Search the Community

View File wetting twice . Submitter luke u u Submitted 12/16/2023 Category Male  

InShot_20231019_013137389.mp4

I exploded as soon as it filmed man- Might post a femboy pic lv_0_20220923165434.mp4 lv_0_20220923165434.mp4 of me in a skirt later~

Just pics of me in crossdress, wetting myself pretty much :s

Just a bunch of pics from recent-ish wetting experiences :s hope you enjoy dem.

20221030_035119(1)(1).mp4 20221030_040501(1).mp4

The following fics are part of the, uh…Impure Thoughts Extended Universe? Previous Two Installments These installments won’t carry the same content warning for weird Catholic BDSM elements as the first two, so I made a separate topic and added a little Clumsy Exposition(TM) The only content that could trouble an omo-happy reader here would be those awkward moments that come with a 1960s period piece, like characters saying “negro” and smoking indoors. I took my time writing due to my interest in developing Chester’s character (he’s much bolder and brasher than Joe, but in some ways just as naive) and my desire to do at least a little justice to New York City in the sixties. _______ CHAPTER 3: THE PERENNIAL NEW YORK PROBLEM Chester and Joe arrive in New York. They get a little lost, and soon Joe is in dire need of safe, clean public facilities that simply do not exist. Construction on the World Trade Center would not begin until 1966, so it is not in the background of this shot of Midtown _______ “Welcome to New York Everybody here was someone else before” - Taylor Swift _______ If you’d been at the Port Authority bus terminal that morning in 1962, you might have seen two young men carrying suitcases: one a lanky, freckled redhead with a foxlike femininity in the face, and the other a broad-shouldered, square-jawed hunk with a determined stride, a fine representation of a 1950s male beauty ideal that would soon be out of style. The redhead wore a grid check dress shirt, a bow tie, and khakis, while the hunk wore green slacks and a short-sleeved madras shirt more appropriate for the warm weather. And if you’d asked their names, as none of the hundreds of people in the bustling station did, you would have learned that the pretty redhead was called Joe and the hunk was called Chester. Their smart haircuts and quality suitcases made them look like upstanding citizens on their way to visit a wealthy auntie, but in fact they were runways. They had spent the night in a Buffalo bus station after escaping from the clutches of a perverted priest at a Catholic college upstate. Joe could scarcely conceal his adoration as he looked at Chester, who was his rescuer, his hero, and the object of his burning infatuation going on two years. Chester was less sure what Joe meant to him; he had delivered his roommate from immediate peril, but upon arrival in New York he had to consider the question, “now what?” In his fantasies he’d always been like a character in a Kerouac novel setting off for the big city alone, but now that he had actually gone through with it he had an innocent in tow, a person who was more than an acquaintance but less than a friend (or a lover), and he didn’t know what his responsibilities to him were. “Bam! Right over the bridge and we’re in Manhattan! What do you think?” Chester asked. “This is the biggest bus station I’ve ever seen,” said Joe, awestruck. “It’s the ugliest bus station I’ve ever seen,” Chester laughed as an angry-looking man side-checked him. “Golly…” “Let’s get out here and see the city.” “Excuse me, I should…um….use the men’s room first,” Joe said, spotting the sign in a shadowy far corner. He’d had a cup of sludgy coffee and a lot of water from the fountain in Buffalo, and he was feeling a twinge. The men’s room was absolutely filthy. The smell made him sick. He could hear noises in the stall furthest from the door: half-stifled moans - male - and obscene sucking sounds that echoed slightly off the tiles. An avuncular bald man wearing a suit and a wedding ring was standing with his ear pressed against the stall door. Another fellow, muscular, about thirty, was leaning against the wall opposite the urinals in tight jeans and a white T-shirt, smoking. Both of them turned to look at Joe with undisguised lust. Joe panicked. He turned and fled, shocked, scandalized, and shaken to the depths of his soul. He walked out to rejoin Chester, trying to look relieved. The last thing he wanted to do was describe what he had just seen. “Now we need to walk abreast like so and carry our suitcases on the inside so they don’t get snatched. New York is full of criminals,” said Chester. Joe looked at him in alarm. “I mean suitcase-snatching criminals, not shoot-em-up criminals, scaredy-cat.” “I’m not scared, I just - “ “It’s okay, it’s okay. I didn’t mean it that way. This is going to be great. No more classes, no more homework, no more curfew, no more banned books and music, no more priests trying to kidnap people...” “Golly.” _______ The sights, sounds, and smells of the city overwhelmed them as soon as they stepped into the street. Within a few blocks, Times Square opened up, with its vast billboards for Coca-Cola and Canadian Club whiskey. They bought some lemonade from a vendor and set off to the northeast, the direction the map Chester bought at the Port Authority seemed to indicate. They walked through a forest of skyscrapers and Joe nearly tripped over a curb because he couldn’t stop looking up at them, wondering what it was like to live or work so close to the heavens. They passed Radio City Music Hall and Rockefeller Center, places they had only heard of, and then bumped into Central Park. “Look, they have carriage rides through the park!” Joe said, “maybe we could come back here tomorrow!” The awfulness of the day before was fading away into the racket of the crowds and traffic; he was getting into the spirit of the occasion. They walked up Fifth Avenue, gawking at the decorated storefronts and the women dolled up like Jackie Kennedy in Chanel suits. They went into one of the stores just to see what it was like, and discovered an upscale display room filled with expensively simple home furnishings in the sleek, space-age style they had hitherto only seen in magazines. Joe was enchanted, while Chester privately mused that J.D. Salinger had warned him about these rich phonies. Joe attempted to greet the old men feeding pigeons around the edge of Central Park, who looked at him like he was an alien. It was early afternoon and getting hot. Their suitcases felt heavy in their hands; Joe had loosened his bow tie. They cleared the Park and noticed that their surroundings were getting shabbier, which Chester took as an indication that they were getting close to Greenwich Village. They walked past a group of black children playing in a fire hydrant someone had opened for them. The sight and sound of the water pouring into the street made Joe’s bladder wince, but it didn’t show on his face. “I’ve never seen so many colored children in one place,” Joe remarked. “Shh! In New York, you have to be hip. The modern term is ‘negroes,’” Chester corrected. He’d been reading about the battles over segregation down South in his contraband political pamphlets, and knew all the modern terms. “I’ve never seen so many negro children in one place.” “Better. You’re getting the hang of it.” They encountered a block full of old men in black coats with beards and curled sidelocks. “They’re Jews,” Chester said knowingly. “Golly!” Joe exclaimed. His immigrant grandfather, who had lived in New York in his youth before moving upstate, once told him there were all kinds of people there, including Jews, but seeing them with one’s own eyes was something else. They went to a greasy spoon called Larry’s Diner for cheap hamburgers and French fries. The food tasted like manna from heaven after a night and morning on the run. Chester took the opportunity to covertly pool and count out their meager cash savings, which would last them four to nine days depending on the frugality of their accommodations. They would have to get jobs fast to afford an apartment, much less two apartments. Joe drank three fountain sodas. He was thirsty from walking for blocks and blocks in the heat. Chester unfolded the map and furrowed his brow at it. He intercepted a man walking past their booth: “Excuse me, sir, we’re looking for Greenwich Village. Can you point us in the right direction?” “Greenwich Village!” the man said, “That’s all the way Downtown. You gotta go down to 14th Street. Maybe 13th Street.” Chester glanced out the window. They were on West 122nd Street. “Well, looks like we got a little lost,” he said. Joe put a hand to his belt buckle and glanced around. The soda was running through him with distressing speed. “Chester, do you think you can ask that man if there’s, um, a men’s room here?” he asked, looking down at his plate. Chester went to the counter and called to the cook: “excuse me, sir, does this restaurant have a men’s room?” “No,” the cook said definitively, then turned back to the grill. “Do you need to find a bathroom?” Chester asked Joe in a low voice. “Yes. I haven’t had the, um, opportunity since we were in Buffalo,” It was embarrassing to admit, after the events of the day before. The last thing he wanted to talk about was peeing. The memory of the wet spots on Chester’s sweater vest in the church basement resurfaced like a nightmare. “I thought you went at the Port Authority.” “I couldn’t go at the Port Authority,” he whispered, “there were people having relations in there. Men. It wasn’t decent.” “I thought you liked that sort of thing.” Joe froze and blushed scarlet to the tips of his ears, as only red-haired people can blush. “Sorry,” Chester said with genuine contrition. He kicked himself; he should have known that Joe was not ready to be teased about this topic, especially by a fellow he’d had it bad for for two whole years. “It’s not important. I can hold it,” Joe announced, suddenly unhappy and fearful. He’d run away from the Church, his scholarship, his family, everything he had known, and he didn’t know exactly why, or whether the person he was with actually wanted to help him. Golly, I’m such a stupid little Poindexter fairy, he thought, crossing his ankles and squeezing his thighs together under the table. He really did need to go. “Time for a bit of course correction. 14th Street. I should have been paying more attention to the grid,” said Chester, frowning. ______ The sun was dropping in the sky, reflecting off of the windows of the tall, tall buildings. They set out across Midtown and down its length again, this time in the right direction down Second Avenue. Chester poked his head into several storefronts. There were no public bathrooms anywhere. He’d heard New Yorkers were a tough breed, but he’s never thought about it from this angle. No wonder the cab drivers were so cranky and perpetually blowing their horns. They were able to stop a middle-aged woman in a green suit with fake pearl buttons, but when they asked her where they could find a public bathroom, she leaned her head back, let out a loud “ha!” and kept walking. They checked the map. Joe shifted from foot to foot. They were now south of the Empire State Building again, and getting closer to the Village, in a roundabout way. They walked and walked. If Chester had to be honest, he also wanted a piss at this point, but he obviously couldn’t match Joe’s discomfort. Joe was in front of Chester, walking as fast as a real New Yorker, his pelvis held perfectly upright and the muscles of his small, high buttocks pulled taut. "Why am I staring at his ass?" Chester asked himself. It was too hot and the city smelled like garbage. They passed more and more abandoned or near-abandoned buildings on their journey down Second Avenue. A vagrant ambled past, swigging from a bottle of gin. A young woman, dressed scandalously, had fallen asleep on the curb. An enormous rat stared at them insolently from beneath a car. They clutched their suitcases tight. The anxiety about criminals made Joe need to pee that much more. Chester spotted a crumbling building with a deep, recessed portico. Checking to see if the coast was clear, he yanked Joe inside. “Put down your suitcase. We can have a nice piss here,” he said. Judging by the smell, they were not the first people to have this idea. Joe gave him a worried look. There were fewer people on the street than in the other places they’d been, but not no one. There were cars and cabs driving past. “It’s okay, see?” Chester said, turning his back, unzipping, and pissing confidently into the corner. The pattering sound made Joe’s bladder contract and he was suddenly dying for relief, as he had been during Father MacLeary’s terrible purgation. This wasn’t decent, but it didn’t matter; it was an emergency. Chester zipped up. “Now you go. I won’t look. I’ll keep watch.” Joe turned into the corner himself, hopping up and down a bit as he fumbled with his belt. Hurry, hurry. He was starting to panic. If he didn’t get himself in hand fast enough, he might start piddling in his underwear. Oh, oh, oh. I must, I must. He took out his pecker and aimed at the corner of the portico where Chester had just peed… …and he couldn’t go. Something had seized up. He stood straining, but nothing came. He felt the leaden heaviness of all the liquid that had accumulated since Buffalo pound against some iron wall he had inside him. “I can’t go,” he whimpered. “Why not?” “I just can’t. Not here.” “Seems like you really need it, though.” He jiggled his knees. “It’s - it’s an emergency, but I can’t go. Not in public.” Chester sensed that saying “you had no problem peeing in front of me yesterday” would make things worse. Maybe that was the problem, after all - the poor guy was still mortally embarrassed and couldn’t relax. Now he felt awful for having emptied his own bladder so casually right in front of him. And for getting them lost. Joe stood for two miserable minutes trying to pee and couldn’t pass a drop. When he buttoned his pants, he groaned with the renewed pressure on his bladder, which felt to him like it was stretched to watermelon proportions. He would just have to hold it longer. He had an awful flashback to Father MacLeary’s claim that the ache of a full bladder is meant to educate rebellious humans about Purgatory. You must hold your water until we have concluded. He shivered in the warm, still air. They went back to the street and Chester observed him visibly cringe as they set off, the kind of misstep and shifty movement that, however momentary, indicated that the situation was serious. “I’m sure that when we get to Greenwich Village, you’ll be allowed to use any bathroom you want. You’re a poet, after all.” “Oh, I sure hope so!” _______ They started walking westward on East 4th Street, toward what appeared to be beatnik civilization. Long-haired young men in jeans and their beanpole girlfriends were milling around newsstands, appearing to have nothing better to do. Chester felt out of place with his crew cut, and had no way to explain to these hip strangers that it had been one of only three haircuts allowed on the Saint Sebastian campus. One of the fellows, shirtless and hairy as a muskrat, hung out of a window smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. He blew smoke with a strong, unfamiliar odor right at the boys. “Sir, do you know where we might find a restroom?” Joe asked, and for the second time they were simply laughed at. After a few more blocks, Joe stopped in front of an automat to bend over at the waist and press his slender thighs together. He felt tremendous pressure at the base of his pecker and needed to squeeze himself, needed it desperately, but knew it wasn’t decent. He crossed his legs like a girl and touched his lower abdomen gingerly. Oh, how his poor, tired, overfull bladder hurt! Here he was again, for the second time in as many days, on the verge of wetting himself in front of Chester, who was so strong and handsome and generous! “Aw Jeez,” Chester said, and placed a comforting hand on his arm, looking around to see if anyone was watching and judging. Chester could feel him shaking. “I have to go really, really bad, Chester. Why doesn’t this city have normal bathrooms?” Chester pondered. A hotel. They needed a hotel room for the night anyway; hunting for apartments and jobs was an overwhelming task and could start tomorrow. Based on Chester’s finances, it would have to be a fleabag hotel, but Joe could have a pee and they could both get some sleep. “Here, I’ll take your suitcase,” Chester said, “I’ll get a hotel room real quick and you can pee there.” “Please, can you…hurry?” Joe said, straightening up with a pained expression. The first hotel they came to was hideous, somehow in business despite having two conspicuous broken windows, and even this was out of their very short financial reach due to charging only hourly rates. Joe could hardly stand still at the counter of that horrible place. He was sweating more than the heat called for. His hair was disheveled and his cheeks were red from a sunburn that would hurt in the morning. Of course their restrooms were for customers only. And just like that, they were back on the march. Joe may have been a poet, but he knew no words in English to describe how badly he needed to pee. He had to try again, he had to. There were no alleys or cul-de-sacs that he could see, and he knew he could never tolerate the guilt and ignominy of sullying a phone booth, so when they came to another abandoned storefront, he ducked into the doorway. The doorway was shallower than the portico had been, and there were more people around, but all Joe could think about was how it hurt to hold it in after walking for miles and miles. The pressure was blinding. He was about to wet his pants in the middle of a strange city. I have to, I have to. He unbuckled and unzipped again, with Chester rushing to stand guard. “Stop, Joe! There’s a cop!” Joe did up his pants again in a flash. If there was one thing that terrified him, it was Authority. And sure enough, a bearish middle-aged New York City cop, the first cop they’d seen in awhile, was walking right by them. “Hey!” the cop hailed, “you boys. Were you pissing in that doorway?” Joe and Chester glanced at each other. What if they were wanted men upstate? What if they were already on posters? Were they going to go to prison? “The law has a pretty damned clear perspective when it comes to pissing in doorways,” the cop muttered, wiping his nose, looking behind them to see if there was a puddle in the doorway, which there wasn’t. The cop looked Joe in the eyes, scrutinizing him. Joe almost flooded his pants in his own defense. He would have been in danger of wetting himself from fear even if he hadn’t already been at the limits of his endurance. It was all he could do to clench his muscles as hard as humanly possible to hold it in against the squeezing downward pressure of terror. “Alright then,” the cop said with a tone of minor disappointment, “you seem like some nice law-abiding young men. Have a good afternoon.” They watched him walk away. When he turned the corner, Joe doubled over again, teeth clenched, legs together, hands on his knees, whimpering as he battled for enough control to keep walking. He felt dizzy and disoriented. He pictured his bladder as a lead balloon expanding inside him, massive and heavy and hot and pushing hard against his belt. Oh, Mother Mary, help me. On the next block, they spotted another hotel. The Mitchell Hotel, according to its theater-style marquee, which had seen better days. Joe started jogging toward it, and Chester took off after him. They opened the heavy Victorian front door. Behind the front desk, a tremendously fat, sweaty man in a wifebeater sat on a small metal stool, reading a newspaper and smoking. His bald head looked like a big red egg. A blackboard proclaimed that rooms were available for the night, and well within their budget. “Hello, sir. We’d like to rent a hotel room and we thought this establishment looked so lovely - “ Chester began. “Ayse, youse wants hourly rates or to stay the night?” harrumphed the man, without looking up. “We’d like to stay the night, sir.” “What are ya, queers?” “No, brothers,” Chester said, “Don and Pat Frasier. We’re traveling on business. We work in advertising - “ “Aye, misters Frasier. We gots a room for the night, if two brothers’ll be willing to share a bed,” he said, winking, as he stubbed out his cigarette in a huge metal ashtray. Chester glanced at Joe, who was gazing toward some unmarked distant horizon and shaking his right leg rapidly. “Yes, that’s fine with us. When we were little we - “ “Aye, I don’t need youse whole life story. Gimme the cash, write youse names in the guestbook and get lost. Room 18 is up on the third floor. Don’t be making any messes my old lady has to clean up, alright?” He threw his weight off the stool gruntingly and went to grab a key from the rack “Edna! Just gave room 18 to some queers!” they heard the man yell as they got on the ancient elevator. The elevator creaked alarmingly as it rose. Joe leaned back against the metal grate with his legs crossed and his eyes closed, breathing hard. He folded his arms tight over his chest so he would not grab himself in front of Chester. A horrendous sloshing shudder went through his bladder as the elevator bounced sullenly to a halt. He bent his knees and keened in his agony - “nnnmmmnnnhhhh!” - as gravity itself cruelly compressed him internally when he was so close to getting relief. When the elevator opened, he ran out into the gloomy hallway, looking for room 18. “Here it is! Here it is! Ohhhhh! Ohhhhh, please hurry up.” Joe bounced on his heels and Chester scurried to his side. Chester inserted the key into the latch of room 18 - or at least he tried to, but it wouldn’t go in. “Please hurry,” Joe groaned as he fumbled. Chester withdrew the key and looked at the fob. “This key says it’s for room 17.” Chester went across the hall and knocked on the dark oak door of Room 17. “Who there?! Not cleaning time! I pay! Go away!” a woman with an unplaceable accent yelled from inside. “Goddamnit, they gave me the wrong key,” said Chester. “Nnnnnnmmmmmmhhhh!” It did not even occur to Joe to be bothered by Chester’s blasphemy. “Shhh, it’s okay, just wait here. You can hold it another minute,” Chester said. “Please hurry!” Chester jogged back down the hallway, glancing back with a hopeful smile as he waited for the elevator to creep back up from the ground floor. So kind. He hadn’t meant anything by the off-color comment at Larry’s, surely not. Please hurry, Chester. Please, please, please. The ancient damask wallpaper in the hallway was water-stained and peeling. The dim light fixture on the ceiling was big and yellow and round enough that Joe couldn’t stand to look at it. Knowing that there must be a toilet or an old-fashioned chamber pot or even a random decorative receptacle in the locked room was maddening. He marched in place in front of the door, grabbing himself hard in Chester’s absence. The feeling of his urethra being squashed down helped, it numbed the pins-and-needles torment of his pecker tingling with the need to pee from root to tip, it let him hold it just a little bit longer. Please, please, please come back, Chester. I can’t wait, I’m going to wet myself again, hurry, hurry, hurry. After several eternities, the elevator creaked open and Chester ran down the hallway holding the correct key aloft like the Olympic Torch. Joe gasped. His heart leapt. He doubled over as his bladder spasmed violently, a wave of anguish crashing into him. “Ohhhhh, hurry!” he cried. Chester put the key into the lock. Joe was standing beside him with his thighs pressed together, one hand on the grimy wall and the other rubbing against his lower belly, teeth bared from the strain of clenching muscles that were fluttering with exhaustion. “Ohhh, please hurry, Chester. Please, please hurry,” His buckled knees were shaking. “Just a few more seconds, Joe.” “Oh Mother Mary help me, oh no - nnnnnnnnhhhhhhhgghhmmm!” He was wetting his pants. It was like a geyser: abrupt and unstoppable. He was pissing at full force, so hard that it made a swishing noise as it gushed out of him and ran down his trouser legs in a hot torrent. It went on for almost a minute. He didn’t have the strength to fight it; all he could do was look down and watch in horror as it happened. A huge puddle formed on the threadbare carpet. “Ohhhhhh, oh golly, oh no, I wet my pants,” he moaned pitifully. He turned the toes of his wet shoes inward and covered his face with his hands. He was fully prepared to die in that moment, even if he was certain he was going to Hell. “Jesus,” said Chester. “This keeps happening,” he lamented, touching his soaked left thigh with the tips of his fingers, “I’m so sorry.” Chester got the door unlocked and ushered Joe inside with a friendly hand on the back. The liquid in Joe’s shoes made a squelching noise. “It’s not your fault. The towering behemoth down there gave me the wrong key. When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go. Judging from the um, odor and the stains on the carpet out there, you’re not the first.” He smiled reassuringly, looking into Joe’s teary eyes as he pulled the suitcases inside and locked the door. He liked the way Joe’s wet khakis clung to his lithe boyish body, although he couldn’t explain why or imagine admitting it. The room was as bad as Chester had anticipated. Most of it was taken up with a full-sized bed, which looked sunken in the middle. There was no telephone. The ashtrays on the nightstands hadn’t been emptied after the last guests, and there were cigarette burns on the bedspread. A number of insects had met their demise in the twin light fixtures on the wall. But there was, miraculously, a private bathroom where Joe could clean himself up and try to wash his clothes in the sink with some old soap flakes. Chester could hear him crying over the sound of the sink running. Poor Joe. Joe was primarily concerned about the puddle outside: “there aren’t any towels in here we can use to clean it up! The man downstairs said we shouldn’t make a mess,” he sobbed from behind the bathroom door. “The man downstairs is a piece of work,” Chester retorted as he opened Joe’s suitcase to retrieve some dry clothes for him. He realized that he hadn’t packed Joe’s pajamas. Goddamnit. He had to show up at the door with only white briefs and an undershirt. “Here you go, buddy. Please…don’t cry. You having an accident, it’s…nothing I haven’t seen before.” Joe looked at what Chester had handed him. “What about pants?” “You’re thinking about being presentable for dinner? I’ve never been so exhausted in my life. We should get some sleep.” “We…?” “It’s not a problem. We can sleep back-to-back like people in the old days.” It wasn’t until they were both dressed for bed that they realized just how fatigued they were. They had been on the move for over 24 straight hours. Their feet and backs hurt from walking all day, and their eyelids drooped of their own accord. Chester, who had remembered his own pajama pants at least, climbed into bed on the far side. The sheets felt grainy and the smell of the pillow left something to be desired. He turned to the wall for Joe’s modesty as he felt his lean body settle beside him. Here I am in New York City, sharing a bed with a homosexual with bladder problems who’s sweet on me, Chester thought. He didn’t have the energy to fret over the implications. They both fell into a dreamless sleep as the sun set over Greenwich Village, delaying until the next day the proper beginnings of their lives. TO BE CONTINUED

At a single-sex Catholic college in the early 1960s, Father MacLeary chooses unconventional means to teach a femboy student about the torments of Hell and Purgatory. But when he sees the beautiful ginger youth naked, tied up, and bursting, it’s almost more than his own sinful heart can bear. Last time I wrote about consensual kink in a loving relationship. This time I wrote something else entirely. I exorcised some demons with this one. I feel bad that I wrote it. Maybe I should go to confession. Caution! This story features a power imbalance, Catholic guilt, depictions of period-accurate bigotry, blasphemy (contemplated), one seriously perverted priest, and a just desserts plot. If any of these elements are upsetting to you, do yourself a favor and go read something else! _____ “My whole existence is flawed You get me closer to God” - Nine Inch Nails _____ Joe Kelly was a sophomore at Saint Sebastian College, a member of the class of 1964. He was the youngest of ten sons, a pious, soft-voiced boy poet with a scholarship to study literature. His poetry about the saints and angels was unfashionable in the secular world and had been for hundreds of years, but the dean of the college had admired his gifts with language and his unshakeable faith in the doctrines of the Roman Catholic Church. He could be spotted walking around campus with his nose in a book most days. He went to mass more often than most of the other young men. In appearance he was a true Irish-American lad, lean and slight for his twenty years, red-haired, long-limbed, red-lipped, gap-toothed, freckled, and pretty as a girl. For over a year, his Friday confessions with Father MacLeary had been deathly dull and pedestrian (he ate too much at dinner and was a glutton, he ate too little at dinner when there were starving children in India, he forgot to shine his shoes.) Then one day, he asked to be absolved of “impure thoughts,” a phrase that always pricked Father MacLeary’s ears. “What impure thoughts are you having, my son?” After stammering for upwards of 30 seconds, Joe confessed that he wished to be sodomized. He wished to be sodomized by his roommate. He wished to be sodomized by a busboy who worked at the hotel in town - a colored busboy. He wished to be sodomized by Rock Hudson and other manly Hollywood men whom one could simply not imagine having a proclivity for sodomy. He had not only masturbated to the thought of being sodomized by all these men, but had also inserted his fingers into his anus to simulate the act! He even said he longed to grow out his hair like a beatnik and dress like a girl, with lace and satin and bows. He wanted to use ladies’ cosmetics. He even wanted to try ladies’ underthings, because in his words, “we boys have to wear plain white underpants every day, but girls get to have fancy, colorful brassieres and nighties made by real designers in Paris.” He fantasized about being dressed as a beautiful woman and having strange, hairy, burly men from the factories put their callused hands up his skirt to grope his bottom and his pecker through his silky underthings! “I think I’m a fairy,” he whispered through the partition, on the verge of tears. Father MacLeary heard Joe’s confession with great concern. Students often came to him to confess impure thoughts, but they were usually about the big bouncing bosoms and luscious legs of women. These thoughts were sinful, of course, but the impulse would lead these young men to find good Catholic girls with whom to partake in the act of procreation within the bonds of marriage, as our Lord intended. Joe’s sins of the mind were more serious. Father MacLeary grieved for Joe’s sins, and the sins of Joe’s generation. With Kennedy in the White House, he had felt a glimmer of hope for the Church in America, but the forces of secularism had advanced as inexorably as ever in the past year. More and more Catholic sons and daughters were putting their faith in modernity, even though all modernity had to offer was the threat of total nuclear annihilation. Rampant homosexuality and cross-dressing was but the latest manifestation. “Don’t cry, my son.” “What - what should I do? For penance?” “First of all, you need to abstain from self-abuse and pray the rosary 70 times, ten times per day for the next seven days,” said Father MacLeary, “You must dwell on every bead and every word, so that God knows your heart is repentant, and you may be saved.” “Yes, Father.” “At the end of those seven days, noon of Saturday next, you will come to meet me here at the chapel. We will conduct a ritual, a purgation, that may cure you of your sinful urges. But we must do it alone. Due to the strict policies on sexual sin between boys here at Saint Sebastian, I will have to protect you by keeping the purgation a secret, and I trust that you will help me there.” “Do you believe it will cure me, Father? I’ve thought so many evil thoughts that I think I’ll never be cured.” “We can only try.” “Thank you, Father.” “It is my duty as a man of the cloth,” he lied, “Now go, and sin no more.” _____ On Thursday night, while Joe was still up earnestly saying his rosaries, the priest had a dream. He was standing alone at the head of the chapel, which was decorated for Easter. The sun was shining outside the stained-glass windows. A tall woman entered. She was wearing a pastel pink calf-length A-line dress with full petticoats, white kitten heels, white stockings, and a big white hat with a Cala lily adornment. A waterfall of shining red tresses spilled out from under the hat. The only odd note was the white ascot tucked around her neck. She was looking down and he could not see her face, but he knew that she was a beauty. Any of the students in his congregation would be very fortunate to have her to wife. The woman clearly needed to use the restroom. She was standing with her legs crossed, her gloved hands pressing down the front of her skirts as she swayed from side to side. “Father…” She looked lifted her head. She - he - was Joe! Under the makeup, Joe’s features were unmistakable. The ascot was pinned to conceal his Adam’s apple. “I’ve been holding my waters for Lent. I haven’t urinated in 40 days and 40 nights,” Joe - Joan? Jo-Ann? - said. Joe reached down and lifted his skirts, revealing his long legs in white stockings and his garter belt. He was wearing pink panties of the thinnest silk. The outline of his genitals was obscenely apparent. “We’re sodomites, Father.” Joe began to water the green carpet at his feet. The tip of his penis became visible through the wet spot on his panties. The flow went on, and on, beyond what made sense for a human body, until the chapel was flooded with two feet of Joe’s light yellow wee. Joe stood in it with a look of utter happiness on his face, even though he’d ruined his white stockings and lovely Easter dress. “He is risen!” Joe declared. The bells were ringing. Father MacLeary woke up with an erection, the kind of rock-solid morning wood he hadn’t experienced since his youth. He had to lie in bed and wait for it to deflate, despite needing the toilet with the cramping urgency of a 52-year-old man with a bad prostate. It was a holy dream, he thought. To dream of Easter is holy. The Holy Spirit was granting him permission to act in Joe’s case. _____ Joe and Father MacLeary could hear the noon bells of Saint Sebastian College ringing far above them, startling evidence that outside, up there, it was daytime. They were in a small room in the basement of the chapel, where the walls were draped in black and a candelabra the only source of light. The candlelight glimmered off of Father MacLeary’s gold-rimmed eyeglasses as he studied Joe’s nude body splayed out on the smooth, sturdy oak table. His slim wrists and ankles were bound to posts at the corners of the table, leaving him only enough freedom of movement in the knees and elbows to contort and writhe. He was not contorting and writhing now, but Father MacLeary was counting on the fact that he would be. Now father MacLeary could see that God had given Joe freckles even where he was not much exposed to the sun, and that the sweet curls of his pubic hair were coppery red. He could smell Joe’s subtle masculine scent and the hair oil he used to flatten the corresponding red curls on his head. The smell made his mouth water. In the bowl of Joe’s smooth belly, just under his navel, Father MacLeary could spy the swell of the pitcher of iced tea he brought Joe to drink an hour before, up in his office. He had gotten the recipe for sweet iced tea when he visited the diocese in New Orleans. It was astonishing how efficiently the Southern drink filled one’s bladder. He had directed Joe to drink glass after glass in preparation for this special lesson in theology. How his Adam’s apple had bobbed in his handsome pale throat as he drank! “This tastes great, Father. We Yankees could learn something from the chefs down South,” he had said, smiling awkwardly. Now all that liquid was flowing into his bladder. Father MacLeary imagined the growing discomfort. The discomfort would get much worse. It was part of the ritual that Joe needed. The priest had never done this before - the spiritual purgation of another through the denial of the bladder. He had never dared. He realized now that he had been waiting for the right young man, a conscientious one who needed to be purged of a great spiritual corruption, and who was too timid to report him to the bishop. The bishop wouldn’t understand that the denial of the bladder could save a soul from the fires of Hell. _____ TO BE CONTINUED...

hello party people i've been posting my art on twitter for a couple months now but i figured i'd try to reach a larger omo audience and come here!! here's smthn i made recently :3c

20230711_231936.mp4 20230711_232628.mp4 20230711_232315.mp4

20230720_231348.mp4

20230821_012635.mp4 InShot_20230821_022141145.mp4

InShot_20230914_004857848.mp4 InShot_20230914_004717801.mp4

Hiyaa ! Angie here uwu I am currently updating my pornhub channel, and creating looooaaaads of new videos! The videos also include a lot of omorashi content, so I am making this topic to add the links to those videos. In some of the vids, my face is visible, I moan a lot in all of them, I am very expressive! I will keep editing this post to add more links AND reply to this topic with new links, so if you want to stay up to date to get horny, please follow this topic ❤️ Thank you so much and enjoy 😉 (Ps. Feel free to let me know if you enjoyed my content!!) LINKS TO MY PORNHUB OMO VIDEOS 1. "Ftm holds pee and masturbates, squirts out pee" https://nl.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=64deb8f029ec7 2. "Trans boy tries to hold it but pees the bed, masturbation, moaning, squirming" https://nl.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=64f952906a838 3. FTM Enby Angie tries to hold pee in formal clothes, pee in pants, pee desperation, omorashi" https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=6506f86ca4721

Hi y'all So I'm abdl and I'm also a femboy. Recently wearing and using diapers has gotten a bit boring and I really want to do something fun with them. I can't really do to much as I still live with my parents and as far as diapers and femboys go, its impossible around them. I can do some stuff when home alone. I really want ideas for what I can do to liven up wearing and using diapers. If anyone has anything I'll happily try it. Have a good day note: when will this be approved?

Recently I hung out with my bestie Mahea who I mentioned in another story, she’s a muscular, athletic tomboy who does sports and recently got hired at a gym. We went on a few dates, -including one where I had a desperate incident- before deciding to just be friends. Anyway this weekend we were meeting 2 of her old pals for brunch at this restaurant that has magic shows. I slept over at her place the night before, she was mildly annoyed because I took a long time to get ready and we were late by ten minutes. But we got there eventually, and I got to meet her friends, Kim and Sarah, two attractive, Asian women in their mid 20s. Like Mahea they were both tall, much taller than me. The three of them had played on the same women’s volleyball team in college, and were still in great shape. There’s something I love about a woman who can just wreck me with her big muscles. It being summer now, they were wearing low cut shirts or crop tops and shorts which showed off their bodies nicely, though I try not to look at friends in such a way. I wore a blue Alice In Wonderland style dress with a short ruffled skirt and white apron with heart shaped buttons. I even had matching black and white striped thigh-highs and glossy black Mary Janes with bows on them. It was super cute. I was the smallest one there and the only one wearing a dress and I'm a guy! Anyway it was a two hour show and an hour in all that French press coffee was hitting my bladder hard. I got up and excuse myself for a quick tinkle. After my third trip to the restroom Kim said that I piss a lot, and Mahea slapped me on the back and said “we might need to get you diapers.” I instantly turned bright red when the other two started laughing. I actually “came out” to Mahea recently about my interest in omo after she went on a rant about her last gf’s poor performance in bed and then asked me about what I liked. When I told her I was into omorashi (and then explained what that was) she said “you pee so much I’m glad you enjoy it at least!” Now I really didn't appreciate being made fun of for that so i clapped back at her and said something I shouldn't have. I could tell she was upset but she hid it well, but she wouldn't let me get away with that. As the show was wrapping up I got up to use the restroom one more time, only now there was a line for the ladies room over 20 people long. (I do use the ladies room when I'm crossdressing, and the long lines are just one reason why it's less convenient than the mens room!) Just as I was getting to the front Mahea grabbed me by the hand and told me we were leaving. I told her I still needed to pee and she said we were walking over to a nearby mall and I could go there. I was a bit flustered now, but my need to pee wasn't too bad, maybe 50%. The four of us began our walk over, and it was a hot day so I kept fanning my legs with my skirt, my thighs were beginning to get quite sweaty as well. About halfway there Mahea said she had to pee really bad and her friends did as well. Instantly my heart began to race. Kim said she hadn't been since she woke up this morning, and Sarah joked that there was a perfectly good alley we could go into, Mahea said that was a great idea and walked over to it. Her friends didn't think she was actaully gonna do it and started cracking up but followed her. Sarah was like "why don't you join us LB, we're all girls here right?" The problem was I rock hard and couldn't pee but also I really really don't want to do anything to sexualize my friends so i did not what to watch! I've had a lot of bad experiences of male friends doing that to me, Mahea knows all this. I just faced away from them as they went. It was torture hearing the three of them pull down their pants and release their hot streams onto the ground, it sounded like a fire hose blasting water and their moans made me almost faint. Finally they stopped, I'm not even sure who finished first, but I heard Mahea pull out tissues and give them to her friends and they all wiped their privates. By the time they were done, I was not feeling great, a mix of horny and guilty and regretful. Hearing three girls pee sent my bladder into overdrive and now I had to pee really really bad. We started walking to the mall again, I didn't want to grab myself so i kept squeezing my dick between my legs as I walked. I felt so full, I untied my apron as it was pressing hard against my stomach increasing the urge. That made it little better but but I was nearing 90% capacity. I wasn't even listening to their conversation, I just kept thinking about getting to the mall and finding a bathroom. Then I remembered it was a Saturday and there would likely be a long line too, my bladder squeezed pretty hard and I winced as a hot spurt soaked my underwear... I was wearing girls panties from Walmart with little rainbows on them and now they had a wet spot on the crotch. After walking for five minutes my bladder was so full that I began to feel sick. I felt like I was about to faint and pee everywhere. I began to tear up. I turned to Mahea who was beside me with her two friends ahead of us and whispered in her ear that I was having a emergency. She pointed out there was a place ahead that I could go and told her friends we were stopping for a bit. This was a strange sort of area, it was like a big planter box with some bushes, there was a ledge around it one could sit on, and it was between an L shaped corner of a building and the road. I couldn't stand up and go without it being obvious but If I sat down on the building side I would be covered from 3 angles. The girls formed a wall to shield me from any passerbys. I was starting to lose it, my crotch and legs felt warm as I squirted into my underwear again. I quickly took a seat, removed my wet panties and spread my legs. I didn't even have time to aim and began to piss uncontrollably onto the ground. I groaned loudly as my hot water began to splash onto my shoes. I quickly grabbed my cock and aimed at the wall ahead of me, it didn't quite reach and my yellow tinged stream made a big puddle. I felt Mahea's hand rubbing my back, which made me feel better. I peed for probably 40 seconds till i just had a few dribbles left and then wiped my cock and inner thighs with some tissue. I put one in my panties to soak up as much of the pee in it, but it was still wet and uncomfortable. Mahea asked if I was ok and I sheepishly said I was and thanked her. She smiled at me. I felt a bit awkward but nobody really judged me for what happened, and we all had a great rest of the day. I later apologized to Mahea for what i said, and she apologized for teasing me. We both took things a little too far, but that's just how it is with your besties sometimes! She also told me Kim and Sarah both took a peek at me out of curiosity. Not that I mind as I don't think they'd be weird about it, and Mahea has actually see me on the toilet and naked a few times, but those are stories for another day.