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  1. Version 1.0.1

    598 downloads

    Support the developers here. Special thanks to @Chapman for purchasing and sharing the game with me. For anyone curious about how this game was developed, please read the author's blog for details. From https://gameomo.net/1331.html: Some discussion can be found here. Readme file with the game:
    Free
  2. Version 1.0.0

    696 downloads

    Support the developers here. She piss herself in almost every h-scene but this is not exactly an omorashi game.
    Free
  3. Summary: Julian is a bedwetter and diaper lover who likes to pretend to be little. When he starts university, he doesn't feel comfortable staying in the dorms and ends up renting a room in the house of an older man named Alexander. Alexander is tall and athletic and very handsome, and Julian dreams of having him for a Daddy Dom. Perhaps it's meant to be? Author's Note: So, this is a story I've been working on for a long time and feel like I'm finally getting somewhere with, so I've decided to start posting it. It's actually inspired by a pair of characters from one of my Sims games, with a bedwetting and incontinence mod plus a lot of custom content, so I've got some screenshots I can share with you all as well. The names of some of the locations and other things mentioned are taken from The Sims 4 and the Discover University expansion pack. I hope you enjoy it! CW for this chapter: sexual content, misgendering, dysphoria ———————— Chapter 1. Julian rang the doorbell, looking up at the house while he waited. It was nice. Not huge, but definitely among the nicer houses in Britechester, a town known for its fine old architecture. It was the home of Professor Alexander Jones of the History, Languages, and Literature departments at UBrite. Julian expected a kindly old man or a stern teacher, but that was not what greeted him when the door opened. The man in front of him was in his mid to late forties. His brown hair was dusted with silver and he wore a tweed suit, all of which was in keeping with Julian’s idea of distinguished UBrite professors. But Professor Jones was also tall, broad shouldered, and decidedly well built. His slacks clung to his thick, muscled thighs, and even through the suit it was impossible not to see that this man was in peak physical condition. ‘Ah! You must be Julian. Come in!’ ‘Er . . . thank you.’ Julian smiled and stepped through the door. No one told me UBrite professors were muscle daddies, he thought. I wonder what the ones at Foxbury are like. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Professor Jones,’ he said. ‘Alexander, please.’ The man gave him a brilliant smile, making Julian’s heart pound. ‘I’m not your teacher. Not yet, anyway. What were you planning to study?’ ‘Oh, I’m going to Foxbury, not UBrite.’ Julian smiled. Alexander raised an eyebrow. ‘Bold of you, to tell me you’ll be going to the competition.’ Julian laughed. ‘If UBrite gave Honours degrees in STEM fields, I’m sure that’s where I’d be going, but as it is, Foxbury’s the place for a budding engineer.’ ‘Hmm. Well, to each his own. I expect you’ll want to see the room.’ He led Julian up two flights of stairs, to the top floor of the house, and opened a door. The room was large and comfortable-looking, with a bed, dresser, closet, sofa, and desk. ‘You’ll have your own bathroom,’ said Alexander, walking through the room and opening a door. Julian peeked inside. The bathroom was blue-tiled, with a corner bathtub, shower, and plenty of cupboard space. That was good. ‘This looks really nice,’ said Julian and grinned. ‘I’ll take it if you’ll have me.’ ‘Well, you seem like a nice young man.’ Alexander smiled. ‘So, I don’t see why not. Any particular reason you won’t be in the dorms, though?’ Julian looked down. ‘I . . . couldn’t get a single room. And I kind of need my own bathroom.’ ‘Oh? Why?’ Julian shrugged. ‘Well, you should probably know anyway. I’m trans. Three years on hormones and got my top surgery earlier this year, but I don’t feel quite comfortable sharing space. I’d like to pass if I can, and there’s no way of really doing that in a dorm with communal showers. Plus, I have a medical condition.’ Alexander cocked his head to one side. ‘What kind of condition?’ Julian looked down, blushing a little. ‘It’s kind of embarrassing, sir.’ ‘Well, I won’t laugh,’ Alexander promised. His voice was kind and he looked sincere. ‘I . . . suffer from night time incontinence,’ Julian confessed. ‘So, I wear diapers to bed. Kind of awkward if you’re sharing a room.’ ‘Hmm, I imagine it would be.’ Alexander nodded sympathetically. ‘Well, I don’t care about any of that. Thank you for being so honest with me, though. I appreciate honesty and openness. You can expect the same from me, should you choose to accept.’ ‘You’re offering me the room, then?’ Julian asked. ‘Absolutely. In fact, I’ll be disappointed if you don’t take it.’ Julian grinned at the older man. ‘Okay, then I will. Thank you, Professor!’ The professor smiled. ‘I thought I told you to call me Alexander.’ # ‘Ah! Daddy! Harder, Daddy!’ Julian cried. He lay on his stomach on a bed in his favourite club, being pounded by a large man in his thirties. The man picked up the pace, slapping Julian’s behind a couple of times as he did. ‘Such a dirty little girl!’ he growled. Julian froze. ‘Unicorn,’ he said. The man didn’t stop. ‘Unicorn!’ ‘Oh! Sorry.’ The man climbed off him. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. What’s wrong? Didn’t you like being called dirty?’ Julian sat up and faced him, arms crossed over his chest. ‘I didn’t like being called a girl,’ he said. ‘What part of the “no misgendering” clause in our negotiation did you not understand?’ ‘Sorry,’ the man said again. ‘I . . . You’ve got girl parts and with you facing away, I forgot.’ ‘They’re not girl parts,’ said Julian. ‘They’re my parts, and I’m a boy.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ The man sounded more sincere now. ‘I’m . . . I’m not used to being with trans guys. I’m bi, I don’t really see gender.’ ‘You gender genitalia just fine,’ Julian mumbled, looking away. ‘I’m really sorry, Julian. Please forgive me and let’s continue. Weren’t you having fun?’ The truth was that Julian had been bored nearly to tears. This daddy wasn’t rough enough, and he was too young to be a real daddy anyway. Julian preferred men who were old enough to be his real father, but this one had seemed nice enough so he’d thought he would give it a try. Clearly, that had been a mistake, as he was inexperienced at being a Daddy Dom. ‘I was,’ Julian lied. ‘But I lost the mood when you called me a girl. I’m sorry. I suggest next time you’re with a trans person, you pay better attention to the agreement.’ He got off the bed and went to fetch his clothes. He got a clean diaper out of his bag. ‘At least let me help you get that on,’ the man said. ‘That’s easier, isn’t it?’ Julian sighed. ‘Fine.’ He handed over the diaper and lay on the bed. ‘No powder?’ the man asked. ‘No need, I’m going straight home. Got homework I need to do tomorrow.’ ‘Homework? You’re not still in high school, are you?’ The man looked slightly concerned. ‘No,’ said Julian, laughing a little. He knew he looked a little younger than he was, like many trans guys. ‘I’m at university. I study engineering at Foxbury. Don’t worry, I’m twenty like I said.’ ‘Is it your second year?’ ‘No, I’m a fresher. I just took a year off before applying. I wanted to have my top surgery first. I know I’m easy enough to clock, but I don’t walk around wearing trans flags. I’d like to pass if I can.’ ‘I didn’t clock you,’ said the man, closing the tabs on the diaper. ‘There, all done.’ ‘You misgendered me,’ Julian reminded him. ‘It was a heat of the moment thing. When I saw you, I just saw a cute boy in a onesie. I didn’t realise you were trans until you told me.’ Julian smiled. ‘I don’t quite believe you, but I appreciate it all the same.’ He got up and went over to his clothes again. He pulled on the onesie, then put on his loose jeans and t-shirt over it. ‘I’m sorry this didn’t work out.’ ‘Not as sorry as me,’ the man said, smiling. # Julian had been at university a month now. He enjoyed his classes and had gotten to know a few of his classmates well enough, but not exactly made any friends. He usually went to the club in the city on weekends, rather than hang out in the student pub in Britechester. So far, it was the only BDSM club he’d found where ABDL was not only accepted but encouraged, though they catered to a wide array of kinks. At the club, he could be himself. He’d walk around in his blue onesie with fluffy socks, a teddy bear and a pacifier and ask people, ‘Have you seen my Daddy?’ The ones who were into adult baby age play and didn’t mind trans boys loved it, and he rarely left the club without having had a partner. The man he’d been with tonight had reacted by pinching Julian’s cheeks and saying, ‘I’ll be your Daddy, kiddo. Wanna come play with me?’ They’d sat down at a table, worked out the terms, and when they got to their room, Julian had wet himself, thrown a temper tantrum, been spanked and then fucked. Honestly, in spite of the slightly half-assed scolding and spanking, it had been fine until they got to the fucking. Maybe the man just hadn’t been big enough to give Julian the pounding he craved. It was nearly midnight when he got home, so he was surprised to find Alexander in the living room with a tumbler of whisky, reading a book. ‘Hey you. Been out?’ The older man smiled, and Julian found himself wishing he’d run into his landlord at the club instead of the man he’d been with. Alexander was dressed casually, in neat jeans and a t-shirt that showed off his extremely muscular arms. Julian had found Alexander had gym equipment in the basement and did strength workouts for half an hour every morning. He also went jogging twice a week. He was a very disciplined man. Julian, on the other hand, had never been athletic; he was a nerdy blonde with glasses who dreamt of working in robotics. His pudginess and his smooth, round face lent themselves well to toddler roleplay, though. ‘Yeah.’ Julian returned the smile as best he could. ‘Did you go to Pepper’s?’ Alexander asked, referring to the student pub. Julian shook his head. ‘No, I went clubbing in the city.’ ‘By yourself? Or was it a date?’ Julian had noticed that Alexander often asked about where he’d been. The questions didn’t feel invasive, and it wasn’t like he was policing Julian’s movements, but his curiosity always took the young man by surprise. ‘Not exactly.’ Julian blushed again, and Alexander seemed to notice. ‘Something more casual, then.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘You want a drink?’ Julian rarely drank alcohol when he went to the club, preferring to be one hundred percent in control for the negotiations. Tonight, he’d had a couple glasses of orange juice when he’d arrived, to make sure he’d need to pee when he got picked up for play. He’d felt like bratting. ‘Why not?’ he said, sitting down. ‘Gotta warn you, though. I’m not exactly a whisky connoisseur.’ Alexander smiled, standing up and heading over to the bar cabinet. ‘A little one, then,’ he said. ‘With just a drop of water.’ He handed Julian a tumbler. ‘Old Yorkfield, sixteen years. Should be to your tastes.’ ‘What are you drinking?’ Julian asked. ‘McDillan’s,’ Alexander replied, taking his seat again. ‘Not for novices, I’m afraid. It’s very smoky. If you handle the Yorkfield well, maybe you’ll graduate to McDillan’s.’ He winked and Julian blushed a little again. He was suddenly all too aware that he hadn’t orgasmed with the man at the club. And Alexander oozed big dick energy. He took a sip of the whisky and made a face. ‘Wow. That’s strong.’ Alexander laughed. ‘You’ll get used to it. So, tell me about your not-date. Did you have fun?’ Julian bobbed his head. ‘It was okay at first. But . . . he misgendered me halfway through, so I left.’ Alexander frowned. ‘That’s not very polite. I’m sorry that happened to you.’ ‘Extra not polite since we’d negotiated—’ Julian cut himself off. Negotiation was not a part of casual sex outside the kink community, he reminded himself. ‘I mean, since I’d told him straight out not to do that.’ He took another sip of the whisky. It went down smoother now and he was already feeling a little woozy, no doubt because he hadn’t eaten since before he went to the club. ‘Don’t understand why boy pussy’s so hard to accept,’ he mumbled, then froze. Had he really said ‘boy pussy’ in front of his university professor landlord? The man who wore tweed every day, like a proper gentleman? ‘I mean—sorry, that just slipped out.’ Alexander laughed, but his face was kind. ‘I’m not a prude, Julian. I’ve been ’round the block a few times. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you could say that would shock me.’ What about ‘I like pretending I’m three years old and having strange men change my diaper, spank me, fuck me, and occasionally piss on me in BDSM clubs’? Julian thought, but outwardly he just smiled and drained his tumbler. ‘I should get to bed. Got homework in the morning.’ ‘I’ve been meaning to say,’ said Alexander as Julian stood, ‘if you need someone to proofread your papers, I’d be happy to help.’ ‘Oh, no,’ said Julian. ‘I couldn’t ask you to do that.’ ‘You wouldn’t be asking me to, I offered,’ said Alexander. ‘And I mean it.’ His tone was commanding and sent shivers down Julian’s back. ‘Oh. Okay. Well, thanks, I . . . I appreciate that.’ ‘No worries,’ said Alexander. ‘I’m teaching fewer classes this semester, cause I’m working on a thesis with a couple of PhD candidates. You probably won’t believe it, but I miss grading papers. Proofing yours would fill a need, even if I can’t understand half of what’s in them.’ He laughed. ‘Not one for physics?’ Julian asked. Alexander shook his head. ‘I’m a Humanities man, and I always have been. Now, off to bed, young man.’ He had a twinkle in his eye, but there was that commanding tone again. Julian could feel his heart pound in his groin. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, and went up the stairs. Once in his room, Julian locked the door and stripped down to his onesie. He got on the bed and humped his pillow until he came and then wet himself, thinking of Alexander’s strong arms holding him down. Afterwards, he lay there panting for a long time. ‘This is bad,’ he mumbled. ‘This is really, really bad.’ If he’d ever wanted someone to be his daddy full time, it would have to be Alexander. He wasn’t sure anyone else could measure up.
  4. Version 1.0.0

    1,941 downloads

    Support the developers here.
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  5. A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy by brucejedi Numerous posts inspired this story. The most immediate is Noface’s “An Inconvenient Entanglement” that imagines a world where all women are assumed incontinent. Readers will notice many similarities between his “green” world and mine, though also some important differences. A second inspiration comes from stories where girls must wait until adolescence to toilet-train, and thus experience it as a rite of passage. Satyr’s magnificent “Developmental Biology” is the best example I know. Both story types normalize female incontinence, allowing the characters to experience it without the customary stigmatization and without ABDL undertones. In that sense, the story I offer here answers tits’s call to combine omorashi and omutsu, where “a full-grown woman is…struggling with keeping her pants dry” and ends up “failing toilet-training”—or does she? Chapter 1. Diapers and Panties Courtney hit the search button once again, not expecting much from the bizarre string of terms she’d entered. Her literature review on women’s athleticwear essentially complete, she was merely checking for anything she’d missed. She was about to close the program when a strange title caught her eye: “Wolcott, J. (2020). A self-fulfilling prophecy? An environmental theory of female urinary incontinence.” Intrigued, she clicked on the link. <Access Denied> Weird, Courtney thought, never had that happen before. The creak of her boss’s door shook her back to reality. She clicked off the window and looked up from her screen. “Good morning, Mr. Mills,” she said in her most cheerful voice. “How’s your work going?” “Well enough. Did you finish the lit review?” “Just now I did, yes. Shall I send it over?” “Yeah, I’ll need it for my 10 o’clock.” “Certainly, sir.” Courtney took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Now was her best chance. She’d rehearsed the words all morning, but still she felt her pulse quicken. “I also…wanted to ask you something?” “Can you make it quick? My meeting’s in five.” “I was wondering, do you think I could give Monday’s presentation myself?” He seemed to consider it briefly but then said, “You know, Courtney, I better handle it.” “But…I’ve worked so hard on all the prep, and I feel like I know it so well…” The corner of his mouth turned upward. “I’m sure you do, but…could you make through the whole presentation?” “Of course! I mean, I’d have the slides to fall back on, and—” “—No, that’s not what I meant. Could you make it through?” Courtney’s confidence deflated like a struck balloon. “I mean…I assume so…I—” “—Right…but what if you couldn’t? What if you wet yourself in the middle of the presentation—in front of all our best clients?” As if on cue, she felt warmth spread between her thighs. The image he conjured must have triggered something in her subconscious. Keep it together, Courtney. He can’t have noticed it. Did he notice? She scanned his face for a sign, then stuttered, “I mean…I’d be wearing protection…” “Sorry, Courtney. Listen, you’re a fine research assistant, one of the best. But I think you can understand why the answer must be no. Have my slides ready by noon, okay?” And with that, he left for his 10 o’clock meeting. “Kettle’s hot!” she called after him. Then she reached under her skirt to the symbol of her subservience. Her diaper was bulging badly, almost to the point of leaking. Like her boss said, maybe she was better off behind a desk. * * * As she entered the changing room, Courtney caught glimpse of her friend Krystal. The young receptionist was sprawled out on one of the padded benches, wet-wipes in hand. A low divider hid her naked crotch from view. “Oh, hi Courtney!” she said. “Hi,” Courtney replied solemnly, lying back on the adjacent bench. “Someone’s having a bad morning.” Courtney hiked up her skirt and lifted her fanny. She undid the tapes and carefully folded her sopping wet diaper. She sighed a deep sigh. “Your boss, again, huh?” Courtney took a wet-wipe from her purse and began dabbing her crotch and butt. “Maybe it’s too much to ask,” she said, “but a teensy bit of respect would go a long way.” “Tell me about it!” said Krystal. Courtney fished around in her purse. “Crap!” she muttered. Krystal peaked over. “Oh no—all out? I’ve got plenty. You want pink or flowers?” “Whichever is more absorbent. I almost overflooded mine just now—too much coffee.” Krystal laughed. “Flowers, then. I love this brand—they’re almost like overnights.” “Thanks,” said Courtney, fastening the thick diaper around her hips. It felt comforting, especially after the stressful morning. “I’m sorry about Mr. Mills,” said Krystal. “He can be a real douchebag.” Courtney glanced at the toilet stall in the corner, her mind flipping between the exchange with her boss and the strange title of that article. Out of the blue, she asked, “You think we’d gain more respect if we weren’t in diapers?” “Wait, what?” Krystal looked confused. “How would wetting our clothes gain us respect?” “No, silly. Like if we didn’t need diapers. Like if we had…control down there…like men do.” “Oh, I see what you meant!” Krystal laughed. “Yeah, that would be awesome. Keep dreaming, right?” Courtney sighed again. “Wait, you’re serious, aren’t you?” Krystal suppressed another giggle. “Didn’t you pay attention in health class? We don’t have penises, remember? Control isn’t possible without one—everyone knows that! Fun to imagine, though, huh?” Krystal touched up her makeup before waving goodbye. * * * That evening, Courtney sat at her laptop, entering in search after search, but nothing more than the mysterious title ever came up: “Self-fulfilling prophecy”—what could that mean? A twinge between her legs caught her attention. Often she didn’t feel it coming, but this time she did. She rolled her hips around, hoping to maybe suppress it? But the feeling only intensified. She pressed her thighs together. Nope, that didn’t work either. A trickle emerged, erupting into a spray. Changing her diaper could wait, though. That was one nice thing, at least—using the bathroom at your own convenience, not when natured called. She tried a new idea. “Wolcott, J.”—what could that stand for: John? Jake? James? Still no hits. Ah ha! How about this? She typed in, “Jane Wolcott female incontinence.” And there it was, the top hit: A video of the woman being interviewed by some obscure local news channel. Courtney leaned back and clicked play. ~ ~ A balding newsman stared into the camera. “We end tonight with a heartwarming story about a medical researcher chasing women’s equality. Over to you, Kate.” The screen switched to a young redhead with impeccable makeup. “Thanks, Bob. My guest tonight is Jane Wolcott, who believes she’s uncovered a vast conspiracy targeted at women. I know I’m all ears. So Miss Wolcott, can you tell us about your theory?” “Thank you for having me. It’s Dr. Wolcott, by the way.” Kate the newscaster smiled politely as her guest continued: “Did you know that boys’ and girls’ urinary tracts are virtually identical at birth, save for the final portion?” “I didn’t,” answered Kate, “that’s so interesting. So then, why are women naturally incontinent?” “Well, that’s just it,” Jane replied, “I’m not sure we are. We possess all the necessary anatomy—the urethral sphincter, nerves around the bladder. We just need to learn to use it all. I see no reason why females cannot toilet-train like males can.” “Wow,” said Kate, “you mean I could be saving a whole lot on diapers?” Jane smiled. “And that’s not all. Think of it: Freed from diapers, women could finally gain equal status. A lot of the excuses for excluding us from sports leagues, leadership positions, and high-powered jobs, begin to melt away. No one could claim, ‘But what if your diaper leaks in the middle of [fill in the blank]?’” “We’ve all heard that one!” laughed Kate. “So I hear you brought something to show us?” Dr. Wolcott held up a strange garment, similar to men’s briefs but without a fly. A hint of lace adorned the waistline. “Those are pretty,” said Kate. “What are they?” “Female underwear, patent pending.” Kate felt the fabric. “They’re so silky and delicate! I’d love to wear those—not that I could, but…” “What makes you so sure? Like most women I’ve spoken with, I imagine you’ve never once tried to end your dependence on diapers.” “Well,” said Kate, “there was that time in tenth grade. Vending machines were out, friends were out. It was the end of the school day, and I thought I could make it home in just a skirt. We’ve all been there, right?” “Did you make it?” “This may be TMI for cable television, but as I was walking home, I didn’t even feel it coming.” Kate laughed. “It went all down my legs. I can still remember the squishing sound my shoes made the rest of the way. When I got home, my little brother watched me flee to my room in a wet skirt. Since then, I’ve never been so careless.” Jane nodded. “Every woman has a story like that. The level of self-doubt I see is enormous. But consider how young boys potty-train. It takes time and effort, with no shortage of mishaps. What if the same were expected of young girls?” “Fun to imagine, isn’t it? In the meantime, is there any hope for the rest of us?” “Well, that’s where my research comes in. The goal, of course, is to get to these”—Jane held up the silk underwear again—“but we start with these.” In her other hand, she displayed a slightly thicker pair, almost like a woman’s diaper with no tapes. They vaguely resembled something a little boy might wear. “The techniques we use would sound familiar to anyone with a male toddler—for example, setting a timer to remind yourself to try peeing on the toilet.” “Wow,” said Kate. “Sounds really annoying and difficult. Had any success?” “Well,” said Jane, “the results are still preliminary. But I’m quite confident that if—” “—What do the results show?” Kate cut in. “Unfortunately, the grant agencies haven’t funded a long enough trial. A few subjects start to show progress, but then the funds run dry. It’s quite frustrating.” “Speaking of which, that’s all the time we have. Thank you for sharing your fascinating work, Miss Wolcott. To all the ladies out there, how would your life be different if you weren’t reliant on diapers? Share your thoughts on our website! Back to you, Bob.” “Thanks, Kate,” the balding man replied. “It’s fun to hear divergent views, isn’t it—no matter how far-fetched. So Kate, would you wear those—what should I call them, ‘panties’ maybe?” He smirked. “I’ll stick with diapers, thanks. I prefer my clothes to stay dry.” “And there you’ve heard it from our very own Kate Kovac! Good night, everyone!” ~ ~ Courtney sat staring at the screen. “Crap!” she muttered, noticing the time. Her boyfriend would be home at any minute, and she hated greeting him with her diaper this wet. She retreated to the bathroom to change. * * * An hour later, Courtney lay naked next to her lover, a broad smile across her face. A plastic lined towel beneath her protected the sheets and mattress. “That felt awesome, babe,” she sighed. “Could you hand me my diaper? Don’t worry, it’s dry.” “You mean this one?” Kyle dangled it just out of reach. “Hey, stop! Can I have it, please?” “Whoops!” He tossed it on the floor beside him. “You’re mean,” Courtney said with a pout. She reached across him to grab it. “Wait. What if you left it off for a bit?” A chill ran through her. “You serious?” “Like, how long do you think you could last?” “Without making a mess? I have no idea—it’s totally random.” He touched her arm gently. “Do you ever feel warning signs?” “Sometimes.” “Suppose you felt one right now. Think you could make it to the toilet?” The thought scared her. She gazed down longingly at the diaper on the floor. “Why are you asking, sweetheart?” “I’m curious.” “Um…honestly no, I don’t think I could.” He hugged her from behind, clutching her naked chest in his arms. “What does it feel like when you wet?” “Well, this is getting rather personal…” She glanced at her exposed crotch. “Are you sure you want me in your lap like this?” He pulled the towel up around her bottom, shielding himself and the bed—but not her legs—from a possible accident. “How’s that, better?” He brought his hand down close to her sex. “So what’s it feel like?” She considered the question. “A lot of times, like nothing. If it’s just a leak, I feel a bit of warmth in my diaper—that’s about it.” “You don’t feel when it starts to come out?” Courtney shook her head. “But if it’s a larger wetting, I do. A sudden pressure builds…and then releases.” As she spoke, something hard pressed against her back. “Oh my gosh, this is turning you on, isn’t it?” A lot of men had wetting fetishes, but she didn’t know that about Kyle. He seemed embarrassed, so she turned the conversation in a new direction. “What’s it feel like for you?” “Hmm, I guess like that pressure you describe, but building much more slowly. I hardly think about it until I know I have to go.” “How do you know?” Courtney asked with genuine curiosity. “It’s instinctual, I guess. As a girl, I’m sure it’s hard for you to understand.” He retrieved her diaper from the floor and held it up. “I like the lace details on this style,” he said. “Cute, right? Honey, I really need it back now. I’m getting nervous.” He smiled and placed it in her lap. Relief washed over her as she fastened it. She had not yet had an accident in bed with him, and she intended to keep it that way.
  6. A military story set in the near-past, near-present or the near-future (take your pick). Enjoy! _________________________________________________________________________________________________________ At 6:43 in the morning, a hand fluttered towards the notebook and plucked it from the bottom of an otherwise empty nightstand drawer. Long fingers pawed at the zipper at the book’s vinyl spine, and when the zipper was flicked open an inch, followed by an index finger pushed it across its track on three edges of its the notebook’s perimeter. A few stray beams of sunlight crept onto its pages and left behind the slight shadow of half-closed Venetian blinds. A second later, the paper was lit in a lamp’s warm glow. The bulb’s light was a sumptuous luxury to the woman who held the pen to the pages. She had spent the better part of her life perfecting her ability to blink at a page in pitch-darkness until the words willed themselves into her retinas. That skill had been left to languish once there was no more need to hide from snipers looking to affix their sights on a faraway gleam. Perhaps she didn’t need the lamp, but it was good to have. Though it was too early for Zeina to do any real thinking, a voice in her head chimed an insistence that what was true of her lamp was also true of notebook – and her underwear. Underwear, at least, according to their plastic package of Delicates in her dresser. The chic-sounding brand names printed alongside cheerful pictures of flowers and a model’s hips drew the eyes away from the eight shaded-in droplets in a corner. Zeina needed all eight of those drops for her sheets to be dry in the morning. The Bic came down and checked the box next to Overnight. It checked the box next to Voided Whole Bladder. It put a cross next to Woke Up? In tidy but plain handwriting, it printed 0644 on a dotted line. The point twirled twice in the air before remarking that the previous night had seen the consumption of a two cups of chamomile. At that, the notebook was zipped shut again and placed back into its drawer. Zeina unwrapped herself from the linen sheets and paced across the room to her dresser. It hadn’t been a good morning, she grumbled in her head, as she pulled out a pair of her underwear from the package. Her notebook contained more mentions of these bad mornings than was comfortable. It must’ve been the tea. I must not drink any tonight. Sitting on the toilet, Zeina had her first good look at the underwear she’d awoken in. Its black cloth exterior could belie her secret, but once she had the garment pulled to her ankles, the urine-soaked padding was plain to see. The pale yellow stain covered the length of her underwear’s quilted absorbent core. But – chimed the voice again – it’s only just a bit of protection: and indeed, Zeina could hardly notice that her fresh pair of underwear held a sliver of dry padding at her crotch. She gave just a seconds’ glance to the evidence of her bedwetting before balling up the used garment and throwing it, along with any lingering indignation, into the garbage. When Zeina met the notebook again, nearly an hour later, she was dressed in a suit and skirt and had put her hair up into a tight bun. A rather cheap leather handbag was in the crook of her arm – it would’ve been a rucksack if not for the dress code. The bag had only three compartments – one for her folder and legal pad, one for her makeup and wallet, and the third, zippered pocket for three neatly rolled pairs of her underwear, tucked carefully into a corner. They were normally further concealed by the notebook in Zeina’s hand. She reached for a ballpoint on the table and clicked it open, and held it between her fingers as she flipped to the page she had written upon earlier. After two seconds’ contemplation, she decided to check the box next to Light Leakage, and scrawled choked on my drink onto the dotted line. It was an accurate answer, she reasoned – the brief spurt was noticeable, but her padding had done its work and absorbed any uncomfortable wetness. Heavy traffic, as usual, marred Zeina’s drive to work. To escape the cacophony of honking, she flipped through the radio, searching in vain for a gem in the sea of pop sludge and lifeless newsreaders. Eventually she gave up and spun down the volume knob. Her idle hand tapped a staccato on the dashboard. With nothing to think about, Zeina’s mind drifted towards noticing the slight twinges fomenting at her bladder. It was the coffee. Dr. Weiss had instructed her, along with keeping a “continence notebook”, to avoid drinking a morning cup of java. “It’s in irritant”, Zeina recalled her saying. “Try and slowly cut down over time”. That was the one piece of advice that had gone completely unheeded. Her bladder be damned, Zeina knew no other way to get up and going in the morning. But now she was regretting not kicking her habit of twenty years. The cars were moving at a snails’ pace today – maybe there was an accident? She grimaced at having conjured that word. Her bladder wasn’t desperately full yet, but she could feel it swell up by the second. For once, Zeina hated that the padding between her legs felt so thin and light. If worst came to worst, she hoped the eight drops on the packaging would be enough. By the time she maneuvered her Buick into the enormous parking lot, Zeina was actively fighting off the urge to cross her legs together. She was late – not late enough for a reprimand, but late enough that the only spots left were ten minutes from the front door. As she slammed the door on her crooked parking job, she suddenly felt her bowels working on her morning oatmeal and coffee. Her shiver loosened a few drops of pee. Zeina grit her teeth. Miraculously, she managed to keep her padding mostly dry for the entire journey to the office. She was even at the doorstep, when everything unraveled. Her whole body was assailed with a freezing blast of air-conditioning just as the brief strain of swinging open the heavy door reached her bladder. Zeina’s plunge into the cold office was suddenly complemented by a spreading warmth at her crotch, followed immediately by one at her cheeks. The receptionist chirped a cheerful “Hello, General Masri!”. It took all Zeina’s composure to give a slight wave back while hiding that she was wetting herself. But her bowels’ spasm almost made her gasp – Zeina stopped dead in her tracks as she clamped down on herself, stopping the mess at almost the last moment. Her eyes shot up to the receptionist, who gave her a quizzical look. But she was probably none the wiser. The notebook found itself open in a usual place: the ladies’ room. By then, Zeina had already stripped out of her wet padding and voided her bowels – mercifully – into the toilet. As quietly as possible, she clicked open her ballpoint, and put the ink to paper. Voided Whole Bladder. She paused, thinking of what to write, and settled on the nondescript stuck in traffic. It had been two weeks since she had been given the journal, and still there was nothing less enjoyable for Zeina than recounting her accidents in humiliating detail. This time shouldn’t count, she thought to herself. It could’ve been anybody. If there was one saving grace in this disaster, it was that the padding had let not one drop of wetness leak onto Zeina’s pantyhose. Bravo, Delicates. But now she had only two pairs left for the day, when usually she wouldn’t have to change until lunchtime. Zeina emerged from the washroom carrying all her usual pomp and grace, made slightly difficult by the uncomfortable padding between her thighs. Her rarely-worn black panties were an improvement over her Delicates, but the thick pad stuck inside was not. In the rare occasions that she put one on, she had to wonder each time how she survived five years in service wearing the thick, cumbersome, yet strangely ineffective pads. They beat wet pants, but that was about it. Just good enough for now. No sooner had she finished that thought when Samantha showed up to her desk with a binder in hand. “General Masri, sorry to tell you, your oh-thirteen-hundred has been rescheduled to fifteen minutes from now.” “Why?” “General Masri, it’s because General Cooper is a no-show.” “That asshole can fuck right off”. She should’ve seen it coming. Cooper was always being pulled away to one of his Top-Secret Briefings. They never invited her, of course, all because Cooper was young and blonde and had a senator as a first cousin. “General Masri, I’m very sorry, ma’am, but they must know if you’ll attend”. Zeina rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah”. Samantha skipped off without a murmur. The general turned towards her desk and swept up the thick blue binder. As she was stuffing it into her bag, it suddenly occurred to her that she would have to change back into the underwear that had been saved for this very meeting. Today just keeps getting better. At least the still-dry pad could go back into her handbag. “General Masri, I am truly sorry to have made my scheduling request at such an outrageous hour.” “No bother at all, Miss Lavoie. Let’s get on with it”. Fuck off. She was already unimpressed with the sullen beanpole from the Medical Corps. Women like her could talk and talk – up until they were asked a question. “Yes, yes. Now—I’ve been honored to work with our best and bravest soldiers for fifteen years. Over that time, we’ve made so many improvements to our troops’ survivability. We are always making sure that they have what it takes to fight well and come home to tell the tale. And on this mission, there’s nothing that can be overlooked.” You’re reading from a script, aren’t you. Corporal Jeannine Lavoie flipped a page on her easel pad to one plastered with photographs of piss jugs and bog rolls. Zeina almost laughed out loud. “On the front lines, it’s hard to find a bathroom. Now, we have supplied our soldiers with waste collection supplies, but -” She flipped a page again, this time to one with multicolored graphs. “-but there are actually other concerns on this subject of bodily functions. In nineteen-seventy six, Doctor Johannes Berger, working with the Medical Corps, conducted a questionnaire at Fort McKinsey, with criteria being…” The jargon started. I wonder if she talks this way to her husband. “...thus, the incidence rate of partial incontinence under duress for female soldiers is unacceptably high. Thus, we advise the undertaking of practical solutions to redress this shortcoming”. Zeina’s ears perked up at mention of the phrase that her own doctor had mentioned. Jeannine continued, unaware that her words were only now registering with her audience. “The tender has been offered to three contractors and they have provided samples for their solutions. And – oh yes – the Medical Corps has performed a thorough audit on all the possible solutions that were offered to us, and we have seen that what we have selected was judged to be the best solution in minimizing costs. And the supply is scalable, we can get these on the ground in a few days’ time, if we want. “Mhm.” Zeina wasn’t sure where this was going but already knew that she didn’t like it. “The solution was to make small adjustments to soldiers’ standard-issue equipment. In particular-”. She rummaged around a grey plastic box and produced an olive green toiletries bag. “-we’ve found it prudent to issue a range of undergarments for use in combat”. That was Jeannine’s cue to unzip the bag for the great reveal. Zeina leaned back in her chair and immediately caught a glance of beige fabric. The creases in the elastic immediately caught her eye. Hang on. That’s- “Our preferred partner is Associated Paper. We have contracts with them already for many personal hygiene products. They have provided this sample of a pair of disposable underwear. They claim that the absorbent core can provide six hours’ protection in even the most intense-” “Miss Corporal”. Jeannine stopped. She had expected pushback. “I am running an army, not a retirement home”. In truth, Zeina’s consternation was not at the notion of informing her soldiers that they would have to wear diapers. Rather, the beige pull-up in Jeannine’s hands was all too personally familiar. At one point, she’d bought many a pack for herself. Associated Paper’s slick talk be damned – the underwear’s poor masquerade for a pair of panties had, on several occasions, given Zeina the mortification of feeling a hot trickle down her legs. Conjuring those very memories made Zeina’s cheeks tinge. She deepened her scowl to keep Jeannine from noticing. “General Masri, I’d like to say that I, myself, opted in favor of alternative solutions. But – we have to consider that the cost-” “Nobody asked for your ‘solutions’! Nobody needs your ‘solutions’! You go back, and you tell the eggheads that they’ll all be fired by Wednesday.” In the heat of the moment, Zeina almost forgot to keep her voice below what the hardly-soundproofed walls would conceal. She leaned back in her chair and took a swig from her glass – her umpteenth in this meeting. “General Masri, please, we have undergone an- an extensive review, we’ve talked to many – I’d like to say – thousands, of soldiers, we’ve spoken to doctors, there’s a large body of research, so, let me assure you, we did not make this recommendation lightly. I understand-” Spoken to Doctors? Who the hell did Isobel Weiss squeal to? A wave of anger hit Zeina as she suddenly realized Jeannine’s statistic might’ve included her. “What the hell do you know, Corporal? Did you ever do anything but push pencils? Moria stiffened. “General Masri, as a matter of fact-” “Oh! And you pissed yourself when the bullets started flying?” Zeina stabbed a finger Jeannine’s way and put on a devilish grin. “That – that is inappropriate, General Masri!” “My apologies, Corporal”. Zeina smirked at Jeannine’s discombobulation. “I think you had two more examples to show me?” “Er- uhm- yes, I do. Um… Gernsbach Group provided….” The next two pull-ups were clinical white designs that would’ve made a perfect complement to a hospital dressing gown. God, I wouldn’t be caught dead in that. Nevertheless, Jeannine could scrounge up hours of drivel about the bureaucracy's asinine selection processes. Zeina didn’t heckle again, in part because she needed the meeting to be over with quickly. The glasses of cold water were rapidly catching up to her bladder. Jeannine’s droning speech would not let her off the hook. Zeina shifted in her seat, slowly and imperceptibly, while keeping her chest ramrod straight. Asking for a bathroom break was out of the question. Damn you, shut up! She reached for her glass, trying to take her mind off her bladder, with the intention of taking a sip small enough to just wet her tongue. But just as soon as the cold water touched her lips, Zeina’s brain crossed its wires and a spurt of urine escaped into her padding. It was just a few drops, but Zeina could feel every bit of the hot wetness. The speech went on. Zeina had a second, and more sustained, leak when she bent down to retrieve a pen that had been accidentally swiped onto the ground. For a moment, she had felt as though her bladder would give up again, but she had managed to keep it together and hid her discomposure with her face under the table. The leak rid Zeina of some of the pressure, and her self-dehydration kept the desperation from mounting much further. “…and therefore, the Quartermaster Corps has moved to begin issuance of the new items to selected units. We have prepared informational material, and we wish to supplement it with the testimony of senior officers. My superiors have requested that I inform you, General Masri, of your requested participation in this program”. “Participation”. “Yes, General Masri. We believe that, given your exemplary combat record, you may be of help in acclimating our soldiers to the new equipment.” Jeannine opened her mouth, but quickly shut it again and pointed an open expression towards Zeina. “Corporal”. Jeannine put her hands on her desk and pushed herself up from her seat. The sudden motion sent a ferocious throb through her bladder. It was just as Zeina opened her mouth when her floodgates released. “I assure you, that not one of my soldiers needs diapers”. Every ounce of her composure went into the sentence, laced with venom and passion. Immediately after finishing, Zeina channeled all that strength into her abdomen, towards staunching the hot flow of urine pouring into her Delicates. The seconds stretched into lifetimes. “General Masri, I am sorry, but the decision is not mine, and I do not have the rank to overrule it”. It was Jeannine’s turn to be smug. How much more she would’ve gloated, had she known that the unfortunate general talking down to her had almost totally wet herself just from standing up. Zeina’s Delicates had spared her the embarrassment. But her underwear was now uncomfortably damp and heavy with her pee. With a curt few formalities, she sent Corporal Jeannine Lavoie on her way. She left the room half a minute later, and made her way towards the ladies’ room, where she could check light leak, light leak, heavy leak onto her notebook and strip out of the concealed beneath her skirt. Having a sip of water, bending down for a pen, standing up quickly. Zeina zipped the leather-bound book slowly as to not impart any noise. With the hope that no more surprise meetings would befall her, she left for lunch wearing her black panties and pad. 000.0 ml. With a careful and steady hand, doctor Isobel Weiss tipped the beaker, just fast enough that no blue liquid would run down its side, yet gentle enough to leave no splash when the delicate stream struck the fabric. She averted her eyes to the LCD. The numbers were springing to life. The second digit was climbing with a good pace. The last digit was flying with unreadable speed. Turning back to the beaker, she flicked her wrist around, shifting the stream ever so slightly as to evenly saturate the testing medium. She adjusted her wrist's angle as the beaker ran dry, and turned back to the LCD. The numbers flickered for a second and came to rest. 247.3 ml. Perfect. Isobel Weiss reached over to the testing medium and pulled out the three wires embedded in its underside. With the skill of a seamstress, she coiled up the wires around the half-dollar sized device to which they were attached. The finishing touch was placing plastic caps on the three probes, and placing the whole contraption into an anti-static bag. It went into an envelope had been prepared a week in advance, containing a manifest and memorandum marked with the Medical Corps’s seal. Nominally, her involvement was done. But, the doctor grumbled as she lit a cigarette, I just know they’ll have more work for me yet. In her countless years of service, General Zeina Masri had never set foot in Forward Operating Base Cherokee. Nevertheless, the Corps of Engineers’ total lack of creativity meant that she felt at home within an hour of stepping off the plane. She’d spent more than half her life enveloped within drab tan walls that must’ve been all been made on the same production line. The food was as inedible as it had always been, and the air-conditioning remained far too weak for anything but a t-shirt. Still, some things had changed. There was not one officer whose presence demanded a salute. On the contrary, every soldier she ran into promptly greeted her with a sharp salute and quick greeting. Zeina didn’t mind that at all, but took a lot less delight in it than Cooper surely would have. Best of all was that she had her own bedroom. For once, she didn’t have to listen to the snores from three beds over. Moreover, she had a bathroom where she could change at her leisure. This time around, there was no need to carry around a handful of pads plundered from the infirmary. Zeina began August sixteenth by dialing in the combination to her bedside cabinet and plucking out the notebook from within. With the dawn’s breaking light as her only guide, she flipped to the first unmarked page and clicked out her pen. She almost grinned as she checked off light leak and wrote down on the way to the toilet. Countless daily cups of coffee and the occasional beer had her waking up to a wet pair of Delicates most mornings. But the past three nights, she had managed to empty most of her pee into where it should’ve gone all along. If I keep this, up, I won’t need this anymore. The notebook was zipped shut and tossed into the locked cabinet. Halfway across the base, the rotors on the Sikorsky wound down and ground to a halt. As its pilot flicked switches and muttered jargon into her headset, Isobel Weiss straightened her back and rubbed the bleariness of half-sleep from her eyes. She was completely exhausted. Never could she have imagined that helicopter blades would be so loud. Oh boy, what a day it’s been. Oh boy, what a day it’s going to be. Despite the assurances of FOB Cherokee needing only “minimal assistance”, Doctor Weiss already had already packed her first day on base to the brim with meetings and consultations. She undid her belt with and jumped with some pep to the back of the helicopter, where two stony-faced men were hauling the olive-green containers from the hold. “That goes in-” Isobel consulted her map “-E4”. “Yeah, we know”. “There’s another box at the very back”. She stood on her toes to point out the crate that was shrouded by two canvas bags. “Yeah, we know”. Neither man looked up. Isobel decided to not offer any more conversation on the walk to the medical bay. Her mind was already on her appointments, one of which was a name she was already familiar with. “General Masri, ma’am! Doctor Stephens asks for your availability at 1500!” From the corner of her eye, Zeina could make out the man in the doorway holding a stiff salute. “At ease. 1500 is fine. Where does he want me?”. “General Masri, in E4, ma’am!” The man had lowered his salute but was still standing as stiff as a board in the doorway. “OK. At ease, soldier”. “Yes, ma’am!”, belted the young man, with no sign of ease. He turned quickly on his heel and walked curtly off into the hall, closing the door behind him. Zeina turned back to the heavy brass pen and manila paper upon which her report was written. The inspection, as her trip was nominally designated, had gone without a hitch to this point. There was little to say, but the Pentagon insisted that General Masri fill the pages and skip no detail in the process. So once again, she dove headlong into her work until she was once again totally enraptured by the military minutia being put to paper. That was perhaps Zeina Masri’s greatest talent: she could dedicate all her faculties to any task set before her at just a moment’s notice. But it didn’t come without cost. So engrossed had she been in her work, that the soldier’s sudden request had startled a quick stream of urine from her bladder. At the same time, her focus in conjunction with her Delicates’ quick absorption meant that the leak had gone totally unnoticed. This time, Zeina’s notebook was untouched. The time was 1457 on the clock when E4’s door swung open and the general, clad in just a standard-issue short-sleeved shirt and fatigues, sauntered into the antiseptic-smelling medical bay. Clarence Stephens was just about finished cramming his papers into his briefcase, but quickly dropped his prescription sheets and broke into a salute. “General Masri!” “At ease, Doctor Stephens. You asked to see me?” Clarence relaxed his body. “No, not me today. Her”. He jabbed a thumb to behind the light-blue drape. “She’ll be seeing you. Just flew in from the states. Doctor… doctor… uhm….” “I’ll be right with you!” Isobel Weiss knew that to be the voice of general Zeina Masri. She finished straightening the medicine shelf, and pulled open the curtain, just in time to catch the right boot of Clarence Stephens fall out of sight into the hallway. “Afternoon, General Masri”. She did not salute. “Doctor Weiss!” Clearly, nobody had told Zeina Masri who her doctor would be. “I will be performing your examination today, General Masri. And-before you ask, I was asked to assist in the deployment of a new piece of equipment that is currently beginning trials”. You too? “I hope you didn’t make that recommendation.” “General Masri, I’m sorry to say that nobody asked for my opinion at all. Anyways, it isn’t within my area of expertise. Now, could you open your mouth?” Zeina opened her mouth for Isobel’s flashlight. “Yes, everything looks good today. As usual. Anyways, as for our new equipment…” Anglea ducked down to her stainless steel drawers. Zeina rolled her eyes. “Doctor, I know all about our new equipment. You don’t have to show me again.” “Perfect! So you know how to put one on, then?” “Doctor Weiss, you know that-” Zeina’s protest of I’m wearing one already was cut short when she saw the tiny plastic bag in Isobel’s palm. “What’s that?” “Uhm- it’s the monitor, the new equipment.” “I haven’t heard of it.” “Oh, uhm, hmmm…yes, are you still keeping the continence notebook which I prescribed?” Zeina knit her brows. “Sure. Do you want it?” “No, that won’t be necessary. See, this—this is a little computer, this is, and it works—it works just like a journal. It works with the absorbent garments that have been issued. Excuse me, that will be issued. So, these three probes, after you take off these plastic caps, will go into your underwear, and you can seal it with this tape. Oh, uhm, use this other tape to attach the monitor to your waist. And-” “And you’re asking me to wear one?” What the hell, why’d they suddenly care about our bathroom habits? “Well, yes.” “Why?” “Well, please bear with me – the equipment is being tested for use, but, ah, the subject must be able to – make use of the device, and your medical record indicated…” Zeina said nothing but averted her eyes. Isobel decided that she had said quite enough. “But – I understand that you won’t be issued the standard issue – erm – absorbent garment, correct?” “I wear – absorbent underwear. Is that fine?” “Hmmm… yes, that should be fine. But – to be sure, could you try one on? All you have to do is press the probe into the-” “I heard you the first time. Could you look away?” “Yes, yes, of course”. Isobel pulled the curtain aside and drew it closed behind her. Zeina was alone to examine Doctor Weiss’s device. The three probes were adhesive patches with a pins on a latch. A brief fiddle with the mechanism told Zeina that the application was best done while she wasn’t wearing her underwear. With a second’s pause to make sure Doctor Weiss wouldn’t pop in, Zeina undid her belt and pulled the olive-green fatigues down to her legs, along with her panties. A cold, air conditioned blast whipped up her thighs and her nether regions. It was the sensation of the moment just before she relieved herself over a toilet. Zeina realized that fact by the wave in her bladder building almost instantly and crashing over just as fast. Reflexively, she squeezed her abs with all her strength, but despite her best efforts, a brief squirt of pee escaped from her crotch and fell, in full view, into the padding between Zeina’s ankles. The sight made her face burn a crimson red. She fumbled with the miniature pins with her arms draped awkwardly at her ankles. Her fingers, skipping over both sides of the Delicates’ padding, found that the Stay-Dry layer had worked as advertised in wicking away the moisture, but the yellow stain on the white fabric revealed the truth. Zeina hated to spend so long staring at the evidence of multiple accidents, but there was no way she could work the pins in otherwise. Even then, she still couldn’t get the pins to slot into the thickly-woven waterproof layer. In frustration, she stripped out of her panties completely and tried to work the pins in with the panties in her lap, still to no avail. Doctor, I need help. Zeina was about to open to mouth when the stained padding caught her eye again. She suddenly realized that she’d almost handed to Isobel Weiss a pair of underwear that was wet with her own urine. For the second time in a minute, she blushed to her neck. “Doctor, I’d like to leave for a change”. “Oh – OK. The bathroom is-” But by then, Zeina was already shut the door. It was no doubt a strange twist of fate that had Isobel Weiss requited with the notebook seven thousand miles from home, in the middle of a warzone. There it sat on her desk, looking just like the day she had tore open its plastic wrap and handed it over to Zeina Masri, sitting on a bed in Ramstein. There was no indication that a finger had been laid on it since. General Zeina Masri takes good care of her things. Or maybe she just doesn’t listen to me. Isobel was delighted to find that it was the former: leafing through the pages revealed a good two-thirds to be marked with wonderfully legible handwriting. It was always nice when patients made the job easier. She turned to the heavy manila sheets that had come out of the hanging folder marked Masri, and with her free hand, held open the vinyl notebook that the general had dropped on her desk. It took only a few minutes’ time to parse through the months’ worth of records, all of which were written with the same laconic brevity. At any rate, it was more than enough for Isobel to furnish her report. Diagnosis: Incontinence. Severity: Moderate. Symptoms: Loss of urine in physical stressors, overactive bladder. Managed with pads? Yes. Mental/Emotional effect: That question always gave Isobel pause. It seemed that from the first time Zeina Masri had strolled into her office and admitted that she wore a pad every day of the month, to the appointment just two days ago, the general had never once let the issue get beneath her skin. It seemed almost just another order of business for her: Isobel had long given up her canned reassurances, because Zeina hadn’t ever shown the slightest hint of embarrassment or dejection. Not in her office, at least. Mental/Emotional effect: None. Zeina Masri was the only patient for which that were true. Isobel Weiss laid down her pen and reached for her softpack of Virginia Slims. As she fumbled with the white ladies, a flicker of the computer screen caught her eye. She flicked the beige mouse twice to brighten the dimmed monochromatic screen. An extra line had appeared below Online. 1616 0816: 043.1 ml detected. Isobel suddenly realized that for all her careful planning, she had totally neglected to think about what to do in now. Her hand flinched to reach out for the notebook, but was quickly drawn back and directed towards the cigarettes. I’ll think about it after my break. “Careful with that, it’s hot!” The passing soldier’s warning came just a moment too late for Zeina, who had already tilted half a mouthful of coffee machine java into her mouth. Her eyes shot open as she realized the usually-lukewarm drink had been made scalding hot. She threw her head forward to keep the burning liquid from her throat, and braced her arms against the table as the hot coffee rushed to her tongue and gums. As she retrained a choke while contending with the searing drink at her lips, a ripple of the initial shock reached her bladder, and Zeina was suddenly aware that a substantial stream of seemingly lukewarm pee was escaping into her underwear. The hot coffee forgotten, she pulled all her attention down towards staunching the steady stream, and managed to do so before an uncomfortable wetness could collect in the padding. Her coffee cool enough to swallow, Zeina could open her mouth to whisper a curse as she stood up with the paper cup in hand. Shoving open the mess hall’s heavy door immediately imparted the sound of close footsteps. A half-step forward brought her almost face-to-face with the blonde wearing a stethoscope. The smaller woman gave a little jump of surprise. “Sorry, Doctor Weiss” “Oh! General Masri!” She’d quickly shuffled the cigarette pack into her left hand before flashing a latex-gloved salute. “At ease”, muttered Zeina, without looking back at the doctor. She’d made it halfway down the hall to her private room and bathroom before realizing that her notebook would not be waiting for her there. Doctor Weiss… said that she’d do the recording. Doctor Weiss. She’d just run into her. Did – she know already? Zeina found herself suddenly flushed at the notion. Her attention turned towards the Delicates, whose padding felt reassuringly light and dry. It… wasn’t much of a leak. Constant trips to secluded bathroom stalls had been struck off Zeina’s agenda, but she didn’t prefer this arrangement at all. At sunrise, FOB Cherokee had the most beautiful air in the world. The richest of men back home could never hope to taste something so untarnished by humanity. Each time Zeina drew in a quick breath, she could swear by feeling her lungs savoring each molecule of delectably pure oxygen, without ever choking on a smear of pollution or pollen. The strength coursed through her body. Even at thirty-nine, she still had it all. In a forever heart-pounding, white-knuckle life, these early morning runs were the times when Zeina Masri found the most perfect solitude. She had missed this most of all. Few soldiers had awoken and none had joined her, yet by now any insurgents’ chance for a strike had been dashed by the sleepily rising sun. Only now, and only here, was Zeina’s mind truly unburdened. But her mind did not sleep. After it had studied every tree and every rock on the distant mountains, it turned towards every crevasse of her body. The loose t-shirt made of cheap cotton scuffed her stomach. The stiff bra chafed her back. The baggy shorts flapped errantly against her thighs. The heavy boots dragged in the sand. Of her Zeina’s wardrobe, the only comfortable item were the Delicates she had brought from home. They were her second pair today. To the annoyance of a little voice in her head, Zeina’s mind had floated to the few memories it made since it was last awoken. One of the first things it had noted was an empty bladder and the cool dampness of soaked padding. The streak of light leaks had been tarnished three days ago, and Zeina had woken in a pair of wet Delicates every morning since. Or was it two days ago? Her memory had grown fuzzy since her notebook was taken away. Zeina’s thoughts moved to a half-hearted attempt at recalling what she would’ve written down, and eventually drifted to dwellings about the young soldiers she was getting to know. But all throughout her run, her mind had never paid an ounce of attention to her bladder. Despite many drinks from a collapsible water bottle, it was completely empty – but only because almost every footfall’s impact loosened the few drops of pee that had the chance to collect. By the time Zeina sauntered through a security checkpoint, her underwear was nearly as soaked as the pair she had awoken in. They felt no more damp than the rest of her outfit, bathed by now in a cool sweat, but the weight of the sodden padding made it clear to Zeina that her Delicates would soon have to be changed. Regardless, the run had filled her with a childlike mirth. As the base sprung to life all around her, her inner peace was melting away, and the usual furious tempo was muscling its way in. In the last moments that she could call her own, Zeina was thankful for every second and every detail of her morning runs – thankful, even, for the fact that her mind had ignored the accidents leading up to her soaked Delicates. In that moment, the nagging voice postulating that the same ignorance might have occurred outside of morning runs had been completely drowned out. Isobel Weiss woke up hardly ten minutes later than Zeina Masri, but her day would begin with none of the general’s speed. It was only after she had a relaxing shower, breakfast, and cup of Darjeeling that she placed herself in front of her desk and sorted through the work she would have to do. By the time she groggily fired up her computer, the sun had already fully crested the faraway mountains. She flipped through an inbox full of unimportant messages before scrolling through a quick check of her ongoing experiment’s digital logs. The notebook led her to expect one or two entries, made in the middle of the night, with a considerable volume logged next to ml detected. What she found instead was a cascade of entries, all made just seconds apart from each other, all of which had recorded just drops of leakage. In her still-groggy state, Isobel immediately concluded that something was very amiss. She strolled down to the general’s room and rapped sharply on the door. It took a few seconds, and the closing of a door inside the room, before the door opened to reveal general Zeina Masri with a towel draped around her neck. “What’s the big – oh, Doctor Weiss”. “Good morning, General Masri. I was – ahem – wondering… well… I think I’d better discuss this in E-4”. “You wanna come inside?” Isobel nodded and obliged. Zeina shut the door behind them. “Well…” Isobel lowered her voice, despite the closed door. “Have you been wearing the device?” “Yeah.” Hmmm. “Well… uhm… did you happen to wash it?” “No. Should I?” “No, no, in fact, please don’t. But… well… can you tell me when you… uhm… used it?” Zeina knitted her brow. “I – uh – voided overnight.” “Twice? Or – did you… uhm.. void in the morning? Em – I mean, into your underwear?” The possibility that the device had broken was beginning to mount. “I went on a run in the morning.” Of course! Isobel almost kicked herself for forgetting those journal entries. Light leaks, with the s penned in, and the comment describing some variation of running. It was only natural that… “Oh! You leak urine while running!” She blurted out the line with the jubilation of a quiz-show contestant. As soon as the garbled sentence escaped her mouth, she cringed from the deepest part of her soul. The humiliation welled inside and painted her cheeks a bright red. Isobel’s quick stammer of “I’m so sorry!” was masked by Zeina’s indifferent “yeah”. She mustered the courage to look at the general’s face and found nothing more than a knitted brow. In that instant, she decided to cut her losses. “I – I got it. Thank you so much for bearing with me, I’m just – getting used to the new device, too!” Her face reddened at saying those words, and she left Zeina’s quarters blushing like an apple. A deep gratitude towards the general’s saintlike patience welled inside her chest. Who the hell does she take me for? With Doctor Weiss out of the room, Zeina could snarl and grit her teeth in annoyance. Does she think that I’m a baby? But, though it made Zeina all the more irritated, the irate sarcasm was somewhat muted by the cold and wet padding that was still at her crotch. She had just pulled down her Delicates and seen the urine-stained padding when the knock came and she had to hastily pull the soaked underwear back on. Wearing them over a discussion about how she’d thoroughly wet herself was nothing short of mortifying. But – at least Doctor Weiss hadn’t noticed. And – it could’ve been worse. Zeina shuddered at the possibility of a lieutenant calling her to action stations. The fresh pair of Delicates that she was about to change into still rested on the bathroom counter. As she reached to pick it up, a flash of irritation appeared in the back of her nostrils. Zeina stiffened up, clean Delicates in hand, and loosened a heavy sneeze. In that instant, Isobel Weiss’s computer flashed to life, and recorded 021.1 ml detected. The same event had no register in Zeina Masri’s mind. Every so often, a fleet of tan-colored trucks would be brought out of their corrugated iron pens and were neatly lined up on FOB Cherokee’s concrete staging grounds. It was always a time of cheer for a smattering of soldiers, and a time of grumbling for their less savvy compatriots who had already expended all their available leave. A sergeant stood with a list and carefully inspected each man jumping onto the benches in the canvas-covered truck beds. To date, no soldiers had gone AWOL with the convoys into The Oasis. Today, the profanity-laden epithets coming from the stocky sergeant were of great mirth to the lucky passengers, most of which who knew that Sergeant Grissom had no leave to spend. The news had even reached Zeina’s ears, despite herself being six ranks clear of the next most decorated man going to town. She would be denied the joy of hearing the disgruntled man’s insults, for as soon as she fell into Chuck Grissom’s view, the stocky man broke into a stoic salute and courteously showed her the light armored car where she would sit. Joining her in the air-conditioned cabin was a young girl of no more than twenty, who held only a blank stare on her face – Aya, the base’s local interpreter. The gates of FOB Cherokee had not even fallen out of view when the trucks broke into songs that even the drill instructors had deemed too profane. The loud and jubilant voices of thirty men in each truck were loud enough to drown out the big diesel engines’ roar, and entered the noisy cabin of Zeina’s car. She smiled a bit as the chants about hookers and the insurgents’ mothers and the Navy echoed across the desert. There were even verses that she hadn’t yet heard in her five years at FOB Alpha. Her days of being in that number were probably finished, but just knowing that the soldiers of her time had passed their musical legacies along to the next generation filled her with joy. It was around this time that interpreters would become noticeably irritated with the epithets hurled at the locals, but Zeina could discern not an inkling of discomfort across Aya’s blank face. Completely fine by her, since she never had any inclination to chat with the interpreters. Her mind joined the soldiers’ songs in sync with their voices, dreamily recalling the years long gone before she would be granted a jumpseat and a personal driver and a canteen of ice-cold water chilled by the portable air-conditioning unit. As the convoy trudged along, however, Zeina found her greatest luxury to be the privacy of the light truck’s cabin. Too many refreshing drinks had given her a fresh need for a restroom, and clearly there would be none available until the convoy reached town – Zeina had no idea when that would be. The twinge from her belly was enough reminder for her to stop touching the canteen, and she prayed that holding off on the water until The Oasis would be enough to stave off an accident. She fidgeted a bit in her seat, trying not to arouse Aya’s suspicion. Each rock on the unpaved road’s surface sent a jolt through the cabin and rapped hard against her bladder. There was still nothing ahead on the road except miles and miles of desert, surrounded by brown shrubbery and draped by mountains behind dust clouds. Zeina took a deep breath, trying to ignore her ever-mounting desperation, and inhaled more grains of desert sand than her sinuses cared for. Zeina bladder gave in as soon as the irritation flared in her nose, but the heavy sneeze that followed would transform the weak dribble of urine into a heavy spurt that even her Delicates struggled to absorb. If not for her bladder only being half-full, Zeina would have completely wet herself, but she had enough strength in her sphincter to stop the leak while she sniffled. Nevertheless, the hot wetness at her crotch was quite obvious. It was some consolation that Aya’s blank expression had not changed at all. Is this girl even human? Just as she locked eyes with her wordless interpreter, Zeina got her answer when the young girl quickly averted her gaze. I wonder how old she is. Anyways, she had half a mind to take her attention off her bladder with a bit of talk. “Hiya!” Zeina called in a saccharine voice, as though she were talking to a puppy. “Yes, Madame General?” The quiet and steady voice was so deep that Zeina almost thought she’d gotten the interpreter’s sex wrong. But no – Aya was no doubt a girl, if only a baritone one. “Name’s Zeina. You can call me Zeina. You’re Aya?” “Yes, Madame General Zeina, I am Aya Sahin.” Her accent was strong but her English wasn’t slow or slurred. Impressive for a girl her age. “How old are you, Aya?” Zeina dropped the singsong voice. “Fifteen, Madame General Zeina. Impressive for a girl her age! “Hey, you’re so young!” Her next question was where are your parents? but Zeina knew to bite her tongue. A child here would never have a good answer to that. “You like it here? They pay you well?” “Yes, Madame General Zeina, the pay is well. It is more than my home town”. “Your hometown -” dammit, why can’t the town be closer? “- is it the town that we’re going to?” The words had only just left Zeina’s mouth when the truck hit a big rut in the gravel. Despite the truck’s pliable ride, the shock brought Zeina nearly out her seat. It was too much for her to handle – a long stream of hot pee dribbled out into her underwear. Her frantic efforts to control her bladder while keeping her composure blocked out Aya’s voice. “….very, very far away” were the only words that reached Zeina’s ears after she’d stopped her leak. In that time, the atmosphere of the truck had changed. I pried too much. Aya was too young a girl to be very, very far away from her home. What remained of their conversation was dry and forgettable. By now, Zeina had little mind to focus on her interpreter's words, for she was too caught up in her attempts to keep her Delicates dry. On the pothole-ridden desert road, it was quite the losing battle. No more than half a mile separated each episode of Zeina’s incontinence, and by the time The Oasis came into view she was wondering if her soaked padding might leak at an inopportune impact. Mercifully, by then Zeina’s bladder was too empty to leak much more. Though a warm wetness clung against her butt, a quick glance towards her lap revealed her fatigues and canvas seat to be completely dry. As she stood up, the added bulk at her crotch became patently obvious. Though her Delicates had performed admirably, Zeina would need to find a place to change into the pair in her bag, and soon. “Aya…” “Madame General Zeina, do you wish to use a restroom?” “I – hey! Yeah, but -”. What the hell? Zeina knit her brows and inadvertently broke into a piercing glare. “Why did you ask?” “Uh – Madame General Zeina, I would like to … how to say, use a restroom, if that is fine…” Only then did Zeina notice that the little girl was shying away from her terrifying expression. Shoot. “It’s fine, yeah, of course. I need to too.” Her face was burning a scarlet red for having scared her interpreter. Shoot, she’s too young! With Aya out of the car and leading the way, Zeina could see that the girl barely came up to her chest. She scuttled past the crowd of men gleefully disembarking from the tan trucks. “It is this way, Madame General Zeina”. The clay-colored buildings bristled with men slouched over counters and eyeing the strangers with suspicious eyes. Zeina did her best to avoid their hard gazes – it was strange enough already being dragged around by a girl half her age. The alleys seemed to narrow with each footfall. Just as Zeina was starting to wonder if Aya knew where she was going, the girl turned a corner and found a supermarket, automatic doorway and produce stand and all. “Let us go in here”. A few words to a cashier later and Zeina was in a bathroom stall at the back of the market. Though, on the outside, this market could not be further from the supermarkets at home if it were built on Mars, its inside was hardly different from the supermarkets in America. It was dirtier and the signs were unintelligible, but the bathroom’s white fluorescent lighting and tiled linoleum floor weren’t far removed from a lady’s room in a Kroger. Zeina had changed in similar places countless times. But – I could’ve changed earlier at home. Pulling the Delicates to her knees revealed to Zeina just how sodden her padding had become over the course of her car ride. I’m just lucky today. The soaked underwear couldn’t have held another cup of liquid. Had the journey lasted for another minute, Zeina knew she might have emptied herself onto her pants instead of over the toilet. I must watch my water. The fresh pair of Delicates she’d retrieved from her bag inspired confidence, but who knew when the next bathroom break would be? Zeina was ready to toss her used pair into the small trash bin when her hand brushed against the sensor attached to the dampened cloth. Oh – the ‘journal’. She unpinned the device and turned it over in her hand. Do I need to attach it? No doubt, whatever sensor Dr. Weiss was using could not possibly work over the umpteenth miles she had traveled. And anyways, she’d already put on the fresh pair of Delicates, and Aya was surely waiting outside by now. Without a second thought, Zeina pocketed the little sensor, threw away the wet underwear, and went to reconvene with her young interpreter. Aya was waiting furtively just outside the bathroom door. “Hiya, Aya”. “Hello, Madame General Zeina. Do you wish to buy any goods here?” “No, I’d better catch up with everybody else”. It was Zeina’s turn to drag Aya, if only to the door of the market. She was almost at the cashiers’ when she found a loudly humming freezer printed with the fading image of several smiling children. They all had popsicles in their hands. Zeina stopped. “Aya, do you eat ice cream?” She looked down and found the girl shaking her head. “Not many”. Poor thing! “Pick the ice cream that you want. It’s a gift.” For the first time, Zeina saw Aya’s dull eyes light up. “Thank you, Madame General Zeina!” Not even half a lifetime in war could keep Zeina from bursting into a warm smile at that. Ice cream – that was the only diplomacy she knew with children. It worked every time. For the rest of the trip, Aya let a bit of happiness into her voice every time she spoke between bites of her ice-cream cone. Zeina had to keep a happy face in turn, but it only took five minutes before the crushing boredom set in. Apparently command has decided “hearts and minds” would be won through glorified shopping trips to scowling hawkers who were almost surely charging the uniformed soldiers too much money. Aya didn’t mention it, but Zeina knew that all interpreters had express orders not to haggle. The blazing sun soon made Zeina forget all about her commitment to watch her drink. After the fifth purchase of tarps and canned food, she found her canteen empty. Although she kicked herself then, knowing at least some of the water would come right back out of her, two stops later she’d no choice but to refill the canteen and start drinking again. The sweat pouring off her back kept her padding somewhat dry, but the hours of lifting heavy crates found a few spurts escape into her padding anyways. With dampness covering her whole body, Zeina eventually gave up the fruitless task of feeling for if she needed changing. Though she no longer had to keep a notebook, Zeina found herself still subconsciously keeping a record of all her leaks. It took until after lunchtime before she could feel a spurt escape into her Delicates and forget all about it just seconds later. Loading the trucks with crates of pistachios invited many such episodes. She had just felt a few drops escape when a bald colonel approached her sheepishly, with a sweat-covered list in his hand. The man – Atwater – saluted. “General Masri, ma’am! I’d like to offer to load the – uh – pistachios, if you would please help do my job instead!” “This better be good.” She beckoned for the crumpled checklist. Feminine hygiene at women’s apothecary. The word women’s was circled in red ink. What, they don’t let men in? “You couldn’t find anybody else?” “I’m very sorry, ma’am, but I could not!” Atwater was holding a steely-eyed salute with such intensity that his face was turning red. Whatever, makes a nice change of pace. “Start loading, colonel.” “Yes, ma’am!” Atwater turned to the crates with some relief. Aya showed the way, and there was not far to go. It was a hole in the wall with dirty glass and shelves crammed so close together that you had to turn sideways jut to navigate the myriad medicines. Just as Zeina arrived, a bearded old man left the store, clutching a little plastic bag. Atwater, you idiot. The clerk was a young women dressed in the traditional garb. She stood up in attention as soon as she saw the uniformed Zeina enter the doorway. “Good maw-ning!”, she said through a thick accent, despite the fact that noon had just passed. The rest of her conversation was to Aya only. The two unsmiling girls shot off a rapid-fire conversation while the clerk rummaged around the back room for a few big cardboard boxes, held together with a few haphazardly placed strips of masking tape. Zeina laid them before her feet one-by-one, tore off the seals, and checked their contents. She couldn’t read any of the words on the packaging, but the pictures were all to familiar to her. Flowers, soft colors, a smiling woman, and a row of shaded-in droplets. Any pretense of the packages holding the usual products for “feminine hygiene” was dashed by the almost-hidden drawing of what was unmistakably a diaper. Zeina almost snarled. “Feminine hygiene”, huh? That’s your new word for it? But she had to let a cooler head prevail – after all, she couldn’t let the new “policy” slip to the clerk of Aya. “Everything is in order”. She closed and sealed the box. The next box’s packages had replaced the tiny drawing of the diaper with a pad – but it was for same purpose, as told by the six out of ten shaded-in droplets that were colored a light yellow. The general almost chuckled. No bullshit! You’ll never see that in America. Just as she was closing the boxes back up, Zeina was struck with the reminder that she might’ve exhausted all eight droplets of her own padding. She checked her watch – it had been almost four hours since Aya got her ice cream and she’d got a clean Delicates. Almost high time to leave then. Taking care to keep an empty expression, she asked Aya for the bathroom. Strangely, the girl seemed a little worried as she pointed out the dingy wooden door. This bathroom was nothing like the one in Kroger. It stunk and was illuminated only by a skylight. The toilet was flushed with a chain – at least it flushes at all! But any complaints Zeina had about the facilities was suddenly made insignificant by the realization that she didn’t have any more Delicates in her backpack. What the hell!? She shook down the bag and reached into all the crevices that a clean pair of underwear could’ve hidden in, but came back empty-handed each time. Shoot, shoot! There wasn’t even a pad that she could use, and of course no such dispenser in a bathroom like this. “Fuck!” Zeina groaned out loud. She was on the brink of stuffing half a roll of toilet paper down her fatigues when she suddenly remembered the packages she was ready to bring back. It can do! For once in her life, she was almost giddy at the thought of putting on a diaper. In her beeline for the packages, Zeina had almost forgotten about her young interpreter. When the little girl chirped a greeting, the general’s heart almost jumped out her throat in surprise. Mercifully, her just-emptied bladder could spill no more drops of urine. “Madame General Zeina, do we go now?” “Ah – no, not yet”. A little bit of blush had made it onto her face. Suddenly, Aya dropped her voice and her glare. “Madame General, erm… do you need any… help?” Any help? Any help? “N-no, I just, uh… I lost … something in one of the packages”. “Oh! Uh… I see”. Aya said no more. “Madame General, I will… I will go outside now”. “Sure”. Thank goodness. Now she wouldn’t have to explain away the rest. And what could my excuse have been? Zeina made sure the clerk, too, was turned away as she quietly slashed open a package of diapers and slid a pair out with her fingers. Maybe I could’ve said… I’m looking for a secret message? She smiled at her quick thinking. But thank you anyways, Aya. Zeina had grown to quite like the little girl. Good of her to leave me alone. A tinge of red remained on Zeina’s face as she tossed away her Delicates and pulled on the clinically-white pull-up. Shoot, this is the best they could do? Even the cheapest of supermarket diapers was better than this heavily crinkled and strangely bulky garment. The elastic waistband almost went above the waist of her fatigues. The smallest of movements twisted the paper-like padding. The soldiers are gonna get a riot out of these. Still, Zeina Masri had never before been as relieved to put on a pair of underwear. It didn’t take long for the hot day’s worth of drinks to catch up with Zeina. Though she’d emptied her canteen before embarking on the return trip, it only took a few minutes for the twinges in her stomach to tell her that her bladder was filling much faster than she would’ve wanted. The featureless desert, itself obscured by the huge clouds of dust kicked up by the convoy, offered Zeina nothing to take her mind off the mounting pressure. Even the soldiers had stopped singing in cadence, and now only erupted in raucous laughter every few seconds when somebody cracked a crude joke that Zeina couldn’t hear. Aya had fallen asleep in her canvas jumpseat. The little girl, who’d no doubt been thrust headlong into a world of turmoil long before she’d had a chance to grow up, looked to Zeina a perfect image of tranquility. The armored car’s violent shudders and the battalion’s loud jeers did nothing to arouse Aya from her peaceful slumber. Each bump in the road shook her waiflike body despite the jumpseat’s restraints, until her head came to rest upon Zeina’s shoulder. It’s almost like she’s my daughter. It had been years since Zeina’s commanders had last sent her to handle the local children. All of them had eventually realized that she was hardly better at winning their approval than the quick-tempered and foul-mouthed soldiers she led. Maybe I’m getting older – but maybe Aya’s just different. There was something about the stoic interpreter that had deeply resonated with her. Aya’s warm head bouncing lightly on her shoulder seemed to be lulling Zeina to sleep. But years of service had made her too stout and too disciplined to ever catch a wink of rest during the day – despite the day’s labor and what should’ve been lingering jet-lag, she could not feel an ounce of fatigue in her body. She tried relaxing, focusing only on her breathing and letting her eyelids grow heavy, but that only turned her mind to the slight discomfort at her nether regions. The diaper she’d poached added nothing to her comfort. Try as she might by shifting around in her seat, Zeina could not work the scratchy padding into an unobtrusive location. Her vain hope that sleep could slake her overactive bladder was suddenly dashed when a gust of cold air from the temperamental air conditioner rode up her pant legs and grazed her thigh. Zeina’s relaxed body left the sensation to a subconscious memory of the moments before she relieved herself: it took several long seconds for the general to rouse herself from her little slumber and reign in the stream of urine that she was carelessly loosening into her diaper. The episode has sent her sitting upright in consternation, much to the displeasure of Aya, who furrowed her brow and missed a breath but thankfully remained deep in sleep. That much was the only inkling of dignity that could be salvaged by Zeina, who had just discovered that her diaper’s papery padding did little to keep the feeling of wetness away from her skin. Damnnit, they want us to wear these? Even though she knew that her return trip would not take much longer, Zeina couldn’t help but fret over the precarious situation in her fatigues. Her jubilation at having snatched the pull-ups had been totally forgotten and replaced with the prayer that the padding would last the time between now and a change into a pair of Delicates. The frustration was beginning to mount in her chest, part of it at her own carelessness in forgetting to pack an extra pair, but mostly at the brass who’d insisted that all her compatriots be equipped with – these. Isobel – fucking – Weiss! But Zeina caught herself before she could be too enraptured in anger at somebody who’d surely had little to do with the situation. With a sigh of resignation, she leaned forward in her seat and put her hands on her shaking knees, and put all her fortitude towards keeping herself as dry as possible before the trucks returned to the hangers at FOB Cherokee. For once, a careful monitoring of liquid intake and a constant vigilance for keeping her control intact had made Zeina’s bladder unusually cooperative. The effort, however, was wasted on the dismal padding swelling between her thighs. Each time a spurt of urine escaped from her, Zeina was awash with the fresh dread that she would feel a patch of wetness in her seat. When the armored car at long last parked itself at the base’s staging grounds, she was convinced that even walking with her usual gait would send the diaper leaking all over her fatigues. Aya was still asleep, and Zeina had no intent of waking her as she whispered a goodbye and shuffled off towards the base’s reinforced doors, all the while ignoring all eye contact from the soldiers disembarking behind her. Each step of the journey towards her room had Zeina’s thighs squeezing the swollen diaper at her crotch. She could almost feel the beads of urine seeping out the inexplicably paper-like padding each time it happened. Worse still, she still had a pressing need to empty herself, and the feeling of the soaked diaper was only building the stress at her sphincter. The only bit of solace she could take was in the halls being almost deserted at this hour. Almost deserted, until she rounded the final corner and was suddenly greeted by a familiar voice. “General Masri! I have-” “Not right now!” The words tumbled from Zeina’s mouth dripping with an unquenchable malice that had suddenly flared for Isobel Weiss. The anger subsided as fast as it had erupted, to be replaced with an embarrassment that painted the general’s face bright red. But whatever she had to think about Dr. Weiss was shoved aside by the pounding desperation which had seemingly compounded fivefold in five minutes. Her diaper’s perilous state forgotten, Zeina practically sprinted into towards her room. Her hand was on the bathroom’s doorknob when her the dam in her bladder finally broke. Not – here! Zeina leapt towards the toilet and tore open the clasp on her belt, while her other hand rushed to yank her fatigues down to her ankles. Had she been wearing her Delicates, her outstretched fingers would’ve pulled them off as well, but the high elastic wasitband of the diaper was just outside her reach. There was no recourse – Zeina flung herself down onto the toilet with the pull-up still at her crotch, and emptied her bladder into the already soaked padding. It took barely a second for the hot urine to pour past the diaper’s sides and into the toilet bowl below with a loud patter. Zeina was too defeated to make any effort to stop herself from emptying her bladder into the overwhelmed diaper, even after the initial wave of relief subsided the disgust at what she was doing began mounting. It seemed an eternity before she was finally empty. Zeina didn’t even look down as she dejectedly ripped apart the diaper at her waist and threw tit into the trash. She kept her glance far away from her diaper as she wiped the urine from her buttocks and flushed away the urine that had spilled from the padding. As she went to put on a pair of Delicates, she tried her utmost to force the memory from her head. Had it been any other day, perhaps the endeavor would’ve been successful – but today she had the 1600 to attend to. The 1600… about the diapers. As with most meetings Zeina had attended over the years, the 1600 contained not a single soul who wished to be there, and would no doubt conclude with everybody wanting their past hour of life back. Isobel Weiss was the first to speak, dressed in a crisp white dress uniform and speaking in jargon with an air of haughty professionalism, none of which endeared her even a bit to the increasingly incredulous audience. Next was the quartermaster, whose long presentation about the procurement and usage guidelines for the “new equipment” featured only the terminology prescribed by the army. Zeina could watch as the soldiers’ confusion turned into dismay as the true nature of their “new equipment” for “feminine hygiene” settled in. Half an eternity passed before the rotund woman finished her speech, in which time all optimism in the audience’s faces had been utterly erased. If there was any lingering doubt that the Pentagon had decided to issue diapers for the women, Zeina was there to erase it. She gave a few half-hearted lines of praise for the room’s exemplary bravery, followed by an explanation of the blow to national security that was using a piss jug in the field. When she was through with dispensing the bullshit, it was time for her coup de grace. From behind the podium, she procured the folded garment held in a ziploc bag. It was unmistakably a diaper. “I have here-” she unfolded and held up the garment for all the room to glare at “-an example of the new equipment that you will be issued”. Half the room was scowling and the other half was still in shock. It’s going great. “You will only need to wear this on missions. It’s worn as a replacement for your underwear. And – it’ll look and feel just like underwear.” It took all of Zeina’s strength to not burst into bitter laughter upon delivering those three words. The worst was yet to come. “In fact -” Zeina looked down at her pants and unclipped her belt. Not a soul moved in the room. She tugged at her fatigues and gave the grand display straight out of a bad TV commercial. “- I’m wearing one right now”. There it was, for the room to see: General Zeina Masri, with her pants at her knees, clad in a diaper worn over black compression shorts”. Kill. Me. Now. A big bonus had been paid for this very moment. Hope you enjoyed that kickback, you fucking Pentagon scum. Zeina was awash with disgust, but had to put on a stoic and cheery face as she looked towards the audience. It hadn’t prepared her for the absolute contempt with which she was affixed. She’d always hated public speaking, but this was the worst experience yet. Her brain, already pounding with the embarrassment of all this, was suddenly sent into a flurry of nervousness. The hour and half since her last bathroom visit suddenly caught up with her. Standing in front of fifty livid faces, with her pants around her ankles, showing off her diaper to a crowd, Zeina suddenly felt an enormous heaviness rise in her bladder. She was pulling her pants back up when the nervous spurt of pee escaped – into the Delicates that she was wearing underneath the compression shorts. She cracked a grimace to hide her blush. Her Delicates were more than capable of hiding the leak, but Zeina could not remember being so mortified in her life. At least the audience, who were none the wiser about their beloved general’s incontinence, shared in her chagrin. Their glares suddenly became a source of comfort to Zeina. Isobel Weiss would’ve been shot by now. By the time she stiffened herself up to deliver a few stilted closing remarks, Zeina couldn’t feel a drop of wetness at her crotch. The terrible diaper she had just demonstrated crumpled around her legs, but at least she had no use for the padding this time. Fuck, It just had to remind me! The room gave a pained round of applause at her speech’s conclusion and rose from their seats, ready to troop back to their barracks and curse out everybody who’d come up with this hare-brained plan. Even before they left the room, Zeina had already made out the refrain that she must’ve felt great, since nobody forced her to wear diapers. I need a cold shower. She was ready to troop off to her room and pretend this meeting had never occurred when the hand tapped her shoulder. “General Masri?” “… what is it, Isobel?” Zeina gritted her teeth. “I’m… I’m awfully sorry about this, but… may I ask if you can in to my office?” The fear and concern in Dr. Weiss’s voice melted Zeina a bit. “Alright”, she answered with little enthusiasm. Isobel Weiss had too many years’ experience dealing with unruly patients, but nothing could pain her more than angering the always collected and professional General Zeina Masri. She was the type that could only be made angry by an utterly unforgivable mistake. Patients as good as her were rarer than diamonds, and Isobel had no intention of shattering the diamond that was Zeina Masri. Nevertheless, today she could feel the tension in her gut. On the walk to her office, she played with the thought of calling everything off. Oh, I’m so sorry, I forgot I had another meeting! Or maybe, I just needed to check your vaccines are up to date! But she couldn’t work up the courage to pester the General now, just to call her back tomorrow. No, the question had to be broached today, right here and right now. “General Masri…it’s about the…the tracker that I gave you. I couldn’t help but notice a… lapse in the recording… would you, erm, know why that might have happened?” She heaved a sigh of relief when Zeina did not immediately fly into a fit of rage. On the contrary, her expression was as blank and patient as ever. “Oh – yeah, I took it off when I was in town”. She produced the device from her pocket. Isobel was about to cheerfully conclude the appointment when General Masri suddenly furrowed her brow. “Wait – how can you tell?” With a little too much jubilation, Isobel let the truth tumble from her mouth. “Right – it’s a little feature that I added – the tracker can be paired to a receiver, this one, right here – and still collect data. Oh, but, I had forgotten to give it to you, so I gave it to the interpreter girl, what was she called…” “Aya?” The anger with which General Masri spat the name almost made Isobel wet herself in fear. “You gave it to Aya?” “Yes! I mean – I gave it to Aya, yes, but please! General Masri, please understand, I can assure you that Aya knew nothing, I mean, I just told her to take it with her – you see, I thought she would be closest to you…” She gave it to Aya. The little girl who she’d given ice cream to, who was so young and so jaded, who had fallen asleep on her shoulder… Isobel’s words were drowned out by the memories rushing back. “Madame General, do you need any help?” Help with what? With going to the toilet? And the packages in the apothecary… “Isobel Weiss. I will only ask you this once.” The doctor gulped and took a step back. “General Masri, please…” The word had just come off Isobel Weiss’s lips when the ear-piercing siren drowned out the rest of her protest. Suddenly, the entire medical bay was engulfed in the a blinding red light coming from the strobe on the wall. Dr. Weiss’s eyes bulged even bigger and her face became as white as her coat. Take cover! Zeina Masri forgot her squabble in that moment. With the force of pure reflex, she pulled Isobel Weiss down into her arms, and threw her body back with the smaller woman in tow. She barely even felt the impact of their combined weight on the hard linoleum floor, and had not an inkling of the spurt of urine that the landing had worked from her bladder. Isobel’s indiscriminate scream was cut short by an earsplitting explosion which shook Zeina to her bone. Acting on pure adrenaline, she yanked the petrified doctor towards a bed, and pushed her bodily underneath the sparse protection provided by the mattress. Isobel was rendered almost unconscious by fear. Zeina was not so lucky. She could feel every ounce of the terror that she’d thought a figment of her past rise up in her body and spill out her mouth. Five years ago, she would’ve known to hunker down and clench her teeth, but this time she couldn’t help but scream. She’d long ago wet herself in terror, and in her prone position, her Delicates were all too easily overwhelmed by the uncontrolled stream of pee. The hot urine spilled past her soft padding and into her compression shorts, which managed to divert the stream away from the standard-issue diaper that she’d just shown off to her compatriots. Though she was wearing two articles for her incontinence, Zeina’s fatigues were soon blotted with a growing stain of her pee. The second explosion landed. Closer, more powerful, and it shattered the last bit of Zeina’s composure. For the first time in two, almost three years, she emptied her bowels in fear, into a garment that had never been designed for that sort of accident. The brown mush pushed past the useless cloth Delicates and into her compression shorts, again rendering the diaper she wore over it entirely useless. Not that Zeina noticed it, so enraptured was she in total terror. A third explosion rocked the world. She cupped her hand over her ears and screamed again. The fourth explosion was the last one. The alarms kept screaming, and men all around her were shouting, jumping into their trucks and tanks and arming their mortars for a retaliatory strike, but Zeina only noticed that peace, finally, had returned to the world. Isobel awoke with no idea where she was. The sounds of mayhem were crashing all around her, and her head was spinning. She was sideways – lying on her side, on the ground. There was a muted pain in her right shoulder. Something putrid was in the air. She felt a wetness all along the side of her pants. Oh no, I’ve wet myself! With what seemed to be the last of her strength, she moved a hand to her crotch. Dry. No, I haven’t. It suddenly dawned on her – My blood! But a sideways glance found no growing pool of crimson. Instead, it found a familiar face. “General Masri!” It all came rushing back to her. Something – something terrible had happened. Zeina Masri was there when it happened. General Masri had – General Masri had saved her, of course! “General Masri!” She said it again, her voice full of joy, through the tears that were forming at her eyes. She let herself be consoled by Zeina Masri’s stable, fearless voice. For a minute, maybe ten minutes, or a year, Isobel Weiss sobbed at the exhilaration of it all. She was being shaken – Zeina Masri was shaking her – and she finally decided to raise her head from her face. “Doctor Weiss, you’re OK, you’re OK. You’ll probably have see some patients. I – I have to go change.” Isobel propped herself up onto her hands. Her left hand sat in a puddle of something warm. Her blurred vision refocused, just in time to see Zeina Masri walk away with a stain on the back of her fatigues. The putrid smell lingered for just a few moments after the general closed the door. She looked down at her body, finding no pool of blood erupting from a great gash. Her left leg was wet and warm, but her crotch was dry. She examined the puddle – a puddle of yellow liquid. Zeina? Her mind turned away from Zeina the general, Zeina the bulwark, Zeina the sentinel, who had just saved her entire world. It turned towards Zeina the patient, the one who had come in six years ago with a dampened pad in her panties, the one who she’d first supplied with extra pads, then incontinence pads, then diapers, and had eventually went and bought the fancy absorbent panties that were being advertised on TV. Zeina Masri, Diagnosis: Incontinence.
  7. Here are two videos about a girl showing the bladder protection pad that she wears due to her incontinence. Does anybody know what is the source of these videos? That Period Channel_Young Woman Shows How She Wears Pads For Bladder Leaks And How They Look In Panties And Leggings.mp4 That Period Channel_Young Woman Shows How The Pads She Uses For Bladder Leaks Fit Her Panties And Work Wearing Leggings.mp4 That Period Channel_Young Woman Shows How The Pads She Uses For Bladder Leaks Fit Her Panties And Work Wearing Leggings.mp4 That Period Channel_Young Woman Shows How The Pads She Uses For Bladder Leaks Fit Her Panties And Work Wearing Leggings.mp4
  8. Apologies for double post (now taken off and linked from other thread anyway), but this came from a discussion on the Transbordacao video thread and thought it was interesting enough to be worth its own thread. I think the subject of sub-conscious bladder control is a fascinating one, and touched on it on another thread recently, how you don’t realise the “effort” you’re making to hold it until you get really desperate, and if you just stop making that effort rather than forcibly emptying your bladder, you wet yourself. This subconscious holding ability is seemingly absent in some autistic individuals to some extent or other, resulting in anything from occasional accidents to being 24/7 in nappies despite not having a “physical” reason to be incontinent. Obviously potty-training children have to learn this, and will sometimes wet themselves just because their mind is focused on something else, but the vast majority of people learn/acquire the ability not to do that. I don’t know if there are any other conditions that can cause adults to revert to this state, or not to acquire the ability to hold subconsciously at all? Some who wish to become incontinent seek to “un-train” themselves so they wet without realising, though the likelihood of “success” is hard to judge. Clearly we do it while asleep as well, and most of us will be woken up by the urge rather than by lying in a puddle - but there is a small but not insignificant percentage of otherwise healthy adults who wet the bed regularly without an obvious physical or mental cause. Are such adult bedwetters more likely to have daytime accidents not linked to a physical cause, I wonder? And then there’s the meditation/hypnosis aspect, which opens up all kinds of possibilities...
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  12. Hello! I am moving this topic out of omtushu into omorashi general, because although she wears one through most of this story, Faun is not quite a diaper character in my mind, and some wetting occurs even in this story outside of diapers. Since I am trans-posting, I will aslo make a few edits while I'm at it (spelling mistakes, grammatial errors, etc). +++ ORIGINAL POST +++ This is a shorter fiction with an anthro (with animal head but human-shaped hands and clothes) of similar bladder characteristics to Alice In Wettingland by SomeGirl, hope you all enjoy! (don't forget to upvote if you do) Faun was a cream lynx with red ears (and other patches), happily working from home as a website technician. She was fairly curvy, rather buxom some would say, and had a quiet disposition. In fact, the only thing that seemed negative on her dating resume was that she was constantly in want of a pee. This was not just because of a small bladder, or even because of weak bladder control. It wasn’t because of anything like that. Her bladder just plain defied the laws of terrestrial physics. It absolutely refused to stay empty, even for a minute. Whenever she went pee, she always needed to go again a moment later, and she always had a decent amount in there for letting go (though if she held onto it for awhile she would indeed get slowly fuller, eventually wetting herself). Sometimes, she would even pee in impossibly huge amounts, often faster and harder than she could do anything about it. This odd condition had been part of her life as long as she could remember, finally becoming relevant when she flooded a porta-jane and then didn't stop peeing for a few minutes (which eventually won her positive fame throughout her girl scout league). She suspected that it something to do with her parenthood, but since she was an orphan, that was not an explorable option. One day, Faun happened to be out shopping for party items, thankfully with a short list (“Don't want a repeat of what happened last time, do we?” she had said to her bladder). Despite the apparent lack of danger, she was wearing a super-strength diaper just in case, and had drunk very little (that sometimes helped). At the moment, she was in the cookie isle. “Hmm, Oreos or Vanilla Wafers?” she debated, “Well, I know Hamilton really likes vanilla, but Cloey...” “Hey!” her bladder unexpectedly interrupted, “I need to go to the ladie's room, and you'd better head there soon considering.” “Oh, you ALWAYS have to go to the ladie's room,” Faun contradicted. But she was getting a little fidgety, and she seemed to be filling up rather fast. “A-And besides, I'm wearing a diaper,” she added. She was already crossing her legs rather tightly, and hunching a little. She really needed to pee. *Bing!* Her phone went off. She checked it, and it was a driving plans reminder. “Traffic conditions seem to be slowing down. Depart within 5 minutes to arrive at Home by 5:15.” Oh boy, she had better head for the checkout now. She had given herself 20 minutes to prepare party ingredients, 10 minutes to change her diaper and probably immediately wet and change it again, then an extra 15 minutes margin in case something went wrong. “Ohh, time to head home,” she said, “I think I can hold it.” It wasn't that bad, and the filling was slowing down. She could make it. Tiny-tapdancing the whole way, she walked back to the front of the store, and... Twelve people in line at the checkout?! She looked to the left and right. It was the only one open. “Wha..? How..? What is...?” “They had a breakout of bovid,” the man in front of her said, turning around, “She's the only checkout lady who has breasts big enough to be unaffected by it.” Faun looked around the line at the checkout lady. She was a white rabbit with short brown hair, and did indeed have a quite plentiful bosom, even larger than Faun's. Oh, well, at least... There was bottled water next to the checkout counter. She couldn't help thinking about it. She began to piss. At first, she was terrified, because after looking at the rabbit's jean shorts (of which she had a pair or two), she thought she was wetting her skirt. Then she remembered -oh, thank goodness – she was wearing a diaper, and feeling the warm pee swirl about her crotch just made her want to piss some more, and... She just let it out. All of it. It was liberating. She moaned with relief. “Is... something wrong?” The man in front of her turned around again. “No, it's nothing,” she panted, still peeing, “I just...” He noticed the whizzing sound, and looked down. “I'm wearing a diaper, and I really needed a pee,” she explained. He gave a stoic nod and turned away again. They were now down to 9 people. By the time it was her turn at the checkout, she was already squirming again, almost to her bewilderment. She had awlays gotten desperate fast, but not that fast. It was usually at least half an hour between needing to pee again and emergency status, but this had only been about 7 minutes. In addition, something about her bladder was feeling different. Almost baby-ish, in a sense. She needed to... *Pissss.* What?!? She lost control right there at the checkout, and it didn't even feel like enough to make her wet herself under normal conditions. She was incontinent. “Alright,” the checkout lady said, “There you go, and have a great d... Is something wrong?” She had seen the expression on Faun's face. “Uh, no. Sorry,” she recovered, “Everything's fine. I just... realized something personal.” “Oh. Okay,” the lady smiled again, and laughed. “Bye!” Faun said, then ran for the door, already beginning to feel uncomfortable again. Something about wetting herself in public, about the diaper, about not really caring and maybe even half-liking the situation, something about it all had let something free down south that should have been kept well secured. Thankfully, it did not seem permanent. “But until I take off the diaper,” she thought to herself, “I think I'll have this baby-bladder condition the rest of the way home. I really hope the diaper holds...” By the time she got in the car, Faun was desperate again, though still resistant to a third wetting. She started the car, and... *Chink!* ...backed right into the shopping cart she had forgotten to put away. Torturously, she returned her car to the parking space, almost crying as she did so. When she got up, she made the mistake of stretching her left leg out the door before her right leg left the seat, thus pinching her bladder into submission. Another full load of warm, sweet piss flowed into the diaper. “No!” she almost yelled, and clenched to stop the stream. Amazingly, she succeeded, and gave a groan of frustration. But the success did not last for long. As she waddled to put the shopping cart back, the force of stopped pee pushed out a spurt, then another, then another in arbitrary sizes, until finally she just gave up and let whiz inside her diaper. “This has got to stop,” she said, before she began enjoying the warm pool of liquid now forming above the absorbent padding at the bottom of the diaper. She sighed with pleasure, and instantly her bladder refilled almost to the maximum, pissing hard. “No, no, no!” She stopped the flow again, more focused this time, and hobbled with clenched teeth back to the car. By the time she had reached her apartment, though, Faun was near the end of her strength. Her teeth were still clenched, but her eyes now had a pleading look in them. She had peed herself another 3 times on the way home (she seemed to have better control while driving): Once at a traffic light when she had tried to relax to pass the time (and her urethra presumptuously relaxed quite a bit more than the rest of her did), once when at a second traffic light, she had been trying to distract herself with examining the party list and a car honking from behind had startled her (a short but strong wee, that one), and finally to top it all off someone had thrown a huge bucket of water out in the storm drain right as she arrived on her home street. It looked like they were just finishing an outside activity and were meaning no harm, but watching all that sloshy water pour out on the pavement, flowing down the drain, she couldn't help it. She started peeing without even knowing it, and had well wet herself by the time she did realize it. Forcefully regained control as she pulled into her house's driveway, she was very confused for a moment, because there was another car parked in front of her garage. Then she remembered: Oh yes, she had called Lola and asked her to decorate (a golden retriever who was good at that). That was Lola's car. Barely stopping the engine, Faun clambered out of her own car, not even thinking about the groceries until she was halfway to the porch, and by then she didn't care. She ran up to the door, and had already reached for her keys, but thankfully checked the doorknob first and discovered that it was already unlocked! Quite hopeful now, she went inside, quickly but somewhat crookedly made her way to her bathroom, and... *ka-bonk!* The door was locked. From inside, she could hear Lola saying something inquisitive, but she didn't care to listen. She just banged on the door and screamed, “Lola-let-me-in-I-really-need-to-pee!!!” “I'll be right out!” her friend said, obviously understanding the urgency of the matter, but unable to help. “I'm sorry, I'm half naked!” Faun drew back from the door, her eyes wide. That little bit of early relaxing she had done was catching up to her. She knew she couldn't hold it back: the pee was COMING. Desperately, she did all the subtle mental and physical tricks she had discovered over the years that would maybe slow her bladder's magical ability to generate pee, but it wasn't enough. She would overflow onto the carpet. “Please hold,” she said to her almost flooded diaper, just as her pee started. It came slowly at first, then began to speed up as she lost more reserve. Those few seconds waiting for Lola seemed forever. The diaper was about 95% full. 98%. 99%... *Click* The door unlocked and Lola came out, sports bra dawned over her magnificent baps but shirt and jacket still inside the bathroom. “Sorry!” she said again as Faun swerved by her with expert balance of a last die-hard effort to keep the pee from spilling, slam-locked the door behind her in one motion, nearly-ripped the diaper to her ankles and thumped down on the toilet before it had even fallen all the way down her legs. As soon as the diaper was off and away from her crotch, her normal urethral control immediately returned, but exactly what happened to the pee balance was confusing: she stopped peeing, but her bladder began aching horribly. “Ahh, rrh, uhhh-hu-aaa,” she moaned as she began peeing again. It felt like all the world's oceans being taken off her bladder, and she LET IT GO! At first she was just pissing hard against the toilet front, then as she relaxed a little more she began peeing at superhiman strength. Then gradually she fully relaxed, and THEN... She was letting free a HUGE spray that went through the crack between the toilet seat and the bowl enough to wet the opposing wall, and a little actually went upward out of the bowl, enough to sprinkle on Lola's jacket. If Faun eventually finished her waterfall, the jacket would be well wetted down, and in need of a washing. Faun didn't even care, she just went right on pissing. It felt so good to piss, ...and unbeknownst to her, Lola was having fun thoroughly wetting her own jeans outside the bathroom door. The end
  13. My partner (let’s call her Daisy) is not into this fetish, although knows it’s a thing for me and lately we have started experimenting. That aside, we sleep in each other’s arms most nights. It’s a thing for us. Born out of Daisy’s slight Asperger tendencies, she likes being abnormally tightly embraced. I do too. I suspect we all do but perhaps don’t realise it until we are. So we sleep on our sides, facing each other and hugging so tightly often our arms are numb. It’s an indescribable sensation. Every breath of your partner becomes a whole body sensation for you. Holistically wholesome, totally raw, honest, and I’m convinced relationship affirming. I urge every couple to try it. The pins and needles are worth it, but be sure to open a window to prevent being boiled alive. Anyway, I diverge. The other night we were cuddling in our usual way. Daisy was fast asleep, deep in REM. She in cotton pyjamas, me in a short nightie. Our legs were intertwined, bodies pressed together from pelvis to shoulders. Even our noses were touching. I was enjoying matching my breathing to the inverse of hers, such that we inhaled each other’s air and kept equal pressure between our chests through their rise and fall. Our hearts were drumming away together. A constant rhythm in the dark. Daisy was irregularly twitching, I suspect dreaming. I was trying to identify where in her body these twitches originated, when a particularly large one preceded a sudden warmth where her crotch embraced my leg. It was a small trickle, perhaps only a few drops, but unmistakably damp. In my drowsiness, I assumed she had bled on me. It wasn’t of great concern. In the morning, however, I was surprised to find no stain on the sheets or me. Daisy was already dressed and eating breakfast, so I took the opportunity to investigate her folded pyjama pants which too were unmarked. They smelled exactly as you’d expect any pants to after a few nights’ wear. Besides, with the clarity of daylight I realised the timing would be alarmingly early for Daisy anyway. So I’m left pondering if I was more asleep than I realised and dreamt this whole thing up, or did Daisy leak a little in her sleep? She’s never talked of incontinence and we’re too young for it to be expected. If she did have a minor accident, she clearly wasn’t aware of it. Naturally that makes me consider if it’s a common phenomenon. After all, if it’s only just a small amount that can be absorbed by pants and leave sheets unmarked, how would we ever know we’re doing it? Unless of course, we have an awake partner hugging us so tightly they feel everything.
  14. A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy by brucejedi Numerous posts inspired this story. The most immediate is Noface’s “An Inconvenient Entanglement” that imagines a world where all women are assumed incontinent. Readers will notice many similarities between his “green” world and mine, though also some important differences. A second inspiration comes from stories where girls must wait until adolescence to toilet-train, and thus experience it as a rite of passage. Satyr’s magnificent “Developmental Biology” is the best example I know. Both story types normalize female incontinence, allowing the characters to experience it without the customary stigmatization and without ABDL undertones. In that sense, the story I present here answers tits’s call to combine omorashi and omutsu, where “a full-grown woman is…struggling with keeping her pants dry” and ends up “failing toilet-training”—or does she? Chapter 1. Diapers and Panties Courtney hit the search button once again, not expecting much from the bizarre string of terms she’d entered. Her literature review on women’s athleticwear essentially complete, she was merely checking for anything she’d missed. She was about to close the program when a strange title caught her eye: “Wolcott, J. (2020). A self-fulfilling prophecy? An environmental theory of female urinary incontinence.” Intrigued, she clicked on the link. <Access Denied> Weird, Courtney thought, never had that happen before. The creak of her boss’s door shook her back to reality. She clicked off the window and looked up from her screen. “Good morning, Mr. Mills,” she said in her most cheerful voice. “How’s your work going?” “Well enough. Did you finish the lit review?” “Just now I did, yes. Shall I send it over?” “Yeah, I’ll need it for my 10 o’clock.” “Certainly, sir.” Courtney took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Now was her best chance. She’d rehearsed the words all morning, but still she felt her pulse quicken. “I also…wanted to ask you something?” “Can you make it quick? My meeting’s in five.” “I was wondering, do you think I could give Monday’s presentation myself?” He seemed to consider it briefly but then said, “You know, Courtney, I better handle it.” “But…I’ve worked so hard on all the prep, and I feel like I know it so well…” The corner of his mouth turned upward. “I’m sure you do, but…could you make through the whole presentation?” “Of course! I mean, I’d have the slides to fall back on, and—” “—No, that’s not what I meant. Could you make it through?” Courtney’s confidence deflated like a struck balloon. “I mean…I assume so…I—” “—Right…but what if you couldn’t? What if you wet yourself in the middle of the presentation—in front of all our best clients?” As if on cue, she felt warmth spread between her thighs. The image he conjured must have triggered something in her subconscious. Keep it together, Courtney. He can’t have noticed it. Did he notice? She scanned his face for a sign, then stuttered, “I mean…I’d be wearing protection…” “Sorry, Courtney. Listen, you’re a fine research assistant, one of the best. But I think you can understand why the answer must be no. Have my slides ready by noon, okay?” And with that, he left for his 10 o’clock meeting. “Kettle’s hot!” she called after him. Then she reached under her skirt to the symbol of her subservience. Her diaper was bulging badly, almost to the point of leaking. Like her boss said, maybe she was better off behind a desk. * * * As she entered the changing room, Courtney caught glimpse of her friend Krystal. The young receptionist was sprawled out on one of the padded benches, wet-wipes in hand. A low divider hid her naked crotch from view. “Oh, hi Courtney!” she said. “Hi,” Courtney replied solemnly, lying back on the adjacent bench. “Someone’s having a bad morning.” Courtney hiked up her skirt and lifted her fanny. She undid the tapes and carefully folded her sopping wet diaper. She sighed a deep sigh. “Your boss again, huh?” Courtney took a wet-wipe from her purse and began dabbing her crotch and butt. “Maybe it’s too much to ask,” she said, “but a teensy bit of respect would go a long way.” “Tell me about it!” said Kristal. Courtney fished around in her purse. “Crap!” she muttered. Kristal looked over. “Oh no! All out? I’ve got plenty. You want pink or flowers?” “Whichever is more absorbent. I almost overflooded mine just now—too much coffee.” Kristal laughed. “Flowers, then. I love this brand—they’re almost like overnights.” “Thanks,” said Courtney, fastening the thick diaper around her hips. It felt comforting, especially after the stressful morning. “I’m sorry about Mr. Mills,” said Kristal. “He can be a real douchebag.” Courtney glanced at the toilet stall in the corner, her mind flipping between the exchange with her boss and the strange title of that article. Out of the blue, she asked, “You think we’d gain more respect if we weren’t in diapers?” “Wait, what?” Kristal looked confused. “How would wetting our clothes gain us respect?” “No, silly. Like if we didn’t need diapers. Like if we had…control down there…like men do.” “Oh, I see what you meant!” Kristal laughed. “Yeah, that would be awesome. Keep dreaming, right?” Courtney sighed again. “Wait, you’re serious, aren’t you?” Kristal suppressed another giggle. “Didn’t you pay attention in health class? We don’t have penises, remember? Control isn’t possible without one—everyone knows that! Fun to imagine, though, huh?” Krystal touched up her makeup before waving goodbye. * * * That evening, Courtney sat at her laptop, entering in search after search, but nothing more than the mysterious title ever came up: “Self-fulfilling prophecy”—what could that mean? A twinge between her legs caught her attention. Often she didn’t feel it coming, but this time she did. She rolled her hips around, hoping to maybe suppress it? But the feeling only intensified. She pressed her thighs together. Nope, that didn’t work either. A trickle emerged, erupting into a spray. Changing her diaper could wait, though. That was one nice thing, at least—using the bathroom at your own convenience, not when natured called. She tried a new idea. “Wolcott, J.”—what could that stand for: John? Jake? James? Still no hits. Ah ha! How about this? She typed in, “Jane Wolcott female incontinence.” And there it was, the top hit: A video of the lady being interviewed by some obscure local news channel. Courtney leaned back and clicked play. ~ ~ A balding newsman stared into the camera. “We end tonight with a heartwarming story about a medical researcher chasing women’s equality. Over to you, Kate.” The screen switched to a young redhead with impeccable makeup. “Thanks, Bob. My guest tonight is Jane Wolcott, who believes she’s uncovered a vast conspiracy targeted at women. I know I’m all ears. So Miss Wolcott, can you tell me about your theory?” “Thank you for having me. It’s Dr. Wolcott, by the way.” Kate the newscaster smiled politely as her guest continued: “Did you know that boys’ and girls’ urinary tracts are virtually identical at birth, save for the final portion?” “I didn’t,” answered Kate, “that’s so interesting. So then, why are women naturally incontinent?” “Well, that’s just it,” Jane replied, “I’m not sure we are. We possess all the necessary anatomy—the urethral sphincter, nerves around the bladder. We just need to learn to use it all. I see no reason why females cannot toilet-train like males can.” “Wow,” said Kate, “you mean I could be saving a whole lot on diapers?” Jane smiled. “And that’s not all. Think of it: Freed from diapers, women could finally gain equal status. A lot of the excuses for excluding us from sports leagues, leadership positions, and high-powered jobs, begin to melt away. No one could claim, ‘But what if your diaper leaks in the middle of [fill in the blank]?’” “We’ve all heard that one!” laughed Kate. “So I hear you brought something to show us?” Dr. Wolcott held up a strange garment, similar to men’s briefs but without a fly. A hint of lace adorned the waistline. “Those are pretty,” said Kate. “What are they?” “Female underwear, patent pending.” Kate felt the fabric. “They’re so silky and delicate! I’d love to wear those—not that I could, but…” “What makes you so sure? Like most women I’ve spoken with, I imagine you’ve never once tried to end your dependence on diapers.” “Well,” said Kate, “there was that time in tenth grade. Vending machines were out, friends were out. It was the end of the school day, and I thought I could make it home in just a skirt. We’ve all been there, right?” “Did you make it?” “This may be TMI for cable television, but as I was walking home, I didn’t even feel it coming.” Kate laughed. “It went all down my legs. I can still remember the squishing sound my shoes made the rest of the way. When I got home, my little brother watched me flee to my room in a wet skirt. Since then, I’ve never been so careless.” Jane nodded. “Every woman has a story like that. The level of self-doubt I see is enormous. But consider how young boys potty-train. It takes time and effort, with no shortage of mishaps. What if the same were expected of young girls?” “Fun to imagine, isn’t it? In the meantime, is there any hope for the rest of us?” “Well, that’s where my research comes in. The goal, of course, is to get to these”—Jane held up the silk underwear again—“but we start with these.” In her other hand, she displayed a slightly thicker pair, almost like a woman’s diaper with no tapes. They vaguely resembled something a little boy might wear. “The techniques we use would sound familiar to anyone with a male toddler—for example, setting a timer to remind yourself to try peeing on the toilet.” “Wow,” said Kate. “Sounds really annoying and difficult. Had any success?” “Well,” said Jane, “the results are still preliminary. But I’m quite confident that if—” “—What do the results show?” Kate cut in. “Unfortunately, the grant agencies haven’t funded a long enough trial. A few subjects start to show progress, but then the funds run dry. It’s quite frustrating.” “Speaking of which, that’s all the time we have. Thank you for sharing your fascinating work, Miss Wolcott. To all the ladies out there, how would your life be different if you weren’t reliant on diapers? Share your thoughts on our website! Back to you, Bob.” “Thanks, Kate,” the balding man replied. “It’s fun to hear divergent views, isn’t it—no matter how far-fetched. So Kate, would you wear those—what should I call them, ‘panties’ maybe?” He smirked. “I’ll stick with diapers, thanks. I prefer my clothes to stay dry.” “And there you’ve heard it from our very own Kate Kovac! Good night, everyone!” ~ ~ Courtney sat staring at the screen. “Crap!” she muttered, noticing the time. Her boyfriend would be home at any minute, and she hated greeting him with her diaper this wet. She retreated to the bathroom to change. * * * An hour later, Courtney lay naked next to her lover, a broad smile across her face. A plastic lined towel beneath her protected the sheets and mattress. “That felt awesome, babe,” she sighed. “Could you hand me my diaper? Don’t worry, it’s dry.” “You mean this one?” Kyle dangled it just out of reach. “Hey, stop! Can I have it, please?” “Whoops!” He tossed it on the floor beside him. “You’re mean,” Courtney said with a pout. She reached across him to grab it. “Wait. What if you left it off for a bit?” A chill ran through her. “You serious?” “Like, how long do you think you could last?” “Without making a mess? I have no idea—it’s totally random.” He touched her arm gently. “Do you ever feel warning signs?” “Sometimes.” “Suppose you felt one right now. Think you could make it to the toilet?” The thought scared her. She gazed down longingly at the diaper on the floor. “Why are you asking, sweetheart?” “I’m curious.” “Um…honestly no, I don’t think I could.” He hugged her from behind, clutching her naked chest in his arms. “What does it feel like when you wet?” “Well, this is getting rather personal…” She glanced at her exposed crotch. “Are you sure you want me in your lap like this?” He pulled the towel up around her bottom, shielding himself and the bed—but not her legs—from a possible accident. “How’s that, better?” He brought his hand down close to her sex. “So what’s it feel like?” She considered the question. “A lot of times, like nothing. If it’s just a leak, I feel a bit of warmth in my diaper—that’s about it.” “You don’t feel when it starts to come out?” Courtney shook her head. “But if it’s a larger wetting, I do. A sudden pressure builds…and then releases.” As she spoke, something hard pressed against her back. “Oh my gosh, this is turning you on, isn’t it?” A lot of men had wetting fetishes, but she didn’t know that about Kyle. He seemed embarrassed, so she turned the conversation in a new direction. “What’s it feel like for you?” “Hmm, I guess like that pressure you describe, but building much more slowly. I hardly think about it until I know I have to go.” “How do you know?” Courtney asked with genuine curiosity. “It’s instinctual, I guess. As a girl, I’m sure it’s hard for you to understand.” He retrieved her diaper from the floor and held it up. “I like the lace details on this style,” he said. “Cute, right? Honey, I really need it back now. I’m getting nervous.” He smiled and placed it in her lap. Relief washed over her as she fastened it. She had not yet had an accident in bed with him, and she intended to keep it that way.
  15. View File Resident Evil 2 - Claire's Condition Made with Phlog's mod footage and junk from the rest of the internet. Submitter DuffMan Submitted 01/17/2021 Category Female  
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