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Found 393 results

  1. yeshhh

    female A bad day...

    Okay so back in middle and high school I used to be very known around for always wetting my pants and acting like a baby. I could spill out many stories but theres one that spikes me the most, the first time I ever had a accident in class. It was first period and I was just starting 7th grade, at this point I was still heavily in to AB/DL and only liked some omorashi nothing to out there (guess I still had some innocence). Well as it was I ended up having a homeroom teacher that completely hated my guts because of the previous year of not fully completing classwork and never doing any homework. I never really liked focusing or doing any work at school so I always had to occupy my mind with my surroundings in a sense. Which usually ment day dreaming till the bell rang, but seemingly it was one of those days where it was incredibly hard to focus on anything, including the sexual abyss of my mind. I drunk alot that morning at breakfast only cause the food they served was uber dry, but with that the need to pee started kicking in right at the beginning of class. At first it wasn't entirely all to bad, I barely aknowleged the need to pee so I didn't really ask to go to the bathroom. The teacher then got up, presented herself to the class, just in case there was people in there that didn't recognize her, and passed out to everyone their assigned Chromebook, due to all the work being transferred to computer. Afterwards she sat down at her desk and told the class that the work was on the cromebook. I opened my cromebook and almost instantly went to the browser instead of the classroom setting and searched up AB/DL fan fics. The same stuff I spent the whole previous year procrastinating upon. As the time past my need to pee grew, by the time my bladder was bursting it was 20 minutes before class and I was getting knee deep in a fan fiction and had no intentions on stopping even though I was bursting, I figured I could read it before it was to late to use the bathroom, but it ended up being longer than anticipated. With that I glanced up at the clock and realized I had 5 minutes before class ends. Already knowing the answer if I asked to use the restroom, due to the previous year, I realized she wouldn't let me go due to it being apperently a school rule not to let kids out 5 minutes before the bell rings. My stubbornness got the best of me though and I still gave an effort to ask, as I did it was an almost instantly no, and I'm not one to plead in front of a classroom. So I was forced to wait. Getting passed the 5 minutes felt like an eternity, within the first 2 minutes I was already leaking into my panties. I remember thinking about which panties I was wearing hoping there not one of my good ones, knowing after today there gonna have to be thrown out. (They were black laced btw for those who wanted to know ;) even though that didn't help anything) I felt the warmth grow more and more as I leaked, by then I was practically in tears and holding myself, rocking back and forth not caring about my surroundings. I felt my bladder about to give out as soon as the bell rang, but an instant adrinaline kicked in and I jetted out the door only to my horror to meet the one hallway in the entire school to be already crammed with students. (It was a private school and it was REALLY small, the whole school only had 12 rooms in all, and it was only one hallway). Since I jetted out the room, my klutzy self ended up running into one of the schools biggest bully. Almost instantly he pinned me against a wall and mocked me with the usual. The only reason he bullied me was because of me not finding interest in him and dating him like the rest of the girls in the school did, I was way more into girls than guys at the time hehe, but anyways he pinned me down and threatened me. As this quick swift happened, I felt my bladder instantaneously give out. In my own horror I blocked out my surroundings and felt as my heart sank feeling my crotch fill with wetness and warmth as my bladder forcefully releases. As soon as I snap back into realization, him and his friends notice due to my facial reaction and the obvious black streak getting bigger and going down the leg of my skinny jeans, as reflex due to just getting humiliated anger came in and it turned into instant reaction to start throwing punchies. I felt as my fist hit him multiple times, but at the same time without much thought I felt my stomach churning and my bowels start to release as well (ethier from fear of fighting or adrinaline, not entirely sure why it happened as it did) it angered me more as I was feeling as I was pooping my panties too. After he fell down I came to my senses, and this is when I actually honestly noticed I soiled myself as well. With that my face became ever redder than it was before. By now tears were flooding down my face and my first reaction was to run to the bathroom. As soon as I got to the bathroom I peeked in and it looked like nobody was in there, but as I actually entered I noticed someone crying in the corner of the stall. I slowly approached her and asked her what was wrong, after closing the bathroom door behind me. She didn't really reply she just continued crying, she didn't even look up. Upon staring at her I slowly came to realization on what happened, from what I could infer from her style of dress and her ponytails she seemed familiar like a big baby, her skirt was really short and (not all to proud to say this lol) but I could clearly see up her skirt by the way she was crying, that she was clearly wearing a diaper. So with that, I sit next to her and lay my head on her shoulder. At this point she looks over and asks me what I'm doing, and I tell her waiting here until the office freaks out and starts trying to find out where I'm at. She asked me how come and I calmly explain to here what happened, figuring she would be in the same boat. Afterwards since she seemed to calm down a tad, I asked her what had happened to her, and she said that one of the kids at the school saw that she was wearing a pull-up and told everyone she was wearing a diaper, and when no one believed him he lifted up the back of her skirt and showed everyone. So she just ran and cried in the bathroom. I almost instantly feel sympathetic kind of understanding the feeling, I hug her and pet her lightly and say...today's just been a bad day all around for everyone.
  2. MrJoseRocha

    Jessica's Peeing With Fear 2018

    From the album: Jessica Space Girl

    Jessica doesn't know what worse. Wetting herself during a battle or about to get tentacled by the tentacle alien

    © Jose Rocha

  3. MrJoseRocha

    Jessica 2018

    From the album: JinkToons

    So I created a space girl in my last picture but I thought she needed a name. So I gave her name Jessica

    © Jose Rocha

  4. MrJoseRocha

    Space Girl 2018

    From the album: JinkToons

    So it been awhile since I posted a picture but here another character I created. A space girl who forgot to go before going on her mission.

    © Jose Rocha

  5. Sapphire3619

    The Aftermath of the Snow

    It is the end of the semester, so I have a ton of things that I don't want to do before break, so I wrote this instead. I wrote it fast and sloppy, so I'm sure I missed some fairly ridiculous mistakes! *** Cami rolled her eyes. “No one in this whole state knows how to handle snow,” she lamented. Damien, her somewhat impromptu companion, shrugged good-naturedly. “Donna wanted milk, too, right?” “Yes, skim,” Cami clarified, reaching for a carton of eggs. The grocery store was, as expected, packed, with people scrambling to buy necessities before the storm hit. In fact, it was already snowing outside, and Cami had resisted when her mother, Donna, had requested a trip to the grocery store. Dr. Donna Patrick was a professor of international relations at the university. She lived 20 minutes or so out of town, in a large house that befit her academic rank. Her daughter, Dr. Camille Patrick, was a clinical psychologist and was in town for her mother’s yearly end-of-semester celebration. It was finals week at the university, and Donna, with her children grown, had developed a habit of inviting students to her house for a meal at the beginning of winter break. Mostly, she got students who lived close by, but occasionally, she got one like Damien, who would spend the night after the dorms closed. Damien was a junior who had first met Donna the previous spring semester in her popular intro course. Even in a class of 150 students, Damien stood out with his superior writing and thoughtful, critical answers in class. This semester, he had taken Donna’s advanced seminar, and Donna had gotten to know him even better. She knew he was a transfer student and that he wanted to go to law school. She’d been pleased when he accepted the invitation for the end-of-the-semester party. Because the dorms closed the last day of finals, Damien had agreed to say overnight at Donna’s house. Donna had explained that her husband, a professor in the chemistry department, was at a conference and would be back the following day for the party, but her daughter, Dr. Patrick (“Call her Cami”) would be in town. Cami was a few years older than Damien’s older sister, so he didn’t mind idea of sharing a house with the two women for a night. Damien had followed Donna to her house to find that Cami was already there. Introductions were made, but then the discussion turned quickly to the weather. Over Cami’s objections that no, Mom, there was really plenty of food in the house, no need to venture out, Donna decided that a trip to the grocery store was necessary, and that Damien should accompany Cami, just to be safe. Neither Cami nor Damien particularly minded having to spend time with each other, despite having just met. They were both outgoing enough that conversation wasn’t a problem. On the drive into town, Cami got to know the young man and his interests, and Damien asked about Cami’s experience in grad school and her current practice. Now, however, both were feeling ever so slightly more tense. Cami knew the roads were getting worse and didn’t want to waste time. She was doing her best not to take out any of her anxiety on the innocent student. Little did she know that Damien was working to suppress his own anxiety. He, too, was eager to get back to the house. His bladder was getting full, a sensation he really didn’t enjoy. Realistically, he could have used the restroom in the store, but it wasn’t an emergency, and he’d rather help Cami out with the shopping to speed things along. By the time they wound their way through the crowds and made it to the registers, the lines were all a half-dozen people deep. Damien drew in an unexpectedly harsh breath, but thankfully, Cami didn’t hear him. He knew he could just go. He could run to the bathroom and be back before Cami even reached the register. But the anxiety was already making him illogical, and he chose to stay where he was. “I suppose we’re part of the problem!” Cami was saying. “We’re being the kind of people who act like they’ve never seen snow before!” Damien managed a grin. The line was moving at a decent pace – at least the checkout employees were prepared for snow, apparently – and he knew he could make it back to the house. It took another 15 minutes, but eventually, Damien and Cami headed toward the exit, bags in hand. As they reached the door, however, Cami groaned. The storm had hit. Fat, heavy snowflakes coated the air, sticking to everything they touched. The cars in the parking lot already had a layer of snow, and the roads were no longer black but gray, lined with tire tracks in the rising snow. “Uuuuuuugh,” Cami moaned as they trudged across the parking lot to her car. “Mom better have wine waiting for me when we get back.” Damien gave a half-laugh. “We’ll be back, soon, though,” he said, more a question than a reassurance. “Ehhhh,” Cami shrugged, closing the trunk after putting in the last bag. “With the snow falling like this, the highway probably isn’t going to be much better. I’m guessing it’ll take us at least twice as long to get back.” Damien’s face fell, but Cami didn’t see as she slid into the driver’s seat. “Aaaaand, we have to stop for gas,” she sighed, seeing the illuminated signal on the dashboard. Cami pulled across the parking lot to the adjacent gas station. Damien looked around, but the station building was no more than a single-person kiosk. There was no public bathroom that he could use while Cami filled the car. His mind started slipping. He hadn’t had to go that badly, but nerves made his situation so much worse. Well, nerves and other things… Filling the car only took a few minutes, and Damien tried to use his last vestiges of rational thought to convince himself that he could make it through the drive home. But when Cami finally made it on to the highway, those last vestiges evaporated. Traffic had been slow enough in town as cars tried to avoid skidding through intersections, but on the highway, away from the buildings and signs, the view was almost entirely white. Snow swirled around the car, which Cami had moving at barely 30 miles an hour. Damien did some quick math in his head. At this rate, it would take them nearly an hour to get back to Donna’s house. He unconsciously turned toward the window, trying to hide his growing panic from Cami. Cami kept the radio off, focusing on the road. Although it was still daylight, visibility was terrible, and she and the other drivers kept their lights on. She drove for about 20 minutes in silence, going barely 10 miles. She knew the atmosphere in the car was tense, but she didn’t want to waste any energy trying to make conversation. Besides, Damien seemed to be OK with the silence. Until he wasn’t. At an undetermined point on the highway, Cami became aware of uneven breathing from the boy next to her. He was almost whimpering, his breaths sharp and shaky. Cami risked a quick glance sideways, but couldn’t determine anything, other than the fact that Damien was almost entirely turned toward the window. “Damien?” she asked cautiously. “You doing OK?” Out of the corner of her eye, Cami saw Damien press back into the seat. When he answered, his voice was…different. Nervous, definitely, but more…robotic, almost. “I need to go to the bathroom,” he said dully. “Please.” “Oh!” Cami couldn’t hold back her shock. Damien hadn’t said anything before, and even driving slow, he should be able to make it back to the house, right? “That’s OK,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road. “We’ll be back to the house soon enough.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. The only other exit between here and the one for Donna’s house was residential, so it wouldn’t have any public bathrooms to use, and it wasn’t like she could pull off the side of the road in a blizzard. Surely Damien knew that. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Damien did know that. But Damien wasn’t really thinking logically. He wasn’t thinking much at all. His movements were twitchy and uncontrolled, and after another 10 minutes, he let out a whine and shoved his hand between his legs. “Damien?” Cami asked again, more worried this time. “Are you OK?” “I don’t know if I can hold it,” Damien respond in the same flat voice. It was as if he was reading from a script, responding in a way that most college students wouldn’t. Looking down at the speedometer, Cami pressed her lips together. She really wasn’t comfortable going any faster. “You’ll be OK,” she said. “You can make it.” “I don’t know if I can.” Damien’s voice had a small tremor now. “I don’t want to have an accident.” Cami was truly bewildered now. He sounded childlike, or like an adult’s impression of a child. She risked another glance to the right – Damien’s legs were twisted tightly, hands buried between his thighs. He certainly looked like he badly needed the bathroom, but Cami couldn’t imagine a nearly grown man not being able to hold it for another 20 minutes or so. Cami kept driving. She was going as fast as she thought was safe, which wasn’t very fast at all. A few miles from their exit, Cami hard a small whine and then a hiss of breath as Damien sucked in air forcefully between his teeth. She didn’t know what talking would do at this point, but she still felt the need to ask. “Damien? How you doing over there?” “I-“ Damien’s voice was definitely shaking now. “I just peed a little bit in my pants.” “You’re OK,” Cami replied, automatically. She’d softened her own voice, as if she were talking to someone much younger than Damien. She didn’t want him to feel bad, but she also definitely didn’t want to have to clean pee out of her car. “We’re almost there,” she promised, which, while geographically correct, wasn’t quite temporally accurate. “Look, there’s our exit. Just another 10 minutes. You can do it.” A plaintive sniffle was all she got in response. She pulled off the highway, and peeked over at her passenger while stopped at the top of the exit ramp. Every muscle in Damien’s body seemed tensed. He was bouncing arrhythmically in the seat, seemingly not in control of his own body. As Cami turned, Damien felt the wetness of his underwear pressed against his skin. As tightly as he squeezed, he couldn’t make himself feel in control. Jeans weren’t the best for holding yourself, and he leaked again. “I…” he stammered, as if the words were being pulled out of him by force. “I had an accident again. M-my pants are wet.” “Honey, we’re so close,” Cami pleaded, abandoning all pretense of social correctness. The boy was in pain, and she wanted to comfort him. “Just hang on a few more minutes, OK?” “I’m…trying,” Damien answer, voice strained but still emotionless. “I’m trying not to pee my pants.” Oddly, but thankfully, the road to Donna’s house was clearer than the highway. A plow must’ve just been by. Cami took advantage of the comparatively good conditions to speed up a little. She made one final turn, the only sound in the car Damien’s hitched, desperate breathing. “There’s a bathroom in the basement,” Cami informed him. “Just off the garage. You can go in there.” “I’m going,” Damien squeaked, and Cami wasn’t even sure he’d heard her. “I’m having an accident and I can’t make it stop.” Cami hit the garage door button as she turned into her mom’s driveway. “Just one more minute, Damien, we’re here!” Pulling into the garage, Cami stopped as fast as she could. Damien was already unbuckled and fumbling with the door. He kept a hand pressed between his legs as he stumbled into the house. Cami puffed out her cheeks and sighed. She checked the passenger seat and didn’t see any wetness. She took that as a good sign and hoped that Damien was able to make it to the bathroom. Stretching out of the car, Cami gathered a few of the bags from the trunk. In the basement, the bathroom door was shut, so at least Damien had made it that far. She headed up the stairs, ready to confront her mom with some very important questions. In the bathroom, Damien had slammed the door behind him, but the sight of the toilet had been too much. As soon as he set foot on the tile, his bladder relinquished its tenuous hold, spilling urine around his tight grip. Twisting his legs together and bending forward at the waist, Damien scrabbled at his fly, but it was drenched in pee and his fingers kept slipping off. Heat coursed down his shaking legs, soaking into his shoes and socks. Damien felt lightheaded. He swayed on the spot, but didn’t fall. Several voices babbled in his head. I’m peeing in my pants…Did you have an accident?...Did you have to go potty?...I couldn’t hold it, sir…What kind of freshman can’t stop himself from wetting his pants? A pale puddle expanded around Damien’s feet, soaking into the bath mat. His head spun as he looked down at the streaks of pee still snaking down his jeans. He felt the stream of urine expelling from his bladder through his saturated boxers. He was whining softly, aimlessly. He had a huge accident all over his professor’s bathroom. He didn’t know what to do. Meanwhile, Cami had made a second trip down to the car to get the remaining groceries. She saw the bathroom door was still shut, but she knew that Damien had gotten his pants a little wet in the car, so she figured he didn’t want to come out just yet. Upstairs, Donna had come to the kitchen and was starting to put things away. “Hey, sweetie! How bad were the roads? Where’s Damien?” Cami set the bags on the counter and fixed her mother with a pointed stare. “Soooo…is there anything you know about Damien that you want to tell me?” Donna drew her head back, astonished. “Nothing that fits with the tone you’re asking me in!” she answered honestly. “What happened? Where is he? Is he OK?” Cami cringed. “He’s not hurt…” she equivocated. “But on the drive back – which took forever, by the way, I can’t believe you made me go out in this – he started acting really weird. He had to go to the bathroom, and apparently, he had to go really bad.” “Poor kid,” Donna sighed, definitely not understanding the full extent of the issue. “That must’ve been embarrassing.” “No, Mom,” Cami insisted, “it was way more than that. He was…I don’t know, narrating or something. Any other college kid would try to play it cool or laugh it off or not say anything at all, but Damien…he was describing what was happening and how he was wetting himself.” “He wet himself?!” Donna exclaimed. “Yes,” Cami rolled her eyes. Donna wasn’t a psychologist – she wasn’t focusing on what Cami thought was the important part. “And he’s still in the bathroom downstairs.” Donna frowned. “I’ll go get his bag. Poor kid. Thank God no one else is going to be here until tomorrow.” Donna was a great mom, Cami thought, and of course she’d take care of Damien, but Cami could tell – this was more than just an unfortunate accident. When Donna came back with Damien’s things, Cami followed her downstairs. Donna knocked gently on the bathroom door. “Damien?” she called. “I have your things out here, in case you need them.” There was a pause, and then the door opened slowly. Cami held back a gasp. The 20-year-old in front of her bore scant resemblance to the cheerful young man she’d met just hours ago. His eyes were red-rimmed and tear-filled, and there was nary a dry spot on the front of his jeans. Damien tugged unconsciously at the bottom of his hoodie, pulling it downward. Not that covering his crotch could do anything to distract from the drenched stretches of fabric all down both of his legs. “I…” his eyes were glassy and his voice, though definitely scratchy, had the same blank quality that Cami had heard in the car. “I didn’t make it,” Damien said, blinking. “I…I had to go so bad and I c-couldn’t get my pants undone in time and I h-had an accident on the f-floor.” Donna tilted her head sympathetically. Cami definitely felt the same, but she kept her body language neutral. “It’s OK, Damien,” Cami said softly. “It was a long ride back, and you tried really hard.” Damien flinched and looked down at the ground. Making a mental note of the boy’s reaction, Cami decided that now wasn’t the time for excessive comfort or encouragement. “We brought your bag, Damien,” Donna cut in, holding out the duffle bag. “You can get cleaned up and changed. There are clean towels on the rack in there.” Damien looked up just enough to take the bag. “Thank you,” he mumbled. He paused for a second, then turned and walked back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Both women stood silently for a moment before Donna let out a very low whistle. “Woooooooow.” She turned back toward the stairs, and Cami followed. “I don’t know what I expected when you told me the kid had an accident, but that wasn’t it.” Her words weren’t judgmental – just stunned. Cami understood completely. It wasn’t even that Damien had apparently lost all control in the bathroom; it was the continued blankness in his voice, like he was being compelled. There was still emotion there – the unconscious attempt to cover his wet pants, the shaking voice – but the way he spoke throughout the whole ordeal indicated…something. “Can you do anything?” Donna asked as they reached the top of the stairs. Cami pressed her lips together. “You know I can’t force anything on him.” “I know, I know,” Donna waved her hand, mildly irritated at her implied lack of understanding. “But can you do anything?” “I’ll try.” Cami shrugged. Damien certainly needed some sort of care, and she had plenty of experience working with teens and young adults in her practice, but if Damien kept up this robotic narration, then there just wasn’t a lot she could do. Downstairs in the bathroom, Damien stared blearily down at the giant puddle. He heard himself whine softly and realized that his lower lip was trembling. He could barely think, but he knew that he had to clean up. Himself and the bathroom. In a fog, Damien reached for a towel. He dropped it into his mess on the floor, then started to strip off his wet pants. Several drops of urine squelched from the denim with the movement, spattering noisily onto the tile and making him cringe. Every part of him felt dirty – his hands, his feet, certainly his legs and crotch… The towel was sufficiently sopping by the time it absorbed his accident. Damien looked dazedly around the bathroom before deciding just to heap all the wet clothes in the corner. He finally turned on the shower. Upstairs, Cami listened for the sound of the shower while she finished putting away the groceries. She ran through Damien’s behavior in her mind, trying to decide what she would say to him if given the chance. The shower ran for about 15 minutes. Donna had retreated to her study to grade papers, feeling it was best not to overwhelm Damien. Cami set herself up at the island in the kitchen, working on her computer. After a few more minutes, Damien stepped into the kitchen, hair wet and duffle bag in his hand. Cami didn’t look up at first, not wanting to make him feel trapped, but when he stopped at the side of the island, she raised her eyes. Damien’s eyes were no longer blank, and his skin had regained some color, but the blankness in his face was replaced with complete shame. “I…” Even his voice was back to normal, though quiet. “I think I should leave.” Cami gazed at the young man, even though he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were down, seemingly fixed on the countertop. She took a breath before responding. “If you want to go, of course you can,” she said. “But please know that you’re welcome to stay.” Damien still couldn’t look at her, so she put every ounce of honesty she could into her voice. “Damien, no one here is mad at you or judging you for what happened. It’s not your fault. We won’t tell anyone, and we don’t have to talk about it ever again if you don’t want to.” Damien inhaled shakily and grabbed his left arm, wrapping himself in a half hug. “If you do want to leave,” Cami pleaded, “at least wait until the roads are a bit better. I’d really rather you didn’t drive in the snow, and I know Mom wouldn’t like it either.” Damien looked out the window, where fat flakes were still falling copiously. His shoulders fell – Cami was right. As much as he wanted to escape, trying to drive anywhere right now was a terrible idea. Besides, he didn’t actually have any place to stay. He’d only thought as far as getting out of the house. Cami was still looking at Damien; he could feel her gaze, but he couldn’t meet it just yet. “I…I put the…things…in the washing machine,” he explained, just for the sake of having something to say. “I hope that’s OK.” “Of course.” Cami smiled encouragingly. Damien didn’t respond, but he also didn’t move. “Damien, can I get you something? A snack, or some hot chocolate?” Cami offered. “We weren’t gonna have a big dinner with just the three of us, but-“ “I’m sorry.” Cami stopped at the quiet interruption. Damien’s voice was stretched and raw, and his eyebrows were drawn together. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he struggled to compose himself. “Damien…” Cami reached her hand across the island. “You have nothing to apologize for. I promise it’s OK.” Damien shook his head and finally looked up. To Cami’s surprise, he smiled sadly. “It’s not,” he said, shrugging. “I know it’s not, and-“ He raised his voice slightly, preempting any argument from Cami. “-I want…you deserve an explanation.” Ever the professional, Cami kept the pity she felt out of her face. She respected Damien enough that she didn’t bother telling him that he didn’t owe her anything. Shifting from foot to foot, Damien pulled out one of the bar stools and pressed himself up onto it, letting his duffle bag drop to the ground. He fidgeted a bit, trying to get comfortable in a decidedly uncomfortable situation. For her part, Cami kept quiet. “Donna told you I’m a transfer student?” he began, and Cami nodded. “I started at…another school as a freshman.” He clasped his hands together on the counter, steeling himself. “I didn’t know a lot about college, I guess. I just wanted to have fun and do well and make friends. So I decided to rush a fraternity.” Cami felt her chest tighten. Even if she hadn’t witnessed the young man have an accident, she knew enough to know that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant story. “For this place-“ Damien seemed determined not to give any identifying details. “-they would assign each new guy to an active brother. There was group stuff, too, but basically each brother who wanted it would get one or two recruits that were…well, he could do what he wanted with them.” Damien was winding his fingers together, intertwining his joints. “The guy I was assigned to…he…I didn’t get it at first. He had me and this other recruit kneel for a long time, which was pretty standard, I guess, but then he…he kept giving us water. I thought it was weird that he wasn’t giving us booze, but then I figured maybe they were being more careful not to get freshman drunk so they wouldn’t get in trouble. “It was the other guy first. He started kind of wiggling and stuff, even though we both knew we weren’t allowed to talk, but the brother…he was, I don’t know, watching for it, I guess. So he said ‘What’s wrong, recruit?’ and the other guy said that he had to pee, and the brother just told him to hold it.” Shuddering at the memory, Damien took in a deep breath. “I just…I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t know people could just be like that. I thought for sure that he’d let us go to the bathroom, but he didn’t. And I know…” Damian hunched he shoulders, ashamed. “I know the other guy and I, we could have just, like, stopped, or got up and walked out, because there were two of us and only one of him, but…we just didn’t know. We thought this was normal, and we didn’t know each other at all, so we didn’t know what each other would do.” Cami had heard it all before, of course. Almost everyone who had ever been abused blamed themselves for not doing more to get out of the situation. She opened her mouth to tell Damien this, but his story wasn’t over. “So the other guy finally peed himself, and then the brother kept us there until I…I had an accident, too. I thought maybe I’d get…maybe he’d be proud of me or something, I don’t know, if I held it longer, but it didn’t seem to matter. And then I thought that, OK, he made us both pee our pants, we’ll move on to the next thing, but we just…that was it.” A tear slipped down Damien’s cheek, but he didn’t seem to notice. “We had a whole week. Every free minute we had was supposed to be with our assigned brother, and all weekend. So that’s all we did. He would just make us drink a whole bunch and not let us use the bathroom. And he…it wasn’t just peeing ourselves. He wanted…he wanted us to talk about it. So he’d ask ‘What’s wrong?’ or ‘Do you need something, recruit?’ and we’d have to say that we had to pee or that we were going or stuff like that. If we didn’t answer or if we said something he didn’t like, he’d use the wooden paddle on us. So we had to…describe…everything.” Cami didn’t say anything, but she pulled a tissue out of her purse and passed it across the counter. Damien sniffled and wiped his nose. “We tried so many things.” Damien’s voice was like gelatin, thick and shaking. “And we never knew what he was going to do. Sometimes, we’d ask to go to the bathroom, and he would let us, but then he’d block the toilet and wouldn’t let us use it. Sometimes he’d act real mad that we had an accident, calling us babies saying that he could never let recruits in the fraternity who couldn’t keep their pants dry. But then sometimes…” Damien crumpled up the tissue and swiped at both of his eyes, but he was crying freely now. “Sometimes, he’d, like, comfort us, and say it was OK and we tried really hard to hold it, and he wasn’t gonna get mad as us for having a l-little a-a-accident.” Cami’s jaw was clenched so hard, she thought she’d crack a tooth. This was the Stanford Prison Experiment on steroids. This was the height of sadism. Although it definitely explained Damien’s odd narration earlier, it hurt to hear what he’d been put through. “At first, I just thought it was weird,” Damien continued, “but after a few days, I was so tired and sore and embarrassed that I started to cry, and then I couldn’t stop, and this other guy and me, we were just so tired and we never knew what to expect.” Drawing in a raggedy breath, Damien shrugged again, brushing off the hard part of the story. “I didn’t pledge, obviously. I don’t think the other guy did, either, but I don’t know. I barely made it through the semester. I was just hazy and off and confused. My GPA tanked, so I dropped out. I did online classes in the summer and fall before transferring here last year.” Damien finally looked up. His eyes were red and glistening, but the tears had stopped falling for now. “I really am sorry about today. I’m sorry I was weird and just kept saying weird stuff. I…I couldn’t stop myself. It’s like I knew it wasn’t the same and I wasn’t back in the frat house, but I didn’t know, because it was the first time since…” He trailed off and sniffed again, lowering his head. Cami gave him a moment before she decided it was her turn to speak. “I’m so sorry he did that to you,” she said simply. “No one deserves that kind of treatment.” Damien nodded in acknowledgement. “Damien, please believe me when I say you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything that was hurtful or on purpose, and Mom – Donna – and I just want to make sure you’re OK.” Picking distractedly at his nails, Damien nodded earnestly. “I’m fine,” he promised. “I went to therapy and stuff, and I know all that, and it helps. I’m just…” He paused, lip trembling again. “I’ve been really careful since then, so I wouldn’t have to feel like I…like I was gonna wet my pants, so then today was just…” He hesitated before glancing up at Cami. “I was scared,” he admitted. “It’s not like I think you or Donna are gonna be mean to me, but I didn’t know, and it’s not like it’s OK to have an accident in a stranger’s car, anyway.” “Damien, I know you don’t know me,” Cami acknowledged, “and I know that just trusting that everything is going to be OK probably isn’t going to happen. But I promise you that you’re safe here, and Mom and I will do whatever we can to take care of you.” Damien’s mouth curled upwards, almost imperceptibly, but then he frowned. “If…” His voice caught, and his face flushed. “It’s still OK if I say here?” “Of course,” Cami assured him. “Then…” Damien gripped his hands together. “I might…” He looked up, embarrassed, but Cami’s face was open and encouraging. “When…that week at the frat house,” Damien murmured quickly, “I…I started having problems for awhile, and it stopped, but after today, I don’t know…” He took a deep breath, trying to loosen the tight feeling in his chest. “Imightwetthebed,” he mumbled, then glanced up again, trying to read Cami’s face at this last admission. Cami felt her heart constrict with overwhelming sympathy, but she just smiled gently. “That’s not a problem, Damien,” she promised. “If it happens, it happens. We can help you clean up.” Damien let out a deep sigh, his whole body sinking in relief. “Thanks, Cami.” He straightened his shoulders, looking exhausted. He rose off the bar stool and bent down to grab his duffle bag. “I think I’m gonna go to my room, then.” Cami smiled and reopened her laptop. “Sounds good. We’ll call you when it’s time for dinner.” Nodding, Damien smiled a bit sheepishly and walked out. Cami inhaled deeply and gazed out the window. The snow had tapered off a bit, unlikely to do any more damage today.
  6. Goldenstorm

    Hermione.jpg

    From the album: Some of my pics

    This is the part one of two, the second part includes messing
  7. This happened to me just last week. I was busting my ass all day at work and never got the chance to run to the bathroom, the ENTIRE day. I had a full days bladder and I hadn't really noticed how badly I needed to go because I was so distracted. Anyway, I finished my shift around 5pm and was about to head home, but I realized my car was absolutely dead out of gas - like I was hardly making it to the station down the road. I'm one of those lazy people who waits until the last second to do a lot of things so this was a regular occurrence for me. The need to pee was getting stronger once I was sitting by myself and not super busy and distracted but I still ignored it (big mistake). I really had to stop and get gas and I was confident that I could just be quick about it and jump back in my car to go home. So I get to the pump down the street and there's already two other cars there. I pulled up to the pump facing the road as my car was drastically flashing the "Low Fuel" sign at me. Trying to be quick I began to fumble about my car in search of what I needed. I grabbed my card to pay at the pump (thank god I didn't go inside) and I hopped out of my tiny car onto the pavement. Gasoline fumes assaulted my nose and the sound of cars whizzing by filled my ears. As soon as I stood up I realized I would be doing the potty dance for the next few minutes that I'd be out of the vehicle. Trying to power through the experience, I jammed my card into the machine and grabbed the gas pump. As I inserted the nozzle into my car the need to pee was getting unbearable. I tried to be subtle about my desperation because there were other people around me and I was already facing a busy road. "Halfway there" I thought to myself as I looked at the rising numbers "I can do this" I stopped dancing for just a moment to look at the pump to see my progress and I felt a spurt of wetness dampen my panties. I quickly tried to stop the stream but that little spurt was all my body needed to let the flood gates open. It started slow but quickly got out of hand. I stood there next to my car, frozen like a statue as my panties drenched and overflowed into my dress-trousers. I felt a stream of wetness run down the back of my thighs. Two streams down the front of each pant leg. And a stream at the source, my crotch, easily passing through the fabric and directly hitting the pavement with a little tinkling "splash" sound. I looked down in heated embarrassment as I saw massive wet spots forming and a puddle on the ground where I had been standing. My bladder finally emptied itself without any consideration for me. The streams slowed down and finally came to a stop with a few moments of dripping. Drip. I literally couldn't move I was so humiliated. Drip. Oh god how Is this possible? Drip. Shit, did anyone see me? *a final little stream came out of fear, hitting the puddle beneath me rather loudly* I looked up and saw a guy next to me getting out of his SUV at that moment. Another guy at the next pump over glancing in my direction. I ripped the nozzle out of my car and slammed it back into the fuel pump. My only goal was to get out of public and away from wondering eyes as soon as possible. I was too scared to even look at the stopped cars on the road as I jumped into my vehicle as quickly as I could and started to drive home. I sat for a thirty minute drive with soaked trousers and panties in humiliation and shame, thinking about all of the people who could have seen me. Hoping that there isn't some security footage of the incident but I can't help but wonder if there is... A lesson learned, always make time for the little things or they will make time for themselves...
  8. This was during last December and Im not sure why I havent posted about it on here yet, maybe because its humiliating.. But I hope you guys enjoy it. Every story I post is true. If I ever end up writing a work of fiction I’ll be sure to put a fiction disclaimer on it somewhere. ______________________________ After I had finished a full day of work at around 6pm I decided I didn’t want to drive home and would rather spend some time Christmas shopping while I was already out. I was still in my work clothes but it didn’t bother me in the slightest as they were overall comfortable to walk around in. It was a casual work environment so I was wearing medium wash denim skinny jeans, a beautiful purple frilly tank top, a green neck scarf (more for looks than warmth) and a black leather coat vintage from the 90’s. I was absolutely freezing but I would lie through my teeth and tell you I was warm because I loved that outfit, i felt it make me look like a sexy artist type. I worked, and lived, in the middle of absolute nowhere so it was a 45 minite drive to get to a shopping center. Naturally I decided to get a very fancy, large strawberry banana smoothie with extra whip cream to drink during the drive. It is my absolute favorite beverage so I downed it quicker than I would with a coffee or water. Not the best idea. I drove to a very chic outdoor mall. It’s one of those uber fancy places where everyone wears Prada boots and buys designer chocolates at $300 a pop for their elaborate dinner parties or whatever rich people do. I was so out of place here. In the same parking lot is the fanciest food market I’ve ever seen with a name so Italian I couldn’t dream of pronouncing it. I decided to go run in really quick and pick up some organic vanilla beans before I went shopping in the mall. “It should only take like 5 minutes” I told myself. 5 minutes turned to 10 as I looked around aimlessly for vanilla and walking noticibly slowly because my bladder was killing me. When I had stepped out of the car I noticed I had to go but I didn’t think it was that bad until I really needed to focus on something, I found myself being constantly distracted by how desperate I was. I didn’t use bathroom before I left work either. Eureka! I had found the vanilla beans at literally the back of the store, very last shelf, end of the isle. I was holding my crotch at this point trying not to make it noticeable, as I’m already sticking out like a sore thumb in this area. I picked up the jar and very quickly put it back because I realized I wouldn’t be able to stand in the checkout line and not have a little accident......okay a big accident. “I’ll just use the bathroom here” I rationally told myself. Well, it turned out the universe isn’t rational because there’s no bathroom in the store. I abandoned any idea of ‘quickly grabbing vanilla’ as I power walked out of the market. A middle aged woman gave me a sad smile as I left. “Did she know?” I thought “Does everyone know??” Oh god maybe someone saw me do a potty dance or hold my crotch in the spice isle. It was very possible someone saw how badly I needed to go. I shook my head at the thought. I jogged through the parking lot to my car and dove into the drivers seat, trying not to think about the people in the store. I threw it in drive and moved to the parking spots closer to the actual mall. At this point all I’m thinking about is how badly I have to go. How I need to get to a bathroom this instant or I’m going to explode. It’s worth mentioning that I have a rather small bladder. I parked with the other cars and contemplated my game plan. “These are fancy people I can’t just sprint in holding myself in this mall, it would be humiliating” I pull up a map of the mall on my phone and look up where the nearest restrooms are located. It’s about three turns away from the entrance and I’m debating if I can even make it there. I’m holding my crotch constantly at this point sitting in my car and looking at the gates. If I left now I would Literally have to run to make it, and what if there’s a line? “No. I can do this, I’m an adult” I said, mentally giving myself a little pep talk. I opened my car door and jogged my way up to the entrance when I felt a pang in my bladder and a sizeable leek. I immediately turned on my heels and ran back to my car to desperately make it stop. I’m breathing hard with a flushed face not even caring about who could have spotted my odd behavior. “I’m not gonna make it” I say to myself. Im 45 minutes from home, unable to make it to even the closest restroom, trapped in my car in a parking lot of an ultra fancy mall. Oh god. I start racking my brain for what to do and start weighing my options. I don’t want to pee on my seat or in public in front of so many people. “Think. Think.” I say as time is clearly running out. I look around my car. “My smoothie cup!” Thank God I hadn’t thrown it away. I look around the parking lot to see if the coast is clear. It absolutely is not. There’s people everywhere. Shit. I don’t waste any time throwing my car into reverse and moving to the less occupied section of the parking lot which isn’t saying much because this IS a mall at Christmas time. This section is also facing the main road. My options are too limited to be picky now though. I glance around to see if I’m in the clear and spot one man, about 6 parking spaces away, probably in his mid 30s talking on the phone outside of his car and for whatever reason, he’s looking my way. Or at least it seems like he is, it’s fairly dark by now so at least I have that going for me. I try to hold off and give him a chance to move along but he’s too busy talking away. “I can’t wait any longer” The spurt in my panties now grown cold against my crotch, making me shiver and almost loose control. There are a few more people relatively close to me getting in and out of their respective cars. I check to see if Mr. Chatty Cathy is still there and, yup, he is. Screw it. Without a second thought I grab my left shoe and then my right and toss them onto my passenger seat, along with my socks just to be safe. The movement puts pressure on my bulging bladder but I can’t stop now. I yank my zipper down and hook my thumbs into the waistband of my too tight skinny jeans and pull. Taking off pants in your drivers seat is way harder than I expected. I frantically pull at the denim at the odd angle I have just praying I don’t wet myself here. I get the pants completely off (but now inside out) with a sigh of relief and toss them in the back seat. “Just the panties now” I thought as I shivered. I look down at my frilly pink cotton panties, their style really fitting the situation unfortunately “They really are wet” I yanked them down over my knees and threw them behind me somewhere with my jeans. I hiked up my shirt to get it out of the way and tucked it into my bra. I didn’t even think about the man as I got into a squatting position and placed the cup underneath me. From this angle you could easily see everything if you were close enough. But I literally had no other options. I let out an experimental burst and the damn just broke. I tilted my head back and let an audible sigh escape me as I completely let go. Rapidly filling the container I had to work with and making an incredibly loud tinkling noise. I all but moaned. I was holding it and fighting it for so long and it felt so good to just give in to it. My muscles relaxed and my body quivered. My bladder was just about empty now and I had almost filled the cup to the rim. I let the final drips slowly stop themselves and very carefully handled the cup. My face was bright red from an obvious blush but all I could feel was relief. “Much better” I sighed. Slowly but surely though, the humiliation set in. How could I have not been able to hold it on my own? I’m an adult and I’m out here making a laughing stock of myself. I sat there in my car, freezing and half naked. You wouldn’t believe how embarrassed and vulnerable you feel when you’re alone, miles from your home, car surrounded by strangers, and essentially naked. I shamefully looked over at the guy and he was still talking on the phone but with a big grin on his face and no longer looking my direction. I have no way of knowing if that grin is from me. I pulled my shirt down, trying not to flash my tits to the road or the man, and fished in the backseat for my panties. I slid them on and quickly remembered they were still wet and ice cold from my spurt earlier. I hung my head in shame as I worked my way into my jeans, realizing they were inside out, fixing them, and sliding them back on, spending way too much time without clothes for my personal tastes. I slid my shoes back on and stepped out of my car to dispose of the cup in the safest way possible, desperately avoiding eye contact with cellphone guy. I didn’t get my Christmas Shopping finished, and I had a long time to think about what I had done on the way home.
  9. ThornWild

    Andi's Secret

    I wrote this a while ago as the idea came into my head, and have tweaked it a little bit since. There is, I think, the possibility for a continuation, but it depends on inspiration, motivation, and whether anyone would even be interested in reading more. Read the tags for content warnings, and enjoy! Andi’s hand shook as he struggled with his keys. He stood walking in place, jaw clenched, and a small whimper of frustration escaped him before he managed to get the key in the lock of his front door. Once inside he threw down his bag, and left a trail of scarf, jacket, and boots as he raced towards the bathroom. He pulled the door shut on reflex even though he now lived alone. He hesitated, glancing at the toilet. He needed to go so badly he felt like he would burst, but after a brief moment’s consideration he stripped down to his boxer-briefs and turned towards the shower. Shifting his weight back and forth between his feet he wondered if he should take them off or not. In the end he left them on, and stepped into the shower. He stood there for a good while, occasionally moaning, whimpering and swearing, still shifting back and forth, rocking on the balls of his feet. He stuck a hand in between his legs and grabbed himself. He could feel that he was hard, but of course he was. ‘Shit,’ he murmured. ‘Shit, shit, fuck . . .’ He felt the pressure building, until he couldn’t think, could barely breathe, and he sobbed as he couldn’t hold it in anymore, and his urine began to flow down his legs, through his pants, splashing onto the tiles beneath his feet. ‘No! No . . .’ He sank to his knees, panting and sobbing, feeling the warm pee underneath him. He touched the front of his boxers, rubbed himself through the fabric, and a final spurt of urine soaked his hand. He grabbed one of his nipples between the fingers of his other hand, pinching, and kept stroking his sex until his sobs turned to groans of pleasure and he finally came. Sitting there, in a puddle of his own piss, he didn’t want to get up. Didn’t want to take his pants off, even though they were quickly becoming cold and uncomfortable. In the end, he did anyway. Andi had two secrets. One was this, his most shameful kink. That he liked to hold his pee in until he wet himself. That he got off on it. The other was that he was only a few months a ‘real’ boy. He’d been on T for a little over half a year. His voice had dropped. He had gotten hairier, his skin had changed, as had his body fat ratio. He had always been quite flat chested, though what little tits he had still bothered him, as did what was, or wasn’t, between his legs. He did have a dick, the clitoris having grown significantly. It was about an inch long now, about an inch and a half and much thicker while erect. He was proud of his dick. It couldn’t penetrate anyone, but then he had always preferred bottoming anyway. Still, he hated to think about it, to look at it. His vulva. He’d hoped his dick would grow bigger than this. It still might, of course, but a lot of the guys he’d spoken to said theirs grew most in the first six months on testosterone. Whether or not he’d have surgery at some point he hadn’t quite decided, but he really wanted to. Top surgery was a given, and he was already on a waiting list. Andi hadn’t had sex in a long time. Not since he started trying to pass. Well, not until recently, that is. Not until Ronan. Ronan, who had been his best friend for a long time, and who somehow took everything in stride. When they had first met, online, Andi’s transition had been in its infancy. He had only just started to accept that he was trans, and the first thing he had done was try to be a boy online. Ronan was the sort of person who inspired trust, so eventually Andi had told him everything. He had been completely cool with it. He hadn’t asked any weird or invasive questions. He had simply listened, and when Andi had asked if he was freaked out, he had written: Why? You’re the same person now that you were five minutes ago. You’re my friend. And I want you to be happy. Since that moment, Andi had shared his fears, his body dysphoria, what his doctors and therapists told him, and his hopes for the future with Ronan. And then, at some point, his fantasies and his kinks, and that was when their relationship had changed. They had talked about all of it, and then explored it in detail, first with a series of phone calls and Skype sessions, and then finally, a few weeks ago, in person. The fact that Ronan, who was gay, wanted to be with Andi almost served to make him feel more like a real man than the hormones could. But this last kink even Ronan didn’t know about, and he never ever would. If he ever found out . . . Andi was sure even Ronan couldn’t accept something like that. Who would? It was, objectively speaking, gross. Urine was not a natural part of sex. Of course, it wasn’t the urine itself that turned him on. It was the desperation, and the act of wetting himself. The shame of it. Shame and humiliation were already present in his and Ronan’s play. When they were together, Ronan had tied Andi up, spanked him, made him choke on his dick, and Andi had loved every second of it. The memory was enough to make him blush. Ronan was naturally dominating, and being submissive with him felt wonderfully freeding. This, though, this was different. Lately, Andi’s wetting fantasies had taken on a different form. He imagined not doing it alone. He imagined Ronan telling him when he could and couldn’t pee—much the same way he sometimes forbade him from touching himself without permission—refusing him access to the toilet until he was a shivering, desperate mess. He pictured Ronan making him wet himself on command, and sometimes he imagined Ronan fucking him while he was holding, fucking his arse until he couldn’t hold it in anymore and pissed. Then he would get disciplined with a spanking. He could never, ever tell Ronan what he was imagining. The whole thing had started back when his transition was in its infancy, pre-T. Back when he had begun trying to pass. At the time he had felt very uncomfortable with public bathrooms. He didn’t want to use the ladies’ room because he wasn’t a woman, but he felt like if he used the men’s room they would see straight through him. They would call his bluff, they wouldn’t see him as a real man. So whenever he was away from home, he refused to use the toilet. One evening he had been out for a drink with some good friends who called him Andi instead of Anna, and used the correct pronouns, and it had been a really good time. He had rather a lot of beer. He was quite used to holding his pee in by then, and could usually handle it, but it got a lot more difficult when he was drunk, and on his way home at two in the morning, it happened. He wet himself. It was dark, but there were some people about. Andi froze, completely mortified, hoping to God that no one would notice. It didn’t seem like anyone did, but he had never felt more embarrassed or terrible about himself. As soon as he could shut off the flow, which was easier said than done, he ran the rest of the way home and locked himself in the bathroom, sobbing. Not seeing any point in holding it in anymore, he let go and finished wetting himself on the bathroom floor. After pulling off his sopping wet jeans, he got in the shower and washed. He got off twice, went to bed, and got off again. The next morning he woke up wanting to do it all again. Thinking about that night (what he had since come to think of as his second awakening, the first having been when he accepted his true gender) still made him hard. Andi turned on the shower, washing the urine from his legs and the floor. He made the water as hot as he could take, and while he stood under it, began to stroke himself. He pictured Ronan while he did, and tentatively reached back, pushing a wet finger inside his arse. He moaned loudly, and a little bit of leftover pee trickled out. His fingers didn’t really feel like enough, though, and he stepped out of the shower and over to the bathroom cabinet. He had left his dildo there the last time he had got off. He found it along with some lube, and after slicking it up and stretching his hole a bit, got back in the shower and began to pump his arse with it. He moaned loudly, stroking his cock, and peed a bit more. It didn’t take him long to come. Andi cleaned himself up and got out of the shower. After towelling himself off he reached for his phone to check his messages, and the moment he touched it, it rang. Ronan’s picture filled the screen, and Andi instantly blushed. He only let it ring twice before answering. ‘Hi,’ he said, his voice a bit breathless. ‘Well, hello there, boy,’ said Ronan’s deep, silky voice. ‘You sound exactly the way I like you best,’ he purred. ‘Have you been naughty?’ Andi smiled. ‘Maybe . . .’ ‘Tell me,’ Ronan demanded. His tone of voice hadn’t changed, but it was a command nonetheless, and Andi felt a tugging sensation somewhere in the vicinity of his crotch. He may not like his XX-chromosome parts all that much, but they did give him the advantage (or disadvantage) of not being easily spent, and he immediately reached down to touch himself again, before stopping himself. ‘I just got out of the shower,’ he said. ‘I may have . . . Gotten off a few times.’ Ronan tutted. ‘Without me? I’m disappointed in you, Andi.’ ‘Guess you’ll have to punish me,’ said Andi quickly. Ronan chuckled softly. ‘If you’re so eager for punishment, boy, perhaps I should prepare some less pleasurable discipline. Silent contemplation, say.’ Andi whimpered involuntarily. ‘No? Well, I guess I do owe you a bit of a spanking. Too bad I can’t do it right now.’ Ronan sighed. ‘What are you doing?’ Andi asked. ‘Right now I’m stroking my cock, thinking of you all naked and wet in the shower.’ Andi let his hand wander down to his own dick and said, ‘Me too.’ ‘Uh-uh. Did I tell you you were allowed to touch yourself?’ Ronan asked, and Andi stopped immediately, but not before whining softly. ‘What’s that, boy? Are you complaining?’ ’N—no,’ Andi stammered. ‘Of course not.’ ‘Good. You can touch yourself when I tell you to.’ ‘Yes, sir,’ said Andi, obediently. ‘What were you doing before?’ Ronan asked him. Andi’s heart hammered in his chest. ‘Nothing, really. I was just in the shower, and then I . . . Touched myself.’ ‘How many times did you come?’ ‘Three . . . I think.’ ‘My naughty little Andi,’ said Ronan. ‘Whatever shall I do with you? It’s like you want to be punished.’ Andi swallowed, but said nothing. ‘Do you, boy? Do you want me to spank your arse raw?’ Andi moaned softly. ‘Tell me.’ Andi drew a breath, and it came out again ragged. When he spoke his voice was uneven. ‘If you want to. I’ve . . . I’ve been disobedient. I need discipline. Need to be . . . To be shamed.’ ‘You want me to shame you? To embarrass you?’ Ronan asked. Andi remained silent. His legs felt shaky. He was so turned on he could barely breathe, and he needed to pee again, too. ‘Tell me what would embarrass you most of all. What could I make you do that would be a true punishment?’ Andi spoke without thinking, without considering the consequences. It was a reflex, to answer Ronan truthfully. He couldn’t lie to him. ‘Make me piss myself.’ He covered his mouth, mortified. He had said it. What would happen now? ‘Oh?’ came Ronan’s voice. ‘Why, that’s new. What manner of kink is this?’ Andi bit his lip. ‘It’s . . . It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.’ ‘No, no, no,’ Ronan purred. ‘None of that, boy. Tell me.’ Swallowing a couple of times, Andi considered his words carefully before speaking. ‘Sometimes I . . . I like to hold it until I’m fit to burst. Getting all desperate like that . . . It, er . . . It really turns me on.’ His face felt hot, and he was stammering quite a bit. At the same time he felt more aroused than ever. Embarrassing himself like this, telling Ronan his most secret of secrets, he could almost come without even touching himself. ‘Sometimes I . . . I hold it until I wet myself, and then I get off.’ The last bit nearly turned into word salad, but Ronan seemed to catch it all the same. ‘Then I feel embarrassed, and ashamed . . .’ ‘Mmm . . . Well, I do like you desperate. I could forbid you from going to the toilet. And then, if you do wet yourself, I’d have to discipline you.’ ‘Oh God,’ Andi whimpered. ‘Please . . .’ ‘Please what?’ ‘Please, sir, may I come?’ ‘Hm, not sure you’ve earned it yet. You’ve been holding back on me, after all. Not telling me about this . . . How long have you been doing it?’ Andi swallowed. ‘Since . . . since before I started on T. Back when I started trying to pass.’ ‘And here I thought you had told me all about your fantasies, and it turns out you’ve got this squirrelled away. I’m disappointed in you, Andi.’ There was amusement in Ronan’s stern voice. ‘I’m sorry,’ Andi mumbled. ‘I . . . It was embarrassing. I thought maybe . . . maybe you wouldn’t like me anymore, if I told you. That you wouldn’t want to . . .’ ‘That I wouldn’t want to fuck you anymore?’ Ronan chuckled. ‘You’re an idiot, my little Andi. The thought of you all desperate like that, of you pissing yourself and feeling mortified about it . . . Mmm, that really turns me on.’ His voice sounded a little breathless. Andi licked his lips. ‘Ronan . . . Sir . . .’ ‘All right. Since you’ve given me so many fun things to think about, I’ll let you come, boy.’ Andi’s hand immediately went down to his crotch and he began to stroke himself. ‘Fuck . . . I’m so horny right now, I can’t even—I’m gonna—’ ‘So eager. Slow down, boy. That’s it.’ Andi did as he was asked, slowed the movement of his fingers, but he still felt so close. ‘How’s it feel?’ Ronan breathed. ‘Feels good,’ Andi moaned. ‘God . . . Wish you were here, fucking me.’ The sound Ronan made was more like a growl than anything else. ‘So do I, boy. So do I. But until I am, this will have to do.’ ‘Mhm . . .’ Andi felt breathless. ‘Fuck . . . Ronan, please . . .’ ‘Go on then. You can come.’ Andi picked up the pace. His thighs quivered, and he could barely remain standing, unable to support himself with his other hand since he was on the phone. ‘Oh, fuck! Ah!’ He came, but kept stroking, and not long after he came again. He dropped to his knees, hand still working. ‘Fuck, you sound so good, Andi. Keep this up, I’m gonna come, too. Think you’ve got another one in you?’ ‘Yeah.’ Andi kept going, eyes slipping shut. ‘I can . . . fuck! Shit . . . I need to . . .’ He hesitated, face feeling hot. ‘I need to pee.’ ‘I see. Tell you what. When you come, you can pee.’ ‘Mmh . . . Yes, sir.’ Andi stroked himself faster, getting closer and closer. ‘Ronan . . . Ronan, I’m gonna come again!’ ‘Mm, go ahead. Let me hear you. I’m so close, I’m gonna come, too. Wish I could come in your mouth. All over your face.’ That was all it took, and Andi gave a loud shout as he came a third time. He was forced to stop touching himself, as he was too sensitive to continue, and then he pissed again, letting out a moan of relief. On the other end of the line, he heard Ronan swear, and groan, voice gaining in pitch as he finally came. Andi loved listening to Ronan coming. He loved listening to Ronan, period. ‘How are you feeling?’ asked Ronan softly. ‘Good. I feel . . .’ Andi gave a breathless laugh. ‘I feel good. Thanks. Fuck . . .’ Ronan laughed as well. ‘You always sound so good, boy. Can’t wait to see you again.’ ‘You’re still coming next weekend, right?’ ‘Of course I am. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m gonna fuck you so hard, Andi. You won’t be able to walk.’ Andi whimpered. If he gave himself a few minutes, he’d be ready for another three or four orgasms, he was sure of it. His libido had already been high pre-T. Testosterone did not serve to soften it. Still, best not push his luck. As much as he loved and accepted Ronan’s discipline, there could be too much of a good thing. He cleared his throat. ‘Can’t wait.’ ‘I don’t want you to touch yourself until then, boy. Is that clear?’ Andi gave another soft whimper. ‘Yes . . . yes, sir.’ ‘Good boy. I’ll see you soon enough.’ ‘Yeah. See ya. Thank you, sir.’ They hung up, and Andi stepped back into the shower for another rinse.
  10. ThornWild

    Female Girl's School

    Summary: When fourteen-year-old Agnes is caught making out with a boy, her religious parents ship her off to Mary Magdalen's Home for Girls, a corrective institution for ungodly young women. Agnes isn't too worried, but as it turns out, this is nothing like Bible Camp. Their aim is to drive out the devil, and they will do so by any means necessary. So, this is an idea I've been kicking around for a while, and I just never knew quite how to write it. The idea started when I read an article about special religious 'schools' in the US where unruly girls were sent to be taught to be good Christians, basically, and where methods ranged from the mundane to the outright sadistic. Please read the tags. This will not be a nice, fluffy or cute story. I'll add extra content warnings to future chapters if necessary. Please consider yourself warned. ————— CHAPTER ONE Agnes stared out of the bus window, at the country side swishing past. It was about four in the afternoon, and the day was sunny and hot. She yawned and scratched her cheek, where she had a mosquito bite. She was fourteen years old. Her dark brown hair fell in ringlets around her summer freckled face and she wore a brown skirt and blue blouse. On the seat next to her stood a small suitcase. It contained mostly underwear, a few other clothing items and a Bible. Her parents had been told that everything else would be provided. The representative from Mary Magdalene’s Home for Girls had arrived at their church only a week before. She had brought three young girls, a bit older than Agnes, in neat white gowns, who had testified about how they had been led so astray by the Devil and how Mary Magdalene’s Home for Girls had helped them find their way back to the Lord. This had been a couple of days before Agnes was caught making out with a boy from school, and her parents had decided that something had to be done about their daughter’s wicked ways. And so they had called Mary Magdalene’s Home for Girls, and asked if they had an opening. It turned out they did. The bus slowed to a halt. An older woman in the front, who had introduced herself as Miss Corrine when Agnes and about a dozen other girls had filed into the bus that morning, stood up. ‘All right, get your bags, we’re here,’ she said. Agnes picked up her small suitcase and shuffled out of the bus together with the other girls. As she stepped off the bus, she saw that they were in the middle of nowhere. ‘We’ll continue on foot,’ said Miss Corrine. ‘The path is too narrow for the bus.’ She set off down a narrow dirt road at a quick pace. The girls hurried to keep up. Agnes looked around. Flat grass land surrounded them as far as the eye could see, with a few trees sticking up here and there. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. They walked for what must have been at least twenty minutes and the heat was stifling, but then they rounded a corner and the large compound appeared. The girls who had spoken at their church had made it sound like a farm or a ranch, but Agnes couldn’t see any animals. The place seemed barren and dry, and it was surrounded by a chain link fence. It looked more like a prison. Which Agnes supposed it was. Her parents had sent her off, without her consent, to a correctional facility where she would learn to be a good Christian. Her crime had been kissing a boy, wearing tight jeans and not paying attention in Bible Study group. Which apparently meant she was promiscuous and ungodly. Agnes had been a good little girl, growing up. Whether out of fear for her father’s belt, her mother’s words, or simply because she was so sheltered, she had hardly ever done anything wrong. She had seen her older brother beaten for talking back, and that was enough to dissuade her from breaking any rules. But entering her teens, Agnes had become more strong willed. She had doubted the religion her parents had pushed upon her since birth, she had wanted to do her own thing, but a small town in Kansas wasn’t a good place to be a rebel. There was always someone watching, and word got back to her parents for every little thing she did. Miss Corrine led them into an entrance area. A man in a crisp light brown suit stood there waiting for them. ‘Welcome!’ he said warmly and beamed at them all. ‘My nam is Mr. Portman. I am the owner and leader of this establishment, and I’m so pleased to see so many new faces!’ He went on for a couple of minutes, about how their time at Mary Magdalene would help them build character and become better people, how the light of God would save them from the Devil’s influence and make model citizens of them, good mothers and wives, and most importantly, good Christians. Agnes glanced around as he spoke. The walls of the room were white, and the floor was grey linoleum. There was a reception desk at one end, but no chairs or sofas by way of a waiting area. The only art work was a large painting of Jesus on the wall behind Mr. Portman. When Mr. Portman had finished speaking, Miss Corrine opened a door off to one side. A dozen girls walked into the room, in a neat line. Like the girls who had come to their church, these girls wore white dresses. They all had their hands clasped in front of them. They lined up opposite Agnes and the other new girls. ‘These are your Big Sisters,’ said Mr. Portman. ‘We have a buddy system here. You will each be assigned a Big Sister who will teach you our rules, show you around and help you find your feet. I will call your names, and the names of your Big Sisters. When you have paired up, your Big Sister will take you to your sleeping quarters and give you a uniform to wear. They will then accompany you to supper, before we all gather for evening prayer.’ Agnes stood as patiently as she could while Mr. Portman started reading off the names on his list. Her name was the last to be read. ‘Agnes Williams,’ said Mr. Portman, ‘your Big Sister will be Mary-Louise Miller.’ The girl who stepped up to Agnes was a couple of years older. She was tall and blonde, with sparkling blue eyes and a sweet smile. ‘It’s so nice to meet you, Agnes!’ she said and shook her hand. She spoke in a soft southern accent, her voice a lilting alto. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.’ Mary-Louise brought her to a dormitory down a couple of corridors. There were eight beds in it. One other new girl was being inducted a couple of beds down. ‘I’m in the bed next to yours,’ said Mary-Louise. ‘That way I can keep tabs on you. I’m sure we’ll be best friends!’ She beamed. ‘Here, let me find your uniform.’ She walked up to the small dresser that stood next to the bed. ‘You get two of these,’ she explained, taking out a white dress like her own. ‘We don’t wear any other clothes here, so you won’t be needing anything but your own underwear and night clothes. There’s room in the dresser for that. There’s a bathroom and showers at the end of the hall. Now, get changed.’ Agnes took off her own clothes and put on the white dress. Perhaps this place wasn’t so bad, she thought. Everyone seemed friendly… Maybe she’d be all right. It was only for three months, after all. Mary-Louise took her to supper when she was done changing. On the way she told her about the daily routine at Mary Magdalene’s. ‘We get up at six every day for morning prayers, before breakfast at seven thirty,’ she said. ‘After breakfast we have Bible Study classes, quiet meditation, things like that, all day, until about five pm. Lunch is at one, and supper is at seven in the evening. We have free time between five and seven. Then we have evening prayer at eight, which is one hour, and the showers are open between nine and ten. Lights out at ten pm.’ ‘Sounds very strict,’ said Agnes. ‘It is,’ said Mary-Louise, ‘but we’re better people for it. Routines are key.’ The mess was a large, white room with several long tables. Agnes was at once struck by how quiet it was. The tables were almost full, but the few who were speaking were doing so in hushed murmurs and whispers. Mary-Louise led her to one of the tables and they sat down. A few minutes later, Mr. Portman, Miss Corrine and a few other staff members came marching into the room. The room fell completely silent. They sat down at a smaller, empty table at the far end. Mr. Portman was last to sit, and before he did, he gave a curt nod to the table closest. As one, the girls at that table stood up, in silence, and marched over to the counter. They each took a tray, and were handed plates of food by serving staff. One table at a time, the girls went to collect their food. Soon it was Agnes’s turn. It was eerie. The only sounds in the room were shuffling feet, the chinking of cutlery and hushed voices from the staff table. The girls all ate in complete silence, it seemed. Approaching the counter, Agnes realised that the serving staff all appeared to be teenaged girls like herself. She wondered fleetingly if they were other students, but was too tired to bother questioning Mary-Louise about it. She was served a vegetable soup with a roll on the side. There were no other choices, and no butter for the roll. She was given water to drink. The soup didn’t taste like much, but Agnes was hungry, so she ate all of it. So, it seemed, did everybody else. There were no second helpings, however. Exhausted after the long journey and the new impressions of the day, Agnes sat through evening prayer in a daze, mimicking the other girls and moving her lips as best she could. Afterwards she had a quick shower and went to bed, asleep before her head hit the pillow. ————— Getting up the next morning was hard. Mary-Louise had to shake her several times before at last Agnes sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. ‘Time’s it?’ she murmured. ‘Already five past six,’ said Mary-Louise. ‘Hurry up and get dressed or we’ll be late for morning prayer!’ Agnes got up and put on her dress. She tied back her dark hair, now messy from sleep. ‘I won’t always be here to wake you up, you know,’ Mary-Louise admonished her as they set off towards the chapel. ‘You’re gonna have to learn to get up on your own.’ ‘Sorry,’ Agnes mumbled. She still didn’t feel properly awake. She longed for coffee or something else to wake her up. She sat through morning prayer trying her best not to doze off, though she appeared to not quite manage, as Mary-Louise had to poke her several times to make her pay attention. After prayer they went down to the mess for breakfast. Agnes ate a couple of spoonfuls of the bland porridge she had been served and then spent the rest of the meal poking at it with her spoon. She drank orange juice (there was no coffee) and tried to stifle her yawns. ‘Aren’t you going to finish your food?’ whispered Mary-Louise after a while. Her plate was empty and she sat with her hands in her lap, looking curiously at her charge. ‘I’m not really hungry,’ replied Agnes, sleepily. ‘I can never eat in the mornings.’ ‘But you have to eat it,’ said Mary-Louise. ‘Those are the rules. Everyone has to empty their plate at every meal. You have no choice.’ ‘But I can’t, I’m not hungry.’ Mary-Louise studied her, frowning. ‘Fine,’ she said, after a moment. Then she got up, and walked over to the staff table. She whispered something to Miss Corrine, who stood up and came back with her. Everyone stopped eating and looked up. Miss Corrine approached Agnes, looking stern. ‘Everyone has to finish their food here, Agnes,’ she said. Agnes was sure everybody could hear her as the room was so quiet. ‘Perhaps we hadn’t made that clear?’ ‘I’m sorry, Miss Corrine,’ said Agnes, trying for a smile, ‘but I just can’t eat if I’m not hungry.’ ‘Do you squander the gifts the good Lord gives you?’ asked Miss Corrine. ‘No, ma’am…’ Agnes frowned, her smile faltering. ‘I mean, I don’t mean to, but you give us big portions, so . . .’ ‘You will finish your food, Agnes, or there will be consequences,’ said Miss Corrine. Mr. Portman stood from the staff table then, and came towards them. ‘What’s all this then?’ he asked calmly. ‘Agnes refuses to eat, sir,’ said Mary-Louise softly. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Mr. Portman turned to Agnes. ‘I would prefer if you eat what’s on your plate.’ ‘But, sir, I’m not hungry!’ Agnes’s voice had gained an edge now. She felt annoyed. Surely it was none of anyone else’s business whether she ate breakfast or not? ‘Then I’m afraid you leave me with no choice,’ said Mr. Portman sadly. ‘Miss Corrine, look after everything here. Agnes, Mary-Louise, come with me, please.’ Agnes’s stomach churned as she stood. What was to happen now? They followed Mr. Portman out of the mess and down the hall towards a door. Upon entering, Agnes discovered the room beyond to be Mr. Portman’s office. It contained a heavy mahogany desk and several bookcases. Mr. Portman sat down behind the desk while the girls remained standing. ‘It pains me to have to do this already on your first day, Agnes,’ said Mr. Portman without looking at them, adjusting a cup full of pens on his desk. ‘But the rules here are strict and meant to be followed. Everything we do here is for your own good, to teach you girls to be good, Christian women. You are sinful by nature. You need guidance. You are here because the Devil has taken up residence in you. I am here because I wish to drive him out.’ There was a silence. Agnes stared down at her tan ballerina flats, saying nothing. ‘Now, as for your punishment.’ Mr. Portman stood, walking over to one of the bookshelves where a jug of water and several glasses stood. ‘Mary-Louise, I delegate to you to make sure that Agnes drinks one glass of water every hour until lunch. You are also to make sure she doesn’t go to the restroom in that time. If she is ready then to show appreciation for the gifts that God has given her and empties her plate, she may visit the restroom after. We’ll start now.’ He filled a glass with water and walked around his desk, handing the glass to Agnes. ‘Drink up.’ Agnes took the glass. Something squirmed in her stomach. She was to go five hours without going to the bathroom while drinking copious amounts of water? It seemed hardly possible. Mr. Portman made an impatient sound, a clearing of the throat and, without looking at him, Agnes lifted the glass to her lips and drained it in a few gulps. Thankfully it wasn’t a very large glass, but she suddenly wished that she hadn’t had all that orange juice. Mr. Portman dismissed them, and the two girls left his office. They walked in silence for a while. Breakfast was over and it was time for the first class of the day. When they exited the main building to walk across the dry grass to one of the smaller ones, Agnes finally spoke. ‘Why did you tell on me like that?’ she asked softly. She felt Mary-Louise glance at her out of the corner of her eye for a moment before answering. ‘Like he said. You’re here because you’ve got the Devil in you. They can’t help you expel him if you don’t follow the rules. I did it for your own good. Besides, they would have noticed sooner or later anyway.’ Agnes rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, I see. You did it for me, not to show what a good girl you are. Your motives were purely altruistic.’ She was unable to keep the sarcastic tone out of her voice. Mary-Louise stopped and turned to her. ‘We’re encouraged to take care of each other here, Agnes.’ Her voice still had the sweet tone of before, but something in her look was cold. ‘We help each other get better. I was like you when I got here. I had demons inside me making me wilful, making me talk back, making me flaunt the rules. The other girls helped me see the error of my ways, helped me shake off the demons and become a better person. I’m not there yet. Us girls, we’re sinful by nature and it’s only by giving ourselves over to the Lord completely that we can rid ourselves of that sin. I’m getting there, and helping you will help me get there. When you do good you are rewarded. When you do bad you’re punished. All we’re doing here is giving a taste in life of the punishments that await the wicked after death.’ She turned away and began to walk again. ‘The Devil loves pleasure and fears pain. It is with pain you drive him out.’ She sounded like a text book. Like she had memorised all these things and was parroting them back the way she’d been taught. This frightened Agnes more than the words themselves. She hadn’t had much choice but to come here like her parents wanted, and she had been resigned to her fate. Spend three months at yet another ‘Bible Camp’, act like a good girl, and then go home. But the certainty with which Mary-Louise spoke, her blind faith in her words and acceptance of the status quo, that was terrifying. It told Agnes that this place changed people, and that if she wasn’t careful it would change her too, and she would lose her sense of self. By ten o’clock, Agnes had lost her ability to sit still. She fidgeted in her seat while Miss Corrine told them the story of Adam and Eve and explained how Eve’s weakness had damned all women and steeped them in sin. How purity and obedience were the only way towards salvation for any girl. Agnes only picked up bits and pieces, her rapidly filling bladder distracting her. An hour later she was bouncing in her seat, rocking back and forth and trying to refrain from putting her hands between her legs and hold herself. Mary-Louise kept obediently getting up, every hour on the hour, to get her a glass of water. Miss Corrine appeared to have been informed, because she said nothing. Either that or this was such a common occurrence that it hardly bore notice. At one the girls returned to the mess for lunch, and by now Agnes was beginning to feel like she couldn’t possibly hold it for much longer. She took tiny steps and had to stop often to cross her legs or bend forward and clutch herself, and she felt the occasional trickle go into her panties. Mary-Louise walked next to her patiently. Agnes couldn’t have told anyone what was for lunch. It was bland and no doubt very healthy, and she wolfed it down at record speed, hoping that if she just finished it all she would be allowed a bathroom break. When Mr. Portman came over to inspect her plate and gave a satisfied smile, she shot to her feet. ‘Can I . . .’ She could hardly get the words out and cleared her throat, dancing slightly on the spot. She decided it would be better to be polite. ‘May I please be excused for the restroom now, sir?’ she asked as sweetly as she could. Mr. Portman’s smile widened. ‘Of course you may.’ Agnes shot out of the mess like a bullet and only just made it to the toilet in time. Peeing had never felt so wonderful as at that moment. She went for at least a minute, voiding her bladder in a hard, steady stream. She had to bite her lip in order not to moan. She was pretty sure moaning was a sin. ————— The afternoon was spent in so called quiet meditation, which essentially meant sitting in the chapel staring at the cross on the wall. It was impossible for Agnes not to let her mind wander. She thought about home, about her bedroom and her CDs. She realised with a jolt that she had never gone this long without listening to music before. Unless one counted the psalms they sung during prayer, which Agnes most certainly did not. If it didn’t have a beat it wasn’t much worth a damn. She wondered how much she’d miss dancing by the end of her stay at Mary Magdalen’s. She wondered if she would even remember her favourite songs, going so long without hearing them. And what about her friends? Agnes sighed deeply at this thought. She missed her friends. Ava, the trivia machine who knew everything. Lily, who was so fashionable and sweet and always helped Agnes with her make-up. Wayne, who hung out with them and who Agnes was pretty sure would turn out to be gay. She would have given just about anything right then to sit in the park with the three of them, sharing a stolen cigarette and laughing about something they’d seen on TV. Would they still like her when she got back? She looked away from the cross on the wall, glancing about the chapel as covertly as she could manage. Everyone else seemed to be doing what they were supposed to. Some had their hands clasped, lips moving in silent prayer. Others had closed their eyes and looked almost blissful. Next to her, Mary-Louise sat with her hands in her lap, a serene smile playing on her lips and her eyes out of focus. Agnes found herself wondering what she was thinking. Agnes was about to return her gaze to the cross, figuring that one person not doing what she was supposed to was bound to stick out like a sore thumb, when she spotted another girl who seemed to have her mind elsewhere as well. A redheaded, freckled girl who might have been a year or two older than Agnes sat picking at her dress, looking deeply bored. As though she could feel Agnes’s eyes on her, she looked up and met her gaze. She smiled and rolled her eyes in commiseration, before, heaving what was obviously a heavy and demonstrative sigh, returning her gaze to her own lap. Agnes was too taken aback to return the smile before it was too late. ————— At five o’clock Mary-Louise finally left Agnes’s side to go hang out with some girls from a different dorm. She asked Agnes to join her, but Agnes had happily refused, longing for some time on her own. She made her way to the common room, which was next to the mess, and sat down in an almost comfortable arm chair. There was a bookshelf in the common room, but it contained only titles like How to Be a Good Girl and Rejecting Satan: A Guide to Spiritual Cleansing, in addition to half a dozen Bibles and several prayer books. There was also an out of tune piano with a sign on it saying that it was not to be played without express permission. So Agnes sat back in her chair and let her mind wander. Somebody pulled up a chair next to her and sat down. Dragged out of her thoughts, Agnes glanced sideways at the newcomer. It was the redhead from earlier. ‘Hey,’ said the girl, smiling. ‘I’m Maddie. What’s your name?’ ‘I’m Agnes,’ said Agnes, sitting up slightly. She took in Maddie’s appearance. She was very pretty, with sparkling green eyes, thin pink lips and a button nose. Her red hair was wavy and shoulder length. ’So, what are you in for, Agnes?’ asked Maddie, leaning back in her chair with her hands behind her head. Agnes looked away, blushing slightly. ‘Kissing a boy. And probably some other things too.’ She glanced at Maddie again and found her smiling. ‘What about you?’ ‘Well, let’s see, where to start . . .’ Maddie counted on her fingers. ‘Having opinions, reading William Blake, disobedience and masturbation. Plus lack of shame for all of the above.’ Agnes laughed nervously. ‘Well, that’s quite a list.’ Maddie shrugged. ‘It all boils down to the same thing, really. Being a girl and not feeling sorry about it.’ Her expression changed to a more serious one. ‘How are you holding up? I gathered that Portman gave you the old water torture. It’s a favourite of his.’ Her eyes seemed to darken at this and her voice took on a bitter edge. ‘Sucks to have to go through that your first day.’ ‘Yeah, well . . .’ Agnes looked away uncomfortably. ‘Been through it lots of times myself,’ Maddie continued. ‘Portman’s punishments just don’t seem to bite, though. I’ve been here for like six months, and I’m still the same ungodly, sinful creature as I was when I got here. At this rate I’ll grow old and die in this hellhole.’ Agnes looked around nervously. She was pretty sure that this was not a conversation they were meant to be having, but no one seemed to be listening to them. That made her feel braver. ‘I miss my friends,’ she said. ‘I just really wanna go home.’ ‘Yeah,’ said Maddie. ‘Me too. But, hey. I don’t know if I’m right, but I kind of feel like you and me get each other. So, you know, maybe we could be friends?’ Agnes smiled. ‘I’d like that.’ ‘Cool. Just don’t tell Big Sister Mary-Louise about it.’ As they talked, Agnes thought that if Maddie could spend six months at Mary Magdalen’s and still be normal, maybe there was hope for her too.
  11. Goldenstorm

    Girl Wets herself in fear

    Version

    365 downloads

    Hi this is my third video, its one of my favorites, hope you enjoy it. DESCRIPTION: This is a movie scene, on it a gorgeous girl hits a gang boss on his head, he gets angry and threated her whit a rifle forcing her to apologizes whit him, after he pretends to shot her and that makes the beautiful blonde wets herself in fear. CAUTION: The girl gets so humiliated, when the gang boys notice she has piss her shorts, they start to make fun of her and she runs out crying for the humiliation, i don´t want ofend anyone, if you dislike dont watch it, if you love beauty girls scared and wetting themseves on fear, you will love it. NOTE: My native language it´s not English, I´m sorry if i make some mistake writting.

    Free

  12. Guy is is so scared of having to jump of the top of a waterfall he floods his shorts in fear in front of all his friends. Also if possible could someone please make a downloadable file version of this video?
  13. This experience is going to be pretty short because there wasn’t a huge build up of desperation before hand seeing as I was sleeping. That being said I hope you all enjoy it anyway. As always every story I’ve posted thus far have been from my real life experience. If I ever end up writing a work of fiction I’ll be sure to add a fiction disclaimer. While this was a few years ago I was definitely still an adult at the time (probably 20 years old) ______________________________ I’d really like to chalk this up to having an odd or stressful day or even something out of the ordinary happening but I can’t. The day before had gone on like any other day, nothing was out of the ordinary. I had gotten up, had an easy morning, went into work around noon and left at maybe 9pm that evening. When I got home 45 minuets later I didn’t do anything differently. I stripped out of my work clothes, put on some comfy pajamas (a T-shirt and panties), relaxed for a while, had some dinner & water, and got ready for bed around midnight. All of those things add up to an uneventful, boring work day. What’s not boring, however, are my dreams. My dreams typically consist of something like ‘a flying neon purple tiger is walking on top of buildings made out of violins and I have to save the Pope from evil talking vacuum cleaners who are trying to take over the world.’ Those are the kinds of dreams I have, but I always have them. When I went to bed that night I turned out all the lights (save for a hallway night light, I don’t like the dark), flicked on my ceiling fan, plugged my phone in, got under my covers, and started to drift off. I soon fell sound asleep and my dreaming began. I only remember parts of my dream but I know I was in a pretty fancy museum or antique shop of sorts and I was talking to someone, perhaps an employee, who I didn’t know at all and she absolutely would not shut up. I really didn’t want to be talking to this person because in my dream I was trying to get to the bathroom and I couldn’t duck out of the conversation politely. She was wearing this historical costume gown like Marie Antoinette style and shuffling along after me as I walked around. I was going from display to display and getting more and more annoyed because she kept following me. Finally, I ended up in front of a painting and she ran off to join a parade of other people dressed in historical gowns that all looked extremely beautiful. Briefly I began to feel left out and cursed myself for not dressing up for the museum gown parade. At this point I had held it so long trying to get away from this dream woman I was absolutely shaking with the need to pee. I looked around desperately and eureka! I spotted a single restroom across the hall and sighed in relief. At the thought of relieving myself my bladder pulsed and twitched and I almost lost control but held my crotch just in time. Getting control of my need wasn’t easy but I straightened up and looked around to make sure the coast was clear. Not a person in sight, perfect. This was my chance, I was finally alone and I can head to the bathroom. I power walked, almost jogged, down the main hall past beautiful statues, paintings, and fine jewelry on display. I quickly made it to the bathroom and opened the door without bothering to knock first but it ended up being empty anyway. I turned to lock the door behind me with a smile on my face because I knew I had made it just fine. I lifted my skirt, pulled down my panties, and began to pee....ahh so much better.. Shit. My eyes snapped open at the feel of wetness around me and my body automatically stopped the stream. Wait, was that real or was that all in my dream? I sleepily and timidly lifted my blanket to clearly reveal I had absolutely wet the bed. My panties were soaked, my sheets were soaked beneath me, my blanket was damp, the hem of my shirt was a bit damp as well. My heart was pounding from being so abruptly startled out of a dream and I squinted over at my alarm clock, the red letters reading 3:30am, great. And I sill had to pee pretty badly because apparently I had emptied only half my bladder. I knew I couldn’t keep my stream stopped for too long so I jumped out of bed to run to the bathroom across the hall. The ceiling fan making me shiver from the wetness around me. I practically kicked open the door and yanked my wet panties down to the floor where they made a damp fabric sound on the ice cold tile. I didn’t even sit down all the way when my body gave out and continued my stream. I audibly sighed, it felt so good. All the built up pressure finally leaving me. It felt like my bladder was empting itself forever but of course it ended up stopping eventually. “Time to see the damage I did” I thought as I stood back up. I automatically pulled up my underwear without even thinking and by now they were FREEZING. I shivered again at the feeling. I glanced up in front of me at the full length bathroom mirror and pouted at what I saw. Me standing there with hard nipples poking through my shirt from the cold and totally soaked pink lacy cotton panties. I decided to leave them on while I washed my hands and checked on my sheets. I got back to my bedroom, flipped on the light switch and walked over to my bed. Fuck. The puddle was bigger than I thought it would be and it had spread out considerably. My blanket wasn’t too bad but definitely had gotten wet. I quickly stripped my sheets and walked downstairs. The wetness from my lower half was rubbing me the wrong way, but it felt exhilarating being out in the open totally wet with no way to hide myself. Laundry was started and I jogged back up to my upstairs bathroom with the intention of jumping in the shower but I decided to hold off. While this wetting was totally unplanned I still prefer punishments to come after accidents. So I sat in my bathtub with my freezing cold soaked lacy panties and shamefully did kegel exercises for the entire length of my laundry cycle. Thankfully I was alone in the house and I didn’t have to sneak my bed wetting sheets past anyone but I still felt utterly humiliated. I mean, I’m an adult not a little girl who has to wear pull-ups to bed. I should be able to control my bladder, not keep having accidents. Oh well, at least I get to share this experience with you guys. :-)
  14. Sapphire3619

    The Gala

    I promised male-male, and here it is! This is one of at least a half-dozen story ideas that I came up with over the past few weeks. I had another one that I was *sure* I was going to write next, but then literally yesterday, I saw the word "woodcarver," and here we are. (Note to self: it's probably not the best use of mental powers to turn any word into an omo-based story!) *** “Here, darling.” Caroline Docell reached over to straighten her son’s bow tie. Charlie smiled half-heartedly in response, and his mom titled her head sympathetically. “I know, honey,” she assured him. “These thing get exhausting. But it’s good to get to know people, and it’s important for your dad. Besides,“ Caroline continued over Charlie’s resigned sigh, “The Fawcetts have two sons around your age, and I’m sure they’ll be there!” Nodding his assent – or at least his desire not to argue – Charlie leaned back against the car seat. Of course he understood the importance of attending these ridiculous galas, these bastions of ostentation. His father’s job as a professional fundraiser depended heavily on knowing “the right people” and “being seen in good circles.” And part of being seen meant showing off his shiny, photogenic family. Marty Docell did make an effort to use his kids judiciously, and it’s not like children were invited to many fêtes or fancy dinners, anyway, but as an 18-year-old senior in high school, Charlie was at a stage where he was fairly discomfited by the preening and pretension. Black-tie dress code, high-ceilinged rooms, vapid conversation…Even the promise of peers (well, people his age, at least) wasn’t particularly enticing. Yes, Charlie had met some good friends and had some valuable commiseration sessions with fellow teens at these type of events throughout the years, but he was just as likely, if not more so, to meet kids who were clearly trying to prove that they belonged in the glitz and glamour – kids whose default posture seemed to require keeping their noses in the air and who followed up initial introductions with overtly esoteric questions about a certain United Nations activity or the economic fluctuations in Laos. Charlie nearly shuddered at the thought. His dad had told him about the Fawcett’s two sons – Wendell and Harrington, names that didn’t exactly inspire confidence in their potential sociability. They were both a bit older than Charlie, a junior and sophomore, respectively, at Georgetown University. Normally, having the chance to talk to two students at Charlie’s dream college would be exciting, but as the sons of one of the wealthiest families in Washington, D.C., there was absolutely no guarantee that they’d gotten in on their own merit. “Ready, team?” Marty gestured out the window as their driver pulled up a tree-lined driveway. Charlie’s heart sank. The mega-mansion that rose up over the hill dashed any hopes he’d allowed himself that this party might not be that bad, that maybe the people would be relatively down-to-earth. Instead, the stone-and-pillar monstrosity said, in no uncertain terms, that this was going to be a gala gala, a proper, high-class function packed with people whose only goal in conversation was to make themselves look good. Both Marty and Caroline looked apologetically at their son, but Charlie just straightened his spine and rolled his head back and forth like a boxer loosening up before a round. He’d done this before, and he could do it again tonight. It would only be a few hours, after all. Smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his tuxedo, Charlie unfolded from the car. The evening wasn’t cold, thankfully, so they had no coats to hand to the event staff. Mr. and Mrs. Fawcett were waiting to greet their line of guests in the entryway. Charlie had a brief vision of a royal court announcer, the kind that would bang a staff on the ground to get the room’s attention before loudly calling the names of all entrants. Charlie smothered a giggle as his parents stepped up to be introduced. “Of course!” Mr. Fawcett bellowed, pumping Marty’s hand enthusiastically. “Wonderful to have you, Martin! I heard about the wonderful work you did for the new psych center out in Arlington.” Marty smiled back, just as earnest. “My wife, Caroline,” he gestured, knowing that introduction lines weren’t the place for long conversations, “and my son, Charles.” “Good to have you, welcome, welcome!” Mr. Fawcett beamed as Charlie and Caroline shook the hands of their hosts. “My sons are around here somewhere…” Mr. Fawcett did a quick scan of the room, a task greatly aided by his towering height. “There’s Delly, over there talking to Ambassador Strom-“ Charlie followed Mr. Fawcett’s eyeline to a young man who could only be described as “strapping,” laughing heartily next to a silver-haired gentleman. “-and Harrington…” Mr. Fawcett trailed off, apparently not seeing his younger son, but recovered quickly. “Well, do enjoy, have some hors d’oeuvres, mingle! I think you’ll find, Marty, that there are some very good people here tonight who would appreciate someone honest to guide them to where their money would be best put to use!” Charlie couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at this seemingly honest assessment, but Marty just smiled and nodded appreciatively, leading his family into the fray. A member of waitstaff appeared out of nowhere, offering bite-sized morsels that probably had very fancy names, while another nameless server offered slim glasses of champagne to the family. Marty glanced at Charlie, silently assenting, should his son want a glass, but Charlie gave his head a little shake. He didn’t particularly like champagne (even, he imagined, obscenely expensive champagne), and he didn’t think alcohol was going to benefit him tonight. It took a few more minutes for another staff member to appear with a tray of water glasses. “Still or sparkling, sir?” “Still, please.” Charlie sipped on his newly-obtained water and looked around the room. Wendell Fawcett (“Delly,” apparently) had moved on from the ambassador, but was putting on a similar performance with a small group of bejeweled women. Charlie had seen enough to decide that he really had no desire to meet Wendell, at least not tonight. Even if he was a decent guy, the elder Fawcett son was clearly in his element schmoozing with Washington society; he wouldn’t be of much social help to Charlie. Seeing no other guests within a solid 20 years of his age (so much for that younger Fawcett), Charlie stuck with his usual game plan of sticking close to his parents, nibbling on the proffered food, and politely responding to the repetitive questions the other adults directed his way. The gala was among the biggest that Charlie could ever remember attending. The house itself was gigantic, and it seemed like the entire first floor was filled with people. The ballroom was teeming with formally-dressed elite, but there were also hundreds of guests throughout the library, the study, the living room…Charlie lot track of the layout of the house as his father wound his way through the crowd, cheerfully talking with potential donors. After about two hours, Charlie found himself shifting from foot to foot. The tedium of the evening was getting to him, but Marty was on a roll. Mr. Fawcett had been right – people were eager to speak to Charlie’s dad and hear about the various projects his company was fundraising for. Absentmindedly, Charlie pulled at his collar. The house climate was well-controlled, but being around hundreds of people for so long was making the air feel thick to Charlie. Like the waitstaff from earlier, Mr. Fawcett was suddenly at Charlie’s elbow, a fascinating feat for such an imposing man. “You know-” Mr. Fawcett leaned down conspiratorially. “-the air is probably a bit cooler down the basement.” Charlie looked up the host, choking down a yawn. “Sir?” Mr. Fawcett beamed. “You’ve hung in there for quite a while, kid, but it looks like your parents will be busy for quite a bit longer. If you head to the back of the house, past the hallway bathroom, there’s a door that’ll take you downstairs. There’s a game room, a TV room…hell, you can hang out on one of the couches and take a nap!” Charlie’s yawn morphed into an awed sigh. In the back of his mind, he knew that he should politely decline – even at the legal age of adulthood, going unsupervised into an otherwise off-limits area of a host’s home wasn’t exactly peak etiquette – but he desperately wanted a break. Maybe even that suggested nap. Charlie glanced toward his mom, but Caroline was already nodding her approval. Charlie turned back to Mr. Fawcett, eyes wide with gratitude. “Thank you so much, Mr. Fawcett. I really appreciate it.” The genial man clapped Charlie on the back, then pointed him in the direction he had indicated earlier. Charlie didn’t hesitate; he was so ready to not be surrounded by rich adults. He wound his way through the rooms and out to the hallway, which itself was still full of people. He saw a line of people waiting for the bathroom, so he slipped past them and opened the next door to find a well-lit stairway. Charlie shut the door behind him and took a deep breath. The air already felt less close, and the noise of the gala faded with every step. The sudden lack of overwhelming chatter made Charlie feel like he’d stepped into another world. At the bottom of the stairs, he was deposited in a large game room. He walked past two pool tables, a foosball table, and a giant collection of video game consoles. Past the game room was a gym that could’ve easily fit in a swanky hotel, with more cardio machines and weight racks than the family could possibly use. Down the hall from the gym, Charlie found the library and the TV room. He wasn’t quite sure he wanted to figure out the massive home theater setup, but before he could figure out what to do (that nap was still a possibility), he heard a small noise coming from the other side of the room. There was another door, partially open, on the far wall of the TV room. At first, Charlie assumed it was some sort of pet or other animal. The noises sounded distressed, though quiet. Slowly, Charlie made his way across the room. “Hello?” He pushed the door open to find a small workshop of sorts. There was a tall table in the middle of the room, covered in raw pieces of wood, as well as intricate carvings in various stages of completion. The floor was littered with shavings. And in the corner of the room, perched on a stool, was a young man. Charlie froze. “Oh, I’m-“ But he cut himself off as the took in more details of the scene. The young man was tall, but hunched over. He was twitching and making soft, irregular whining noises, as if he couldn’t stop himself. His hands, however, were working diligently and skillfully, whittling away with a sharp knife at a small block of wood. He was still in formal dress, but he bow tie was completely undone, the strip of cloth just hanging around his neck, his shirt was untucked, and his jacket was long gone. For a moment, Charlie stood, transfixed by the sight of curls of wood falling from the young man’s hands. The movements were mesmerizing, and Charlie’s mouth hung open slightly. In the next instant, however, Charlie was drawn back by the whimpering. The young man, who could only be Harrington Fawcett, was clearly in distress. “Ah-“ Charlie snapped his mouth shut, unsure of what to say. He was intruding in Harrington’s house, after all. “Are…are you OK, man?” Harrington’s shoulder jerked forward, so Charlie could only assume that he’d heard him, but the young man – boy? – didn’t respond. Charlie frowned. No one had said anything about the younger Fawcett having a disability of some sort, but Harrington wasn’t talking and wasn’t acting in any way that fell within the bounds of typical social interaction. “I…” Charlie was increasingly unnerved. “Hey, I don’t want to bug you, but…” Harrington sniffed, and Charlie saw a tear slip down his cheek. His shaking was even more pronounced, to the point where Charlie was surprised he managed to stay on the stool, but his hands never stopped whittling away at the block of wood. Thoroughly unprepared for this situation, Charlie tried again. “Look, man, can I get someone for you?” Harrington sniffed again, but shook his head vigorously. Charlie let out a slow breath; at least the boy could hear him. “Okaaaaay…” Charlie whispered to himself. He raised his voice to speak to Harrington “Then can I-“ Charlie stopped himself again as he saw Harrington’s knife-holding hand slip off the block of wood, an uncharacteristic break in the previously-controlled movements. Charlie’s eyebrows drew together with concern. Harrington curled his shoulders forward, and tears started to pour down his face. His body shook with silent sobs. Just as Charlie was about to open his mouth to insist on getting someone to help, he heard another odd sound. A liquid, trickling sort of sound. Charlie didn’t even have time to mentally question the noise before he saw the source – a dark, growing stain down Harrington’s left leg, ultimately dripping off the cuff of his tuxedo pants, creating a puddle on the concrete floor. Blinking in confusion, Charlie glanced up from where his gaze had followed the wet trail down to the floor, and he saw that Harrington had resumed his carving, his hands making quick, frenetic movements, tears still coursing down both of his cheeks. It felt weird and intrusive to watch a college student – a presumably sober one, at that – have an accident, but Charlie figured that leaving or turning around would be even weirder. He settled for looking awkwardly down and to the side. Not that Harrington was looking in his direction, anyway. After several long seconds, the trickling sound stopped, though Charlie could still hear Harrington’s suppressed cries and the sound of the knife working away at the wooden block. Cautiously, Charlie raised his eyes. The scene in front of him was much like it was when he’d first walked through the door – a trembling young man, sitting on a stool, whittling a piece of wood. Only now, there were wet streaks down his face and his pants, and a puddle of urine beneath the stool. Charlie drew in a deep breath. “Harrington?” he said hesitantly. “Do you…can I…” He held his hand out, then dropped it to his side. What do you say to a total stranger who just peed his pants in front of you? Facts, Charlie thought. Stick to the facts. “You can’t just stay like that, dude,” Charlie said gently. “You have to get cleaned up.” Harrington twitched, which Charlie took as another sign of acknowledgement, but didn’t move to get off the stool. Charlie forged on. “Can you go upstairs and change?” Tensing all over, Harrington shook his head emphatically, a tight, nervous refusal. “Okay.” Charlie nodded reassuringly. He didn’t understand the man’s reasons, of course, but he was starting to get a picture of Harrington’s behavior. The young man desperately didn’t want to be upstairs in the crowd. Fine. Charlie could deal with that. “Do you have any other clothes down here?” Charlie asked hopefully – maybe a laundry room or something? Harrington shook his head, more slowly this time, almost sadly. His tears had slowed but not stopped, and he looked miserable. Charlie was formulating a plan. It wasn’t a very good one, and he wasn’t sure it would work, but the alternative at this point was leaving Harrington alone, which, in Charlie’s mind, wasn’t an option. “Okay, so you can’t go upstairs, and you don’t have any extra clothes down here,” Charlie narrated. Harrington kept carving. “Then I’m going to go upstairs,” Charlie declared. He saw Harrington’s hands pause for just a second, but the young man still didn’t say anything. “I’ll find your room and get you some clean clothes,” Charlie continued. “No one at the party really knows me, so I won’t draw much attention. You can stay here. No one has to know.” Harrington’s lower lip trembled, but he didn’t offer any overt dissent of Charlie’s plan. Not quite used to Harrington’s silence – he’d only “known” the guy for about five minutes – Charlie nodded. “I’ll…be back soon.” Making his way back across the extensive basement, Charlie ran his fingers through his hair, dazed at this turn of events. Somehow, he had to sneak up two floors in a giant, unfamiliar house, find the bedroom of a man who he still hadn’t technically confirmed was Harrington Fawcett, grab some clean clothes, and sneak back downstairs, without being seen, or at least without being stopped. He’d started the night thinking he’d spend the whole time making inane small talk with rich, old people, and now, he was on a self-imposed quest for a rich, young person who had wet himself in his own house. Weird. Charlie paused at the top of the stairs to make sure his tuxedo was still presentable, knowing that any signs of dishevelment would only draw attention. He slipped out the door into the still-crowded hallway, not making any eye contact. He knew that there was a grand staircase in the entryway, but Charlie also figured there would be some sort of back set of stairs. Relying on nothing more than educated guesses, he made his way toward the back of the house. There were still plenty of people, but the crowd thinned a bit as Charlie approached the kitchen. He stuck his head through the doorway and nearly gasped with relief when he saw a set of stairs going up in the fair corner. Charlie didn’t hesitate as he strode across the room. There were a few catering staff, but Charlie correctly assumed that they were all hired from an external company and had no real interest in policing the boundaries of the party. Up the stairs, Charlie found himself in a long hallway. The doors were all shut, but it was quiet; Charlie could only hope the lack of noise meant a total lack of people. Seeing no other option, Charlie tried one door at a time, pausing to listen before he opened each one. The first six doors seemed to be four guest bedrooms – well-decorated, but no personal touches – with guest bathrooms between each pair. The next rooms were an office of some sort and another TV room. Charlie closed his eyes in frustration after shutting the door of the TV room. Who really needed all these rooms, anyway? Whatever happened to the upstairs just being bedrooms? He turned the corner at the end of the hallway and continued trying doors. A bathroom, then a bedroom that Charlie gazed around a bit before deciding it must be Wendell’s. It was larger than any of the guest rooms, but the collection of politically-based books on the bookshelf looked like they belonged to the young man who was easily hobnobbing in the party, not to his younger brother who was hiding in the basement. With a sigh, Charlie closed the bedroom door and tried the one across the hall. Bingo. Harrington’s room was covered in models and wood carvings. It was slightly messier than Wendell’s room, but not a disaster by any means. It just looked like more of a haven, a place that was Harrington’s own in the midst of the carefully-curated mansion. Charlie leaned over the windowsill for a moment, admiring the carvings lined up there. Harrington really was talented. Still, Charlie wasn’t here to snoop; he had a job. Charlie quickly rifled through the wardrobe, settling on a pair of plaid pajama pants. He grabbed a pair of underwear from the top drawer, marveling briefly at the continued oddity of the situation, then folded his stash under his tuxedo jacket and headed back downstairs. Maintaining his practice of not looking anyone in the eye, Charlie strode across the kitchen and back to the hallway with the basement door. He didn’t see anyone he knew (which really, only consisted of his parents and the Fawcetts), and none of the other guests seemed to care about the shifty teenager winding through their midst. Breathing a sigh of relief, Charlie shut the basement door behind him and bound down the stairs. His part of the mission was essentially done. He made his way across the basement, pausing at the kitchenette in the theater room. On a whim, he grabbed some paper towels and ran them under some water in the sink. He hadn’t thought to grab soap or a washcloth upstairs, but he figured Harrington should probably clean up a bit before putting on dry clothes. Back in the wood shop, Harrington hadn’t moved, although, Charlie had to admit, he did look calmer. He’d stopped crying, and his breathing was more even. He was still working on his carving, but his hands looked less tense. “Here.” Charlie pulled the pants and underwear out from under his jacket and set them on the edge of the table along with the damp paper towels. “I’ll…” Charlie knew he really couldn’t do anything else – lead a horse to water and all that – but he didn’t want to just leave Harrington alone completely. “I’ll be in the theater room if you need anything else.” True to his word, Charlie settled in one of the corners of the huge sectional couch. He still didn’t want to mess with the TV, so he just pulled out his phone. It didn’t take quite as long as Charlie implicitly expected – maybe 15 minutes or so – for Harrington to emerge. Really, Charlie hadn’t been sure that the boy would leave the workshop at all. But leave he did, in just a white t-shirt and the pajama pants that Charlie had collected. His hair was mussed, and his eyes were puffy, but he didn’t look nearly as anguished as he had when Charlie first encountered him. Charlie glanced up, but didn’t move from the couch. He had no precedent for this situation, and he didn’t want to do anything to make Harrington more uncomfortable. The younger Fawcett son sat in the opposite corner of the couch, curling his long legs in front of him. For a couple more minutes, he stayed silent, and Charlie went back to scrolling through his phone. “Thank you.” Charlie nearly jumped. Harrington’s voice was quiet, but much deeper than Charlie had expected. He looked up. Harrington was worrying the hem of his shirt between his fingers, head down. “No worries, man,” Charlie replied, sincerely. “Like I said, I didn’t mean to barge in on you like that.” Harrington was quiet for a few more moments. Charlie wanted to stare at him, to try to figure out exactly what was going on with this otherwise privileged young man. But he just went back to his phone, barely paying attention to the images on the screen. “The parties are really hard for me.” Charlie looked up again. Harrington still wasn’t looking at him, but he breathed in deliberately, as if he was going to keep talking. “I…” Harrington wound the hem of his shirt around his thumb. “Even when I was little, I didn’t like them. The noise and the closeness…I used to put my hands over my ears and cry.” Slowly, so as not to make any noise that might interrupt his companion’s story, Charlie slid his phone back in his pocket. “My parents were always really good about it,” Harrington continued. “They wanted me to be there, obviously, but they understood that it was hard. It wasn’t just parties, but the events were the worst. They took me to therapy. It never seemed to bother them that I needed a shrink.” “…wonderful work you did for the new psych center…” Charlie recalled Mr. Fawcett’s introductory praise for Marty, which suddenly made a lot more sense. “I want to be good at it,” Harrington sighed. “But the whole gala experience makes me feel awful. My head hurts and my stomach feels weird and I want to claw my skin off. So my parents made me a deal, years ago: I would make an appearance, get dressed up, and then I could sneak off and hide.” By this time, Charlie had turned so that his whole body was facing Harrington. “I don’t-“ Harrington’s voice caught, and he took a breath to compose himself. “Tonight was really bad. They’re not usually this hard, but there were so many people, and they all wanted to talk to me, and Senator Smallwood kept giving me champagne, and his wife kept touching my arm…” Harrington trailed off, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, and Charlie felt a deep hatred for this couple he’d never met. “I left as soon as I could,” Harrington went on, his voice wet. “I came down here because the woodwork usually calms me down, doing something with my hands, but-“ He choked up again, and Charlie wanted to tell him that it was OK, he really didn’t need an explanation, but his own voice betrayed him. “There’s no bathroom down here,” Harrington explained, a quirk that Charlie had noticed. “It’s weird, but it’s usually not a problem, because there’s one right at the top of the stairs, but-“ A single tear slid down Harrington’s cheek, a relic of the anxiety and humiliation of the evening. “I couldn’t make myself go back upstairs, and then it got worse, and then I really couldn’t go upstairs, because someone would see me having to pee, and I just…” “It’s okay, man,” Charlie insisted earnestly, finally finding his voice. “No one saw, no one has to know.” Harrington finally looked up, blinking tears out of his shining eyes. “I just…I just wanted to thank you. I wanted you to know that I don’t just…” Harrington hung his head again. “…tonight was really bad,” he finished softly. Sensing that the story was over, Charlie wanted to give the young man a hug. Or deliver him to his mom for a hug. Something. But they were still strangers, and Charlie had heard enough to realize that human touch may not be super comforting to Harrington, so he settled for verbal reassurance. “It’s really fine,” he assured the ashamed young man sitting across from him. “It’s no big deal, and I promise, I won’t tell anyone.” Charlie offered a hesitant smile. “I was coming down here to escape, too. I was super grateful your dad suggested it.” Harrington looked up again, smiling weakly in return. “He’s a good guy,” he said, and Charlie could see how much the young man truly loved his father. “He probably wanted you to check on me.” Charlie shrugged ruefully. In all honestly, he would have done a lot more than what the past half hour had encompassed in order to escape the gala. “I’m glad I could help.” He sat up a bit straighter, realizing a gaping hole in the conversation. “I’m Charlie, by the way. Charlie Docell.” Harrington’s eyes widened at the social oversight. “Oh! I’m-“ “Harrington Fawcett,” Charlie interrupted, grinning. “I figured that much.” Harrington dipped his head slightly and reached for the remote to turn on the TV. “It’s nice to meet you Charlie. It’s nice to have someone to wait out the rest of the party with.” He flipped something in Charlie's direction, and Charlie's hand closed reflexively around a small, wooden figure - the carving Harrington had been working on. It was an owl, covered in intricate feathers, so detailed that Charlie felt guilty just holding it. "Wow," he breathed. "This is awesome, man." Harrington shrugged off the compliment, but smiled nonetheless. He turned on the TV, signaling an end to his introductory confessional. “And you can call me Harry.”
  15. Story Notes: The Chun-Li in this story is based off her classic costume as seen in this gallery. A tight blue spandex qipao with a matching blue leotard and shiny bronze tights underneath. This is my first story. Please go easy on me :) Feedback and reviews are welcome. Chapter Notes: Prologue for the "Soiled Pride" storyline. Chun-Li is at Interpol HQ and discovers that her trusted friend and ally Cammy has been captured and broken. Warning: This chapter has graphic description of urinary and bowel incontinence along with violent combat, humiliation and vomiting. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. PROLOGUE: BEAUTY AND ARROGANCE Chun-Li opened the door and walked out of the Interpol training gym. Behind her were three of her sparring partners, all of which were bruised and exhausted from the recent session. Chun-Li on the other hand hadn't even broken a sweat. She was on her way to the director's office after receiving a summons.Chun-Li stepped out of the elevator after reaching the 7th floor and begun walking down the hallway. Many of the Interpol staff turned their heads to stare at her as she walked by. Chun-Li was wearing her iconic costume, a form fitting blue spandex qipao with gold accents and white belt over a matching blue leotard and shiny copper tights. The outfit was accessorized by large spiked wrist cuffs, white lace boxing boots and a pair of silk bun covers fastened over her hair.Her costume was a stark contrast to the formal business attire that everyone else on the floor was wearing. Many of the male staff could not resist getting a glance at the woman's magnificent thighs encased in her spandex tights. As she walked her skirt would flow elegantly and every so often would offer a brief view of the tight blue leotard that she wore underneath.As Chun-Li approached the director's office she noticed one of the male agents staring at her like he had never seen a woman before. His mouth was open and practically drooling. A female colleague had to elbow him in the ribs to get his attention about some paperwork. Chun-Li gave off a little smirk as she felt good knowing she was both strong and gorgeous. She knew her costume would turn a lot of heads, but she didn't care. Wearing the costume always filled her with confidence."Please step inside. The director has been waiting for you." Said the director's secretary.Chun-Li stepped inside the director's office and closed the door behind her. The director was sitting behind his desk with a disturbed look on his face.What is the matter director? Your message was labeled urgent.You'll want to sit down for this Chun-Li. She did as he asked.You recall that we've received no communication from Cammy for some time now. We had suspected that this was because she was under deep cover. Unfortunately it appears that she's failed her mission and has been captured. Chun-Li gasped. How do you know this?We received a ransom video and it was addressed to you directly.The director swivelled his laptop towards Chun-Li and pressed a button to play a video.The video begins with a black screen. A light suddenly turns on and in center frame is Cammy. The blonde fighter is bound with her arms behind her back and her ass stuck in the air. She looked as though she'd been tortured in that position for days. There were streaks of tears and mascara running down her face and her bright green leotard had been stained with dirt, sweat and numerous streaks of urine running down from her crotch. Cammy was struggling in her bonds drooling from the ball gag in her mouth.The video ran for a short while until a red hooded figure stepped into frame. The figure was obviously female from the structure of her frame, however her face was shrouded in darkness under her hood. The red figure pulled out a leather riding crop and began whipping Cammy on the ass. Cammy shrieked in pain and began screaming like a child. After a few hits, Cammy's eyes widened and tears began streaming down her face. Then suddenly, following a loud gurgling sound, Cammy violently released her bowels into her leotard and flesh colored camouflaged tights. What initially began as a small brown stained bulge quickly expanded. The thin thong strap of Cammy's leotard bottoms were no match for the massive torrent of paste expelling from her anus. The thick excrement spewed between the thong strap and leaked down her legs. This continued for several minutes as it appeared that Cammy had a massive load brewing in her bowels for quite some time.Chun-Li was horrified. She covered her mouth in terror and continued watching the video.Cammy unrelenting stream of shit torrented into her costume until it eventually came quit halt. The red hooded figure pulled out what appeared to be a tazer and proceeded to zap Cammy in the chest. Cammy convulsed violently, screaming from under her ball gag and then suddenly went limp. A strong stream of urine began to leak out of the broken fighter, further soiling her ruined costume and cascading down her camouflaged tights. Cammy had stopped moving with the exception of the occasional twitch from the leftover electric shock. She was a complete mess and horrible sight to behold. Her once beautiful fighting costume was now acting like a soiled diaper holding in the heroine's shameful excrement. Chun-Li was at a loss for words after seeing her trusted friend and ally like that.The red hooded figure stepped closer to the camera and begun to speak.It looks like your heroic agent has soiled herself. She should have known that wearing such a costume would only add to her humiliation.It's quite sad that she broke quite easily. Begging for her life in fact. If you want her back alive then you'll follow my orders to the letter. I wish to challenge your top agent, the self proclaimed strongest woman in the world. The one known as Chun-Li. She will meet me in Thailand alone. There we will battle each other face to face to determine who is really the strongest. Do as I say, I'll let this shit-stained whore live.The video suddenly ended with a screen displaying the GPS location of a street corner in Thailand. Chun-Li turned towards the director with an angry determined look. Director, let me go to Thailand. I'll defeat anyone that challenges me and I will rescue Cammy. I'll do it for Interpol and for the pride of China. Whoever this hooded figure is, she doesn't stand a chance against the strongest woman in the world! End of Prologue
  16. Sapphire3619

    Chasing Courtney

    OK, I promised that my next story would involve male-male comfort, but I lied. I'm sorry 😕 This was a request from granger Danger, so I thought I'd throw something together. I do have other ideas though, so I hope to get something else out before summer ends! *** Chase Richards flipped his head back, running his fingers through his thick, russet hair. It wasn’t so much a calculated move as a habit he’d developed after learning that his friends (peers? Cronies?) seemed to interpret the gesture in whatever way they thought best. It kept him from having to say too much. Chase wasn’t very good with words. Luckily for Chase, he didn’t often need words. He had the height, build, and looks that gave him a golden ticket to the good graces of others. Most teachers - and certainly most of his classmates – never pressed him on much of anything. Not schoolwork, not his behavior, and not whether he really deserved the level of popularity he enjoyed as a senior in high school. Chase didn’t think about his unearned popularity too much. At 18, he had a set of mannerisms that served him well – introspection wasn’t required. So when emotions or challenges presented themselves, he didn’t have a whole lot of practice reacting. And Chase’s reactions tended towards nastiness. It wasn’t that he was mean. He certainly didn’t intend to be mean. It was more that he’d never really gotten the hang of social humor or teasing, so when he tried to joke, it came out jerk. He didn’t mean it. He just…didn’t know what else to do. Like today. Chase really didn’t know what had gone wrong. Well, he did know, if he bothered to think about it. It was actually fairly straightforward, and it started and ended with Courtney Montell. Courtney was a junior – only a junior, Chase tried to remind himself – but she was captivating. She was confident and articulate, and Chase was entranced. Courtney was the student council treasurer, and with Homecoming approaching, she’d been spending a lot of time working with the senior class members of the council, including Chase’s friend Marco. Chase hadn’t thought twice about Marco. He was the student council president, so it was natural that Courtney would be around him a lot. He hadn’t thought about it much, but Chase had implicitly assumed that Courtney’s relationship with Marco was all business. Besides, Chase wasn’t one to consider the possibility that another guy could be with a girl he himself had already mentally claimed. So really, it was just that Chase had been caught off guard after lunch when he’d turned a corner in the hallway and seen Courtney kissing Marco. Chase’s jaw slackened and his head felt fuzzy, seeing the girl he liked making out with one of his best friends. Before Chase had time to process anything, Marco had broken off the kiss and turned down another hallway, winking at Courtney as he left. Courtney spun around, grinning to herself, and came face to face with a stunned Chase (who, it turned out, had been standing much closer to the couple than he’d realized). Courtney blinked once before composing herself. “Can I help you?” “If you’re gonna be kissing guys in hallways, I’ll take one.” Chase could feel the sneer creep onto his face but had no control over the curl of his lip. Courtney didn’t even bother to roll her eyes, further irritating Chase with her lack of response. She took a step forward, but he rammed his hand against the wall in front of her, blocking her with his arm. Still, Courtney didn’t flinch, though her heart rate sped up. No matter how much she believed that Chase was all bluster, being physically blocked by a 6’3”, 225-pound man was never going to be a comfortable situation. “Move, Chase.” Chase’s stomach fluttered. He knew the situation wasn’t going well, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Why? You weren’t in any hurry a minute ago,” he said, his voice dangerously approaching a growl. “That’s how time works, asshole,” Courtney snapped. Her eyes glittered with challenge, but she was trying to keep her voice from shaking. Chase barely heard her. He wanted Courtney, and somehow, in his socially underdeveloped mind, he was convinced that he could still have her, if she would just… “Come on, Court,” he rumbled, circling his other arm around her until she was backed up against the wall. “There’s no one here-“ “Stop!” Courtney shrieked, slapping Chase squarely across the cheek. “Mr. Richards! Miss Montell!” Mrs. Harker, the physics teacher, strode down from the other end of the hallway. “Back away from each other now!” she ordered. Chase took two giant steps backwards, his arms dropping limply by his sides. His cheek stung, but he barely felt it through the utter daze of the past minute. Courtney was fuming. “Mrs. Harker, he-“ “Detention for both of you,” Mrs. Harker interrupted sharply. “We have zero tolerance for physical violence at this school.” Courtney opened her mouth to argue, but Mrs. Harker cut her off. “I’m sorry, Miss Montell,” she said, more gently. “Detention is the consequence for violence, no matter what the context.” Mrs. Harker turned back to look at Chase. “3:15, both of you. Mr. Green will be supervising detention this afternoon in room 113. No excuses.” Glaring once more at Chase, Courtney strode away. The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch period, and the hallway filled with students, none of whom had the slightest idea what had just happened. Which more or less covers all of the important events that led to the current situation – Chase Richards, instead of taking out his car keys to drive home, was sullenly dawdling in front of his locker, unconsciously delaying having to face Courtney again in detention. “Chase Richards!” Mr. Green, the new freshman English teacher and today’s detention supervisor, was the kind of first-year teacher who chose to be overly strict to counteract his youth and assert his authority over the students. “Room 113, now!” Chase pulled his backpack from his locker and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m just gonna-“ Mr. Green cut him off with a glare. “No, you’re not ‘just gonna’,” he said derisively. “You have detention, and you are subject to the same rules as everyone else.” The teacher glared at Chase, not quite achieving the level of command that he wanted. “No matter what most of the other teachers here might thing,” he added sharply. Chase’s eyebrows knit in bemusement. He knew Green was a hardass, but it was just detention, and it wasn’t like Chase was trying to get out of it – he just wanted to go to the bathroom. Chase always went to the bathroom right after school, before going out to his car. It was just another one of his habits. It wasn’t that he had to go really bad or anything, but being denied the access made him realize just how full his bladder was. All of these thoughts proceeded rather slowly through Chase’s head, and by the time it occurred to him to ask Mr. Green to use the restroom real quick, the teacher had already started walking down the hallway to the dedicated detention room. Chase took long strides to catch up, but by the time he did, Mr. Green had reached the door of Room 113. Chase followed him in and opened his mouth to ask for a quick trip to the bathroom but stopped short when he saw Courtney sitting in the desk closest to the door. Chase’s mouth snapped shut and his request died in his throat. He’d already screwed up with Courtney once today; he couldn’t bear to ask to us the restroom in front of her. Flustered and still full, Chase put his head down and slunk to the back of the room, taking the sat in the corner farthest from the door – and farthest from Courtney. The digital clocked flipped to 3:15 – apparently, no other students had been given detention that day. “No phones, no electronics,” ordered Mr. Green by way of a greeting. “You will be released at 4:15, not one second earlier. You don’t have to do homework if you don’t want to, but you may not talk.” Chase shifted in his seat. He’d never been given detention before. He supposed the rules made sense, but he really wasn’t sure he could wait for an hour, especially without his phone to distract him. Still, he managed for the first fifteen minutes. Sitting in the back of the room definitely helped – he didn’t have to worry about Courtney looking at him, and he could squirm a little to try to keep his bladder comfortable without having to worry about being seen. At 3:30, though, Chase heard the buzzing of a phone. To his surprise, Mr. Green picked up his phone off the desk and glanced at the screen. “Stay here,” Mr. Green ordered needlessly. He’d apparently determined that the call was worth taking and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. The instant the door clicked shut, Courtney whirled around, glaring at Chase. He twitched under the intensity of her gaze; he had only been looking in that direction because of Mr. Green, but now it looked like he’d been staring at Courtney. She didn’t seem to care about Chase looking at her, though. “This is your fault,” she hissed, keeping her voice quiet but bitter. Chase’s face went blank. He knew that his interaction with Courtney hadn’t gone well, but she seemed…really mad. “You’re disgusting,” Courtney continued, her voice venomous. “You think you can just take whatever you want and never have any consequences.” Chase tensed reflexively. People just didn’t yell at him like that… “It was a joke,” he insisted dumbly, his attempt at levity coming out decidedly petulant. Courtney scoffed. “No woman in the world thinks that shit is funny.” Chase got a funny feeling in his stomach, beyond the fullness of his bladder. It was weird hearing a high school student refer to herself as a woman, but as soon as she said it, it made sense. She was a woman, and Chase felt like a little kid in front of her. A little kid who had to pee. Courtney seemed to sense his quailing. “Are we still in kindergarten, Chase?” she mocked. “You don’t know how to act around girls that you like, so you’re mean to them to get their attention?” Chase flushed red so quickly, his face was like a buzzer on a game show, lighting up to signal Courtney’s correct answer. She felt her own skin warm in response – confronting unreciprocated affection was never enjoyable. “Honestly, Chase –“ She was no longer snapping, but her voice still wasn’t friendly. “- it’s the 21st century. You don’t get to treat people – women - like shit and expect them to just be OK with it.” Chase was keeping his head very deliberately down at this point, both in embarrassment and because he was trying to curl over the desk. He felt so full, he was having a hard time keeping himself from squirming. As much as he didn’t want to have this conversation with Courtney (it was more of a monologue than a conversation, anyway), he really didn’t want her looking at him when he had to pee. Not one to skillfully manage unpleasant emotions, Chase reflexively settled into anger. “I don’t,” he grumbled. Courtney’s eyebrows drew together, projecting more incredulity than she actually felt. “You can’t possibly have so little self-awareness,” she derided. “You really do have the social skills of a five-year-old.” Blushing even more deeply, Chase scowled down at the desk. Being called a child twice in quick succession made his plight all the more painful. He flicked his eyes up at the clock and almost whined. There were still 40 minutes left in detention, and the combination of his full bladder and Courtney’s accusations made that 4-minute barrier seem impossibly long. The sound of the door opening made Chase look up. “No talking,” snapped Mr. Green before ducking back out into the hallway, phone still at his ear. Courtney had turned forward as soon as the door opened, but she threw another glare back at Chase before returning to her homework. Chase nearly sighed in relief. The deliberate lack of squirming over the past few minutes had heightened his need, and he had to thrust a hand between his legs to ease the desperation. He writhed and gripped for a few seconds to make himself feel better. A quick glance up at Courtney showed that she was diligently bent over her homework, paying him no mind. Exhaling slowly, Chase released he hand. The immediacy of the last surge had abated, but his heart was still beating hard. For a second, he thought of getting up and going to the bathroom, but that idea didn’t last long. For one, Mr. Green would almost certainly yell at him as soon as he stepped in the hallway. And he didn’t want to give Courtney another reason to scorn him. He’d just have to wait it out. Just over a half hour now, and as long as Courtney wasn’t looking at him, he could shift and wriggle freely. For the next 15 minutes or so, Chase did just that. He even crossed his long legs, which he hated doing, but the relief was too good to pass up. Unfortunately, even that tactic didn’t help for long. Chase’s body had been well trained to use the bathroom after school and being made to wait an hour to release and entire day’s worth of urine wasn’t something he was prepared for. Forced to physically hold himself again, Chase’s breathing became shallow. Unconsciously, he started shifting arrhythmically, twitching back and forth and kneading his dick between his legs. “Shh!” A sharp hiss from Courtney caught Chase off guard, and he felt a hot spurt of pee soak into his underwear. He looked up anxiously just in time to see Courtney turning back to her homework, a disgusted look on her face. Chase bit his lip to keep from whining audibly. He was clutching himself to the point of pain, but the dampness against his skin was breaking down his already-weak defenses. He remained curled over the desktop, tensing seemingly every single muscle in his body, trying to keep himself from having an accident through brute force. He couldn’t move to look at the clock, which was probably a good thing, because the clock would’ve told him that there were still 10 minutes left. And Chase didn’t have 10 minutes. Chase didn’t have 10 seconds. A painful surge rippled through Chase’s lower body, and a strong stream burst out of him, soaking right through his boxers and into his jeans. Chase grunted unwillingly, but his muscles were worn out and ill-prepared for such consistent tensing. Futilely, Chase kept his hand between his legs, but it was all over. He was wetting himself. Time seemed to slow down and speed up simultaneously, and Chase, if he’d been able to think or feel at all, would’ve felt like he was in a dream. The sensation of peeing into his jeans, while sitting at a desk, in a classroom, was so utterly foreign that the entire situation felt surreal to the point of unbelievability. Chase’s chest heaved with uneven breaths. Piss pooled briefly on the desk seat under him before spilling onto the floor. In the front of the classroom, Courtney was distracted by the unfamiliar sound. She whipped around to demand silence from Chase once again, but her face quickly melted from irritation into disbelief. Courtney was a smart girl, but it took her several seconds to puzzle together the scene in front of her. The sound she heard was the trickling of liquid from the seat of the desk onto the tile floor. Chase’s large body was hunched over the small desk; his shoulders rose and fell with deep, shaky breaths. A puddle was growing still growing across the floor underneath him. There was only one explanation for what she was seeing, but Courtney’s mind refused to accept the obvious. There was no way a senior in high school could be having an accident at school. Chase still didn’t look up. For once, he was completely unaware of Courtney, even as she cautiously stood and walked toward the back of the room. “Chase?” Chase jerked slightly, indicating that he heard her, but he kept his head forcefully down, as if he was trying to bore a hole into his sternum with his chin. Torn between pity and skepticism, Courtney lowered herself into the desk diagonally in front of Chase. She looked down to make her she wasn’t stepping in his puddle – it was big, but not quite spread in her direction. She looked back up at the cowering 18-year-old. The tension had melted out of his body, signaling that his accident was finished, but now, he was slumped so severely in his desk, Courtney wondered how he stayed in the desk at all. “Chase…” she repeated, not really knowing what she was trying to make happen. Awkward with words under the best of circumstances, Chase was rendered completely mute. His face remained down, and a single tear dripped off his cheek onto the desk. His throat strained with the effort of holding back actual sobs. They stayed in silence for a few minutes, Courtney unwilling to speak and Chase unable. The sound of the door opening shocked Courtney into turning around. Mr. Green was still on the phone, but he distractedly waved into the room. “You can go.” Courtney attempted a weak smile, but Mr. Green had already left, having not seen or not cared what had happened in the back of the classroom. Exhaling deeply, Courtney looked back at Chase, but he hadn’t moved. She straightened her shoulders. “Come on, Chase.” No response. “Mr. Green is gone. No one will see you.” Nothing. Courtney pressed her lips together. “Chase, come on. You can’t stay here forever.” Chase shifted uncomfortably, but still didn’t look up. God, thought Courtney. He really was a child, and she didn’t have a whole lot of patience for man-children. “What’s your plan, then? Just gonna stay here until morning? Or until the janitor gets here to clean up after you?” The last comment was a bit harsh, but Courtney wasn’t here to mother the boy who’d put her in detention in the first place. Instead of getting defensive, though, Chase raised his head slowly. His eyes were glazed with tears, and his face was completely guileless. Having an accident as a senior in high school was an objectively vulnerable situation to begin with, but Chase’s face underscored just how exposed he was. Sighing, Courtney dropped her shoulders. Yes, Chase was a child – he was self-centered and lacked self-awareness – but he was also clueless and seemingly unable to take care of himself in tough situations. Courtney mentally cursed all of the adults who had let Chase reach the age of 18 with so few life skills. She made a quick series of mental decisions. Chase had already dropped his gaze again, nervous and ashamed. “Get up, Chase,” Courtney ordered. “Grab your backpack. We’re leaving.” Chase looked up again, blinking in confusion. “You can’t stay here, and I don’t want to,” Courtney explained (even though this wasn’t really something that should require an explanation) “Get your keys, go home, and change.” Chase shuddered. Courtney’s words had drawn him back to reality, just enough to remind him that he was, in fact, 18 years old, and couldn’t just sit and wait for someone to take care of him like an infant. Even though he’d just peed his pants like one. He still couldn’t bear to look at Courtney for very long, but Chase slowly unfolded himself out of the desk. His jeans hung heavy between his legs, and he paused for a second, staring reluctantly at the puddle beneath the desk. “The janitor will clean it up,” Courtney promised, her voice softer than it had been all afternoon. “No one will know it was you.” In the great crush of emotions from the past hour, Chase had now settled on being disgusted with himself. He scowled as he grabbed his backpack, still keeping his gaze averted from Courtney as he trudged to the front of the room. Courtney, supposing that movement was better than nothing, followed. At the door, Chase stuck his head out in the hallway, checking to make sure no one was around to see the obvious evidence of his accident. Seeing that the coast was clear, he took a deep breath and prepared to head out to his car. Before he took a step, he hesitated. “Thank you,” he mumbled back over his shoulder, his voice gruff and strained. He didn’t wait for Courtney’s response. He couldn’t stand her revulsion or her pity, though he knew he deserved both. Later tonight, perhaps, he’d have time to actually think about the terrible events of the day – the hallway, detention, and actually peeing on himself in front of the girl he liked - and the truth behind Courtney’s chastisement. But for now, he just had to get home and take a shower.
  17. After a week of work, I have finished a complete animation involving wetting and hypnosis. The Animation is voiced (sub only), has sfx and Background Music. This is my first work fully using Photoshop for an Animation (there's a previous one, but I used mostly gimp, I am sure you will easily be able to find it on this board). Here's a quick summary pick to have a look at it before you download the whole thing. The vid contains a lot of inner resisting monologue as you can see and yes, it's all voiced in japanese. The commands given to Arisa (the sub) are of the caliber that makes her scream and beg to not do this to her, so expect that when you watch it. The original Art comes from Tokubetsu Jugyou 3SLG (the Eroge) released by Bishop and so does the voice of the sub, though the voicelines have been rearranged and modified. So without any further teasing, here is the vid: Arisa_hypnosys_final.mp4 If you are not able to download it or don't want to, you can watch it directly on dropbox as well: https://www.dropbox.com/s/vuy2scercwa2q1u/Arisa_hypnosys_final.mp4?dl=0 Please leave a lot of comments if you like it and if not, let me know too.
  18. View File Public Vibrator Wetting A number of Japanese women working in the service industry have remote controlled vibrators put in their panties and then proceed to have public 'accidents' while on the job. These are all followed by protracted sex scenes, so heads up. *Contains Censored Sex* Enjoy Rach Submitter rachelkirwan Submitted 08/07/2018 Category Public wetting Clothing  
  19. Sapphire3619

    Male The Spirit of Christmas

    Happy holidays! I came up with a vaguely Christmas-related story; it is cheesy and corny and all other means of food-related adjectives :) Enjoy! ******************************* Grayson flinched at the loud knock on his bedroom door. “Get up!” Colonel Martin Buford, Grayson’s maternal grandfather, shouted through the door. “It’s almost time to go to church!” Without hesitating, Grayson leapt from his bed to get dressed. He knew by now that the Colonel didn’t tolerate dawdling. Grayson squirmed a bit as he pulled on his lone, black suit. He had to pee. Maybe, if he got dressed quickly enough, he’d have time to use the bathroom before they left for the Christmas Eve late-night service. It had been nearly 10 months since Grayson, now 16, had moved in with his grandparents, Martin and Regina. Grayson hadn’t been overly familiar with the Bufords, but his father wasn’t in the picture, so after his mother died, her parents became Grayson’s legal guardians. Grayson swallowed hard as he thought about his mom. Katrina Buford had raised Grayson on her own for his entire life. Her parents didn’t approve of their youngest daughter’s “lifestyle choices” (that is, getting pregnant out of wedlock) and, therefore, didn’t make much of an effort to be part of their youngest grandson’s life. Such seclusion from her parents didn’t seem to bother Katrina too much. She had a good job and good friends, and Grayson had been an easy baby who grew into a sweet, joyful young man. But just after Grayson’s 14th birthday, Katrina found a lump in her breast. She fought the disease for over a year and a half before slipping away on a cold March afternoon, holding Grayson’s hand. Grayson had been devastated, of course, but Katrina had worked hard to prepare him for life without her, and he was determined to make her proud. With his naturally cheerful and friendly disposition, he was sure he could work out living with his grandparents. It didn’t take long for Grayson to realize that cheer and friendliness were not valued traits in the Buford household. Martin, who insisted on being addressed as “Sir” or “Colonel,” had no patience for any kind of glee or revelry. He ran his household with ingrained, militaristic precision. Lateness, excessive noise, and any form of untidiness were not tolerated. The introduction of a teenage boy into Martin’s carefully controlled life was a wildly unwelcome intrusion. While Regina had learned long ago how to seamlessly adhere to the Colonel’s expectations, Grayson had no such lessons. Grayson had spent a few weeks trying to be helpful and pleasant, but the Colonel repeatedly rebuffed Grayson’s attempts at building a relationship. Soon enough, Grayson figured out that it was best to just remain unseen, and he started keeping to his room as much as possible. Now, dressed in the same suit he’d worn to his mother’s funeral (the Colonel insisted on their best clothes for Christmas services), Grayson opened the bedroom door and went downstairs. He could feel pangs coming from his bladder, and he prepared to ask the Colonel for permission to use the bathroom before they left. Martin and Regina were waiting at the foot of the stairs. The Colonel was, naturally, wearing his old yet immaculately-kept dress uniform. “You forget how to fasten buttons, boy?” Martin grumbled. Grayson flushed and looked down at his suit jacket. “No, sir.” “Then I don’t know what took you so damn long,” the Colonel huffed. “Get in the car.” Flinching, Grayson hung his head and trudged behind his grandfather. He wasn’t sure why they had to leave two hours before the service started, but he knew better than to argue. Grayson squirmed in the backseat of the car, trying not to make too much noise. Despite all his attempts to be functionally invisible over the past months, the Colonel had only grown angrier. It was as if Grayson’s mere existence infuriated him, and the initial grunt and orders had morphed into screams, belittlement, and the occasional smack. When they reached the church door, Grayson cleared his throat. “Sir?” he asked anxiously. “May I…may I use the restroom, please?” The Colonel’s eyes darkened. “We are in church, young man,” he declared darkly. “This is a place of prayer. You will join us in the pew, and you will pray. I suggest asking the Lord for forgiveness and asking Him for strength to grow into a true man of God.” Grayson could do nothing but nod. “Yes, sir,” he replied softly. The Colonel turned on his heel, and Grayson gloomily followed him to a pew near the altar. Grabbing Grayson’s arm, Martin steered the boy into the pew between himself and Regina, leaving no room for escape. Grayson bit his lip as he sat, clenching his thigh muscles slightly. The Colonel and Regina both bowed their heads in prayer. Grayson followed his example, but his only prayer was that he could make it the 3 hours until the end of the service without wetting himself. Over the next 2 hours, Grayson’s bladder slowly filled, and so did the church. The extended Buford family – Grayson’s aunts, uncles, and older cousins – filled the rest of the pew to his left. Though the Colonel didn’t exactly encourage familial closeness, he had long insisted on family attendance at church services. Most of his 4 older children and their children led their own lives, barely interacting with the Colonel, but they still showed up for late-night service on Christmas Eve. At the very end of the first pew sat Carl, Grayson’s oldest cousin, and his wife Tiffany. Despite his grandfather’s humorless example, Carl had attended West Point and entered the Army, eventually attaining the rank of Major General. He and Tiffany had no children of their own, but it still tugged at Carl’s heart to see Grayson shifting uncomfortably in the pew, sandwiched closely between Martin and Regina. Grayson really was trying not to squirm. Out of everything he did wrong (and it really seem like everything he did was wrong to the Colonel), public display of desperation had to be the worst. For some reason, any seemingly improper bathroom habits enraged Martin. A week after moving into the Buford’s well-kept home, Grayson had had a nightmare about his mother and ended up wetting the bed. Grayson shuddered at the memory, made all the more potent by the volume of urine currently straining his bladder. He had apologized, of course, and was already cleaning the mess himself, but the Colonel had been livid. It was the first time Martin had truly scream at Grayson, calling him every variation of weak and useless under the sun. Grayson had been crushed. He’d secretly hoped for – needed, really – someone to comfort him and tell him it was OK. Instead, the Colonel had shouted until his face turned purple, telling Grayson in no uncertain terms just how repulsive he found the boy. After that morning, the Colonel imposed strict bathroom rules. Though Grayson tried his best to control his bladder, making the most of the comparatively free restroom access at school, the rigid rules and schedule caused a few more accidents, both at night and during the day, each one leading to greater wrath from the Colonel. Now, sitting on the old, wooden pew, Grayson wanted nothing more than to avoid such a scene. He didn’t even want to think about irate the Colonel would be if Grayson lost control in church. After two long hours, the lights dimmed and the service began. Grayson could barely pay attention; his bladder ached, and it took all his focus to keep from holding himself openly. Though the Colonel gave every appearance of paying complete attention to the minister, he was keeping a close eye on his fidgeting grandson. Grayson’s eyes watered with effort as the service went on. Beads of sweat crept down his back, but he was determined to hold on. The minutes seemed like hours; he could feel small leaks seeping into his underwear, almost by osmosis through his desperately clenched thighs. Forty-five minutes into the service, the ushers handed out thin, white candles. The lights went out completely, and congregants gradually passed the flame along, slowly lighting each person’s candle. Grayson’s hand shook as he accepted the light from the Colonel, then turned to pass it to Regina. He could feel his bladder on the very brink of exploding. At the minister’s gesture, the congregation rose to their feet. Grayson inhaled sharply; he was certain he couldn’t withstand a change in position. From his own standing position, the Colonel poked Grayson sharply, glaring daggers, signaling his irrefutable order to the young man. Grayson bit his lower lip hard, trying unsuccessfully to stop it from trembling. The candle was flickering wildly in his hand. He clenched his thigh muscles painfully as he slowly rose to his feet, but it wasn’t enough. The combination of gravity and uncrossed legs was too much for his taxed bladder, and Grayson started to leak copiously. Tears filled his downcast eyes. He tried to squeeze his legs together, but he couldn’t stop a trickle from making its way down his leg. The Colonel stared daggers, the muscles in his jaw rippling with rage. Grayson tried with all his might to stay still and stand up straight, but the tiny stream of urine started to pool on the hard floor. The dancing points of candlelight reflected off the liquid. Eyes blazing, the Colonel snatched Grayson by the arm. With a speed and ferocity that belied his age, he dragged the shaking teen down the aisle of the church and out to the lobby. As soon as the doors closed behind them, Martin threw Grayson sideways. The young man stumbled, but kept his feet. “What the hell are you thinking, boy?” Martin hissed. Grayson tried to stand at attention, but couldn’t find his voice to answer. He’d managed to stop the flow of piss, but he knew it wasn’t for long. The Colonel took a menacing step toward the shivering boy. “I said,” he grumbled. “What the hell are you thinking?” Grayson opened his mouth to attempt an answer, but was stopped by the back of the Colonel’s hand flying across his face with a resounding crack. Gasping audibly, Grayson’s head was whipped aside with the force of the smack. Before he had time to recover, the Colonel grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him in close. “You think you can embarrass me in front of my church community?” Martin’s voice was all the more terrifying for its lack of volume. “You think you can besmirch the house of the Lord?” “N-no, sir…” Grayson whispered, but Martin wasn’t looking for an answer. “You pissed yourself like a damned infant!” Martin growled, spraying Grayson with saliva. “I’ve had it with you and your insubordinate delinquency!” With a grumble, the Colonel shoved Grayson violently against the wall. The impact momentarily stunned Grayson, who lost another leak down his leg. Martin didn’t notice, though; he had drawn back his hand, preparing to strike his grandson yet again. Grayson’s eyes widened in fear, but he didn’t move. Suddenly, a large hand wrapped firmly around the Colonel’s wrist. “That’s enough, Martin,” Carl’s voice was gravelly and firm. He kept a tight grip on his grandfather’s arm as he locked stares with the old man. “What do you think you’re doing?” Martin snarled. “This isn’t your business.” Carl stared back, radiating quiet rage. “You will not lay another hand on that boy.” “I am his legal guardian,” Martin snapped. “You are guilty of child abuse,” Carl seethed in response. “He’s not yours anymore.” Still shaking with fear and the effort of holding, Grayson gazed in awe at the stare-down between his grandfather and his cousin. “What are you going to do about it?” The Colonel was saying, his wrist still locked in Carl’s grip. “You can’t take him. I’ll stop you.” The barest of smiles flitted across Carl’s face. “You won’t, Colonel. I’m willing to fight for this kid, and you know you can’t physically beat me. And we both know that your claim won’t hold up in court against evidence of abuse. And," he added, a bit brutally, "I outrank you." Martin glared fiercely and grunted in reply. “Go back inside, old man,” Carl growled, finally releasing his hold on Martin’s arm. “We’re done here.” With one final harrumph, the Colonel turned on his heel and strode back through the lobby doors. Carl sighed in relief and turned back to his cousin. Grayson was still pressed against the wall, quivering. “Grayson?” Carl began gently. “Are you OK? Did he hurt you?” “No,” Grayson whispered, not meeting Carl’s eyes. The Colonel wouldn’t let him use the restroom, but maybe, just maybe, Carl would… “P-please, sir,” Grayson stammered softly. “May I-“ “Oh, Grayson,” Carl interrupted sadly. “You don’t have to call me sir. I know I’m in uniform, but I’m not like…” Carl’s voice trailed off at the sound of a defeated whimper from Grayson. “Kid?” It was too late. Grayson had held on too long, and the physical and emotional stress of the night was too much for him. Almost as soon as Carl started speaking, Grayson’s body gave out and he started wetting with abandon. Urine quickly soaked through his pants and fell to the ground, pooling on the tile floor with a soft yet humiliating patter. “Carl? Sweetie?” Tiffany’s voice sounded through the lobby. After seeing the Colonel return to their pew alone, Tiffany had slipped out to find her husband. She saw Carl standing in front of Grayson, who was crying silently. “Hey!” Tiffany breathed as she reached Carl’s side. “Grayson…” But she, too, trailed off as she recognized what was happening. “Oh, honey,” Tiffany murmured, utterly heartbroken at the sight of the sniffling teenager having an accident in front of her. Grayson wanted to sink through the wall and disappear. He was making a mess and breaking the rules, and after Carl had been so nice and stopped the Colonel from hitting him… Warm liquid continued to soak down both legs of Grayson’s ill-fitting suit pants. It briefly occurred to him that he should try to stop the flow, but his body simply wouldn’t respond, so he just kept wetting onto the floor. Tiffany clutched her husband’s hand, horrified at what she was seeing. Neither of them could imagine what terrors the Colonel had inflicted on the teen to lead to this point. The three stood in pained silence for over a minute until the faint trickling sound finally stopped. His accident was finished, but tears kept pouring down Grayson’s face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, still not quite able to move. “I didn’t want to…” Carl and Tiffany exchanged a glance. “Grayson, honey,” Tiffany said gently. “Why don’t you go to the restroom and get cleaned up?” “I…”Grayson’s voice squeaked. “I don’t have any clean clothes,” he continued miserably. Tiffany drew in a long breath, thinking rapidly. “OK.” She turned to Carl. “Honey, can you go out to the car and get the blanket from the trunk? We don’t have any clothes for you to wear,” she explained to Grayson, “but we keep a big blanket in the trunk. You can wrap yourself in that.” Both Carl and Grayson nodded. Carl pulled the keys from his pocket and headed out to the parking lot; Grayson didn’t move. “Here, sweetie,” Tiffany lightly touched Grayson’s arm. “Why don’t you go to the bathroom, and you can clean up a bit while Carl gets the blanket? I’ll go back inside and grab our things from the pew.” She started toward the lobby doors, but was stopped by a plaintive mewl from Grayson. Turning back around, she saw Grayson’s lip trembling. “Honey?” For the first time, Grayson raised his eyes, looking pleadingly at Tiffany. In his gaze, Tiffany read all the confusion and fear of a young man who had lost all trust in adults, who had no one truly take care of him in far too long. “OK!” she soothed, reaching for her young cousin. “I’m not going anywhere.” She placed her hand on Grayson’s shoulder, guiding him toward the restroom. “I’m right here,” she murmured as they walked. “I’ll stay with you.” Grayson felt like he was crumbling from the inside. His eyes were filled with tears, but it was only with great effort that he kept from completely breaking down into devastated sobs. His head was in a fog; he knew Tiffany was talking, but her voice was little more than an unintelligible buzz. They reached the family restroom, and Tiffany opened the door. “You take off your wet things and I’ll hand the blanket through the door when Carl gets back,” she instructed calmly. Grayson nodded pathetically and closed the bathroom door behind him. Tiffany exhaled deeply, leaning against the wall. After a minute, Carl returned with the giant, fleece blanket from their car, along with a plastic bag. “Is he in there?” Carl inclined his head toward the bathroom, a bit needlessly. Tiffany nodded. “I was going to get our stuff from inside, but he didn’t seem to want me to leave him.” Taking the blanket from Carl, she knocked gently on the bathroom door. Grayson’s hand reached out to grab the fleece and bag. The door shut again, and Tiffany drew her eyebrows together. “Carl, what happened to this kid?” Carl shook his head slowly. “Before you came out, I stopped Martin from hitting him.” Tiffany winced sympathetically. “If he’s whaling on him in church, I can’t imagine what he does at home,” Carl continued sadly. He looked down at his wife beseechingly, but she was already on board. “Of course he can come home with us,” Tiffany agreed before Carl could ask. “I know we can’t let him spend another minute with the Colonel.” Carl let out a relieved sigh. “Thanks, baby.” Nodding, Tiffany started planning the logistics. “He’ll sleep in the guest room, of course. You’re bigger than he is, but I’m sure we have enough sweats and t-shirts to tide him over until you can pick up his stuff from Martin and Regina’s.” Carl leaned down and kissed his wife’s forehead. “You’re the best!” At that moment, the bathroom door clicked open. Grayson slouched in the doorway, clutching the blanket around him with one hand and holding the plastic bag, now full of his soiled pants, in the other. “Grayson?” Carl cleared his throat. Grayson flinched, and Carl’s heart broke. “Are you ready to go?” Grayson’s shoulders slumped even more. He barely nodded and turned silently toward the doors leading back into the church. He couldn’t even imagine how the Colonel would react to him walking into church, pantsless, wrapped in a blanket, but Grayson didn’t know what a viable alternative would be. “Oh, honey, no!” Tiffany cried, reaching out to him. Grayson stopped, bowing his head in apologetic reflex. “You don’t have to go back inside,” Carl explained. “Not if you don’t want to. Tiff and I…you can come home with us.” Grayson raised his eyes, blinking in confusion. “We don’t…” Tiffany’s voice was thick with emotion. “We can’t send you back to Martin if we can help it. We have plenty of room at our place, and we’d love to have you.” Lip trembling, Grayson tried to make sense of what they were saying. He didn’t have to go back with the Colonel? He wasn’t getting in trouble? He didn’t know how it would work, and surely Carl and Tiffany wouldn’t be willing to keep a teenager until he went to college, but…even for tonight… “We want to make sure you’re safe,” Carl pleaded over Grayson’s silent contemplation. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything until now, but we’ll make it up to you, I promise. Please, Grayson.” The word “please” shattered whatever was left of Grayson’s battered self-control. With a muted, broken sob, he took a step forward and crumpled into Tiffany’s waiting arms, weeping with relief and exhaustion. Tiffany held the shaking teen tightly, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words in his ear. Confident that the situation was under control, Carl quickly stole back into the church to grab his and Tiffany’s things. Coats in hand, Carl and Tiffany walked Grayson out to the parking lot, supporting him from either side. Thoroughly drained, Grayson could barely keep his eyes open. He all but collapsed in the back seat of Carl’s car, clutching the blanket around his half-naked form. Brushing a light dusting of snow off the windshield, Carl climbed in the driver’s seat. Tiffany squeezed his hand, reassuring him that they were making the right choice. As Carl pulled out of the church parking lot, he heard the bells in the tower start to chime midnight. It was Christmas Day.
  20. Chapter 1 Jess was a hot, mid twenties woman at a neighborhood party. Her huge boobs in that tight black top matched her tight jeans a she walked in those high heels. She went to the bathroom to freshen up halfway through the night after everyone already had plenty of drinks and danced in the house. No one was outside the bathroom yet to wait. So Jess took her time. She didn’t even need to pee. She saw a makeup kit on the shelf above the toilet and went to grab it. For some reason she had not been thinking and left the top of the toilet seat up, so she was balancing on the sides. As her legs wobbled, her boobs caused the weight of her body to unbalance as she tripped and her foot went straight into the toilet. “Shit that hurt!” She said. As she felt the pain ease in her ankle she looked down and said, “oh gross.” She tried to step out of the toilet but she did not. Her foot was stuck! “Crap!” The cold toilet water sent a chill up her spine and she shivered then after regaining focus heard a knock at the bathroom door. “Um...hello?” Someone on the other side said awkwardly. And in discomfort . “Um,” Jess said. “Just a minute.” Amanda was on the other side of the bathroom door in the hallway. As Jess unwillingly occupied it, Amanda stood there in her latex black tight short shorts that showed off her long white shiny legs. She wore flips flops, and a white hoodie sweater. Her brown hair tied up. She had a few glasses of wine tonight and was a bit upset she did drank that much in a full house with one bathroom. She looked worried as he fingers twiddled over each other and she gave a hop here and there to squirm the discomfort away. Not long after Chris showed up. A tan, in shape fellow with brown hair, glasses, fresh shaved face, and black t shirt and tight blue jeans. He was always a little awkward over his need for a bathroom. The fact he now had to wait behind a hot girl like Amanda only made him more shy. Erin had just had a great night dancing with her friends. She smiled as she went upstairs, each step another pulse to her well filled bladder. One of those hot brunettes with a perfect model body who held it until the last minute. Boy, would she regret it tonight. Her sparkling short black dress in high heel black boots made her a treasure for any mans eyes. “Ah shit!” She said. Seeing two people in front of her. She held the sides of her dress as she looked down at the door and asked if the person was going to be a while as she felt her panties in danger of being flooded and her facing huge embarrassment. Amanda knocked. “Um, you’ve been in there a while. Like five minutes. Something.” She was getting nervous. Nerves tensing up would not help her bladder hold. Her back foot kicked back and stood on the toes. Her exposed legs squeezed tight. In the bathroom, after numerous hard pulls off the wall Jess’s foot remained stuck in the toilet. Keeping a needed potty break from everyone on the other side of the door. “Almost done!” She said. Then something bad happened. She looked to the sink and saw the faucet had stated to drip....drip....drip.....“Oh, oh....”. That and the feeling of toilet water on her foot, and being so close yet so detailed form relief Jess felt the drinks in her bladder start to boil. She moaned as she grasped her crotch and grinder her teeth. TO BE CONTINUED....
  21. **A sequel to a story I wrote a while back. Titled "Females Teachers vs the Bell" you can find on my profile if you want to read it. There WILL be LINES lol made this new post because I wanted to have LINES in the title** If you didn’t read the first story here: Chapter 1 Ms. Channy remembered all those months ago. That faithful day at school, it was supposed to be like every other. Go in, teach, eat, teach, and go home. Ms. Channy however, a late thirties, short brown hair, big breast, hips, and strong legs but a flat belly, she went through something different. To this day when she wakes up she takes medication for her damaged bladder from that day. It was so unfair, it still made her sad. She remembers being right at the bathroom, after hours of agony, finally ready to go. Then the plumbing went to hell, and she held it in as long as she could. She really did…poor Ms. Channy crossed legs, and tightened her muscles so hard but alas, she remembers when she exploded in front of all her students. She soaked her pants, shit in them, and everyone saw and laughed. She nearly had a heart attack from the humiliation. Luckily, she got a new job, in a new high school, with only one teachers bathroom BUT it had multiple stalls, and by the end of this month, provided she doesn’t burst again, her bladder will have healed after literally exploding that day. “Time to go to work,” Ms. Channy said as she kissed her boyfriend Ben who spent the night over. She slipped on tight black dress pants, black shoes, and a red button-down sweater that were tight around her big breasts. It was the first night Ben spent over. She was not use to it, but liked it. However, she noticed a twitch in her bladder, and then suddenly without warning it became a huge surge of pain. “Oh!....Errgg!” She closed her legs and grabbed her crotch as she took the town bus to work (her car was broken down and would not be fixed until Saturday (it was Thursday now). Damn! Forgot to pee before I left home. People on the bus looked at the desperate teacher who pulled her hand away from her crotch. Her bladder was so full though. Ms. Channy felt like she might lose it any second. She crossed her legs in her tight black pants, and the foot hanging over the other leg shook back and forth. Don’t think about it! Don’t think about it! Come on, you can hold it, just don’t think about it. The bus hit a big bump in the road as it passed a construction site. Everyone on the bus was lifted into the air and then back down briefly. Ms. Channy’s lips curved as she felt the ocean inside her about to spray out like madness. It was so embarrassing as she tried to hide her need to go, but had to place both hands in her crotch, plugging herself up. Finally, they reached school. Oooooooh thank GOD! Ms. Channy thought. There was not much time left, as she knew she would explode any second, and that could mean dire consequences for her already damaged bladder that was so close to recovery for good. She ran into the school. To keep her cool around students she slowed down to keeping her legs tight together, taking small steps and keeping her back straight. She could NOT PEE HER PANTS AGAIN! NO! “Hey Ms. Channy!” yelled a student, named Bobby. Ms. Channy felt her heart race and mouth go dry as her nerves kicked up. She waved to Bobby as she hurried past down to the women teacher’s lavatory room. She turned the knob and pushed open. The door opened a crack and stopped. Something was blocking it. “What the?” She pushed again, and again, each harder than the last. She was running out of time…and so were her panties! She knocked hard and fast. “Uummmm…is anyone in there?” “Duh!” said a woman from behind the door. “Well can you let me in already? I’m fighting a losing battle out here.” “Just wait. God, you older teachers. Maybe you have time to get your makeup done in the morning but we sure don’t. Give us a minute.” Ms. Channy was in panic. Her legs tight together as she held her hands against her belly while her feet shuffled. It was coming. She sweat as she felt a warm liter of liquid pushing its way to exit her body. “Girls please! Please, I have to pee, let me in, please!” ”Just hold it in another minute!” Ms. Channys legs were shuffling up and down to her belly. She felt so bloated. She grabbbed the handle and pushed hard and got it open only to be closed back up. ”Just hold it in!” ”I...r-really g-g-gotta go,” Ms Channy said through tears of agony, jumbling her words together. She continued to knock, and students in the hall started to stare and giggle at her desperation. This could NOT be happening again. Her body right up against the door as she pushed, her crotch turned to the corner of the wall where the door opened, and pushed in to plug herself up. SPURT a drop almost shot out but Channy crossed her legs quick enough to keep the load inside. The pee hurt as it boiled inside. Finally, the teacher on the other side took her foot off of the door and Ms. Channy burst into the bathroom about to explode in her pants. The two very young, newly hired teachers blocked her path to the stalls. Ms. Channy bounced in place and cried. “Ms. Channy, please respect us next time. We work two jobs and get up early every morning just to come here looking like hell and- “ “Fucking move!” Channy said as she shoved them out of the way and went for one of the three stalls. The two young teachers grabbed her again and pulled her back from behind. Ms. Channy was a nervous wreck. She bounced uncontrollably. “We kept the door locked cause we don’t want someone in here taking a shit while we do makeup.” Ms. Channy said, “I don’t have to shit, I have to pee, BAD!” ”We know who you are,” one of them said. “You pissed and shit your pants in that other school.” Ms Channy eyes widened in terror at what they knew. “Just remember that. Respect us and we don’t have to tell everyone that story.” ”Fine!” Channy yelled. Then she sprinted off. She pushed but it was locked. No feet below it. But a sign on it read OUT OF ORDER. She then inhaled a nasty smell and saw some green and brown sludge spots on the floor. She thought she heard rumors of a plumbing backup from the sewers. She stormed into the next stall and bounced as she unbuttoned her pants, “gotta pee gotta pee,” She pulled them pants down and her panties down, and spread her legs as she sat and.....nothing came out. “What..”She pushed but nothing came out yet her bladder ached and burned as the pee remained inside. She started to sweat as she remembered the doctor said holding it in too long could cause one of two things cause of her injury. One was her muscles would become so tense that weakness of her bladder would become smushed and block the pee from coming out. People this happened to usually go the rest of their lives with a full aching bladder. Some would last for years and then burst at random. “No no this can’t be happening!” She shocked her fingers up her pussy as far as she could and pushed and pushed. Hoping it would work. She could not go through life like this. Then she felt it. It got hot and wet down there and She pulled her fingers out. THEN, pee shot out of her like fire. Yet, she sighed in relief, feeling her aching bladder quickly ease with no more pain. She breathed steady as a loud eruption of pee filled the toilet. She slouched over with her pants around her ankles releasing it all. Just then as she still pissed the stall door got kicked open. Ms Channy sat up in shock as the two young teachers laughed at the pantsless teacher. “Might want to hurry for these people.” Ms Channy peaked outside the stall door and saw three other female teachers in line waiting for an available stall. All were no older than 28 and had mini skirts and heels. Ms. Channy turned red. “Just....give me a moment.” She covered her crotch as two those bitch teachers smiled and watched. “Alright close the door I gotta go! I can’t in front of you guys.” They refused so Ms Channy kicked up and closed the door with her foot and locked, and the rest of her pent up pee drained out of her. Soon she was done, wiped, flushed, and washed her hands and headed out dry and mighty with dignity, ready for the day. Everything went smoothly. She went home later, calm, and went to bed. The next morning, she awoke…SHE WENT TO PEE BEFORE SHE LEFT…and put on some clothes and headed to school. She wore tight blue jeans that showed nice on her big hips and butt. She wore a white t-shirt with a black sweater over it, and brown shoes. She finished her morning coffee on the bus on the way to school. It was Friday. She had another cup at home before she left. So, after another bumpy bus ride it was easy to know why she felt a slight twitch in her bladder. No pain, a small pulse that came and went. She had to pee, but was fine. Besides, as she passed the teacher’s lavatory she saw a line outside the door of squirming female teachers. “Boy hate to be stuck in something like that again,” she laughed, and went to her first class. Little did she know of the plumbing below the school, slowly filling with more sewage sludge as the pipe problem remained. What would happen? TO BE CONTINUED….and yes there will be LINE WAITNG
  22. Another workday ends, the cottage is clean and the animals were feeded and bathed, Shooting Star took a well-deserved shower,when the young man went out,Fluttershy appeared with a letter. -Fluttershy: Hey,honey! I have a notice! -Shooting Star: Nice, what kind of notice? -Fluttershy: First tell me,what are you planning tonight? -Shooting Star: I'm going to dinner,maybe I'll play Smash for a while or I'll watch a movie before I go to sleep. -Fluttershy: Video games? Again? Come on,honey! That's unhealthy,you need to socialize! Look at this! This letter is an invitation for a party, I will meet again with my elementary school partners, tonight! -Shooting Star: Ouch! Are you serious? I hated the elementary school and I hate the parties. -Fluttershy: Come on! Don't say that! It will be funny! -Shooting Star: Argh!...Ok,you win...I'll go only for you. -Fluttershy: Yay! *smiling*t The party is starting, the couple arrived, but there's a problem: It was a hot day,Fluttershy drank too much lemonade,and she didn't went to the bathroom before go to the party. All the guests talked about their lifes and her goals after the graduation. Shooting Star was truly bored, almost sleeping, then Fluttershy talked. -Fluttershy: Umm,honey... -Shooting Star: *reacts and jump* Whoa! It's dinner time? The party ended? -Fluttershy: No,I need to pee. -Shooting Star: What?! You said you could hold it. -Fluttershy: Looks like I was wrong...let's go,I'm going to wet my pants if I don't go now. *blushing and putting her hands between her legs* -Shooting Star: Don't worry,let's go! Just hold it a bit more. Then the couple ran away,trying to find a restroom. They found it,but unfortunately the women restroom was out of order... -Fluttershy: *shaking her legs* Oh no! This is not happening! -Shooting Star: Don't worry, we can go to the men restroom. -Fluttershy: What?! Never! The men are a pervert pigs! -Shooting Star: *offended* Hey! -Fluttershy: Sorry,honey. You're different to them. -Shooting Star: Don't worry,what about the garden? -Fluttershy: No, somebody could watch my private parts. -Shooting Star: Let's go to the supplies room and get a bucket then. -Fluttershy: No, that's dirty. -Shooting Star: Ouch! I'm running out of ideas! What will happen now! -Fluttershy: Don't worry,I'll try to hold it until the party ends. -Shooting Star: Are you sure? -Fluttershy: Of course, we defeated Tirek and Discord, this is nothing! Then they back to the party,one boring hour of bad jokes and boring speeches, Fluttershy rejected the drinks and tried to think about another things. It was perfect,but one of the guests accidentally dropped the microphone, the disgusting sound scared Fluttershy and the inevitable occurred...Fluttershy moaned and her face blushed,a sound of water falling could be heard, a big,dark and wet spot covered Fluttershy's jeans,big squirts of pee fallen on the floor,making a puddle. Fluttershy's old bullies started to laugh mercilessly and say offensive things... "Look at the animal freak! She peed her pants,like in the school! Klutzershy wets her pants! Aww,the baby had an accident! Back to wear diapers!" Fluttershy covered her face and started to cry. Embarrassed, she ran away. Some people feel bad for Fluttershy,but the bullies just laughed for a long time. Shooting Star heard the laughs and he was really enraged, his blue eyes turned glowing red and his energy stared to flow. -Shooting Star: *furious scream* Shut up,NOW!!!!! The bullies' laughs stopped,but one of them said: "And who do you think you are,Scarface?",mocking about the Shooting Star's eye scar. "No,you are that freak's boyfriend? Better don't mess with us if you don't want to lose your eye,run away to find your girlfriend,and buy diapers for her!" Then started to laugh again. -Shooting Star: *an electric lightnings surrounded him and started to fly* That's ENOUGH! AHHHHHHHHH!!! His angry screams and his energy broke every items made of glass,and everyone get scared. -Shooting Star: Do you think the humiliation is funny?! That's because you never were humiliated!! AHHHHHHHH!! -Bully: Man,that guy is a monster!! Shooting Star threw a destructive energy wave at the bullies. Scared,they tried to run away of Shooting Star's rage,eventually the most of them were reached for the energy beams, just harmed but not killed. The bullies' leader was trapped,Shooting Star went down and opened a fissure when put his feet on the floor,he flew to the bully and grabbed him from the shirt. -Bullies' leader: Hey,dude! Please take it easy! I was just kidding,just an stupid joke! I will not mess with Fluttershy never again! -Shooting Star: You won't get away...I'll put you in your place!! Shooting Star's knocked him out with a single punch in his face,his rampage ended and then ran outside to search Fluttershy. He found her at the garden,laying in the floor,crying,embarrassed and in uncomfortable with her wet and cold jeans. -Shooting Star: Come on,baby...please don't cry *holding her hands and lifting her* -Fluttershy: Don't you want to see me crying? How? I peed my pants... -Shooting Star: Don't worry, I smashed those stupids,and I said you,coming here was a mistake,we should have stayed at home. -Fluttershy: I just wanted you to have fun. -Shooting Star: But you know I hate the parties,watch a movie with you on our bed and eat pizza is a lot better than these boring parties. -Fluttershy: *cleans her tears and smiles* Really? Aww,I'm sorry for forced you to come here. -Shooting Star: Don't worry *kisses Fluttershy* let's go home. They got in Shooting Star's car and went to home. Once at home, Fluttershy took off his wet pants and panties and took a shower, meanwhile Shooting Star washed Fluttershy's wet clothes. -Shooting Star: Do you feel better? -Fluttershy: Yes,thank you. -Shooting Star: I have a pair of dry panties,come on. -Fluttershy: No,I don't want to wear panties. I want a diaper. -Shooting Star: Diaper? But you had an accident due to hold it for a long time. -Fluttershy: I know,but the diapers are cute and very comfy,they make me feel safe. -Shooting Star: As you wish,baby. Fluttershy was wearing a yellow sweater,a long striped socks and a cute diaper with bunny prints. They ate a pizza while watched a movie,both cuddled in their bed. Movies,pizza and Fluttershy in diaper are a million of times better than a boring party.
  23. Goldenstorm

    Katniss part 1 Of 6

    From the album: Some of my pics

    After a few stings of tracker jakers Katniss Everdeen is losing control of her muscles, now her bladder is letting her pee flows free, and soon she will poop her pants too.
  24. Goldenstorm

    Kirino bondage wetting

    From the album: Some of my pics

    Let me go!!! Please!!! You already make me pee myself, What else do you want of me?!!!
  25. Goldenstorm

    Supergirl pissing Her panties

    From the album: Some of my pics

    It seems you should went to the toilet before fight me, Supergirl