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  1. This is another story I decided to reedit to share here. Unfortunately, this one has a lot of backstory to it. I don't think it gets in the way of the wetting though. Either way, the story is set in a world of many different types of elf-like people, Our protagonists are 'Zindu', part of a special group of maids/butlers that serve high society (and sometimes do sneaky assassin/spy stuff if necessary). All of the Zindu, are Xin elves, who have an unfortunate form of emotional empathy that makes them great service staff but also means that when people get horny around them... they have trouble not getting horny as well. Their great embarrassment is that while they try to appear classy to everyone else, in private their hormonal years are usually spent in a sexy feedback loop. Anyway I've only written one Omo story in this setting so far. This paste has some extra setting notes. This one has the other stories that have no Omo, just a lot of semi-lewdness with Princesses. Zilli and Xander's First Mistake Xander wanted to think he didn’t have time to worry about the Zilli problem. If he ignored her, maybe eventually she would go away on her own. She could, if desperate enough, request permission to leave her role with the Queen. But he knew better. No Zindu would pass up the opportunity to work for the Queen. It was dangerous, it was difficult, and it was everything that a member of the Zindu could ever hope for. She was the ultimate client, it was the chance to do the most for the world. His presence disrupted that for Zilli, he was an opposite number that could steal her glory. He could tell himself it was his assignment first, and that he couldn’t let the small-minded thoughts of those beneath him slow him down, but he still stayed out of his own room for the whole night. He stayed busy until exhaustion threatened to knock him out, then hid out of sight until he thought that woman had left. In the morning, he snuck back to his room. He found Zilli gone, her new bed made, her belongings locked up tight. Xander let out a sigh of relief, and cleaned himself for the new day. He didn’t have any new task, but he was sure the princesses wouldn’t give him the luxury of a day off. Besides, he had to show Zilli that she couldn’t slow him down, couldn’t disrupt his progress with the people of the palace. He catalogued the events of the previous day in his journal before locking it away and moving to the halls. In particular he stayed on the lower levels. He was worried about princess Nuuna, and considering he once saw her walking the bottom floors among the servants, he thought it might be possible to see her there once more. The servant girls in the halls were nearly all fair-folk, moving quickly to some place or another. They all had hands filled with towels, pans, or trays. Some could be heard barking commands, letting personal servants know what food to deliver, what linens to grab, where they were needed most. It was a simple brute force method of service, but Xander respected it. The Zindu were not common maids, and so didn’t have to worry about solving every little inconvenience in the lives of a great many. They served the few, and they served their particular wants and needs. It allowed them to go above and beyond to help, it gave them time to understand what was necessary instead of what was asked for. “She’s dead, no one to talk.” Xander’s ears perked up and he stopped mid-stride. He was near a cross-section between two halls, and women were passing in each direction. Regardless, the words reached him crystal clear. He looked around, trying to find anyone that might look suspicious, but all he saw were different variations of the same maid uniform. He continued to walk, but focused on the different voices, trying to catch the same tone. “It will end, because we will make it end.” Xander dodged a girl running with sheets over her shoulder before turning toward the voice. A maid was with a noble, neither appeared to be Fair-folk, but among the sea of common girls it was easy to overlook them. They turned a corner, and Xander followed, trying to pick up on what they could be talking about. He still had reasons to believe that the attack on Princess Opel was a staged diversion, meant to throw him off the trail of a real assassin within the palace. But these weren’t Nodru, and that meant if these were involved, then the conspiracy against the royal family was larger than he previously suspected. He hid just around the corner and watched as they walked toward an office. He pretended to pay attention to the different women walking past the intersection, but instead focused on the body language of the two having their clandestine meeting. The maid was the one who was talking earlier. Her hair was black, her face a little dour. It was possible she was a Medika. Her serious expression matched her terrible message from earlier. She held herself taller than any maid, and seemed fine delivering her foul message. “This isn’t the place for this,” the noble woman with her said, “all I know is that we can’t rest while there is work to do.” The noble was without a doubt Medika. Unlike her servant partner, the noble had all the marks of the magicks inclined women from the valley of yore. Xander felt a shiver go up his spine. Maybe it was the idea of betraying the Queen-of-All, it disturbed him to the core. He didn’t have proof yet, but that just meant he needed to investigate. Zilli’s high pitched voice broke his concentration, “what do you think you’re doing?” He whipped his head around to see her approaching from behind him. She was in her usual uniform, a black frilled skirt, a black coat with a red vest underneath that wasn’t unlike his. So that was what he felt. She looked rushed, her stance rigid, and her eyes barely focusing on him. Xander put up a finger to shush her. She didn’t move to slow down, but she didn’t miss a chance to chastise him. As she prepared to walk past, he could see she was going to go around the corner right toward his suspects. “I swear it, if you are trying to cause more trouble, I’ll report you-” Xander grabbed her by the arm and shushed her again. He almost didn’t hear it over Zilli’s mindless aggravation. The maid said, “step in just a moment, I’ll show it to you.” The door opened, and while Xander held Zilli, the maid and noble stepped into the room in the hall. The door slid shut behind them. Zilli forced herself from his grip, and for a moment her face was flush with panic before going back to her usual frustration. “Keep your hands off of me, I haven’t forgotten you that quickly,” Zilli said as she brushed down her skirt. He nodded toward the corner and hall beyond. Despite everything, he knew that her skills could be helpful in a situation like this. She was trained as a member of the Zindu, and that meant that even while resistant, she had expertise that made her far more useful than anyone else on the floor when it came to unraveling a dangerous plot. “What?” She said, leaning around the corner for just a moment to see a closed door, “what do you want? I have important matters to attend to.” “Is it a client?” Xander asked with genuine interest. Zilli looked away from him and shuffled from foot to foot, “no, it is none of your business.” “Then you must help,” he replied, “it could be a matter of the Queen’s safety.” She looked like she was ready to bolt at any moment. He could feel the nervous tension coming off of her, knotting up inside her, along with something else. She was conflicted, but he couldn’t worry about her small obstructions. He needed her help, this was her chance to prove she was a Zindu first, instead of dedicated to standing in his way. “If you give me a moment,” she started, looking one way then the other, “I’ll return and help. But for now, you should know a Zindu melds to the motion of others, not their own path.” She was quoting the book at him again, he stood taller, “that applies to you here as well.” Zilli opened her mouth to reply, then shut it before flushing with embarrassment. The door clicked open again, and Xander stood up straight and pretended he was in a deep conversation with Zilli about some business. Not difficult, but important. The maid and noble were quiet as they left, but they made their way down the opposite hall. “Come,” Xander said, grabbing Zilli by the wrist and dragging her toward the room the two suspects just left. He tried the door, found it unlocked, and pulled Zilli inside. It was a dim room with two beds along each opposite wall. The furnishings, small desks, cabinets, chests, it looked like a room for high level servants. It wasn’t unlike his own room, just with more open space, and set up for four women instead of two Xin. “To the Black Jungle with you Xander!” Zilli spat in anger as she escaped his grip again, “do you refuse to learn? I have no time for your madness.” Xander turned to her, “Zilli, please. I overheard the two women that walked out of here talking about the Nodru assassin from before you arrived.” Her face went blank, then stern, “The one you stopped?” “Yes,” Xander said. She wrestled with the idea, shifting from foot to foot again, a level of nervous twitching he had never seen in Zilli before. It was unbecoming of a Zindu, for sure. “Well of course they were, it was a big event,” Zilli said. Xander started toward the first desk to his left, “they were talking about satisfaction in her death, that it would keep her silent. They were keeping a secret, I need to find out what that maid is hiding in here. She must keep some sort of record of her movements.” Zilli turned toward the door, then back to Xander, “not if she were intelligent. Either way, this seems like a job better handled by one rather than two.” Xander cleared his throat as Zilli went to move, “When seeking woken words, one may do the work of many. When seeking written wisdom, every eye is the Zindu’s ally.” Now Zilli squeezed her fists at her sides, and closed her eyes in frustration. “as if you could… fine then, let's hurry!” She went to the opposite side of the room, and started at the desks there. The first desk was just full of small notes, written by different hands. At first he thought his mission was already finished, but as Xander looked them over, he realized they were love letters. The maid had different fans from outside the palace, and was occasionally getting correspondence from each of them. He closed it up and moved on to the next one. It was locked, a feature the other desk didn’t have. “Nothing here,” Zilli said as she moved from the first desk to the second on her side. Xander opened his vest and pulled out two pins, before starting on picking the lock. He didn’t know how long they had before someone returned. If they were caught, he didn’t know what excuse he would give to get them out. No matter what, it would raise suspicion from the conspiracy. “N-nothing,” Zilli said, a shiver in her voice as she spoke, “can we go now?” “Check the cabinet here,” Xander said as he continued to pick at the simple lock, “almost done.” She walked over, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Zilli stop in place and squeeze her thighs together before she cracked open the cabinet and looked inside. It was tall enough to fit both of them, fully standing. Then again, it held hanging clothing of a Medika and Fair-folk woman, so that wasn’t too shocking. “Just clothes,” Zilli said in a hushed voice. There was a click from the desk, and Xander popped it open, “got it!” Inside was a small journal, not unlike his own. There were also a few folded up notes on simple paper. Nothing looked suspect, everything looked neat. “Can we go now?” Zilli snapped at him. He reached out to grab the journal, then heard footsteps at the door. Xander and Zilli looked at each other, then he pointed at the cabinet. He closed the desk, and they rushed to the cabinet before closing themselves inside. Zilli stood at his side, and Xander got closer to the crack in the cabinet to look out. “I can’t believe you,” said the noble woman as she walked in ahead of the maid, “all this walk and talk, and you forget it.” “This isn’t just on me, Gottiva,” the maid replied, “i’ll grab it for you and we can go.” Next to him, Zilli was shuffling around. It was just enough that he could hear her pleated skirt swishing against the clothing hanging in the cabinet. He hushed her with a finger, “what are you doing?” He whispered. She was in a panic, and at first he couldn’t concentrate long enough to figure out why. Her hands were clenched tight, her thighs squeezed in, her eyes shut and head shaking. “If you must know, I need a pot,” Zilli whispered back. The thought sank in, and immediately Xander could read the messages he had so foolishly missed. It was so confusing at first, but now he could see it all. Her frustration, her need to be elsewhere, her anger that he would drag her farther from her goal. Now he had her trapped in a closet with possible assassins between her and where she needed to be most. All because he wanted to spy on two women who had yet to show any signs of being dangerous. The maid was out of view now, but he was able to watch the noble, Gottiva, as the maid struggled with something out of view. “What is taking you?” Gottiva snapped. The maid replied, “the lock on here is fast stuck, weird.” Zilli’s breathing was getting louder. He looked over long enough to see her squeeze a hand between her legs. She was struggling, and unable to hide it from him. When she looked over at him, her eyes were watering. She was trembling. When their gaze met she looked away from him. He whispered in her ear, “hold on, they’ll leave soon.” Xander believed that. They were probably here for the journal, and then they would go and he could get Zilli out. Not that he wasn’t enjoying her suffering a little for how she treated him. She wanted to act like she was the only adult, the only one in control of herself. Now she couldn’t even control her bladder. Unfortunately, thoughts of Zilli suffering, crying out in her weakened state, her shame, it only triggered something inside of him. He shook the thought and tried to concentrate on the conversation, but the thoughts were there. He didn’t want to admit it, but they were exciting. Zilli nudged him in the side, and with tear-filled eyes, whispered at him, “stop it.” “There,” the maid said as the drawer thudded open, “got it!” “Finally,” the noble said. He could see the maid again, coming into view with small papers in hand. The journal was still in the desk? “Do you think they’ll be able to pin it on her?” the maid said, “the guard is on alert, after all.” The noble rolled her eyes, “they are already preparing for war, and like the Queen, they are always prepared to blame a Nodru.” Almost done. Xander looked to Zilli and saw that she was doubled over forward, her head short of the cabinet door. Her arms were shaking, her whole body trembling. She couldn’t keep still anymore, her feet moving up and down, her legs wrapped around each other, her hands tucked tight into her crotch. There was no more unlady-like image you could find. It was like an animal, trained to avoid the punishment and shame of leaking indoors. “We’re almost clear,” Xander said, reaching out to touch Zilli on the back, “hold on.” She shook her head no, and whispered, “I can’t, I can’t.” If she released while they were still in the room, they would be caught. It was imperative that she held back her flood. But he didn’t know how to help with that anymore than reporting what was going on just beyond the cabinet doors. “Make it count then,” the maid said, “only so many Nodru wandering the castle, after all.” The noble woman scoffed, “one less, soon enough. Come on, or we’ll be late.” Zilli’s every muscle was in rebellion. Her hips were swaying from side to side, every muscle in her face squeezing and contorting, her breath coming in sharp quiet Swip noises. Her hands dug deeper between her legs, trying to find whatever leverage they could. Her rear was pressed out behind her as she tried so desperately to keep everything inside. It was difficult not to watch it like a dance. It was a celebration of a moment that neither of them could stop. At that point, Xander wasn’t sure if there was any way she was going to make it to a chamberpot before she burst, but all she had was desperation and hope. The two women opened the door, and started out. Xander whispered, “you’re good,” and touched her shoulder to comfort her. Zilli let out a sharp gasp of surprise, and then her whole body went stiff. There was a sound, a short splash of water against the cabinet floor. “Uh…” Zilli shuddered, her lip trembling as a tear went down her cheek, “oh no…” The women at the door stopped, their ears perking at the sound. “What was…” said the noble, “you hear that?” Zilli let out a small squeak of shame, and Xander looked down to see a small rivulet of moisture trailing from beneath her skirt, making the journey down her thigh before dripping to the floor with thuds that felt louder than hammer swings. “Hold on,” Xander whispered frantically, “just hold the rest.” Her hips began to sway again, her hands digging for new traction, her arms squeezing. Her rear was bobbing up and down, and her chest pushed forward. Xander couldn’t hide his excitement now, there was no way. That strange loop between them, his own excitement flowing into her which brought hers back to him, it turned even moments like this into unexpected moments of arousal. The noble woman took a step back inside the room and looked around. Medika hearing wasn’t the worst. Not as good as Zindu, but not the worst. Zilli shivered from head to toe, and another splatter hit the wood floor, followed by louder and more rapid drips. She sniffled, tears pouring down her face. “I think they’re doing work next door,” the maid said, “weren’t you worried about being late?’ Gottiva took a step back, but kept watching the cabinet as she did. A short deluge escaped between Zilli’s fingers, and Xander couldn’t help but turn and watch now. He could see the moment they would happen in her expression. Her frown deepened, her eyes closed tighter, her hips dipped lower, then a cork was released for just a moment before it was stopped up once more. “You’re right,” Gottiva said before heading back to the door. they closed it behind them. “They’re gone,” Xander said, “you can go now.” Zilli’s voice came out in small whimpers, “I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t stop.” She was gasping, crying, her whole body locked up. Xander was conflicted, scared even. He wanted to help her, but he knew she would hate his solution. The flow was now just the occasional drip, she was keeping herself contained now. Somehow she was still afraid of releasing in front of him, or maybe just hoping to maintain some last bit of dignity. Xander took a deep breath, then moved closer to her. She tried to shuffle away, but her feet refused to move, her whole body was twisted over itself. He touched her cheek, and she looked up at him. Her eyes wet, her face a mess. Xander pulled her to a standing position, fought against the last bit of muscle strength she had. “What, stop,” Zilli sobbed, “please.” Xander pulled her forward, approached her for a kiss. Zilli’s eyebrows peaked in confusion. But as he got close, she didn’t fight it, she puckered up. Their lips met, a soft and warm contact, mixed with the moisture of her wet tears. “Go ahead and let go,” Xander whispered as he pulled her arms from between her thighs. She struggled, but had nothing left to fight with. Her arms were pulled to her sides as their lips held together, their breath intermingling. She let out a labored sigh, and he heard the rapid splash of her bladder starting to void on the wood below. He let her go and watched the look of relief that overswept her. Her exposed legs twitched as the river rushed between the gap of her thighs and splashed thundered to the floor. “Ooooh,” she groaned in satisfaction, her eyelids fluttering as she finally found full relief. For a moment he was afraid she would collapse, but she stayed on her feet. Her breath was heaving as she finished, her eyes looking anywhere but into his. Then the stream turned to soft drips, and Xander couldn’t help but smile, “feeling better?” Zilli stood tall again, and for a moment her stance made him take a defensive posture. She looked ready to swing, her face going flush and her eyes going wide. Then she shoved her way out of the cabinet, and into the room. “I can’t believe you!” she hissed, “I absolutely cannot believe you. You monster!” “Zilli!” Xander said as he came out of the cabinet, looking around to make sure the room was as they left it before he became so focused on her performance. She was pacing now, “I was almost there before you pulled me aside for this… this… what was this?” “Zilli!” Xander repeated, going over to the desk he broke into earlier. “What!?” she snapped. “We found them out,” he said as he pulled the drawer out and started to look at the folded notes. “We did?” she said with a few rapid blinks, “I mean, even if we did. This is not acceptable. You… you ruined my uniform! This is against the way of the Zindu. Plus you took advantage of my situation.” He examined how it was folded to make sure he could get it back, then started to open the note, “Technically, you ruined your own uniform. Also, you got some on me, so you ruined mine as well. And I did exactly what was required, by the letter and to the book. Do you wish to argue that?” Zilli looked ready to reply, and then thought better of it. She was the one who had jeopardized the operation, and shamed herself. His little kiss was nothing in comparison, even if it was problematic. “Maybe I do,” she said, but she stopped looking at him as she said it. “Zilli,” Xander said as he scanned the note. She huffed, “what! What do you want now?” He pointed to the mess in the cabinet, “if we’re going to go unnoticed, you’ll need to clean that before you head back to the room.” Her face flushed, but she managed to build up enough anger to look back at him with indignation. “This is all your fault, though.” she said, looking like her tears were going to start fresh. He refolded the note, and then looked her over. Her legs were soaking wet, and her black skirt had a large noticeable wet spot from her groin down. If they weren’t careful, any further time around each other would get bad, fast. Just looking at her he could feel their connection starting to accelerate, his fascination with her increasing by the second. “You’re right,” he said, “I’ll clean. You go clean yourself then I’ll meet you in our room. Then we can discuss what to do next.” Zilli looked down at her skirt, and let out a sigh. She perked up and asked, “wait, what are we doing next?” Xander smiled, “we have to find a Nodru in the castle, so we can stop this conspiracy in its tracks.” The note would hopefully at least get the guards back on his side. But if there was another Nodru to blame another attack on, he couldn’t make anymore ground until they were found.
  2. This started off as a little request for a friend and kind of spiralled into this. If ya'll like it I might continue it! ---- The great Ember stirred from her sleep... she had been lying within the mountain cave for some two thousand years, dreaming and peaceful. Though, the last few centuries had been somewhat turbulent, with occasional squirming and moaning, that eventually became constant, and an endless sea of vivid, erotic dreams. In her mind she was teased and pleasured by a dozen lovers, and never allowed to reach her climax. Her pent up arousal had built up as the magma beneath the earth would before a volcano erupts. In a similar fashion, the many dozens of lakes she had consumed before her long rest had now filtered into her gargantuan bladder, forming a bulge in her lower stomach the size of a large swimming pool, and with ten times the volume of liquids compressed within; yellow, steaming and frothing angrily for release. Amongst the sexual frustration of her long dreams had come splashes of bathroom urgency, she dreamed of the sea coming to destroy the world, and only she could save it by consuming every last drop. She dreamt that the sea was angry, taking the form of a beautiful water nymph contained inside her cavernous fluid tankard, and that she was violently pummelling her pussy for escape from piss prison. Her crotch was the size of house, and it throbbed with need throughout this all, clenching rhythmically in her sleep, pulsing in time with her heart. It was near her time to awaken... Finally, when the time had come for this curvaceous creature to wake, her massive thighs came together to squeeze her lower muscles, she shivered in urgency to create her yellow lake, and to settle the tightly wound heat within her. When her eyes opened, Ember took in her surroundings, the same old cave she’d rested in all those millennia ago. It was home, deep within a mountainside, and she felt refreshed from the rest. One mighty claw moved to her dragoness womanhood, teasing the slick, puffy lips with her fingers and cooing softly at the sensations of pleasure that tingled up her wide hips, her truly vast rear end wiggling her thick tail. An oozing trickle of her liquid lust made her inner thighs sticky, and she grunted, tensing her face, when a sharp pulse of piss need shook her bladder walls.The hot contents of her cavernous container were threatening to spew forth, spraying haphazardly around and flooding her lair. Ember held it in, corking herself with her will. She rolled, gently onto her back, and brought her over palm down to massage the firm swell of her lower stomach; her distended bladder. She could feel it quivering beneath her touch like a frightened deer, but she attempted to sooth it, shushing it and its protests for relief. “Soon...” she breathed, her voice heavy and soft; husky and dripping with arousal. There was a giant lake right outside her cave, it had served as her bathroom for eons; a river flowed down into it and another out of it again, meaning the water was constantly filtered and made fresh. Often she used it to bathe, but those rare times when she required a piss it would take but a few months for the urine to have filtered out completely. Given that she often felt no urge at all until at least a hundred years after her last release, this was plenty of time for it to make itself useful as her personal toilet. With the knowledge that relief was close at hand, she had nothing to fear, so decided to enjoy her incredible fullness a while longer. Perhaps using it to bring about the climax she craved almost as dearly as the enormous leak wanted to be taken. The palm on her bladder pressed down firmly, causing her to grunt heavily and whine to herself, her pussy ached and spasmed with desire, hungry for her huge fingers. She gave them to her. Though they were clawed, she had long-since filed them down, not requiring them for defence any longer now that the ancient ages had passed and no creature alive existed to threaten her. The huge fingers reached deep within the clenching caverns of her vagina, her lower palm now grinding against her stiffened clitoris and moist labia. Ember found the rock hard pressing of her bladder inside herself and began to grind her fingers against it, sending shivers of desperation down her spine. Her hind legs rose up as she felt the orgasm that was several millennia overdue building at last. Her truly huge, jiggling ass cheeks were on display, and her rear end wobbled as her tail bounced gently beneath it. She wanted it to last, but the pleasure of her urine crushing down on her g-spot was enough to make her scream; it was all she could do to avoid cumming instantly when her fingers had entered. So, as she continued to crush her boiling ocean from within, massage her sparking clit, and mash her palm against her engorged lower lips, Ember knew that the inevitable would soon come at last. She gasped loudly, a booming noise, and then began to grunt, buck her hips and cry out. Smoke puffed from her snout as the brimstone within her boiled as hot as her piss. Her moans were so loud that the whole mountain shook. It was just as the beautiful beast was on the verge of an earth shattering climax, that she heard the screams. Freezing in place, Ember’s impeccable hearing perked up, and the sound of distressed humans was obvious. Frowning, having not recalled any human settlements near her when she’d slept; she cursed herself for not checking. Her bladder took this moment to demand release, and she cringed, withdrawing her fingers and using them to plug up her puckered piss hole, which itself was the size of a house. The ancient dragoness clenched with all her limitless might, and struggled to rise to her feet, spreading her aching wings and attempting to make her way out of the cave, only lead to a powerful slosh as her ocean of urine shifted inside her. The mass of hot, angrily boiling piss was vast, even for someone of her size. She whined softly, her face flushed, as the pressure of her bladder only intensified her arousal, and yet more of her juices made her plump thighs all sticky. The pressure of her bladder was significantly worse now, especially when combined with the how tortuously close she’d come to fulfilling her most animalistic of needs. Ember finally made her way out of her cave, the morning air making her shiver, and her muscles tremble. Casting her gorgeous, orange eyes down, she was stunned and frozen in shock. Where before had been her personal lake for relief and refreshment, there was now dry land, and a large, bustling village of humans. They had heard her moans as roars, and the shaking mountain was seen as evidence of her fury. Their legends had long told of a terrible dragon that would bring forth a steaming, burning, yellow blaze of destruction, and they believed their time had come. Ember had no way to communicate with these people, so she decided only to leave, to fly away to some new place with a new ocean, far from people. Somewhere she could live in peace, pleasure herself, and water the flowers in privacy. Her wings were curled up from her rest, cramped and asleep, but she gently forced them to open, stretching wide on her hind legs briefly. All of this caused her a cacophony of sloshing, splashing sound; it felt if a tsunami had struck her insides, and in truth it had. Ember, wings outstretched, froze in place and closed her eyes, a grunt echoing loudly across the valley. Her teeth bared and clenched, her thighs shook and caused tremors to disturb the mountain once more, and the cries of the humans increased. She must have been about to unleash the awful burning heat that would destroy their homes and lives, surely! Unbeknownst to them, Ember was using all her mighty muscles to avoid this. Oh, how badly she wanted to piss now! How much the pressure was causing her loins to burn with desire! How she wanted to just lift one of her mighty, meaty hind legs and let rip a thunderous waterfall of hot piss right now; like the world's largest dog in the world's hottest heat. She wanted to piss her mind away, and then grind her aching pussy on the mountain’s surface until she came as hard as anything had cum before. Calling out and spraying her fluids of pleasure and pressure far and wide. Yet she knew that a good, and proud Dragoness, would never piss where men might see, where anyone might see. She would fly to the oceans, to the most isolated parts of the world and only then would she release herself. The journey would take some days, but she could hold it. A dragon can hold her piss forever if need be, and Ember was the strongest dragon of them all. Only, now she didn’t feel like a dragon; she felt like a puppy, a bursting bitch clawing at the door to be let out, to find a nearby tree a-and... no. She was strong. She would not piss, not yet. A dragon never pisses. As she repeated this and similar mantras in her mind, she spread her wings and, with a hefty swoosh, took to the air. Deep within, her bladder sloshed with a noise like thunder, and the people cried and held their loved ones close. Ember paid them no mind, and hurried away from the city, out beyond them and into the distance. She was a swift flyer, even with all this extra weight to keep her from her usual altitude, yet it mattered not. Settling in for the short, few-day-flight to relief, she forced her mind to leave her bladder for now. Not entirely successfully, as her horny brain kept reminding her how full she was, even fuller than typically after such a sleep, and how erotic the stretching feeling was. With every stroke of her wings, the fluids inside her swirled up and down, crashing into the top and bottom of her absurdly wide bladder walls, bulging either her stomach slightly further outwards, or making contact with the rest of her internals and squishing them for extra space. Ember’s payload was truly gargantuan, and she couldn’t help leaking frequent quantities of natural lubrication down onto the hills and valleys bellow her. What didn’t help at all were the rains that soon started. Gentle enough at first, then high powered winds that smashed against her and slowed her forward progress. The clouds grew heavy and grey with moisture, and when they could hold it no longer it was unleashed on the countryside. Each tiny droplet was like a stinging spark of electricity to Ember, shooting through her body and focusing in on the mass of conductive, pent up piddle inside her abdomen. She squirmed in the air, slowing her flight even more and causing her to drop down lower from the clouds and their terrible, gushing sounds. Though it wasn’t easy, Ember managed to adjust to this noise, letting the pitter-patter of raindrops become like background static. The feeling of the droplets on her scales was harder to ignore, or picture as anything but what it was, yet she managed to settle the revolting of her bladder by again maintaining her mantra, this time cooing it to herself as if it were a prayer. “Dragons don’t piss. Dragons never piss. I do not need to piss. I could hold forever if I wanted. I can wait as long as it takes. Dragons don’t piss.” This worked for a time. After about five miles of distance, she came across a huge body of water within a stone structure. Ember now realised how her relief had gone away; the humans had constructed an impressive dam to hold the water at bay and open the lands up for settling. Despite the inconvenience this had caused her by delaying her comfort, she found herself impressed by the little creatures. They always found new ways to make use of the lands, and bring Mother Nature to heel. Ember was reflected on how alike the structure was her own privates now; a solid wall that valiantly held back the will of nature and of water, containing thousands of gallons of furious water. One of her many dreams returned to her, that of the terrible water Nymph she had drank and held prisoner. Her wings shuddered with the rest of her. The dam had almost passed her by, when her enhanced vision spotted something alarming. There was a crack, a crack forming in the stone. One here, another elsewhere, and at once they were all about! Ember stopped where she was, keeping herself in the air, and brought her front legs to her mouth in a gasp. The dam was shuddering under the weight of something, but what? The rain! Realisation came as strong as and as forceful as the waves did to the walls of the human creation. The torrential rainfall had caused a build up in the water, and perhaps caused by some random strike of lightning, or a rouge gust of wind, a terrible series of waves had formed inside the contained lake. The battering of these waves had not been planned for by whoever built this dam, and it was coming crumbling down. It was with horror that Ember realised the people of the town would literally be washed away by this flood; their doom! It was her duty as a greater being, an older being, to prevent this. In searching her mind, she closed her eyes and groaned, heavily, inwardly, as she realised the only thing she could do to save them. It was going to be painful, but she must. Ember would have to drink it all. Just as the benevolent beast had mentally prepared herself for this task, the dam suddenly burst! The water sent the stone wall exploding in all directions, crumbling it to dust beneath its force and flooding down the valleys, heading directly for the village as her personal lake once had. Ember wasted no time, closing her mind and her nerves to the pain in her bladder from the sound, the sight, and now the sudden movement; she soared through the air at top speed to catch the flood. It took about two miles for her to catch up, and by then the village was in sight! The people who had been celebrating the falseness of their prophesied demise, and the departure of the dragon, were suddenly thrown into hysteria again as they saw both her, and the waves, approaching. By now, Ember was ahead of the water, and had only to find some way to direct it into her jaws. She got ahead of it and landed only a mile from the people, her back to them, facing the hurtling, exponentially accelerating water. Her brow lowered, her eyes narrowed, and with a mighty deep breath she unleashed a great wave of fire which reduced the hills either side of her to molten lava. Once done, her wings spread out and cupped this magma, unharmed by its heat, then shifted the masses into a sort of funnel shape, directing all the water towards her face. Finally, she took a deep breath, blowing the rock until it started to harden once more. She opened her jaws as wide as she could and prepared herself, her stomach, and her poor bladder for the impact. --- That's all for now, let me know what you think and it may continue! Also, while you're here, you can check out some similar little ideas on my forum thread: https://www.omorashi.org/forums/topic/47053-tiny-stories-and-poems-of-desperation/ Thanks for reading! ❤️
  3. A new edit of a story from a ways back that I never shared here! The Evil Witch's Special Ingredient Star woke up to a splash of water in her face. She sputtered and tried to look around. Her head was throbbing, the room was foreign. Where was she before this? “That finally woke you up,” said a sultry female voice. “Zannethrane!” Star said as she tried to reach out her arms to attack. The room echoed with the sound of metal as everything came into focus. She was captured, chained up with her wrists in manacles from overhead. She could feel the cold stone wall behind her, her tail flicked at the sensation. Before her was a tall human woman, her nose turned so far up that it was a wonder nothing came rolling out. Her hair was a fading blonde, and her eyes a sharp blue. She wore a black and white dress that left so much of her pale-pink legs exposed it was a wonder she wore it at all. So, you know, definitely evil. “Poor cursed child,” Zannethrane said as she leaned forward and cupped Star’s chin with immaculate fingers, “it really is a shame we have to meet like this. I’ve other… experiments I’ve wanted to try on Tieflings.” Star growled at the woman, and tried to pull her face free. She could feel her body growing warm. Unfortunately, she knew not even a tieflings fury was going to help her break her chains. “I plan to keep you here a while,” the woman said, then she turned her back on Star and came back with a corked bottle. “Hungry?” Star forced a false smile, “no thanks, I’m cutting back.” Zannethrane let a slow smile creep across her face. The woman was always slow like that, as if she had to figure out which emotion to show besides contempt or mischief. “I know we’ve been fighting for some time,” Zannethrane said, her hand sliding down from her hips to the exposed skin of her upper thigh, “but your friends won’t be here for a while. I have a use for you, and it includes you being alive. Your friends expect you to be alive. Starving yourself is just… petty.” Star wanted to headbutt the woman until her face was a bloody mess. It was one of those satisfying fantasies that could help you power through the worst situations. She stayed quiet. It was safer to just glare at the evil witch. “Suit yourself,” Zannethrane said. Then she loosened the chains just enough that Star’s knees touched the ground. Star mentally judged the distance between them, too far. Maybe she could trip her, but that could only get her so far. Especially when she lacked any weapons. She had seen Zannethrane survive worse, like Star’s shortsword through her midsection. Giving her a nasty bruise on the back of her head would be child’s play. “Until we meet again,” Zannethrane said as she walked to the gate enclosing the small room. The door opened, it was unlocked, then Zannethrane walked out. When the woman’s heeled steps were distant enough, Star let out a long breath. It had to be true that Zannethrane needed her, she had seen the gross witch turn a man to ash for looking at her the wrong way. They nearly lost Aelar when she cursed his bow arm into a black husk. Her magic was potent. Star strained the chains over her head. Whatever sort of metal they were, they were enchanted. The young adventurer could only imagine the sort of victims Zannethrane kept down here. Here, where was she? They had already stormed one lair of the witch, and they burned it to the ground. That one didn’t have a dungeon either. Star looked around and saw that the room was just big enough for her. There was a bit of woven hay at her feet so she could kneel without hurting herself, her chains lead over her head then linked to a spot by the door, too far. Then there was the barred dungeon doors you come to expect when you find yourself on the wrong side of authority. No bed, not even a window. She couldn’t see far out of the room, for all she knew she was in the middle of a volcano. Actually, it was too cold for that. Star sat cross-legged, closed her eyes, and tried to think of a way out. Which gave her plenty of time to realize that without her weapons, stripped down to her tunic and skirt, she wasn’t going to have a lot of luck facing a powerful witch infamous for terrorizing the countryside. “Hello?” Said a warbling voice, “Star?” Star opened her eyes and saw a pinkish image of a good friend, Kristoff the Wizard. “Quiet Kris,” she hushed him, “she might hear you.” “What?” The holographic image shouted, “I can’t hear you, you’re barely coming through.” “I said..” She shut up, that was a losing battle, “have you found me? Are you coming?” “We’re trying to find you. After the fight, she left the town a mess. We can’t figure out where Zannethrane went.” Star had to calm herself, they didn’t know where she was. She could be here for months, years. How long was it between their first and second battle with the witch? 2 seasons. “Don’t worry, Star,” Kris said, “We have Brex tracking your scent. We won’t lose you, I promise.” The image got weaker, then it faded away entirely. What could Zannethrane want with her? Her memory was returning, and she remembered being ambushed in a town square while they were just buying supplies. They prepared the cursed staff to use against her, were ready to fight, then Zannethrane was on Star in a blink. Then her memory was blank. She didn’t even know if this was her first time waking up, or talking to Kris. She had to assume it was. If she was going to be here for months, she couldn’t stand up to Zannethrane with simple aggression. It seemed like her old philosophical arguments with Kris were coming back to haunt her. Though considering her own stance, ‘philosophy’ was a stretch. Star looked at the bottle, it was still in the center of the room, just within reach. She grabbed it, uncorked it, and sniffed at it. “Milk?” She whispered. It smelled like plain dairy milk. That would definitely keep her alive. She dipped a pinky into the bottle, and tasted the milk. Tasteless, that slight ‘light’ sensation of cold milk. Maybe she was saving the really cruel torture for later. Star took a deep breath, and felt her stomach gurgle in hunger. She was going to have to do this. Star drank from the bottle, the cool liquid sliding down her throat in large gulps. It wasn’t bad, in fact it was delicious. She stopped and let out a gasp of relief. She looked around the room, worried there would be something wrong with her vision. Her skin was still red, her tail still worked, everything was fine. Over the next hour, she finished the whole bottle. Star put her horns back against the stone wall, and tried to relax. Two hours later, she was faced with a unique problem of being in a dungeon. Despite all attempts to forget about it, pretend it wasn’t happening, or label it as a non-issue, Star’s bladder demanded attention. She had been in a variety of dungeons in her years of adventuring, and now she had to decide if this was going to be the sort of dungeon where you came out smelling like you already died, or if Zannethrane was going to give her a pot. One look around the room made her think it was likely the former. Star squeezed her legs together. It felt like she hadn’t gone in over a day, and she realized that could be true. She slept for who knows how long. There were footsteps in the hall, and Star’s nerves went on edge. She wanted to try to move to her feet, but the shock of Zannethrane’s approaching footsteps sent a bolt through her bladder. She stayed down, but grabbed the bottle. There was only going to be one shot at this. The witch appeared, and a crooked smile spread across her face. She had a wooden bowl in her hands, like something an apothecary or cook would use. Unfortunately, all Star could see was a possible receptacle for her to void. She bit her lip. “I see you took my offer,” Zannethrane said as she opened the gate and walked into the room, “I’m flattered, cursed child.” She put the bowl down by the door, and looked over Star’s body, brown horns, glowing crimson eyes. “I should be more courteous, your name is Star isn’t it?” She said, “I bet that means you named yourself. Though, personally I find the name fitting.” Star was ready to break the bottle, and bring it against the witch. Maybe it wouldn’t put her down for good, but she had to at least try. She just hoped she had the strength to do it. Then, Zannethrane grabbed at the slack chain on her side of the room, and started to pull. Star’s eyes went wide, and she realized too late as her hands were yanked above her head. “No!” She yelled. The bottle hung there, gripped by the neck. “Naughty naughty,” Zannethrane said as she continued to pull Star up without effort. Star’s toes left the ground, and she felt the weight of her body pulling down. Especially one area in particular. Zannethrane walked over and reached up, grabbing the bottle in Star’s hands. The tiefling held on to it with a weak grunt of resistance. The witch looked her in the eyes, an overbearing stare that lacked the coldness that Star assumed she would see, “you don’t seem to realize the situation you’re in.” Zannethrane ran her other hand over Star’s chest, the small bit of exposed cleavage at the top of her tunic. The woman’s cold hands slipped into the space between her breasts, a slow exploration that made Star’s skin crawl. The hand gripped her, then slid down her side, a distant touch outside of her clothing. It travelled to her stomach, then two fingers pressed into her lower belly. The sudden pressure sent bells of alarm through Star’s body, and her thighs clapped together as she squeezed with all of her might. High on her list of personal goals was to not piss herself in front of evil witches. Her hands let go of the bottle, and Zannethrane caught it without effort, putting it down on the ground. Then the witch went back to the door, collected her bowl, and put it down just below Star’s feet. “I came here to help you,” Zannethrane said, “I told myself, drinking that much of my homegrown milk, the poor girl must be in a frenzy by now. I’ll go down there personally, and solve the issue.” Star tried to grin, “thanks, but I’m fine, really.” “Oh?” Zannethrane said with a few rapid blinks of her long lashes, “then I guess you won’t mind if I take my bowl back?” She leaned back down to grab it, and Star felt her eyes zero in on the bowl. It looked like sweet relief. Just looking at it made her body throb. That small pain, centered just above her groin, and growing. It would be so easy to just let it go. Star realized Zannethrane was looking up at her, “unless you would rather it stays.” Star didn’t say a word, instead looking away. She felt a hand on her thigh, and looked over to see Zannethrane’s eyes going over her body. The woman’s cold digits slid up the inside of Star’s leg, fingers splayed over her skin. It made Star’s muscles tense, in fear, anticipation. “You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Zannethrane said, “it is only natural. I know you have to be full. So just, let loose. I promise to clean up any spillover. I’ll be just like your mother, Star.” “Shut up!” Star shouted, and she kicked out a leg. The witch caught it, and the pulse of panic through her body made Star regret the action immediately. Zannethrane smiled at her, her fingers sliding further up Star’s legs. The fingers vanished under her skirt, moved up against her undergarments. Star’s breathing was getting faster, she didn’t know what to expect next. A finger touched her lower lips, the ones she wanted closed so tight. A thumb slid along her entrance, down one direction, up again, as if curious. Never harsh, teasing. She knew her own body, and all she could imagine was her lips parting for the foreign finger, welcoming it without question after she had neglected her womanhood for so long on the road. “Please,” Star’s voice wavered, “Zannethrane, stop.” Zannethrane let her leg down, but reached between Star’s legs and pulled up her tail. Star caught her breath, her body begging her for relief. She felt like she was fighting a stupid battle. All of this for what, to not do her private business in front of an enemy? She was going to hurt herself at this point. Zannethrane took the fuzzy end of Star’s tail, and rubbed along it with a single finger. Star tried to ignore the sensation, but Zannethrane was looking her square in the eyes. “I’ll tell you the truth,” Zannethrane said, “since it won’t matter. I’m not just helping you with the bowl. You might have guessed that already.” Star tried counting in her head, but that made the seconds seem to drain past. Her thighs clenched reflexively. Every stroke of her tail sent a small wave of pleasure through her body. It wasn’t exactly a reaction she liked to advertise, but here the witch seemed to know her every intimate weakness. “There is a spell, you see. It requires a certain special ingredient. I let the catalyst run through you, and now.” Zannethrane’s hand caressed Star’s lower belly, “well, now you’re going to spill the reagent I need, down your legs, into my bowl, and just in time for my victory.” Star tried to pull her tail free, but Zannethrane held it tight, “why don’t you just buy some on a black market, or whatever you witches do?” Zannethrane thought about it, “freshness, for one. When your goal is absolute domination, sometimes you need to go the extra mile. Plus, I do like to touch you, Star.” There was a distant hissing sound from outside the room, and Zannethrane frowned, there went that look of contempt. “Plus,” She said, letting go of Star’s tail, “you’ll find that the voided contents of a half-lost soul isn’t that common in your local bazaar. Excuse me for a minute.” Zannethrane started to leave the room, then turned at the door, a wide smile on her face as she looked at Star’s clenched legs, “Feel free to water the weeds at any time.” Then she was gone. As soon as she was out of the room, a pink outline appeared in front of Star. Star’s heart jumped, which lead to her squeezing her whole lower body. She felt like a dammed waterfall, the rapids pressing up against the wood. “Star,” Kris’s voice came through the communication spell. “Kris, you seem clearer now.” “We’re right outside,” Kris said, “We’re working our way into the building. We should be there to rescue you in mere minutes. Turns out she is…” “Yeah yeah,” She said with a shake of her head, “Hurry the hell up. She is cooking up some sort of spell, and I need you guys to break me free.” Kris looked at her with an eyebrow raised, “Well if we defeat her, that should stop the spell right?” Star’s bladder pinged with pain, and she grunted with the effort to hold back the tide. “Just hurry, please.” He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else, and then Star heard the distant sound of an explosion, and the outline started to fade. “We are on our way, just hold on.” Easier said than done. Star looked down at the bowl between her legs, and felt a pang of pressure. Her breathing was erratic now, and she knew she probably just had enough minutes for them to get to her. This was well beyond the point of telling people you had to go despite the setting, or even the point of running off into the woods even if your friends were left confused. If she wasn’t sure that Zannethrane was going to blow up a chunk of the local barony, she would have let loose already. Instead, as the pressure built up inside her, she squeezed her thighs together, and cursed the bars above her for making it impossible for her to hold herself. Her knees twisted one over the other, and she squeezed her eyes shut. A chill went down her spine and she felt a small jet of warmth. Her eyes opened in a panic. Was she going? No, just a small leak, she was safe for now. All she had to do was hold on. “It seems your friends are here,” Zannethrane said as she walked back into the room with her arms crossed one over the other, “So I do hope you’re finished.” She walked over and looked down at the bowl, a look of maternal disappointment on her face. “Star, Star, Star,” She said as she moved closer, reaching out and touching Star on the cheek, “you’re making this hard for no reason, dear. Think about it, even if your friends were going to defeat me, I can’t cook up my spell while they are running around.” Her fingers edged the skin between Star’s hair and horn, then she laid a small kiss on her chin. “Just let it loose, I promise not to make a big deal about it. Were you mocked as a child? Weak bladder? I know you haven’t resisted nearly as long as I predicted, and I’m thankful for that, really. But we’re working on a stunted timetable now.” Star couldn’t move. Her whole body was strained like one muscle. One drop had already come through, and she knew that she was moments away from letting the whole torrent loose. She could already imagine the sweet release, that moment of satisfaction when it all comes flowing free. She felt another warm drop between her legs and stifled a gasp. “Unless,” Zannethrane said with her mouth agape and a sparkle in her eyes, “You’re already going? Oh how adorable, like a training child. I always forget how absorbent commoner materials are.” Zannethrane reached under Star’s skirt, and she could feel the witch’s cold fingers hook into her undergarment shorts. “No,” Star begged, “Stop, stop.” The witch sidled them down, the material sliding down over Star’s hips. They caught between her feet since one was over the other, but Zannethrane pulled them free. She looked at the crotch, and Star felt a blush come to her cheeks. There was a dark spot about the size of a small silver piece. Zannethrane smiled, then tossed them aside. Her hands went back to Star’s waist, pulling up her skirt and looking at Star’s bare womanhood. “You really are beautiful, do you know that? I’m glad I had to capture you. No offense to your partners in futile rebellion, but you are my favorite.” Zannethrane said. Star felt a brief squirt between her legs, and let out a small squeak in surprise. She felt so weak. She couldn’t figure out why this was happening to her. Any day of the week she would be charging Zannethrane with a blade in hand. Instead the witch was watching as small droplets escaped from her most intimate places. “Look at that,” Zannethrane giggled, “It’s happening.” Zannethrane’s fingers slid along her thighs, forcing her legs apart. The lack of control drove Star insane. A dribble of liquid slid down her leg. “Come on, you can do it little one,” Zannethrane said. Her index finger slid along Star’s lips, teased her, touched her. The fingers came away moist, but Star didn’t know what had made them wetter. “Hold on Star!” Said a distant voice. It was Kris, they were here. She could hear several sets of feet charging toward her. “Not yet,” Zannethrane whispered toward Star’s wavering bladder, “not just yet.” Star couldn’t hold on, she knew she was seconds from bursting. She just wanted relief, but her friends were so close. All she had to do was hold on. She felt another warm jet leave her lips, and a soft cry of shock turned into a moan of relief. It felt so good, even if just for a second. Then the pressure returned. This leak was longer, she couldn’t do it. There was a trickling noise, and her eyes opened wide, her legs squeezing against Zannethrane’s grip, and it immediately stopped. The face of Kris, Brex, Aelar, all appeared at the gate. Zannethrane made a motion of her hand, and an arcane burst of power struck the gate, freezing it over with jagged ice. But she could still see them, clearly, and they could see Star. Zannethrane let Star’s legs fall, and took a step to the side, leaving her a clear view of her friends as she struggled. Another leak, this one flowed down her legs, a hot rivulet that made a path down her leg. Star’s bottom lip trembled, her muscles ached, and she felt the last of her strength waste away. The small stream was joined by another, and a twin on her other leg. The stream grew stronger, and Star couldn’t ignore the quick bursts of relief coming over her. She looked up at her friends and saw their faces, shame, disgust, confusion. Tears came to Star’s eyes. She closed them and a sob shook her body. She let loose, the telltale hissing sound filling the cell as the streams became a heavy flow, a waterfall that fell from between her lips and flowed straight into the bowl between her legs. “Already getting full, you were holding a lot,” Zannethrane whispered, “my poor baby.” Star couldn’t deny the feeling of relief, her head was hanging in shame. A blush came to her cheeks, and her whole body went slack. It felt exquisite. She felt Zannethrane’s hand on her back, comforting her with small rubs as the loud flow turned into a slower trickle, then to soft pattering. As the last drops came out, Star felt a small moan escape her. She was empty. Star realized there was a distant thumping sound. Her head pulled up, and she could see her friends trying to break through the ice. “I would stay and clean you up,” Zannethrane said as she picked up the overflowing bowl of clearish liquid, “but it seems your friends insist on interrupting us.” Zannethrane put a hand on Star’s cheeks, and Star was too weak to resist it. It was warm, for once. After everything she had been through, she had no will to be choosey. “I’ll see you again soon, favorite.” The ice shattered, and the warm hand was gone. “Star!” Came the burly female voice of Brex. The orc ran over and lowered the chains, Star falling into the puddle of her remaining failure. Kris came to her and started to lift her up. “What was that?” Kris said, “what was she doing to you?” Star hung from his shoulder, her legs feeling like loose noodles. “Had to be a spell of some kind,” Aelar said, “the question is what does she intend to do with it?” “For right now,” Kris said, “we need to get Star to safety, then we can figure out where to find her and stop her!” “It doesn’t matter,” Star whispered. “What?” Star let out a weak laugh, “she won’t hurt me. She wouldn’t hurt me.”
  4. Chapter I: The Brown Scourge It had been a whole day, and finally, the moment you were dreading had finally come. You stare at the object, taking it in with an unexplainable, irrational fear. A small wooden box, almost immaculate in design, atop it was a small circular hole and beside it a rack with a roll of white paper dangling down. You looked on, taking in the sight as if it was too distant from you. Putting a hand on your belly, you look down into the white porcelain of the sink and sigh. The toilet. You were looking at the toilet. Though to divert any suspicion you were gazing through the reflection of the mirror over the sink. Why was it when the time came for you to make your first “drop” you were so shy? Right now, you felt fear slithering through your whole body, keeping you planted to the ground. Any thought of moving closer to the toilet gave you a surge of uncertainty that left you returning to admiring it through the mirror. This wasn’t the first time this problem had plagued you. Down south, you had this issue too. Though that had ended worse than you could’ve imagined. Too scared to void your bowels in the privy of the tavern you were staying in, you’d ignored your need and gone about doing your work during the day… until you were struck by a rather impatient snake rearing it’s sloppy head from between your cheeks. It hadn’t ended well, and even now your cheeks are set aflame at the thought of you squatting down in those bushes, straining and uncoiling a brown squidgy log onto the dirt beneath you. There is a pain in your stomach like a swift kick. Your guts tighten up and the pain rushes down south. Something hard and murky starts pushing against your rear, giving you a brief but blunt warning of what would soon happen if you stayed here. Grimacing, you wrap your hand around your stomach. “Uhh… “I ate too much…” You say regretfully, thinking of all that food you had shoveled down in the dining hall. A little bit of everything, some mash, battered puddings, stew, meat, and all washed down with piping mug of tea. As you clench your stomach tighter, feeling your knot quiver under the weight pushing down from your gut, you regret it, every bite of it. “I can’t just stand here.” You say to yourself. “It’s fine.” You take a deep breath and stand up straight. “I’m going to have to do it sometime.” Mustering your courage, you turn around and face the toilet, the object of desire… and fear. “It’s fine. I just need to do it quick and nobody will know.” You take your first step forward, preparing to make a dash into the privy, hands poised at the front of your shorts ready to unbutton them the second the privy door slams closed. You take another confident step forward when the lavatory door creaks open behind you. “Eep!” Like a scared mouse, you turn away from the privy and retreat. You face the mirror again and pretend to fix your hair, brushing aside your bangs and sweeping your green locks. Hopefully they would just ignore you, do their business quickly and leave. Out the corner of the mirror, you spy a smiling face. “Morning, Shibo.” “Gah!” You spin around, caught off guard like you’d been ambushed by a giant spider and nearly trip over. You grab the sink to steady yourself and glance up. It’s Ledley with her long brown hair brushed and swept behind her shoulders. Under her arm she’s carrying a book. “Ledley!” You say, surprised, you clamber to straighten up and push your hands behind your back. “W-What are you doing here?” She looks at you, tilting her head. “This is the privy, right? What do you think I’m here to do?” She pats her belly softly. Out of the corner of the mirror, you watch Ledley as she struts into a privy. As the door creaks closed, you are taunted by her as she undoes her trousers. From in the stall you hear Ledley humming a song, followed by a soft sigh accompanied by a creak of wood. “Uggh…” You whimper, grasping your stomach. If you hadn’t spent all that time oogling the privy and instead just used it, you could’ve avoided this. But now Ledley was here, and as usual your nerves were getting the better of you. Brushing aside your fringe, you look into the mirror sternly. This was something you’d have to get used to, there was no shame in it. What did it matter? Ledley was right beside you doing the same thing without any shame. You clench your fist and look behind at you, at the wooden privy waiting. What do you wish to do? >Use the privy >Hold it until Ledley leaves
  5. I'm glad I was able to find all the documents for this. This is for the first chapter of the Guild Apprentice, an interactive I ran for ended recently. This version is a rewrite of the original interactive with some parts touched up because the early chapters didn't really age well. To the people who read the original interactive I hope you enjoy this, and I hope anybody new will enjoy this. Here is a link to GA: Part 2 which is currently ongoing: https://www.omorashi.org/forums/topic/51233-the-guild-apprentice-part-2/?page=2 This will be getting updated every few days. Part I You are roused from a peaceful sleep by the sound of squeaking wheels and trotting horses. You awaken in your carriage with your face nestled in a silk cushion. “Uuu…” You sit up, waiting for the mugginess of a rude awakening to fade. “I must’ve nodded off before we’d left town.” You think, rubbing your eyes. It’s not surprising, you’d barely slept a wink last night, the excitement of today, as well as a somewhat lumpy tavern mattress had kept you awake for most of the night. The last thing you remember is hoisting your rucksack aboard the carriage and the loud rumble of the town gate. You must’ve nodded off before you were even out the gate. Inching yourself toward the carriage window, you peer out to get a look at your surroundings. The sun is high, peeking over the tall oak trees along the trail. It must be late morning by now; you’ve slept the entire journey. As you stretch out your arms and yawn, you look around your carriage; it’s a basic oak compartment. Easy on the eyes and even easier on your purse. A small space with two sets of seats dressed up in red cloth, a small cast iron lantern bolted to the ceiling, and a large curtain the runs the length of the whole compartment. Beneath your seat is a small nook to store your belongings, but for the journey you felt comfortable keeping your rucksack by your side. In your weary-eyed state, you had forgotten to close the curtains before nodding off. Sunlight shimmers in through the windows, basking the carriage in a warm welcoming glow. You rub the sleep from your eyes and lean over your seat to take a glance through the carriage window. It’s a beautiful summer day in the Midlands without a cloud in the sky, birds are chirping and a light breeze is blowing through the forest, rustling the leaves. You huff, regretting that you didn’t walk the trail now. It was the perfect day for it. You lean over, reaching for your rucksack when you spy something twinkling in the corner of your eye. Looking down, you see it’s a small ornate hand mirror tucked under the seat. You bend down and pick it up. “Strange, I don’t remember packing this.” You mumble to yourself as you raise the hand mirror to your face. How on earth did it get in your carriage? Perhaps a noble was to use this carriage and had forgotten it? There was no chance of that, no noble would be riding in such a shoddy carriage, even the thought makes you laugh. Regardless, you decide now is a good time to check yourself over. You want to look your best after all. Gazing into the mirror, you quickly check yourself over, sweeping your hair, wiping the drool from your mouth, the usual fare for when you’d faceplant a pillow and fall asleep. Your name is Shibo Kenshiko, an aspiring mage of House Kenshiko, a magi family who hold high rank among the noble families of Orientia. Being a girl of plain appearance, the noble roots of your family did not shine through too well. Nothing in particular stood out about your looks, though you liked to think you were cuter than most girls. The recent weeks in the sun had given your skin a healthy tan, your eyes were curved and as light as the blue sky and you seldom smiled. You had long green coloured hair that would normally reach down to your shoulders, but you were fond of keeping it contained in a long ponytail. Your outfit too lacked any air of nobility, though it did not stand out much among the people of the cities. It was quite fitting with your appearance; a simple white blouse that was far too big for you. Sadly, it was all the tailor had in stock when you needed some garments and you couldn’t afford to be too picky. It stretched down to your knees and was nearly long enough to be a dress. Along with your blouse, you wore a pair of green baggy shorts, and a pair of black tights along with a pair of leather boots that could certainly use a shine. “I look fine.” You comment to yourself, smiling. You run a hand over your green hair and hold the mirror out to get a better look at your figure. Your clothes concealed your curves well, giving you an almost blocky figure. That was for the best. You were modest in your womanly assets; you breasts were fair and the same could be said for your backside; like a firm, well-rounded peach. Your hips had the honor of being your least modest feature; they were slightly wider than average and often it made you feel a tad… pear shaped, but you thought little of it. Finally finished, and giving yourself a soft smile, you sit the mirror down by your side. As you do that, you notice, sticking out of your satchel, a piece of rolled up paper. That was your letter of acceptance to Fort Victoria, the capital fort of Eseriths Fighting Guild. You pull the parchment from your satchel and unroll it. On the parchment is the sigil of the Eserith Fighters Guild; two longswords crossed in front of a silver kite shield. Running across the bottom of the sigil is a banner reading the words “Always Willing. Always Ready. The famous motto. The parchment also bears your name: Shibo Kenshiko and a signature: R. Rodrin, the mentor of the site that had gotten you your Apprenticeship. Holding that letter close to you, you sit back in your seat and close your eyes. You fantasize about your new life with a Guild. “I’m going to be a Guildhand.” You whisper the words, letting them hang on your tongue. Just speaking them makes you grin with joy as you open your eyes and once again admire the letter in your hands. Those words filled you with glee now just as much as they had when you first spoke them. As you are sat there, letting dreams fill your head, you hear the squeaking wheels grow quiet. The horses whinny, their hooves trampling the mud and falling quiet too. The carriage grinds to a halt. That was odd, you weren’t expecting any stops until Guilden, and you certainly weren’t there yet. Quickly folding up the letter and stuffing it in your satchel, you go to see what the commotion is about. On your way past, you decide to take the hand mirror with you, but when you reach down to pick it up… you find it’s gone. “Strange…” You hoist your satchel over your shoulder and leave the carriage. The door of the carriage swings open and you are greeted with the warm sun on your brow and a warm breeze. You can hear the rushing water of a nearby creek. “Aye, calm yourselves!” The carriageman, an old balding man with a thick beard and heavy sleepless eyes, yells to his horses. His voice causes a robin to flee from the branch of a nearby oak. You step up beside one of the horses, comforting the nearest one with a gentle pat on the nose. There is a narrow river running through the forest. It’s not too deep, a few twigs and stones stick out above the waters surface. No, the real concern that is causing the horses such dismay is a tree which has tumbled down, taking the wooden bridge over the river down with it. “Oh, Miss Kenshiko.” The carriageman notices you beside the horse. He takes a wooden pipe from his pocket and sucks on it. “I’m afraid the carriage can’t go any further.” He says with a frown, the pipe hanging from his lips. You share his frown, but only for a moment. Then, you feel a great joy in being able to enjoy this beautiful day on foot. “I don’t mind.” You smile at the carriageman. “It’s too nice a day to be cooped up in a carriage.” You grasp the strap of your satchel with both hands and look ahead. “How much further is it to Guilden?” The carriageman takes a puff from his pipe, lets the smoke hang in his mouth, and exhales. “It should only be a half hour venture on foot, I reckon.” He stands up and points over the collapsed bridge. “Just follow the trail and you’ll come out on the hill overlookin’ the lake.” “Thank you.” You reach into your pocket and throw the carriageman his payment for ferrying you so far. “I wish you a good day, sir.” With your boots to the dirt, you prepare for the final quarter of your travel. You hop across a few stones by the bridge, leap across the river and follow the road deeper into the forest. It’s beautiful, almost tranquil. The sun shines through the trees, critters scamper around your feet, chirping and chattering before vanishing into the bushes. A soft summer wind blows over you, rustling your hair. You feel relaxed as you walk briskly through the tranquil stretch of forest. Roughly five minutes later, as you are walking along, surrounding yourself with the sights and sounds of the Riverren forest, you suddenly hear footsteps running toward you; stressful boots thumping against the dirt, closing in on you. “Hey! Wait up!” A voice calls out from behind, urging for your attention. It’s a young girl travelling alone who beckons for your attention. She looks far too innocent to be a thief or a brigand. She is quite short, almost half a head shorter than you, her eyes gaze widely like a child and her auburn hair looks like it was cut by a drunk with a blunt knife; it was short and only got longer and messier the nearer it got to her ears. But it’s her “unique” attire that catches your eyes. She’s wearing a long mage robe with the sleeves cut off near her elbows, and a messy white shirt that looked more like an artists canopy, splattered and stained with all matters of colours and patterns. A belt full of vials, all filled with unknown concoctions of various colours, as well as a leather bandolier of potions are wrapped over her robes, and the most eye-catching of her apparel - a large wooden barrel, almost twice her size is hoisted on her back like a satchel, held in place with two leather straps that she’s grasping. The barrel hisses and a burst of steam erupts from the top. You hear it gurgling like a hungry beast from within. The young girl, despite hoisting that gargantuan barrel, does not struggle to catch up with you. She stops when she gets by your side and catches her breath. Up close, you see just how short she truly is - her eyes just meet your breasts. That’s somewhat of an impressive feat, since you were not too tall yourself. The girl huffs and puffs, her red cheeks inflate and deflate, her chest heaves and she pants, desperate to swallow all the air she can. Finally, she manages to blurt out some words. “Y-y-you… you’re h-heading for Guilden… right?” She struggles to speak between bouts of heavy panting. Her ragged breathing and flat heaving chest make you think lewdly. You blush, and avert your gaze. “Aha! You are! I knew you were!” She gives you a toothy grin. “I see that letter in your backpack.” You didn’t feel the need to give a response now the girl knew. Instead, you nod. “Maybe you should put the barrel down for a moment?” You say. “Ha!” The girl grins, her teeth showing through her smile. “Good idea!” She lets go of the straps and the barrel collapses behind her, kicking up dry dirt. “Ahhh…” She bends down, leaps up and stands up straight, stretching out her arms as high as she can. “That’s better!” She throws a hand out in your direction. “My name is Muaki!” She introduces herself, offering you her hand, which you accept reluctantly. “You say the first part like a cow!” She demonstrates with a moo, completely forgetting she had just pronounced her name while introducing herself. “So it’s Mooo-aki!” She grins. “I’m an alchemist from Waverton! A pleasure to make your acquaintance!” Though reluctant, you still feel obliged to introduce yourself, though Muaki’s ecstatic nature makes you feel especially shy. Probably all that cheeriness. You were never that outgoing, especially around energetic people. “My name is Shibo.” You start with a nervous quiver. “Shibo Kenshiko.” “Kenshiko?” Muaki tilts her head like a confused puppy at the sound of your name. After a moment to herself, she snaps her fingers her eyes begin to glimmer. “Ah! You’re from Orientia!” She goes quiet again, muttering under her breath and giggling. “Sorry, I was just running your name through my head! It’s really fun to say! Shibo Kenshiko. Shibo Kenshiko. Shibo Kenshiko. You should give it a try!” “There’s no need for that.” You say playfully. “I hear it enough almost everyday.” “I bet you do!” Muaki does not catch on to the subtle snarkiness in your voice. “Shibo Kenshiko. Shbo. Kenshiko. It’s so fun to say!” She tenses up, scrunches her face, and clenches her fists with overwhelming glee that leaves her feeling giddy. After repeating your name a few more times, she finally gets bored of saying it. “Sorry, I’m just really excited about getting to Guilden. Do you mind if we walk together?” “I… sure.” You say, resisting the urge to sigh. So much for enjoying the forest peacefully. But you’d feel guilty turning her down, and it was only a short walk to Guilden. “Ha! Great! I love walking with company!” She bends down and hoists the barrel back onto her back. It gurgles. “Let’s get going!” She points onward and starts walking, hunched over with the weight of the barrel on her back. You look at down, frowning at the sight of your scuffed boots. “I have to pee…” You mumble, hoping Muaki doesn’t hear you. That’s all that is on your mind. It had been lingering for a while but only now was it creeping up on you. Maybe it was the heat. You’d hoped to hold it in until you reached Guilden, or if the need got too demanding, you were not averse to wetting a patch of dry dirt behind a tree. But that option went out the window thanks to your newfound traveling companion. The stretch of forest seemed never ending and the tea you had downed before falling asleep was getting well acquainted with your bladder… perhaps a bit too well acquainted. “A half hour walk my fanny…” “Shibo! Is something the matter?” Muaki looks back, noticing her walking buddy is now absent.. Pushing back the urges in your bladder, you look to Muaki and shake your head. “It’s nothing.” You would not be resorting to a childish potty dance just yet. For now, you just had to endure it. You rush on to catch up with Muaki and together with your new friend walk along the trail.
  6. Noface

    Omo RPG Interactive

    I was bored and don’t have much to do for the next few days so I decided to give myself some writing practice and try my hand at a interactive story. I decided to play it up with a bit of a twist and run things like a pen and paper rpg game. Well I’ll be running through a first quest of a low level adventurer. This character will be female, partial because that’s what this site will probably vote for anyway and also because i’m writing it and I can’t write a male main character for a lewd story like this. Aside from gender, I’ll be leaving the rest up to a character creation process. Here’s how it’ll work. I’ll list a handful of classes, races, and stats. Everyone who comments will make a post with two thing. First is their preferred Class, race, stat distribution, and a name. The second will contain, if possible, a vote for another persons comment. You can also forgo your suggestion to vote for the same comment twice. Ill tally the votes and determine what character you create. Unless one comment gets a ton of support, I’ll be using the most popular class and race, either the most popular name or make one that fits the character if there’s no consistency, and give her a stat distribution based on the recommendations. Of course if one comment gets a lot of votes, I’ll just take that wholesale. You can also include a backstory for the character you’re suggesting or include physical characteristics. That will either be determined by the vote or just whatever I like best, so be creative. If no one gives any ideas then I’ll just make something up based on stats. So, your comment should contain your vote for Race Human: the most common race, no major changes from what would be expected. Zefran: Descendants of a ancient magical race. Beautiful beyond compare with a radiant appearance about them. Hair and eyes all colors of the rainbow. They try to maintain dignity in all things, though their physically frail bodies tend to put those of them that set off to adventure into trouble. (-1 to continence rolls,+1 to all magic attacks) Beastkin: The Beastkin are a loosely associated group of tribes with animal traits. Those raised among their own kind tend to be more blunt, and are rarely shy or embarrassed by the needs of their bodies. Those raised near or around humans however tend to be self conscious and try to buck stereotypes about how brutish their kind can be, making a constant effort to resist their instincts to do things like marking territory or relieving their self outside. The most common types of Beastkin are Wolfkin and Tigerkin. A beastkin will generally have a mostly human appearance with the exception of dog or cat like ears and a tail, as well as some fur on their lower body.(increased desperation around trees and higher willingness to pee in front of others, +1 to physical damage) class: Wizard: Intelligence based spellcaster. Typically frail and bookish. Knowing a lot of the world but having little first person experience. Fighter: Strength or dexterity based warrior with a good deal experience fighting. Rogue: Stealthy Dexterity based thieves. Not strong in a fight but very reliable over all. Some access to magic at higher levels. Cleric: Very religious wisdom based caster. Those who venture into the world are often on a mission of some importance given to them by the church. Sorcerer: Natural born charisma based casters. Usually driven by their own self interest. Stats: you have a 8, 10,12, 13, 14, and 15 to put into the following stats. Strength: mostly combat oriented, though sometimes used for other rolls. Dexterity: determines how likely you are to get hit as well as how good you are with your hands. Some tricky maneuvers might require a Dex roll. Constitution: Determines hit points as well as ability to quarantined poisons and overcome physical conditions. Constitution rolls will be used to determine how long a character can hold their bladder as well as how likely they are to wet themself. Intelligence: how smart you are. This governs your ability to come up with creative solutions as well as a wizard’s spellcasting Wisdom: how likely you are to see through deception, your ability to perceive traps, and social situations. as well as a clerics spellcasting Charisma: The stat used for most social interactions. A character with high charisma has higher self esteem and would be more likely to do something needed but embarrassing. Also used for a sorcerer’s spellcasting. Name: (If possible) A vote for someone else’s post. The length of this story will be until either the character dies, interest dies, or I reach a good end point. Also just so you know the stat I suspect (and almost hope) will be everyone’s dump stat also governs max health so just be aware of that. heres hoping everyone enjoys it. I’ll be updating it when I feel like I’ve gotten enough engagement to determine the next course of action or whenever I have time. Let the dice roll.
  7. Foreword: So... Yeah. This basically started as a dumb joke that like four people saw and somehow turned into a full story. It's definitely something, I hope at least some people will enjoy the peculiar style I've written in this time. Since it's a small-ish story I didn't get anyone to do a read-through on this one - I hope that the quality doesn't suffer too badly as a result. Note that the story is standalone and probably won't have any sequels or prequels. Probably. Enjoy! The City of Plex Our protagonist, magical trickster Elln, has found herself in quite the pickle! Accepting to deliver a package for the Scrambled Wizard had seemed like easy money, yet had proved to be not so. In her eagerness for a big payment she had foolishly uttered the word “yes”, which was all the wizard needed to work their enchantment into Elln’s unprotected mind. She should have been more suspicious of the wizard – between her and the delivery point lay the implacable southern wastes and certain death for an unaware traveler. No matter, she had crossed the Irgut Sea by disguising herself as a high priest of the marine god Glamuzt and stealing one of their incredible scrolls. She had made her way past the Monodands of the haunted Helmut Moor, and the great Tundra of Yarwhel where nothing lives. Elln the Eclectic would by no means be held from her destination and freedom. Still, traversing the jungle had proved an impossible task, the great chatter of the region’s two-faced monkeys greatly confused Elln, and she always seemed to end up where she started at jungle’s edge when the sun set. Elln would hardly give up, but she could recognize a futile effort when she saw one – and promptly decided to search the area for someone who might explain the peculiarities she had run into and how to avert them. Sustenance was for the first time in a long while, not a problem – the edge of the jungle had trees bearing juicy and flavorsome fruits which Elln ate with no reservation since her innate magic would warn of poison. Eventually she came upon an unexpected sight – domed stone houses and paved roads, and a great observatory. Certainly, Elln had not expected to run into civilization so far to the south – the roads led nowhere, and the village seemed to lack a harbor, yet it did not suffer the signs of abandonment and ruin. Boldly, Elln knocked on the wooden door of the building closest to her. Gently the door opened, revealing a woman perhaps three to five years older than Elln. “I inquire for the means to travel the jungle, and a place to stay the night. In addition, I would make use of your facilities after a long day of travel.” “A visitor in Plex, indeed! It is best you quickly learn our ways to avoid a costly mistake.” “I concur – but then may I borrow your bathroom first, so I can hear your explanation in full and without any discomfort?” “Such is not the way of Plex!” “Then where can I relieve myself? I am not without urgency, you see.” “All in due time. The center house holds many facilities one can use at a fee.” “A fee! Surely the people of Plex have other options or else face financial ruin.” “By no means. The lord sorcerer owns these lands, and while fruit is plentiful and consumed without penalty, thusly taxes are collected. I would advise against relieving yourself elsewhere – such acts often prove costly for the offender.” Elln had noticed a restlessness about the woman, and now she knew why. After days in the jungle, she carried only a small sum of money – presumably not enough to pay the fee. Elln would have to hatch a scheme, and as she squeezed her legs together, realized she would have to be quick about it, too. The center house was easily recognizable since it was larger than the other houses and was seeing considerable traffic. If this truly was the village’s only bathroom this might be explained, yet the folk of Plex must be truly daft and backwards if they would willingly follow such draconian laws. Surely, Elln could take advantage of this backwater foolishness – convincing the right people to let her use the toilet should be a trivial affair. Before entering the facility, Elln took a quick detour into a secluded alleyway. Making sure she was unobserved, she activated her magic cloak with a shake. Once for a pauper and then again and she became dressed as a lady of birthright; a billowing yellow dress with plenty of lace. When entering the center building she took great care as to appear regal, adjusting her posture and expression. Within, she came face to face with a pale woman behind a large wooden desk. “We offer two such services; firstly, ordinary service for 3 pieces” The desk-lady points at the queue of women. “secondly, for a mere 17 pieces we offer extravagant service.” Such devilry! The ladies of Plex would undoubtedly keep their toilet visits to a minimum, so that when they did in fact enter the manifold sounds of relief would no doubt prompt a hasty decision. Despite the significantly lower price for the “ordinary” facilities, many must have been forced to pay the great premium of “extravagant” just to skip the queue, Elln mused. She was only in the possession of a single piece, which she had hoped would pay for a simple meal and lodgings. “Of course, as I am a woman of great import, I shall be using the extravagant service.” “Excellent! Please place your deposit into this tube. It will serve as your key to open the extravagant facility, so be mindful of it.” “I see! However, a lady of my stature would not carry cash, and my escort lags behind.” “That is not a problem. I promise to ensure one extravagant facility remains available to you until their arrival.” “Surely you can accommodate me better than that! I have traveled far and who knows when my escort will arrive? Why, I could take one of your tubes and fill it up later!” Elln ensured some signals of her need reached the desk-lady, a slight hunch forward and a few fidgets interspersed throughout the conversation. “By no means! Unless the tube has been filled with coin, it won’t open the door. I am certain your aide will arrive in good time and should they not, all know that women of higher status are in possession of strong mental and physical fortitude to withstand and endure as a true lady does.” Elln did not appreciate the desk-lady toying with her in this manner, yet just before she started to protest a girl from the “ordinary” queue left it to rush towards the desk. “Please allow me to use the “extravagant” facilities and quickly now, I have the coin.” The girl was distressed in both the tone of her voice, as well as her frenzied movements. The source of her misfortune could have been discerned by a man blind or deaf, though probably not both at once. “Unfortunately, I have promised the currently unoccupied “extravagant” facility to the highborn lady right here, who currently waits for her aide.” This desk-lady seemed a deviant to Elln, who took such a delight in the misfortune of women in need of a bathroom. The distressed girl turned to Elln pleadingly. Under her dress, she seemed to be doing everything a woman can to keep herself contained and though her dress hid her legs, the sound of her shoes against the stone floor expressed a feverish though doomed dance. Elln was not heartless. “You may let this girl ahead of me. Clearly she is of lesser stock and will not last, unlike myself. I shall be off to fetch my servant, who must be loitering or lost.” The girl gave Elln a look of intense gratitude. She snatched the tube after the desk-lady filled it with her coin and haphazardly started to walk towards the “extravagant” facilities. Elln was shocked to witness the girl start the process of hoisting her dress before she even entered the bathroom – and in such a public place no less! Elln quickly left the building, as even the “ordinary” queue offered no guarantees and her situation was, in all honesty, getting quite dire. Turning right out of the center house, she made for the nearest alleyway. Out of sight, she once again shook her cloak and uttered the magic word to return her dress to travelling attire – a pair of sturdy trousers and a tunic were far more suited than a dress to her task at hand. Once safely in the alleyway Elln wasted no time in checking her surrounding and did not spend a second admiring the slight bulge of her belly pressing against her belt. Instead she simply removed her trousers and undergarments, tossed them aside unto the cobble, and positioned herself against a wall. Elln had no skirt or dress to hide herself under as a well-bred lady might, and no cover of darkness that might obscure a woman of lower repute. She herself was bared, as was her deed, to any who might pass or even peek into the alleyway. Indeed, such a thing could be called careless or even callous. Most definitely was it shameless – even a sailor wife and barmaid would blush at such a display. Elln urinated fiercely and noisily upon the stones, even allowing herself to twice pass gas onto the street – her relief was total and she would be denied nothing. What she hadn’t noticed, and would come to notice far too late, was the gathering of sorcerous mist upon the streets and all around her. Elln had good reflex and a quick mind, certainly, yet at her own vulnerable moment of bliss she had dropped her defenses – she could not notice the encroaching danger…
  8. "Oh, thank you for coming, Lady Helen." "It is my pleasure, Milord." The old man took her hand as she descended down her carriage. She smiled politely, as decorum dictated her to do. Even as she felt the need to pee. She had been invited to his estate to teach his two daughters in the art of magic. She gladly accepted, as the pay was good, and she wanted to try being a teacher as well. And now, the old man, who was her client, went on a proud ramble about his daughters as he brought her to the visitor room. She could tell how much he loved them for sure. As she walked however, her urge was getting stronger and stronger. And it would be rude to excuse herself for a nose powdering session, as a genteel lady would say. And so when she saw a painting on the nearby wall, she stopped. With a smile, she turned to the painting and said, "Oh my, what a wonderful painting!" The old man immediately blabbered on about its history and origin. But she didn't care. She didn't really stop to admire them after all. She spread her legs under her dress, let out a sigh, and relaxed her bladder. A warm trickle immediately emerged, rewetting her already damp purple panties from her many wettings before getting here. Then, a slow trickle of pee fell down her crotch, splashing lightly onto the marble floor below. She peed shamelessly right then and there. She stared at the painting; her trickle barely leaving a sound. When the old man asked her of her opinion, she would respond as normal with a giggle, as if she wasn't wetting herself at all. Eventually however, she had to stop her stream prematurely as they resumed their walk. The old man didn't notice in the slightest, that there was a suspicious puddle appearing under her dress (which wasn't wet in the slightest). And with the diuretic pumping more pee into her bladder, it wouldn't be long until she would make a similar puddle again.
  9. Alex Oxford

    female A Fantasy, Pt. 2

    Hey guys, So this is part 2 of a series of stories I’ve been working on, and I gave absolutely zero exposition on my last post. The premise is somewhat self explanatory, but I neglected to mention a few things. It’s a series of “what if” scenarios that I wanted to flesh out into full on erotic narratives. They’re either loosely or heavily based on real experiences I’ve had. You’ll know which was which I think! But it’s also loosely based on my personal journey of accepting my desires, and being comfortable sharing them. There’s this juxtaposition of fantasy vs reality that I wanted to explore, and I would love to hear what you guys think! If you’d like to check out the first story, the link is right here: I broke “Part 2” into multiple posts, to make it more readable! WARNING: “Part 2” is mainly messing oriented. I’ll mark the area where the messing begins. If it’s not your cup of tea, skip to the end 🙂 there will be some pee desperation in the next post! ********** I blinked. Twice. Three times. What the hell am I looking at? I squint closer, analyzing the various graphs and formulas dotting my paper. A review of a few word problems confirmed my suspicions: I was in economics class. That’s right, I remember now. Economics class; that one class I constantly came late to, and consistently missed altogether. I should really learn to care more, because it’s all adding up. The semester was halfway over, and I think I missed the midterm entirely. I check my phone for the date. Yup, I missed my fucking midterm. Dammit. Fucking dammit. Apparently it had happened two days ago, the last time the class met. Shit. I was going to need a good ass excuse if I was planning on any attempt to redeem myself. The muffled speech slowly became coherent as the professor prepared to dismiss the class. I looked around, thankfully surrounded by people seemingly just as disinterested as me, and even more eager to leave, more than a few other students seemingly restless in their seats.... Everyone seemed to be staring at the clock as time slowly crawled by. The droning lecture on microeconomics, soon enough, had finally come to a close. Being at the back of the class, I had little ability to compete with the students at the front of the class for Professor Cormacks Q/A time. Naturally, I took the opportunity to get some fresh air in the halls outside. Or rather, fidget idly on my phone without feeling judged by the person behind me. I became distinctly aware of a clicking sound echoing through the hall, growing in volume as it got closer. *click, clack, click, clack* Normally, this just means a girl in heels was strolling down the halls, livening the echoing chambers of said building with her trendy but perhaps impractical wardrobe, particularly for the kind of walking you did on a college campus. But as I eyed the figure rounding the corner, I quickly realized she was definitely not a student. A tan, voluptuous brunette in a figure hugging grey dress and matte black heels strode down the hall, with a swinging gait. Her Mediterranean features suggested Middle Eastern descent, and her mature, developed face and frame suggested mid- thirties. There’s no way she was a student. I smiled genuinely at her as she passed, and she smiled back. “Hi!” She said. “Hi!” I chimed back happily. “Are you in Professor Cormacks class?” “Uhhh, yes I am! Sorry, don’t know why I had to think about that!” I laughed. “Hahaha! No it’s fine! Trust me, I know what economics can do to the brain after an hour and a half!” “Is that why you’re showing up late today?” I asked humorously, nodding towards the open door of the classroom. “Haha! No, I’m not a student. We share office space here. Is he available?” “Ummm, last time I checked he was taking a lot of questions. Technically I’m the last in line.” “Oh! I guess I’ll just get in line behind you.” She smiled sweetly. Why she was getting in line behind me, I didn’t know. But of course, I returned the smile. How else could any sane man reply to such a beautiful- *gurrrgllleee* I heard a low rumbling noise. Simultaneously, she crossed her legs, and I flinched a little. I couldn’t help but flinch slightly at the sudden sound of a low pitched rumbling. The smile waned from her face slightly, turning into one of light concern. “Is something wrong?” I asked. *gurrrggglllleee* “No no! I’m just feeling a bit jittery right now.” She said. I gave her a quizzical look. Both the odd rumbling and her curious comment had piqued my interest, and I couldn’t help but feel that flustered look on her face was more than just the common jitters. We waited for what felt like 5 minutes, soon going on 10 minutes. The woman appeared to be growing a little impatient, shifting from foot to foot slightly before crossing her legs. “I’m Alex by the way.” The woman seemed to be caught off guard by my continued interest in conversation. But now I was working my charm. My smile of pleasantness turned into a smile of engagement and interest. My sudden change in demeanor prompted a change in hers too. She returned with a mutual smile of interest, and seemed to purr the name “Aliyah.” “What do you do here Aliyah?” “I teach a Sociology.” “You weren’t feeling Econ?” “Haha, oh no! I’m much more of a people person than a numbers person. Besides, I had to take economics in this same building when I went here and it was a nightmare.” “Oh! You’re an alumni huh?” *Guuurrgggllleee* She made a face, and crossed her legs, tensing her thighs. Shake it off Alex. “I am actually! Class of 2012!” “Well at least I have something to look forward to, you look like you’re doing pretty good for yourself!” “Haha! Well a girl can try!” *bubblerumblechurn* Aliyah did something of a stutter step, stepping lightly in the same spot. She rubbed her thighs against each other as she conspicuously glanced at the bathrooms down the hall. “You sure you’re okay?” “Oh yeah I’m fine! I just....” she hesitated for a moment, but quickly seemed to brush off her reservations as she placed a hand delicately over her gurgling tummy. “I had too much coffee I think.” She confessed with a shy smile. I blushed. “Well I uhhh.... I hope that won’t be a problem for you!” I said, glancing at her legs slightly. She must’ve have seen my glance, as she gave cute, knowing smile upon my returning her gaze. “I don’t think I should have any problems.” She giggled, “I just need to call it quits on the coffee and I should be fine.” I felt myself blush again, probably unnecessarily. Just a pretty girl who’s had too much coffee. What’s the big deal? Lots of people have too much coffee..... *gurrrrglllleeeee* She seemed to tense up, and glanced conspicuously towards the restrooms again. She tapped her foot lightly, and pressed her butt against the wall. She winced ever so slightly. *grrrggllleee* “I can save your spot if you need to.... uhhhh....” I blushed. She looked at me inquisitively, but then smiled wryly. She seemed to understand what I was asking. “No Alex, I’ll be fine. I have no problem waiting.” She said with a clever, teasing expression, her legs firmly crossed. “Besides, you shouldn’t ask a lady those kinds of questions!” My blush deepened, and I felt myself burn a bright red. Of course, in a world like this, I had the overwhelming and irrational feeling that she knew I wanted to see her desperate, and hopefully see her soil her sexy dress. But as if to answer my restless mind, she simply commented, “Thank you though, I know you’re only trying to help.” She smiled reassuringly. Before I could say anything else, the last student left the classroom, leaving me next in line. ”You can go ahead of me.” ”Are you sure?” ”Of course! I’m still trying to think of a good excuse!” ”Hahaha! Try ‘the dog ate my homework,’ that always worked for me.” ”More like ‘the dog ate my midterm,’ actually.” I sighed, suddenly reminded of a more pressing predicament. ”Oh! You missed your midterm?” ”Yeah.... and I don’t have a dog either.” She laughed, loudly. Her laughter filled the halls of the building, and for a moment, I felt comforted this beautiful woman thought that I was so funny. She might have been laughing at me instead of with me, but I chose willful ingnorance this time around. She looked at me, and the gears seemed to be turning behind her dark brown eyes. ”Maybe I can help you.” She said. ”How?” Before I could say anything else, she walked past me into the classroom, where the professor still sat idly in his chair as the break was winding down. I couldn’t help but watch her out of the corner of my eye. She was trying to help me, which was incredibly nice of her. But she also had an awesome body that I couldn’t stop looking at. To make matters worse, I was 99.9% sure she need to.... go. Lust was driving me to further confirm what my gut feeling was already telling me to be true. *rumbbbllleeee* The brunette teacher crossed her legs and stood by his desk as they chatted. She swiveled her hips lightly from side to side. Subtle, soft movements, until- *GURGLE* The brunette bent forward slightly, and raised a leg off the ground behind her. Her butt cheeks clenched visibly. I gulped, and bit my lip with adrenaline fueled lust. What happened last time was happening again. Aliyah continued to stand there, swaying her hips too and fro to suppress her need. I blushed from arousal, watching her her thing waistline and massive ass circle in a figure 8, slowly, deliberately..... I only wished I could stay and enjoy the show a little longer. As “Not a problem Mr. Cormack, I can get those to your grader later today. Is there anything else I can help you with?” *gurgle* She clenched. Her shoulders appeared somewhat stiff. “Alex!” The professors voice woke me from my doldrums. “Yes Professor?” “You missed the midterm didn’t you?” I gulped. What was a lustful fantasy was quickly becoming a nightmare. But this is why I’m here, I need to face the music. “Uhhh.... yes sir, I did. I was actually here to talk to you about that.” “I’m glad to see you being so proactive.” He chuckled, “I got your email, I’m aware of the circumstances. Lucky for you, Miss Aliyah here is available for you to take your makeup exam.” My heart skipped a beat as I looked at her, her legs crossed and her hands pressed against her thighs, but with a warm, unbothered smile. “We’ve met!” She said warmly. “Excellent! Here is the exam Alex, feel free to follow Aliyah to her office.” “Of course, thank you Mr. Cormack!” Aliyah smiles again, and proceed to walk towards her office, down the hallway and to the right. I followed in close pursuit. I couldn’t take my eyes off her massive ass, her cheeks sliding back and forth in her tight gray dress. *gurrrgleee churnnnn* Oh, and that too. There was that. The restrooms were approaching on our left. I saw her glance briefly at them, but just as confidently as she had declined a visit earlier, she declined one now. She walked right past the bathrooms, and I could feel myself getting hard, knowing she’d have to wait even longer. “My office is right down this hall Alex!” “Thanks!” ”Also, you’re welcome.” ”I didn’t say thank you already?” “No, I don’t think so.” ”Well thank you Miss Aliyah.” ”Please, call me Aliyah.” ”Well Aliyah, thanks for making me a lucky guy!” I said, with a hint of suggestion. She laughed, and looked towards me with a cute smile. “Luck has nothing to do with it.” She teased. I took a gamble, “So what do I owe it to? Your way with words? I’m sure he has a hard time saying no to you.” She giggled shyly, “Flattery will get you nowhere!” “Oh come on, I’m sure you’re used to the attention.” She glanced at me with an almost flirty smile, and said, “Maybe.” I liked where this was going. We passed a coffee machine. I couldn’t resist. “Hey Aliyah?” “Yes?” “You mind if I get a coffee here real quick?” “Oh sure, no problem!” “What do you recommend?” I asked her. She seemed to be thinking for a minute. She showed some resolve, and walked over to the machine, pointing to the caramel macchiato. “That ones my favorite. I’ve been drinking that all afternoon!” “Great, I’ll help myself then!” I chimed, but somewhat mischievously, I asked, “Would you like one too?” She gave me a interested look, with the intention of politely declining. But perhaps the tone of my voice required a different response, with a slight smile. “No thank you Alex. If you recall, I’ve actually had too much coffee.” She giggled, crossing her legs. “Oh come on, I can’t help but feel like I’ve.... inconvenienced you?” I suggested, vaguely. A more knowing smile crept across her face. We had already broken decorum a few times, what was one more right? “Oh, I see.....” she said, with a thoughtful smile. *gurrrglleeee* She hunched over ever so slightly, and pressed a hand into her thigh. She sighed, and looked at me. “Is it that obvious?” “Ummmm.... well, just to me, I don’t know about everyone else.” She giggled, “Oh, you’re the expert then huh?” “Well, no....” I countered, “But I know coffee, and I couldn’t help but put two and two together.” “Well,” she said, a wan smile now permanently spread across her lips, “As I told you before, I have no problem waiting to take care of my.... needs.... especially if there’s something else I need to do first.” She thought for a second, considering her next words, before carefully saying, “coffee, now coffee kind of.... speeds things along.... it makes it difficult for me to wait longer, and I end up getting really uncomfortable and really..... obvious.... like right now.” She said, as she stood with her legs crossed and hand over her gurgling stomach. “So.... do you still think I could use another cup?” She giggled, suggestively. I’m no fool. This wasn’t realistic. But I didn’t care. How could I possibly waste another opportunity like this? It’s time to go big or go home. “Yes, I do.... it’s been a long day, I think we could both use the energy.” I smiled back just as suggestively, having already purchased the coffee. As I handed it to her, she sighed, giving me another one of those knowing smiles, but this time, knowing far more than she had before “All right, if you insist. But just to warn you, I may be a little uncomfortable, and you’re going to have to deal with that!” She giggled, shuffling her thighs back and forth. “You better not take long on this test, or you’re in trouble!” She giggled, though nervously. The gentleman in me enjoyed the banter, but the naughtiness in me had every intention of taking their time. If this was the same as last time.... What did I have to lose?
  10. Jimmy Olsen

    The Little Selkie

    Mal looked in awe at the bizarre spectacle unfolding on the beach hundreds of feet below. He had been looking for birds, crabs, seashells, cloud formations, or whatever else would look good in a photograph. His attempts to throw a college art project together didn't go so well on the public beach. There were too many people in the way, and one girl in particular he wanted to avoid. Now he was atop a cliff not far away, his camera hanging from a strap on his shoulder, as he stood in a spellbound state and stared at the things that were coming out of the sea. First he had thought them to be a trick of the light. When they surfaced, it was clear they were things rather than reflections of things. As they crawled and loped onto shore he thought they were seals, but it soon became clear they weren't. A shiver came to Mal's body with the realization that they were something truly strange. He expected to recognize them immediately, as if it were only some optical illusion or hallucination that made them look like something out of the ordinary. But they only looked more eldritch as his eyes focused. They had dark glistening skin like newts or leeches, but their eyes had a strange sparkle. There were mere suggestions of limbs rather than actual legs or fins. Three were on the shore now, while another three puppet-like heads had surfaced. They were clumsy on land, but something about them looked artful and clever. It was all very strange. Mal had been willing to entertain the possibility that they were dinosaurs, or even dragons. But soon he stopped even trying to place them, and sought only to observe them. Finally he remembered his camera. His expensive digital camera with the great zoom function. He snatched it up, pointed it in the general direction of the secluded stretch of beach where the creatures were coming ashore. It was still on maximum zoom from the seagulls he had been photographing earlier, and, when he put his eye to the eyepiece, he was surprised to see a nude woman stretching out her arms. He lowered the camera, thinking he was somehow seeing a different part of the shore. It turned out he had pointed the camera in the right direction. There was a redheaded young woman stretching herself next to the six unidentified animals. Or was it seven? There was an indistinct lump that could have been a seventh animal. Having returned the camera to the default view, he looked through it again, and slowly zoomed in, snapping pictures all the time. The woman kept smiling and stretching, and glancing at the Protean creatures every now and then. The extra sharpness of the picture didn't help Mal to identify the figures. They were still semi-symmetrical globs pseudopods of some sort. Their skin was muted shades of blue and green, and seemed now to be made up of something like scales. Things that could have been mouths and nostrils, and things that were definitely gills, appeared before him. But it was the eyes that attracted his attention like magnets. They could have almost belonged to dogs. Or even, perhaps, humans. Mal's curiosity and anxiety turned to fear and disgust when the back of one of the beast split open. It was red underneath. The gash widened and widened until it ran the length of the spine...assuming it had a spine. Then the red mass inside started to rise out, like the globby redness that oozes from a cherry pie when the knife slides in. In no more than a minute, the entire skin had been pulled away from the muscle and bones, and what almost looked like a red copy of the animal was scrambling across the sand. But it didn't bleed. It seemed all right. The woman smiled as it freed itself from the skin, and many of its brethren were now splitting apart. Mal realized that the small seventh shape was a discarded skin. But where was the thing that had molted it? The red and pink seal-shaped monsters stretched and squeezed and kneaded themselves until they were shaped like people. Then they actually became people. Women with red hair and blue eyes. They stretched, then walked, and ran, and leaped, and danced about. They seemed to forget about their skins as they enjoyed the warm sand and the cool breeze and everything else around them. One of the skins, which had been kicked off in a hurry, was now draped across a large, pointed rock. Mal had a naughty idea. ------------------ "Hey, Malford, it's me, Rochelle!" a young woman in a powder blue bathing suit called out to her old classmate. She squinted her hazel eyes in the sun as she removed her sunglasses and brushed her wind-whipped brown hair out of her face, hoping to make herself more recognizable. The young man looked at her stoically for a second, then went back to gathering up his things, paying no attention to the girl. Rochelle wasn't dissuaded. They'd been friends last year in high school, and, despite a little awkwardness the day of their graduation ceremony, she assumed they were still friends. She tiptoed across the hot sand to meet him. "Whatcha got there?" she asked as she saw the odd thing he had draped over his arm. "It's nothing," Mal answered curtly. "Look, I don't have time to talk. I'm working against a deadline. I've got a complicated project for my photography course." "Ooh, can I see it when it's done?" "Sure. You still got the same e-mail address?" "Yeah. So what is that?" She reached out and touched the strange cloth Mal was holding. It felt at the same time like fine silk, the wing of a butterfly, and the belly of a garter snake. It was a beautiful blue, but only showed its color where the light hit it straight on. "Careful, it's rare." "But what is it?" "It's a long story." He folded it up carefully and put it in a duffel bag with the rest of his things. After a few more pleasantries and dodged questions, Mal was off, and Rochelle was wondering if she had offended him. But mostly she was wondering about the cloth he had carried. Something about it utterly fascinated her from the instant her brain had registered the sensation of her fingertips touching it. That fascination was growing every second. But she hadn't lost sight of the destination where she'd been heading before she sighted Mal. A bunker-like cement building painted tan housed the public restrooms. Rochelle had much time to think as she stood in line. She'd gotten the impression Mal had just found the cloth. So if she could just backtrack the way she'd seen him coming, maybe she could find where he had gotten it, and what it was. Her obsession grew, her patience diminished, and soon she abandoned the slowly-moving line in favor of her quest. A strange feeling came upon her while she was making her way along the winding cliffside. She didn't know what it was, but it frightened as well as excited her. As she was rounding a bend, she caught sight of a triangular rock that jutted out of the ground like a tooth. The rock had been enough to catch her attention, but she could see something behind it, just peeking out of the edge. The girl's blood pressure jumped. That something was covered with blood. When she came in full view of the thing she had glimpsed, she put her hands over her mouth in shock. She didn't scream, or even gasp, but her eyes were wide and her tan skin was starting to turn white. In the sand lay a human corpse that had been skinned from head to toe. Every muscle was fully exposed for her to see. Tendons, ligaments, and even mammary glands could be spotted amongst the glistening red meat. The scavengers were keeping their distance. There was no pool of blood or stench of decay or any other sign of decomposition. It looked as clean as a freshly-butchered hog. This orderliness made the grisly sight even more unnerving to the faint-hearted young woman. But this horror was nothing compared to what came next. Just as Rochelle's rational mind was starting to kick in and she thought about whether she should go back and tell a lifeguard or call 911 right now, she saw the body move. Slowly, it sat up. Rochelle shrieked. When it was in an upright position, the stringy red eyelids on the skinless face opened to reveal a pair of blue eyes. Rochelle's screams were soon suppressed into squeaks and gasps as her breath left her. But she lost control of more than just her voice. Rochelle's bikini began to turn a darker shade of blue in a spot just behind where her thighs met. Her body wobbled as she tried to fight gravity and the loss of her strength and oxygen. The large navy blue spot reached forwards, backwards, and sideways, until it met the borders of the fabric and liquid began to run down her legs like streams of rainwater coursing over the lips of an overburdened gutter. The skinned fiend opened its mouth, revealing paradoxically white teeth, and spoke. "I have the same problem with this human body. Sometimes liquid leaks from between my legs." ------------------ When Rochelle sat up from the couch, she hoped it had all been a dream. It hadn't. There was a strange redhead in her apartment, wearing some of her spare clothes, staring at her with those creepy blue eyes. Rochelle hadn't really slept. It was late, but she wasn't counting on getting any sleep this night. She had just laid down to collect her wits, to get a grasp on this strange situation. But she had drifted into a sort of half-sleep, perhaps because her brain wanted to shut down and leave reality behind. "Your name is Rochelle Reincken, is it not?" the mysterious woman said. "I can't even remember if I introduced myself," Rochelle said. "What's your name, anyway?" "I can't seem to make the right sounds with this throat or these lips. But the name of my people is 'Selkie.' I heard your name when I was learning from you while you rested. I hope you don't mind. I was desperate to know things." "Learning from me?" asked Rochelle, squinting in confusion. "Listening to your thoughts. I thought I could learn enough to solve my problems. I heard very little in your mind, but I did pick out what I thought was your name." "Yeah, I'm Rochelle Reincken. Your problem is that you need your skin back, I understand that much...except you have skin now, so I guess I don't understand. God, this is all so crazy." "I have two more urgent problems, and I need to call upon your knowledge of the human body to determine how to solve them. The first problem is a pain I have here." She put her hand on her stomach. "I'm not surprised. In the last couple hours you've eaten a dead pelican, two fast food meals, including the paper the burgers were wrapped in, then I let you into my fridge...I'm kind of regretting that...and you ate four hard boiled eggs and eight raw eggs, all with the shells on, a head of lettuce, a dozen carrots, and a bowl of leftover chili, then I chased you out of the fridge and you ate a dozen bananas without peeling them or taking off the stickers, and probably every other piece of fruit around here. I just got groceries last night, too. "I need energy for my magic. Maintaining this false skin requires much magical energy. Don't worry about the ill effects of the things you say aren't edible. Even in this human body, I possess enough intrinsic magic to protect myself from poisons." "But my point is that's why you have a tummyache. Your stomach is too full. Don't worry about it. It will feel better as you digest your food...which I paid for." "I'm sorry if you are displeased, but I need false skin and a large magical reserve if I'm going to inconspicuously locate my skin and steal it back. "No offense, but that's not gonna work. There's nothing inconspicuous about you. When I brought you home, you didn't know what a door was. You didn't even understand clothes. How do you think you're going to function in human society without attracting unwanted attention?" "I don't know. But right now I have a more urgent problem." "Right, you did say two problems, didn't you?" "I have a second pain lower in the body. Not a pain so much as a...I think 'tingling' is the best word." "Hmm...Oh! I bet you have to pee." "That's the word you used when you spoke of the unwanted liquid outpouring that happened in your swimming clothes, is it not?" "Yeah, but don't go telling anybody I did that. You're probably getting that tingling because you have to pee, so I'll show you where the bathroom is." "I still don't understand 'pee' fully, and I don't understand 'bathroom' at all. All I know is that, when I take the form of my human ancestors for substantial lengths of time, I have problems with liquid pouring out of my body. Some of the other Selkies have had it happen too." Rochelle blushed. She really didn't want to explain. "How about you do that mind-reading thing to find out all about it? That'll be faster than using words, right?" "Yes, that should work." The fire-haired stranger put the palm of her cold hand on Rochelle's forehead. "Concentrate on the area of knowledge you want me to absorb." "This isn't working," Rochelle heard her say after a few moments. Are you thinking about the subject?" "Yeah." "I can't learn about it." "You sure?" Rochelle was dreading a verbal explanation. One of the reasons she never wanted to have children was to avoid having to potty train anyone. Now it looked like this strange being from the sea needed just such a lesson. "All I can really understand is that bathrooms are a place human females go to in pairs or groups. The rest of the subject eludes me. It's as if your mind is hiding it all behind a dark veil." Rochelle blushed again. She realized it must be because she was unconsciously censoring herself. This was a shameful subject, after all. "I guess I'll have to tell you. Follow me to the bathroom." Rochelle winced as she remembered. "Actually, the plumbing's been acting up. I can't trust the toilet to flush. I need to talk to the landlord about that again. In the meantime, we'll have to use the public bathroom on the first floor." "What is this 'bathroom'?" "It's the place where you can pee." "Can't I pee anywhere? You peed inside your swimming clothes on the beach." "You can but you shouldn't. So hold it." The woman held out her hands. "What do I need to hold?" "Your pee. Hold it inside." She put her hands inside her pants and gripped the flesh between her legs. "That won't help. Well, maybe it will, but don't do it when people are watching. At the very least, keep your hands outside of your clothes when you hold yourself." "The tingling is getting worse. What should I do?" "I don't know how to explain how to hold it in. But please figure out a way. We're going to the bathroom, and you need to stay dry until we get there." "Why does peeing happen? Why can't we control it?" "It happens because you drink liquids. They have to go somewhere." "I suppose. My skin is full of magic that benefits my body in many ways, so I never think much about how my organs work. I've never noticed peeing happening while in my skin." "Lucky you." As they left Rochelle's apartment, the strange woman asked, "Am I right to think it is taboo to let water pour out of you at any place except in the confines of a bathroom?" "Yes." "So what you did inside your swimming clothes is forbidden?" "Yes, but please don't mention it. And don't talk like this when you're not in my apartment. There could be people..." As if on cue, Rochelle saw someone headed down the hallway in the opposite direction. It was a tall man with dark skin, short black hair, and a friendly smile. "Hi, Ben." "Hey, Rochelle. Who's your friend?" "You may call me 'Selkie.' It would be most accurate." Rochelle blushed, but "Selkie" was clearly unaware she was saying anything strange or embarrassing. "I like the accent," Ben commented. "Where are you from?" "The Reykjanes Ridge." "Is that in Ireland?" "It's nearby." "So what are you doing here?" "Right now Rochelle Reincken and I are going to the bathroom together, as human females are wont to do." Ben didn't have anything to say to that. Rochelle wanted to scream, she was so embarrassed. "Let's go, Selkie," she said, and she fled from the embarrassing conversation as quickly as she could without making it obvious that she was running away. "It's the ascending room again," Selkie commented when they reached the elevator. "This is so intriguing." "It's called an elevator. It's going to take us down to where the bathrooms are." "How does it work?" "Don't worry about it. Actually, maybe you should. If you take your mind off your pee it should keep you from peeing your pants." "The peeing of pants is what you did on the beach, is it not?" "Yes, that's the right phrase. But don't mention that again. It's embarrassing." "Ah! Because you are ashamed of accidentally violating a taboo." "Yeah. I don't want to pee my pants, and neither should you. Nobody does." "Except inside a bathroom." "No! You don't pee your pants there either. You pee in a toilet." "A toilet is something inside a bathroom?" Rochelle relaxed her neck until her head bumped into the wall of the elevator. "This is going to be a hard lesson to teach," she muttered to herself. On the ground floor, they walked to the lobby where the closest restrooms were. "Just keep remembering you don't want to pee your pants under any circumstances," Rochelle whispered. "You take them off first." Selkie reached for the fly of her jeans. "No! Not now!" When inside the bathroom, Selkie again tried to take off her pants, but Rochelle again stopped her. Someone at the sink noticed this happening in the mirror, and turned around in puzzlement. "Hi, Rochelle!" said the perky blonde. "Oh, hi, Jenna," Rochelle said, again wanting to wince. "God, I didn't know you still lived here! I haven't seen you in ages." "Yeah, I'm working some crazy hours these days." "Please tell me what to do soon," Selkie said. Rochelle noticed she was now holding her crotch. "Don't do that," she snapped. "I have to. I'm very close to peeing my pants." "What?!? Jenna exclaimed." "This is my friend Selkie. We're coming back from a little girls' night out, and she had too much to drink." "Yes, I drank very much, it has to go somewhere." "You're in trouble, then," Jenna remarked with a laugh. "All the stalls are taken." "Just my luck!" Rochelle bemoaned. "Are there toilets inside the stalls?" Selkie asked. "Why don't you just go in the men's room? That's what I always do in a situation like this. It's never full." "I can't take Selkie into the men's bathroom! She's too innocent!" "Huh?" "I don't want to be in there with guys. She doesn't know how to handle herself." "I don't?" "No, you don't." Jenna gave Rochelle a quizzical look. "Please take me somewhere where I can pee without breaking a taboo, Rochelle Reincken," Selkie said. "Fine, we'll go to the men's room," Rochelle said. She couldn't say no to those big blue pleading eyes. "I'll watch the door for you," Jenna volunteered. "I don't think any guys'll mind waiting for you. Especially if they see how cute you are." Inside the empty men's room, Rochelle began to lecture Selkie. "Take your pants down to your knees and sit down." Selkie obliged, and Rochelle cradled her head in her hands and groaned. "Selkie, that's not a toilet," she said in a pained voice. "That's a sink." The redhead lifted her rear end out of the sink and prepared to hop down. But the countertop around the sink was wet, and her hands and legs slipped. She flew sideways and landed bottom-first on the tile floor. "I peed," Selkie announced. Indeed, there was a puddle growing around her. But it was worse than just that. "You didn't pull down your underwear," Rochelle said, once again burying her face in her hands. "You only mentioned the pants. Will I be punished now?" "No." "Later, then?" "Don't worry about it. Nobody here will punish you for peeing your pants." "But it is a taboo, is it not?" "Yes, but it's not a law." "Then how is it enforced?" "It's hard to explain. Just don't worry about anyone around here punishing you." "I feel excellent." "What?!? Why?" "The peeing felt good, because it removed the tingling pain. My human body is now devoid of bad feelings. Correction: The two lumps of flesh just above the tops of my legs are sore." "Get up. I'll show you how to use a toilet, for future reference." Rochelle helped Selkie off the floor, and she pulled up her jeans. The seat of her pants was already soaked, and the front began to darken as well when the denim came into contact with the wet panties. "The pee is pleasantly warm," Selkie commented with a smile. "It feels like blood, but I am uninjured." "Here's what to do next time," Rochelle said. She was in a stall with the door left wide open. She loosened her belt buckle, unbuttoned and unzipped her faded hip-hugging jeans, and pulled them down to her knees. Then she did the same with her lime green cotton hipsters. "You sit down on the toilet like this, after making sure the seat is down." "But the seat is up." "That's the lid. It's different." "Why is there both a lid and a seat?" "Don't worry about it. You sit down and you let go of your pee." Rochelle spurted and sputtered. It was a little hard to get going while Selkie was watching and scrutinizing with wide blue eyes. But she managed to initiate the stream, which continued until she was almost empty. After a few squirt gun-like blasts to the inside of the bowl, her bladder was fully voided. "Your pee isn't nearly as yellow as mine," Selkie observed "It's different colors at different times. I'm not sure why." "Why have you never inquired or researched the different pee colors?" "Because it's taboo. We don't talk about it." "Don't you have to talk about it?" "Sometimes. But we prefer to avoid it. Just like we prefer to avoid peeing our pants." "That is why you wish to avoid talking about your peeing in your swimming clothes, is it not?" "Yes! Don't talk about it again!" Rochelle scolded for what felt like the hundredth time. Then she returned to the lesson. "Now that I've peed in the toilet, I wipe the extra pee off my body so it doesn't get my clothes wet." She got some toilet paper and dabbed at her wet parts. "Then I flush the pee along with the paper." "Where does all that water and pee and paper go?" "Into a lot of pipes." "Where do the pipes go?" "Why do you ask so many questions?" "I want to learn about the dry world so I can go about in it long enough to recover my skin. My life depends on it." For the first time, Rochelle felt truly sad for Selkie. "What happens if you can't get your skin back?" "I won't be able to breathe underwater, so I won't be able to go home. If I stay away from the sea for too long, my magic will drain away. No amount of food can help that. When I have no magic, my tissues will no longer be able to stay together without skin, and my organs will fail. I will die." "We'll go up to my room and get started right away," Rochelle said forcefully as she pulled up her pants. "You'll learn from my mind, and with that knowledge we can make a plan." "I can also teach you from my mind." "Great! I know how to find the person who took your skin, and I'm sure we can get it back from him without betraying your people's secret. How long can you live without your skin, anyway?" "I don't know. No Selkie has had to die that way for centuries." "And you won't die that way, either. I may not understand the situation, but I know I won't let that happen to you." When Rochelle exited the bathroom, she realized she had forgotten another situation. Jenna was still waiting outside, as were a trio of college-age boys. Rochelle could see each one of their faces light up as they saw a pair of beautiful girls their age and a chance to talk to them. It was also obvious when each one noticed Selkie's wet spot. "Thanks for waiting, guys," Rochelle said. Sorry about that. "No problem," one of the boys said. "Are you all right?" Jenna asked Selkie as everyone around pretended not to stare at her wet spot. "No. I peed my pants." "She'll be all right," Rochelle assured. "Now we're going back to Rochelle Reincken's room," Selkie continued, "where she will punish me." Rochelle hastily led Selkie to the stairs. "Why aren't we taking the box that ascends and descends?" the confused girl asked. "We might run into people there, and I don't want to share an elevator with them and have to explain our situation. So we'll take the stairs, where there are less people. By the way, I'm not going to punish you for peeing your pants. I thought I already made that clear." "You said no one down there would punish me. I thought you were reserving that duty for yourself." "No. You won't be punished at all." "I feel wonderful!" "I wish I did." "These 'stairs' are a lot of work to climb," Selkie commented after making it up two flights. "I wish I could swim up to the floor where your room is." "I don't know what to tell you. You'll have to get used to using your legs." "Legs are fun to use every so often, but I wouldn't want to have to depend on them all the time." On the sixth floor they again encountered Rochelle's friend Ben. Selkie spoke before Rochelle could say anything. "I see you're staring at my pants. I wet them because my journey to a toilet was delayed. But don't worry about me; I will receive no punishment." Ben looked at her dumbfounded. Not knowing what to do, Selkie smiled. Rochelle led the girl away from the boy, all the while suppressing the urge to chomp down on her own hand. Back in the privacy of her apartment the two fared better. From Rochelle, Selkie learned about things like cars, makeup, and money. What she needed to know to get around in this world of dry land. Rochelle, in turn, learned about the Selkies. Their ancestors were strange sea monsters who took human brides. Magic allowed the women to live in the dark undersea abode, where their descendants now live in happiness. But female Selkies take after their ancestral mothers, and have an inborn homesickness for the land above. To this day, they take excursions to deserted shores, slough off the inconvenient skins that contain their gills and most of their magical attributes, and enjoy the land and air and Sun. They can do this because their bodies under their skin can be reshaped into the ancestral form, and they have enough magic residing within themselves to fashion temporary false skins that make them look and feel even more human. But their skins are essential to them. They protect them from drowning, disease, the blindness they would otherwise have so deep underwater, and the ill effects of high water pressure. They also, Rochelle could infer, protect them from the need to urinate and defecate. And so Selkies think nothing more of their food once they have swallowed it. Even though a Selkie's skin is so important, this Selkie had become so intoxicated by the feeling of being on land that she hadn't kept an eye on it. Then, when it was time to follow her older sisters back home, she couldn't find it, and realized a land-dwelling person or thing must have crept in and stolen it away. "My mind is spinning," Rochelle said once the two were done sharing their thoughts. "There's so much to take in. I know I said we would draw up a plan tonight, but I'm exhausted. Physically and mentally. I'm going to try to get some sleep, although that's probably impossible." "You have trouble sleeping?" Selkie asked, sounding concerned. "Not normally, but my mind is racing right now. I've been through so much today." "You should rest." "I'll try." "Here," Selkie said, coming close to Rochelle. "I know a trick that will help you." ------------------ It was a beautiful morning, and Selkie was so glad she was up here where she could see the Sun shining down on the Earth. She got out of bed and stretched, as if she were coming out of her skin. How she longed to have that skin back. Still, this body had definite plusses. She felt one of the minuses instantly, but knew how to remedy it. She got dressed, took the elevator down to the ground floor, greeting Rochelle's friends and acquaintances as she met them, and made her way to the bathroom. She followed Rochelle's directions perfectly this time, pulling down both her panties and her pants, and sitting on the toilet's seat even though it hurt her sore buttocks. She only deviated from the instructions by letting out a moan of satisfaction as the urine was released from her aching bladder. She covered her mouth, and felt shameful for doing something that seemed like it should be a taboo. If she had known a little more, or been able to read human expressions better, she would have known that leaving the stall door open was also taboo. But none of the women who saw her sitting there said anything, so how could she know? When she was done, she wiped herself, stared in amazement as the toilet flushed, pulled back up her panties and pants, and washed her hands. Back up in Rochelle's room, she got some things together, then went to the bathroom to get herself ready for her meeting with Malford Poynter today. She had learned enough from Rochelle's mind to feel confident that she could solve this problem. There was the other, minor problem of the pain she felt in her lower abdomen, but she wasn't worried about that. Her knowledge from Rochelle told her what implements were located in which drawers, and what most of the things in the medicine cabinet were. She knew how to apply makeup, fix hair, and do everything else she needed to look pretty. But she knew she didn't need much. She had a beautiful face with silky brown hair, and her own blue eyes worked well in the ensemble. Before turning the light off, Selkie glanced at the bathtub. There, half-submerged in red-tinted water, lay what was left of Rochelle Reincken. "Thanks for everything."
  11. Hello guys and gals. It's me again, the guy with the weird fetish as suggested by my username. Today I present a scenario that would turn me on, but I supposed I will never muster to courage or have the required conditions to actually experience it in real life. However I'd love to maybe swap to a fantasy realm or another reality, to live it out for a day, a full to bursting day under the control of another kinky boy or girl. Today I think about, what is it like for me to be voluntarily locking myself up in a tight, fit underwear that would not allow my member to move or struggle its way out, and holding any and all of my urine for the day. I'd see another boy or a girl, maybe one that's a little bit naughty and flirty but nothing too cruel or mean, who shares the fetish and will make me behave. As a straight male, naturally I'd prefer a girl do it but in my imagination, a soft, maybe bisexual boy in control would still turn me on for the aspect of being willing submissive, too. In the morning of that day, I'd put my straps on and take a picture of my secured crotch to send to them for proof. We would meet up before work, out in a coffee shop, where they would have me drink a sizable portion for starter. They would tell me that I am to be good and behave myself, keep to my word, "to hold for an entire day and not try to take off underwear". They'd say "Lucky day for you, now you don't have to use the dirty office/school toilets anymore", "Don't you feel good thinking about how all that liquid is going to stay in your body? I do.", and "I think it's going to test your limits. Just don't be too fidgety or people may ask.". They'd also tease about how secured and trapped my urinary organs are, and the length of my hold, while I'd sip my drink. (to be continued...)
  12. Red Simpson

    A Different Kind of Game

    Chapter 1-The New Game. Amber Baker is a 21 year old college student, she has long flowing blonde hair and ocean blue eyes with pale skin and a slender body she's wearing a pale blue t shirt with a grey business jacket and a pair of jeans. She was walking home from college with a brand new fantasy game Amber loves fantasy games with a passion, she'd often dream about being able to live in a world of fantasy and adventure and this game promises that she just couldn't wait to play it, she quickly unlocks the door to her rented apartment and walks inside kicking her shoes off and leaving them in the hall. *I can't believe a game like this exists!* she thought to herself excitedly as she pops the game case open takes the disk out and puts it into her PC, the game boots up quickly and the main menu appears with an old wooden look to it all she takes the mouse and hits New Game what happens next not even she was expecting. The screen lights up and a vortex emerges from it with a suction power of 5 hurricanes sucking Amber in without a moment to spare. *What the fuck is going on!?* she thinks to herself as a random assortment of numbers fly pass her one of them hits her on the head knocking her out cold. When she wakes up all is not what it seems for one she's in a lush green field and second there's someone looking at her. "Um...h-hello!?" she calls out to the stranger who emerges from the shadows. "Oh thank the heavens we're saved." the stranger is a man in his early 30's dressed in rags he jumps in the air clicking his heels together. "Um...excuse me....could you explain what's going on?" Amber asks. "Well of course Mage, you see...." Amber interrupts. "Hang on Mage?....I'm not....." she notices now she is not wearing what she wore before. She appeared to be wearing a light brown tunic with skin tight pants matching the colour of the tunic with slightly darker looking thigh high boots on top she had brown armour with some pattern on it, she also noticed a sword on the right side of her hip and a book which gave the title -Magic Spells- "Good sir....please tell me where am I?" she asked looking around. "Well kind Mage you are in the land of Maraview, the closest town is Haringrad.....would you like me to take you there?" he asked offering his hand. Amber took his hand and got up and immediately felt her bladder pang but not wanting to embarrass herself she squeezed her legs together. "Yes please." Amber replied and the man lead the way towards the town. "The village elder can fill you in." He added as Amber occasionally grabbed her crotch. *I hope they have a toilet...or something." she thought as they entered the village. "The Elder's house is just there." the man said pointing to a small hut. "Thank you sir....is there a rest room I can use?" Amber asked, the man looked at her with a puzzled look. "I don't understand kind Mage rest.....room?" Amber looked surprised. *No rest rooms? but I have to pee.* she thought to herself before replying. "Never mind...forget I asked." The man nodded and walked away. and Amber entered the hut where an old man sat before her. "Ah....young mistress mage....please take a seat." the elder gestured to Amber toward the seat that was opposite to him and she took the seat crossing her legs to help hold her pee. "Now you must have a lot of questions feel free to ask me anything." The elder said. "Are there any rest rooms?" Amber asks instantly and the elder shook his head. "No....this is a rare case.....you were brought into this word for some unknown reason and no one here has any human needs....a part from you." This got Amber worried not only did she have to pee but she'd have to eat and drink as well. "Why am I a Mage?" she asked looking at her outfit. "You prefer a mage over every class my dear." the elder answered. "Now....I can help you get back to your world but....you'll have to go on a quest....are you up to the task?" he asked. "I don't have much of a choice." Amber replied, and the elder explained that the world was under threat by a being know only as The Dark One and that Amber is the only one who can defeat him and bring peace to the land, he then gave her a satchel inside contained food, water and 1000 gold as well as a wand then he sent her on her way. *Oh boy.....I guess this is the adventure I dreamed of.* she says as she leaves the town and into the unknown. (I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, sorry if you were hoping for some accidents that'll come in the next chapter. that being said if there's anything you'd like to see in Chapter 2 feel free to say and I'll put it in, and feel free to say what you thought about it. Thanks for reading Chapter 1.) This is what she looks like, don't know who made the art so credit to whoever made the art. Just leave out the cape.
  13. There is a list of people I’d like to thank before we get to the story. I’d like to thank @Bulge_Lover for being my editor and inspiring me to write medieval themed stories. Had it not been for him, I would have never taken to writing about medieval stuff. He has always been there for me and motivated me whenever I needed it. Thank you so much my friend! Your advice has always proved to be helpful. Thank you so much for everything. It wouldn’t have been possible without you! I’d like thank @KozmoFox for reviewing my work when it was still at a nascent stage. Thank you so much! You are an inspiration and your guidance was really helpful! I got to learn so much from you. Thank you! It wouldn’t have been possible without you! Thank you @OmoCommando for editing the first part of this story for me. You were truly kind and helpful and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping me with my work. I’d like to thank @holditin for always inspiring me with his works and giving me the strength to believe that I can write whatever I love to write. Thank you so much buddy! You truly are an inspiration! And in the end, I’d like to thank @full-bladder12 for always motivating me and pushing me to keep writing omorashi! Thank you so much for supporting my work! I owe you big time! Thank you! Coming to the story, it is the sequel to my previous work, A Song of Swords, which I’m sure some of you might have read. It has a medieval setup which means it highly underlines the medieval practice of violence, though I promise you it was all necessary for the story. The story is built upon the base of the great fantasy works famous throughout the world, which will be evident once you begin the journey. These great works of literature have always inspired me and I’ve always wanted my work to be a reflection of them. I hope I’ve done justice to the great writers who have written these stories and to my readers as well. ---------------------------------- The Rains Of War CHAPTER- I THE CITY OF THE GODS The loud cry of warhorns, the screech and thud of catapults tossing stones, the crashes and splinters, the crackle of burning pitch, the fling of scorpions releasing their iron headed shafts, the ceaseless clangour of bells... and with it all, the cries of dying men. The sounds of battle pervaded the halls of the King’s Fort, where in a bunker the trestle tables were filled with the highborn ladies of the city, along with a handful of old men and young boys. The Queen had promised they all would be safe here. She sat on the high dais with her son, Prince Iwan. Her gown had a shade of green, like the colour of the sea after a storm. Her hair was tied in a bun and around her slender neck hung a rope of diamonds and emeralds. She signalled for her mug of beer to be refilled while the others quietly went at their broth. They had been here since morning, since the first report of the advancing enemy had reached the castle, praying to the mother as their husbands, sons, fathers, brothers and nephews prepared for battle. Though silence prevailed in the room, the air was heavy with fear, Queen Charlotte could sense it. If they were to lose this war, the Daltons would not spare even a single one of them. They had been raiding her father’s lands ever since she had managed to slip out of their clutches almost a year ago. Towns were brutally sacked, the buildings burned, the bodies of men, women and children butchered in the streets and left as fodder for rats and carrion crows. The long struggle had left the Torrington forces tired, beaten and broken trying to defend their lands from the enemy’s incessant onslaught. For long now, the Queen had worried about what would happen if Lord Reynard decided to march for Godswick. There was nothing to stop him from taking the city and the throne, and now all her fears were coming true. The attack she had dreaded for so long was at last at hand. The news of the approaching Dalton army had incited terror in the city streets. Thousands of smallfolk had streamed out the city gates in these past few days, carrying their children and their worldly possessions on their backs to seek safety in the country side, while others dug pits and tunnels under their hovels, dark clammy holes where they hoped to hide whilst the city burned. Riots had broken out all over the city as mobs surged through the streets, looting as they went. Hundreds died in stampedes, women were raped, and young ones had been plucked from their mothers’ breasts. The city guard lost over a hundred of their men trying to control the crowd. The Queen had ordered the city gates to be closed and barred days ago, sending watchmen to the walls and dispatching pigeons to Longford, carrying a message for her brother Walter, pleading him to come to her aid at once. As well, she had commanded pigeons to be sent to all the lords loyal to the crown, summoning them to the defence of their Queen, but most of them were afraid to stand against the Daltons and those who weren’t had already been put to sword. The city stood defenceless, like a lamb before a pack of wolves and the fate of the crown now rested in the hands of the almighty. The broth was followed by a salad of diced red-skinned apples, celery, grapes, chopped walnuts and yogurt. However scared, the guests ate whatever was served to them, though not the Queen, her plate was left untouched. After the salad came roast fowl, served along with frumenty and cabbage pottage, trailed by mutton roasted with leeks and carrots, served in trenchers of hollowed bread along with chicken covered with yolks and sprinkled with spices. The war raged outside the city walls till late at night. Thousands lost their lives, some only their arms or legs. The city was an image of blood, mud, fire and smoke. Arrows, rocks, screams and curses flew freely in the air. The guardians of the city fought bravely till the wee hours of morning but when the tide of the battle started turning in favour of the Daltons, their courage deserted them. Many threw down their weapons and ran, many yielded, but the most devastating blow to the city came when the captains commanding the twelve gates were murdered by their own men. A bit of coin had weakened the loyalty of those who were thought to be the city’s protectors. The city gates were opened to the Dalton army. For all the vaunted strength of its walls, Godswick fell in less than a day. A bloody fight waged at one of the gates where a few knights and men-at-arms still loyal to the crown tried to fight the enemies and hold against attacks both from inside the city and out, but their courage was for vain as Lord Reynard’s army poured in through the other gates unmolested. The realization that they were vastly outnumbered took the heart out of the Queen’s men. When they saw that resistance was futile, the members of the royal council surrendered the keys to the castle, bowing their heads in defeat, and ordered the knights and men-at-arms to lay down their swords. Though he had conquered the city, Lord Reynard’s triumph was far from complete. The Dalton soldiers stormed the castle and killed everyone they could find. But when they broke down the doors of the bunker they only found a flock of frightened women. The Queen had fled with her son, along with the knights Barnabus Ricaud, Mark Ambrose, and Robyn Hawksworth of the Queensguard. Not even the members of the council seemed to know where they had gone, and none had seen them pass through the city gates. CHAPTER- II WELCOME Rain lashed at Charlotte's face as she spurred her horse across the swollen stream. Beside her, Sir Mark gave the reins a tug and his mount neighed in response. A cold wind made the trees dance and sent the wet leaves flapping around them. She looked back at Iwan and hoped he could keep up. Though the Prince was now all of eleven, he still was not a good rider even in fair weather, and a whole day of rain had left the ground muddy with hidden rocks. The wind brought the water right into Charlotte’s eyes. Her wet clothes clung to her sodden and itching, her butt sore after the long ride. The sound of steady wash of rain against leaves filled her ears. It was mid-afternoon, yet the forest seemed as dark as dusk. All the beer and water she had drunk since yesterday sloshed inside her cavernous bladder, yet she rode on without a thought of it. Even now she felt no more than a slight urge for relief. The cold air made her shivery and her fingers felt stiff, she longed for a fire and a little tea to warm her. They wove a path between rocks and puddles, past great oaks, grey-green sentinels, and black-barked ironwoods. In places the branches wove a canopy overhead and she found a moment's respite from the drumming of the rain against her head. From a distance, she could see the massive walls and stout towers of Tilsworth. Green banners flew from its battlements, displaying the graceful golden deer of its lord. Lord Gilbert Furnival had been a loyal support to her father and had followed him into many wars without doubts or questions. She knew he would protect her and her son. When they got close enough a knight rode out to meet them. His armour was grey, but his cloak was the rippling green and black of Tilsworth. “Who goes there? State your purpose.” “Sir Mark Ambrose, with Her Highness Queen Charlotte and Prince Iwan,” the Queensguard answered. The knight lifted his visor. “I thought the lady looked familiar. It is a pleasure to have you both here, my Queen and my Prince,” he bowed. “May we enter the castle?” Sir Barnabus asked. The knight nodded in agreement. “In the name of Robert Furnival, Lord of Tilsworth, I bid you enter freely, and charge you to keep his peace.” “Robert?” Charlotte’s voice sounded her confusion, “I’m here to meet Lord Gilbert, his father.” “Forgive my man’s folly, my Queen,” she heard Robert call as he approached, guarded by half a dozen men-at-arms of his own. “My Lord father awaits you inside the castle.” He smiled and bowed. “My apologies he couldn’t be here to greet you, his health keeps him confined to his chambers.” Her mind found itself restless, her body a victim of fatigue. All she wanted to do now was take a long piss and go to sleep. Dulled by exhaustion, she nodded at Sir Mark. Stable boys took their horses from there and they walked inside afoot. “This way, if it please you, my Queen,” the Lord showed them the way, “You honour us greatly by being our guest, Your Highness.” But before she could respond to Lord Robert’s greetings, they came across something in the courtyard they would have never imagined … though Lord Gilbert’s charred corpse was burned beyond all recognition, hanging from the gallows; only by the jade ring he used to wear on his left thumb did Charlotte know him. The blood drained from the Queen’s cheeks, but young Prince Iwan was the first to realize what it meant. “Mother, run!” he shouted, but it was too late. Lord Robert’s men, over forty strong, fell upon the three Queensguard. An axe took Sir Robyn Hawksworth’s head before his sword could come out of its scabbard, and Sir Barnabus was stabbed through the back with a spear. Men closed from both sides. Sir Mark Ambrose reached back over his shoulder, ripped his sword from its sheath, and buried the blade in the head of the first man to come at him. Bronze was no match for steel. The blow sheared right through the guard’s helm and deep into his skull, Sir Mark kicked on his shoulder to free his sword, which came out blanketed with blood. Steel rang on steel as he danced with his sword and corpses fell to his feet, one after the other before a spear pierced through the back of his neck. Blood sprouted from his mouth as he choked with the fall and with him died the last of the Queen’s defenders. “Sir Mark Ambrose.... the greatest swordsman to ever walk....,” Robert smiled as he looked at the dead bodies lying all around him. Charlotte pulled her son to her chest,“Why?!” she yelled, tears welling from her eyes, the terror of her life stopping the words in her throat. For a moment she had thought she was safe. “Sometimes the old must go, to make place for the new. King Reynard is the new lord of the twelve kingdoms and anyone who denies his claim will die, just like my old Lord father did,” Robert stated. He signalled his guards with his head and they pulled Iwan away from her. “Mother!” he shouted. “No!” she screamed, trying to fight the men but to no gain. Her son was gone, she could not see him anymore. Where had they taken him? She did not know. CHAPTER- III DARK Her eyes had never starved for light like this ever before. There were no windows, no bed, no goblets made of gold that she was used to. Only darkness. She remembered walls of black stone, incompletely covered in a blanket of moss, a brownish door of splintered wood, four inches thick and studded with iron. She had seen them, briefly, a quick glimpse as they shoved her inside. Once the door had slammed shut, she had seen no more. The dark was absolute. She now knew how it might feel to be blind. The dungeon was under the castle, deeper than she dared imagine. Robert’s face seemed to float before her in the darkness. His shrewd, cunning eyes, his smile reflecting mockery. She wept when she thought of Iwan, though as silently as she could. The thought of him was as painful as a sword through the heart. She wondered where he was, what he was doing. She wondered whether she would ever see him again. For how long she had been here she did not know. There was no sun and no moon. Charlotte closed her eyes and opened them; it made no difference. She slept and woke and slept again. She did not know which was more horrifying, waking or sleeping. When she slept, she dreamed of death and blood, and when she woke, all she could think of was about the same. Her bladder was jutting out of her abdomen now, filled with three days worth of piss. She knew she was in a dungeon, she knew she was alone and no one would see her if she decided to relieve herself here on the floor, but her pride stopped her. She was a lady, and a proper lady always and only relieved herself in a privy or a chamber pot and nowhere else. She was half-asleep when the footsteps came down the hall. Water, she thought. When the heavy wooden door creaked open, the sudden light was painful to her eyes, though she had grown used to it in this short while. The gaoler thrust a jug at her. The clay was cool and beaded with moisture. She grasped it with both hands and drank eagerly till it was empty. They brought her water every three to four hours but every time she drank it like she’d been thirsty for days. Something made her throat dry, maybe it was the fear. “How long..?” she asked weakly. The gaoler was an ugly man with a pot belly and bald, clad in a mail shirt and a leather half cape. “No talking,” he said as he pulled the jug from her hands. “Please,” Charlotte said, “my son...,” The door crashed shut. She blinked as the light vanished, lowered her head to her chest, and curled up on the straw. She could no longer tell the difference between waking and sleeping. For as long as her spirit and strength gave her consent, she begged the man for some word of her son and the world beyond her cell. Grunts and kicks were her only replies. Later, when the stomach cramps began, she begged for food instead. Though they did not feed her, the gaoler brought her mugs of milk from time to time. One thing was clear to her by now, if Robert wanted her dead, he would have cut her down the moment he saw her. He wanted her alive. Weak, desperate, yet alive. But why? She lay there on the straw in silence as her bladder swelled further with all the water and milk and all the beer she had before leaving her castle. She ran a hand over her belly and wondered when she’d get to use a privy? Will they ever let her out of here? If not, would she just have to keep holding it? For long she listened to the sounds of beating and torture from other cells, she listened until she could listen no more to the cries and pleas, begging for the gift of death. Horror crept under her skin, so much that she lost her sleep. It had been two days since she had eaten, or maybe three. Down here in the dark it was hard to tell. But at least they brought her milk, the other prisoners did not get even that. But she could feel all the liquid bothering her bladder now. She wondered what fate had in store for her. Would she get out alive? Whenever she closed her eyes, she found herself remembering her husband. All this would have never happened had he been alive. Suddenly, she heard the sounds outside the dungeon door. It was strange. They had brought her water and milk just a while ago, so she knew this wasn’t that. They were coming to beat her, they would torture her. At once she froze, fearing even to breathe. She listened in terror, hard as stone, to the scuff of boots and the clanking of iron keys. No, she thought, no, please gods, not me, not me. She did not want to die, not this way. The sounds were growing louder. Please gods, he isn’t coming for me, she prayed, crouched down in a corner of her cell. Go away, she prayed, go away, pass me by, please, please. But the footsteps stopped just when they were loudest, and the keys clattered right outside the door. Her hands trembled in horror. “No,” she mumbled, “Noooo.” Her clothes fought with the straw as she tried to push herself into the corner, into the cold damp stone walls. The sound of the lock turning was the most terrible of all. Torchlight fell across her face as the door creaked open. She shielded her eyes with a hand. And when the man came to stand before her, she let out a shriek. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He was simply too big to be unintimidating and so wild - long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of clay pots, and his feet in their leather boots were like tree trunks. She looked at him wide eyed, afraid that he was going to smash her skull open or do something even worse. Charlotte was certain she was going to die tonight but then the giant opened his mouth, “My Queen, don’t be scared,” he bowed down a bit, “I’m Gunther, the kennel master, come with me, I’ll get you out of here” he said. For a moment she did not believe him. Maybe this was a trap. But how much worse could it get? “My son” her lips trembled, tears flooding her cheeks. He held out his vast muscular arms to help her up. “Don’t worry, he has escaped,” the giant whispered. “Now come with me before someone sees us.” The gaoler was dead drunk in a puddle of wine, with his breeches down around his ankles. They quickly climbed the steep dungeon steps, the flame of the torch in Gunther’s hand flickering like a dancer’s hips. “The Hunter’s Gate has no guards,” he spoke but Queen Charlotte didn’t reply; only looked at him. She walked rigidly, with her thighs slightly pressed together and a hand on her stomach, a sign that she would like to let out her three days worth of urine, but she didn’t let it show and kept her composure strong. It was a chill dank autumn night. Clouds hid the roof of stars above and wind made the trees dance. It smelled like rain. Charlotte did not know whether that was good or bad for their escape. No one saw them, and they saw no one, only a black cat creeping along atop the wall. The fires were out, and the castle fast asleep. The postern gate was unguarded, just as he had said. Outside the walls of Tilsworth, a wolf howled long and loud. Gunther lifted the bar, set it aside, and pulled open the heavy oak door, they slipped from the castle and splashed across the stream, stumbling over stones. Wisps of pale mist threaded between the trees. Sentinels and soldier pines grew thick about here, and there was nothing as dark and gloomy as an evergreen forest. CHAPTER- IV A FRIEND INDEED The rays of the morning sun pierced through the roof of leaves over their heads, showing them the way ahead. Her mount walked forward in the dense forest, beside Gunther’s large garron. They crossed a shallow stream and went deeper into the woods. Many a times during the cold night that went by, Queen Charlotte had found the moments to close her eyes and sleep, even if it was for short whiles. But the man had been awake since their escape. Only once had he stopped to rest and eat apples that he had carried in a sack. Charlotte had been fending off her increasing bladder pangs for hours now, trying not to think much of it. Taking a deep breath, she again reminded herself that she had to wait until she got to a privy or a chamber pot, no matter how badly she wanted to go. She knew her bladder was much too large but everyone had their limits. More and more she found herself thinking of emptying her swollen vessel but every time she erased the thought from her mind. She looked around to take her mind off her need and felt as if she knew the place. “The Enchanted Forest,” she sighed. Of all the tales her Lord father had told her of the place, one she had cherished more than the rest. It told of a monstrous beast that lived in this forest over ten thousand years ago, a lion with the head of a goat arising from its back, and a tail that ended with a snake’s head. Every night the fiend would appear from the forest to hunt people from the nearby village. It killed anyone it could find men, women or children and dragged them back to its den to devour. To appease the creature, the people of the village fed it two sheep every day. But when they ran out of sheep they started feeding it their children who they would choose through draw. There came a time when the lot fell on the lord’s daughter.The lord, in his grief, told the people they could have all his gold and silver and half of his lands if his daughter were spared but the people refused. The poor girl was sent out to the forest to be fed to the monster. But just when it appeared from the woods, snarling at the trembling girl, Sir Richard Cantillon, who happened to be riding through, thrust his sword into the beast’s back. A gory battle took place between the knight and the monster which ended when Sir Richard buried his sword into the animal’s stomach. It died, but not before bathing the warrior in a burst of flames that cooked him in his armour. When she was a child, all Charlotte wanted was to become like Sir Richard Cantillon, strong, valiant and kind. But the older she grew, the more she realized that what she wanted did not matter. What mattered was her father’s name and the honour of their house, what mattered was her husband’s crown and the name it held and what mattered was her son’s life and the throne he was going to sit on. She now knew that her life had never been her own. It had been for others, the ones she loved. They went on for another hour before in the middle of the dense forest they came upon a small hut with a chimney that had smoke coming out of it. Gunther lifted her from the saddle and gently landed her on the ground before knocking on the thick wooden door, “Martha?” The door opened and stepped out a beautiful middle aged woman, who looked gentle by her appearance. “Your Highness, this is Martha, my wife,” Gunther said. “Oh, my Queen!” Martha bowed when she realized who stood before her, “It is such a great pleasure to have you here!” she couldn’t control her joy and kissed Charlotte’s hands, “Please do come in” she welcomed Her Highness, and the Queen smiled meekly, trying to conceal her bladder fatigue. “The potatoes are on boiling and the kettle's singing, Gunther, you'll get us some fish," Martha echoed. “Of course, my dear,” the giant picked up the net that hung outside and left for the brook nearby. Meanwhile Martha filled the kettle, lay the table, cut the bread and put the plates in the oven to heat and drew a huge jug of beer for Gunther from a barrel which stood in one corner of the house. Just as the frying-pan was nicely hissing, Gunther came in with the fish which he had already opened with his knife and cleaned out in the open air. The new-caught fish smelled rich while they were fried it, making him feel hungrier. Martha drained the potatoes and then put them all back in the empty pot to dry on the side of the range before dishing up the trout as everyone prepared to eat. There was a jug of creamy milk for the Queen and a great big lump of deep yellow butter in the middle of the table to go with their potatoes. Though the Queen only had some bread along with the milk, she felt hungry no more. “I would like to thank you both, I owe you my life,” Charlotte spoke, “I promise you’ll be rewarded handsomely for this,” she finished as she looked at them. “Oh, that won’t be needed, my Queen,” Martha smiled, “It is our duty to serve Her Highness.” She forced a smile but her concern soon boiled over. “I’m worried for Iwan, I don’t know where he might be now,” she held her face. “Norman, one of the stable boys, I asked him to take the Prince to your brother who is not too far away from the capital now, moving forward with this mighty host,” Gunther assured her, “We could have escaped together but this way it will be difficult for them to catch us.” “Does my brother know?” Charlotte asked, her fist clenching tightly over the table. “No, he doesn’t,” Gunther replied, “Robert planned to sell you to a flesh merchant from across the Troubled Sea. Men would kill to have the Queen warm their bed. It won’t be long before the word gets out though,” he stood up, “Robert will have his men looking for you, that is why I brought you here.” Martha filled one of Gunther’s huge beer jugs and placed it before the Queen. “Thank you,” Charlotte said with a wry smile, avoiding mentioning her swelling bladder. Despite a wait this long, the Queen was not desperate. The beer was going to make its presence felt soon enough but she knew she could hold it. “Lord Walter plans to march on Godswick when the time is right. Reynard Dalton sits warily on the throne. His forces have dwindled but many have joined his cause, mainly out of fear,” the giant said. “I must be with my brother... I must go to Walter...,” Charlotte found herself drowning in her pool of thoughts. “It won’t be safe for you to move out right now,” Gunther added, “I say, you stay here, my Queen.” “I know, but I need to know where Iwan is,” she said, “I’m worried for him.” “I know, my Queen,” Gunther spoke softly, “....but I assure you he is safe, might have as well reached your brother’s camp.” That calmed her down a bit but she still couldn’t stop thinking about him. “I’m afraid I must leave your here with my wife, Your Highness,” Gunther said, “I must go back to Tilsworth or they’ll come looking for me.” With a nod she gave him her leave and Gunther looked at his wife before stepping out of the door. Just as he left, Martha came to her, with her legs crossed and her body bent a little, “My Queen, if I may have your permission, can I go out to relieve myself? I haven’t been all day.......,” “Well, of course you may,” Charlotte answered. In that moment, she wished she was a commoner as well. Then she could have peed anywhere she wanted and no one would have cared. But she was the Queen; it would botch the name of her family if she was to do something like that. She shook her head and let that thought go. Hold it, she told herself as she clenched her fists over the table. As Martha rushed out, Charlotte walked to the window and looked intently at the woman. She saw Martha lift up her dress, which revealed her bulging bladder, it was gigantic! It was nothing close to her own swollen bladder but it was huge none the less. Charlotte turned around when she saw Martha begin to squat and went near the fire place but in her mind she imagined the relief that might be flowing through the woman’s body. She wanted that relief too but she knew she’d have to wait for it. As the night fell, Charlotte began to feel cold. Thus Martha heated up the mare’s milk she had full in a huge cauldron and filled a mug for Charlotte. The Queen felt much better as she began to sip the hot drink. It was something she had never tasted before, sweet and foamy and creamy, and it warmed her right down to her toes. She stayed up all night, sitting by the fireplace with a blanket around her, drinking the mare’s milk. By the morning the cauldron was empty but the Queen felt tired and her headache had worsened. Her shoulders pained and her fingers felt stiff. After she came back from picking cherries off the bushes, Martha brewed the Queen a kettle of hot nettle tea, which gave the Charlotte a slight respite from the headache. The warmth spread through her body and made her feel better. She cradled the tea in her hands and blew on it to cool it. Fate seems to be upset with me, Charlotte thought as she sipped the astringent tea, before I go to my son, I only wish to see my father once. But she knew she could not. She had written to him before the day Godswick fell. I love you father, I pray for you to the Lord each night, may he grant us strength in these difficult times. Over the day she drank over a dozen kettles of nettle tea and though it made her feel warm and nice, it didn’t help abate her headache. It made her want to pee more but she corked it up like an iron horse. When the night had shrouded the forest in its dark and Martha and Charlotte had fallen asleep, a sudden banging at the door woke them up. Martha opened the door to find Gunther, with a look of fear on his face, “Hurry, we must leave right now, Lord Robert’s men are on their way here! There’s not a moment to lose...,” Martha turned swiftly and handed over a blanket to Queen Charlotte, before picking up sacks and laying them on the table, "Gunther, just reach down that ham and get two or three loaves out of the crock over there in the corner." "What are you doing?" exclaimed Gunther. "Packing a load for each of us, dearie," said Martha chaotically. "You didn't think we'd set out on a journey with nothing to eat, did you?" "But we do not have any time to waste!" said Charlotte, wrapping the blanket around herself. "They may be here any minute." "That's what I say," added Gunther. Martha packed whatever little she could and they all rushed out. Queen Charlotte walked, her bladder straining with the movement and Gunther helped her on her horse, before they set out into the cold night. CHAPTER- V THE ONE OF HER OWN Martha had gone ahead to scout, and it was she who brought back word of the army at a distance. "By their fires I think they might be twenty thousand strong," she said. "Their banners are green, with a dancing horse." "It is my brother," Charlotte said, her mammoth bladder aching after the long night’s ride. She put her heels to her horse and trotted off, giving Gunther and his wife no choice but to follow or be left behind. Distant watchers peered down from watchposts made of wood as the three rode towards them. A dozen crossbowmen manned the uneven hilltops. Charlotte halted Martha and Gunther out of range and rode up. "Who commands here?" she shouted. The captain was quick to appear, and even quicker to give them an escort when he recognized the Queen. She could see the camp spread out to a vast distance. Mailed men sat under trees and honed their blades, and familiar banners fluttered from staffs thrust into the muddy ground. The air was filled with the smoky haze of a thousand cook fires. Thousands of pavilions rose from the grass like silken mushrooms. A party of mounted horsemen rode forward to greet them as they ventured further in. The knight who led them wore silver armour inlaid with ametrine and striped purple and golden cloak and his shield bore a lamp for the sigil. Charlotte reined up to greet him. “Sir Adam.” Sir Adam Popplewell lifted his visor. "Your Highness," he said in astonishment. "We all feared for your safety, it is a blessing to see you unharmed!" He looked at the giant and the beautiful woman besides him uncertainly. "These . . . friends of yours . . .” "My travel companions," Charlotte said. "Where will I find my brother?" "He is in his pavilion." "I will see him at once." "As you say, my Queen." Lord Walter’s camp spread over leagues. Martha’s estimate of twenty thousand men could not be far wrong. The common men camped out in the open, but the knights had thrown up tents, and some of the high lords had erected pavilions as large as houses. Near all the chivalry of the east had come to Walter’s call, it seemed. Charlotte could see the silver eagle of the Calverts, Lord Longwood's pine tree, the bells of Swinton, the beaver of Stillman. Everyone bowed as she rode past, containing all the water beer and milk she had consumed as it streamed into her bladder. And even though she was holding this much, her demeanour was calm as ever and only her bulbous abdomen could tell otherwise. Martha was gaping back; beyond a certainty, she had never seen so many men, horses, and weapons in all her days. A pair of house guards in greenish cloaks and helms stood outside the great pavilion, on either side of the door. Charlotte recognized their captain. "My brother?" "Inside, my Queen." "Those two who came with me will want clothes to wear, beds to rest and meat and mead to fill their stomachs," Charlotte told him. "See that they are well taken care of." She entered the pavilion, and there was Walter. She found her brother surrounded by their father’s lords bannermen. Walter Torrington, The acting Lord of Longford, was in his early thirties. He was tall, with long legs, broad shoulders and a flat stomach. With rich black hair, a handsome face and brown eyes. He stood leaning onto the table, a pile of maps and papers in front of him, talking intently with Earl Calvert and Victor Atwell. At first he did not notice her... but the other lords did. The lords fell silent one by one, and Walter looked up at the sudden quiet and saw her. “Charlotte?” he said, his voice thick with sentiment. Charlotte wanted to run to him, to hug him so she could feel safe again, but here in front of his lords, she dared not. So she held herself at the far end of the table. Lord Hadrian was the first to travel across the tent to pay his respects, kneeling before her and pressing his brow to her hand. “My Queen,” he said, “you are fair as ever, a welcome sight in troubled times.” Lord Earl followed, his son Baron, and the rest, one by one. Sir Duncan was the last. “I had not looked to see you here, my Queen,” he said as he knelt. “I had not thought to be here,” Charlotte said, “....until I escaped from Tilsworth, and someone told me that Walter had his host moving towards the capital.” “My Queen, we had men looking for you everywhere but none of them could find you...,” Lord Victor said. The lords were anxious to talk to her, but Charlotte raised a hand. “No doubt we will have time for all this later, but my journey has fatigued me. I would speak with my brother alone. I know you will forgive me, my lords.” She gave them no choice; led by the ever-obliging Lord Calvert, the bannermen bowed and took their leave. “Have you had any word of Iwan?” she asked the moment she was sure they were alone. “There was a letter,” Walter said. He went to the table, rummaged among some maps and papers, and returned with a crumpled parchment. Something in Walter’s tone troubled her. She smoothed out the paper and read. Concern gave way to disbelief, then to anger, and lastly to fear. Her son was Lord Reynard’s prisoner now. She held the table for support as something broke inside her and tears came to her eyes. “He wants me to surrender you to him as well and ask my men to ride back home,” he added. “And if we march... even if we win... he’ll kill Iwan.” Her hopes were crushed, the light within her suddenly dimming. She did not know what to say. She did not know what to think. All she knew was she couldn’t lose. Not after coming this far. “If you turn your tail and retreat to Longford, your lords will lose all respect for you. Some may even go over to the Daltons. Then Reynard, with that much less to fear, can do as he likes with Iwan,” Charlotte looked at him with pleading eyes. “Our best hope, our only true hope, is that you can defeat the foe in the field. If you should chance to take Lord Reynard or any of his sons captive, then a trade might very well be possible, but that is not the heart of it. So long as you have power enough that he must fear you, Iwan should be safe. Reynard is wise enough to know that he may need him to make peace, should the fighting go against him.” “What if the fighting doesn’t go against him?” Walter asked. “What if it goes against us? He has twice the numbers I have.” “They say the Daltons have hearts of stone.” Charlotte looked down for a moment and then towards him, “If you lose, there is no hope for any of us.” Walter saw the fear and desperation in her eyes. “Then I will not lose,” he vowed. CHAPTER- VI THE STONE TABLE The morning that followed was a strange one. Charlotte woke up in her pavilion that was larger than the common rooms of an inn and furnished with every comfort: feather mattress and sleeping furs, a wood-and-copper tub large enough for two, braziers to keep off the night's chill, slung leather camp chairs, a writing table with quills and inkpot, bowls of peaches, plums, and pears, a flagon of wine with a set of matched silver cups, cedar chests packed full of clothing, books, maps, game boards, a high harp, a tall bow and a quiver of arrows, a pair of red-tailed hunting hawks and more. She tried to sit up on her bed but felt an immense increase in pressure as she did so. Her bladder was now rock hard. The barrel of beer she had emptied last night while discussing the battle plan with her brother and his bannermen was now brewing inside her bladder, stretching it out immensely. She still was not at her limits, but she was very, very full and her bladder felt very heavy in her abdomen. She quickly dressed herself up but before she left for her brother’s pavilion, Charlotte reminded herself that she had to act normally no matter how much her bladder ached. She was determined to keep her legs uncrossed all the times. She knew she was in full command of her bladder and she could wait to empty it. So, nursing her bursting bladder, she walked as normally as she could to her brother’s camp. She found him sitting on his chair, looking carefully at the map that lay before him. “Your Highness,” he rose up to greet her. “Is there any word of Iwan?” Charlotte asked as she walked towards her seat, containing in her iron bladder litres and litres of urine. “Well, no. But the scouts report King Reynard has moved his army further up,” Walter studied the pieces on the map, “He wants to end this as far away from the capital as he can.” Just then a knight entered the pavilion, "Sorry to interrupt you My Lord, but there is a messenger from Reynard Dalton." Charlotte looked at her brother and he looked back at her. "Let him approach," said Walter. The knight went away and soon returned leading the King’s messenger. “What is your message?” asked Walter. "The King of Solambria desires a safe conduct to come and speak with you," he said, "on a matter which is of as much concern to you as to him." "King of Solambria, indeed!" said Charlotte. "That bastard -" “Charlotte, no,” said Walter, “.... we might have a chance to get Iwan back” he added, “Tell your King, that I grant him safe conduct.” The messenger bowed and left. The hours that went by left Charlotte’s mind laden with the thoughts of her son and for once she did not think of her bladder that was now swollen outrageously to contain the copious amount of liquid she had consumed. Even when she felt the need she acted as if her bladder was empty. Only the significant bulge of her abdomen told otherwise. The wait was getting on her nerves, but she did not worry. She knew her bladder would swell further if needs be but would never crack or give way to any amount of pressure. A herald’s voice suddenly boomed across the empty skies, “Here comes King Reynard of the House Dalton, the fifth of his name, Emperor of the twelve kingdoms and the father of the realm.” The Queen felt a shudder running down her back at the sight of his face. Murmurs rose from the men around. The only two people present who seemed to be quite at their ease were Walter and the King himself. They entered the tent and took their seats. "The bitch is here," said Reynard looking at Charlotte, his voice cold and straight “and I have her pup.” His words enraged Walter but he reined the storm within him. "Well," said Walter. "What do you want from us?" “What do I want? Huh!” Reynard grinned, “You speak as if you do not know. I want both their heads on spikes, yours too if you don’t mind.” “You have Iwan, why haven’t you killed him yet if that is what you want?” “Well oft times I’ve heard that a live captive is of more value than a dead one,” Reynard breathed. He looked at Charlotte and then at her brother. "Have you forgotten the Laws of the God?" asked the King, coming straight to the point, his voice stiller than before. "Let us say I have forgotten them," answered Walter gravely. "Tell us of these Laws." "Tell you?" said Reynard, his voice growing suddenly shriller. "Tell you what is written on that very Table of Stone that the Servants of the God carved with their own hands? You very well know the Laws of the God. You know that as the King of Solambria, every traitor belongs to me as my lawful prey and that for every treachery I have the right to kill." He looked at her again. "And so," continued Reynard, "....the Prince and his mother are mine. Their lives are forfeit to me. Their blood is my property." Charlotte stood on Walter’s side, looking all the time at his face. She felt a choking feeling and wondered if she ought to say something; but she didn’t know what to say. "Charlotte," said Walter, "I will talk to the King alone." She turned and left the pavilion. It was a terrible time this - waiting and wondering while Walter and King Reynard talked. They talked for long and until the night fell dark and the shimmering stars glowed in the sky. As she waited outside the tent, Charlotte gave an “aah!” and hiked one leg up as the bladder pangs grew stronger but then stood confidently without giving a trace of her desperation to the men around her, as her organ swelled past the six day mark. The gallons of water she had today were stretching her bladder walls even further. There was going to be no release of pressure until she wished it and there would be no giving into the desperate need to let out the massive lake that she had inside her, she’d just have to wait. Then suddenly King Reynard appeared out of the tent and left without saying so much as a word. Charlotte went to her brother who took a last sip from his goblet of wine. "I have settled the matter. He has renounced the claim on your lives." Charlotte felt so relieved, as if she had began to breathe again. She held her bladder as a smile ran across her face. “...and he promised to send Iwan back early on the morrow,” he continued. She couldn’t believe her ears, her joy knew no bounds. Then, she stopped, “But what did he ask for in return?” she could read the sorrow on her brother’s face. But of that she did not get an answer as Lord Walter stood up and left. Charlotte couldn’t sleep that night. She had a horrible feeling - as if something was hanging over them. She felt as if something dreadful was going to happen to her brother. Early morning the next day, as he had promised, King Reynard returned the Prince to them. Sir Adam Popplewell brought him to the Queen and she pulled him to her loving embrace, “Oh, my son....,” she cried as her fingers ruffled through his hair. “Mother!” he sobbed, the wound on his lower lip paining him. She ran her hands through his beautiful face and wept, thanking the God. “They killed Norman and they tried to kill my friend too but he got away!” the young Prince cried when he found the strength to speak. “Friend? Who?” “My friend, Tirius!” Iwan told her, trembling. “Tirius?” Charlotte believed she had never heard that name before. “Yes, mother. He is my friend,” the Prince nodded, “You would not believe but he had legs like a goat’s and two small horns over his head, he brought me apples and cherries while I hid in the forest! But then they found me!” Charlotte couldn’t believe the words of her son. Maybe the shock and fear had caught to him. She could not say. She only knew that the boy was frightened and only time would heal his wounds. She asked a squire to take the Prince to his pavilion and help him bathe, while she proceeded for the war meeting. All through the meeting she strode about around the tent as she spoke to the lord’s bannermen, still keeping her legs apart and paying no mind to her aching bladder. She needed this victory more than she needed anything else and she was going to make every effort she could for it. But during that day, many a times she heard her brother telling Lord Atwell how to place his men against the Dalton army while in battle. He told him of every move or strategy he could think of and also gave him the command of his army. "But you will be there yourself, my Lord," Lord Atwell asked. "I can give you no promise of that," Walter answered. He did not talk very much and seemed to them to be sad. Walter's mood affected everyone that evening. Lord Atwell was feeling distressed also at the idea of fighting the battle on his own; the news that Lord Walter might not be there had come as a great shock to him. Supper that evening was a quiet meal. This feeling affected Charlotte so much that she couldn't get to sleep when she went to bed. And after she had laid counting sheep and turning over and over she heard Martha give a long sigh and turn over just beside her in the darkness. "Can't you get to sleep either?" asked the Queen. “No,” said Martha. "I thought you were asleep, my Queen." "No, I couldn’t. I've a most horrible feeling - as if something were hanging over us." "Have you? Because, as a matter of fact, so have I." "Something about Walter," said Charlotte. "Either some dreadful thing is going to happen to him, or something dreadful that he's going to do." "There's been something wrong with him all afternoon," said Martha. “What was that he said about not being at the battle? You don't think he could be stealing away and leaving us tonight, do you?" "I don’t know. Where is he now?" said the Queen. "Is he here in the pavilion? I’m worried for him,” she added, "I want to see him." “My Queen, he must be asleep by now, can’t it wait till the morrow? “No, I’ve to see him right now,” Charlotte threw away her blanket, “I have a feeling that he needs me.” "All right, let's," said Martha, "....we might just as well be doing that as lying awake here." So the two women slid out of the tent and quietly made their way towards Walter’s pavilion. The moonlight was bright and everything was quite still except for the noise of the river chattering over the stones. Charlotte peeped into his tent and found he wasn’t there. "Is he here in the pavilion?" asked Martha "I don't think so." "Let’s have a look round,” Martha spoke “We might see him." And then, on the far side of the camping ground, just where the trees began, they saw her brother slowly walking away into the wood. Without a word they followed him. He led them up the steep slope out of the river valley and then slightly to the right. On and on he led them, into dark shadows and out into pale moonlight, getting their feet wet with the heavy dew. They saw that they were going up the slope of the hill on which the Stone Table stood, an ancient relic known to all the men of the realm. They heard the sounds of men talking and the two women crouched behind a thick wall of bushes. Almost a score of men stood round the Stone Table. It was a great grim slab of grey stone supported on four upright stones. It looked very old; and it was cut all over with strange lines and figures that might be the letters of an unknown language. Though the moon was shining, many of them carried torches which burned with red flames and black smoke. And right in the middle, standing by the Table, was King Reynard himself. They laughed at her brother and made japes of him. “The fool!" King Reynard said. "The fool has come. Bind him fast." Charlotte and Martha held their breaths waiting for Walter to draw his great sword and cut his enemies down. But it never happened. Four soldiers came forward to tie his hands and legs to which he made no resistance at all. Then they began to drag him towards the Stone Table. Everyone was at him now. Those who had been afraid to come near him even after he was bound began to find their courage, and for a few minutes the two women could not even see him - so thickly was he surrounded by the whole crowd of men kicking him, hitting him, spitting on him, jeering at him. At last the rabble had had enough of this. They began to drag Walter to the Stone Table. “Those bastards...,” sobbed Charlotte. When once Walter had been tied on the flat stone, a silence fell on the crowd. Four men, holding four torches, stood at the corners of the Table. Reynard Dalton pulled out his sword. The thing shone in the moonlight, white as milk. At last he drew near. He stood by Walter's head, who looked up at the sky, still quiet, neither angry nor afraid, but a little sad. Then, just before Reynard gave the blow, he stooped down and said in a quivering voice, “Fool, did you think that by all this you would save your sister and her pup? Now I will kill you instead of the Prince as our pact. But when you are dead what will prevent me from killing him and his bitch mother? And who will take them out of my hand then? I have two times the men you have but this has made things really easy for me. Without a leader your army will scatter in no time. Understand that you have handed over the fate of your sister and her son into my hands, you have lost your own life and you have not saved theirs. I hope you find peace in the afterlife.” He brought down his sword to pierce right through Walter’s chest. The blood of his life ran on the stone table and he closed his eyes. Charlotte covered her face, trying to stop the images of her brother’s murder but it didn’t help. She cried without making a sound and Martha tried to hold her. CHAPTER- VII THE LAWS OF GODS AND MEN While the two women still crouched in the bushes with their hands over their faces, they heard the voice of the King calling out, "Our work is done here. Now! Follow me all and we will set about what remains of this war! It will not take us long to crush the whore now that her foolish brother lies dead." Charlotte and Martha held their breaths as the men walked past the bushes. They would be raped before being butchered if King Reynard got to know they hid here. Their laughs and japes echoed in Charlotte’s ears as they mounted their horses and swept off the hill-top. At any other time she would have trembled with fear; but now the sadness and shame and horror of Walter’s death so filled her mind that she hardly thought of it. As soon as the wood was silent again Charlotte and Martha crept out onto the open hill-top. The blanket of clouds hid the strokes of the moonlight, painting the night deeper and darker, but still they could see the shape of her brother’s body lying dead in his bonds. They both knelt down in the grass, before the Queen kissed his cold face and stroked his beautiful black hair; “He did this to save us...,” tears flooded her cheeks, her voice shaken. She cried and cried till she could cry no more. She looked at Martha and sobbed for she felt lonely and weak. "Help me" she said as she stood up and tried to pull out the sword that pierced her brother’s chest. They put all their strength to pull out the sword that had cut into the stone and at last it came free, her brother’s blood dripping off its edge. Charlotte tossed it aside and fondled Walter’s face. They tried to untie him but the cords were drawn so tight that they could do nothing of the knots. A certain quiet surrounded them. Charlotte felt as if nothing was going to happen ever again. Hours and hours went by in the dead calm, and they hardly noticed that they were getting colder and colder. Though Martha noticed the sky on the east side of the hill was a little less dark than it had been an hour ago. Then Charlotte in a fit of broken despair tried to untie her brother for one last time, and this time she succeeded. The sky in the east was whitish by now and the stars were getting fainter - all except one very big one low down on the eastern horizon. They felt colder than they had been all night. Every moment Walter’s dead face looked nobler, as the light grew and they could see it better. In the wood behind them a bird gave a chuckling sound. It had been so still for hours and hours that it startled them. Then another bird answered it. Soon there were birds singing all over the place. It was quite definitely early morning now, not late night. Martha rubbed arms to fight the cold as she looked on in despair at the broken Queen. The rising of the sun had made everything look so different - all colours and shadows were changed that. Charlotte held her brother in a tight embrace. Lost. All was lost. Her brother was gone. Her tears knew no end and her breathes were broken still. Defeat was absolute. “The Laws of the God...,” there came a voice from among the trees that startled both the women to the toes. “Who’s there?” Charlotte went wide eyed, horror creeping under her skin. Martha took a step back, sweat beading down her forehead. And then a very strange person stepped out of the trees, into the light. He might have been as tall as Iwan. From the waist upwards he was like a man, but his legs were shaped like a goat's, the hair on them was glossy brown and instead of feet he had goat's hoofs and his skin was rather reddish too. He had a strange, but pleasant little face, with a short pointed beard and curly hair, and out of the hair there stuck two horns, one on each side of his forehead. Charlotte and Martha couldn’t believe their eyes. A faun stood before them, a being of whom they had heard of only in fables. For a moment Charlotte thought she was dreaming but then the sight of her brother’s corpse stabbed her. “My Queen, I’m Tirius, a friend to Prince Iwan,” he bowed before her. The two of them didn’t know what to say. Fear stopped the words in their throats and left them shaking. Iwan was right, the person he had been describing was true after all. “The Laws of God, my lady, are strange but just. They say, only he can govern what is true and what is false. Only he holds the right to give life and to take it back,” he walked towards them, “....but he is not the only one who can give life. A mother can give life as well.” Charlotte looked at him with tear filled eyes. She couldn’t understand what he was saying and she didn’t know what to say. “The Stone Table was built thousands of years ago, on the command of the almighty, to serve as a symbol of justice and only the King could serve this justice,” he looked at Walter’s face, which seemed to be at peace, “The King is next to the God and his word is absolute. But if the Lord almighty gave the King the power to take life, he gave the Queen Mother the power to give life as well.” His words struck a string of hope within her. Suddenly her heart started to beat faster. “The Stone Table does not agree to the blood of an innocent,” Tirius told them, “If someone, for no fault of his is executed on the Table, then he can be brought back to life, but only by the Queen Mother.” “How?” she asked, her voice shaken, “It is not possible...,” “But it is...,” Tirius said, “It could be...it all depends upon the faith.” She looked at him, then at her brother and then at Martha. Wrecked by grief she stood up and placed her hands on the chest of her brother’s corpse, and though she didn’t believe the faun, the words came to her mouth, “My Lord, the creator of heaven and earth, I pray to you, shed your mercy upon us.....,” Her words sounded hollow to her ears, her hands touching her mistrust. She tried and tried but her brother’s breathes did not return. She sighed, broken in spirit. Her eyes closed in defeat. Tears flowing down her face. She looked at him, hoping he would move, hoping he would speak but his soul was gone. Gone far away. Her hands shook. She had lost. She looked at Martha, who stood still, not uttering a word. Charlotte turned and walked, to where she did not know. “My Lady there is one more way....,” Tirius spoke suddenly. She stopped on her track, then started walking again. “My Queen, without Lord Walter this war is lost,” Martha’s voice sounded in her ears, “Only he could have guided your men to victory.” Charlotte knew that was the truth but could she believe the faun’s words? “My Lady, inside the Castle of Light and Dark lays a hidden chamber. And inside that chamber is a tabernacle which holds a chalice of gold. The chalice that contains the God’s wine.” He stopped to catch his breath. “It is said that one can ask of anything from the Lord almighty if he succeeds to drink from the chalice and his wish shall be granted. But to get to the chalice is not easy....,” Tirius said, “It is said that magic guards the walls of the Castle of Light and Dark and to get past it is no feat for the faint of heart....,” The Castle of Light and Dark? She had never heard of it before. Was the faun lying? But what if it was the truth? Maybe it was her only chance to get her brother back. “How far is the castle from here?” “A day’s ride north,” Tirius replied, “...but my lady I must warn you, this may cost you your life...,” “If this is the way to bring my brother back, then I must do it....,” Charlotte spoke, “No matter what the cost....,” CHAPTER- VIII THE CASTLE OF LIGHT AND DARK Amongst the dense forest of larch and pine, Charlotte found the castle of Light and Dark. What she had presumed to be a magnificent stronghold was just a grey and ancient ruin, protected by the woods. She stood there with a hand on her aching bladder, her thighs pressed together. Studying the fortress and guessing what it held inside. The pressure inside her bladder had grown to the highest degree. The waterskin she had carried with her on the journey had been emptied and refilled over a dozen times since she had left Martha and her brother back at the camp yesterday and yet her bladder was unrelieved, still holding ten days worth of urine. But Queen Charlotte was confident. She knew her bladder would never crack or give way to any amount of pressure. But what if it became her undoing inside the Castle of Light and Dark? “My Queen,” Tirius said, “I want you to think this through one last time...” “There is nothing to think about,” Charlotte spoke, her eyes stuck on the castle, “I have no other way,” she sighed. “It is said that many go into The Castle of Light and Dark, but few come out,” he told, “If you have decided to follow your heart, then take me inside with you. I’ve heard many tales of the place, maybe they will come of help.” “No,” she breathed, “Some places even the Queen must walk alone.” This frightened the faun, “My Queen, you must remember, the front way leads in, but never out again. Heed my words, The Castle of Light and Dark was not made for mortal men. If you value your soul, take care and do just as I tell you.” “I will do as you say,” Charlotte promised. “When you enter, you will find yourself in a room with four doors: the one you have come through and three others. Take the door to your left. Each time, the door to your left. If you should come upon a stairwell, climb. Never go down, and never take any door but the first door to your left.” “The door to my left,” Charlotte repeated. “I understand. And when I leave, the opposite?” “No,” Tirius said. “Leaving and coming, it is the same. Always up. Always the door to your left.” “I understand.” She sighed and as the Queen walked towards the huge wooden door, it opened itself to let her in. She turned to look at the faun for one last time and then entered the castle. The door slowly closed behind her back. She found herself in a stone anteroom with four doors, one on each wall. With some hesitation, she went to the door on her left and stepped through. The second room was a twin to the first. Again she turned to the left-hand door. When she pushed it open she faced yet another small antechamber with four doors. I am in the presence of sorcery. She felt shaken but never did she let her fear overcome her. She took the door to the left once more and found herself in a long hall. The long hall went on and on and on, with torches burning on the walls. She walked past more doors than she could count, closed doors and open ones, doors of wood and doors of iron, carved doors and plain ones, doors with pulls and doors with locks and doors with knockers. Finally a great pair of bronze doors appeared to her left, grander than the rest. They swung open as she neared, and as she entered it, Queen Charlotte saw the thing for which she was not prepared. A gigantic dragon, bound by chains lay before her, guarding the doors behind it. Even the darkness had not dimmed the beauty of its scales that shone a shade of dark green in the light that danced upon the torches. For a moment, it took her breath away. Dragon? She couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d never seen one in her entire life and now, one was right before her! That’s an Asgarothian Ironbelly! She realized. She had read about dragons in the books kept in the capital’s great library and knew they had all died out centuries ago. It was a miracle to find one alive. Her amazement was short lived though as then the being sensed her. It turned its ugly head towards the Queen and roared with a noise that made the rocks tremble and then, it opened its mouth to spew a jet of fire that sent Charlotte running back. She held her bladder as she leaned back on the wall, her organ unprepared for this kind of rapid movement. The Queen went back in again, peeping at first. She could make that the creature was partially blind but only more savage for that. It looked at her fierce but then suddenly the dragon began to shift backward, as if it was scared of her. Charlotte couldn’t understand what was going on but she knew this was her only chance. The Queen slowly walked towards the wooden door behind the dragon and placed her hand on it. The door opened and she found herself in a room that was crammed from floor to ceiling with golden coins and goblets, silver armor, the skins of strange creatures— some with long spines, others with drooping wings — potions in jeweled flasks, and a skull still wearing a crown. There at the end of the room, she saw the tabernacle. She hurried towards it and opened it to find a chalice full of red wine like the faun had told her. Charlotte raised it to her lips. The first sip tasted sour, but when she swallowed it seemed to come to life within her. She could feel tendrils spreading through her chest, like fingers of fire coiling around her heart, and on her tongue was a taste like honey and blood. It was all the tastes she had ever known, and none of them . . . and then the chalice was empty. She closed her eyes and prayed, “O’Lord almighty, creator of heaven and earth, I pray to you to show your mercy upon me and send my brother back to me....,” she couldn’t control her tears any longer. Then all of a sudden the ground beneath her started to shake and the pillars that held the roof started to crumble. Horror gripped Charlotte tighter than ever. “Oh no!” she wailed. Huge boulders fell down as the roof began to collapse. The castle was coming down. Maybe it was the effect of her drinking from the chalice, she did not know. All she knew was that she needed to escape or she’d be crushed to death. She rushed towards the door as fast her swollen bladder would allow. The bound dragon let out a roar but its posture still seemed submissive, as if it was afraid. Then something happened, something clicked inside her and inspiration or madness came to Charlotte. She rushed towards the dragon and climbed atop the creature, which strangely showed no resistance. “Go! Go! Go!” she commanded and go it went! Charlotte had to put all her strength into her pee hole to keep it shut but she had other things to worry about now. The cuffs broke open with loud bangs. The dragon’s scales were hard as steel; it did not even seem to feel her. Then the creature became aware that it was unbound. With a roar it reared: Charlotte dug in her knees, clutching as tightly as she could to the jagged scales as the wings opened, knocking the pillars aside like skittles. Charlotte, flat on its back, scraped against the ceiling as it dived toward the passage opening, while the castle continued to fall around her. By sheer force the dragon clawed and fought its way through, a massive rock hitting its head, though it wasn’t enough to stop it. Charlotte’s eyes were shut tight against the heat and dust: Deafened by the crashing of rocks and the dragon’s roars, she could only cling to its back, expecting to be shaken off at any moment. And then at last, as the result of the dragon’s brute strength, the remaining roof over its head fell apart. Finally the dragon had room to stretch its wings: Turning its horned head toward the cool outside air it could smell around itself, the dragon climbed atop the rubble of the falling castle with Charlotte still clinging to its back. And then after a bit of struggle, it launched itself into the sky. The Queen was crazed with fear. What if she fell off?! She looked down and saw the Castle of Light and Dark, only the way she had found it before. Unharmed, unbroken. CHAPTER – IX THE BATTLE FOR GODSWICK Swords grazed the flesh off men and horses alike. Screams and shrieks filled the cold air and rivulets of blood ran through the field of battle. Murder was never a sight so common. Lord Victor Atwell could feel a fluttering in his bowels, a queasy liquid feeling; he hoped he was not going to die sick. He saw Sir John impaled on a spear and watched Lord Borbon’s horse shatter a man’s ribs with a kick. A flight of arrows descended on them; where they came from he could not say, but they fell on Torrington and Dalton alike, rattling off armour or finding flesh. Lord Victor lifted his shield and hid beneath it. One by one, his men were falling. The chance of victory slipping from their hands. With Lord Walter dead, there was no chance of defeating Reynard Dalton on the field. He should have known that. Lord Victor saw his son take an arrow to his eye before he fell to the ground, dead. Men stepped on his corpse. He screamed with grief and pain, louder than he had ever screamed but the sounds of the battle muffled his voice. He ran and took the motionless body of his son in his hands and rested his head on his lap before he pulled the arrow out of his skull. Tears found their way to Victor’s blood soaked cheeks, his hands shivering and his lips trembling. His wails were loud, heavy with sorrow but unknown to the ones around him. Then he stood up, swaying his sword, in anger, in pain, in defeat. But all was lost. Someone struck him from behind and his body surrendered itself to the mud. He didn’t want to get back up. All was lost. But then he heard something that left him numb, “Lord Walter is here!” A huge roar of approval went up as men pointed their swords and spears towards the sky in joy! And then he saw him. Atop his white stallion, the Lord of Longford pierced through the enemy. He saw Lord Walter catch an arrow mid air just when it was about to core his eye. What a magnificent warrior! Walter Torrington tossed it aside and jumped off his horse, piercing his sword into an enemy as he landed. Victor could not believe his eyes. A night ago he had wept over his Lord’s corpse that lied cold in his coffin and now he stood before him. Just then the knight who had hit him came thundering down on Victor, swaying his axe. He hit Victor’s helm with the side of his weapon. His head exploded with pain, his skull suddenly heavier than a boulder. Victor’s sword fell. He clawed on the ground for anything he could get his hands on, but the knight hit the side of his axe on Victor’s face once more and he fell down again. He did not recall hitting the ground, but when he looked up there was only sky above him. He rolled onto his side and tried to find his feet, but pain shuddered through him and the world throbbed. The knight drew up above him. "Lord Victor," he boomed down. "You are mine. Do you yield?" Yes, he thought, but the word caught in his throat. He made a croaking sound and fought his way to his knees, fumbling for a weapon. His sword, his dirk, anything . . . "Do you yield?" The knight loomed overhead. He seemed immense. The axe in his hand a raw piece of steel. Victor's hands were numb, his vision blurred, his scabbard empty. "Yield or die," the knight declared. “Fuck you, pig,” Lord Atwell mouthed and in an instant his head was gone. Lord Walter stood on the other side of the field. The battle seemed to have moved beyond him. No one remained on his part of the field save a large number of corpses. Ravens were already circling and landing to feed. The sound of hooves coming up behind him made him whirl, and he saw King Reynard’s reserve come sweeping along. Walter watched as the remnants of his lines got shattered like glass beneath the hammer of the Dalton charge. He had lost the battle. Then the enemies turned towards him. His eyes met theirs’. Suddenly Lord Walter felt as if the world had stopped moving and then he heard the word, “Charge!” Thousands of mounted men were coming towards him. To kill him. To rip him apart. He readied himself, tightening the grip on his great sword. He could feel the earth shuddering beneath his feet, sweat running through his brow, eyes pierced at the sea of warriors that was charging towards him. This was it. He had failed his sister. He had failed his men. This was his end. He closed his eyes and remembered his father, his late mother and his sisters. But then, a sound of thunderous roar filled the skies. Every eye on the battle field looked up and there it was. A dragon. King Reynard watched open mouthed as the great being flapped its gigantic wings. And then he saw her. Sitting atop the dragon’s back. The Queen. In the blink of an eye the dragon came sweeping down to rain fire on his men. Shrieks of horror went up in the skies as an inferno engulfed them. Many ran to save their lives, many got cooked. The dry grasses and stands of wheat went up at once. The wind fanned the flames and blew the smoke into the face of the King. The scent of fire sent the horses into panic, and as the smoke thickened, horse and rider alike were blinded. Their ranks began to break as walls of fire rose on every side of them. The remaining of the Torrington men waited with their bows and spears and made short work of the burned and burning Dalton men who came staggering from the hellhole. More than twenty thousand men died in the flames and what remained of King Reynard’s men perished from swords and spears and arrows. The beaten King looked on as the battle slipped from his hands. All was lost. He began to flee but found someone standing before him. A ghost of his past. A man he had killed. “I hope you find peace in the afterlife,” Lord Walter said before putting his sword through Reynard’s belly. Blood sprouted from his mouth before he fell to the ground. Dead. The echoes of, “Long live the Queen!” and “Long may she reign!” filled the air. A smile ran across Walter’s face. The war was over. They had won. CHAPTER– X THE END The night that followed was that of celebration. Lord Walter held a small feast to mark their victory and everyone drank to the health of the Queen. Charlotte herself drank a large amount of beer on the insistence of the Lords and knights present, though she had not wanted to. She had not made water in days, and the last thing she wanted was more liquid getting pumped inside her tired bladder, but she very well could not refuse the men who had fought for her. As the night darkened and the Queen went to her bed, sleep evaded her. She was beginning to grow less and less confident in her ability to hold her piss and was clenching her muscles as tight as she could, her calmness slowly slipping away. The pressure was getting to her, even if she didn’t want to admit it. Her bladder filled considerably during the night and by the time it was morning, Queen Charlotte was feeling a fairly intense urge to piss. She knew there was no room left for her bladder to expand and she had little will power to continue her hold. But regardless, she got up and dressed herself. Her bladder felt like it was about to explode but the Queen withheld her pressure and waited calmly until it was time for her to leave for the capital. She was dying to get to the castle, rush to the privy and take the piss of her life. She just wanted to let it all out. Hold on, you can hold on, she told herself. Waves of urgency came upon her again and again as her bladder attempted to release its contents to save itself from bursting apart but the Queen held on, endlessly. Her composure unshaken. But inside her chest, her heart beat faster than ever, her head heavier than a boulder. She realized she wasn’t able to think straight, did she really needed to pee that much? It did not matter. She would hold it till she reached inside the walls of the King’s Fort. Inside her chamber. Inside her privy. Only then would she relieve herself. She thanked all the Lords for their support in the war and kissed her brother’s brow before climbing atop her horse, barely controlling her immense need to piss. They all waved at her, Walter, Gunther, Martha and the rest, and she waved back, and so did her son who rode right beside her. Surrounded by a dozen guards, they went on their way as the others looked on. As they rode on into the dusk, Charlotte found herself grabbing her crotch whenever she was sure no one was looking. She could not believe the pressure, it was more than she’d felt ever before. She had never wanted to wee this badly in all her life, yet she was determined not to let it show to the men who rode with her and especially not to her son. She reminded herself that she did not need to worry; her bladder was cast-iron, strong and unbreakable. But then why did she feel so worried? She realized she did not want to think about it. They’d get to the capital tomorrow anyway, until then she’d just not think about it. She just pressed her crotch on the saddle of her horse and rode on. After another hour of riding, they spotted a watchtower. It meant they were on the border of her father’s lands and the royal grounds started from here on out. As they got closer to the tower, Charlotte spotted three armoured men on horsebacks. One carrying a banner with the rampant Griffin of House Seymour on it, the sigil of her late husband’s house and now hers. The three men rode towards them, grasping swords and shields. “It’s an honour to have you here, my Queen and my Prince,” one of them said, “I would like to congratulate you on your victory.” “Many thanks to you, my friend,” Queen Charlotte said forcing a smile. Her bladder was absolutely bursting by this point, her desperation growing by the minute. She realized her hands were shaking. She didn’t know what was happening to her, she was growing restless and panic was starting to crawl up her chest. Was this because she had to urinate? No, that couldn’t be. That couldn’t be. She was the Queen. She could hold on as long as she wanted to. Then why was she sweating? Why was she afraid of losing control? Why? Why? Then, it suddenly hit her, I cannot hold it. M-my bladder is going to explode! I have to piss....i-it’s going to come out! I need to find somewhere to go! I have to piss! Oh my god, I have to piss! Her body was trembling, but she couldn’t let it show to everyone. Hide it, hide it! She screamed within. Holding the reins tighter in her trembling hands. “My Queen, we’d be honoured to have you as our guest at the tower, to share our meat and mead and our roof for the night,” Oliver, one of the men said. Albert, the captain of the Queen’s escort replied, “I thank you for the offer, but we must continue on our way to the capital.” “Wait,” Charlotte said suddenly. “I think we will accept your offer of hospitality. I am sure my guards are hungry, and my back is sore from riding. If you could give me a private room with a bed in which I could rest till the morrow, I would be very grateful to you.” “My Queen,” Albert whispered quickly. “... the capital is just a few hours away, we’ll reach home if we cont--” “I have given my command,” Charlotte said sternly, although on the inside she was frantic. She’d already waited past the breaking point. She knew she didn’t have much time left. “We’ll rest here for the night,” she finished much more politely, turning back to Oliver. “Of course, my Queen,” Oliver said with a bow. “I thank you. With haste, then,” Charlotte said loudly over the whispered protests of her guards. She ignored them completely as she reined her horse to follow Oliver towards the tower. It was a short ride, and soon they were dismounting and making their way into the tower. Oh, she couldn’t wait to piss! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! She screamed internally at Oliver, who was leading them inside. Charlotte walked into the lobby, her bladder ready to crack, “My room?” she asked straight away. “My Queen, would you like some wine before your rest?” he asked. “N-no, not at all,” Charlotte held her brow, squeezing her thighs as tightly together as she could, “Just show me to my room, please....” “Of course,” Oliver replied. “If you would follow me.” Charlotte turned to step after him, and he led her to the base of the tower's staircase. She trembled at the thought of climbing up stairs when she was just moments away from losing complete control of her bladder. Nor did she have the energy neither the time to fight off her need anymore. Still, there was no escaping it. She lifted her right leg and took the first step of the tall tower, then another with her left. Every time she raised a leg, her thigh pressed into the bottom of her bladder, causing it to send out a pulse of pain and pressure that rippled through her body. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead, and she pressed her thighs together, her hands gripped in tight fists, nails digging into her pale skin. Charlotte gasped in pain, audibly but quietly, and her bladder throbbed strongly. Then, suddenly, without her consent, her pole opened for a full second and a long, hot leak escaped into her smallclothes. She froze in panic and quickly stood straight, clenching her muscles, stopping herself from wetting her dress any further. Looking down in horror and shame, she saw the wet spot on her dress, now dark green from the sudden spurt of her warm urine. Fuck, this is so embarrassing! Despite her humiliation, she continued to climb the stairs, grabbing her crotch as tightly as she could. Finally she came to a thick wooden door at the fifth floor, and she grasped the handle, stumbled inside and yelled, “Thank you so much!” to Oliver before banging the door shut at his face! She dashed straight towards the window, lifting up her dress and tearing down her small clothes as she did so. Stricken with panic, she threw her bottom over the edge of the window and at that very moment, the flood inside her erupted completely. “Aaaaaahhhhhh!!!! Ooooooooohhhhhhhh mmmmmmyyyyyyyyyy ggggoooooddddd!!!” Queen Charlotte threw her head up as her eyes closed themselves tight with the immense relief that flowed through her exhausted body. Her toes curled in response of the enormous release. So much pressure... for so long... “Oooooohhhh tthhhaaannnnkkk ggggoooddd!!!” she groaned, the relief rendering her unable to open her eyes. Her whole body shivered with respite as the endless flow of piss streamed out of her. Her brain felt numb. It felt so good to finally release it! Her bladder was stretched to the bursting point. How she had managed to hold it this long she’d never know. She could feel the stream carry her stress out with it. Oh, how long had she waited for this! This glorious feeling of relief. Another heartfelt groan of relief escaped her throat as she let out her long held waters. Oh, how much her bladder had ached! The feeling of bliss as she finally felt her organ shrink was beyond what words could describe, it was pure ecstasy. The tower had come as a blessing in her time of desperate need. There was no way she could have held it all the way to the capital with her bladder that full. But now it was over. She did not have to worry anymore. She was saved. “Phew!” she breathed as she felt the heavy stream run out of her, I really needed that. The relief was so overpowering that she felt light headed. It felt so good! But this private moment of her release was interrupted when a fat man suddenly burst into her room! “My Queen!” the man said with a big smile on his face, “Am I disturbing you?” Charlotte’s eyes widened in shock and humiliation and with the fear of being found out! She didn’t know what to do or what to say! She froze where she was, not moving an inch as her piss continued to flow out of her. “Oh, Your Highness! You mustn’t sit on the window like that!” he yelped, “You might fall off!” The man she recalled as Lord Peter Walden. Many years ago she had granted him the custody of this watchtower for his dedicated service to the throne. Now he was standing before her, about to find out that she was weeing out of the window of his tower. Get lost! Get out, you idiot! She screamed within. “M-my Lord, I-I assure you that I’m safe,” she said, trying her best to cut off her flow but her sphincters were too worn out, “T-to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” “I am most grateful to you my Queen for the generosity you’ve shown us by being our guest for the night,” he said, “I hope you find your stay comfortable.” Yes! Please get out of the room! Get out! Now! “T-thank you, M’lord, that is so kind of you,” she forced a smile that told she wanted to kill him, “Is that all? You may leave now.” She was trying her best to stop the flood that was pouring out of her, all while keeping a straight face but it was out of her control now. There was no stopping it. “Oh, my Queen, I must say we’ve never had a ruler more generous and kind than Your Highness,” he went to sit on her bed, much to Charlotte’s horror, “My Queen is the fairest of all!” he laughed. Queen Charlotte felt like she’d rip him apart, but she was stuck on the window, her river of wee going on and on and on. Then finally he stood up, “Well, my Queen, I beg for your leave now. I’d look forward to seeing you at the feast,” he bowed and left with a smile, closing the door behind him. Charlotte let out a breath of relief. Lord Peter was an old man. She hoped he wouldn’t have noticed what she was doing. Her piss continued unabated for a few more minutes before she found the strength to cut off the flow and quickly climb off the window. She had botched her family name and her title of the Queen, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She still had to pee a lot but her bladder was now empty more than half, which meant she had let the pressure off enough to be able to ride home. She looked out of the window as she adjusted her smallclothes and found that the wall was drenched and at the ground a massive puddle sat as if made by an elephant. A small pond of warm piss. I shouldn’t have relieved myself like that. She felt a sense of guilt overcome her but she tried to suppress it. She quickly adjusted back her dress and went down for the feast. That whole night, the Queen didn’t even look at Lord Peter out of embarrassment, but the old man seemed normal to her, as if nothing had happened. Maybe he had not found out what she was doing back in the room. She thanked the God and participated in the feast with utmost graciousness. During the entire feast, Charlotte didn’t take any wine or beer but only stuck to timely sips of water. Her bladder was completely exhausted and the last thing she wanted was more liquid making its way into it. They left for the capital early on the morrow and after a few hours ride, they saw the massive walls of Godswick at a distance. People praised her name as she rode through the city streets and children ran behind her contingent. But Charlotte cared for none of it. Her desperation had grown since they had left the tower and the Queen once again found herself on the edge of losing control. She had to get to the castle, and fast. She found a small welcoming party along with the members of the royal council waiting for her at the foot of the King’s Fort, but she dismounted and walked past them, steeling herself from grabbing her crotch in full view of her people and leaving her son behind in her frantic run to reach the privy. My room. The privy. Have to go so badly, it all took over her mind as she stepped into the great hall of her castle, ignoring the guards. She slowly climbed the stairs that led to her chamber, stopping her piss at the gates. Her breathing was heavy and her bladder completely exhausted. Hurry, hurry, hurry! She told herself. It’s going to come out! She grabbed her crotch as tightly as she could. She would never know how she had managed to put off her need to wee for so long. Somehow she reached the top of the stairs, and she turned towards her chamber. Squeezing her crotch with her trembling hand as she held her breath tight. She screamed out loud as her bladder pulsated madly within her. She needed to piss so badly! And the pressure was increasing rapidly. Her pee was just a hair breadth away from completely pouring out of her and her chamber still seemed so far. Then suddenly a long jet of her hot wee escaped out of her and she stopped in her track, her eyes widened in fear. There was nothing more she could do. I got so close...just a few more- There was no stopping it anymore. Her piss exploded in a thick stream as relief washed over her body. The Queen was wetting herself. She tried her hardest to stop the flow but failed. She looked on in disbelief at the puddle of hot piss as it grew beneath her, her eyes still wide with fear and humiliation. “Stop! Please stop!” she sighed her hands holding her face on the sides. Her body was beaten. It could have not taken the pressure any more. My God, why did you let this happen to me?! Shame crawled up her skin. What if someone saw her like this? Wetting herself in the hallway. She could not let that happen. No. She’d be humiliated for the rest of her life. She needed to move from here, but her body was frozen. She could not move. Her legs trembling as the amazing relief flowed through her. “My Queen?” Charlotte’s heart practically stopped. She looked up, eyes wide. Her handmaidens Lucille and Mary stood before her, looking on with disbelief. The Queen was wetting herself. This was a sight they shouldn’t have witnessed. The Queen’s embarrassment flowed from under her dress like a river, soaking into the carpet and spreading out in every direction. Her body was fatigued and she was completely defeated, humiliated in front of her servants, everything she thought of herself as a Queen flowing out of her, dampening the bottom of her skirt. It just went on and on, a seemingly endless stream of hot piss that nearly reached Lucille and Mary who were standing several meters away. Despite the absorption of the carpet, the puddle reached the ledge of the second floor of the entrance hall and fell to the marble below. Charlotte could hear it splattering against stone even at this distance, and she knew there was absolutely no hiding such an accident. Even if she banished Lucille and Mary from the Capital, people would come into the hall at some point and see the mess coming from her wing of the castle. I'm going to have to run. Just shift to some other country and make a living as a cook. What if Iwan finds out about this? Oh, no! Not him! It was several minutes before her waterfall fell silent. Her puddle was almost ten feet in span and the only sound that could be heard was of her pee falling to the floor below. Her two servants still stood by, watching her in disbelief. She wished they would look away, but it made no difference now. Her body and mind fatigued, she looked at the two young girls. “So, what is going to happen now?” Charlotte asked them, a semblance of hurt and humiliation in her voice. “Are you going to run and tell everyone what I have done here? This is a good chance for you to have your vengeance for how poorly I’ve treated you all, isn’t it?” The two of them looked between Charlotte and her colossal puddle. They knew if the word of this got out, the Queen would have to face an embarrassment like no other. Mustering her voice, Mary spoke first. “It was me who did this. I lost control of my waters. Please, forgive me.” Charlotte sighed and smiled sincerely for the first time in what felt like days. “Oh, my sweet girl, that is so kind of you....,” she breathed. “However, nobody will believe that a tiny one like you could hold this much piss. I fear there is no possible way for me out of this.” “I couldn't hold it either,” Lucille said suddenly, “We were so occupied in preparing for your welcome since morning, that we didn’t get a chance to use the chamberpot. We beg for your pardon, Your Highness...,” At this very moment, Charlotte loved these girls like they were her own daughters. “You would take the blame for this, after how I have abused you over the years?” “We owe you everything we have, my Queen,” Lucille said, “We were born to serve you.” “I will never forget this,” Charlotte said, “You two will be rewarded with whatever you want for this.” “Please, my Queen,” Lucille said. “Just see yourself to your chamber to wash.” Charlotte nodded, her heart full of gratitude, before she rushed towards her chamber. The End
  14. I want to be able to take the urine from inside other people’s bladders, and add it into my own bladder, with no reverse way around. It means I can only pee out to relieve my own bladder, but I can make it full by “stealing” pee from other people’s bellies. Once the pee has been transferred into my bladder, I cannot put it back. The only way to empty myself is to urinate normally. So my dream superpower would be making myself full and then have to rush to the toilets immediately. ...or maybe not. Maybe I don’t want to, I would rather enjoy the sensation. Or maybe I can’t. Perhaps I am stuck inside formal attire, attending an important ceremony, and I “accidentally” made myself a bit too full in the bladder - but I still have to wait for the ceremony to end before I can go. I guess I can only hold on to the suddenly pent up pee in that case. Maybe I would “accidentally” do it many times: fill my belly up with someone else’s urine when it is inappropriate for me to go urinate myself. What a delicious predicament I put myself in. I think about how fun it would be to always make myself full each time I ride the bus, jiggling around secretly and have to rush to the loo once I get off. Or making myself full in class just after recess. Or feel the distended bladder again just seconds after I leave the loo. With that power, I’d never let myself empty, maybe save for at night so I can sleep.
  15. Impressa

    Test of Faith

    Well I watched some fantasy comedy anime and was inspired to write this, about three very unhappy clerics... --- This is a story of three girls in white, whose faith is put to the test under the direst of circumstances. They face a terrible trial and, well, how they prevail is to be seen... Like so many stories of this kind, so many groups of close friends, there is a tall, plain one. A freckled one with glasses. And the delicate pretty one, with wavy hair and angelic features. There is Jennifer, tall, reserved and resigned to the fact she will never be as cute as her friends. Alisa, spectacled and nervous. And Lucy, who may as well be the embodiment of an angel. They wear white dresses heavy with golden braid, gloves and stockings and white berets. Sweet, angelic outfits for the ministering angels of the church. And at the same time wholly impractical in cold weather, showing every stain and mark. They are novices of the great church of Myra, and tonight they must do something they have dreaded the thought of for days. An overnight vigil by candlelight in the great chapel... The matter of what happens should bodily needs arise has not escaped their minds, and there is no answer save forbearance. - Jennifer's Ordeal The thought of six hours awake, mostly spent standing in a cold room lit only by candles was enough to make even the usually unflappable Jennifer complain. Not too loudly, not too extensively, but nevertheless she did not look forward to or appreciate the task. It could not be evaded though. Were she to feign illness all that would happen was the date would be changed. And so when the other novices were heading to their beds or to their studies, Jennifer headed with her friends and dorm-mates to the great chapel. A more prudent girl would have, knowing what was to happen, made a quick stop beforehand to address a potential inconvenience. Alisa had. But Jennifer was not the sort of girl to think of such things until it was too late. The sun had already set, for it was deep in winter. The chapel was suffused with a golden light from the dozens upon dozens of candles that offered inadequate heat for its size and cold marble floor. The vigil was easy, at least. Simply stand watch over the altar, offering prayers on the hour. The great candle burned down, marked in hours to make it easier. Hour one passed. Jennifer offered up a short prayer in addition to those expected of her asking for good fortune in love. The others doubtless added their own personal requests to the great goddess Myra. And, as Jennifer stood up, cursing the awkward way her height had to be unfolded from kneeling on the altar-steps, she remembered she had forgotten to relieve herself before the vigil began. Although the time for prayer was over, she begged Myra to let this oversight pass. Myra is capricious. By hour three of the vigil, Jennifer was feeling a distinct and unwelcome pressure and, as is always the way, the more she tried to ignore it the more pressing it felt. The girls were supposed to remain silent and impassive under the gaze of divinity, but, as Jennifer looked miserably over the chapel, she could not help but notice Alisa beginning to tap her foot on the ground. Misery loved company that night. The minutes of the third hour dragged on, Jennifer feeling every one of them a weight on her aching bladder. She had too much pride to cross her legs or fidget, and there was no way she was going to do anything so uncouth and unreserved as to hold herself before Myra and the other girls. Alisa was faring less well, making her need well known to all in present. It was not helping Jennifer's composure. From the candle's progress she estimated it was around twenty minutes before she would have to kneel again. Twenty minutes to find a solution to her predicament, for it was like a constant ache that needed ever-more concentration to bear and the slightest lapse would send first a trickle and then the torrent over the marble floor. Jennifer was a practical girl, who had been the minor daughter of a great household before taking the white robe of Myra's temple. Extended periods without relief came as part of the noble's duty, and Jennifer remembered something her sister had told her as she endured that night. A blanket, or even if circumstances were dire a napkin or handkerchief, could serve to avoid embarrassment. In only ten minutes Jennifer would be kneeling down, likely - if she engineered it properly - in a dark corner of the altar. She did not have a scarf or handkerchief. Her cape, part of her robes of office, was too obvious to remove and too obvious to use to absorb liquid. But her cap... Walking with delicate steps, careful not to move too suddenly lest her restraint break, she made to kneel a little to the side of the others, shadowed by the candlesticks. She feigned clumsiness, stumbling as she knelt, her white beret falling to the ground. With a great show of trying to remain businesslike, and a superhuman effort not to let her waters spill yet, she took the beret, adjusted her dress and pushed it to the aggrieved place. As the others prayed, eyes closed, she offered thanks to Myra - and a quick apology for the desecration of her holy vestments as she sought long-needed relief. Regrettably, there was rather too much of a need for relief for one cap to contain, and in her panic she was forced to remove first one glove and then the other to make up for this. But eventually the flood ceased, and she was fairly sure her swift action had minimised the damage to her dress. It was hard to tell in the dimly lit chapel, but at least that gloom afforded a hiding-place for the ruined garments. - Alisa's Ordeal Alisa had none of Jennifer's stoicism. If her bladder was telling her it was full, she would show it immediately. And the cold floor and drafts of the chapel had given her a most pressing urge by the second hour of the vigil. She had tried shifting her weight, tried tapping her foot, tried crossing her legs. Her ever-more frantic efforts to stave off the deluge had played out to the other girls as a frenzied dance of devotion to Myra above. And, by the fourth hour of the vigil, she was running rapidly out of options save cramming a delicate gloved hand tightly between her legs and writhing on the spot knock-kneed. She had thought for a while Jennifer had been in a similar predicament, showing imperceptible signs of discomfort on her sleepy face. But after the third prayer, Jennifer had stood back up capless and bare-armed, but otherwise in perfect composure. Alisa had seen her friend stumble on the steps and assumed the beret had disappeared under the altar, her gloves ruined in an attempt to save it. She wished, not knowing the truth, she had Jennifer's bladder control. The time for prayer was past, but Alisa was still imploring Myra to give her strength. Just five more minutes. Then ten more. Then perhaps just, if it was not too much to ask of the divinity, another hour. But Myra cared not, and Alisa was all but bent double long before the candle was even halfway to the fifth hour-mark. It was probably best for the others' sanity that they were sworn to silence. Losing control would spell disaster for Alisa's reputation among the novices. But her body was telling her, loudly and constantly, that there was no way she could hold her water for an hour and a half more. Indeed, as a fresh wave of desperation passed over her, she had her doubts about surviving the next five minutes with dry underclothes. "Myra forgive me for this desecration of your holy sacraments..." Praying for forgiveness before you had sinned seemed the prudent thing to do. Unless... The chapel floor where Alisa stood was a grate over the stairs down to the catacombs. She had, in her time, managed to relieve herself standing up, even sometimes while wearing a dress. It took some precision, but it could be done. Feeling for the cloth of her undergarments through the bunched material of the dress, she slipped them to one side, set her feet apart (the act of uncrossing her legs requiring one last heroic burst of resilience) and hoped that the imminent waterfall would not be so loud as to draw attention. - Lucy's Ordeal Lucy's face and composure did not show it but she, too, was in a state of desperation. She viewed it as a test from Myra, a test of faith and endurance. Only by spending the night in this constant suffering of fullness could her righteousness be shown. She was not going to give in, not going to show weakness. The others must not - would not - ever know she had the bodily weaknesses they did. She was the angel of the church, and angels were above showing such things. She was sure Jennifer had done something some time ago, and that Jennifer would need to answer to Myra for it. And then from Alisa's direction she heard something that made her freeze, made the act of enduring Myra's trial so much harder. The sound of water flowing against a metal grate. Outrage at the very idea of a novice of Myra urinating before the altar made her flush red, but any holy fury was curtailed first by her vow of silence for the vigil and secondly by the fact that the sound of running water was making it even harder to hold her own in. Her body screamed for relief, for even the blessed pressure of a gloved hand balling up fabric between her shoulder-width-apart legs. "Myra, give me strength, your weak servant, to see this night through with purity intact. Forgive your profane servant Alisa her weakness. Forgive Jennifer her own deceptions. And grant-me-the-strength-not-to-wet-myself..." Putting it so bluntly in her silent prayer did not help. There was but ninety minutes left. Her air of divinity was sorely challenged. Her thoughts, so often purely of Myra's teaching, were now flooded - no, a bad word - overwhelmed by the need to relieve herself. She breathed deeply, trying to settle her mind. Alisa had finally finished. "The Book of Myra, Chapter Eighteen. A Prayer for Strength. Myra, Lady of all Power, grant your serv-servant the strength to pe-pee-pee-peersevere through all trials and tri-trickle-TRIBULATIONS that they face. Let not storm no please not storms not rain not water STOP THINKING ABOUT WATER LUCY YOU AREN'T MAKING THIS EASIER. NO! Chapter Nineteen, a Prayer for no no no no no that's a prayer for the harvest for rain YOU THOUGHT ABOUT RAIN AGAIN LUCY you- Oh, Myra, save me." Lucy felt the first drops of urine warm her underclothes. And her body, having felt relief, was not going to let anything stop that. The angel of the church felt dampness spread across her white dress, felt liquid trickling down her silk stockings and pooling in her shoes. The others noticed before long, noticed dark stains blossoming on her dress, noticed the spreading pool at her feet. "Myra, Lady of all Power, please, wipe these images from the memories of these your servants. Please, let my shame this night be known only to you..."
  16. Seven generations ago, the city of Green Massif was a very different place. It was so small that the marauding Tarnigants didn't even bother ransacking it during the Mylincian War, and so isolated that the war was over for 3 years before anyone in Green Massif heard it had begun. So when an abominable monster from unknown lands came to terrorize the village, there was no one there to help them. The simple folk of Green Massif had to toughen up or die. The monster, which came to be called the Bower Gulper, was quite a thing to behold. "Stories and woodcuts do not do it justice," they say, but there is nothing else to know it by, since everyone who saw it is now gone. The town hall is built into the shell it would retract into to sleep, giving the people of today some idea of its size. Even though the shell looked like a colossal example of something that would be cast upon a beach by the waves, the monster didn't look like it came from the depths. This is probably why some say the shell belonged to another monster it slew in battle, and that it merely appropriated it as a soldier crab does. But none of this is really known. What is clear is that the monster was a beast made of bones and red blood, not some soft and oddly-shaped sea creature. It was covered almost entirely in scales that cut as keenly as knives and protected as well as full plate armor. It was shaped something like a serpent. Its long body was girded by yoke-shaped plates of impenetrable armor, and interlocking scales protected its underbelly. Its vast and peculiar body bore myriad curious features. Many men died trying to find a weak spot. Eyes studded its body and formed a mosaic on its face, but these were protected by thick eyelids that would snap into place too quickly for any arrow or spear to pierce the soft parts beneath. The multitude of eyes also prevented anyone from sneaking up on the beast. Its head was shaped like a cone which came to a blunt end where its mouth opened. Two giant horns grew upon this cone, and another jutting out from underneath. In that part beneath the head there was a place where the scales seemed to thin out, and the movement of muscles and veins could be seen. But it was directly adjacent to a horn and a pair of jaws, so no lancer could make it there, and no archer could shoot with enough precision to pierce any of those veins. Its jaws weren't so very powerful, but they didn't have to be. What it couldn't bite to pieces, it could swallow whole. It would sometimes be seen picking rocks from the mountainside and swallowing them, so the food it ate could be ground up inside its stomach. Many different figures have been given for the number of its limbs, but I can say safely say it was more than three pairs, each with tearing claws. It was an unpleasant time in which to live, in many different ways. You may already have noticed that a great many of the antique chamber pots that can be seen today date to the time of the monster (identifiable by their blue glaze and the angular patterns decorating them). It is said that this was because more were made during that year than any other time in history. You see, the fear that grasped the village was so strong that people were afraid to go to the outhouse alone at night, and chose instead to use their own home as a place of easement or else suffer 'til the morning. After a while, the monster didn't even leave the city after its rampages. It feared the people so little that it would simply tuck itself into its shell and go to sleep. It was bad enough being attacked by a monster every few nights, but to be able to see it sitting there at all through the day was a chilling reminder of the threat. The villagers' spirits dropped further. Warriors performed even more poorly against the monster. A quarter of the town moved away to where the shell wouldn't be in their vision at all times, living in tents. Of course, this made them even less safe. Meanwhile, lances, battering rams, and fire were used against its sleeping form, to no avail. Before falling into slumber, it always rolled into a shape that left the thickest plates of its armor blocking the entrance to its shell. The only times the monster left the village was to drink from a nearby stream, and to visit a remote location where it disposed of what remained of the devoured villagers. Attempts were made to catch it off guard at these places, but the monster was too canny to fall to a surprise attack. There was one warrior in Green Massif who was not only bold enough to fight the Bower Gulper, but crafty enough to defeat it when so many others had failed. This valiant challenger was not a knight, nor a man, nor even a boy. Diceanct Gemniss was a small girl with great ambitions. Let me describe her. Her hair was red almost beyond hair's capacity to be red. She didn't put much fuss into grooming it, so it flowed all over her head and shoulders, and looked like a flaming torch when the wind caught hold of it. Inside she was just as fiery. A spark could be seen in those sapphire eyes of hers. She had the long lashes, thin eyebrows, and shapely lips that would usually catch the fellows' attention. But in her case they were more likely to be covered with dirt than makeup. She was small, even for a young lady, but the muscles that clothed her tiny skeleton could do incredible things. While the other little girls had been gathering flowers and braiding their hair, she had been outrunning hunting dogs and scaling mossy ruins. While the other girls had been learning to sew and cook, she had learned to hunt wild animals and to tan and stretch hide to fashion leather armor. Such was her way. Some thought she was mad. Others that she was really a boy. For all these reasons, the boys never brought her flowers or asked her to dances. But she was sought after in hunts and sports and other boyish pastimes. She wished to be taught in the ways of a knight, but such a thing was unheard of in those days. Many adults disdained her, as did some children, telling her she should be in a kitchen or at a spinning wheel. Even those boys who enjoyed having her as a comrade thought it was unfitting for her to be a warrior, such was the strength of the taboo. But she did have some things in common with the other girls of Green Massif. For instance, she had been eagerly awaiting the annual festival held for the boys and girls who had recently become men and women. Her year had finally arrived. When the threat of the monster became so pervasive that the festival was deemed to dangerous to hold, these children were heartbroken. But this girl Dicea instead became truly angry. The day of that announcement, she separated herself from any human contact. She was sighted in the tallest branch of the tallest tree in the countryside, stewing with rage but also working over strategies. There, hanging upside down so the blood would nourish her brain in abundance, she devised the perfect plan. She procured some daziper oil, a sweet-smelling yet potently poisonous concoction. Then she went to her family's home and began to soak her armor in it. That very night, she wrapped up her inconveniently large bosom, slid into her newly fortified armor, sheathed her hunting dagger in her belt, and went off to wait for the Bower Gulper to come out of its shell to snatch up the cattle that were being herded nearby. The villagers who witnessed the ensuing battle did not think Dicea fought valiantly. They thought she was simply mad. She taunted the monster while armed with only a dagger, and hardly defended herself at all. It wasn't long before the colossal beast was biting at her wantonly with its massive jaws. It was unable to penetrate her tough leather armor, but that didn't prevent it from wolfing her down. One swallow and she was gone, armor, dagger, and all. The onlookers wept. She had been their best hope, and would probably be their last. But in a moment, the daziper oil in which she had soaked her armor had its intended effect, and the monster disgorged her, whole and alive. This had been her plan all along, because it gave her access to the monster's one vulnerable spot. As she was cast from its mouth, she caught hold of the horn that protruded from its chin. This placed her just beyond the reach of the monster's foremost pair of arms. With her legs gripping the horn like a vice, her upper body was freed to locate and cut the great veins in the beast's unprotected neck. In moments, it fell down dead. That day, a huge celebration was held in honor of Diceanct Gemniss the Beast-Slayer. She was modest, and didn't want to receive all of the attention. She made it known that this would replace the coming of age festival of which the people her age had been robbed. And so the young women got to show off their fancy clothes and reduced girths after all. There was a great feast. All the tasty food in the village was devoured in one afternoon, but no one cared. And there was much song and dance. But more of the young men danced with Dicea than with anyone else, because, even with her body covered in cuts and bruises, she was still the most winsome woman in the land. She was the one to which they owed their lives. If not for her, they would be no more than skeletons in piles of dung. The year went on, the village rebuilt, and the suitors never left Dicea alone for a moment. She had much fun sparring with them all. The toughest and boldest of them all won her hand in marriage, although he never did win a wrestling match with her. Their combined warriors' blood, propagated by their many children, is the reason that today Green Massif has the most valorous fighters in the land, and the most feisty women. Now that you have heard this legend, which is still on the tongues of many after seven generations have passed, I will tell you the true story. Like many oft-told tales, the story of the Bower Gulper's death takes detours around certain truths. I know this because my grandfather had the privilege of studying Diceanct Gemniss with a thoroughness that is impossible today. Many relics from her era, such as her personal diary, are now lost. But the secret true history has been told among my family, and now I tell it to you. Women are a secretive sex, and it can be hard for we men to believe that each one has a full set of bowels tucked into her person, which function just as they do in a man or a beast. Combine this with the way we make idols of the heroes of the past, and it seems absurd to suggest that Diceanct Gemniss the Beast-Slayer could ever have sat on an outhouse bench. But before there were legends or paintings or statues of her there was a real person who was as much flesh and blood as you or I. I can tell you with certainty that, beneath the well-developed muscles of her torso, were nestled the five feet of bowels that are allotted to every mortal man and woman. I can tell you with equal certainty that each inch of that organ was full when she went into battle. The reader must keep that in mind as I retell the end of the story. Tellers of this tale supply its heroine with only a dagger, but she actually took a sword and shield into battle. She had even stolen a catapult from the city's defenders. This was the keystone of her cunning plan to vanquish the beast that had conquered so many. She believed the best place to strike was between the plates girding its back and sides. These came very far apart when it twisted its body, and she thought she could pierce the soft flesh between them using a poisoned sword. A long lance would have been better, but she didn't have one, nor would she know how to use one if she stole it. But she was confident in her abilities as a swordswoman, and in the potency of the poison she had found. When she faced it that night, she had a plan which the tellers of the tale have forgotten, it having been a miserable failure. She let some cattle out of their pen and goaded them toward the shell of the sleeping monster. The farmer was upset, but didn't shout her away from his livestock for fear that the mad girl might attack him. The beast ventured out to snatch up these tasty morsels when Dicea did the maddest thing yet. She had lured one of the cattle onto the catapult, and propelled it out past the edge of the town. The Bower Gulper rapidly jerked its neck to catch the flying treat, as she had hoped. But the exposure of the tender flesh between its scales was fleeting. When she charged its neck, it was already coming back around. The force of that failed stab was so great that the sword flew out of her hands. When the beast reared its head, she had to draw back instead of retrieving her weapon. In a moment it had been lost beneath the great serpent's advancing body. She tried to ward it off with a torch, but it was no use. She hid in a gap in a wall, hoping the beast would pass her by. But it used its awful curved claws to fish her out of that crack. She put up her great shield, which reeked of daziper, between herself and the hideous fiend. But it scratched and batted at the poisoned iron, and eventually snatched it from the girl's bloodied hands. She reclaimed her torch and tried to burn its hand to discourage it, but it would not leave her alone. Soon it presented its jaws instead of its arms. It was determined to eat this irksome pest. No plan of defense could have prevented the moment when its teeth caught her body. When the monster's jaws closed, they left Dicea in a compromising position. The armor kept her torso unharmed, but those shark-like serrated teeth were all about her, and she could not move an arm to draw her dagger without wounding herself deeply. The torch still burned, but didn't singe the flesh of the mouth enough for the monster to react. She tried with all her might to kick its teeth out and make her escape, but they would not be broken. The only thing defending her body was her armor. The monster no doubt tasted the daziper oil she had soaked it in, but it showed no concern for the poison. It certainly wasn't vile enough to make it spit her out. As it tried to chew its meal, Dicea's arms and legs received some cuts, but the bulk of her body was spared. The monster grew tired of trying to puncture her armor with its teeth, and gulped her down whole. She tried to make herself too large to swallow, but she still slid down that soft and slimy tube without making any trouble for the monster. She was carried for hundreds of feet before finally being deposited in a stuffy, damp, hot place. She fell onto her side, and was cemented to the floor by a sticky coating. The torchlight revealed to her a saddle-shaped pink chamber, empty save for her and a nest of sharp rocks. The spongy walls pulsed with life, and seething hot fluid was rising to meet her. Then the flame went dark. But the ending of the battle, as you have heard it before, is true. She did receive a second chance at life. When she was thrown out of the monster's mouth she was shocked to be alive, but she came to her senses quickly enough to cling to the horn of its chin and avoid a nasty fall. And she wasn't too overcome with fear to take advantage of her position. She drew her dagger and slashed madly until the beast fell to the earth, and her with it. Even then, she hacked at it frantically until its neck was a pulp and the remains of its head were totally separate from the body. Her hysteria finally ceased, and she collapsed to the ground and slowly caught her breath. Once the villagers were convinced that her mind wasn't gone, they showered her with praise. She found herself telling and retelling the story of her strategy and victory to an adoring crowd, not caring that only parts of it were true. The women were empowered to know that a humble member of their sex had achieved such a feat. The men's eyes were ablaze with fondness. The jubilant mood began to shift with the first mention of an unpleasant smell. It was at first assumed that the dying monster had ejected its bowels' contents, but no evidence could be found of this. The smell lingered, and elicited more remarks by the minute. As this was happening, Dicea began to look more and more uneasy. She began to stammer and pause in her storytelling, and her face grew more and more red, to the point that one couldn't tell where her hair ended and her skin began. Finally, it got to where she couldn't bear it anymore. She broke down, and the emotional outpouring that resulted gave everyone in earshot a full confession. These are her own words, as recorded in her journal: "I soiled myself! I soiled myself! You are smelling my shame. That's why the monster disgorged me. I was too atrocious for its body to contain. I might not have even turned its stomach, were this not an especially foul and voluminous expulsion. But I couldn't help myself. I thought my life was over, and was terrified, and the filth just issued forth. I had no control. As a fighter, I have been a terrible coward. The daziper oil had nothing to do with my escape. It was meant to protect me from being consumed in the first place, because I never planned to enter that awful thing's body at all. It was only through good fortune that being swallowed led to my victory. I had a plan, and it failed! It failed awfully, and I was eaten, and I defiled my garments like a child." What she spoke was true. As it had happened, her mind collapsed in terror and despair when she found herself in complete darkness in that horrible churning pit of death, and her muscles gave out in turn. She was conscious of the consequences of this. In fact, she was conscious of little else. She recorded in her journal the feeling of her bowels purging themselves while she was powerless to halt the process. She felt a long solid mass push the seat of her pants away, then fold over and smash itself into a formless lump against her rump. More and more came out, putting space between her armor and her body. The dank atmosphere became especially atrocious. Her inability to keep her waste inside made her failure that day even more bitter. Just when she thought she was about to suffocate, she found herself being thrust upward. Her mind ignored the disaster of her bowels, so elated she was to be alive. In the heat of the fight that ensued, and the shining splendor of her victory, she forgot all about the extra weight in her clothes. She didn't even think to go back and wash up, so lost she was in this happy moment, and now the villagers could see the pitiable thing she had done. Of course, she had proper underclothes, and all that she had produced was held inside them, and was further obscured by her armor. But, once one knew to look, they could see between her legs a mass of sagging cloth that looked like an overfilled sack of turnips, and smelled like the hole of a privy. After finishing her speech, Dicea wept and wept, and had to be consoled like a child. The villagers emphasized that she had had the presence of mind to cling to the monster's horn and slit its throat, and that she had been brave enough to face it in the first place. But all she could think about was the pungent muck she was sitting in. She never fully regained her composure that morning, but she did eventually halt the flow of tears and sulk off to the bathhouse. She peeled from her body the clothing that she had befouled, and set it aside to bury later. Then she went about soaking and scrubbing herself until her flesh was rosy and tender. All the foul-smelling filth was removed, but the shame would not wash away. After that, she walked back to her home in her armor, nude underneath, while people stared and wondered and chuckled. There she stayed for quite some time, and would not show her face to anyone. As word of the beast's vanquishment spread throughout the surviving villagers, so did instructions not to mention the vanquisher's lapse of continence. Still, Dicea would not be seen for some time. She was so humiliated that she wouldn't even show herself during the celebration of her victory, and it went on without her. Of course, it didn't take too long for her to realize that she was adored and respected much more than she was made the object of derision. Even as she sulked, she was sent flowers and gifts and enough clean sets of fine clothing to last her many years. And, even though she had missed her one chance at a coming of age festival, she soon had more suitors than all the other young ladies of Green Massif combined. True, some of the men were disgusted by her embarrassing mishap, but most were captivated by her. After all, a lady who can slay the greatest monster in living memory is quite a lady indeed, even if she does sometimes wreck her undergarments. And the rest of the story is as you know, regarding her popularity, her marriage, and her dozen and two children (which were all sired by the same man, contrary to a malicious rumor you might have heard). To compensate for her own failing, she made sure they each received stern and strict toilet training, and none had a single misfortune of the bowels or bladder after their third birthday. She was a mighty warrior. No one questions that. But she never outgrew the tendency to become deeply stricken with fear at the direst moments. Stricken right down to the bowels. Those who served with her in battle would always pretend they smelled nothing. The habit of dousing her armor with perfume continued, to hide the smells she produced due to vigorous exercise and less mentionable bodily processes. The skirt that adorned her armor, which has become such an iconic part of her legend, was something she adopted to hide her lower garments from view in case they were distended with matter she had voided. Other female fighters embraced these practices, partly so she wouldn't feel ashamed, and they are now commonplace, even though most of these lady warriors do not know the embarrassing origin of the perfume and skirts that adorn them. Thus goes the true story of Diceanct Gemniss the Beast-Slayer. I may catch malice for telling it, but none can find any solid proof that the popular version of the tale holds any more fact than mine.
  17. Keita123

    Till Death Do Us Part

    "Uuuhh... hmmmmm...." You slowly opened your eyes. As your consciousness groggily returned to you, you were greeted by the sight of a beautiful woman's face sleeping right in front of you. No discomfort came to you as she was a person you really knew well. After all, she was Morgana, your dear darling wife. You two had been married for over a year. But instead of settling down like an ordinary family, you two instead decided to continue your wandering lives as adventurers. And last night, just like many other nights, you two slept together under a shared tent. "Oooh, dear, using such a cliched phrase to woo your wife..." As usual, she was as talkative as ever in her sleep. Your arms were currently wrapped around her... a) naked body, allowing you to feel every inch of her soft skin, pleasant warmth, and nice scent. You blushed remembering how you two got wild last night. She might look demure in everyday life, but she could be quite the predator in bed. b) semi-naked body. She was wearing only her bra and panties. You didn't have intercourse last night, but she pretty much rubbed her body all over you. c) clothed body. You two were terribly tired last night. You only enjoyed the warmth of each other as you two drifted to sleep. You then took a glance at the blanket covering you two. a) It looked dry. Why would it be anything different? b) It looked dry. You sighed in relief. You didn't want your sweet wife to be upset after all. c) It looked dry. You couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed. She was so cute when she got all flustered. d) There was a large wet patch at Morgana's side. W-what? Could it be that she-- e) There was a large wet patch at Morgana's side. You sighed. She did it again. f) There was a large wet patch at Morgana's side. Oh that woman! You were happy that she was willing to indulge in your odd, perverted taste but sometimes she went too far with it. And every time she did something like this, the laundry duty fell to you instead of her!
  18. Guest

    The Silver Key

    Hello! This is my first crack at an interactive story! I decided after reading so many amazing interactive stories that I wanted to try one out myself. Sorry for the utter lack of omo in this first chapter, but I promise there will be more in later entries! Fair warning though, story and characters will most likely take more priority over omo most of the time. Not all entries will be this long, and some will be even longer. I'm just going to go with the flow with this one and write as I go along. I sincerely hope you all enjoy!! ? Chapter 1 All was quiet at the Ainsworth Estate. Victor, the man of the house, was finally going to sleep after a long evening in his study. Maria, his wife, had been sleeping soundly for a few hours now. She stirred from her rest and sleepily smiled at her husband as he settled into bed beside her. The two fell into a peaceful slumber only minutes later. With all the servants resting in their quarters as well, only one resident of the house was left awake. Arabella Ainsworth sat straight up, having heard her parents' bedroom door shut. "Finally." She muttered. The young girl hopped down from her large and plush bed, already pulling her nightgown over her head. She had to be quick and quiet, lest someone in the house woke up or came to check on her before she could leave. She rushed over to her mahogany wardrobe, swinging the doors open and pushing aside a few dresses. Hidden in back corner of the wardrobe was a well-worn leather bag, a set of clothes, and finally, a silver rapier, stolen from her father's armory. The girl still couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it was missing. Arabella hurriedly put on her clothes, a simple white blouse with brown pants and a belt, before slipping on her knee-high boots. To complete her outfit, she fished her long, dark green overcoat out of her wardrobe as well. She put it on and pulled her curly, brown hair out of the collar. After clipping the sheathed rapier to her waist, Arabella slung her bag over her shoulders and took a deep breath. She was ready. It was time to go. "Oh, wait." She whispered to herself. The girl shrugged off her backpack and rummaged through it, pulling out a large envelope. "To Mother and Father," it read. She placed it on the pillow of her bed. Once she'd taken one last look at her room, Arabella ventured out into the halls of her soon to be former home. She sneaked down the spiral staircase she used to run up and down as a child, past the kitchen where her mother used to make breakfast every morning, and finally, to the front door. Arabella glanced behind her once more, knowing that she still had the chance to go back. She could simply go back upstairs and climb into bed. No one would be any the wiser in the morning. "No." She thought, clenching her fists. "I can't stay here." Taking another deep breath, Arabella opened the front door, and took the first step of her journey. ................................................................................................................................................................................... It took a while to get off of her family's property, but eventually, Arabella felt that it was safe to rest. She sat down on the forest floor, looking up to the star filled sky above. The moon was high in the sky, casting a silvery light on the land below. The moonlight combined with the sight and sound of the trees rustling in the wind gave the forest an ethereal atmosphere. A perfect beginning to a grand adventure, in Arabella's opinion. She smiled to herself, butterflies running rampant in her stomach. Finally, after so many years of longing, she was free. Free to explore the world. Free to become whoever she wanted to be. But first, she had to get as far away from home as possible. Arabella stood up and stretched a bit. As she did, she felt a tiny pang from her lower abdomen. Shoot, she knew she'd forgotten to do something before she left! The girl shifted in place a bit, gauging her need. It wasn't too bad, and Arabella had confidence she'd be able to make it to the nearby town and find a proper privy before she was forced to do anything...indecent. She pulled out her map and compass, checked to make sure she was still going the right way, and continued down the path. Not too much later, Arabella was making her way through the forest when something caught her attention. The sound of a twig snapping. She whipped around, hand already resting on her rapier's handle, but saw nothing. She listened for a few seconds more, straining her ears, and heard some leaves rustling in the same direction. What did Arabella do? A) It's probably just an animal. Let your guard down and continue walking B) It's probably nothing...but just in case... Continue walking, but keep your guard up C) Hey, who's there?! Stand your ground and unsheathe your rapier D) I'll strike first! Try and pinpoint the source of the noise, and attack E) Oh, fuck this. Attempt to run away
  19. PluggedUp_Full

    A Voodoo Doll of The Bladder

    One of my online friend came up with this. It is her secret, most erotic fantasy. It has a great deal of omorashi so, I post it here, but if it isn't your taste, please ignore. Here goes:
  20. I have always been interested in a (especially male) chastity device that prevent the wearer from peeing as well as cumming. Imagining a super-desperate person with open toilets all around him/her but cannot relieve the load, because beneath their clothes they are secretly locked in a hole-less belt, is hopelessly horny to me. It is like the person is subjected to total submission, total control by the keyholder as to when, where and how they get to pee, and even when the chastised person has their bare bottom hovering over an open toilet bowl, all they could do is stir up the pee in their bellies and not getting an actual relief, ever. Their bladder would forever be cursed to expand to accommodate the pent up urine, hold it until the master/mistress' whim to let them pee ,,, or let them wet themselves.
  21. Unbeknownst

    Mortal

    Author's Note: I had the itch to write again and so I decided try something a little different from my usual fare. A slight twist on my past style rather than a direct improvement. I included the bucket list of tags because the story will eventually contain some of all of them, though not necessarily all at the same time and definitely not in every chapter. As always please reply with any comments, suggestions, critiques, or even just to say "hi". Don't worry, you won't hurt my feelings. Enjoy. AS: Beginning at chapter I is highly recommended for plot and character reasons. Desperation begins in chapter II and wettings and peeing begin in chapter IV. Chapter I: The Gods Gather For the first time in centuries, the thirteen gods of the Pantheon gathered within the stone chamber known simply as The Round. Hidden away from the rest of the world within its own secret space only they could access. Around the perfect triskaidecagonal table they sat on throne like seats as soft as cushions, each manifested in their preferred mortal form. Not truly omniscient or omnipresent, most preferred to stay with their chosen people or country. Starting clockwise from the head of the table they were: Ori, the goddess of creation and nominal head of the Pantheon. She took the form of a human wearing a simple gown of pure white that left her shoulders bare. Her long blond hair fell in a gentle sheet down her back and obsidian jewelry brought out her dark eyes. She was the patron of the holy city Arabesque. Marshall, the god of war. He also appeared human, garbed in the traditional military uniform of Kylon. The sand colored uniform and metallic trimmings were extremely out of place. With his tall barrel chested figure and sharp expressions he cultivated a domineering presence. He was the patron of the Free State of Kylon. Skale, the god of judgement and justice. Unlike the others who took on forms of their own ideals, he looked the same way he did before ascending to godhood, a pudgy vampire with slick, perfectly combed hair a cape with a popped collar and pointed features. He was the patron of the vampiric races and the Nightland Estates. Marina, the goddess of magic and knowledge. A hemi-aima with the large fluffy ears and tail of a cat, she was the slimmest of all the gods with a curvy body that looked even skinnier next to Skale’s bulk. She wore a green robe open revealing a blouse and skirt both covered with button sized magic circles. She was the patron of hemi-aimas and the oasis city Sanctuary. Idyl, the goddess of youth and beauty. She was a modestly endowed angel with ice blue hair, pearly skin, and long silver wings that somehow managed to fold neatly behind her if she needed them to. Probably because magic. She liked to dress in flowing silks and spent most of her time in Arabesque. Marks, the god of the sea and traders. He looked aged with chiseled features and a thick iron colored beard and mustache. His royal blue colored leather uniform rivaled Marshall’s. He was the patron of the port city Thuhpoynt and the commercial hub Ovthis. Comfrey, the goddess of nature. She changed her apparent age frequently, but never her race or gender. She looked like a fairy with translucent moth wings the same chocolate brown as her hair which she braided elaborately in the shape of a flower with a single strand allowed to hang loose. Right now she was at her most frequent state, that of an adolescent. In her opinion the prime state where one is just old enough to be capable and still have the infinite possibilities of life ahead of them. She wore a thick traveling cloak and sturdy leather clothing. Parley, the god of philosophy and mercy. An elven scholar with emerald eyes like others of his race. He liked to travel widely but often returned to the forest glades of Old Haven to take care of the elven race and convene with Mainur. Mainur, the god of cunning. A drow with blue purple skin and pitch black hair. He controlled vast swathes of the Below, the network of underground passages, caves, and dwellings belonging to various races. He was the patron god all who lived in the Below and had a reputation for pulling grand elaborate schemes for his own amusement, often at the expense of others although he had a known soft spot for Parley with whom he often met with. Twilight, the goddess of death. A vampire who dressed in a pitch black dress that left her arms and legs exposed. It was hot as hell where the Kingdom of the Dead was situated necessarily close to the genesis flame. She originally died close to adulthood and kept the same appearance. Karma, the goddess of luck and inspiration. A human dressed in a bizarre mess of tattered jacket over a nice shirt and pants and roughed boots. She lounged back in her chair as she always did rhythmically flipping a coin in the air to see how many times in a row she could get tails. Of course she could guarantee it with divine power but that would ruin the point. She was patron of the city Opportunity. Arkhein, the goddess of custom. She was an elf clad not in the more traditional loose fitting garb of her kin, but a fitted golden vest, belted white shorts, a flowing cape, and stylized elbow length gloves and knee high boots. Her sea green hair contained a gold ornament depicting a hydra. She was the patron of the Empire. Jack, the god of craftsmen. He was more muscly that even Marshall though not quite so tall. His leather clothing had all sorts of pockets hidden everywhere containing a multitude of half finished projects. He was the patron of the Kaiser Industrial Zone and Ori’s right hand man. “Sorry, sorry.” Arkhein appeared and gracefully took her seat. “I had an issue to take care of.” “That’s quite alright, we haven’t been waiting long.” Ori smiled at her before looking pointedly at Skale. “You were the one who convened this gathering, correct?” “Indeed.” Skale nodded gravely. “I believe the time has come for an accounting.” An accounting was when all the gods of the pantheon discussed the other gods of realm and decide for each one if they had done something worth pantheon intervention. Most of these gods such as Ordan the god of time, Zenith the god of the sky, and Miros the god of sea contented themselves with maintaining the laws over which they had been given dominion and never interfered with the mortal world. But there times when even these gods had to be brought in line such as when Miros began flooding the eastern shores or whenever the rogue god Dester tried to destroy the world. Skale waved his hands, a glass of vibrantly pink liquid appeared in front of each of them. “...and I’ve recently been made aware of this drink I think we all should try.” PS: If my chapters seem short, its because I break a new chapter approximately every 1000 words or so.
  22. I have had several tiny head cannon fictions and fanfiction over the years, quite a few having to do with omorashi. by tiny I mean that if the part I had established was acted out it would probably last let than two minutes, maybe not even one. I think there may be others that are like me in this respect, so here is a thread to post it on. As is, I need to get to bed, so I will have to post later. But don't worry, it's coming.
  23. Dimwitrolo

    Mana Pools: Discovery

    "Ailes!" I shout. "Hurry up, we've arrived!" My brother stumbles out of the doorway to his room, struggling with one hand to strap his bag over his shoulder, the other trying to tighten his sandal. "There's no need to rush, Loraine." He says to me, ignoring his own advice as he hops about on his one sandaled foot, pulling on the leather bag strap going over his shoulder. "Princess Sophia isn't crowned for another week." "Yes but I'm excited!" I shout, hopping on the spot. "This is my first time in the Commonwealth!" "Well you should probably put some shoes on." He says to me, pointing to my bare feet. I drum my toes against the wooden floor of the ship. "The floors here are cold and stone - not like the warm sands of home." "I'll be fine, Ailes." I tell him. I hate wearing shoes. The feeling of being trapped in them just drives me mad. "You won't." He says to me. "You're going to stick out like a sore thumb." "Gee Ailes." I say, tilting my head back. Two Desert Elves in a human commonwealth town, and the thing that's going to make me stand out is my lack of shoes. Better get me some boots then!" "You know what I mean, Loraine." He says. "Anyway, once we get off this ship, we should find lunch, hmm?" "That sounds good!" Stepping off the ship is quite the experience. I've rarely ever left my hometown back in Aelmignon - and I've certainly never been outside the desert. The massive harbour of Rochaffen is more than a little shocking. After all, when you're used to sandstone houses and dusty sandy ground, the towering brick and wooden buildings on a set of cobbled ground is more than a bit foreign. Unlike the warm breezes of home, the air here is cold, wet, and oppressive. Each gust of wind whips up a spray from the cold green water beneath the ship. Perhaps my travelling robes aren't going to be enough over here - the cold spray against my bared midriff is certainly a little unpleasant. The town itself is a grim looking metropolis of grey brick and black smoke stacks, but the busy movement of people breaths life into the town. In a way, it's beautiful to me that anyone could live somewhere so damp and cold - never mind thrive and build the single largest port in all of Eorthston. Anything that leaves or enters the commonwealth seems to come through Rochaffen, from supplies and traded goods, to secrets and rumours. Dark rumours about the commonwealth have of course preceeded me here, but looking at this city now, I'm too overcome with it's beauty to care. The grey brick buildings are given life by their designs - spires and spikes line the top of each building, towering over everyone below. Gargoyles gaze outwards from the rooftops of the more important buildings, such as the town center, the embassies and churches - and as Ailes is quick to point out - the inns. "I hear the food here makes up for the cold atmosphere." He says to me, folding his arms. I can't tell if he's trying to look tough or keep warm. The second I step off the wooding boarding planks of the ship and onto the icy cobbled floor of the harbour I realise he's trying to keep warm. The people of Rochaffen are typical of the western commonwealth - stocky, tall and blonde. Piercing blue eyes and pale faces, but with grins that could melt ice. Stories of the people of the commonwealth are always set with how friendly they are - it's almost shocking that the government is in such turmoil, considering the nature of the average person. "I thought you said we were going to stand out, Ailes." I say to my brother. "We aren't so much as getting second glances over here." "Well." He says to me. "This is a harbour - I bet they get all sorts around here." He appears to be right. All around the shipyard I see people of all races getting on and off the ships. Far eastern Draconians in traditional robes, Dwarves from the frozen north, wiping sweat from their brows - I can't imagine how they could be warm in this freezing place. Imps from the volcanic wastelands seem to agree with me - I can see a small group of them, all with their arms folded and shivering, casting little fireballs to keep warm as they make their ways along. As we walk along the edge of the harbour and into the checkpoint, a whole host of colourful people swarm around us. "Remind me of the plan again." I say, looking over to my brother. "Inn and then...?" "After we get lunch, we'll be walking-" "Walking?" I moan. "Walking. Toward the northern town of Erstalt, where we're going to stay for the night." He says. "Then we'll probably get a carriage somewhere closer to the border." I nod, pretending to have paid attention. I lost interest after lunch. The checkpoint isn't too interesting. We queue for about five minutes behind a feline family in moderate quiet, just listening to the sounds of the city. People talking, laughing and shouting. The waves of the sea behind us are all but drowned out by various noises. When we take our place at the checkpoint itself, the man behind the counter barely looks up. "Names." He says. "I'm Ailes, this is my sister Loraine." Says my brother. The man behind the counter looks up. "Two desert elves." He says, looking back down and writing down onto his book. "Both female. Do you have any ID?" He says, looking back up." "I-I'm not female." Ailes stutters. The man behind the counter sighs, looks down and scratches on his book. My brother meanwhile hands him our papers. I can't help but worry that our flimsy papyrus documents will blow to pieces in this wind, but they hold together well enough, even when the man takes them. "That's all fine." The man says. He waves us on. We can hear him talking as the next people behind us take our spot as we walk along. As we walk toward the inn, I can't help but reconsider Aile's advice. The cold, uneven floor is nothing like the soft desert sands of home. I'm practically hopping along to keep my feet warm, almost envious of Ailes' sandals. This earns me a couple of strange looks from the locals, but right now I'm too shivery to really care. Besides, I'd rather be looking at the sights of the town, than the people looking at me. It's such a strange place... The inn itself is on the corner of the nearest street. It's windows overlook the harbour, though right now our ship blocks of the sea view. Even with the sails up, it's hard to see anything past it. Ailes crams our papers back into his bag as we make our way to the front door. Two men in Commonwealth uniforms stand either side of the door, with flintlock pistols resting against their legs. "Evening." One of the two men says to us as we walk along. "New arrivals to Rochaffen?" "Yes." My brother says as we stand there, with me hopping foot to foot to keep them off the cold ground. "We were hoping to, err, come inside." "Of course. Just need to do a check for any weapons you might have." The guard says. "Why would we have any weapons?" Ailes asks. "Surely you must have heard about what's been going on around here?" The second guard asks. "You can't have come from that far." "Why, what's been happening?" I ask, hopping about. "Recent attempts on the life of our mayor from separatists." The first guard tells us. "Seems like every week someone's taken a shot at the poor guy." "Why would they do that?" I ask. "Our mayor is a devoted Unionist." He tells us. "Turns out, most of Rochaffen isn't on the same level." "Anyway, these two don't have any weapons." The other guard says to the first. "Look at those robes, they're barely covering themselves, never mind any weapons. You two girls can go on through - oh, and the toilets to the left." He says, pointing to my hopping. I blush a little at having something so vulgar suggested to me so casually, and we make our ways inside. The inside of the inn is much warmer - and much louder - than outside. The warm wooden floor is a welcome change from the steps outside, and I can finally stop hopping. We both march on down to the far end of the inn and find a table for two. We sit down, and Ailes drops his bag under the chair, right onto my foot. "Ow!" "What do you think of Rochaffen?" I ask Ailes, as he paws over the menu. He looks up at me. "It's very cold." He says, before looking back down. "Anything else?" I ask after waiting for a response. "It's nice." He says, trying to ignore me. "Oh isn't it just!" I almost shout, slapping my feet on the wooden floor below. "The people seem so happy, the buildings are so nice, the air is so brisk, the-" "Everyone thinks I'm your sister." He says, putting the menu down. I can't stop myself giggling. "Maybe if you didn't tie your hair back in that ridiculous pony tail!" I say to him, prodding him in the shoulder. "Beside, us elves all look feminine to humans. Human men are so masculine..." I say, trailing off. I've always had bit of a crush on human boys - every time there are humans in our little town of Ailmignon I can't help but stare... There's this one boy who works at the tannery nearby, I've always- "What'll you ladies be having today?" Comes a new voice. We both look over to the source. A large busty blonde waitress stands next to us, grinning ear to ear. My brother clears his throat and puts on his deepest voice. "I'd like to try the grilled boar." He says. He sounds like a teenager trying to buy drinks. "A-and an ale to go with it." "O-oh!" The waitress starts. "W-which ale would the gentleman like?" She asks. "Which ale? You have more than one?" "Of course!" The waitress laughs. "I thought our ales were famous world wide! We have the Erstalt ruby, the Rochaffen brown, and - just in time for the coronation - the Hauptstadt Royal gold!" "I-I'll have the Rochaffen brown..." Says Ailes, trying to look like he knows the difference. "Can't go wrong with the home brew!" The waitress sings. She jots it down on her little notebook with her sausagey fingers. "And for your....brother?" "Sister!" I say, leaning forward. "Can I have the Harbour fish, and the same drink as my brother!" "Of course!" She says, jotting it down. "Sorry for getting you confused, all you elves look the same to me!" She says with a smile, before waddling off toward the counter. We both watch her walk away for a bit, before Ailes turns to me. "She was quite casual about saying that." He says. "I don't know if I should be offended." I can't stop myself giggling again. Our food arrives, delivered by the same waitress, who gives us another massive smile as she drops our drinks down. The drinks here are huge, each mug is practically the size of my head. Ale slops over the table and splashes on my feet, but before I can react there are two massive plates dropped in front of us. "Enjoy!" The waitress shouts, smiling at us again and leaving. I look down at my food with greedy eyes. My plate is covered by what would be three meals back home. The fish spans the width of the plate, and as if it wasn't enough, there are potatoes and vegetables piled high on one side. The smell is delicious, and I can barely wait to dig in. Ailes has a similar reaction to his boar, which is practically spilling over the sides of his plate. We both raise our mugs - struggling under their weight. "Cheers!" Ailes says, knocking his glass into mine. We aren't even a third of the way through our food when I sit back in my chair. I feel bloated at the amount of fish in me - and looking over at Ailes, I think he's in a similar situation. "I don't think we're going to need any more food on this trip." He says nonchaolontly. "This could last us all month." "But isn't it great!" I say back, leaning toward him again. "We need to come here again some time!" "Shome time for sure." He says, prodding his food with his fork. "Shome time?" I ask him. I look toward his mug. It's half empty now. "Shome?" "Erm, some." He says. "I'm not used to the ale here." I look into my empty glass. I'm not slurring my words yet. I look back at Ailes, who has a somewhat distant look on his face. "You lightweight Ailes!" I half-shout, kicking him under the table. "I'll finish yours. You can't be trusted!" "Hey! That's mine!" He protests as I grab his glass and take a drink. I dodge his limp swipe toward me and drink again. I put on foot under the table onto his bared midriff and push him back into his chair. I slam the empty glass down and smirk at him. "I can't believe you..." He moans, sulking. "Oh like you were going to drink it!" I say, wiping my mouth. I drop my feet back to the floor with a slap. He kicks me in the shin. "Don't be such a grumpy boy! I'll buy you another next time we go out." "That'd make a change." He says, raising an eyebrow. "Oh I always buy you drinks." I say with a giggle. "One time." He says, waving a finger at me. "I can think of one time." I push his hand down to the table, getting gravy on his sleeve. "Would you like any more to drink?" Comes a woman's voice again. The same massive waitress is back, grinning. "No-thanks." Ailes slurs. "I think we've had enough." "Looks like someone isn't quite used to our ale!" The waitress laughs. I can't stop myself laughing loudly in front of him. When I stop I can see him trying to glare at me. "This lightweight here could get drunk on water!" I tell the waitress, pointing at him. He does his best to look un-insulted. "Ccould we get a back please? For the food?" Ailes asks, ignoring my giggling. "'Course!" The Waitress sings. She picks up our plates with a smile, and makes her way back to the kitchen. I keep an eye on her, half expecting her to take a pick. "Sso." Ailes begins, looking at me. "We should start our walk to Erstalt. We wan' to get there b'fore it gets dark." I giggle at him. "That sounds good." I say. We leave the inn with a paper bag containing to paper boxes, which in turn contain the rest of our food. The bag's quite heavy, and Ailes dumps it on me. "ooooh I've got the baaaag ooooh that means you carry the foood." He moans. Well, not quite like that. But words to that effect. The walk down the streets seems warmer now I've got at that ale in me - I don't need to hop around quite so much. Which is good, because with all that food in me, it could be a recipe for disaster. The deeper into the town we get, the more we seem to stand out. The diversity of races on the shore-front begins to wilter, and soon we're the only two non-humans I can see. Us two stand out quite a bit among the humans of the town. The people here are short, stocky and pale, where we're almost the opposite - tall, tanned and feminine. Yellow eyes, among a sea of blue eyed folk. I can feel the eyes of the heavily dressed people looking at us with our robes and bared feet - even Ailes' sandals get a second glance or two. Our desert robes really aren't suited to this cold - my hairs are standing on end all over me. At least now the grey clouds have given way to some blue sky, and a little sun to go with it. "How long until we reach Erstalt?" I ask. "Loraine. We haven't left Rochaffen yet." Ailes says. "We've got a short while left." "Can we get a move on?" "Why? What's the rush?" "Nothing." I tell him. That's not entirely true though. I can't help but think as we walk along that maybe finishing Aile's ale wasn't my smartest idea. I don't mean to be vulgar, but I'm quite starting to need the toilet... It's strange. Around here, people seem to be quite casual about things we wouldn't be at home. The bathrooms are practically advertised with signs on the walls in the inn, and out here, I've seen at least one sign talking about a public toilet. Why on Eorth would anyone want that? Back home, toilets are a private affair - you don't share it, you keep it to yourself, and you'd never talk about it. But here, I was offered a bathroom on the way into the inn. Crazy! That's culture shock for you. I suppose we're equally strange though - I've not seen a single barefooted person in the entire town. I suppose the ground here isn't so soft and warm as it is at home, but even in the inn, people had shoes on. Sure, the wood isn't exactly soft, but can shoes really be more comfortable? They're so restricting! "Hold on." Ailes says, snapping me back to reality. He pulls the map out of his bag and unravels it. "Where are we going?" "Are you lost already?" I ask him. "Come on, let me see that." I say, snatching the map from his hands. I look down. I look up. I look to the right and see something concerning. The compass. "Ailes. Are you aware that the compass is meant to have north pointing up?" "W-what?" I tap him on the head with the map. "You've been reading the map wrong this whole time!" "T-that explains why we aren't at the Rochaffen park yet..." I open the map again. It takes me a while to figure out where we are, although it's made a bit easier by the massive building a few hundred yards down the road. The Commonwealth barracks tower over the other houses, and even this far away I can make out the deep blue banners draped down the side of the building, adorned with the Commonwealth Eagle. "Alright...." I say, pawing over the map. "If we reach the barracks there, it's a short walk north until we're on the road out. It's a nice little country road, shouldn't take too long." "Yeah." Says Ailes, reading over my shoulder. "Maybe half an hour or so?" "H-half an hour..." I repeat, not wanting to have heard a time so long. "Yeah, half an hour, if we're quick." He says. "You sound disappointed, are you in a rush?" "N-not quite..." I tell him, hoping he'll catch the look in my eyes. He doesn't. "Great! Let's get going." The street toward the barracks is typical of Rochaffen - cobbled roads, with iron poles in the floor, jutting out the ground every few feet. I remember hearing about them at home - streetlights - gas powered fires that make is possible to see at night. I don't know why you'd want to see at night - night time is for sleeping. These Rochaffen's are crazy. It's a long walk though - even the strange streetlight poles aren't enough to distract me from the length. I've got a pressing need that's making me very aware of the distance. At least the street is quiet over here - there aren't so many people to stare at us as we wander down. I can't help but realise how different we are to everyone here. We're halfway to the barracks now, and I have to say something to Ailes. I'm getting too uncomfortable now - I don't want to be all gross, but I have to tell him. He's walking so slowly that if I don't say anything then...well, I'll just say, I might not make it. Those strange public toilets don't seem like all too much a bad idea to me right now. "Umm, Ailes?" "What's up?" He says, turning to me. "Everything okay?" "Y-yeah." I say. "Well, err, no." I lean toward him, hopping a little closer. "I need a bathroom." I whisper. We both blush. "We could find another inn?" Ailes suggests. "You could go there?" "Where are we going to find an inn here?" "Should we knock on someone's door and ask if we could use theirs?" "What? No, that's insane. I'm sure the people of Rochaffen aren't that strange." "Good point..." Ailes says. "Well, I'll keep an eye out for something." Ten minutes later and we finally reach the entrance of the barracks, at which point I'm practically hopping again, though not for the cold this time. I barely keep myself still enough to be decent, but Ailes seems to see right through me. "Look's like you're in quite the state, huh?" I nod. "I'm sure there'll be somewhere you can stop off on the way out of town." He tells me. This reassures me a little, but not enough. What was I thinking, finishing his drink at that inn? Why can't I have any forethought about these things! I'm too preoccupied to really pay much attention to the barracks as we pass - but even still, it's a strange building. It stands out, even compared to the other buildings of Rochaffen. While it's made of the same grey stone as the other buildings, it's style is very different. A wall surrounds the building, with rounded turrets at each corner. The building inside is much taller - more like a castle than anything else. One corner is dominated by a round tower, with square brick teeth lining the entire roof. We can just about make out movement inside the tiny slit windows and over the teeth of the wall. But like I said - I've got a more pressing issue at hand. I've stopped paying attention to the walk by now, though I can see Ailes gazing side to side as we walk along, looking for somewhere we could stop. The more we walk though, the less likely this becomes, and by now my bladder feels fit to burst. It's been a long time since I let myself get this desperate, and I can't say I've missed it. Each step is pushing pressure on my bladder, and I know I've moaned once or twice - I've seen the way Ailes has looked at me when I did, too. This is so embarrassing right now. I'm practically holding onto myself, and we're still getting nowhere near a bathroom. Each step now almost hurts, and the busy streets of houses have become somewhat barren, with only sparse huts alongside the side of the road. "Y-you're sure there's going to be somewhere for me to...go?" I ask. Even talking now distracts me from my bladder. I'm putting in even more effort to hold - my bladder feels solid! "There's got to be somewhere..." Ailes says. "Maybe an inn, or a cafe, or-" "Hnnn!" "You okay Loraine?" Ailes asks me. Is that a trick question? Do I look okay? I-I've just bent over double - I don't think I've still got control of myself. We've been walking for what feels like weeks, and I've been holding. I can't stop myself - I have to hold on. With both hands. I stand in the middle of the street, toes pointed inwards and bent at the knees, moaning and trying my best not to have an accident where I - Whoop! Oh goodness.... I-I can feel something warm against m-my skin, a-and it wasn't there a moment ago.... I-it's happening, isn't it? Am I about to wet myself? L-like some sort of child? "Loraine? are you there?" Ailes voice comes to me. "A-ailes....I'm n-not gonna make it..." "What?" He asks. He looks at me. This is so embarrassing - I'm only thankful now that there's noone around to see. I f-feel another warmth grow underneath me...I can't believe this is really happening... "J-just hold it, Loraine!" He advises me - ever the genius here. "I c-can't!" I shout - and I'm right. I fall to my knees, the shudder of my body hitting the ground sends another warm squirt out of me. I look up to him with tears in my eyes. "I-I....can't..." I don't get to say anything else. My body interupts me. I bend over again at the waist, just in time to see a yellow jet of liquid burst from under my skirt and crash onto the cobbled floor beneath me. The splash is deafening, I can see Ailes recoil in my peripheral vision. I sob once, but the shudder my body makes as I does just causes more to shoot into my underwear. I close my eyes - there's nothing more I can do, as my body tenses up again. Heat erupts from my underwear, and liquid spills out of me and onto the floor. My eyes are clenched shut, but I know there's a puddle already - I can feel it around my knees. Hot streaks of pee cascade down the inside of my thighs, splashing to the ground. I know it's not that loud - but to me it sounds like a waterfall - crashing, spilling - flooding. I moan again, though this time it's not frustration - a beautiful wave of relief hits me. I can't believe this - I'm sitting here, peeing in my clothes, and all I can feel is relief. I should be embarrassed, I should be ashamed, but it feels so good. I can't stop - and right now I don't want to. I relax my lower abdomen and any pain I was feeling just melts away, as if it's melting through my bladder and down my legs. My knees are soaked, sat in a puddle. My thighs are streaked with hot lines of pee as it gushes out of me. My shins are growing wetter as the puddle grows, and the front of my skirt is wet... The front of my skirt is wet. Of course it is - I was too busy trying to stop it coming out, that I didn't bother letting go when it did. My skirt is soaked - a huge dark spot trails down from my crotch to the base of my skirt. I let my hands droop to my sides, and I lean myself back to sit on my heels. It's not comfortable, but right now it doesn't matter. Having sat down, the crashing of pee onto the cobbled floor quietens down to a still audible spilling, but now it's not quite so unbearable. I wrest my eyes open, and through tears I can see Ailes looking at me in shock, mouth agape. "I...I guess I shouldn't have drank your ale b-back then..." I sit where I am for what seems like an eternity, waiting for my bladder to finish draining itself onto the floor below. When it finally does, I force myself to my feet, splashing them in the warm puddle by mistake. At least it feels better than the cold stone. What am I saying - I'm standing in pee - I shouldn't be enjoying this at all! So.... Why am I? What is- "Loraine?" Comes Ailes voice. "Are you okay?" I look up at him and sigh. "C-can we just get moving now? I-I don't want anyone to see me like this..." "Y-yeah, of course." He says. "I still think we should hurry a bit?" "Why?" I ask him, stepping slowly out of my still warm puddle. My wet skirt clings to my thighs. "I...also....need to-" "Got it." I interrupt. I sigh once more. "Let's go."
  24. Here is the original summary: A sortcore furry novella showing two sexually inexperienced young adults and their interactions as they learn about each other as friends, objects of desire, and lovers, through the exploration of their beliefs and their bodies. I have this uploaded on a couple of furry sites, but I figured it would be appropriate here as well considering that it is omorashi oriented. This is maybe a year or so old, so the content of the writing is fairly embarrassing, but somebody asked me to continue an older, similar story to this called Ally, so I decided to upload this instead. If you're interested in other furry omorashi stories--all of which are more recent and higher quality in terms of prose than this--please check the links in my profile that lead to my inkbunny and furaffinity accounts. I will upload another chapter every few days, but all that is currently written for this is currently uploaded to my inkbunny and fa accounts. I will start with the first two chapters, since the omorashi does not begin until chapter two. Chapter One: "God... that feels amazing." "It really does. Shame everyday can't be like this." The wind smelled of pine and the beams of sunlight peaking through the leaves of the Tree helped off-set the cool weather. Each gust of wind caused an uproar, rattling the head of the Tree, and blowing leaves all about the woods to the west. Xavier's hand lingered to his side, plucking blades of grass from their roosts. He twiddled his fingers together, crushing each blade into a tight ball, and tossing it to the nether. Next to him was a beautiful woman -- though he did not dare put his hands on her. It wasn't as if he didn't crave. Grass was the last thing he wanted to feel between his fingers, but his hands remained between their hips, as he was not willing to risk something so special over greed and lust. All he needed was patience. She had become increasingly comfortable with him as their relationship developed, and he could tell that she wanted it too. "Have you ever traveled?" He looked over at her in response. "Wait..." She looked at him and squinted. "Have I asked you that before?" He chuckled. "I don't think so, but you might of. I could have forgotten... And to answer your question, I haven't. Well, unless you count here." "Oh yeeeaaaah, you came down here from up north..." She looked back up at the sky. "You must be liking the weather even more than me." "Oh, you can't even imagine." "Not a fan of the cold?" "I don't really think anybody is when you lived somewhere as cold I did... I am sure it is a lot nicer down here, though." She looked at him with a look of excitement. "Our winters are great. I mean, you get your cold days, like, the kinds of days that you might even put on a jacket for, but honestly, it is just really nice most of the time. If anything, it gets too hot..." "I've heard bad things about the summers." "Ugh! The summers are terrible! When he looked over, she was again looking at the sky. Reflexively, his eyes shot down her body, admiring it. He couldn't believe someone so real and down to earth could have a body like hers; like something out of a fantasy. His hand clutched the ground as he also turned to face the clouds. In his peripheries, he saw her look over at him. She examined him for only a few moments before looking back toward the clouds as well. Xavier forced his mind back into focus. "And what about you? Have you ever traveled." He turned to face her, this time stealing a glance of her body before looking to her face, in a means so rapid and inconspicuous it startled even him. "Wait.... Have I asked you that before" She giggled. "No, I've never been anywhere other than here. I've been to the city before, but as you've seen, there isn't much going on there." "Never seen any... skyscrapers, or anything like that?" "Nope. Nothing even close. Unless you count movies and the internet and stuff. Biggest building I ever saw was for some bank building when we went to the city. Or maybe one of the hotels.... Either way, they were big, but they weren't really all that big." "No, I know what you mean. I've never really seen anything that big myself." "Even in the city?" "Nah, our city didn't really have anything that impressive. I saw some decently large ones like you described pretty often, but they tend to... lose their oomf I guess." "Did you ever stay in any of them? The hotels?" "Have I ever stayed in a hotel?" "You know! The big ones." "Yes, I've stayed in big hotels." "And was it on the higher floors?" "That... I can't really remember. I was pretty young." "... You answered my question like you had." She responded with mild annoyance. "I answered the question that you asked. Nothing more. Nothing less." He smiled. "Hmf." "... And what about you?" "What about me? Have I ever stayed in a big hotel? You should know I haven't." "I should?" "Yes. Why would ever have a reason to stay in a big hotel if I've never left the state?" "I... suppose that is true." He squinted. "But its a little presumptuous." "I disagree. Sometimes people should be presumptuous." "... But then how do you disagree? You just said it is presumptuous." "That wasn't my point. I was just saying that... presuming would have made more sense than what you did." "What I did?" "Yes, you took the easy way out. You could have assumed that I have never stayed in a hotel, it would have been perfectly reasonable." "And was what I said not reasonable?" "No, just spineless.". "Well..." There was silence following his verbal defeat. With anyone else, it would have been awkward, but with Erin there was a sense of mutual recognition, and they accepted it wordlessly. Each moment spent together was better than if it had been spent apart, and this was the only truth they needed to undo any degree of awkwardness that might linger. They remained silent for a number of minutes. Xavier's focus shifted back to the atmosphere surrounding them. There wasn't anywhere he would have rather been. "Xavier...?" A rare tone for her: inquisitive but cautious. "Yeah?" She paused for a few moments before speaking: "Have you...?" Her voice quickly trailed off. "... Have I what?" "No... it's nothing." "Nothing...? Are you sure? Because now you have me curious." "It isn't important." "Isn't important implies it is still a thing... You can't just leave me hanging. Come oooon." She paused for a moment, before swallowing and looking over at Xavier. "Have you ever touched, like... a breast?" She bobbed her chin downward, as if she were motioning toward her own. "Uh," he chuckled, "what?" "Yeah, yeah, it was nothing." "Oh. Oh, no. It was definitely something. It was extremely something." "It really wasn't." They were both silent. Xavier did not feel uncomfortable, but he could not confidently say for Erin; though his continuous staring at her made it abundantly clear the topic had not been dropped. He sighed. "Honestly? No. I am embarrassed to admit that, but no, I've never touched... a breast." "Oh." She had an uncharacteristic lack of emotion in her voice. "That's good." "... That's good? Why is that good?" She blushed. "Am I supposed to want you to have touched breasts?" "I honestly didn't think you'd care." He laughed. She didn't respond for several moments. Xavier worried he had offended her, but couldn't get an accurate read on her expression. "Do you wanna touch mine-?" "-Yeah, that would be awesome." She looked at him, blushing harder, looking violated as she crossed her arms over her chest. "God, you didn't have to reply so quick." He chuckled. "Sorry." "It is like you knew what I was going to say..." "I guess my mind just kinda honed in... Can you blame me?" Their was a brief silence as the stealth compliment registered in her brain. He waited for her to follow up, worrying she would change her mind and retract the offer. But staring into the amorphous patterns of white and crimson that covered her black fur left him feeling hopeful and even confident. She uncrossed her arms and adjusted herself, sighing as her face became emotionless. "Okay, I am ready." "So, I can touch them?" She licked her bottom lip nervously. "Yeah." He swallowed heavily, hoping she did not overhear it. His hand balled into a fist as he wondered how he should do it. Was he to do it quickly? And in that display his politeness and restraint? Or would that in fact insist a lack of passion, and peg him as the unromantic type? Would he do it slowly, and savor the experience? Or would this land him a spot in her mind as lewd and disconcerting? Could he just ask her? Why did such a question feel taboo in the first place? How did such a pleasurable moment become a test of this personality? ...Or was it intended to be that? He silenced his thoughts, knowing they had become presumptuous and absurd. There was only one answer to his question and it wasn't in his thoughts, but in his body. He lifted his hand, heart about to burst from his chest, and he placed it gently on her breast, taking note of the surprising softness of the fur in that area. Her eyes closed, and when he pressed down, she pushed back with her chest. He lightly squeezed, and she moaned to herself, quickly captivated by the moment. Xavier figured they were no bigger than b-cups, but they matched her shape well. She had a fairly average build, but slightly bottom heavy, with hips and thighs that were large enough to stand out in intimate settings, but conservative enough to go unnoticed in casual ones. He squeezed again and let his hand linger for several more moments before begrudgingly pulling away. When he removed his hand her eyes opened, and through a mask of red, she glanced at him, before quickly looking away. It was a candid moment for her, and with her permission, he had not only the right to observe it, but the pleasure of causing it. It was apparent through his experience that the social test he perceived was not for him, but for them, and the pressure had been equal for them both. "Well?" She asked, seeming offended. "It was amazing." "... Good." "It seemed like you enjoyed it too." "Well..." He took solace in his verbal victory, having equaled the score. But of even bigger concern was the question of what to do next-- a question that, strangely enough, had only just then occurred to him. Was he to pursue the obvious romantic que which had been dropped, or play the cool route and let things happen as they would? And then, as if his current conundrum wasn't complex enough, there was the unspoken reaction of the heterosexual male in hand-to-breast situations. He was afraid to look down, feeling the tension quickly growing in his lower body --much to his dismay. She was not going to be the only one put in a directly vulnerable position that day, and no matter how he tried to relax himself, he knew once the process had begun, there was no stopping it. Surely, she would notice it, and then what? Would she comment on it? Would she be pleased by the sight? Disturbed? Surprised? Or even stranger, expectant... Then again, maybe expecting it was the most normal thing a person could do. He pondered this, trying to think of way to avoid the awkward situation that was awaiting him when she inevitably noticed the extra half foot protruding from his body. It was then he was struck with an epiphany, something that felt both comfortable and progressive, without being cliched -- but bold and not without its risks. He swallowed, knowing the next few moments, regardless of what he did, would be emotionally stressful; though in their stress he found a taste of something potent and enslaving, and so he took deep pleasure in this state, finding its rawness appealing. "Hey, Erin." She looked over at him curiously, with a glassy expression that was reflective, honest, and above all, fragile. "Have you ever kissed a guy?" Her eyes widened slightly and her lips parted. She quickly fixed her expression, catching her own candicy after the fact. She was left red and consumed. "I..." She blinked. "I..." A smile crept on her lips. Before she could answer, a wave of amusement seemed to come from nowhere and overtake her. She started off with stifled giggles, but they soon erupted into genuine laughter. Xavier smiled for a moment, waiting to see if the apparent joke would dawn on him too, but when he did not laugh, he felt himself become unnerved. She seemed to realize her poor timing, because she forced an apology out between giggles, but soon fell back into a state of continuous laughter. "Wow, that's pretty cold." He tried to sound cool, as if he had shrugged it off, but there was still a chill to his tone. "No... No... I am so.... I am sorry." She was quickly getting herself back under control. "I really didn't mean it like that. I swear." She struggled to catch her breath. "That was just... Oh my God, Xavier, don't do that again, I almost freakin' peed myself." "... Why?" She looked at him with a sympathetic deadpan. "Look, it wasn't like... you or anything. It was just, the situation. It was too much. It's like... that happened so fast. And I mean, of all the things you could have said..." She smiled to herself in mock amusement. "Oh. Well, I am sorry if I took it a little quick." He chuckled, trying to play his earlier offense off as tastefully as he could. "No, no, it's not your fault. It was a really... sweet way for you to follow that up. And, I mean, there is a chance I would have started laughing from... anything. It's just, I didn't expect that at all!" "... You didn't expect it? Well, if you didn't expect that, what exactly did you expect?" "What did I expect?" She was taken aback. "You can't ask me something like that! What am I supposed to say?" "What do you mean 'what are you supposed to say?'" He laughed. "Just answer honestly." "And what if I didn't know what to expect? What if I kinda felt like... it wasn't my job to know what was next. " She blushed and turned away from Xavier. "Oooh, I see. So all the pressure was on me." "You're one to complain." She looked at him with an eye brow raised. He laughed. "True." "You've got a lot to learn, Xavier." "Maybe. But it sounds like you do too, Erin. That expression you made when I asked, I kinda wanted to laugh myself." She turned to him with a frown and smacked him on the arm. "You should consider yourself lucky." She turned away again and crossed her arms. "Oh, I do. I do." "Oh? You do?" she glared at him with skepticism. "I wonder if its for the right reasons." "... What if I said it was for all of them? Instead of just the right ones?" She smiled softly and turned to face him. "Then I would say you're a fast learner."
  25. There was a crash, a scream, a horrible, crunching sound, pain, the taste of blood in his mouth, a flurry of colors, and then everything went black. --3 weeks later-- Peter was carried into his room. He was happy to be back, he hadn't seen in for what felt like forever. It was full of things a boy of his age loved: dinosaurs were lined up underneath the window, posters of pretty cars, some of his drawings were hanging above his bed and on the floor was a pretty, light blue carpet. His mom tucked him in, and he grabbed his teddybear. "Nighty night dear!" "Night mom" he said, and she closed the door. "Well well well, look at you, all patched up!" the bear said, putting its soft paws around Peter's neck, "I missed you buddy!" "I missed you too, Alfred." the boy hugged the bear tightly. "Well, you ready for some adventure?" the bear asked jumping up on the bed, running over the window and opening it. Instantly, clouds came floating towards it, forming a walkway of sorts. Peter sat up as the bear jumped out of the windowand onto the clouds. "But..." Peter said, looking at Alfred, "but you can't walk on clouds, mom told me so!" "Oh really, has she ever tried, hmm? How can she be so sure?" Alfred said, raising one eyebrow. Peter could do nothing but agree with that logic, yet still slowly and carefully lowered its foot onto the cloud, making sure it was really something he could walk on. The clouds were soft and slightly springy. Alfred walked forwards as the clouds slowly started to form a ramp upwards, into the sky. About halfway up, Peter looked around. The town he lived was rather small, but it was nice and had everything they needed. "You comming, champ?" Once Peter had reached the top of the ramp, there was nothing but boundless, soft clouds in front of him. "You know, I'm glad you made such a good recovery!" the bear said, skipping a few paces in front of Peter, "well, what do you want to see?" Soon, the duo descended the ramp of clouds, and underneath Peter, there was a big forest visible. The leaves were the size of his entire body, and some trees reached into the clouds. Soon, he saw a big, brown, scaly head with dopey looking eyes appear next to him. Peter wasn't sure if the beast could see him or not, but the dinosaur soon started pulling the enormous leaves off of the trees. Peter descended further and saw more dinosaurs: Stegosauruses, a few Velociraptors running around and, judging by the bloodcurdeling roar, a Tyrannosaurus wasn't far away. "Hey Alfred..." Peter frowned, this had been bothering him for a while, "why is it my mom can't see you? She keeps saying you're just a fantasy..." Alfred scoffed, "Peter, you shouldn't worry about those sort of things! You know I'm real, and that's all that matters. And besides, fantasy is just magic that others can't see!" Peter smiled, Alfred always knew how to keep his troubles at bay. They went on many adventures, every night, and this night wasn't any diffrent; they saw fancy cars, big robots, a world made out of candy and many other things that made Peter's eyes widen in excitement. Whenever he told his mom about it, she'd say something about it "being a dream" or "having a big fantasy". They'd had fun the entire night, and they were walking around on the boundless clouds when Alfred stopped and pointed. "Wooow, Peter, look at that!" Quite a way away, there was a big, fancy looking door, seemingly not attached to anything, standing on the clouds. Alfred ran over, and Peter walked after him. Once they were close, Peter noticed how there was a light comming from behind the door. Peter walked around the door, but there was nothing there, not could he find where the light was comming from. Alfred put his paw on the doorknob, intent on opening it. "Wait!" Peter didn't know why, but he felt unsure about what was behind the door. Alfred looked at him. "What's wrong? It'll be exciting! Come on, you know me, have I ever dissapointed you? Trust me." Peter thought about it, and even though he felt unsure, he eventually nodded, and Alfred and Peter walked through the door... --------- The doctor walked into the hallway and looked at the woman. She was sitting on the hard, plastic chairs. When she looked up at the doctor, he noticed her eyes were red, and she was holding a squashed tissue. She looked as if she already knew... "I'm...I'm sorry..." the doctor looked at the ground as the woman started to cry softly. The next day, the inhabitants of a small town got their local newspaper with a heartbreaking headline: "Tragically, the 7-year-old Peter Durnsham has passed away yesterday after 3 weeks in the hospital. After a catcrash left him with severe injuries to his head, lungs and other internal organs, he was transported to the hospital, where he underwent multiple operations and tests, but to no avail. Peter will be burried comming sunday at the local cemetery with his closest friend and favorite bear, Alfred" THE END