Damien gripped his hands together. “I might…” He looked up, embarrassed, but Cami’s face was open and encouraging. “When…that week at the frat house,” Damien murmured quickly, “I…I started having problems for awhile, and it stopped, but after today, I don’t know…” He took a deep breath, trying to loosen the tight feeling in his chest. “Imightwetthebed,” he mumbled, then glanced up again, trying to read Cami’s face at this last admission. Cami felt her heart constrict with overwhelming sympathy, but she just smiled gently. “That’s not a problem, Damien,” she promised. “If it happens, it happens. We can help you clean up.” Damien let out a deep sigh, his whole body sinking in relief. “Thanks, Cami.” He straightened his shoulders, looking exhausted. He rose off the bar stool and bent down to grab his duffle bag. “I think I’m gonna go to my room, then.” Cami smiled and reopened her laptop. “Sounds good. We’ll call you when it’s time for dinner.” Nodding, Damien smiled a bit sheepishly and walked out. Cami inhaled deeply and gazed out the window. The snow had tapered off a bit, unlikely to do any more damage today.
  15. Desperationpee

    female Jayne challenges you

    In this old video Jayne challenge you to see who can hold It the longest. She gaves instruction about how much you have to drink and when you have to pause the video. https://it.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5b502b9b7658e
  16. Wetscarlet511

    Screenshot_20181214-124331.png

    https://clips4sale.com/131081/wet-scarlet/cide25d1c4a2117a5e3c0e2fb569cl
  17. Hi everyone! Its me, Kozmo! This isn't the next part of Lotto, rather this is an experience I had the other day coming home, due to an unfortunate misunderstanding I had with both my own brain and my scheduling. This will likely be a shorter one, due to the fact that it wasn't really planned out like a lot of my stuff, it just happened due to circumstance. Basically I was at my friends apartment, and had been there since the previous evening. There were a few of us and we had a few drinks. I was in a basic getup, black tank top, denim short shorts, black knee highs, and black and red lacy undergarments. My hair was tied up in a ponytail so I actually got to show off most of my tats, including the one on my upper back. Hardly any of the stuff that happened while I was there actually matters, it was just a lot of alcohol and video games. The things that really matter are as follows 1. I wanted to go home that evening. We had gotten pretty sloshed the previous evening, so this was the wind-down day. To get home from my friends house, I to walk a few blocks to a bus stop, and then ride two busses to get home, with the total ride taking well over an hour, just because I live in an inconvenient spot for bus routes. 2. I wanted to be lewd when I got home. When I get drunk, I get lewd. (Some people take advantage of that and it makes me sad when I wake up the next day but this is not one of those days.) When I get lewd, I usually think about omo. Because my lewdness involves omo, I drink more, which gives me more alcohol sometimes, which makes me lewder, meaning more omo, more drinking, you get the idea. Therefore, my idea was for lewd omo things when I had gotten home, and I had already started filling myself up very substantially with wine and beer looong before I was even due to leave. And perhaps the most important part that you should know heading into this 3. Is that I got the fucking bus schedule wrong. As finicky as I am regarding just about everything in my life, you'd think I'd get that much right. I normally use google maps to double check arrival times, but remember how I posted that status the other day about how I ran out of data? Yeah. I thought it came every hour to that specific spot, :45 on the dot. Turns out there's an hour it skips, for whatever reason. So I leave the apartment, mildly buzzed and needing to pee like you wouldn't believe. I walk my walk, savoring the feeling of the waistband pushing into my bladder, stopping every little bit to knock my knees a little. I had to pee. Emphasis. I thought I had this perfectly timed. By the time I'd get home, I'd be extremely close to bursting, and I could savor the fun. I did make it to the bus stop eventually. I sat down, crossed my legs. I hopped on a discord voicechat via the wifi at the cafe across the street with some friends and tried not to let my voice tremble. The bus would be here in 5 minutes after all. Except it wasn't. And I panicked. Oh BOY did I panic. I almost aborted right there. Almost. But I'm me, and you know how I work. Half of my brain screamed abort, find bathroom. The other half screamed, CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. So I checked google maps, now that I had a wifi spot, and that was when I discovered the bus in question would not arrive for another hour. The duel voices screaming ABORT and CHALLENGE ACCEPTED intensified, and the latter won out. I went to said cafe, sat down outside, and waited. And waited. And trembled and tried not to desperately moan into my earbuds mic on discord. And waited. And then walked to Burger King because I wanted spicy nuggs. Which I got a drink with, because I'm ME. Then I went back and waited some more. It was at this point I was doubting my ability to hold it. I mean yeah I was desperate to pee beforehand, but this was like, advanced desperation. The end might be near desperation. Uncertainty setting in desperation. You know what I mean? I finished my nuggs and my drink and I went back to the bus stop. My walking was as if it was on eggshells, and I was starting to sweat from the effort of holding it. I wanted immediately to be able to sit back down, but luckily I was still in that voice chat so I was able to keep my mind off it at least a little. Then the bus came. I saw it and my brain ticked that my journey home was actually beginning! And I leaked! Shit. I felt a substantial spurt fire out of me almost simultaneously the second my brain registered joy. I didn't have to look to know the denim had been darkened between my legs. But I was at a bus stop. There was people on the bus, there was people getting ON the bus, I sure as hell wasn't going to make a show of guessing. I just got on the bus, kept my legs together as I could keep them, and sat right in the front by myself, and just kept my eyes on my knees, a bead of sweat trailing down my head. I didn't have discord to keep me occupied anymore as I was leaving wifi, and now I was surrounded by people. But I wasn't going to lose it on the bus. I was not. I'm a very eyes on the prize girl. I sat there, I rubbed my legs together, held my purse on my lap, wiggled around, the full half an hour until I had to transfer busses. The bus that was not at the transfer yet. Fuck me, right? So now I'm standing outside on the bus stop, most people have filed out. Mines the last bus out, and my neighbourhood is the last stop. Remember what I said about inconvenient bussing? It actually takes me fucking forever to get anywhere from home, and then back home. Good thing I'm a couch potato. Its cold outside, because now its dark out, good ol' nighttime, and I'm standing on a main street just about to pee my shorts. The reality of that hit me pretty hard, and I leaked again. Not a lil leak. A my face went immediately pale because that's really fucking visible leak. I felt a gush push out of me, soak my underwear, the crotch of my shorts, and trail down my thigh, off my knee, and patter on the ground. I almost lost it right then and there out of the panic that ensued. But eyes on the prize. Its dark, nobody can see. I'm good. You'd think it would be a relief, but honestly it made my need to pee a billion times worse. I held my purse in front of me and dug my hand into that obvious area between my legs as hard as I could. Hold it, hold it, hold it. The bus did eventually arrive, and I went in that side door they have and planted myself in the back left corner. Half an hour left. And boy was that half an hour, I dribbled a bit just about every bump we hit and had to bite my finger to keep from automatically mewling. It sucks being a vocal-while-desperate person when the desperation is in public. This may not seem like much, but our roads suuuuuuuck. Though, I think the fact that it was just dribbles saved my clothes a fair deal, or at least prevented a mess on the seat. I'm not versed in how fabric saturation works, but maybe someone here is. I just figured a looot of dribbles is better than 3 or 4 massive leaks. Eventually we pulled up to my neighbourhood and I got off at my street. I stood there until the bus left, to make sure there was no prying eyes. Walking up my street was torture, because I KNEW I was there. I just had to make this final trek. Step, leak. Step, leak. Step, leak. It was like my foot steps were those pedals you push with your foot on those outdoor sinks at festivals. They weren't huge leaks, but by the time I got to my doorstep my shorts were very wet, front and back. I had glistening streaks all down the back of my legs, and my kneesocks were damp. There was no denying that I had, essentially, very much peed my pants. It was at this point I experienced a phenomenon I read about a lot on the site, but had yet to experience. A literal key-in-latch wetting. I hobbled up my steps, and stuck my key in my front door. It was instant. My brain clicked that I was home. The key in the lock was symbolic. Before I could even turn it, I completely lost control, moaning loudly as I started pissing myself. My shorts literally could not contain it, it poured down both legs and a constant stream straight to the ground between them. I was home safe essentially and the relief was way too much, I fell forward with my head against the glass on my doors window, continuing to let out little gasps as I created a river that poured down my steps. Shorts, socks, shoes, all were beyond saving. I finished emptying myself after awhile, and just kind of stood there, marveling in what had just happened. I was so loopy from the relief I forgot to turn the key and walked into my door trying to push it in. I could hear my shoes squelch. I got in, peeled off my clothes right on my doormat, wiped down my legs with whatever dry part I could find of my shorts so I wouldnt leave a trail on my floor, and hobbled weak-kneed down to my room to enjoy the rest of my evening. I had a lot of free time now, as I had gotten my lewd omo fun I wanted out of the way sooner rather than later. It was a very enjoyable experience, and I hope the rest of you enjoy it as much as I did~ I love you all ❤️
  18. Maria-Sanza

    female Lewd Work Habits

    It’s been a long while since I’ve written a story, but I’m pleased to let you know that my invested interest in watersports/omorashi has remained strong. Remember that a fetish is forever! I currently carry with my life as a full-time student who works as a computer tech on the side. My mom left the country for a month and I have been able to enjoy increased privacy during this time. Last time I wet myself for pleasure was last year, at my college dorm sitting on a green cushion while my roommate was out partying, getting smashed, and god knows what else. So I decided to challenge myself, for old time’s sake. I woke up at 8 in the morning, as commute is about two hours and I needed to clock in at 11. We dress business formal over here, so I picked some red panties, black pantyhose, a black pencil skirt that reaches over my knees, and a cute red top with a bow on it. For those interested, I changed into some black corduroy pants upon arriving home since I didn’t want to ruin my skirt as it is a little pricey. At work, we wear an anti-static coat that completes the look. I didn’t use the restroom before leaving, and took the two buses and train I needed to get to work. This works such that the last bus I take only passes once per hour, so when I arrive at my workplace, I have about 45 minutes to spare, of which I spend having breakfast, or in my case, a nice tall coffee. Coffee happens to go through me just as fast as booze, but as long as I don’t have too much, I don’t have to worry about having mishaps later on. I clock in, put on my lab coat, and get to work. I had to disassemble an HP laptop and replace the screen, build a new PC, attend customers, and order parts for some MacBook we had lying around. Work went relatively smooth, as it was a slow day and I just relaxed most of the time. The coffee left a nice feeling down there; it wasn’t painful but I could feel there was something in my bladder. Hmm, I guess I could pee if I wanted. <3 Coffee makes me feel thirsty after a couple of hours, so I took a quick ten and bought a bottle of water. I took this additional infraction into consideration, and sipped with caution. I continued to help customers with their questions, ranging from assistance with a tablet their fat daughter had sat on, to removing viruses on a computer running Windows XP without risking the user data. Some customers were far easier to handle or had questions of actual value, such as returning a laptop that was within the return period, to asking about the difference between a GTX 780 and a 980. I felt my luck was running thin, as the day had gone unusually smooth, and then it suddenly hit me. A customer pops up with a laptop with a non-functional display, is past its return period but still covered under warranty. So I check it in, but the customer wishes to borrow a laptop in the meantime because she has “school.” This, while not difficult to do, takes a 30-minute process involving plenty of paperwork and walking the customer over to checkout. This immediately made me fall behind my current pending tasks, but there was something of far more importance: I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable down there and had to shift the weight between my feet a little. I was approaching my fifth hour so I knew I had to hurry. After taking the customer’s credit card and generating all the paperwork needed, I took the new laptop with me and accompanied her to the huge line. Where did all these people come from? I moaned a little and put my hands in the pockets of my lab coat, holding myself a little while pretending to be looking for something. “Is something the matter?” The customer asked me. “You look a little uncomfortable.” “A-ah! No, no, it’s just… There’s a lot of people right now.” “I see. I’m sorry for keeping you, I know you have to go to your lunch soon. Had I known it would take this long I would have just come back tomorrow or something.” It’s a little too late to say that! Fortunately, I was able to finish up and clock out five minutes before my fifth hour. I set my phone to one hour and bustled for the breakroom. Today seemed to be my lucky day, as upon arriving to the table next to where my locker is, I found a nice, cold, unopened can of sugarfree Monster. I’ll have you know that three things in life go straight through me, and they are booze, coffee, and energy drinks. I could not pass this up, regardless of my situation, and so this little can found a new owner, as she left to get something to eat. Only two hours left of work, and I clocked in again. I severely underestimated the effects of what I had done so far and I was beginning to worry whether I would be able to return home in a dry state. Customers were coming back from their jobs around this time so I became busy with ink refills, computer check ins, pick ups, and other tasks that entailed me walking back and forth. My own tasks were done at this time, the HP laptop was repaired and picked up, the new PC was running a stress test, and other techs were handling customer questions. However, I was well aware of the fact that I was filling up quite fast now and I felt quite uncomfortable and a little pain from the liquids sloshing around in my bladder. My breathing was a little more audible and I can feel my face becoming a little warm as I began to realize just how aroused I was getting… in the workplace. As I waited for the next ink to finish refilling, I did not notice my coworker come up to me while because I was busy thinking about the untold acts I would be performing later. “Hey, [Maria]!” He took me by surprise, and I crossed my legs as I let out a small scream. “I have to leave now, my girlfriend called me and I’ve already stayed past 15 minutes. Mark should be here in about an hour, so I’ll see you tomorrow instead.” Things took a turn for the worse right there. I would have to hold the fort for my last hour and Mark would be my saving grace if he were to arrive on time. Remember that the bus home only comes by once per hour, so if I miss that one I’ll be living an experience I will never forget. After waving him goodbye with a smile, I clenched my fists and pressed my legs together as I watched him leave. Only 30 minutes remained, and my highest priority was to leave work wearing dry clothes. As customer after customer came next in line, I realized just how dire my predicament has been. Standing puts a whole new level of strain on one’s bladder, and I found myself bending over the counter as I spoke to each customer, crossing my legs in an attempt to keep my composure. My lab coat is quite long, so it covers what I am doing. Eventually, a customer arrived with a PC he wanted checked in for interior cleaning. It was quite dusty, and a little heavy so I spread apart my legs a little to pick it up and place it in our check in area. Bad mistake, as I picked it up, my lower lip trembled a little and became a little numb as I felt something warm and slimy escape from the depths of my womanhood. I gasped a little, but the case of the PC was tall enough to cover my face from being seen by the customer as I did this, and the counter prevented him from seeing what just fell on the ground. I regained control, set the PC in it’s proper area, and returned to the customer to give him copies of the paperwork while discreetly eyeballing the spill I made. “Are you okay?” The customer asked. “Yeah, it was just a little heavy, that’s all.” “You’re the only one here, don’t they have guys to help you with all this stuff? That’s not very considerate of them, leaving you alone here and all.” “I guess they feel I’m good enough to handle it myself in the meantime,” I subtly answered. I had no time to bullshit confidence though, I was on the verge of wetting myself. And at last, my saving grace arrived. Mark arrived to work a little earlier than usual, after hearing of my situation. If I were to leave right now, I could make the bus that passes an hour earlier than the one I normally take. I was now in a hurry, and both greeted Mark and said my goodbye to him before he could protest. I took off my lab coat, got my things from my locker, and hurried out the door. The bus was to pass by in five minutes, so I had to run. The run, although short, felt like a mile to me. All these liquids bouncing around in me begged for release, and I let loose a few drops here and there. It wasn’t what I expected, but at least I didn’t humiliate myself in front of all those people there. Now the question was, how was I going to get home in one and a half hours like this? I honestly couldn’t see it happening, but assuming the worst of circumstances, at least it was nighttime, I was wearing black, and the bus is normally not crowded. I made the bus on time, tapped my bus pass, and occupied the seat in the back like I normally do. I crossed my legs and attempted my best to relax. Fortunately, it worked, and feelings of desperation for the ladies’ subsided as I believe it was an anxiety thing from wanting to leave the workplace early. The dull pain turned into a sharper one, but it was manageable and it remained this way for the rest of the trip. By the time I made it off the bus, the damage to my panties have dried and I made my way to the train. As I stood up, the pain intensified and I had to avoid running as it could cause me to lose it. I instead walked a little faster and arrived on time to take the train. I was able to get another seat in the back and regain control. Success. All that was left now was a short walk home. Normally it is a piece of cake but when you’re trying to get there with a full bladder that’s at the brink of exploding, it turns into quite the herculean task. The struggle was real, and I had to hold myself with one hand in public for part of the trip. It was embarrassing, but the alternative would have been catastrophic. I entered the residential area of my block and fished into my bag for my keys. I have triumphed in my task, and successfully lived an experience worth bragging about, to you guys, at least. I opened the door and climbed the flight of stairs to my apartment. However as I did this, the extra pressure caused by bending my legs further to reach the next step pushed another short stream of the golden liquid through me. A hissing sound pierced the dead silence of the building for less than a quarter of the second, and I blushed like mad. A short adrenaline rush helped me overcome the stairs somehow and I just about knocked over the door to my apartment. Not wanting to ruin my expensive dress skirt, I hobbled into my room, removed it, and my pantyhose, just a little over slightly damp, and slid on a pair of corduroy pants that I quite disliked and fit me a little too tight. Getting into these was a little more difficult than usual because of my bulging bladder, and I soon ran into the restroom. I ran, for I was already leaking so much due to the tightness of the pants around my bladder, and I was barely able to jump into the tub, preventing from getting urine all over the carpet on the bathroom floor. My body wasted no time, and my lips began to twitch again. Soon, I was hissing everywhere, as multiple golden jets emerged under my bottom, creating elaborate lines around my legs, caressing them before pooling around my feet. Everything felt so warm and fuzzy, and my legs were trembling, eventually giving away, causing me to land on my knees. My breathing intensified as my eyes began to water and I could feel my breath fogging up my glasses as I partook in this intense pleasure. Sweet, warm relief surrounded me, and I continued peeing myself, shooting out urine from my most delicate area shamelessly like a garden hose. I don’t know how much time passed. I eventually came and fainted for a short moment. At the very least, I was pleased to know I wouldn’t have to clean up anywhere else other than the tub. I stimulated myself a little more before peeling my soaked pants from my body. In the end, I had my cake and ate it too. Again. Simply marvelous. You may have noticed that some of these stills are screenshots from a video. Expand the spoiler to see them. I’m currently experimenting with video and may look into making some for the public in the future. Thank you for reading. You can read other stories of mine by visiting my profile and checking for topic history.
  19. Pretty much exactly what it says on the tin, but this happened only like an hour ago so its still fresh on my mind. I had just finished my last final and was just hanging around waiting outside for my friend to finish. So in this building the bathrooms are just a door down my class, but there's also this outjutting wall/pillar that separates the two, and I was leaning up against that on the side nearer to the bathrooms. I was zoned out on my phone keeping up with the football game, so I barely had time to react to this girl quickly turning the corner to the bathroom and pretty much inches away from crashing into me. She mumbled sorry and continued storming into the restroom, but I kinda figured I was at fault for standing right there in front of it and moved away, and when she walked back to class we exchanged knowing glances. Fortunately for her she held up at the last second like that, because I can only imagine what would've happened if we crashed and fell over...
  20. Just a warning: I'm a writer. I do it compulsively. If you don't like a backstory, please feel free to skip to the italicized section and ignore all the verbose garbage in between. =) I'm also a super-newbie. If I'm not following any conventions, please let me know, and I'll adjust ASAP. I was a senior in my final semester of high school, and had spent most of the previous two months touring colleges. My parents are both doctors; my brother is now studying engineering at one of the top schools in the country. Needless to say, mine is a family of...achievers. No pressure, right? So, anyway, a few of the schools I applied to also wanted to see ACT scores (which, for anyone who doesn't know, is basically just a national standardized test for high school students transferring to colleges. The SAT is very similar). I had already taken and scored fairly well on my SATs, so I was not digging this, particularly because the test was early on a Saturday morning, and I was in my second semester of my senior year. The ONLY thing I wanted to do was sleep in and watch Disney movies with my friends. That morning before leaving, I had a huge argument with my mom, because I woke up too late to eat breakfast, and instead decided to down a thermos of coffee on the way to the facility, about a half hour drive. I packed light, because those ACT folks don't mess around: a calculator, three sharpened pencils, an eraser, a book to read when I finished testing, a a large bottle of water, because I have testing anxiety, and I drink like a fish when I'm thinking. Pause: You'd THINK I'd see the problem here, right? Wrong. I'm an idiot. The drive there was uneventful. The slightest twinge in my bladder that was completely ignorable, because I hadn't even started drinking my water yet. Fast forward and hour, and I'm working on section one of the test, English. English has by far been my best and favorite subject in school since I was a child, and I was almost enjoying this section...except that now I'm regretting having anxiously chugged half of my ocean-sized water bottle before the test. It seemed like a good idea at the time. My hands were shaking between the nerves and the caffeine from the coffee, so I chugged to help calm down. It occurred to me it was going on 10 am--which meant roughly twelve hours since the last time I'd used the bathroom, and that's without the the coffee, water, and the hot chocolate I'd had the night before. 'It's okay,' I started telling myself, chewing on the end of my pencil. 'You're okay. You're a big girl. You're going to college in the spring. You are NOT going to wet yourself.' My bladder gave another contraction, as if to say, ' lol, yeah, right.' But I'd been flying back and forth across the country in window seats for a month. I could handle a little desperation. The English section was 45 minutes long, and by the end, I had hit about a 7 of 10 on the desperation scale. Not SUPER urgent, but definitely getting there. I was just excusing myself to go use the rest room, when the instructor called my name to go up to the front of the room. Not only was I mortified in a room full of about 100 judgmental high school students, but I also *really* had to pee. As I stood up, I had to pretend to fiddle with my bag as she shift in position made my bladder scream obscenities at me. I stood there and clenched until I was sure I could hold it, then I walked to the front of the room. As it turned out, it was just my mother calling to make sure I'd brought my calculator (I had), and she couldn't reach me on my cell, because I'd turned it off for the test. By the time I'd walked (briskly, stopping every so often) to the office and back, the next section was in progress. People were taking out their stuff, the instructor was setting the clock for an hour, and my desperation was at a nine. That's when the real torture started. Now, I'm pretty bad at math on a good day, but when my bladder is full to bursting, and all I can think about is how good it would feel to let go? I was pretty sure I wasn't getting into college. The section was 60 minutes and 60 questions long. I closed my eyes, clenched hard, and snuck a few fingers down there to help relieve some of the pain. My desperation dropped back down to six. 'Alright. 60 minutes. 60 questions. That's a minute per question. 60 seconds. You can hold it sixty seconds.' This is what I thought. Instead, all it did was make the count down worse: Question 10: My desperation is back up again, and I'm rocking in my chair, trying to find a comfortable position. I keep squeezing my legs together, all while trying to look like a normal human being AND recall basic trig rules. Question 20: It's getting difficult to focus. I'm well behind where I should be, because I can't even answer questions anymore. I can feel my muscles trembling, and I've jammed my sweatshirt between my legs, praying that the pressure and pain ease up. It's getting very difficult not to moan. Question 25: I can't take it anymore. There's no way I'll be able to finish this test if I can't focus. I raise my hand to ask the instructor to be excused. She gestures for me to come to her, and I honestly think I'll lose it there. I make a big show of put my calculator safely on the ground, but really, I'm moaning into my knees, and trying to ease some of the pressure building in my bladder. I put out a leg to stand up, and feel my entire stomach go cold, then hot, then cold again as a small amount of liquid forces its way out of me. I stand quickly, leaning as casually against the desk as I can, trying hard to gain control, all the while thinking, 'It would feel so, so good to just let go now. I'll take the test later, and never see any of these kids again.' But I know if I come home saying, "I couldn't finish the test, because I had to pee on the carpet," my parents will go ballistic. I make my way slowly to the front of the room for a second time, one foot in front of the other, trying to will the urine back up inside of me. I explain the situation to the instructor. She apologizes--if I leave, I won't be able to enter the room again until the test is done. She asks how far I've gotten. I tell her I've only *actually* answered about 12 questions, and am running far behind. She apologizes again and asks if it's worth. I know what she wants me to say. Question 35: At this point, I'm just filling in bubbles to look like I've done something. I know I'll have to take the test again. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters, except getting to a bathroom. All I can think about is the relief that's coming, and I begin imagining scenarios, almost dreaming I'm in the bathroom, standing over the toilet, letting it all flow out of me, relieving my bladder in a matter of seconds. Question 45: Just a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes. I can't think anything except--just a few more minutes. Question 49: There are teeth marks in my pencil, and I'm almost crying from the pain. I haven't actually read a question in almost half an hour. Desperation is at an eleven. My legs feel weak and shaky, and there are goosebumps everywhere on my body. I'm trying to remember how to breathe, and trying not to cry at the same time. A contraction makes me groan aloud--a cough to cover it, and spurt again into my underpants. The relief is so great I almost give up and go right there. The thought makes my bladder release, and I have to sit forward to keep from having a full blown accident. It's time to go. I don't even stop to talk to the instructor. I just explain on my way out the door I did the best I could, and I'll wait outside until the other students are done. As soon as I got outside, I felt warmth on the inside of my thighs. I knew there was no stopping it then, so I bent over and started run-walking toward the closest bathroom. Every step was torture--every bounce forced another spurt out of me. I wanted to fall down and let it come there, just for the relief. I'm moaning in pain as I run, both hands in my crotch, trying to hold everything in, even as my fingers are collecting warm drops. I made it to the bathroom, and the sight of the toilet almost killed me--there was another spurt, then a longer one, then I couldn't hold it back anymore, and my body let go before my pants were all the way down. It all came out of me like a flood, unstoppable, and I was surprised at how much there actually was. Once I was down, I was down for almost two minutes, crying again, but with relief this time. My jeans were wet in the back, so I had to tie my sweat shirt around my waist before I went back into the classroom. Fortunately, it was break time, so I could just sit down without anyone knowing the wiser. I was there for another three hours, and used every bathroom break I could, since my bladder couldn't hold much after that. I had another two brief spurts while waiting in line, but nothing compared to the first time. And for anyone who's curious -- My ACT score SUCKED. =p Hope you enjoyed! I had a lot of fun with this, so please, suggest away! I'd love to write more, if it's appreciated. ~Nice
  21. View File Another tumblr archive I went through whatever stuff I'd saved on tumblr over the years and downloaded what seemed most worthwhile. I put it all in a zip file because that seemed easiest to up/download. There are 100+ images, in addition to 17 video files. I can't guarantee that any of this is unique; a lot of it probably exists in some folder somewhere on this website already. The content is a mix of wetting, diapers, and a little bit of softcore messing (sorry if that isn't your thing). I've tried to confirm that everyone is 18+ even though some of these ageplayers do dress very young. Submitter satyr Submitted 12/13/2018 Category Female videos Clothing Unspecified  
  22. writingwizard

    female At my breaking point!

    So I decided to get a little desperate tonight, and when I came home from work I had 3 huge glasses of water after not going to the bathroom since the morning. Not much happened for a while, so I started playing some Overwatch, and then I got a text from a friend that he wanted me to meet him to trade pokemon. I looked it up in the GPS - 11 minutes away - and decided to go meet him. I was at about a 9/20 then, it kinda hurt to get in the car, but I quickly refocused and got on my way. I got to my destination, only to find that my friend was running late. I decided to wait a little bit... then a little bit longer... I was starting to get more and more desperate as each song on the radio felt like it took forever, and I kept texting and texting my friend to no avail. I knew it would be a long 11 minutes back but I really wanted to do this trade, so I stayed as long as I thought I'd be able to, just waiting in my car and feeling as the dull ache in my bladder got sharper and sharper and I started wriggling around on the seat, trying in vain to find a comfortable position. Soon I wasn't able to sit still at all, and my desperation kept ratcheting up. I had a hand at my crotch then, it seemed kinda optional at first but then I realized I needed it there, and if I didn't start driving home, I was going to have an accident in my gorgeous car that I love so much! I was at around a 14/15 at this point, squirming furiously. Eleven minutes seemed like a lifetime... I knew I couldn't wet my car, so I texted my friend hastily and started to drive back to my apartment. Even just the little movements to push the gas and the brake were so much because I couldn't clamp my legs shut. My left hand was firmly up against my pee hole, and it felt like the need to pee was overtaking everything as waves pulsed over my bulging bladder. I could see it coming through my jeans, so huge and swollen and every time I looked at it I started shaking again. I couldn't even do a real pee dance or shake my legs or anything since I still had to drive, and that was my only chance of getting home in time... At this point, I was towards the center of town where the lights are really short, and I had to keep stopping. Each time I put my foot on the brake, it was like slamming the heel of my palm into my bladder, sharp and sudden no matter how smooth I tried to drive. It was pulsing in waves, coming at me so strong that I had no idea how I was still sitting up. I made it to where there are ten blocks to my house and then I had to turn left, and in order to activate my signal I yanked my hand out of my crotch only to feel as some pee spurted out, running hot into the denim... I clamped my muscles as hard as I could, I was counting the streets, I jammed my hand back in there and was trying anything I could do to think of anything other than this bursting need, the most I had ever felt away from home where I could have the option to just go to the toilet... I kept my fist there, begging myself not to lose it, trying everything but beginning to lose resolve as I felt more warmth fill my fingers and I clamped down again hard, trying to pinch myself off in whatever way I could while I was still driving... I could feel the pressure inside me like I was about to explode and the streets were going by all too slowly until finally I found mine, and started going down that last mile where I was honestly considering stopping at a closed gas station and just letting it loose there, even through my pants... but then I saw some people walking by and I knew that I couldn't, but even the thought of it had my bladder pulsing again and more and more heat met my fingers as I strained with all my might to keep the flood inside of me... And then finally, I saw my apartment building and screeched to a stop, barely trusting myself to turn off the car right. I grabbed my purse and my phone with my right hand but when I went to open the latch of the door with my left, I spurted again, and then it was a race to reach the door. I couldn't even go quickly, I had to hobble with my hand between my legs stuck in the wetness that was already there, which only made me need to go even more... Freezing on the lawn, I knew I was at the very end of my capability to hold and I leaked again when my hand was too shaky to get the key in the door the first time... I was at a solid 19/20 and I knew it was less than a minute before I would lose everything where I stood, wherever I was... my hand was the only thing stopping my pee hole from drenching the lobby of the building. I finally got the door open and hobbled inside. The bathroom door was open and I ran over, spurting more in my jeans until I finally, in one last push of strength, clamped my pee hole shut long enough to yank down my jeans and then I was peeing so strong that it was like an endless waterfall. I didn't manage to time the whole thing since I was too desperate to even reach for my phone at first but it was nearly a full minute, which is a record for me. I kept going through my sodden underwear, streaming pee and heaving for breath until finally, finally there was nothing more. And then I washed my hands and went to my computer to write this story... I will be around later, but for now I need to do some laundry, as I have a wet spot about the size of a baseball and a half between my legs... 😉 ((This was several major firsts for me - first time being desperate in public, first time being desperate with no easy way out, first time leaking into clothes as an accident... this was so intense and I was completely unprepared for the speed at which it went through the higher stages. Also, I welcome feedback on the story and the holding experience! This is my first story like this and first time doing something like this so 🙂 ))
  23. Ranganath

    indian CURSED!! (Indian)

    Hi once again everyone. <present> The bus driver of the SETC bus hung out of the side of the bus blowing his whistle as we entered the Salem bus stop at 3:00 AM. This was to be our third and final bus switch for the night. The bus stop was dimly lit and reeked of stale urine and decomposing garbage. I heard a few of my friends stirring awake as the bus lights came on. I grabbed a smoke and left the bus, edging my way past a restlessly rocking Sanjana. The station was utterly appalling. Garbage lay rotting in large heaps. I looked around for a place I could have my smoke. My eyes fell on the bathrooms, the gutka riddled wall from where the stench originated. I edged my way past the food sellers and into the open unisex shit yard that they called a toilet. At this time of the night there was nobody around and the bathroom looked more than a little creepy. I stood to one corner and lit my smoke, an evil twinkling glistening in my eyes. I took a deep drag, then smoothly exhaled as my heart pounded faster and faster. I knew what was going to happen. I knew what I was going to see. I took another drag off the cigarette. The sound of footsteps pattering rapidly, approaching the bathroom stirred me. I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself. The footsteps grew louder and louder as the person running approached. Sanjana's panting was easily recognizable. Sanjana dashed into the bathroom, a frantic look plastered on her face. She scanned the filthy room up and down quickly, noticing me but in her urgency not caring, and dashed into the closest 'cubicle' (if you can call it that). From my place in the corner, I had a perfect vantage point. I took another drag. Sanjana unbuttoned her skin tight jeans and began frantically pulling them and her tight white polka-dotted panties off her thigh. The moment she had got them midway, she dropped into an awkward skewed squat over the trough below. Instantly there was a loud hissing sound as a forceful stream of urine shot into the bowl, washing off some of the brown plastered grime in its flow. But though Sanjana was squatting, emptying herself into the trough, there was no relief on her face, merely determination. Just one glimpse of her sweaty contorted face and the way she was clutching her stomach, I knew there was a much bigger problem shouting in her lower stomach. Her butt cheeks tensed several times during the coursde of her pee. Yet each time she managed to regain her composure. As her stream tapered off to a drizzle, she hurriedly pulled up her jeans and left the bathroom, buttoning them as she walked out. I followed her back to the bus with a sly smile on my lips. This was going to be an interesting bus ride !!! <Two Days Earlier> "Hey Rohit, where are we. I need to Peeee", Aishwarya whined from the back of the trekking group. Rahul looked up from the path in front of him. He scratched his head as he replied, "I'm not really sure. We're quite lost, that's for sure. We're in the middle of nowhere! There's just trees and more trees!! If you really need to pee you should probably just use a bush." Aishwarya looked indignant and sulking with a pouty face murmured, " I can wait." Our trekking group had gotten lost in the depths of the forest. We stumbled off the main trail less than an hour back and hadn't been able to find our way back. There were 8 of us in total, friends from work and other. We'd come up to Yercaud for a fun relaxing weekend of trekking, not this. Still we walked deeper and deeper into the jungle. As the sun started to dim, my eyes caught a figure in the distance, behind a forage of vines and branches. I pointed this out to my friends and they shouted to the person for help. The man however, didn't respond, at this distance we wouldn't know anyway so we all moved towards him shouting for help. Suddenly, the figure began to run. Shouting we chased after it for a good 5 minutes. Finally it appeared to be slowing down; we ran forward with renewed vigor. As we drew closer, we saw that the figure was not a man, but a tall beautiful woman, wearing a typical traditional folded saree. As we drew closer, we saw that she was fiddling with something behind a large tree. When we approached we were surprised to see a well built shed, about the size of a small public toilet, made entirely out of wood, in the middle of the jungle. The woman was fumbling with a ring of keys in front of the door. Her incessant jiggling and knee-bending gave voice to the nature of her hurry. Aishwarya had caught sight of the shed and was overjoyed. She outran all of us and reached the shed. Turning towards the village woman, Aishwarya said, "Toilet? Can .. I?? Toilet??" The village woman gave just one look of frenzied urgency to Aishwarya and went back to putting various keys in the padlock fastened on the door. Aishwarya was not well off. She was having severe difficulty keeping still. These were the final moments of struggle for her. All of a sudden a 'click' sounded as the padlock snapped off and the toilet door swayed open. Inside was a clean and obviously well maintained toilet. Aishwarya was already contemplating running ahead into the toilet before it opened. As the doors swung open though, she felt a long leak (more like a squirt) rush out of her and down her cargo trousers. She held it back but within 2 seconds another squirt escaped, and then another. Aishwarya ran ahead, literally pushing the village woman to the side and fumblingly bolted the toilet door behind her as she entered. She could feel drops of urine running down her calf. She tore her cargoes down to her knees as a tidal wave erupted from between her legs, washing the toilet clean in its path. Aishwarya sighed loudly and closed her eyes in bliss. The village woman trapped outside however was much less fortunate. Shell-shocked by Aishwarya's actions, the village woman, with her legs visibly twisted and in a semi hunch, pounded on the bathroom door. The 7 of us standing there could do nothing, and merely looked on. We were so busy watching her pounding away at the door that we didn't notice the gentle pattering noise of piss falling from her calves onto the soil until she started crying. When we realized what was happening, we all looked away, feeling incredibly guilty and awkward. The woman sobbed gently as her urine ran down her legs. Suddenly the wind changed, the sky darkened, the tree leaves rustled ominously. The woman looked up at us, her kajol smeared around her eyes. Her look was one of unadulturated hatred and anger. The next thing we knew, she was levitating above us, 5 feet in the air. As she looked at us her eyes glowed with orange fury. "FUCK YOU!! You bastards will pay for what you've done. You'll feel my pain, my humiliation, my helplessness, ALL OF YOU!!! You WILL pay. You WILL know what it feels like. Every single one of you!!" With that she disappeared among the foilage. We gazed upward stupidly in shock. The sound of a flush was followed by a relieved Aishwarya stepping out of the bathroom as she buttoned up her cargoes. "What happenned guys??"
  24. rachelkirwan

    Tumblr Refugees - Wetting Content

    Version 1.0.0

    5,633 downloads

    My final Tumblr content, this time wetting clips, salvaged from the sinking ship that is Tumblr. Not every video survived or will survive, but I managed to find these on my favorite blogs before they went tits up (pun definitely intended). ***Contains Nudity*** Enjoy Rach

    Free