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  1. Deadlines are the worst - I have this horrible habit of leaving my work to the last minute, and then having to rush through the lot. Hopefully though - I learned my lesson this time. In fact I'm sitting in a cold puddle of lessons today - let me tell you a bit about it. So - my name's Jamie, I'm 22, a girl, about five-foot three, probably a bit above average weight, brown hair to my shoulders - nothing too exciting. And I had a deadline due...Exactly 23 minutes ago. Despite the title above, I didn't miss that deadline. No - the deadline I missed was self imposed. I thought this assignment was due next month, so I hadn't really been paying attention to it until this afternoon. It was just chance that I noticed it to be honest - I was trying to check the deadline for another assignment - which is due on Friday, if you were curious. But you know how it is, right - you find that deadline that's due way earlier than expected, you get that hit of sheer absolute panic, and then you blaze through a paper. Well this afternoon I had that hit of panic (to the point I actually made a noise when I saw the date on the assignment) and decided I had to get it done. And what better fuel for writing an essay than like...eight cups of coffee. Yeah it's not good for me, but neither is failing university. And I'm paying to be at uni, I'm not gonna fail. Even if that does mean I feel like I'm not gonna be sleeping for the rest of this week. Initially it wasn't anything out the ordinary - I sat down, got my laptop set up...spent about 20 minutes watching some YouTube video about Aldi (No, I don't know what made me think it was a good use of my time), and then set about working. If anyone else here does history, then you'll know how bad the essays can get - Four-thousand words isn't even that bad compared to other essays I've had - but generally I have more than half a day to write them. Unless I do this. The first hour was the slowest, as usual. Trying to think of the question, and then trying to come up with a rough plan and find some sources that support my argument. Eventually I decided my essay was going to be about the failures of the League of Nations. So as you can imagine, I'm panicking, I'm putting down coffee like there's no tomorrow, and by the third paragraph I'm getting up to use the toilet. At this point I should probably have eased up on the coffee, but hindsight is 20/20. Instead I doubled down, hoping to get a caffeine induced surge of energy. Or a heart attack - that'd probably be reason enough to get an extension. It's hard to write about this, because...well most of it was just me drinking, writing shit down, and using the toilet - rinse and repeat. Until about 10pm. So - Like I said, deadline is today, which means technically the deadline is midnight. Which is two hours away from 10pm. P A N I C M O D E I saw the clock and my heart sort of lept - I poured my...sixth? Yeah, sixth coffee out the press. I hadn't bothered to reboil the kettle since the last one, so there was no wait between pouring and drinking half the cup. I didn't think much of it of course - I'd just got back from the toilet too, I wouldn't be needing to head back for at least an hour, right? Yeah, about that... It didn't take a whole half-hour for me to feel that coffee on the last stretch of it's journey through me, but I was a solid 700 words away from the word count. And even once I'd hit it, I had to proof read the essay, maybe cut down some words if I went over, make sure I'd got everything down that I wanted to, made sure my citations were correctly typed out...usual excitement. Important thing is, those things take time - which I had about an hour and thirty-five minutes of. Using the toilet would take...maybe 3 minutes per incident. And I didn't have 3 minutes to spare every half hour. I made the decision to hold it and kept on writing. It wasn't too bad at first. I sat myself cross legged on my computer chair, typing away and bouncing my leg up and down. I'd put on some music to distract me from the mounting pressure down below, and soon I was bouncing my knee in rhythm to the music. The kettle beside me was still warm and mostly full, and the coffee press was looking very tempting. I'm not sure what was going through my head at the time, but I found myself making another coffee. I think I might have been trying to distract myself from my increasingly full bladder. Spooning the coffee from bag to press was easy enough, a little shaky but I didn't spill any this time. I'm not sure if the shaking was caused by my bladder or the fact I had more caffeine in me than all of Starbucks. Pouring the water out the kettle though - that wasn't so easy. The water splashed out the spout and into the press, and the sound alone was like a slap to the face. Water - pouring and filling a container. The pressure from my bladder surged and I nearly dropped the kettle. I thrust a hand between my legs and managed to hold on, spilling a little water on the table in the process. I suppose I should have seen that as a bad omen - but the deadline was so close now, and I was well behind on my work. With the press filled I took to writing for another few minutes while the coffee brewed. By now my foot was bouncing non stop, my heel bashing against one of the wheels of the chair every time it came down. Oh, uh, it dawns on me I should probably tell you a bit more about my appearance...you know, given the nature of this website. That description from before probably isn't the best... Okay so - err, god I hate describing myself... Uh...Have you seen that drawing of the guys from Red Letter Media, but they're anime girls? Google it if you haven't - I look exactly like Jay from that drawing, except my eyes are green, and I've got freckles. And smaller breasts. As for my clothes, this evening I've gone for an ensemble of classy grey trackies (complete with a hole on the left leg from where I poked a hole through them with a pen), and a most excellent shirt depicting the characters from a famous comedy series. That's it - no shoes, no undies, no socks, no bra. Classic outfit for the student who hasn't left the flat in about four days. So with those grey trackies in mind... Another omen was to come to me next as I picked up the coffee press and began pouring. The sound caused my body to tense up in a way I'd not experienced before, a cross between a wince and sudden realization. My bladder sort of screamed at me all the while hot coffee was splashing into my cup, threatening to take matters into it's own hands. I managed to un-freeze myself just in time to stop from overfilling my mug. I flinched as I was doing so though, flicking a single drop of coffee onto my knee. At this point it was like the universe was warning me. My body had frozen up, my bladder had made it's intentions extremely clear, and I'd even got my trackies wet - and as you know, grey trackies go practically black the moment they get damp. And dampness soaks through the material...I didn't notice at first because of the heat from the coffee, but as I went to take a sip from the mug I could feel the spot on my knee cooling. My eyes widened - I want to mention this because I didn't expect them to. At this point, a lot of my reactions weren't really in my control any more. For example, my whole body shivered as I put the cup back on the desk and swallowed. I...well I knew what it meant. I don't often hold until I can't, but I've done it before once or twice. It's not really something I do on purpose, but we've all been there. That shiver...it's like a last minute warning. Like DEFCON 1, but for bladders. (WETCON 1?) The shiver went over my body slowly, as if being lifted up slowly from my pelvis and dragged through my ribcage and shoulders, finishing at the back of my neck with an unintentional sound of 'uwwaough' out of my mouth. I glanced at the clock on the bottom right of my screen. Ten fourty-five now. I checked my word count. ...It had gone up by about 20 words from the last time I checked...But how? I'd been writing for a solid ten minutes! How could I have...Argh! Wasn't the biggest problem I had though - the moment my brain displayed a concern for the lack of work done, my bladder very loudly announced that it's problem took priority. What to do, what to do? ...Really I should have just gone to the toilet. Instead my I found my hand lifting my cup to my lips, feeling hot coffee pour down my throat, and trying to type with my free hand. I almost feel like it was just rude to my bladder, really - I knew very well what was going on, and I knew I had to go soon. As in, I didn't have a choice - I was going to pee soon, whether I wanted to or not. As I put the mug back down, now empty (not unlike the cavity inside my head, where most people would store a brain), I looked down at myself. I almost wasn't expecting the thoughts that I came up with - let me quote them for you, they're great (/s) I'm almost embarrassed to type this out... 'Would it really be that bad?' I asked myself inside my head. Well - yes, it would be, but by now I think there was so much urine in my body it had probably entered my blood stream and was effecting my decisions. All I could think about now really was my bladder. It felt full - not as in 'gee I should pee soon' - more a feeling of 'I think my body has reached it's physical capacity for liquid'. I lifted my shirt and looked down - Have you ever seen yourself bulge before? It's...weird. It was almost like I'd gotten fat, but very specifically just below my belly button. Something stupid inside me told me to poke it - FUCK was that a bad idea. I didn't like, poke it gently either - I was so shaky and struggling to hold on my hand just kinda bounced off of it, shooting pain through my...self. I kinda...twisted my face up, bowing my whole head forwards and screwing my eyes shut, hissing air through my teeth and clamping my thighs together. What a dumb move that was - if anything was going to make me hyper aware of the pressure - it was punching myself in the bladder. I managed to control myself, but I knew I'd come as far as I could now. If I didn't get up immediately, I'd be leaking. I looked over to my door. I hadn't got up immediately, and I had a few seconds to realise my mistake. The pressure inside me - which bare in mind was enough that I couldn't stop bouncing my leg for a good fifteen minutes now - was surging. It almost felt like my bladder was rising up through my body, pushing itself upward into my lungs - which in turn pushed back down as I was breathing. I felt myself break out into a sweat - either panic or just from the sheer amount of liquid in my body - and my breathing was becoming hoarse and shallow. Each breath I drew in was pushing down on my bladder, and my only respite was to breath out - which let my bladder take up more space, only for another breath to press down on it even harder. I felt the urine inside me begin to move. It was slow and I could feel my muscles fighting to stay shut as best they could, but even still I knew they were fighting a losing fight now. I...I don't understand what was going through my head - I knew that I should be getting out the seat, I knew I should be bailing and diving to the bathroom - but do you know what my dumb ass did? Ignored it. I figured if I focused on my essay, I could ignore it a little longer. I must have been a mess to look at - I was breathing loudly through my nose, trying to stop myself taking in too much air at once. I was sweaty and gross, even managed to leave a wet patch on my sleeve from wiping my forehead. My legs were going mental beneath my desk, flipping and twisting in all directions like some odd student-pretzel. When my legs weren't flipping out, my toes were clinging onto the metal frame of the table, before my sweaty soles lost grip and my legs resumed their erratic ballet. I began typing - immediately hitting about 3 keys every time I bought my finger down and typing out some nonsense. I...growled(?) and held my finger down on the backspace - and that was my first leak. I didn't feel it come out - which was odd, I'd felt it all moving just moments ago. I think. Maybe the pressure was so intense I couldn't feel any other sensation aside from the rapid cooling of the tiny spurt of liquid that had just left my body and found a new home in my trackies. At this point I think a mix of physical pain and essay-based stress had made me entirely irrational. I say this because...as typing this up, I've noticed the empty smoothie bottle sitting in my bin. It's a large bottle with a really wide mouth. That's annoying. Doesn't matter now, I gotta clean up anyway. Yeah - spoiler warning I guess, but you saw the tags. I glanced at the clock again - it had gone forward about three minutes since I last checked. The word count hadn't moved however. I decided I'd reach the nearest hundred words before I could take a toilet break. My bladder let me type out about three. My first sensation was my torso going kinda tight and I leant forward toward my screen. I thrust a hand between my legs, clamping my thighs around my hand too. My right hand was now typing out words letter by letter. It was getting hard to read the words I was typing, so I wiped my eyes with my typing hand. Not a great idea to touch something warm and wet when you're this desperate to pee. Actually I say that, I suppose it's whole point of this website. Either way - my body felt wetness, and then my ears heard my own throat moan/whimper. ...I never know if I should type out vocalizations. I kinda went 'nuuuraaaah!', but under my breath. As the tears now coating my right hand cooled and my finger resumed typing, I felt myself losing control. It started off slowly - at first I felt a sudden warmth on my skin beneath my trackies. This warmth seemed to pulsate, coinciding perfectly with my breathing; Every time I drew in a breath, I could feel another tiny surge of heat. I'd managed to dismiss it until I felt something trickling between my buttocks, and something spreading over my left wrist. The one in between my legs. I didn't look away from the screen though. For some reason I decided to just...carry on working. By now every breath out was a moan, and every breath in was drawn through teeth...and accompanied by more warmth. I suppose the overwhelming sensation of pressure had begun to die down, because it wasn't long before what I felt changed. Initially - I'd been leaking, but...it just kinda felt warm. The only other thing I felt was the pressure from inside. I think that pressure had become so much I couldn't feel anything else - and here's my reason why. I sat leaking for...maybe 3 minutes? Each leak was tiny still, but it didn't feel like relief, or like the pressure was going down. It was like something was just spilling over my crotch and I really had to pee. Which I suppose is kinda true. So it came as a massive surprise to me when this next thing happened. I'd glanced down at myself - my sleeve was damp, my left hand glistened in the light of my essay, and my groin was...soaked. The trackies, as previously mentioned, had turned practically black in a very particular patch, completely surrounding my fist. I withdrew my hand and watched some pale-yellow drips fall off them. I looked back up at the screen and tried to carry on typing. The leaking hadn't stopped - in fact it had become fairly consistent. I didn't feel any relief, but I could feel a very gentle stream begin to chart a course down my thigh, slowly trickling downwards and pooling inside my trackies. I suppose I'd let enough out for the feeling of pressure to drop though. Every breath drawn in had caused a little bit more urine to escape. I bit down on my sleeve and braced myself. I felt myself draw in a rapid, harsh breath of air. At the same time, I felt my bladder contract powerfully, and I felt something hot coursing between my thighs. I heard it hissing as my body furiously began to void my bladder. But I felt relief this time. It was too much to stop now. I'd been holding so long, my muscles begged for a break, my bladder begged for relief, and my brain begged me to work on the essay. I don't know if I made the choice to do this, or if it just kinda happened, but as my bladder was squeezing and urine was jetting out of me...I gave up any resistance. The feedback was immediate. The fierce hiss quickly slowed to a grateful hiss - less powerful but very much audible. A beautiful warmth shot up my back and culminated around my neck with a sort of pleasant tickle - while another beautiful warmth was coursing down my legs. I knew it'd soak into my chair, knew it'd fuck up my carpet - but right now I just wanted to pee. I really wanted to pee - in fact I was enjoying the fact I was currently peeing so much I sighed and slumped back into my chair, grinning through the tears that streaked down my cheeks. I say I sighed, it was more giggling with glee. My entire body was tingling with the relief of letting go. I relaxed my entire body, letting my arms go limp and hang down to my sides. It took a moment before I could hear splashing - mostly because I was making too many other noises. Urine was pouring from my chair and legs, splattering the carpet below. I made no effort to try and stop it either. As the pressure had subsided and been replaced by glee, I slowly got my mind back...but I made a very conscious decision to let myself finish wetting my pants. But I still had that essay to do. Once the initial overwhelming glee wore off, I managed to sit myself up in my chair...which made a squishing noise which turned my legs to jelly. I leaned forward a little more, pushing myself into the cushion, and pushing my bladder just a little harder. I hooked my legs under my chair, catching the streams that had been splattering against my feet, and redirecting them to run down the back of my calves. I wish I could show you the squishing noise the chair was making through text - but there's no way I could do it justice. The wet squelch of the cushioned seat and my sodden trackies as my own piss soaked its way into the very innards of the cushion...I hate how much I enjoyed that bit, cause I think it's ruined my chair. Not that I cared when I was going of course - no, rather I was trying to perfectly position my feet to catch as much urine falling off the chair as possible, letting it soak over my soles, pressing my toes into the carpet for another squish. Sadly, nothing lasts forever, and despite how I had been feeling barely two minutes ago, that was going to include the fathoms of liquid that were currently spilling onto the carpet. At least now I had time to recover.. The absolute wave of relief that had knocked me sideways was now subsiding, leaving me just sitting in my chair, casually emptying my bladder as I tried to catch my breath. I felt it would be appropriate for some reason to touch the area, as if it was going to feel anything aside from really warm, damp, and satisfying...and then I squeezed the trackies. S-still warm urine surged through my fingers as I clenched the fabric, spilling onto the chair. I giggled again - I hadn't fully got my brain back at this point. What I had got however was a pair of very wobbly legs and a warm itching feeling. I hope you don't need me to spell out what that means for you. But of course - I still had that essay. And the clock. And two minutes had become three, and my word count still hadn't moved. Sometimes work has to take priority over pleasure though...but that doesn't mean I couldn't rub my thighs over each other. I didn't do that for long though, I quickly realised I was losing focus on the essay. Since then...I told myself not to drink another coffee until the first draft was done. With half an hour before midnight (and my trackies becoming icy cold) I'd finished writing - poured myself another coffee, and began proof reading. At 23:57 I submitted the essay. I had exactly as much time spare as I'd spent wetting myself. At time of writing it's 00:43. Took me about 20 minutes to type this up. As you ought to remember, I poured myself an extra coffee about an hour ago I finished drinking it about 40 minutes ago. So it makes sense that my bladder's feeling pretty damn full again. Chair's already soaked...carpet too. Wouldn't be any harm if I just... ... ... Oh yeah, that's better.
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