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  1. View File Alice - Red Leggings Naughty Public Wetting Watch in full HD as I pee my tight red absorbant leggings in public while casually walking down the street, letting out little dribbles of pee down my legs as I walk along. Then I get to a wooden bench and sit down facing the road as lots of cars drive past, and I pee some more on the bench right through my leggings in full view of a anyone driving past! It all runs down the underside of my legs and makes a puddle at my feet! It felt so naughty! Then I get up, letting you see the noticable wet patch and I then slowly walk towards the grass, and let a little more pee out in them facing the camera up close. Then watch me as I walk back to the car in my soaked, pissy pants! I really made a mess of them! They turn a really dark colour when they are wet too, and they soak it up so well! Then after spending an evening in the car in my wet leggings enjoying how naughty I had been, I decide to sit on my doorstep when we get back, have a smoke, and then deliberately wet myself again, and the video shows right up close between my legs as I pee freely into my already soaked leggings without a care in the world! Then I stand up and show off the wet patch on my butt, and then let the rest of my pee flow into them as i stand up! You can see it stream right through the leggings! I'm really enjoying experimenting with wetting myself in public lately, as it's a very new and kinky experience for me! Hope you enjoy! Submitter AliceWetting Submitted 04/28/2020 Category Female
  2. 6 downloads

    Sorry I haven't posted in a while Here! Here is my latest, very kinky wetting compilation video! Just under 15 minutes and in full HD. Watch me flood the same shorts 6 different tines over and over again to see how pee stained they become ❤ In this video, I wet them 6 times, including having a desperate accident in my car right there in the seat, completely flooding them! Then I walk home in them and sneakily wet them again as I'm walking down the street and let it trickle down my legs! I also relax in bed watching TV and just have a lazy deliberate piss right there in my shorts while gently rubbing myself, and then another day, I slowly let it all out laying on my side so it all trickles down my leg and butt cheek as you watch the wet patch glisten and grow. In another scene, I kneel on the bed facing you and just totally wet myself as you watch it all pour out into the bed! Then show off my wet butt and rub myself through the wet denim! Happy Wetting! I hope you all enjoy! Love from Alice ❤
    $7.99
  3. I honestly doubt this was an accident

    © Attack on Titan

  4. So what should I do for my adventure tonight. Do I go back to McDonald's car park and try again. Maybe down 3 litres of water before setting off instead of 1.5 litres like last night. Or do I try something else. Let me know your thoughts before 21:00 UK time. You have three hours to come up with a plan. I've been back to Asda and got even tighter jeans and underwear. In honest truth a month in Hospital and I've dropped two jeans sizes. I never thought I'd fit in a 36 regular. For years I was a 42 fat fit (comfort was the tactful term used). Find me something to do with them.
  5. Oh wow I did it. A deliberate wetting in public, and I almost got caught by a member of public. Now it started, well it started yesterday when I was asking about protection. Then I just couldn't wait and had to play in my chosen outfit at lunchtime in case I chickened out. So this afternoon I go and get another outfit. Now for the real story. At nine o'clock I decided to get on with it. It was dark outside so I tanked up on water. I drank a 1.5 litre of Buxton in under five minutes and then got charged into my new outfit.
  6. So, a couple of weeks ago I had a planned short business trip to another country. 2 intensive days, 2 nights there. Just me and myself during evening hours. Here I must mention one thing - due to current situation, business etc. I was unable to perform Omo activities for many months. I was an active reader, but my own activities were at zero level. When I had the trip scheduled I thought that it would be a perfect idea to finally finish this bad situation and use the single room properly. That's why I packed my dedicated messing underwear - white Aussiebum seamless trunks / tight short boxers. I don't wear them on daily basis, but I got them as a freebie some time ago and as they're not my type for normal use I kept them for my Omo activities, having in mind that I'll threw them away without any regrets when they will be too heavily stained. I also considered packing my dedicated black chino pants, but I found them too difficult to wash in the sink only with shower gel and put them somewhere to dry during the day. So, sadly I had to leave them at home, making my experience much more basic. But still basic experience is much more that nothing. My plan was focused on messing myself as my primary goal, but also to wet myself. So, I pooped normally in the morning, I also peed normally during the day, but also ate quite a lot during the day (some meeting / conference food plus a dinner) and also enjoyed a few local beers, to make sure that my bladder will be full. This scheme worked perfectly fine - since about 6 p.m. I was really desperate to poop, but I did my best to hold it till about 10 p.m. At some moment it became even quite uncomfortable, and my bladder was also pretty full at this moment. I decided against any laxatives, because my goal was let's say 'everyday messing' and also I wanted to minimize the cleaning. Loose poop can be always quite risky here. When I found the moment to be right, I changed into my dedicated underwear and went to the bathroom stepped into the very big shower cabin and gave a push. Having very full bladder and bowels I expected to wet myself and after a strong, but short push to fill my underwear. But it went all different. After a very short push I completely filled my boxers with a very big poop. Rather a solid one. The bulge was very big, but firm, so it even didn't stain through the microfiber fabric of my boxers. I also felt that I'm not finished, so I had to gave another push, this time stronger to release the rest of my poop. What surprised my a lot, is the fact that after that the front of my boxers was completely dry. Full bladder, strong pushing ad not even a single drop. Very surprising, but also something that I always wanted to train, just to avoid unwanted wetting while messing myself and want to / have to stop only with this. So, I had to do another push, this time at my front, and finally I was able to completely wet myself. Some disadvantage of the microfiber boxers is that they didn't soak almost at all, so the wetness is very small. I decided to walk a little bit around my bathroom. The bulge was huge. I felt somehow bad with not having my chino pants on, I was very curious how the bulge will spread while wearing pants. It was so big, that walking was very difficult and I was unable to keep my legs together. After a few minutes I decided to sit down, just to bring back this experience. I put few layers of toilet paper on the toilet (I'm strongly against making any damage, so I try to be as hygiene as possible) and sat down. The bulge spreaded a little bit, but nothing more. This was somehow disappointing, but still I was very happy with my experience. After just a few minutes I dropped my huge load into the toilet, went to shower myself and do the laundry. The next evening I went totally the same way, not wasting time and opportunity. The whole experience was exactly the same. What a refreshing experience it was! I really forgot how good is to relieve yourself in your pants. I really regret that I was unable to have my pants on, but the logistics will be much more complicated. I can't wait for the next trip, however I'm afraid that it will take another a couple of months to have the next opportunity.
  7. View File Alice - Rewetting My Shorts 6 Times - New Peeing Compilation Video! Sorry I haven't posted in a while Here! Here is my latest, very kinky wetting compilation video! Just under 15 minutes and in full HD. Watch me flood the same shorts 6 different tines over and over again to see how pee stained they become ❤ In this video, I wet them 6 times, including having a desperate accident in my car right there in the seat, completely flooding them! Then I walk home in them and sneakily wet them again as I'm walking down the street and let it trickle down my legs! I also relax in bed watching TV and just have a lazy deliberate piss right there in my shorts while gently rubbing myself, and then another day, I slowly let it all out laying on my side so it all trickles down my leg and butt cheek as you watch the wet patch glisten and grow. In another scene, I kneel on the bed facing you and just totally wet myself as you watch it all pour out into the bed! Then show off my wet butt and rub myself through the wet denim! Happy Wetting! I hope you all enjoy! Love from Alice ❤ Submitter AliceWetting Submitted 01/18/2022 Category AliceWetting   Here's my latest compilation video ❤ Hope you all enjoy!
  8. I was on my way home and, even though I wasn't too desperate, I didn't feel like holding and waiting to relieve myself. So I checked nobody was coming and just wet myself on the spot. When I arrived, I took some pics of the aftermath in my building's elevator. Maybe I should start wearing diapers when going out ...
  9. I have been posting here for a while now, but this is my first topic - so bear with me if I haven't got the tone right yet. I was moved to post this one when I replied to a post about wetting in public on purpose saying I had never done this intending to be spotted, then remembering that this wasn't strictly true. There was this one time when I was a student... I had discovered the joys of holding in my teens, and I promise I will write up some more memories soon. Going to university (early eighties) was the first chance I had to really indulge my fetish, and was the first time I discovered that I wasn't alone. It took a while but in my second year I bought some copies of Fiesta magazine after a pathetic delay building up the courage to go into a newsagent and take a copy from the top shelf and purchase it. I am sure my face was burning. Previously I had been passed on copies at school or found them discarded in lay-by's when out cycling, and knew the bits I liked were not the pictures as much as the readers letters. It didn't take long before I found letters talking about knicker wetting - at last, I wasn't alone! The first one I remember was headlined 'More Yellow Rivers' and told the story of a young woman who hadn't been able to hold it on the way home from the pub, and who had found the whole experience a terrific turn on, and was now a habitual wetter. So I began to experiment whenever I could get away with not being discovered. It was easier once I was living in digs rather than in halls, and this particular time was at the end of my second year. I had to drive up to Scotland for a field trip, very long drive and the chance to really see how long I could hold my pee in. As I recall I stopped overnight on the way up and it was on the second day that I really let myself go, driving through the most beautiful scenery as my need for the loo got more and more desperate. I was wearing brown corduroy trousers, and thick red cotton undoes, both nice and absorbent. As I meandered my way northwestwards through the highlands I was drinking water and getting more and ore desperate for the loo. There were lots of places I could have pulled over and gone into the bushes, but none that were really hidden, so I just kept going. As I crossed over from East to West and beyond Kinloch Laggan (where as a child I had messed my pants on a long trip to Skye), my need to pee became eve more painful. There's a petrol station in Spean Bridge - I can stop there, I thought. But that was a fair way off still and well before I got there I had started spurting small jets into my pants. Now I was getting aroused, and my mind was racing with self delusional fantasies. What if I walked into the shop/post office and found it staffed by a young woman around my age? What if she was into this too? Would she take me into the toilet and clean me up, or spank me, or have sex with me? I glanced down at my crotch - the pee was barely showing but I could feel the warm wetness around my balls. Dare I let more go? Could I stop it? Spean Bridge finally appeared in the distance. I swung into the parking area in front of what is now the Spar shop. I sat in the car looking down at my crotch daring myself to get out, and eventually I did. I wandered into the shop as casually as I could and started looking for lunch things to buy, simultaneously looking around to see if the girl of my dreams was indeed behind the counter. Of course she wasn't! There was a crusty old Scotsman, and nobody else. I adjusted my jacket to hide my shameful trousers (although I'm not sure anyone would really have noticed the wet patch, paid for my items and went on my way. I was so embarrassed I didn't even stop for the loo. It was a long haul up the Great Glen to the next stop at Fort Augustus. I wet some more on the way, but it had dried a little by the time I got there, so I suspect the appearance was much the same. Here I did stop at a garage, and I think I used the loo to at least tidy myself up a little, but I was still holding on. Eventually, on a very scenic part of the route, with rocky slopes to my right, and conifer forest to my left, as I breasted a rise I felt my bladder give up. I had to stop now before I ruined the car seat. A place to stop appeared on my left and I pulled in. No other cars there for now, and a stone wall divided the lay-by from the forest. I grabbed a change of undies and trousers and a towel from the back seat, and jumped across the wall, and into the trees. I leaned back against a large fir tree and let my piss flow - what a relief! Pee flooded my cords, dripping onto the pine needles at my feet. I was so turned on my cock was hard almost as soon as the piss had stopped flowing. I cleaned up as best I could, but I'm sure I must have smelled of pee if anyone had got close to me.
  10. There a a thread here, somewhere, where women have admitted that they sometimes play a game of letting little spurts go, in secret but in plain view, for pleasure and for the risk. I had to go and lie down after reading some of those replies... But, years ago, I wrote a long and rambling stream-of-consciousness vignette about going home from a concert, somewhat dazed, and being so taken by the look of a particularly attractive woman that I bought a writing pad and scribbled down a long, long leer at her leggings... ...And fantasised that she would pee in them, ever such a little spurt. And then another, and another. It's one of the very first erotic pieces that I wrote, and it shows: be warned, it takes a while to get interesting. A scribble on the train, in which the reader learns exactly what it’s like to be a writer… So. King’s Cross Station, brightly-lit and echoing, marble floors and shuttered shops and crowds in little clusters, looking at departure times upon the ‘drive-in cinema’ display. My head is singing from the concert I have just come out of; I could tell you who it was but I don’t think that you’d believe me. I could tell you how it was, but only if your mind can write searing white letters of fire across the sky and underline them with the sound of thunder. I can feel it, now, the bow upon the string, a note beneath the hearing and above imagination, fluttering like shadows formed into the feathers on the wings of Odin’s Ravens, shimmering a little way beyond the edge of your perception and a little further into things we call the half-world... ... and are mostly too sensible to mention. I’ve just gone into that string-of-consciousness thing again: a curse or blessing for a writer. So: rush into a shop, and then the one next door, and then another: find someone, anyone, who sells a spiral notepad and a biro at a quarter past eleven in the evening. Thank God I live in London: someone did. What have I seen, what muse is in me, ringing out the music? Not the sweet and innocently-cynical young girls, barely in their teens and barely moved by music – half of them brought into the concert by their parents, respectable suburbia concealing lifelong love for music that the neighbours ought to disapprove of - if they hadn’t brought themselves and their own daughter too; and there is nothing there for me. Nor, either, in twenty-something students, scruffy and relaxed – nor the graduates, letting down their hair tonight but somehow always buttoned-down for work in the professions and the media. As ever, it is as if I am invisible to them: not ugly, not creepy, not even rejected in deliberate behaviours to emphasise exclusion. I am simply not there at all, it seems, or at least I do not seem to register upon whatever radar says ‘person, here’. Someday I will tell you how it is that I became like that: it is an ugly story, but fortunately one that I have overcome. Mostly I can fade away by consciously relaxing and withdrawing the external projection of the mind and personality, or not as I may choose; but sometimes it’s a curse that seeps out over me like a magician’s smoke. I look within, into the internal world… And out again, blessed or cursed with photographic memory, snapshot after snapshot. Flash – electric light and floor tiles, King’s Cross Station concourse: a woman in her thirties, somehow younger from a lifetime training. Dancing, I think, but maybe something more exotic. Slim, poised, forward on her feet, a bob of cut blonde hair tossing as she chatters to her phone. I watch, I am the watcher, fading into background and invisibility; I let the foreground flicker through me like the images in lenses, cameras, closed-circuit television systems watching in the night. Blessed and cursed indeed, I read the body language – cursed to know it, read the mind revealed in it, never know the person any closer than the hidden operators of the all-too-pervasive video security. So let me tell you what I see: she is pretty but not beautiful, slim but not for many years longer, held to shape by the muscle tone of all that training - a lifetime’s practice that I think she’s now neglecting. A bouncy personality, up on tiptoes, nodding in her conversation, animated in expression and the flashes of intelligence that flicker off of her. What is she wearing? The top is cashmere: smart, black and instantly forgettable. Heavy black shoes with clumping heels and straps, shiny with a hint of cutaways. Her stockings are like leggings, heavy and opaque, clinging firmly to her as they vanish up a miniskirt that barely reaches to her bottom, wispy and translucent; no woman wears a thing like that in lightweight tights or goes bare-legged! It is as if the reassuring grip of fabric hides her legs from a perception that they are in view: but every inch of them is visible, for the fabric shapes and silhouettes them from her ankles to her labia – plainly visible as a camel toe in a breathing, moving outline that leaves very little to imagine. We can tell what she's thinking, if ever she's thinking *that*. She’s wearing knickers underneath them, a thin and silky garment: unseen, but it reveals itself in the way the fabric of the leggings slides and doesn’t stretch, and sometimes halts a little to outline the elastic at the legs, high-cut like bikini bottoms. Whatever's visible, she doesn’t seem embarrassed or uneasy – quite the contrary – but neither is there any sense of exhibition, showing off and taunting men (and women!) in her field of view. No, she’s shielded from the stares and glares and leers that would accompany such nakedness by a belief that she’s not naked. And somehow, everyone around her has picked up on it and they unconsciously agree with her. What must that feel like? I read her movements: body-conscious but not consciously ‘displaying’, the feeling from the fabric not entirely fading out, not entirely edited from her awareness by whatever system of the mind keeps down the constant chatter of our clothes upon our skin. ‘Not entirely’, did I say? Not quite so, because there is a firmness in the leggings, not quite so much as girl-shaped figure-hugging Levis, that makes a woman held, pressed and squeezed a little bit, shaped and sculpted by her clothing. They’re always just a little bit aware of it, and always seem to like it – the ones with the figure for it – a constant trickle charge into the spiritual batteries of sensuality. Occasionally the feeling is the foreground, and women in such clothing strike a pose of rutting sexuality, aware and unaware that they are feeling such a thing and sending such a signal to the men around them. And, indeed, to other women, who pull their men a little closer, re-establishing the contact that tells the world “He’s Mine!” How strange it is, how few of the women wearing this fashion are consciously aware of any of it, the constant body-language conversation: to read it is to know that almost all the human mind is hidden from its owner... I watch the woman, looking closely at her legs and leggings, neutral in my body language so that she is unaware of me, and does not show the tension of a woman who perceives the ‘eye tracks’ of a man nearby. Her legs and leggings… The 'rise' from those high heels is lifting up her body and her pelvis, forward slightly, but she is comfortable with it. Her feet are placed a little bit apart, and then together; bending just a little bit, her knees becoming lighter as the fabric stretches; she rubs her legs together then steps forward, half a step, rocking back on one heel then the other, tension clearly visible in the muscles of her buttocks, outlined by the fabric. The conversation continues, all of her is bouncing, nodding, gesturing... But me, I’m watching her legs. Feet together, knees together, thighs together, squeezing: then up a bit, relaxing. Down again, almost crouching in a conspiratorial huddle around her telephone; then up, straight up, knees rubbing again in a left-and-right half-turning gesture, repeatedly, a signal of uncertainty or indecision. She presses her thighs together yet again, tightly, and I read it as consideration and rejection of an opportunity for penetrative sex – probably unspoken, it’s more likely that she’s talking to a ‘best friend’ than a boyfriend – but she definitely thought of having it, I saw her pelvis tilt forward, her pelvic muscles tighten and relax, and tighten up again, nothing hidden by the skirt at all, unconsciously miming the motions in detail - albeit more subtly than doing the real thing in bed - and then shutting herself down. The conversation lightens up, and she lowers herself slightly, her pelvis and her knees coming forward, legs together; something that she’s saying means she hasn’t yet ruled out the offer and will one day take him up on it. A thought that's pleasurable in anticipation, judging by the way I see her thigh muscles relaxing and her labia fill out. Her legs are now apart, boldly A-shaped in a clear and blatant challenge to whatever man is in the conversation, or maybe on the other end of it; the challenge being ‘prove yourself a worthy mate’. And she relaxes again, and gradually winds down the call, and walks to platform three to take her train. I watch her hips and her backside, swaying just a little: not loose but held taut by muscle tone - I see the firmness of the dancer and the lifelong athlete, muscles moving under fabric with a touch of softening, a rounded femininity that adds an extra grace and sensuality to her. You know, I think the leggings made her sexier than walking to the train completely naked ever could have been. Photo-memory recorded, and scribbled down in biro in the twenty minutes that it takes a train to reach the outer suburbs. And now I am at home, running it again in the camera of my imagination. You know me – omorashi fetishist – and my enthusiasms... What would it be like – imagine! – to let a little spurt into those leggings? There was no hint, none whatsoever, in her body language saying that she was aware of her bladder at all; far less that she might be desperate to go, and it doesn’t suit my fancy to imagine that she was. I prefer to think of a deliberate decision to let go a little bit, imagining a trickle and discovering a sudden spurt that needs to be firmly pulled back and cut off before it runs away to visible knicker-wetting loss and an embarrassing puddle. A spurt, a hot sensation: a sudden wetness, looseness in her labia and the tickle of displacing air… And almost painfully, like discovering the volume’s turned to max inside her headphones, coarse wet fabric rubs across her urethral opening, slowly being pushed aside and downwards as her clitoris emerges. Smooth and silky cotton-lycra knickers now feel harsh and scratchy – wince! – and she is super-sensitive and irritable. Twitch, and try to draw in, but she can’t and maybe there’s a risk that she’ll let go completely if she cannot ‘tighten up’. The wetness spreads out, passing through panties and into leggings, becoming a shining spot an inch across and fading to a damp uncomfortable humidity. Press her legs together, then apart, feeling it dry out a little faster. Walk – but carefully! – until she feel the slippery intrusion of her clitoris retreating into hiding. Does it stop there, or does she dare repeat it a moment later? Is she frightened that she’ll lose the lot? Yes, but the thrill of the risk that she will, iss all apart of the sin and the mischief of it. ...And all of it forgotten as she slips through the train, finally finding a seat: realising she had completely dropped the ball and shocked, for a moment, by the disturbing idea that she might have been weeing and entirely unaware of it, all that time that she was weaving her way along through carriage after carriage, through the standing passengers, until she found herself as seat. Of course she wouldn't have. She takes a window seat, beside some unremarkable receptionist in a bank's staff uniform, opposite some dull accountant, and gazes into space... And yes, she does. Does it feel different to let it go, release another little spurt, when she is sitting down aboard the train? She knows, in her mind, that there’s nothing to see – nothing at all, the glisten fades in seconds and there’s not a hint of wet, no shadow on the matt black fabric and whoever saw it would’ve had to look straight up her skirt to see it, a patch at most two inches across, well-hidden in the shadow of her legs and underneath her skirt. Her fellow-passengers are the very paragon of polite disinterest. She could do the lot, empty out and moments later there’d be nothing to see if she could be sure that the puddle would drain away behind her; and if it didn't, would they all just sit politely, pretending not to notice? What a thing to imagine, as she takes the risk of letting out a careful little dribble, not a hint of in her breathing, her expression or her movement: she won't do it all, but she will take the delicious risk that she will find it impossible to stop, a literal flood of embarrassment, ending a walk of shame into another carriage while they look at one another and say nothing. A spurt, and a guilty little warmth, secret, sinful, and she shouldn't. Three or four or six more later, she's not just damp, she's wet. The patch is tiny but it’s always there, wet enough to make the cloth glide over her urethra and now – continually – her clitoris. It’s out, and when she does it sitting down, some of the squirt and the first rush of heat in the fabric reaches out and touches her. And it’s not as if her labia do nothing: the little dribble that runs down and into them, the tickling droplet and the wetness, it’s a continuing challenge to her composure. She wants to touch herself under the skirt, just to know how bad the damage is – or so she tells herself – but she don’t want to draw attention. Time passes, one suburban station after another, long waits for the train while the signals are red: and spurt, after spurt, after spurt. The temptation, every time, to let the whole lot go, gets stronger. The seats on either side of her, and opposite, are empty now: who's to know? She realises that her backside is warm, and wet; and actually, she likes it. Another spurt, another hot little sin, and how bad would it be to just, just, let it go and just keep pissing? Her station. She gets off the train – carefully, so as to be last, to nobody's behind her looking at her backside - mortified to realise that the fabric of the seat is visibly wet, a coin-sized glistening spot in a palm-sized damp patch, on a seat where someone has, quite clearly, had 'an accident'. Except that she did every drop of it deliberately; and she got away with it, walking with her backside wet but probably not showing anything; and, increasingly, becoming rather pleased at what she's done, for all that it's a guilty pleasure that she really shouldn't do. Step away from the train, squirt another tiny spurt, caring rather less about the risk: she plays a 'head game' with the guilt and how she ought to be ashamed, as she walks along the platform; sometimes pretending to hate the sensation of having wet herself, and sometimes pretending to love it, as wet fabric slicks against her, drying down to damp, and warm, and guilty-but-not-sorry that she's done it. What is 'real' and what's 'pretend'? Both these inner worlds have a 'draw' to them, something deeply compelling and slick and wet. Each swing of the fantasy is greeted by another little leak, whether imagining shame and humiliation, or wicked joy and devilment in a forbidden act; and as she walks she is becoming wetter, and wetter, and wetter. Almost, almost, visibly so. Another spurt, at the ticket barrier, now she's in plain view? Hot, and she feels it hiss in the fabric, slipping a finger of "Wet!" between her skin and lycra, drawing a glistening black line down her thigh. That was rather more than she intended! She pulls-up, tightening, hearing the tapping of a rush of droplets landing on the tiling, as the ticket barrier beeps and swings open. Another spurt, as she walks out - can she really do this as she walks? - she did, along the platform, but now it turns out that it's awfully difficult to stop, and she crosses the taxi rank with the familiar finger of piss on her skin, longer, more insistent, tickling at the back of her knee before she is able to stop. And oh God, it shouldn't feel so nice, and she really, really shouldn't be doing this. Next? A walk across the station plaza, across the square towards her apartment block. The sky has cleared but the pavement is slick with rain, and it occurs to her that there’s no such thing as a noticeable puddle tonight. Another spurt: this time, unashamed and unhesitating, relishing the heat and wickedness: and then, walking, feeling it cool down, feeling her clitoris retreat and hide again: and she comes to a decision: "I don’t want it to" . Well. Stand up, turn around and take out her phone as if picking up a text, see that the coast is clear… And just relax, relax, relax. Nothing’s happening yet, and nothing needs to: there’s no hurry. And, before she's even aware that she's pissing, there is an intense heat in her crotch, almost scalding, and she becomes "I've Wet Myself", the woman pissing in her knickers. Now she feels the aching sense of her bladder, now she feels the sting and rush of running urine, now she recognises the hiss and froth of it, the sense of swirling, back against her pee-hole and up around her clitoris, rinsing it with a sharp sensation of hot water cutting through the slippery film of a secret pleasure. The swirl combs through her labia, stripping them of lubrication and leaving them, like her clitoris, painfully naked and sensitive. Her folds begin to sting and now the hotness is painful. But she would die to feel pain like this all day. Onwards it rushes – she knows the wet spot in her pants is visibly blossoming out, and now she feels the surge in the fabric inside her thighs, real streams, hot flows forcing their way down and stinging her skin. The wetness expands backwards and around her: a warm, spreading feeling that reaches around her bottom and sends feelers down the back of her legs. Suddenly the heat becomes a heavy weight and she feels her knickers peeling away from her groin, the leggings dropping away from the creases of her buttocks: a hot pool has forced its way in, and the sensation of being soaked rushes down her legs, all the way around down her thighs to her knees, where trickles split and chase their way down her calves. She is pissing a strong and steady stream, and she can feel her bladder at work, contracting, forcing it, immersing her in the trembling rush of pissing. Everywhere below her is hot, and wet, and surges of it have come upwards, soaking her pubic hair right up to the waistband of her knickers. Insidious little streams have worked their way up the elastics, emerging as two oval spots under the peaks of her hips, visible at the waistband of the skirt, then as little streams upon the front of her leggings. Mostly there is very little to see – everywhere, the fabric glistens, but nowhere does the wetting reveal itself in the cascades and flying trickles that betray a woman pissing in her knickers onto her bare legs… But she knows, very well, that she is wetting herself! Soaked, saturated, hot – no longer stinging, rinsed clean – and wet, wet, wet. She straightens up and make an effort not to stand in that telltale “I’ve wet myself!" half-crouch, and finds that it is, for a moment, unbearable as saturated cloth squeezes out new trickles, and the pool of pee in her groin and around her bottom shifts and surges, and drains down in a lukewarm renewal of the soaking on her thighs. Breathe out. She takes a step, and then another, constantly tantalised by wet cloth… And realises that she's still peeing, less than she was, but still a trickle that would be a massively embarrassing and visible wetting if she was wearing anything other than these lycra leggings. Wee is running over her shoes, clearly visible if you look, but disappearing into the wet grass in darkness. What next? Spurt, draw up. Spurt, draw in. Squeeze, let go: pull, pull, pull. A final relaxation with a little spurt; draw up and then it’s over. She presses her legs together a couple of times, to displace the puddles in the cloth. Takes a deep breath and walks, accepting that her lips and her clit are blaring alike a dimestore transistor radio at full volume. The wetness on her legs has already faded to dampness; and, although her bottom and her crotch feel very, very wet, she knows that dampness doesn’t show on matt black leggings after dark. And that feels good. And she got away with it. She could do this every damned day, and she wonders, idly, whether there was ever any reason not to. Right now, it’s so tempting, the thought of walking round the block until the urge to wet herself returns. But the tingling in her groin has a warning edge, that it’s going to sting and this could be a nasty redness if she don’t go home and shower thoroughly, right now. So next time, drink less coffee and a lot more water. And maybe, from the way her feet are squitching as she walks, invest in open-toed sandals. As she steps onto the doormats at the foyer of her block, and waits a moment for her key to scan, she realises that there is a little bit of wee, still left in her, a little dribble that she really, really shouldn't... Tempting, tempting, and why not? ... ... ... …and next time, you’ll know I mean it when I say it’s rather long. The writing, I mean.
  11. I usually wet my pants on purpose every few days. Feel free to view my profile and add me on snapchat if you'd like. Snapchat-998494579.mp4
  12. I just walked home and I really needed a wee. So I treated myself to a sneaky wetting in my fresh white jeans outside my house. I had a little furry freind watch me this time 1609186535258.mp4
  13. View File A quick potty break in my light blue jeans on my doorstep What else can I say... I didn't feel like going to the toilet, so I flooded my tight blue jeans right there on the doorstep. Just a quick, casual deliberate jeans wetting just because I can Submitter AliceWetting Submitted 06/21/2021 Category AliceWetting  
  14. View File Adorable Bedwetting In MyLittlePony Panties Watch me be a lazy naughty little girl in bed and totally wet my cute MyLittlePony panties laying on my side! I didnt feel like using the toilet. Oopsie! Now I'm all wet Inbox me if youd like to buy these cute little peed panties too. I can always wet them again... Submitter AliceWetting Submitted 06/20/2021 Category AliceWetting  
  15. Pees in pants while on puppy pad. Don’t own a dog. Bathroom was occupied. No, there isn’t a “oh, no, the door is locked moment.” She had to go, so she did FullSizeRender.mov
  16. In 2017, my friend and I went swimming at the pool where our family had a membership. We had the whole area to ourselves and stayed there for several hours without any other guests or lifeguards ever coming on the property. (Later, this turned out to be because the pool was technically closed that day, but someone had left both gates open and unlocked, so we had no idea. Someone ended up seeing us on security cameras and sending the police to make us leave, which was.... fucking ridiculous, but not the point here!) Anyway, my friend knew about my fetish but didn't share it and didn't seem to really "get" it, so I rarely if ever brought it up. That day, though, as we were getting out of the pool to dry off, I noticed my bladder feeling pretty full. I hadn't really been expecting to need to go, but as I got out of the water the pressure increased and I remember thinking, there's no way I'm going to make it home. I told my friend I needed to piss and she gave me this knowing look. I just rolled my eyes at her and went into the bathroom. I started to just go into a stall but then I saw the drain in the floor and paused. When I was younger I had a recurring dream of peeing into a drain -- anywhere, a shower or at a public building. I'd never been able to fulfill this desire but that day since there wasn't anyone else at the pool, and the bathroom floor was wet anyway, and I really needed to go, I just..... went. I spread my legs over the drain and pissed into it. I don't think I even bothered taking my suit bottom off. You know that feeling when you're not quite at a 10/10 but you have to go bad enough that releasing feels really, really good anyway? It was like that. I went for a while, I wasn't in the habit of timing myself but I'd guess maybe 15 seconds. Then I walked back out and told my friend what I'd done. She thought it was hilarious and congratulated me on being able to do something with my kink. And I felt really good, knowing my legs and suit bottom weren't damp with just pool water, and that my bladder wasn't pressing so hard anymore.
  17. View File Alice - Nonchalantly peeing my tight blue jeans on the bed playing a game on my phone. Absolutely soaked! I'm having a little fun this evening and thought it would be naughty to wee myself in my tight blue jeans while playing a game on my phone in bed ^.^ I best get drinking more now so I can refill my bladder and really soak this bed later... Maybe next time I will be naked and just let it all go on the bed? Submitter AliceWetting Submitted 04/11/2021 Category AliceWetting  
  18. http://reductress.com/post/how-wetting-my-pants-out-of-spite-saved-my-marriage/ I did a Google search and came across this blog. Anyone ever done something like this, ever had someone do this to you? Other opinions? I've done what I called revenge or defiance wetting
  19. As with anything I post, this is verbose and focuses more on situations and details than the act(s) they accompany. Male solo wetting only. ***** I haven’t had the urge to pee myself in at least 10 years. I did it once or twice with the woman I would go on to marry, as a couples wetting sort of thing, but to me this has mostly been a spectator sport. Today was way outside of the norm. My wife and kids are traveling to friends and family throughout their summer vacation away from school. I, however, still have to work so I stay home with a self-assigned list of home improvement projects that are much easier to take care of without the kids around. They’ve been gone about three days. I woke up this morning, having watched a few videos of this particular fetish before bed last night, and a thought as alien to my conscious self as if it had occurred to the cat that was unceremoniously walking across my head, was front-and-center. “I’m going to wet myself today.” “Wait, what?” Rational Me said. “Self, where the hell did that come from?” “Don’t know, don’t care,” My recently-encamped alien answered back. “Why not? You have the house alone, nowhere to go, and all day to get there.” “Fair point, Self,” Rational Me concedeed. After this internal dialogue I rolled over to open my underwear drawer and pulled out the only pair of white briefs I own, the last time they were worn was for a similar purpose. Loose boxers, what I generally prefer, are pretty terrible to get wet. I slipped these on, along with a T-shirt I would wear for the painting I had scheduled for myself today. I went downstairs and started the coffee, and began loading up my bladder. I walked out on the back porch to enjoy a rather stormy morning, listening to the rain falling. An hour and a few cups of coffee later the need was there. My back yard is quite private, and” the rain ensured no neighbors on the few areas that could be seen. I stood up, stretching, and walked to the doorway. Part of me internally was still questioning whether this was going to happen. Again I thought - why not? I tried to let go, but as this isn’t something that happens, it was difficult. But not impossible. I felt the warmth flow out of me and around my scrotum, then falling by my feet on the porch. It didn’t take long, and it was over in a moment. The warmth was not unpleasant, enjoyable after a fashion. I may stay like this if I can control myself. I could not control myself. The feeling gave me inspiration to search around with this fetish, which gave me another kind of inspiration. I had wasted a good chunk of the morning being decidedly unproductive, so I cleaned up, changing into blue athletic boxer briefs and old painting Wranglers, and got to work. A couple hours later my bladder was making its presence known again. I hadn’t given this morning’s actions a second thought, losing myself in my work. But now, I thought, “well - why not make a day of it?” I walked to the bathroom, removed my jeans, and stood over the toilet, boxer-briefs still on. It was easier this time, I had to go more than I had initially thought. Most went quickly through the thin athletic material, leaving less of a wet spot than I had suspected. “I can use this to a somewhat perverse advantage,” I thought. I turned, pulled my jeans back on over my wet underwear, and returned to painting. I was more surprised by how I didn’t feel abnormal working around the house with wet underwear still on, and a slight dampness showing on the front of my jeans. Two or three hours later everything was dry and no trace could be seen, either on the underwear or jeans. I decided I needed to grab dinner at the supermarket. Not thinking twice about leaving the house in clothes that were soiled a few hours prior, I hopped in the car and went shopping. It was somewhat of an internal thrill walking around the store with this knowledge, that anyone who looked twice at my clothes were simply looking at the smattering of paint stains on my jeans. When I returned home, I had to pee. “To hell with it,” I thought, putting my dinner and drink down, and walked back to the bathroom, again removing my jeans. This time I didn’t have to pee with the force of the last time, and more ran down my leg, soaking the legs of the boxer-briefs. I shrugged, not particularly caring, pulled my jeans back on, and grabbed my dinner. I finished off the evening working a couple more hours as the underwear and jeans dried around me. I don’t know where these urges came from, wetting myself isn’t even a suppressed urge. And rewetting myself is unprecedented, but thrilling. At one point my wife and kids video called me to say goodnight, and I stood in wet underwear talking to all, yet none will ever know. I do, however, wish my wife were home and would like to participate with me. It’s been several years now since she’s performed for me, and longer since she’s asked me to do it with her.
  20. 1,598 downloads

    So, I know Ive been sporadic with my content and responding to your comments I’ve actually been working on some things to post - behind the scenes. Making some lists to pick out which of my favorite Omo accidents/incidents to share. I want to share the ones that shaped me, changed me, embarrassed me, made me feel sexy, and ones that I can also incorporate my love for art into. If you’ve been following me for a while now you may have gathered that I really like video games and I really like Omo. SO I wanted to share my Omo-Origin story and give you guys a bit of an intimate experience, so you can get to know me better and what made me fall in love with Omo. It’s a little lengthy; but there is wetting and I do talk of wetting. I also ~KIND OF~ nerd out in this but.... at least I didn’t speak to you in Klingon or Hutenese. If you want a video of me speaking either of those I can provide. It’s not too good but I’m still learning. I’m also going to be posting this in the stories forum- without the video-but there will be pictures of the “photo shoot” and a hand typed version of what all is said in the video for those of you prefer to read. And a Picture of the bullet points I reference in the video. There will also be additional information attached to that specific post. anyway, I hope you enjoyed and I look forward to reading your comments.
    Free
  21. 234 downloads

    What else can I say... I didn't feel like going to the toilet, so I flooded my tight blue jeans right there on the doorstep. Just a quick, casual deliberate jeans wetting just because I can
    Free
  22. 466 downloads

    Watch me be a lazy naughty little girl in bed and totally wet my cute MyLittlePony panties laying on my side! I didnt feel like using the toilet. Oopsie! Now I'm all wet Inbox me if youd like to buy these cute little peed panties too. I can always wet them again...
    Free
  23. 409 downloads

    I'm having a little fun this evening and thought it would be naughty to wee myself in my tight blue jeans while playing a game on my phone in bed ^.^ I best get drinking more now so I can refill my bladder and really soak this bed later... Maybe next time I will be naked and just let it all go on the bed?
    Free
  24. 7 downloads

    Watch me deliberately wet myself in my tight blue jeans twice In this HD video. I am out on a walk in nature, it's a beautiful sunny day and I'm surrounded by grass and little flowers. I had been walking for a while, I was really desperate to pee, and when we were nearly back to the car, I decided I wanted to be at one with nature and just stood still, put my legs together, and just went in my jeans and felt all that warmth flow down my legs and spread up the back of my jeans! They really glisten in the sunlight and you can see every drip as its quickly spreads down the back of my legs and butt! What a relief! You cant beat a nice deliberate wetting sometimes when your really desperate Later on after driving back towards home, we stopped off for shopping, then when I needed to pee again, I just emptied my bladder into them again right there on the seat whilst I played games on my phone. You can see the wet patch from earlier has partially dried on the front of my jeans from the sun, but now they are soaked again. I step outside and show off my wet spot and you can see a huge wet patch right across my butt! Theres nothing like a bit of fresh air, beautiful nature and sunshine for a little wet walk. Hope you enjoy
    $5.99
  25. 5 downloads

    Watch in full HD as I pee my tight red absorbant leggings in public while casually walking down the street, letting out little dribbles of pee down my legs as I walk along. Then I get to a wooden bench and sit down facing the road as lots of cars drive past, and I pee some more on the bench right through my leggings in full view of a anyone driving past! It all runs down the underside of my legs and makes a puddle at my feet! It felt so naughty! Then I get up, letting you see the noticable wet patch and I then slowly walk towards the grass, and let a little more pee out in them facing the camera up close. Then watch me as I walk back to the car in my soaked, pissy pants! I really made a mess of them! They turn a really dark colour when they are wet too, and they soak it up so well! Then after spending an evening in the car in my wet leggings enjoying how naughty I had been, I decide to sit on my doorstep when we get back, have a smoke, and then deliberately wet myself again, and the video shows right up close between my legs as I pee freely into my already soaked leggings without a care in the world! Then I stand up and show off the wet patch on my butt, and then let the rest of my pee flow into them as i stand up! You can see it stream right through the leggings! I'm really enjoying experimenting with wetting myself in public lately, as it's a very new and kinky experience for me! Hope you enjoy!
    $5.99
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