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Found 58 results

  1. Back in January, I started an interactive about a group of mercenaries venturing to a dark island to break a curse. As much as I enjoyed, and still enjoy, writing it, I felt that story was started more as a way to prove that I could write. You know, give my own doubts the middle finger. After a few months and a rise in confidence, I felt like the time was right to tackle an idea closer to my heart. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ You are roused from your sleep by the sound of squeaking wheels and trotting horses. You awaken in your carriage with your face nestled against a silk cushion. I must’ve nodded off. You think as you sit up, rubbing your eyes. The last thing you remember is hoisting your luggage aboard the carriage and the loud rumble of a wooden gate. You’d fallen asleep before you were even out the town. You can see that the sun is high. It must be late morning by now; you’ve slept almost the entire journey. You stretch your arms and yawn. You look around your carriage; it’s your basic oak compartment. Easy on your eyes and easy 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 red curtain that runs the length of the whole compartment. There is also a small space beneath your seat to store your belongings but you prefer to keep your rucksack by your feet. In your tired state, you had forgotten to close the curtains before falling asleep; sunlight shimmers in through the windows, basking the carriage in warm welcoming glow. You rub your eyes and lean over to take a glance through your carriage window. It is a beautiful summer day in the midlands, there isn’t a cloud in the sky. birds are chirping and a light breeze blows through the forest, rustling the leaves. You almost regret not walking now, it was the perfect day for it. You feel a tad parched. You lean down, going to reach for your rucksack, looking for your flask, when you spy something twinkling in the corner of your eye. It’s a small ornate hand mirror, tucked under the opposite seat. Strange, I don’t remember packing this. You think as you pick up the hand mirror, wondering just how in the realms it got into your carriage. Perhaps a noble was last to use this carriage and had forgotten it? Regardless, you decide now is a good time to sort yourself out. You want to look your best, after all. You hold the mirror up and examine yourself, meeting the weary gaze of your own reflection. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ What does the reflection that stares back at you look like? Your Character Name: Personality: Outfit: Hairstyle: Hair Colour: Appearance: Height: Body Type: Breast size: Extra (Anything else you wish to add about yourself): __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Edit: If anybody would rather use a picture than fill out the description that is fine. (Still will need a name though) ^^
  2. 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?
  3. 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
  4. 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.
  5. 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..."
  6. 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.
  7. 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!
  8. drenna

    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
  9. 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...)
  10. 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:
  11. 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.
  12. 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.
  13. 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.
  14. 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."
  15. Unbeknownst

    FFXIV (Final Fantasy 14)

    Author's Note: I'm going to start by plugging Faust's Fantastic Foray into a Finite Fantasy. I have thoroughly enjoyed the work so far. The reason I bring it up is a matter of tone. Faust's interactive has a casual, light, fun tone that makes it easy to get into and plenty of updates. This will not. This will be updated once a day in the afternoon/evening. Voting on choices will end promptly at noon the following day so that I have a chance to write the chapter. My writing style tends to be a bit more serious and infinitely more verbose. Also, ironically, despite being based on a game there will be very little direct reference to game mechanics. Plot: This story should be easily understandable and readable by anybody. But for those of you that do play Final Fantasy, this story will follow along the main story quest line of Final Fantasy 14. That's the MMO one. I haven't played any of the others. Mainly focuses on desperation, but up to the reader. To begin we need to know more about you, specifically these traits. * There are several options available for every trait. The plural majority vote for each trait will be used. Race: (Any listed in the link) http://ffxiv.wikia.com/wiki/Races Size: (Relative to others of your race) Short - Medium - Tall Gender: Male - Female Class: (Any listed in the link - Please note that your abilities will be quite limited in the beginning) https://na.finalfantasyxiv.com/jobguide/battle/ Personality: Cold - Cheery - Downcast - Happy - Forceful - Prideful - Patient - Suggest One Toilet Habits: Timid - Never do anything that might let others know... ever. Discrete - Does the minimum absolutely necessary to keep holding back. Reasonable - Tries to strike a decent balance between comfort and appropriateness. Casual - Will do anything wherever in front of whoever. Bladder Size: You Always Seem To Be "Going" - Below Average - Average - Above Average - You "Go" Once A Day Constitution: (How much alcohol you can drink before suffering effects) Any - Some - Average - A Lot - Secretly A Fish Starting Location: Ul'dah - Limsa Lominsa - Gridania Let voting commence!
  16. That is now two titles with isle(s) in them. As I sat and thought about how I'd like to not touch my other two interactives for a little while, I remembered I had a bunch of notes about a pirate part of my world. I like to make the most of the notes I have, and recently I've had this urge to do something with ships and maritime warfare and plundering the booty of lass and ship alike. So pirate interactive it was. In this story, readers are gonna take the role of a shiphand called Regina, who finds herself aboard a pirate ship following a siege on the merchant's vessel she was working aboard. Almost everything from deciding whether to hit the head before raiding a ship to finishing that last sip of rum is all going to be up to the reader. As well as Regina's actions, some sections are going to be entirely up to reader choice. Not so much a "what would this character do?" and more a "What direction do you want to see this scenario take?" Which may help or hinder poor Regina in her most desperate moments. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The sounds of siege were all around you, closing in on you like the crushing waves of a storm. The clashing of swords, cutlasses, rapiers, and clubs striking out against one another, the explosive sound of pistols rang in your ears leaving behind the sour smell of gunpowder, and the sonorous warcry of both crewmate and pirate filled the sea air. “FOR THE EMPEROR!” You hear your fellow crewmates yell to the skies as a flurry of screams accompanied the call to arms, cutlasses and pistols raised in resistance. But you weren’t interested in answering that call. The big burly men with their pistols and cutlasses didn’t need a scrawny lass like yourself to fend off a group of pirates. Besides, you had your eyes set on a quarry of your own, and this attack gave you the perfect opportunity. One that you'd gladly seize. Swords clashed fiercely again, angrier and more aggressive than before, the fight was flaring up topside. Amidst the commotion you slide down into the lower decks, and run for the captain’s quarters. The captain’s quarters, Aye. a small decorative box, that was your quarry. Didn’t need the brains of a scholar to know there was something interesting about that box. The way the captain walked around with it, stopping to look inside, thinking his company of shiphands would be short a few notes of a shanty to understand what made those corpulent lips smile with delight. Couldn’t fool a lass like yourself though, years of living in the alleys of the empires port towns gave you a roguish sense. A lass of seventeen years but you had the wits of a man at thirty. You’d seen what the captain hid inside it, a map and a small golden key, rife with mystery and a mystery you'd like to uncover for yourself. In your hand you clutch your rapier to fend off any unknown attackers, but all you had to put up with was the sounds from topside and the odd tremor of the ship. You slip through the door into the captain's quarters and charge for the desk, that's where it was, that's where it's hidden. And right you were; beneath the captains desk, the small ornate box you'd seen so many times, ripe for the picking. It glimmers, almost begging you to take a peak. But you could care less for the box, you wanted what was inside. You throw the box aside with the rest of the captain's shite and grasp the contents of the box close to your chest. You hadn’t a clue what you’d do yet. You just needed to keep them hidden for now. You could stick ‘em in a shady corner, or in with the supplies you were ferrying, or worst case scenario, up where the sun don’t shine. Captain would never check there. But you could worry about that later. For now, you cram the key and paper down the front of your knickers and make a dash for the door. But as you're about to make your escape you’re met with the meatiest right hook straight to the jaw. Ain’t a way your frail bones were standing up to a whollopin’ like that. It floors you instantly, down onto the splintered wood with a smack. Ain't no way of telling who was on the givin' end. Captain? Pirate? You had no clue as the world goes black. When you come to, you awaken with a stotting headache, like your head was being clamped by an iron. The left side of your face was throbbing, right where that hammer of a punch had struck you. What in the hells… You think, trying to make sense of what happened. Where am I? Did we...the pirates… Your memory gets clearer as you suddenly remember where you’d been; Rummaging around the captain’s quarters. Your headache gets worse, and it feels like your heart is about to burst through your chest, it was beating that fast. The map...THE MAP! You begin padding at your legs, searching for any sign of the paper you’d stuffed down your knickers. “Looking for this?” A voice asks mockingly. It doesn’t sound like anybody you know. No, nobody on your vessel had a voice so eastern. It was charming, soft but clouded by a strong eastern accent that made him sound as menacing as he was mocking. Serkainian. That makes your heart skip a beat. Eastern lads were a tough bunch, crazy enough to attack a Tellovan vessel in imperial waters. It weren't pirates, were it? Out of the frying pan and into the fire. You turn your head, clutching and groaning about your jaw, ignoring the nausea as the room spins. You meet a handsome man slumped on a chair by your bedsit. He had the looks of a rogue, a dashing young face that couldn't be any older than twenty, with dark alluring eyes and a head of long, jet-black hair, a smile that could melt a lass's heart, and a sailor's coat as black as his hair. In his hands, he holds a piece of paper, holding it up for you to see clearly. The man smirks. “This, my friend, this is the only reason you are alive.” He chuckles, his laugh is carefree, but you can hear the mockery. “I must admit, for a girl, you have a bigger pair of balls than most on my ship. And half the brains.” He inspects the map, and with it, pulls up the key you had stolen. “Nowhere to run, nowhere to flee, yet you still tried to pull a fast one on your captain?” The man continues to chuckle. “I can respect that.” “That map is my property, mate.” Your mouth's drier than a holy maiden's nether regions, but that doesn't stop you from giving the strange man lip. You’d had a hell of a day and you weren’t interested in taking shit. Not from a Pirate or eastern prick alike. “I ain’t too keen for people stuffing their ‘ands where they don’t belong.” The man smirks. “I imagine your captain would say the same to you.” His eyes dart back between the paper and your own. “If his body wasn’t halfway to the bottom of the sea with his ship.” “Aye? Well since you’ve spared me the same fate, what plans do you have for me? Slavery? Or are you gonna ferry me back to that shit’ole you call a home? What do you Serkainian lads do to prisoners anyway?” The man chuckles, he knows what your referring to. How could he not? Only those hidden under rocks didn’t know of the growing tensions between the eastern region of Serkaine and the Tellovan empire. “You think there’s a Serkainian vessel this far south?” He scoffs. "They're a strong bunch, but they're not thick in the head...There's no warship flying the eastern flag in these waters. Not one still afloat anyway." “Only another kind with the bollocks to attack a Tellovan ship.” Pirates, just like the lad up in the crows nest had called out. You’d been so taken back by the mans thick accent that the best you could assume was a Serkainian warship. “Then where am I, then?” “Blackwell’s Mercy; Finest ship in the Renegade Isles. And one that I am the captain of.” The man hops up off his chair and introduces himself with a mocking bow. “Name’s Damari Sern, a name the Tellovan brass knows well.” He sits himself back down and leans in toward the bed. “Now, how about the name of the cocky young lass we brought aboard?” “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Damari’s carefree attitude was growing on you, his attitude encompassed everything they kept hidden from those ale-soaked stories in the ports. Charming and friendly, not setting fires and screaming in your face while you lay helpless on a torture rack. You get caught up with his laughter and can’t help but chuckle with him. “Regina. Though, most just call me Reggie. Ain't got a surname, and I doubt the Tellovan brass could give even a fart about me.” You cross your legs and make yourself comfortable, resting your arms behind your head. “So, if you ain’t an eastern warship...how’s about telling me what you intend to do with me, then?” “Well, we could dump you at the nearest port and let you fend for yourself. You’ll keep your mouth shut lest you’re interested in a date with the hangman.” Damari pauses, he grasps the key after a final throw and leans in toward you. “Or...you come with us, back to Flotsam, with me and my crew.” Damari accompanies his words with a careless shrug. “An offer I don't think you'll refuse.” “And what makes you say that?” Damari shakes his head, a smirk hanging from his lips. “Well, you can’t return to the Tellovans now, can you? Unless...you plan on returning with this map and key? Which I can assure you is not a possibility.” He clasps his hand shut on the key. “These belong to me now.” He leans back in the chair, staring at the paper in his hands, infatuated by it. “So the way I see it, you don’t have much of a choice.” “You sound awfully confident that I’ll take you up on your kind offer.” The captain shrugs again. “Because any girl stupid enough to try and plunder her own ship during a siege wants so much more than the scraps of food and silver a merchant's guild pays. The kind of quarry's and loot that something like, say, a band of renegades could offer seems like something more fitting to you.” He shakes the map and lowers it to your face, teasing you with it. It still smells strongly of the spiced rum your former captain gorged himself on. “And clearly you want what this little key unlocks. Just like me.” He holds the key above his head, staring toward it like a star in the sky. "Burns your curiousity, doesn't it?" You wouldn’t give Damari an answer, but you’d shovel shit if it paid well. No need to make that smug face any smugger with the thought that his offer was tempting. “Well, I’m hopin’ you don’t mind...but I don’t make decisions on an empty belly.” This whole day had left you with an urge for some grub. Anything. You’d skipped breakfast when the call of a foreign ship forced you topside. "I'm sure that's something a smart, 'andsome man like yourself can understand." Damari chuckles. "Good thing I take good care of those I capture." He reaches to a table beside him and throws a plate of grub down on the crate beside you. "Fair enough. Not like you have anywhere to run to.” Once he's done talking he hops up from the chair, stuffing the map into his pocket. “Tell you what, allow me to show my trust. When you’re done, go look for Scabs, young lad, scarred hands, you’ll see him easy enough. We’ll put a pistol in your hand and make sure that punch didn’t knock your eyes out.” You haven't the strength to tug at Damari's sleeve. Best you can do is be louder than a gull in your ear. "Ey, 'old up...Where the 'ell will I find him?" "He'll be around, probably topside, maybe in the mess. Like I said: can't miss him." With those final words Damari leaves you to your rest, slamming the rickety wooden door behind him. You hear his footsteps fade into silence. You're left with only the gentle sounds of ocean. A little alone time to think about the hell of a day you're having. “Hells…” You curse. One minute you were serving aboard a Tellovan vessel, next you were the quarry of a pirate. "This day has gone to the rags..." You comment, rubbin' at your head to try and soothe the pain. It would be easier to wrap your head around if it weren't aching like a hammer to your temple. You struggle to sit yourself up, your arms were shaky, but you get yourself propped up with your back against the wall. Hells, did your stomach feel off… like a kraken had taken refuge in your guts. You weren’t feelin' good down south either. Something had made anchor in your bowels and you didn’t need smarts to know what. Same for the ol' bladder. Hells only knew how long you'd been out, but it must've been a while if the urge to hit the head, for two reasons, was creeping up on you. Taking the plate in hand, you stare down at the grub. You feel a queer turn in your stomach; it wasn’t fit even for kennel scraps; some measly sausage and some spuds that looked more like slop. It smelled fine, like any slop you'd eaten in your time, it just looked unwelcoming. "Has this shite been rotting in a room?" You make a comment to yourself, poking at the sausage with your fork. watching it slide on your plate. Your belly reminds you with a gurgle that you'd skipped breakfast, and even if your eyes were tellin' you it's not fit for a hound, it was the best you were gettin'. What do you wish to do? >Eat the food left for you. >Rest in your bed a little longer.
  17. Lilia

    Bianca's Adventure

    Hello again! This is now my second time delving into the interactive stories forum. My first one, A Little Assistance, went unfinished, most likely because I had gotten too involved in the plot and it started to not mesh very well with the interactive story format. As well as that, the updates were getting kind of lengthy and it was pretty hard to keep going with it. So for this story, I'm going back to the basics, and starting off with something a little simpler, inspired by RPGs. I don't have any goal in mind, so we'll see where this goes. It should hopefully be fun! _____________________________________________________ (note: this story will not be illustrated, i just wanted to doodle the protagonist!!) Your name is Bianca Liette, and today is your fifteenth birthday! Ever since you were little, you've been helping your father manage the village general store, which was a task you took to enthusiastically. All sorts of people came and went, buying and selling, with all sorts of stories to share, and the more you heard from merchants and travelers and mercenaries and old wizened wizards, the more you longed to see the world yourself. You're a girl with an adventurous spirit, a girl who wasn't meant to be trapped up in a shop all her life. Today, you have reached the age where young villagers are said to be independent and able to fend for themselves, and you are naturally very excited! Dad has always been telling you to wait until you were older before you were allowed to go beyond the village gate alone, and so today is a day you have been looking forward to for a very, very long time. Your very own adventure is about to begin! --- You're sitting in bed in the store's upstairs room, tucked underneath your blankets and wearing your silken nightgown and yesterday's panties. Your curly brown hair is a bit of a mess from your slumber, and since you just woke up, you're a bit thirsty, hungry, and need to use the restroom. Although you feel a bit drowsy, you're also very eager to get up and see what your dad has gotten you for your birthday! You should probably get dressed, and take care of all of those things mentioned previously, but you are also very excited and they are not the most important things on your mind right now. 9:30AM 1st day of the 1st month (In this universe, all months are 30 days long, and measured relative to Bianca's birthday, for convenience!) HP: 100/100 MP: 0/0 Belly: 30/100 Hydration: 20/100 Bladder: 60/100 Tiredness: 0/100 (These are your stats! HP is a measure of your health, which is your overall wellbeing! Doing unhealthy or harmful things, or getting into fights will cause you to take damage! If your HP reaches 0, you will die. Let's try not to die! MP are your mana points, which represent how much magic you are capable of using! However, at the moment, you do not know how to use magic. You'll probably need to do something about that first. Belly is a measure of how hungry you are, and Hydration is a measure of how thirsty you are, with 100 being sated/quenched and 0 being starving/dehydrated. Your bladder fullness is obviously a measure of how much you need the restroom, and your tiredness is how sleepy you are. You may earn more stats over time depending on what you do, and these will be added to the list as they become relevant.) Equipment: Nightgown, worn panties Hands: None (Your equipment is a list of the items you currently are wearing on your person, whereas your inventory lists the items you are carrying. At the moment, you can only carry two items in your inventory, as you do not have a bag, only your hands! You should try and acquire a bag at some point.) What should you do? (Actions will usually be left entirely to the readers (such as in this case), in which case the general consensus will decide the outcome, assuming it fits the current situation. When it comes to specific choices, the choice with the most votes will win. The story will usually try to leave you with some freedom, and only restrict you if it is important to do so!)
  18. This is a piece I wrote for someone, just thought of sharing it here for the ladies who might be interested. Apologies if it is not good enough. Happy New Year 2018 to all! Enjoy! ---- Athena, The Lady of Thesox loved watching men desperate to pee. All her life, she had dreamt of controlling a man’s piss. Having absolute authority over a man’s bladder. After her husband, the lord passed away, leaving behind five children in her safety, Athena had found herself busy with the duties of being a mother and the lady of a vast kingdom. But now that her children were busy with themselves, it left Athena with the time to explore her fantasies. Lady Athena declared an open challenge, “I hereby declare that I will award a large castle and a beautiful wife to any man who would dare to accept my challenge of holding his piss until I give him the discretion to release his waters...” The word spread like wildfire through the country, but no man dared to accept the challenge. Several days passed but to Lady Athena’s great dismay, no one stepped up to confront her. But then, a fortnight later, a man named Malcolm visited her castle. “I accept your challenge!” he said. “Oh, but remember, once you participate, you can only quit if I give you the permission, and not before” Lady Athena smirked. “I accept your challenge my lady” Malcolm said, “I have a large bladder.” “Very well then, the challenge will start tomorrow, get a good night’s sleep” she said, “I shall see you in the morning.” Malcolm was shown to his chambers by the servants. The next morning, when Malcolm visited the grand hall of the castle, he found Lady Athena already waiting for him there, with a large tub of lukewarm water that had vapours of steam rising from it. “From today on, each day, you’ll drink a hundred and ninety litres of water in the morning. An elephant drinks this much in the entire day, so I guess it will be good for you as starters” Athena smiled haughtily, almost expecting Malcolm to be shocked at the amount she had mentioned but the man stood defiant. Gulping the lump in his throat, he began drinking from the tub with the help of a jug. And after two hours of continuous drinking, the man was finished with the tub. “Looks like you have finished it all! Good, that’ll ready you for a big pee” Lady Athena smiled. It was true, Malcolm’s stomach felt bloated with all the water and he knew, such a large quantity would make him piss like an elephant. But he wasn’t worried. With his bladder capacity, needing to pee was never an issue. Lady Athena and Malcolm spent the morning in the church and during the lunch hours, she had her servants serve Malcolm with sixty litres of hot barley tea. That was too much liquid going inside his bladder and Malcolm was beginning to get worried if he’d be able to hold it till Lady Athena wanted him to. But with hesitation, he drank down all the tea given to him and hoped it wouldn’t make him want to pee badly. But while Lady Athena was enjoying the desperation Malcolm was facing, another problem was brewing inside the stable of her castle. Oros was a majestic and powerful centaur that Lady Athena had as her pet and her protector. The being though thoughtful and intelligent, was kept in the stable along with the horses. He was gifted to the Lady by a fabled conjuror and would only listen to commands from Athena. Each morning and evening, the lady would take the centaur out of the castle for a piss as the other servants were scared to go even near the fiend. But since the last two days, the lady had completely forgotten about her pet. “Where is my lady? She hasn’t visited me in two days...” the centaur asked a servant nearby who happened to be feeding the horses. “Well she’s busy with a guest” he answered before walking away with a stack of hay in his hands. Oros held the chain around his neck and sighed in dismay before settling down to the ground. Each day, the being was given four hundred and fifty litres of water to drink, which meant, he already had over nine hundred litres in his bladder. But his vessel was huge and Oros knew he could hold longer if needs be, but not much longer. Inside the stone walls of the castle, Malcolm was beginning to feel the first signs of his filling bladder but he was confident he could wait. Athena could see the first signs of a bladder bulge beginning to form in Malcolm’s midriff. She invited him for a walk in the gardens, hoping some movement would help him digest all that liquid quicker. She noticed the man walked a bit weirdly, but then what could she expect from a person containing over two hundred and fifty litres of liquid in his stomach. In the evening, Malcolm was served, fifteen litres of milk along with thirty five more litres of water. The man was trembling at the liquid intake. “My lady, I just wanted to know how long will this challenge last?” Malcolm asked, placing a hand on his rapidly filling bladder. “Until I am sure that you have the biggest bladder, this challenge will go on” Lady Athena smirked. She could see his bladder distinctly bulging over his breeches and she knew he had some serious pressure building up, much to her amusement. Little did Lady Athena know that her day was going to get much busier though. A huge blow of trumpets from the courtyard announced the arrival of Prince Noah to the castle. The Prince had travelled all the way to Lady Athena’s castle far up north to take an account of the law and order in her state. “Very welcome my prince, it is a great honour to have you as our guest” the lady greeted. “I am pleased my lady, could you please show me to my chambers, it has been a long and cold journey and I would like to have some rest” the Prince said. Lady Athena personally showed the Prince to his chambers and once alone the Prince made his way straight to the privy. Though in his mid thirties, the prince was a strong and muscular man who drank plenty of water each day. Since the morning, the prince charming had drunk over two hundred litres of pure water, and a large amount of honey water and lemonade. But unfortunately for the Prince, when he tried to open the large wooden door of his privy, it refused to budge. It was jammed. The Prince thought of telling Lady Athena of the problem but then decided against it, as it was thought to be a matter of great disgrace for a monarch to tell someone about their need to relieve themselves. The Prince went downstairs to have his supper, but much to his annoyance and frustration, the servants poured him mug after mug of hard cold beer. Lady Athena wondered what a big pee the prince would take after all that beer, and decided to feed the same amount to Malcolm who was sitting right next to her at the table. By the time the dinner was done, both Prince Noah and Malcolm had drunk over twenty large mugs of beer, and Lady Athena was pleased to think of how much Malcolm’s bladder would fill over the course of the night. Noah however was absolute about not disclosing his problem to Lady Athena. So the Prince quietly went to bed, hoping to find a solution to his problem the next day.
  19. {Hello, and welcome to Klijiss Haven, A Floating Island in the Eostrotope Region, located in the wonderful realm of Albagane, this is where your adventure begins!} {My name is Kailey, But you can call me Kai!, I speak in Curly Brackets} {If you need help or have any questions for behind the scenes, Just either Message me privately, or if you can't message me, just post your question in Curly brackets!} {Anyway, i'm gonna be pretty vague for now, I'll occasionally put in a lil quip every now and then but otherwise you're on your own!} {Oh! one more thing i forgot to mention! i have 2 characters Pre-made (OH! this is a really good transition to the Basic Tutorial!)} {Under here is an example showing what you're in for!} {I put it under a spoiler so those coming back for another time don't have to scroll back through the whole thing}
  20. Welcome to Mars Life: Humanity Explored, my first of what I hope to be several interactive stories here on Omorashi.org. In this story, every decision matters -and not in the typical sense either. Every path you take, every person you talk to, every decision you make will change the story, sometimes immediately, and definitely in the future. If you have played Mass Effect, you can think of it as similar to that, if not then just know that everything matters. Mars Life, if you have been around to remember, was a story I wrote here a couple years ago which sadly (although trying twice) I never actually finished. Now though I'm ready. I have general outlines done and considering the recent popularity of Interactive stories on the board, I feel as if its the best medium to get it across. In this story you will have alot of leeway with how our character interact with the other characters. You can start a romantic relationship for example, or you could renounce your entire social group. All is fair game. During the story, death is possible, and death is final. if you die in the game, it is game over. Be safe, be careful and most importantly watch out. I will warn though, i'm not the best artist. That said, I will be doing images because even if they are bad, they help set the feel of the story. I hope everyone enjoys, and welcome to Mars Life: Humanity Explored. ============================================================ "Up until recently life on mars has been a no-go. Although after decades of the Sol expansion project, we have finally enabled Mars as a suitable home for the Human Race away from Earth. Mars, home to 1 Billion people, all of which live within the three cities on the planets surface. My name is Emma Warian, I am a 16 year old female Adept who lives in New Avalon, the capital city of Mars. Adepts are people who -though some genetic mutation- have that ability to use what old societies would call 'magic', or atleast thats what my parents have told me. Out of the entire human race, only a couple million actually have Adept powers, so you could say that I'm special; special enough that adepts have been separated to a special school on Mars due to the constant threats of kidnapping and death from the more closed-minded. Luckily most of the population is cool with us, but the threat is still real enough that the SOL Government wants to keep us safe, we are the future of the adept trait after all. I guess I should mention, my main Adept power is the ability to read into the near future. I can't control when it happens, nor is it always clear what I am predicting when it happens, but more often than not I am correct. Other than that though my secondary Adapt power is the ability to control my local electromagnetic fields on a subatomic level to allow myself to levitate, something I dont have completely down yet, but I can still use the power to push or pull objects at a short distance. Welcome to Mars! ========================================================= Prologue ======================================================== >> May 18, 2811 >> New Avalon, Mars -- -- (Play every post) It was a dark and cloudy night. Everything was normal except "A-OUGH!" you yelled out in pain as you ran down a pathway. You didn't know why you were running, or how you got where you were. You had never seen this area before, yet you were here, running. Behind you in the far distance you could hear the sounds of gunfire in addition to sounds you had never heard before in your life. Closer than the gunfire, you could hear the sounds of someone or something following you, but for some reason instead of looking back you continued to run. Running down the path you could smell wide scale burning, though not like any burning; it was like thick smoke which filled your nostrils and made you want to choke. Because of your constant running, your heart was burning and your lungs gasping for air. As you continued to run, you came across two separate pathways, to the left a road which continued what seemed to be out of New Avalon. To the right was a forest with a pathway cutting through it. As the pathway came closer your body pulled you down the --Left Path (Road seemingly out of the city) --Right Path (Forest with a path through it) --Path you were just down (Turn around and head back)
  21. This is a reboot of my old story, still follows Liz as she adventures around as a paladin but I wanted to kind of start over with her finding a different friend. Edit: Also, featuring Ayla, a character by Clom The sound of a river flowing is quite possibly one of the most serene effects nature can provide you. A steady sound that is passive and quiet, yet inexorable. The flow of a river cannot be stopped except by the most drastic of measures. But even then, the river will simply find a new path which it can flow, and as such, that peaceful sound will never truly die. I kneel down in the grass and scoop some water into my hands and take a drink. I’ve been traveling the road for three days now and I feel exhausted. Part of me wants nothing more than to go back to an abbey bed and rest. Sleeping on the ground for this long… it takes a lot out of you. I take my final drink and then splash some of the cold water across my face. “Don’t dwell on what has already happened”, Father Matthew would tell me, “Instead, look to ensure that it will not happen again.” There is wisdom in his words, of course, but it’s never that simple. I could run back now, probably inquire around New Leaf town and track Nymeria down, pledge my love to her and we’d live happily ever after. Yet I cannot bring myself to move. No… instead I sling my shield over my shoulder and follow the river north. It is then that I hear the sounds of battle. Somewhat of a welcome change to all this dreary traveling. I rush forward, following the sounds. There, by the rivers edge, not more than a hundred meters away, I see a man and a woman fighting off a pack of goblins. The woman is cloaked– she seems to be taking care to hide her appearance as that hood of hers is much too great. The man, however, though he bears no armor or crest, has a rather magnificent greatsword. The way in which he cleaves through the goblins is both savage and graceful. He is a knight. From his stance alone, I can gather that much. There is too much discipline– too much purpose and dignity in his movements. “Ho there, goblin menace! Fret not, for I shall bring your meager existences to their end in good time! Justice does not discriminate in its selection!” Then I see it. A small staff of iron in the woman’s hands. She casts a small bolt of fire at leaping goblin, preventing it from latching onto the knight. But still, the numbers they face are quite extreme. As a paladin, it is my duty to aid such travelers. I draw my weapons and charge in. “Well met, my ally!” The man says as he cleaves another goblin. “The situation is well in hand but another fighter would bring a swift end to this conflict!” “I couldn’t agree more!” I yell. Goblins are hardly warriors. It would take at least ten to be match for the lowilest squire of Arcadian soldiers. Yet it was becoming well known that the Mountain Kingdom of Ralion was having increasing troubles with controlling the goblin population. The further north you traveled, the greater the risk of a goblin raid. Still, between two trained knights and a mage of unknown power, even this group of… what was it? Twenty goblins? Thirty? They were no match for us. I’d give details of the battle but it was so simple and quick that it would be a dull and repetitive account. “That was a strangely large party.” the man sighs. “I’ve never seen them attack in groups of more than five at a time.” “Have the elves of Ralion truly been unable to get a handle on them?” “It would seem they cannot.” the man sheathes his large blade and extends his hand to me. “I am Malcolm. A mercenary and adventurer in these parts! I would offer you reward but I’m afraid I have no funds until my assignment is over.” “Are you both unharmed?” I ask. The woman nods silently at me. “Ah, yes, meet my quarry, Ser- um… Serene.” Malcolm says. “As you have seen, she has some skill in the arcane arts and seeks to make her way to the elven city in the mountains. “Perhaps I could accompany you. I am a Paladin of Arcadia and it is my duty to help our citizens.” “Ah, I thought I recognized your crest!” Malcolm says excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to meet a paladin! Your order is most gracious and prestigious!” he turns to Serene. “Well, I for one would welcome your help but the decision remains in the hands of my employer!” “I cannot offer payment nor reward at this time.” Serene says. “But if you wish to assist us, I will not turn you away.” “Very well.” I couldn’t quite place it, but there was something familiar about Serene. Barring the fact that she had the most beautiful face hidden beneath that hood, I couldn’t help but feel I had seen her somewhere before. “Will you bestow upon us your own name, fair paladin?” Malcolm asks. “Liz-“ I pause. A brief surge of pain goes through my heart. “Elizabeth Gallagher.” “A most beautiful name!” he declares, then points towards the mountains. “Now then, let us continue to the land of Ralion!” I couldn’t help but grin at Malcolm’s character. Ever the optimist, and the way his long, golden bangs flowed in the wind, and the way he carried himself- shoulders raised, and a confident grin on his face. He was like a hero from a song of legend. He reminded me a lot of someone I knew in the order of Paladins. Eastern Arcadia was a lot different from the west. Where on the west you have many green, rolling hills and plenty of trees, the east was more golden grasslands and farms. Largely flat but that made it much easier to patrol for the knights. You can get much better lines of sight on the land. If there was trouble to be found, you would find it easily. And that’s when we saw it. Over near the castle, a great deal of smoke began to rise from the Darkwood. One of Arcadia’s most important sources of wood was giving off frightening levels of smoke, one might think there was a dragon attack. “Please don’t tell me that’s where Robin and his troop headed.” Serena sighed. “Very well!” Malcolm said with unnecessary enthusiasm, “I shall not tell you, my liege!” “Robin?” I asked. “Aha!” Malcolm said, “A compatriot of ours who led an expedition against a supposed necromancer that was hiding in that forest. I guess… things went awry.” “Knowing that group, they probably set fire to it on purpose.” Serene commented. “Ahahah… I suppose it’s possible…” “Who is he?” I ask. “A pretty big guy with a pretty big axe!” Malcolm grinned, “Helped us out a few days ago!” “Malcolm.” Serene gave the mercenary an odd stare, but the blonde-haired man helplessly shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t lie about it.” “You don’t need to volunteer unnecessary information either.” She looked at me. “We encountered him a bit earlier, he pulled us out of a tight spot, along with a few other adventurers.” “We were attacked by a servant of Mephistopheles.” Malcolm added. “Malcolm!” “Forgive me, my liege,” Malclom pulled his bangs away from his eyes, “but even as an initiate, I believe she has a right to know the truth. She may even be able to help us.” I swallow and press my legs together. Once again, I have to pee, but such urges will have to wait. Mephistopheles was the Lord of Hell who had supposedly tried to wipe out humanity ages ago. As a paladin, it was my sworn duty to combat him and his followers. “Suffice it to say,” Malcolm explained, “We are not who we say we are. Serene is a high ranking official from Tripoli who has been targeted by a powerful warrior serving Mephistopheles. It was my job to move her to a safe location with secrecy being our defense.” “Then what I suspected was true,” I say, “you are an Arcadian Paladin.” Malcolm nodded. “This assassin is not to be trifled with, Elizabeth. He wields tremendous power and cannot be killed. I saw him return to life after being slain in a most brutal fashion.” “What does he want?” I ask. “Serene’s life.” Malcolm answers. “Beyond that, we are unsure.” “Not entirely true.” Serene added, “He tried to take the King’s life as well.” “The King!?” I gasp. I didn’t realize things were so dire. I almost felt bad leaving the capital. Had I stayed behind, perhaps I could have helped defend against attack. Paladins are a cut above the typical soldiers and knights, you see. Blessed by God, we are literally given the power to smite evil with holy light. This is not some religious allegory or obscure analogy. We can generate a brilliant light from our weapons and bring it upon unholy foes just in case “dead” isn’t dead enough. So for a single warrior to fend off a paladin… I am given pause. “Yes… you were fortunate to evade my sword… but not this time.” A strange and deep voice seems to echo through the fields. Serene and Malcolm immediately ready their weapons, a look of terror on their faces. Then I see it. Atop a nearby hill… a man. White hair… clad in black leather armor… holding a large, crimson sword in one hand. “I suspected you would flee to Ralion in order to warn the elven king… but I did not expect you to bring such a small entourage.” His face is unwavering. The man knows he is in a position of power, but he emits no satisfaction or enmity. His gaze is cold and uncaring. We are merely a job to him. “Who are you!?” I ask, drawing my sword and shield. “I am Camus, servant of Mephistohples.” He does not look at me. “And with the blood of each royal family, I shall complete the ritual to bring the Prince into this world.” “Have you gone completely mad!?” Malcolm shouts. “He’ll enslave every free race in the world!” “Yes, he will bring order to this chaotic world once again, but that is not my concern.” Camus replies. “My job is only to gather the blood.” He leaps off of the hill and lands before us. His red eyes pierce even my armor, as if my power means nothing in the face of his. And for a brief moment… I understand. I’m going to die. It terrifies me… but I accept it. To protect my home… to protect my family… I would gladly give up my life. That is the hallmark of a paladin. I charge. I know it will likely mean my death, but I press my attack. I keep my shield close to my chest to protect against counterattack… but it means nothing to this man. He plunges his sword into the ground, sending violet pulses of energy towards Malcolm and I. We are knocked off our feet almost instantly. Camus walks towards the robed woman. “Now… Princess Serena… you will die.” I regain my bearings, get up and attack again. That woman was the princess of Arcadia? Then there was no time for weakness. I had to stop this man. But he effortlessly deflects my attacks. Each strike of my blade is parried… and when he chooses to go onto the offensive, I am desperately trying to block his attacks with my shield. My body is moving almost entirely on instinct, my shield arm moving to stop his relentless slashes. That’s when Malcolm gets up and strikes with his greatsword. The pressure is taken off of me, and my bladder reminds me that it needs relief. Could have picked a better time. But I can’t let them die. I channel all my power into my sword and lash out against Camus. And there it is. He tries to deflect my thrust but it slips through his guard and pierces his left side, followed by a brilliant flash of light. He grunts as he leaps back, clutching his wound. But I don’t give him room to breathe. I attack again. And again. His blocks are a little more shaky now that he’s wounded. “A lucky hit… you won’t get lucky again!” He growls. “Malcolm!” I say “Take the princess and run!” “But-“ “I’ll hold him here! Get away!” They both seem to understand. They run towards the mountains, leaving Camus and I to face each other. “Surely you know that you cannot match my power. Do you truly believe you can defeat me?” “Either way, I’m not gonna stop until I’m dead!” “How very noble of you,” Camus says without emotion, “Then I shall endeavor to end our match swiftly.” I’m not sure what happened. I gave it my all. I used divine protection spells and smites of all kinds to try to fend him off but I could sense Camus was holding back. His attacks were bizarre. If not unorthodox attacks, he would add in strange magical attacks to keep me at range. Only a few minutes passed but it felt like hours. I was losing. With each blow I took, my life felt that much closer to its end. But I ignored it. There were people I needed to protect. I ignored the pain in my body. I ignored the protests of my bladder. All that mattered was stopping this man from killing our princess. Finally, I’m sent flying by another strange magical attack. I crash land hard onto my back. I’ve lost my sword and my shield, so I pull out a knife I keep hidden in my boot. But I look to the north first. At last, Malcolm and Serena have disappeared over the horizon, and I know I’ve accomplished my mission. A sense of relief goes about me, and I suddenly become aware of the pain in my body. Camus stands over me with his weapon poised to strike, and I prepare myself for the blow. I hear the sound of a metal object cutting through the air. Camus jumps back… and the world begins to grow dark — When I awaken, the first thing I realize is how bad I have to pee. My entire lower area aches with the feeling of needing to take a leak. But as I open my eyes, I’m greeted by sight of a young girl with fiery hair playing her violin next to a campfire. It’s night now. My body still hurts, but the edge has been taken off. The girl noticed me as I sit up. Her music ceases as she looks at me. “Oh… hi.” she says. “Hello.” “How are you feeling?” “Better.” I say. “What happened?” “That man attacked you. You lost consciousness from your wounds. You were bleeding pretty badly around your left leg.” I look down. I’m not wearing my trousers anymore. Only my panties below the waist, but there is a bandage there. “I used a bit of magic to heal what I could,” the girl says, “but I am not well versed in the healing arts. "The names Addilyn Tsereteli, but most just call me Ayla." The girl gives a bow like a bard on his closing performance, slow and elegant. “I am Elizabeth. I am a paladin of Arcadia.” I rise to my feet, searching for my pants. “So what happened to the white-haired man?” “He fled. Seems that deflecting my arcane arrows was more trouble than it was worth for him.” “You should have pursued.” I say with a hint of anger. “He was trying to kill someone. Now he may succeed.” Ayla looks at the ground silently. “I… I’m sorry. You couldn’t have known that. I’m grateful for what you’ve done for me so far.” She gives a single nod. Then she points behind me. “Your pants are over there if you want to put them on. Sorry I had to take them off to get to your wound.” “Ah, it’s no trouble. I understand.” As I stand up, however, my bladder sends another unfriendly reminder. I stop in my tracks, pondering what I should do. It’s gotten pretty bad now, and I really don’t want to keep holding it. I even consider just pulling my smallclothes to the side and letting it out where I stand. But I could never do that in front of someone else. I withdraw the idea as quickly as I conjured it. Was there any cover nearby? I look around, but we’re still out in the fields. There were a few patches of grass I could maybe squat down into, but Ayla would definitely figure out what it was I’d be doing. So to the dismay of bladder, I choose to continue holding it. I walk over and put my trousers back on, hoping to God that they don’t have to endure my urine again. “So who was that guy?” “Someone too powerful even for me.” I say with humility. “It will likely be someone else who has to slay him.” “Have you been a paladin long?” “I’m newly graduated,” I say, “But I’ve been an initiate for about four years.” Ayla grinned slightly. “Must be nice going on adventures and helping people all the time.” “It has its perks and its downfalls.” I reply, thinking of my encounter with Nymeria in the forest. I’m starting to sway back and forth in place now. It’s getting increasingly difficult to remain still. “And what is your profession?” I asked. “I’m just… exploring the world.” Ayla answers. “I come from Drogoth.” “I didn’t realize there were human settlements there.” I say. If you thought Arcadia was rife with danger, then Drogoth is something out of nightmares. A largely untamed land due to the presence of large creatures, such as harpies, large spiders, and the occasional giant. Monsters and savage creatures ruled that area. Few dared to travel through it, though I’ve heard that Arcadian outlaws sometimes flee there. And that gave me pause about Ayla. She wasn’t… she couldn’t be… was she? “Yes, I came from a small village there. It wasn’t the most luxurious life, but we made do. I guess I just… wanted more. So I left to seek my own adventure. Is that weird?” I shake my head. “I became a paladin for similar reasons.” “Not to serve the church? Or justice?” “I wanted to help people.” I explained. “I wanted to be the change this world needed– to fight off the evils of this realm and help people to live another day safely. But after today… I’m starting to realize how tall of an order that truly is.” Ayla nodded. “This world does indeed have elements to it which surpass our abilities. I’ve heard terrifying tales of dragons and other such monsters which rule the south and the north. Though it would be quite the tale, I don’t know if I have the power or courage to face such a beast.” I had forgotten about that. Dragons. They’re believed to predate even the earliest human and elven settlers. The only thing that seems to keep them from annihilating us mere mortals are their isolationist mentalities… or each other. However, I had more pressing concerns. If Ayla was indeed a criminal… I had to know. So I asked her, and not discreetly. She gives me an annoyed look, as if I just sullied her entire character. “I have never once committed a crime that would warrant such a dastardly consequence! In fact-“ she gives me a puzzled look. “Are you… okay?” I realize now that my legs are crossed and I’m bouncing where I stand. I have to pee so badly. The conversation was serving as a distraction but I start to come to the realization that I just can’t hold it any longer. “I… really have to pee.” The words fall out of my mouth like rocks upon a slope. “A-Ah… I see…” Ayla blushes a bit. “Well… I’ll just turn away. Do your business wherever you like.” She averts her gaze from me and I move into a patch of grass. As I squat down, I realize it wasn’t nearly as much cover as I had hoped it would be. I pull my trousers down and it would be very easy for someone to see my exposed body. But I just… can’t… hold it. I stand up slightly so I’m in more of a partial squat, sticking my… uhm… back end… out a bit. And I release. By the Lord, I can’t believe how much noise it makes as I pee on the hard dirt below. The last time I squatted all the way down, though, I ended up peeing on my boots. All I can think about, however, is that I really hope Ayla isn’t looking at me in this incredibly humiliating position. Ten seconds pass. Twenty seconds. “Wow, you really had to go, didn’t you?” Ayla calls out. “I’m really sorry…” “It’s no trouble.” Ayla says awkwardly. “Maybe next time don’t hold it in for so long?” “I’ll try…” Can my body please stop producing urine now? This is embarrassing enough as it is! But it just… keeps… going. After what felt like a full minute, I feel the stream die down. It’s over. I give my lady parts a quick wipe with my hand and pull my trousers back up. “I’m really sorry about that.” Ayla chuckled a bit. “When you gotta go, you gotta go.” “I know, I just… feel really self-conscious about doing it in front of other people.” I walk over and sit next to the fire, just staring at the flames, trying to forget about how embarrassed I felt. It reminded me of a past incident I had. “So tell me more about being a paladin!” Ayla suddenly asked, leaning towards me. “You must have had some interesting tales and adventures!” “Like I said, I was only recently inducted,” I say, “Most of what I encountered was just dealing with petty thievery and drunken brawls. Rarely do I see anything as exciting as a good bandit raid.” She looked at me with an eager expression. I could tell Ayla wanted to hear a more dashing tale, but the truth was that I was a novice adventurer. I didn’t have any grand tales to share. So I just helplessly shrug and give her an awkward smile. “Well…” Ayla started to draw a circle in the dirt with her finger. “I did hear about a bounty that was posted on a few rebels in the area. They’ve been raiding farms and taking supplies apparently.” “Really!?” I say with shock and enthusiasm. “Maybe we could take it on together?” I nod. “I’m not interested in the reward, of course! I simply want to help my people!” Ayla grinned. “Of course.” I couldn’t help but smile back. I found a real friend out here in the wilderness. We both woke up a bit too early the next morning. The sun hadn’t even broken over the horizon. But the childish grins on our faces were evident to all. We were two young adventurers about to take on our first real quest as a team.
  22. anonymous guy choc

    female Dungeons & Desperation - a CYOA

    (quick recap of what I write below if tldr) Picture a world lost to time. A world of wizards and warlocks, of adventure and altruism, of Fighters and firelords, of Dragons and... desperation? Well, I suppose even noble heroes have to pee once in a while. But what is this world? and who are you? What are you even doing here? I'm an adventurer! An adventurer? You're nothing but a formless spirit. Okay... well... I'm going to be an adventurer once character creation is over with. Ah. But who's playing this game? That would be them. Oh! Hello. We're in a bit of a bind. My name is fate; I decide the whims of the world, as well as directing souls into new bodies. It seems today that you lot have your chance at my job. Don't get too haughty now; You're only going to be directing this one. Hello! First thing's first. She needs a name and a body. Since there's a few of you we'll put this to a vote; in the case of a tie I'll break it. The name can be whatever you wish so impress me, and she'll also need a race and adventuring class. You have these to pick from: Race Selection Human - Not very special. Has the best luck. Bladder capacity: standard. Elf - 1 extra minor spell known (regardless of class.) can see in darkness, automatically trained in all bows. can run faster than all other races. Bladder capacity: Low Dwarf - Tough, but not very likable. Can see in darkness, hates open spaces, loves closed spaces, special affinity for stonework. Bladder capacity: high Gnome - Charming, but brittle and weak. Special affinity for illusions. Can perform minor magic tricks regardless of class. notably smaller than humans. Bladder capacity: low Tiefling (part demon) - quick and smart, yet no one likes you (wonder why.) Evil taints soul, making you more likely to do harsh things. Can see in dim light. Resistance to fire. bad luck. bladder capacity: standard Class Selection Fighter - Trained to wear heavy armor and fight will all manner of weapons at close or long range. Wizard - Long studies have made you a spellcasting powerhouse. You are the undisputed master of the arcane. Rogue - Time on the streets has given you the power to strike quickly, move quicker, and take what you want by any means necessary. Cleric - You call upon divine magic to smite your foes and heal your friends. Psion - You are a conduit of psychic magic. Where wizards spend long hours studying formulas and writings, you spend an eqaul time meditating and focusing your inner power to use your mind as the greatest weapon you have. (note: I may do a few drawings for this, but it will mostly be written. and don't worry; the main focus will of course be on desperation and wetting. I will try to update this a minimum of once a week.)
  23. footedsleeper

    I was deceived.

    In elementary school, a classmate and I were sitting in the hallway while class was in session. I think the teacher had sent us out there to take 15 minutes or so to finish an assignment that everyone else had just turned in. The doorways to nine classrooms were in that hallway, and about 30 pupils were in each one. No one but us was in the hallway. Then a boy came out of one of the rooms at the end of the hallways and ran as fast as he could toward the opposite end of the hallway, going past us along the way, and entered the "lavatory", as it was euphemistically called. Clearly desperate and fearful of an accident. That started a discussion between my classmate and me. I wondered what would happen if he actually had an accident? Would he be punished? Would a teacher force him to change his clothes there in the hallway, or in the classroom, where he might be seen? I often fantasized about this sort of thing. Three or four years earlier, when I was seven years old, I had had a really major wetting accident in school and all of my classmates had seen it happen. It was an accident-on-purpose, since I had set myself up to make it happen after fantasizing about it for some time. After that, I was afraid to do it again, but I fantasized. As we talked, the boy emerged and walked back to his classroom at a normal walking pace. I think the fact that this was a fantasy that fascinated me became perfectly obvious to my classmate. So he told me about something he had seen happen the previous year. At least he _said_ he had seen it. By hindsight, it's obvious that he was pushing my buttons to enjoy seeing my reaction. He was well repaid for his efforts. The previous year, he said, a classmate of his had wet his pants. The teacher had made him take all his clothes off while everyone could see him. Hearing this, I gasped and my eyes popped out, and I begged for details. My classmate who was telling me this clearly enjoyed my reaction. My fantasy was really about this happening to me. Of course, I didn't tell him that. When one is young, one is credulous.
  24. This isn't actually a new story, just a description I my accident in school that is more leisurely than the one I posted before. This is a true story about an accident that I deliberately caused myself to have after fantasizing about it for a year. I wet my pants in school, while all my classmates could see me, when I was seven years old. I first began fantasizing about doing this during the previous year, when I was in kindergarten, so I was either five or six. I heard a boy in first grade---a year ahead of me---say that a girl had wet herself in class. I thought that would be horribly embarrassing, and I kept trying to picture what it would feel like physically. I also thought it would be incredibly sexy to be the victim of such an accident in front of everybody. I didn't know the word "sexy" then, so I didn't think of it in that language, but that word fits the feelings I associated with it. Another thought was overwhelming: this can happen. I could be in school and lose control and wet myself. The whole picture of myself having such an accident, and the thought that it could really happen, became something I thought about every day. And somehow I felt that some day this would happen to me. One begins first grade at the age of six, and usually reaches the age of seven before the school year is over, and so it was with me. On or near the first day of class, the teacher mentioned that if the only way to avoid wetting oneself is to run out of class without stopping to ask for permission, that was OK. It seemed as if just doing that would take some courage. This whole scenario was a recurring thought during the whole school year. Each day we took a toilet break in the morning and one in the afternoon, and we could use the facilities during the lunch hour. I think as the weather warmed up in the spring, it began to seem more like a possibility that I could have an accident. I thought: I want to experience this. Why don't I just wet my pants on purpose in class some day? But I also wanted it to be an accident. I remembered having accidents when I was three or four. The way it happened then was I would unexpectedly start peeing in my pants. Sometimes it flowed down my leg into the bottom of my shoe and my sock got soaked, as did my pants of course. Once I had an accident when I was four, when my mother had been trying to make me realize I shouldn't do that any more, and at some point she threatened to make me wear a diaper if it happened again. And one day it did, and she made me wear a cloth diaper and clear plastic pants, with nothing over them. I was dressed that way when one of my mother's friends visited. Somehow I remember it as somewhat embarrassing and vaguely sexy. So I thought: that's what the teacher will do to me if I have an accident. I'll be dressed like that in front of all my classmates. One day the weather was sunny and pleasant and I thought it would be a good day to have an accident, and although I realized I didn't have the courage to just stand there and pee in my pants, I could make myself lose control by drinking a lot of water all day and never using the bathroom. When I got to school I went to the drinking fountain and drank a lot of water. When we took our potty break that morning, I needed to pee, but I didn't use the facilities and I drank a lot of water again. By lunch time I needed to pee badly. On the way to the cafeteria I drank a lot of water. During lunch I had to suppress squirming. After eating I drank quite a lot of water again. When we were all seated in class I thought, now maybe I'll unexpectedly lose control at some point, the way I did when I was four. But what happened was that it became painful to desperately try not to pee. I realized it might be that way for a long time---two hours maybe? I _could_ just go ahead and pee myself. But there's no way I had the courage to do that. Finally I realized it's not going to be like when I was four, and I'd probably just sit there in pain all afternoon. I chickened out and asked for permission to use the facilities. The teacher said "Can you hold it a little while longer?" I actually thought I could. It was going to be painful. I said yes. Some time later the teacher had us all stand up to sing. This seems like an amazing coincidence, since my fantasies had always been about wetting while standing up. It was really painful by then, and I thought about the teacher having said it was OK just to run for it. But I still thought I could hold on, despite how intense it was. So in that state I stood there and tried to participate in singing. Then I thought just maybe I might lose control and wet myself, and I thought OK, why not just go ahead and do it? It's what I wanted to happen. But when it came to the point where I had to actually do it in order to do it, I didn't have the courage. So I still stood there while it got worse. And worse. Then I thought I was in danger of an accident; I might not make it. What would happen if I lost control? Here's what I thought would happen: pee would shoot out in front of me in a long arc, and fall on the floor, and everyone would watch while it happened. For the longest time I just kept thinking that would happen. Here's an odd thing: I had enough courage to deliberately set myself up to have an accident, thinking it would happen, but when I reached the point where I considered whether to go ahead with it, I lacked the courage, and now when I thought a horribly embarrassing accident might happen to me in another twenty minutes, while I was in agony the whole time until then, I didn't have the courage to run out of the room to use the facilities either! I kept reminding myself the teacher had said that was OK. I thought: alright, that's what I'll do. But as soon as I was at the very point of moving toward the door, I chickened out again. So I thought there was real danger that I would wet myself, but probably I'd make it and avoid that. That agonizing state also went on for a long time. While in that equilibrium state where the various forces moving me ended up making this clearly unsatisfactory compromise, something happened: I felt my desperation getting much worse. I then realized it was moving toward the boundary. It would happen if I didn't run for it. Should I run for it? But now another thought affected me: what I had planned for and fantasized about was going to happen. Success. But how embarrassing! How could I have done this to myself? I'd feel my desperation moving toward the boundary for maybe five more minutes and then it would really happen. When I thought I had a few minutes left to wait, I felt the oddest thing happen, that has never happened to me before or since. I lost control but I wasn't peeing; I just knew that it was going to happen in a few seconds. It's too late. I'm going to wet my pants. Right here. This state may have lasted five seconds, but it was long enough for lots of thoughts to run through my mind: __why__ didn't I run for it when I had the chance? Why didn't I get some last warning a few seconds before I lost control, that would have made it possible for me to run for it? I really thought I had a few minutes left; why did I suddenly lose control so unexpectedly when I should have had a few minutes left? I then felt something else happening that I've never experienced before or since then. I could actually feel the fluid moving inside me before it reached my dick and started flowing through it. It's coming! Then I felt it moving upward through my dick. Nothing could stop what was about to happen. Then finally flowing out of me onto my skin, getting my skin and my clothes wet. It was warm. It didn't shoot out in an arc in front of me and it didn't shoot upward, but sideways onto my right leg, and then down my leg. And I thought flowing sideways like that isn't how I'd wanted it. I remembered how when I was four it would soak the bottom of my shoes and my socks would get completely soaked, and I thought: I hope that doesn't happen now. It quickly went down to my feet and totally flooded the bottom of my shoe and kept gushing out. It was many years after that that I realized the bottoms of my feet are erotically sensitive, and maybe that's why it was at that point that my dick stood up straight. Pee started shooting up above my waist, soaking my shirt almost up to the bottom of my rib cage. I'd never pictured getting the front of my shirt soaked. Everyone was still singing; no one else suspected anything was going on except that we were all singing. And then it started heading down my left leg while the flow continued down my right leg. This was going to be a really major soaking. Then the bottom of my left foot got completely soaked and I kept on peeing intensely into my pants. And everyone kept singing. And I kept peeing and thinking in a few seconds I'm going to be the whole center of attention and everyone's just singing. There's a classmate standing beside me singing while I'm standing here wetting my pants. Both legs and my crotch area and my waist and my shirt above my waist are soaking wet I I'm still peeing at full strength as if they weren't wet enough yet, and I can't do anything about it, and they're all singing, not suspecting they'll all be looking at me and watching the incident they'll tell everyone about later. I kept on peeing. And kept on peeing. At some point I thought: OK, that's enough. But I couldn't stop. As long as the pee kept flowing down my legs and a growing puddle kept growing below me, I think it was relatively quite, but then some pee fell _between_ my legs and made a splashing sound. That's what did it. A girl behind me shrieked "-------- is wetting his pants!!!!". Everyone fell silent and I still stood there peeing with great force and unable to slow it down, let alone stop. It kept going and everyone was staring, seeing me do it. The girl's shriek has always irritated me; I've always felt she could have done it differently. She could have somehow called everyone's attention to what was happening in a way that implied fascination with a sight one rarely sees. I think if I had seen a girl having an accident I would have just stared, watching it happen, and not said anything, letting others do that. Over on the Experience Project web site, I woman with a major wetting fetish posted a story (this will seem like an unlikely coincidence, but it's true) that when her third-grade class was singing before an audience consisting of the whole school, she saw the boy standing next to her wet his pants, and she just stared in fascination, and even felt a bit envious because she wanted to have an accident too. I'd have loved having a girl who felt that way see my accident. I wish I could invite all females I've seen on the internet who have this fetish to go back in time and be there to watch. I stood there and kept on peeing my pants in front of everybody. I tried to stop. I couldn't do anything. It kept flowing until none was left. The teacher asked why I didn't run to the lavatory. Couldn't I remember that she'd said that was alright? I think I just said I didn't know. She told me to go to the lavatory now and finish what I'd started. I said there wasn't any left. But she insisted. I just stood there disobediently. And then she insisted more emphatically. I remember the effort it took me to move from where I stood and walk toward the door. I was going to go out into the hallway where people might see me. I walked down the hall, expected to hear someone gasp and say "That boy wet his pants!". No one did. I stood before the urinal and had no pee left. I knew exactly what to expect when I got back to the classroom. The teacher would say I shouldn't be wetting my pants at this age, and now I have to wear diapers. She would make me take all my clothes off in front of the class and put cloth diapers and clear plastic pants on me, and I would be required to sit at my desk in class wearing those and nothing else. I thought that that diaper would have been useful a few minutes earlier. I'd have had an accident in my diaper and no one but me would have known. When I got back to class, that didn't happen. The teacher told me my pants would dry by the end of the day. They actually did. No one ever mentioned the incident to me after that, either in school or at home. Somehow that seems surprising. During subsequent years in school I had fantasies about this happening again, but I never attempted to make it happen and it didn't. I still have all sorts of fantasies about similar incidents, but always involving female audiences who properly appreciate the erotic nature of what happened. Sometimes they abduct me and force me to have an accident, and require me to wear diapers and be the pet wet diaper boy in the sorority house.
  25. 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."