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Found 387 results

  1. 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?
  2. 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. :-)
  3. 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.”
  4. 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...
  5. 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
  6. 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.
  7. 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.
  8. 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  
  9. 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.
  10. 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.
  11. 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....
  12. Goldenstorm

    Hermione.jpg

    From the album: Some of my pics

    This is the part one of two, the second part includes messing
  13. **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
  14. 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.
  15. 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.
  16. 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?!!!
  17. Goldenstorm

    Supergirl pissing Her panties

    From the album: Some of my pics

    It seems you should went to the toilet before fight me, Supergirl
  18. The Incident at the Pharmacy (with pictures) Hello everybody. Let’s see if I can gather my thoughts and control myself long enough to type this. This JUST happened, and I just got out of the shower a few minutes ago. I haven’t ‘enjoyed’ myself to this experience yet, but I plan on it tonight. Okay. So I’ll start by describing myself, despite having pictures available on this post. I’m a Hispanic trans woman with long curly hair. I’m still early in my transition, but doing well, so I guess I genuinely look like a woman? I’d like to think I have a cute butt. I was wearing blue jeans and a tan colored Zelda shirt? Umm, blue shoes? My breasts are small, but not like, invisible by any means. Sorry I don’t describe myself very well. Anyways. So I was running errands today. I had a tall glass of water and peed before I left. I spent a few hours doing things around town, and went to get lunch. There’s this little place that makes this salad that’s soooo good, and I never like salads, so I go there every so often for the only one I actually like. Anyways. I get a soda with it, and just enjoy myself for a little bit. Now I was basically done with my errands except that I needed to pick up my hormones sometime today. I was basically chilling at the restaurant waiting for the guy to call me back and say that my prescription was ready. And he did. So I left and drove over. Now this pharmacy, it’s like, not a Walgreens or CVS, so the staff is the same people all the time basically. But they’re the only place close to me that’ll give me my estrogen in the right dose and method of delivery. The cashier knows me by name at this point, and is very familiar with the fact that I’m trans. I do not buy my pull-ups or diapers here. He like, knows me. I do not want to mix my kink and medical life. We only see each other once or twice a month, but he knows me and is friendly with me. I have a little bit of a crush on him that I’m not going to do anything about, but you know. I’m not bringing kink here. So I go in to pick it up, and he tells me it’s actually going to be a few more minutes. I sit down and wait for a little bit. Now, entering the pharmacy, I would describe myself at maybe a 6/10 on the bladder scale. 7/10 maximum. I don’t think of it as a problem. But I am rapidly filling. I wait around maybe not even 10 minutes, which is still longer than I wanted to wait, but I’m trying to be patient. But in the course of the 10 minutes, I’ve risen to a 9/10 easy. I stand up to ask him how much longer it’ll be, but my motive very quickly changes, cause the second I stand up, I start peeing. “Excuse me, can I use the bathroom?” “Oh, -Snuggle-, it’s usually employees only, but sure.” And he leads me in, while I’m slowly losing control of my pee down my legs walking behind him. I rush in, pull my clothes down and just release. It feels so good. I’m in heaven. I come back to reality and inspect my jeans. The front is soaked. Inside of the legs are soaked. Back looks okay. My cheeks are burning. I go back outside to wait, sitting down again, trying to hide myself. The spot is uhh, bigger than my hands. I could not hide it. After a minute or two of trying to hide to no avail, I notice the guys staring at me. I’ve noticed him checking me out before, but now he’s staring straight at me. Or maybe at my jeans. My cheeks start burning all anew. “I hope I’m not prying, but does this happen to you a lot -Snuggle-?” “I mean, not a lot, no.” “But it happens?” “Umm, sometimes.” “Oh.” And he starts telling me about doctors and urologists that they have the numbers for, and I’m just lost, cause this is not the conversation I came here to have, and definitely not with him. I think he notices that I’m uncomfortable. “Is everything okay?” I look up at him, and motion towards my now cold pee stain on my jeans. “Oh, right. Sorry. Uhh, it’ll be just a couple more minutes. Be right back.” It’s been like 20, but okay. Sure. Nobody else is here. So I sit and wait. But sure enough, it was only a few more minutes. This time. He comes back with my prescription, but he puts something else up on the counter too. “I hope you don’t mind if we give you these. For being a loyal customer. And for your, ‘problem’.” Guy’s got a package of pull-ups on the counter. I feel like I want the floor to open up underneath me and just cast me into hell, so I’m not here. Anyplace but here. “Uhh, sure. Um. I’m a medium size in these.” He had put a large pack on the counter. I’m not sure why I’m accepting them at all, much less telling him my size. He apologizes and comes back with a pack of medium ones. He rings me up, gives me his discount on the pull-ups. I don’t have to pay a damn thing except my pride. I am quickly out of there. I come home, sit in the tub, and release my full again bladder into my jeans again, this time on purpose. I take a few pictures, clean up, and started typing. Sitting on the bed wearing one of the pull-ups he gave me now. Oh right. And here are some pictures. I hope it’s not too much for these forums or anything. Apologies that I’m still a little hairy for a gal. Also sorry that the front panties pic might be a little too “ballsy” to look like a woman in panties.
  19. This is FICTION and a story request. Enjoy Chapter 1 Nikki was a tall, tan twenty two year old woman with breasts that were kind of small, but a tight, muscular ass on top of her long, sexy legs. Her dark, brown hair was brushed to the back of her head as she walked into the dentist office she worked at as a secretary. The dentist was an older, good man, but being as his office was down the street from a college and frat house he wanted to attract business. So his secretaries were required to wear these short, tight, black skirts. White blouses and Nikki wore glasses. But being as he paid them well above minimum wage it was worth it. Nikki had been walking on her feet all day and now in her work high heels, it did not get better. Along with that, being a health nut Nikki had drank lots of water everyday. She had three bottles that day already by the time she got to work early afternoon. "Hey Nikki!" The dentist, Dr. Otto and his assistances said as their pretty secretary walked in and up to her desk. Her co worker Emma was now due to go home. "thank God you're here!" Emma said getting up from her seat and squirming around. "You ok?" Nikki laughed. "I've been so busy all day people keep taking the bathroom and I can't wait for them to leave. I gotta get in there before I explode!" Emma ran trampling left to right as she hit the one person restroom. Nikki then heard a growl from her lower belly. With a sad face she looked down and felt the three bottles of water expand her bladder last normal human limits. Nikki ran up to the door and knocked. "Emma, sweetie. Don't mean to rush but you gonna be long?" Nikki started to sweat, unable to believe how bad her bladder cramps were getting. She shook and shifted her legs around each other. Her tight black panties that ran up her crack were not optimistic of their survival. "Emma!" The phone rang and Nikki ran over. "Yes?" She answered the phone. The toilet flushes and if sent a wave of painful bursts pulses through Nikki's body. She mouthed the words 'oh...my...God!" Her feet went up and down kicking her back as it got bad. Really bad. I watched from afar as this happened in the waiting room. Waits were horrible there. Yet this was so nice to watch. Nikki didn't feel the same way I bet. As Nikki finished talking about some insurance billing problem on the phone Emma left the bathroom feeling relieved. I did have to kind of go myself. So I walked over to the bathroom, waited at the door, and as Nikki hung up the phone and waved bye to Emma she turned only to see me close the door and I saw her eyes go wide in a sad expression and jaw drop. I did leave the bathroom and Nikki could've ran in but as she did the phone rang again. Oh it for so much better from there...Nikki and these other girls egged my car a year back so I didn't feel bad about this. Be drunk and stupid? Drink water and suffer. Don't worry she was fine...but her dignity.....heehee TO BE CONTINUED...
  20. Happy (almost) spring! I've had three (maybe four) one-shots spinning around in my head for the past few weeks, so I thought I'd try to get one out. Thank you so much for reading! *** A Disney employee was waiting on the dock with Owen’s wheelchair. She smiled encouragingly as the 16-year-old clambered out of the boat from the Jungle Cruise and settled into the chair. Owen’s parents, Neil and Jo Keating, and his siblings, 13-year-old Hunter and 8-year-old Emma followed. It was just past 11:30 in the morning, and they’d been at Magic Kingdom since a little before 9, on a much-anticipated family vacation that they’d been planning for over a year. The fact that they were on the vacation was something of a miracle. Six months ago, Owen had started feeling absolutely awful – inexplicably exhausted all the time, drained from even the most minor of physical activity. Just at the start of his junior year of high school at that point, Owen had been horrified by his sudden lack of ability to keep up in class or on the field. Owen had never been a superstar in sports or academics, but he was incredibly well-liked. Owen was the kind of kid who just never caused any trouble. He was polite but not obsequious, friendly but not cheesy. He was just the kind of guy who everyone wanted around and no one ever had to worry about. So when, after nearly a month and several doctor’s visits, Owen was diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome, it had been a blow. Suddenly, he couldn’t be relied on for much of anything. He took weeks off of school, struggling to keep up with his work online and at home. Sports and extracurriculars were out of the question. He couldn’t even help out with chores at home without taxing his limited stamina reserves. For several months, it looked like Disney was going to be out of the question, even though most of the trip was already paid for. Owen had felt terrible, but the prospect of preventing his family from going on vacation only strengthened his resolve to get better. With every ounce of extra energy he had (which wasn’t a lot), he read up on CFS, looking online, reading research articles and clinical trials, and talking to doctors. Owen stopped trying to push himself through physical activity in an attempt to be “normal,” and instead focused on recovery, gently working back up to higher levels of exertion. The plan worked and, in the new year, Owen managed to improve enough to go back to school. He still couldn’t play on any teams, and he and his parents were careful to monitor his activity and diet, but he was able to look and act far more like a typical high school student. After multiple promises not to exert himself too much – he’d use a wheelchair in the parks, he’d take breaks throughout the day – Owen finally got his doctor’s okay to go to Disney World. So during spring break, in early March, the Keatings flew into Orlando. Jo had worked diligently in the preceding weeks to talk to Disney representatives and arrange accommodations. They’d have a rental wheelchair for Owen the entire time, both at the resort and in the parks, and, since he could transfer himself, there were no rides that he wouldn’t be able to access. Owen had been ecstatic with relief. He’d already put his family through so much, with doctor’s appointments and changed schedules and just a general disruption of their lives. He didn’t know what he would have done if they’d had to cancel their vacation on account of him. But even though the first morning had been gentle – just a few easy rides (well, most of the rides at Magic Kingdom were easy) – Owen wasn’t feeling great after climbing off the Jungle Cruise boat. The prior day of travel had taken a toll, and, even in March, the rising Florida heat was threatening his comfort. Back out in the sun, Owen’s vision swam a bit. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the first prickles of a headache creeping up the base of his skull. He’d barely even done anything; how could he be tired already? With effort, Owen directed his attention to his family’s conversation. Jo and Emma were happily discussing the guide’s jokes from the Jungle Cruise, with Neil eagerly supplying his own themed puns. Hunter, as usual, didn’t contribute much, but did let a little excitement slip through when the topic switched to their next destination. Space Mountain. Owen shuddered, then instantly hoped that no one noticed. Luckily, for the first time in months, none of the attention seemed to be on him. It was exactly what he had hoped for. They were all acting just like a normal family. No one was fretting or asking if he was OK. Emma wasn’t nervously wringing her hands, old enough to be worried, but too young to really understand how to help. Hunter wasn’t ducking his head, seemingly desperate to be anywhere but around his weak embarrassment of a brother. So Owen smiled. He looked down at his watch and confirmed what he’d thought; if they were heading to Space Mountain, then it was almost lunchtime. They’d go on the ride and then find somewhere to eat and rest. Taking deeper breaths, Owen took stock of his body, just like his therapist had taught him. He had a tiny headache, but it wasn’t too bad. He felt a little tired – enough to know that he likely wouldn’t be able to walk very far right now – but not enough to make him slump over in the chair. He was sweating a bit, but they’d be inside soon, where it would be cooler. And he had to pee, but only in the normal, late-morning way, nothing urgent. As they crossed into Tomorrowland, Owen perked up a bit. It had been years since he’d ridden Space Mountain for the first time, but the giant, white structure hadn’t changed. Their passes would let them skip the long line, he’d enjoy the ride, and then he’d get to take a bit of a break. The inside of the building was blessedly dark and cool. Owen inhaled deeply, grateful for the air conditioning. Shelter from the bright, warm sunlight made him much more confident in his decision to saying nothing about how he was feeling. Of course, in nearly the same moment that Owen started to feel more comfortable, his wheelchair hit a small bump on the floor, jostling his body and, more importantly, his bladder. It wasn’t drastic – he didn’t leak or anything – but he was reminded, for the billionth time in the past 6 months, that his body was not his own. He couldn’t just excuse himself to run to the bathroom; he’d have to ask his dad to take him after the ride, or at least hope that someone else in the family suggested a bathroom stop on the way to lunch. The FastPasses worked as promised, and the family strolled past the standard line, scanning their bands and turning off to the side to the accessible entrance. They came out on the opposite side of the tracks as the other people in line, an attentive ride attendant ready to help them into the seats. Owen smiled and responded with the appropriate level of excitement when the attendant asked if he was ready, but he cringed internally when he stood to transfer into the car. It wasn’t that he was hurt or sore; he still just hated the idea of what other people thought seeing a generally healthy-looking teen boy stand up from a wheelchair. People in wheelchairs shouldn’t just be able to get up on their own and slide into a roller coaster car, not if they were getting special, line-skipping treatment at Disney World. There were enough challenges being sixteen without having an invisible illness. There were six seats in each car, all one behind the other, so the Keatings got a car all to themselves. Emma was giggling nervously, and Neil was grinning like a kid. Nestled into the seat with the lap bar pulled down, Owen felt the old tug of impending thrill. He’d always loved roller coasters, and even though he knew that Space Mountain was nothing compared to the 400-foot behemoths that now graced amusement parks around the world, it was still the most intense ride the Magic Kingdom had to offer. Given his current low-level headache and weariness, Owen figured that a comparatively gentle roller coaster was the way to go. The car slowly rolled forward, and another attendant double-checked the security of the lap bars. With a final thumbs-up, the attendant set off the ride. For the first few seconds, Owen grinned. The ride wasn’t too fast, and the light and sound effects were rife with cheesy, outdated ideas of futurism. But then, the car sped up, whizzing around curves. It still wasn’t particularly fast, but the darkness amplified the twists, leaving Owen to be jerked around with every rise, drop, and change of direction. In moments, he found himself pushing down a rising sense of nausea. He closed his eyes, a near-universal reflex against motion sickness. The ride seemed to drag on. All Owen could do was try to breathe evenly and pray that it would end soon. He’d get to relax as soon as the ride was over. He could go to the bathroom, he could get something to eat, he could stay inside for a bit… After far too many seconds of breathing and silently begging, the car slowed to a stop. Nearly overcome with relief, Owen forced his eyes open and twisted his face into a smile at the beaming attendant waiting with his chair. Through some miracle, Owen was able to climb out of the car and stumble into the waiting chair with at least a little bit of grace. At least, no one in his family seemed to notice the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. Rather, they were chatting excitedly again, caught up in the Disney magic and already planning their next rides and attractions. No one seemed to catch onto the fact that Owen was taking deep, gulping breaths, fiercely trying to quell the churning in his stomach. Neil was pushing Owen’s chair faster than was strictly comfortable, but Owen decided that speed was probably in his best interest. They’d just get to one of the restaurants, and then a bathroom, and then… Owen’s train of thought was cut off by an overwhelming burst of sunlight. They had stepped outside, and the heat and brightness sent Owen reeling. “Lunch time!” Jo called cheerfully. “Where do we want to go? Owe-“ Owen’s mother cut herself off, having looked at her eldest son, who was ghostly pale and slumped in his chair. “Owen! Neil, stop!” Neil had already stopped pushing, but he put the brakes on Owen’s chair and crouched over his son, trying to get the teen’s attention. “Owen? Bud, what happened?” But Owen barely heard his parents calm but urgent pleas. His vision was blurred, and his head lolled to the side. He was so hot, and the sun was too bright, even through his closed eyes. He wanted - needed – to lay down, but he didn’t have the strength to ease himself out of the wheelchair. Not that the thought of lying on the asphalt in the middle of Magic Kingdom was particularly tempting. A third voice joined the chorus of Owen’s parents. Through the vertiginous haze, Owen realized that a worker must have approached them to see what was wrong. He caught snippets of his parents explaining CFS and the worker offering medical services. “…rooms…” “…orthostatic intolerance…” “…must have pushed him too hard…” No, thought Owen, utterly unable to make his voice work, you didn’t push me too hard. This isn’t your fault. As Owen mentally argued against his mother’s voiced guilt, he felt his chair start to move. He didn’t know where they were taking him, but he could still feel his heart pounding in his chest, sweat dripping down his spine. And suddenly, sweat wasn’t the only thing dripping. Without even realizing it, Owen had lost control over his bladder. Even through the heat of the air, he felt searing wetness spread from his crotch, twin streams of urine snaking down his inner thighs. Owen was beyond powerless to stop himself from wetting. A low, pained whine rumbled in the back of his throat, the only reaction he was capable of. Jo heard the pitiful noise and glanced down. Her face fell in both pity and concern. Owen had never wet himself during an episode before. It was likely that she was right, and the extent of heat and activity had just been too much for him, but she was still worried about what a loss of bladder control might mean about Owen’s illness and ability to recover. Both physically and emotionally. Owen, his eyes still closed against the sunlight and motion, didn’t see his mother’s distress. Any part of him that wasn’t focused on trying to breath in enough oxygen to stay conscious was caught up in a storm of mortification. As Neil pushed the chair forward as quickly as he could without jostling, Owen felt a pool of urine slosh back between his legs, unable to soak into the plastic seat material. Just as Owen felt his accident dribble to a stop, a blast of air conditioning made him gasp. They were inside somewhere, somewhere quiet and out of the painfully bright sun. Still, it wasn’t until Owen felt strong arms under his arms and knees lift him onto a bed or cot or something that he figured out they must have brought him to a behind-the-scenes clinic. Disney had everything, after all. Finally flat on his back, Owen instantly felt his nausea start to dissipate. The combination of cooler temperature, lack of sunlight, and soft pillow acted as a tonic, and Owen felt his heart rate slow. After a minute or so of lying still, Owen felt settled enough to turn on his side and curl into a slightly more comfortable position. He opened his eyes into slits, taking in his surroundings. As he’d suspected, he was on a hospital-style bed in what looked to be a very calm emergency room. The bed was against a wall, with a curtain hanging at the foot, presumably to be drawn around the bed for privacy. His parents were standing hear his head, talking to a nurse who Owen hadn’t heard approach. Hunter and Emma were standing off to the side, Emma biting her lip and Hunter standing with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. Owen couldn’t see his face, but he was sure his younger brother was irritated, at best. Owen closed his eyes again, this time to shield from the shameful view of what he’d done to his family. He hated being such a burden, such a barrier to a normal vacation, a normal life. He pressed his eyelids down, trying to hold back the film of tears that had gathered. He’d already ruined his family’s day. The least he could do was not be a big baby on top of it. Jo had seen the movement in her son, though. She paused her conversation with the nurse. “O? How are you feeling, honey?” Owen blinked his eyes open and tried to give his mom a reassuring look. “Better,” he croaked. “Laying down helps.” The nurse smiled. “I’m just gonna take some of your stats to see if we need to do anything else. Is that OK?” “Mm-hmm.” Owen held out his arm for the blood pressure cuff. No one said anything yet about his accident, but in the air conditioned room, his wet shorts were chilly against his thighs. As the nurse wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Owen’s arm, he saw Hunter approach their dad, muttering something into Neil’s ear. Neil nodded, and Hunter turned and walked out of the room, not looking at Owen. Owen closed his eyes again as the blood pressure cuff eased. His brother couldn’t even stand being in the same room as him. “Ninety over sixty,” the nurse informed Jo and Neil. “A bit low, but that’s to be expected. His color is coming back, so I don’t think we need to start an IV.” Jo smiled in relief, grateful for the confirmation that Owen would be OK. “I’m going to go file some paperwork.” The nurse looked over at Emma. “But maybe I could take this princess to find some lunch for everyone?” Emma grinned hesitantly. She’d been scared by Owen’s crash, and now that the nurse had said he wasn’t too sick, she was ready to get back to vacation. She glanced over at her parents, who nodded their assent, and Emma happily skipped off with the nurse. Hearing his sister leave, Owen chanced to open his eyes again. Neil and Jo were talking quietly, trying to figure out what to do. “Should I just take him back to the hotel?” Jo asked. “Do you think moving him is the best idea?” Neil countered. “Would they even let us stay here?” “Maybe, but he’s gonna need a change of clothes. We can’t leave him in wet shorts.” Owen squeezed his eyes shut, curling on the bed. A single tear slipped out of the corner of his right eye, trickling sideways down toward his temple on the pillow. “I could go back to the hotel and get him clean clothes,” Jo offered. “But that might take awhile, and you and the kids would have to stay here and wait for me. I don’t want to ask the medical staff to stay with Owen if neither of us are here.” “Well, let’s wait until Hunter and Emma get back, and we’ll figure out what we can do.” Neil’s voice, like Jo’s, stayed low and muttering, but in the silent, sterile clinic, Owen could hear every word. He wanted to sink into the bed and disappear. Well, more accurately, he wanted to not be sick. He wanted to be a regular sixteen-year-old, not one who couldn’t even ride a basic roller coaster without spazzing out and pissing himself. “Lunch time!” Emma chirped brightly, having returned with the nurse and a tray full of burgers and fries. A second staff member followed with an armful of bottled water. Owen opened his eyes at the sound of his little sister’s voice, trying to smile and now look at miserable and useless as he felt. “Oh, this looks great!” Jo cooed. “Thank you so much!” Emma beamed. “We went the secret way!” The nurse smiled. “We only show our must trustworthy princesses the secret passageways to the kitchens.” She set the tray down on a small table, and Emma reached for the food. “OK, sweetie, let’s just wait for Hunter,” Jo cautioned. “I’m here.” Hunter slunk into the room, holding a merchandise bag down by his side. Jo and Neil exchanged a look, indicating that whatever Hunter had whispered to Neil, it hadn’t involved shopping. “Hey, honey,” Jo said, questioning, but Hunter walked right past her. “Here,” he reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of brightly-colored board shorts, patterns with little Mickey Mouses, plus a pair of pinstriped boxers. Owen looked up at his brother, too stunned and still too tired to lift his head from the pillow. He opened his mouth to thank him, but Hunter, having handed his brother the clean clothes, had already turned away and joined Emma to dig into the cheeseburgers. Owen was dazed. He hadn’t put a lot of thought into where Owen went, but he never would have guessed that the teen had somehow left to find clean clothes for him. As Owen was trying to make sense of this unexpected kindness, his mom drew the curtain around the bed, and the nurse passed in a wet cloth. “Do you need help, sweetie?” Jo whispered. Blushing, Owen started to shake his head, but decided against any extra movement of his still-aching cranium. “No,” he murmured. “I can do it.” He wasn’t actually 100% sure he had the energy to clean himself and change into the dry clothes, but he was 200% sure that he couldn’t bear the thought of his mother wiping down his naked privates, cleaning off dried urine. Not after everything else. Jo slipped back out through the curtain, and Owen gingerly rolled onto his back. He was, admittedly, feeling loads better, but he knew excess movement would set him back. Positioning his feet and hands, he pressed his hips off the bed and managed to pull down his soaked shorts and underwear in one motion. He had the presence of mind to pull his phone out of the pocket and set it beside him on the bed. Even that effort had Owen sweating. He took his time, trying not to think about how humiliating it was to have to take so long to clean himself up after an accident. Still, it was better than having someone help him. Slowly, carefully, he wiped himself down with the cloth left by the nurse and slid into the new boxers and shorts. With what he was sure was the last of his functional energy, he crumpled up his wet shorts and stuffed them into the bag that Hunter had left. Completely spent – and hating himself for it – Owen sunk back into the pillow, breathing through his mouth. It had probably only been about 20 minutes since they’d ridden Space Mountain, but Owen felt like he’d aged several years. He was exhausted, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to join his siblings in the park for the rest of the afternoon, but he yearned to fix things, to somehow claw back some of the dignity he’d lost by wetting his pants in the middle of Disney World. “Hey, sweetie.” Jo pulled back the curtain to check on her son. “You all set?” “Yeah,” Owen breathed, unable to respond in any more detail. “Good,” Jo stroked his hair. “The nurse said we can stay here as long as we need, so you can rest. Your dad will take Hunter and Emma back outside to go on more rides and stuff.” Owen hummed reflexively, relieved that his siblings wouldn’t be stuck in the clinic with him. Jo smiled sadly. She still felt guilty for not being more attentive to Owen, but she knew the best thing for him now was to rest. “I’ll be right here, OK, hun? If you need anything, just call.” “Uh-huh,” Owen whispered, curling up on his side. He knew he’d probably sleep the whole afternoon. But as Jo closed the curtain again, Owen reached for his phone. He could barely keep his eyes open, and he couldn’t move more than a tiny bit at a time, but he just had to do something. Thanks Owen sucked in a breath, staring at his phone screen. After a moment, the three dots appeared, showing that Hunter was texting him back. np Owen let out the breath that he’d been holding. He hadn’t even really expected a response from the 13-year-old, but he was emboldened by the quick answer and the enhanced sense of privacy from being surrounded by a curtain. No I mean it. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t done that, and I don’t think Mom and Dad knew either. Another pause, this one longer, and more dots. I just asked a worker if they had shorts in the store. Nbd. Its what brothers do Owen’s eyes filled with tears. He didn’t know if was making things worse by texting, but he’d opened the tap of everything he hadn’t felt able to say to his younger brother for the past six months. Yeah, but I’m your older brother. You shouldn’t have to take care of me. U shouldn’t have 2 b sick. Life sux sumtimes Owen nearly gasped. When had his little brother become so wise? Despite the creeping, insistent exhaustion, Owen felt emotionally better than he had in months. Hunter didn’t hate him. Yeah, things sucked, but his family didn’t blame him, not really. Owen had the ghost of a smile on his face as he typed out his last text. Yeah, well, I’ll pay you back for the clothes. His phone vibrated one more time before much-needed sleep took over. ya u will :)
  21. As most of you will know by now, I’ve had a recent resurgence of my overactive bladder (OAB) over the past few months. As a result, I’ve been having significantly more accidents than normal. For the past three years, any wetting accidents (other than ones planned and for fun), have been largely limited to: Stress leaks, as a result of big sneezes, working out hard, jumping and landing too hard, all on a full or mostly full bladder. I’ve had these all my life and they are entirely manageable, as I can pretty much predict them and take countermeasures. For example, I’ll wear a pad all the time during that one month in Vancouver when I’m suddenly allergic to something in the air and suffer from lots of sneezes. If I’m going for a jog, I always wear black running shorts (or tights) which conceal accidents and leaks very effectively, and if I’m doing some serious impact stuff (and lazy Rachel hasn’t for a while now), then I’ll pop a pad in my panties. I’m also going to invest in a cute running skirt, as this will cover up leaks even better and I loved a tennis skirt I recently got to wear and wet for a customer. Despite these measures I do have the occasional unpredicted leak, caused by a hearty laugh, an unexpected impact, sneeze or that sort of thing. Fortunately, unless my bladder is bursting, these accidents typically only result in a large wet spot on my panties, which seldom shows through my clothes. I’ve learned to live with these very occasional occurrences by always packing a spare pair of panties in a Ziploc baggie in my purse, and not getting in the habit of wandering about, far from washrooms, with a super full bladder. I can still trigger one of these accidents, rather easily it would appear (given the fun I’ve been having with pads lately), and they are pretty similar. I should point out that on a super full bladder, the accident can be more serious, as I have difficulty stopping once I start, and once triggered by a stressor, my bladder can release a decent amount when full. Fortunately I’ve not had one of these accident in many year (though I came close on Black Friday…) Very rare bedwetting incidents. Prior to November, I had maybe two or three of these a year and they were all triggered by my going to bed with a pretty full bladder after drinking wine (or other booze). I’ve been adulting a lot lately, and not had occasions to do a lot of heavy student-like drinking, and as a result, my bed (and husband) were keeping dry. Even when I had been drinking, I would almost always put on protection before going to bed (almost always a Goodnite) and if I was too forgone to remember, my loving husband would often help me out. Up until November, these were the only issues I had to worry about, and they were not serious. However, in November, I wet the bed, on a random and non-party night, and then started getting more OAB symptoms. These included more wet nights, even after countermeasures (like reducing fluids, double voiding, avoiding some foods and that sort of thing), as well as some key-in-latch leaks and more serious accidents, and surprise urges that would cause me to need to rush to the bathroom ‘right now!’ some of which have resulted in those key-in-latch accidents. I grew up with these symptoms, and am very familiar with them. Growing up, we tried all sorts of things, so many that I won’t go into the list. I also think my mind fetishized wetting and diapers as a partial coping mechanism, though I’m sure there’s some more complicated psychology going on behind the scenes as well. Nothing much worked, apart from one medication, which I only used when I was travelling due to uncomfortable side effects, and which only really reduced the size of my night time accidents and the number of random urges I’ll got during the day. Then, when I was just graduating as an undergraduate, a new treatment emerged, which uses Botox injections into the overactive bladder muscles, thereby calming them down (to use totally non-technical terms). Well, we tried this, and after a really uncomfortable and embarrassing procedure, and a couple of weeks, it worked! I can’t say how happy I was! I went off to grad school, lost my virginity, slept over with boys, travelled around the world, had my heart broken, got married, and all sorts of things. Things I would have never done if I’d been wetting the bed each night, and having daytime urge issues. Well, the treatment is only expected to last 3 years or so. The Botox only calms the muscles down for so long. Well more than three years ago, I was in the early stages of my relationship with my husband (who was then my like 4th boyfriend), and the symptoms came back. I won’t rehash what happened, as it’s covered here (First diaper cuddle), but to summarize, Rachel had to make the decision to either come out to her boyfriend and tell him about her bedwetting issues, or find a new boyfriend (or more likely be single until I could get another treatment). Well Rachel gritted her teeth and steeled her strength, and spent her first night laying next to her now husband, wearing a diaper. Anyhow that was well over three years ago, and I was getting happy with having a pretty typical bladder again (a very high number of women have some stress incontinence issues, so even this is pretty typical). November, though I should have been expecting it, kind of came as a surprise. Because I know the deal by now, I scheduled an appointment with my urologist after my 3rd wet night. Since my unexpected wet night, I’ve wet the bed at least twice a week, and over the past two weeks, I’ve been wet three to four times. I’ve been wearing Goodnites to bed every night, and these have been keeping my bed (and husband) dry. The new Goodnites will hold an entire Rachel bladder, unless she is bursting, in which case, they leak a tiny amount, but these little spots are almost always dry by morning. I’ve been doing all the necessary lifestyle stuff I mentioned before bed as well. During the day I’ve re-established my using the bathroom ‘just in case’ policy more often, and in the most recent weeks, I’ve been wearing pads regularly. As a result, I’ve had few serious daytime incidents, though I have had a good number of leaks necessitating panty changes and pad replacements, and a few bigger accidents (which I’ll tell you about, or already have). This is also a little annoying because I’ve been selling my used panties to customers and not all of them want panties which have been peed in, accidents have required me to wash the panties and start wearing them all over again. All of this hasn’t stopped me from enjoying my fetish, and as I’m using them more often, I’ve been on a bit of a pad binge lately. I’ve kind of been enjoying wearing protection to bed and cuddling the hubby. It’s winter and often chilly at night, and cuddling in a diaper is a lovely feeling. Waking up wet it much less enjoyable, but the Goodnite makes it as manageable as possible. Oh and on a random note, I’ve also been leaking a lot more during sex, meaning that we’ve been going through a decent amount of towels on a good week. So this has been the past two months for me, and the OAB issues have been getting gradually a little worse, despite the precautions I’ve been taking. I’ve been waiting for my urologist appointment for quite some time, and it’s the first step I need to take in order to get a referral for the Botox treatment. The waiting list to see my urologist is longer than the list to get the Botox treatment, so my hope has been to get the old bladder working before the end of February. In anticipation of the appointment, I’ve been keeping a voiding diary (and actually I’ve been using an App on my phone, which is more geared towards kids, but kinda fun. DryDawn lets me print off reports for my urologist and is kinda cute). Well this past Friday I finally went in to see my urologist. Now in the past, when I was visiting my urologist more often, I would often experiment, just a little. In the UK my urologist would make you do a flow test and ultrasound every appointment, even if they were only 3 months apart, so I started experimenting a little. This included wearing a diaper to one appointment, and even ‘planning’ an accident at another. It is wrong to include others non-consensually in your kink, but I felt like in this case it wasn’t the same, as these were things I would actually do normally. For example, the ‘planned ultrasound accident’ was really a recreation of a real accident I had had at an appointment when I was in high school. I don’t see my Canadian urologist nearly as often, and so the redundant ultrasounds and flow tests don’t happen. I considered planning another accident, as I recall the emotions associated with this accident a lot still when I’m masturbating and they very often push me over the edge. But I have already done this, and besides, due to the increased inconvenience of my recent wettings, and the rarity with which I see my urologist, I felt like this might be a distraction. Also, given my current bladder situation, I don’t think I could hold nearly as much liquid, and I would almost certainly lose control of the situation very quickly. So this urologist appointment was going to be all business, or mostly business. Leading up to the appointment I was concerned about leaks and real accidents. To do an ultrasound (and flow test) you are asked to arrive with a ‘comfortably full bladder.’ Now because, as I’ve noted above, a full bladder puts me at considerable risk of having a real accident when my OAB symptoms kick in, I struggled to come up with just what a ‘comfortably full bladder’ would feel like for me. These days, a full bladder might be physically comfortable, but leave me super nervous about accidents. I settled on the solution of wearing protection to the appointment, and to add a little thrill to the experience, I would wear a Goodnite, rather than a more mature-looking Always or Depends pullup, or a more discreet pad. Now I’ve worn protection to numerous appointments in the past. My history of having real accidents when wandering about with a full bladder, or when a doctor pressed a freezing cold ultrasound wand on my distended bladder, has taught me to do this. In the past I’ve worn bulky incontinence pads to appointments, and these have often necessitated changing afterwards. One I have worn a Goodnite to an appointment, and the technician did not bat an eyelid at them when they pulled down the front of my pants to do the ultrasound. But this was only once, and my heart was pounding the whole time. So, for Friday’s appointment, I decided that once again, I would wear a Goodnite to the appointment, and see what happened. I woke up wet and therefore started my day with a shower. So in preparation for the 1:40 appointment I kept well hydrated all morning and used the washroom several times. My morning two mugs of green tea went through me like a flood. I printed off my voiding diary and bladder stats, and checked some emails. At 11 am I got ready to leave, the appointment was across town and required some complicated use of buses and the Skytrain, and I didn’t want to arrive late. My plan was to arrive early and read a book in a nearby café before heading over to the office. Before I left, I changed out of the PJs I was wearing around the house, and into one of the owl-print Goodnites I love so much. Overtop I pulled a pair of my Little Mermaid boy-short panties (my cute green ones). I typically always wear panties overtop of diapers when I’m wearing out in public, this makes changing easier as you can just tear off the Goodnite, and also cuts down on noise. The panty waistband can also offer some added discretion if the panties are sufficiently large. I then pulled on a pair of light jeans. If I did have an accident, the Goodnites would almost certainly catch everything, however they leaked, I didn’t want to make things easier for me. I put a tank top over my bra, buttoned up a blouse and put on a nice jumper over top. I put on some makeup and grabbed my book, purse and phone, and headed out into the world around 11:30. Not bad prep time actually ;) I did have pads and my usual spare pair of panties in my purse, but did not bring a larger bag with say a change of pants. I used the washroom right before leaving the house, as I’d filled up during my preparations. I brought a small water bottle and some snacks as well. I therefore left the house in my Goodnite, I was filled with mixed and complicated emotions. I read my book in transit and was acutely aware of the diaper I was wearing. I’ve worn out in public tons of times, both for fun and out of need. Sometimes this seems like a normal thing and I quickly almost forget about the protection I’m wearing. Other times I’ll we aware of it all the time, and worry about leaks or peeks. Today, given what was going to transpire in the early afternoon, I was very aware of the protection I was wearing and made sure my larger jumper covered the waistband of my jeans when I moved about. The transit gods smiled on me, and I arrived at the general vicinity of the urologist’s office with lots of time to spare, it was about 1 pm when I arrived, and so I headed over to a small independent café across the street and ordered a large tea. My water bottle was empty at this point and I could feel myself filling up. I was at about a 4 on the old desperation scale; the point where I was comfortable, and would likely not use the washroom just in case, unless I was about to depart on a long car ride, or that sort of thing. I settled down and read my book for half an hour. At about 1:20 pm, I felt like I was would not be full enough for the appointment, and since I’d already finished my tea, I had a glass of water and I filled my water bottle from the water jug as well. I downed this, and was feeling to be about a 6 or a 7 when I got up at 1:30 pm and wandered over to the office to check in. Now the reason I didn’t fill up to the point of jumping about and/or needing to hold myself, was that despite the fact that I was schedule for 1:40 pm, I’ve almost never been to an appointment with a urologist that wasn’t running behind. It has something to do with the tests they do and other factors, but they never seem to be on time. My UK clinic had a sign that said “if your appointment is 45 minutes late, see the nurses at the front,” largely because people are regularly arriving with full bladders and 45 minutes was a typical, albeit horribly long, wait for the office. I signed in and the friendly woman at the front desk, who was about my age, maybe a little older, but who was wearing far too much makeup, confirmed my address, and asked me if I needed to pee. It’s always a little embarrassing to have a stranger ask you this, and I must have blushed a little because she broke eye contact, but I confirmed that yes, I did have to go. “We are running about 15 minutes late, will you be ok?” she asked. I thought about it for a little bit, but given my current situation, another 15 or 20 minutes seemed reasonable. I was feeling a little brave as well, and I thought downing my water bottle over this time as well. I confirmed that I would be ok, still blushing, and she directed me to take a seat. The waiting room was small and cramped. It constituted about 8 chairs around a small alcove (three on each side and two on the back), with a table strewn with magazines, OAB leaflets, and other brochures. There was a sad looking fake plant in the corner, and a water cooler near the entrance with little paper cups. The alcove is off to the right when you come in the entrance of the office, but no immediately to the right, this is the washroom, marked with a generic sign. The nurses/receptionist desk is off to the left with a hall leading into the examination rooms beside it. The reception desk is not too far from the waiting alcove and I nervously thought that everyone in the waiting room could hear our conversation, despite my hushed tone. I took off my jacket and grabbed a seat between two people. I looked around the waiting room, and there were a number of other people there. I don’t really recall all the details, but it was sufficiently crowded that I needed to take a seat between two people. I chose the seat in the corner on the right hand side, next to the sad-looking plant. To my left was an elderly woman sitting next to an elderly man. I assumed they were a couple, as they exchanged quiet words from time to time. To my right was a 40-something woman with who I assume was her daughter of 13 or 14 sitting beside her. Sitting across from me was an older man, maybe in his 50s or 60s, who was sitting in the middle of the three seats on this side. I felt more comfortable sitting between the two women. Walking in I smiled awkwardly at the other people in the waiting room but didn’t get much of a response. The young girl was playing on her phone (or some device), her mother was reading a magazine. The man across from me was sitting there waiting quietly, and the couple to my left were similarly waiting, though every so often one of them would explore the materials on the table. Everyone looked relatively relaxed, and by this I mean no one was sitting on their heel, bouncing up and down, or holding themselves. I opened my bag and removed my book, and continued reading. Every so often I would look up, distracted by a movement from a fellow patient. I deduced that the woman in the couple next to me was likely the patient, and that her husband was there for support. It was also not hard to deduce that the young girl was the patient brought by her mother (as otherwise she would have been in school). I commiserated with her, as I’ve been in her exact place before. I continued to read but was becoming increasingly full. Again feeling a little exhibitionistic, I decided that I would play at being a little more desperate than I actually was. I crossed my legs, and wiggled my foot. After about 5 minutes a woman in a long coat walked out from the examination room hallway, exchanged a few words with the woman at the reception, and headed out. A few minutes later a female nurse in her 40s walked out and spoke with the receptionist, and then called a name. The older man across from me stood up and followed her inside. I was now at about an 8 on the desperation scale and beginning to worry, just a little. It was a only 1:45pm, but given the number of people in the waiting room, I was expecting a longer than 15 minute wait. I was most worried about having a bladder spasm, as I was pretty sure I could last at least another 20 minutes without too much difficulty, and perhaps longer if need be, but if my bladder decided to send me an urge spasm, I was at the point now where I would likely only barely make it to the nearby washroom, if at all. I was also super nervous, my heart was pounding in time with my jiggling foot, and I noticed I wasn’t making much progress on my book. I bookmarked my spot, and decided to abandon my reading. I squeezed my legs together more tightly, and reminded myself that I was wearing reliable protection, and that I could always get up and ask to use the washroom ‘to relieve pressure’ if I absolutely had to. But this didn’t quite comfort me, I suppose my intentional desperate body language was tricking my brain into thinking I was more desperate than I was. The young girl tugged on her mother’s sleeve and whispered something in her ear, and her mother responded quietly back. The older couple sat in amiable silence. And I sat there, legs tightly twisted together, jiggling my foot desperately. This tableau continued for some time, until about 1:55pm (I checked my phone), when a different middle-aged female nurse came out and called another name. This time the older couple got up, and, after taking some time gathering their things, they followed the nurse in. As the waiting room emptied, I could feel eyes on me. I looked up and could see the receptionist looking my way, inquisitively. Glancing about I also briefly saw the eyes of the young girl staring at me, before they were quickly averted. I was still at about an 8.5 but my desperation was increasing significantly. I had to decide if I was going to hold myself or sit on my heel. I opted for holding myself, because if I did have a leak while sitting on my heel there was a very good chance that the Goodnite might leak. I carefully uncrossed my legs and keeping them tightly squeezed together. I was no longer play-acting desperate body language, I was honestly desperate. It was 2:00 pm and my appointment was nowhere in sight. I moved my purse to my lap to provide cover, and once it was there, I carefully moved my hand underneath and pressed two fingers between my legs. All the while, I could not keep my foot from jiggling. At about this time, another patient came in through the office door and checked in with the receptionist. This time it was an older man, probably in his 60s, and after speaking with the receptionist, he moved to assume the spot across from me. He smiled as he came into the waiting area, and made some comment about the weather. The woman and her daughter ignored him and had another whispered exchange. As a result, I felt like the comment was directed at me and that social pressure dictate that I respond (I was no longer reading after all). Not wanting to be rude, but also not wanting to have a lengthy conversation, lest my desperation be audible in the sound of my voice, I gave a non-committal answer. He tried for conversation a second time, and this time cheerfully asked something like: “You been here before?” I wasn’t going to escape from this conversation that easily, and so, hand still surreptitiously holding myself under my purse, I made light conversation, or tried to. My foot was wiggling uncontrollably now, and I my legs were shaking a little. I responded something like “Yes, this is my first time to this doctor.” This is a new urologist for me, I’m relatively new to the city and I’ve usually gone to a clinic near our flat when I need medication or for general checkups. I went there in November to get a referral to a urologist, it’s really hard to find a family doctor in Vancouver, but the local clinic knows me pretty well. I feel more comfortable once I’ve had the same doctor a couple of times, I am always embarrassed by raised eye brows and probing questions from new doctors reading my file for the first time. The older man was giving off the vibe of someone who does not quite pick up on subtle social cues, like the curt answer I had just delivered, or perhaps he was super desperate and talking took his mind off of it. Either way, he pressed on. “I’m here because of the old prostate, never been to this kinda doctor before.” I’ve tried to capture his friendly but colloquial manner, also this is sort of an approximation of the conversation, it’s surprisingly hard to remember things when you are bursting. “So your first time too then.” He finished, which was not quite a question. I felt compelled to answer him, rather than give a non-committal ‘uh huh,’ but also not wanting to give this man my life story coupled with my medical history. “No, I’ve had a number of doctors, this is just my first time here.” I clarified. Now don’t forget, I was edging towards a 9 on the desperation scale, though I was still holding on at an 8.5, my hand offering whatever support it could between my legs, hopefully shielded from view by my purse. The padding of the combination of my jeans and the diaper I was wearing made my two fingers not as effective as if I’d been wearing a thin dress… or if my hand were inside my Goodnite. Unfortunately this would have been wildly inappropriate, but a girl can dream. At the edge of my vision I could see the girl and her mother exchanging more whispers. I was very preoccupied with my own situation, but I think I could see clear signs of desperation in the girl. “Oh,” he intoned, perhaps now picking up on my flat disengaging tone. But no, he pressed on. Who makes idle conversation in a doctors waiting room? “You been waiting long?” He asked, thankfully steering the conversation in another direction. “Um,” using this opportunity to press my thighs together more closely, which was hard given that my legs were shaking. I know that sitting sort of hunched over in this fashion is not the most effective way to hold your pee when you are super desperate, but it was the only position I could take given the type of chairs and my need to hold myself. Checking my phone required an awkward one armed maneuver into my purse. I looked at my phone and it said 2:08 pm. “Um not too long, maybe half an hour.” I replied vaguely, slipping my phone back into my bag. Fool! I should have pretended to check a message or something to escape the conversation. “Oh, that long huh? Well, you look like you need to go badly.” He observed in a tone that implied that he commiserated with my situation. I could feel my face burn as I blushed crimson. I was horrified. He must have noticed, as he let the conversation thankfully trail off at this point. I was pretty desperate, and I’m sure it was rather obvious, but there is something utterly embarrassing about a stranger noticing and pointing out these signs. I had the fleeting desire to deny the need to go, like a child caught holding themselves and bouncing about might do when confronted by an adult and asked if the needed to go. But I was too embarrassed, and still thinking clearly used this awkward moment to try to extricate myself from the conversation. At this point the girl whispered something else to her mother, who stood up, and made her way to the receptionist, where she asked a question. Probably the question we were all wondering. The receptionist responded in a voice that carried over into the waiting room, something along the lines of “It should not be much longer, no more than 10 minutes.” And then she said something else in a quieter tone and had a short, hushed conversation with the woman. My mind did some quick math and thinking. So 15 minutes, who did that apply to? Was it the estimate for the young girl and mother, and who was first? If I was first, and the receptionist was predicting 15 minutes, then I was likely going to be seen right away. But if they were going to be seen first, then did I have to wait another 20 to 25 minutes? How many technicians were they operating? If it was just one then it might take longer. If it was two, then surely I’d be seen shortly. My mind raced and this was nice, as it sort of took my mind off my growing desperation. I did take a moment to contemplate just going in my Goodnite, this was one of the reasons I had chosen to wear it, in case there were delays, in case I had a bad urge and couldn’t make it to the washroom on time, and also for the little thrill of wearing it in a situation where it would be seen. But I also was not sure about my ability to stop after having initiated a flow. And while the new Goodnites are pretty good and do hold almost a full Rachel bladder, I definitely had a full Rachel bladder at this point. It would likely leak. Plus sitting down makes leaks unpredictable. Not only this, but you are supposed to have a full bladder for these tests, and if I emptied my bladder into the diaper (or in the washroom literally next to me), I would have to wait for it to refill. Yes, there was the option of trying to half empty my bladder in either the toilet or my Goodnite, but I really didn’t think I could stop the flow mid-way through, it would be more like at the last quarter if I was luck. While all this was racing through my head, the man, perhaps realizing his social faux pas was rummaging around on the table for a magazine, and the mother and daughter were exchanging words in very hushed tones. I didn’t catch much at all, only a few snippets. But after a few more words, the girl handed her phone to her mother and walked around the corner to the washroom. I’m pretty sure I know what had been discussed. Clinics will always let you use the washroom if you are desperate to go, and they ask you to just release a little, to remove the pressure. As I was just discussing, this isn’t really an option available to me, but it is very common. Worst case of course you empty your whole bladder and then have to sit there for however long it takes to refill it using the little paper cups from the water cooler. It was 2:11 pm. With only three of us in the waiting area, and my inclination leaning towards jumping in the loo as soon as the girl returned, I finally spotted the first nurse walking to the receptionist. They spoke very briefly and there was a point. Then I heard my name. “Kirwan? Kirwan?” I pulled my hand out from between my legs and jumped up. This was perhaps ill-advised as it sent shocks of desperation through my abdomen. I hurried over, forgetting my jacket in the waiting room. “Yes, that’s me.” I gasped. “Ready?” Ask the kindly looking nurse. Like I mentioned, she was in her 40s, and had long black hair. She was a little over weight, but in a way that indicated that she’d likely had a couple of children. I nodded vigorously, and followed her down the hall. She made small talk as we walked. “Sorry we were running a little late… Would you like to use the washroom before we do the ultrasound? Just to let off a little pressure?” She asked kindly. “Better not,” I replied. Walking seemed to have reduced my acute desperation for the time being, and I felt like I had settled in to an 8.5. And then, feeling like some explanation was needed, and blushing a little, I added “It’s hard for me to stop once I get going.” “Oh that’s ok, we’ll be super quick.” She replied. “That’s the washroom for after.” She gestured towards a clearly marked door on our right. “And we will be in here.” She gestured to a room almost across the hall from the washroom to the left. The hallway continued along a ways and I noticed other doors and trolleys and baskets along the sides of the hallway out of the corner of my eye as we turned into the room. “So you’ve done this before?” The nurse asked. For some reason the rooms where they do ultrasounds always seem darker than they should, it’s a little strange. Anyhow, I was in no condition to observe the room too closely. The abatement to my desperation due to walking was gone, and I was at a 9. It wasn’t a ‘the pee is coming now’ kind of 9, but it was certainly a ‘you need to find a washroom in the next two minutes or it’s going to happen’ kind of 9. I concentrated hard on controlling my bladder. “Yeah, a couple of times.” I replied, almost not hearing her answer. “You can put your purse here if you like,” said the nurse, helpfully gesturing to a couple of chairs to the right of the door. I did so, and then hurried to the table. Knowing the process by this point, I undid the top button of my jeans. I lay on my back and rolled up my tops, revealing my naked belly. “Ok, so I’ll only scan your bladder now, then you can use the washroom, it’s all set up for your flow test. When you come back, I’ll scan for residual and do your kidneys, sound good?” She asked, while rolling the ultrasound machine over to the side of the table. “I really have to go.” I admitted a little panicky, and blushing just a little. For some reasons it’s easier to tell a medical practitioner these things, rather than say a random guy. “Don’t worry I’ll be quick.” She replied. “Would you mind undoing those a little?” She gestured towards my jeans. While I had undone the button, I had no touched the fly at all. They need to scan your full bladder for these kinds of ultrasounds, and this usually involves them having to pull down the waistband of your trousers. I am fully aware of this, having done a dozen or so ultrasounds in my day, and as I mentioned, would almost always wear a pad to these tests, and a pair of panties which look dignified, so not my adorable little mermaid panties. Today I had broken both of these practices, and was wearing green Little Mermaid panties overtop of a Goodnite. Not quite caring at this point, but also getting a secret exhibitionistic rush, I undid my fly, and pulled it all the way down. And for good measure (and to avoid getting the ultrasound goo on my jeans), I shimmied my pants down a little, wiggling my bum. In so doing I revealed the top inch of the waistband of the Goodnites, and the top portion of my panties. The Little Mermaid emblem is on the bum of the panties, so this was not visible, and they would appear to the casual observing nurse, to be a normal pair of green panties. My desperation was a powerful all-consuming force at this point, and I considered just releasing. Wetting a Goodnite while laying on your back is one of the safer positions in which to flood it. It is when you lay on your side that you have to worry about leaks. I decided to hold on until after the test, as I could make it, if it happened now. The nurse pulled out a piece of thin paper and, pulling the waistband of my diaper and panties down a little ways, tucked it in, she tucked in a second piece of paper next to it. “This will keep your …” She paused, and then quickly re-phrased, “This will stop the gel from getting on your clothes.” I was blushing in the low light of the room. My heart was pounding and I could feel my adrenaline rising. This was that exquisite exhibitionistic thrill suffuses my body in panicky energy. My diaper was obvious. She has clearly seen the upper purple waistband of the Goodnite, and had been about to say something like ‘keep your underwear or clothes dry’ or something like that, but had quickly stopped herself. I was not imagining things. I couldn’t help but close my eyes for a moment. And I only opened them when I felt the warm gel being rubbed all over my belly. I remember when the gel was cold, but at some point in my lifetime of bladder issues, a genius had added a gel warmer to the ultrasound trolley. I, and probably millions of women (and men) are thankful for this, I’m sure. The nurse pressed the want into my bulging bladder. It was clearly visible protruding right above the thin paper, which covered my Goodnite, a round softball, crying out for release. I watched her move the wand around my belly, looking at the screen to her left as she did so. She pressed firmly with the wand, and I could not resist letting out a little gasp. Did I let out a few drops as well? I wasn’t sure. “It’s ok, almost done.” She intoned, sensing my growing desperation. The wand moved about over my stretched skin. Over and around my bulging bladder. The pressure from the wand was considerable, and pushed me into the 9.5-10 level of desperation. I don’t know if others have shared this experience with me, but at this point, when your body is ready to override you mental commands and release your bladder, you sometimes have difficulty actually peeing? Well this was what happened to me now. I felt an acute sharpness in my bladder and then, in a millisecond of panic, I relaxed my sphincter mentally. But it did not respond right away. It was as if it wanted to take some sort of victory lap after the impressive accomplishment of keeping me from an accident for so long. “All done.” The nurse said, whipping the gel off my belly with a scratchy piece of paper towel. As she removed the two pieces of paper from my waistband, I could feel a tiny amount of pee escaping into the Goodnite. Not a spurt, but a steady flow, only it was very thin, as though all of the effort in holding back my pee had really tightened up my urethra, turning my normal wide flow into a thin jet. I gasped a little, or moaned, I’m not sure which, but I made some kind of vocalization, and I’m not sure if it gave away my predicament. “Ok, I’ll get the commode set up for your flow test, can you wait another few seconds?” She ask. “I just need to push on button.” She added, moving over to the door and opened it. Had she closed it when we came in? She must have, but I didn’t remember. I didn’t bother to do up my button or pull down my sweater. I was tempted to hold myself to provide a final bit of support as I made my way to the toilet, now within my view. But I held off, this would only make pulling down my bottoms all the more difficult. Instead, I used one of my hands to hold my pants up, and followed her out across the hall into the washroom. All the while my bladder slowly released. She fiddled with the buttons attached to the commode for what seemed like ages, though it was probably only a second or two. The commodes that they use for these kinds of flow tests are like normal toilets with raised seats. Inside the toilet bowl is a sensor which detects how fast your flow is, and if there are any disruptions or that sort of thing. As I stepped into the washroom and with the toilet in sight I could feel the flow of pee jetting into my Goodnite widen just a little bit. Could I almost make out a faint hiss of pee hitting the material of the diaper? I was standing there staring at the toilet, my way barred by a friendly and helpful nurse. I blushing furiously, thinking she could hear me peeing myself. Stopping was not an option at this point. Though the flow seemed to be slower than normal. I still felt like my urethra was narrower than normal – letting out a thinner-than-normal jet of pee, though a jet of pee none the less. I was also thinking feverishly; trying to decide whether I should pull down everything, and risk getting my jeans wet, or whether I should just worry about the jeans and panties and fishing sitting on the toilet in my Goodnites, with the toilet catching the overflow (because this Goodnite was going to over flow, I could just feel it). I decided, and felt around with the fingers of each of my hands, feeling for the waistband of my panties. The toilet beeped. “Ok, all set,” The nurse stepped away from the toilet. Only a couple of seconds had passed. I was at the toilet in an instant. Still freely peeing into my Goodnite, in a fluid motion I pulled my jeans and underwear down, turned, and plunked myself down on the toilet. My body released and I flooded the Goodnite, suffusing my labia a hot wetness. “Come back over when you are done.” The nurse intoned from the door of the washroom. When she said this I was jarred from my reverie of relief and looked up to see her standing at the bathroom door. In my haste to get onto the toilet, I’d forgotten about privacy. I’d not given her time to exit the washroom before I yanked down my jeans and panties. She quickly turned and closed the door behind her. I was awash in emotions: The sense of blissful relief resulting from finally getting to pee. Pride, in having held on for so long, and for having made what I think was a good choice about not pulling down the pullup. And horrifying embarrassment at having pulled down my pants in front of the nurse, magnified because I had done so wearing a cute owl print Goodnite diaper. My heart was pounding as though I’d just done wind sprints or stairs, and my system was suffused with adrenaline. My original plan had been to get a little thrill of excitement from having a stranger see the waistband of my Goodnites, and also the fun of public desperation in a safe setting. I had not planned for the nurse to see my entire diapered bottom half, or to release right before reaching the washroom. I suppose if I’d thought through my plan, and given the current behaviour of my bladder these past few months, that a key-in-latch leak was likely, but I suppose I underplayed this. Or slightly miscalculated my fluids. Or the wait was longer than I had planned. Maybe I should have tried to release while back in the waiting room. That felt like hours ago. I could hear the tinkling sound of pee overflowing the Goodnite and dripping into the toilet. I reached down and pulled down on the gusset to allow pee to escape there. The tinkle was replaced with a brief fwoosh, and then resumed, as pee simply rolled off the Goodnites gusset and into the toilet. If I don’t do this, the seal of the gathers on the new Goodnites is so good that sometimes the pee will overflow up the back or up the front and escape along the upper sides of the absorbent section or even the top (if I’m laying down for example). I was not keen on getting my cloths wet, or having to wipe down the floor. The pee was warm against my fingers. I could hear the hiss of my pee as it overwhelmed the diaper. It is hard to recall just how long I peed for, given the strange stilted start, but it was certainly a good minute, probably a little longer. As I was finishing, I was rocked with another wave of panic. Remember a few moments ago when I had a vague sense of pride at having correctly decided that I should leave the Goodnites up to protect my clothes? Well I had forgotten that I was supposed to be doing a flow test. The whole reason the nurse had been in the washroom at all was to turn the machine one. Despite the fact that a decent amount of pee was dripping into the toilet from the overwhelmed Goodnite, I was not doing the test correctly. Most of the pee, had been absorbed into the Goodnite. At this point I was pretty overwhelmed by everything and gave a couple of large panicky breaths. I worked at calming myself down, still sitting on the toilet wearing the bloated and wet Goodnite. I hastily tore the sides of the Goodnite and carefully pulled it up the front. If you let the front flop down, it risks spilling unabsorbed pee everywhere, and I had not come this far to get my panties and jeans (still around my ankles) wet. Some additional pee dripped into the commode. I rolled the wet diaper up and put it on the ground beside me. It dripped a little. I reached for the toilet paper and carefully wiped and dried myself. This took several wads. I also used one to wipe my eyes. At some point a couple of tears had escaped. My heart was still pounding, and I was almost shaking from the adrenalin. Fully dry, I pulled up my panties and jeans, did them up, and then picked up the wet Goodnite and deposited it in the garbage which had been just out of reach when I was sitting on the toilet. Heavy with pee, it sunk into the paper towel there. I washed my hands and added another few flowers of paper on top of it. I wet down a wad of paper towel with cool water and held it over my face to cool it, as it felt like it was on fire. There was a knock. “Everything ok?” I heard the nurse inquire through the door. “Yes, thank you” I stammered, my voice breaking. I heard a shuffling on the other side, and moved to lock the door. I then spent a couple of minutes composing myself and taking deep breaths. I looked around the washroom finally. Apart from the usual stuff, there was the commode, and beside it a urinal. The top of the commode had a panel with buttons and a piece of paper, that looked a lot like a receipt from the grocery story, had been spit out. I’ve seen these before. The machine spits out a paper copy of your flow. I asked one of my old urologists about the purpose of the flow test many exams ago, and the answer is that they are looking for irregularities. People with prostate issues will start and stop and create peaks and valleys on the sheet. Those with trouble starting will have a certain kind of line. I looked at my sheet of paper, and saw a couple of little bumps and then a big hump, followed by a low and bumpy line. This would be wholly useless as a diagnostic tool for my urologist, not that I’ve ever had issues with flow. I wasn’t concerned about the diagnostic implications of what had happened, but I still could not think of a way to explain it to the nurse without dying of embarrassment. I had been in the washroom for about 8 minutes when I realized that I had filled up a little. In the past, when I’ve done these tests, if they test you and find that you still have more than a couple of mils of residual they ask for you to try again. Hoping to avoid this, I pulled my jeans and panties back down and peed for another dribbling ten seconds on the commode. I wiped and washed my hands. I knew I could not remain in the washroom for much longer without worrying the nurse, and still with no idea about what I would say, I took the little piece of paper with further evidence of my shame, unlocked the bathroom door, and walked across the hall to the ultrasound room. I saw the nurse down the hall as I did so. It looked as though she was talking to the receptionist. I entered the empty room and sat in the chair next to my purse. I heard the nurse walking down the hall, arrive at the intersection of the examination room and washroom and turn into the washroom. She moved around in there for a short while and then returned to the examination room. “Everything ok?” She inquired, even toned and professional but with a hint of genuine concern. “I… Um…” I was still not sure exactly how to explain what had happened. And opening my mouth didn’t seem to help. She quickly saved me the trouble by interrupting my stammering. “Don’t worry, the flow test isn’t necessary, it’s ok.” The nurse said comfortingly, reaching down and removing the piece of paper which I was clutching between two fingers. “I can take this.” I was grateful that she had cut me off before I began to explain. I’m still not exactly sure what I would have said. However, her cutting me off in this way indicated to me that she knew exactly what had happened (or close enough to it), having seen the first part and extrapolated. “All right, let’s scan you now that you are empty, can you hop back up on the table please?” She asked politely in a chipper tone. I stood up, a little apprehensive and once again undid my jeans button. I also unzipped them and shimmied them down a little before I crawled back up on the examination table. In case it wasn’t obvious to her before, it was clear that I had wet my Goodnite, or at least removed it. This time she slipped the two pieces of thin paper underneath the waistband of my panties, and went about slathering on the ultrasound gel. I made eye contact with her for a minute and she smiled politely and reassuringly, as only a good professional nurse can do. The second part of the test took considerably longer than the first part. She once again scanned my bladder, saying something like, “Good, residual is only Xmls.” Feeling like I had to chime in at this point, I gathered up my courage and added “I used the toilet a second time.” Though I could have provided more detail, I couldn’t bring myself to. “Oh that’s good,” she replied. I was then instructed to roll onto each of my sides so that she could scan each of my kidneys. She was very thorough. I lay there, heart still pounding but slowing a little, as she rolled the wet gel-covered ultrasound probe over my lower body. The kidney scan takes considerably longer, as they always look for issues and stones and the like, and I was grateful that this was (and typically is) done after you’ve had the chance to empty your bladder. She finished and wiped the gel off my sides. “Ok, I’ll just put all of this in your file and show you to the consultation room, Dr. Y will be with your shortly.” She informed me. The test over, I sat up from the bed, and hopped off. I pulled up and then did up my jeans, and went over to the chair by the door where I had deposited my purse. While I was doing this the nurse jotted some notes down in my file, and then stapled the little slip of paper from my ‘failed’ flow test into the coloured folder. I waited politely by the down, face downcast for a few moments while she completed her notes. She then got up from the little wheelie stool that she had been sitting on in order to do the test, and headed out of the room. “Just this way.” I followed her out and to the left down the hall. We turned once and then she showed me into a typical consultation room. “Just have a seat and Dr. Y will be with you shortly.” She informed me again, smiling at me kindly. I opted to sit in one of the chairs in the room, rather than the examination table, as I wasn’t expecting any kind of medical exam at this point. This was generally the part of the appointment where I simply talk to the doctor. In the past, when my doctor was familiar with my case and myself they would ask about my progress or success with a different medication we were trying, or an update. As this was a new doctor, I was expecting to have to rehash my medical (and more bladder) history with them. I had brought notes as I tend to forget the names of the different medications I’ve tried and significant dates and the like, and I had also brought my voiding diary (printed off from the helpful App.). I won’t recount the 20 minute consultation I had with the urologist, as I’ve actually rehashed most of my relevant medical history above, but I’ll add that the nurse and doctor did have a muted conversation just outside of earshot down the hallway before the doctor came in, and this made me blush a little. I was a little flustered all the same and the 10 minutes wait for the urologist to come to see me only permitted me to regain my composure to an extent. I was glad that I had brought my notes. Apart from a surprise question about UTIs which got me a little flustered for reasons I won’t go into, the conversation was pretty typical. I’m please to say that the urologist did give me a referral for another round of Botox treatment, and I am just waiting for this appointment, it should be in early March. I’ll report back on how this goes for those who are interested. After I got my referral, as well as a repeat of some advice about lifestyle changes I could make to reduce my symptoms, and a prescription for the medication I will occasionally take to reduce my symptoms further, the doctor walked me out into the reception area. I thanked them and smiled awkwardly at the receptionist whose expression I could not read, and I headed towards the door. Just as I was about to leave the receptionist called my name. “Ms. Kirwan?” She called after me. I froze, one hand on the door, not sure what would happen next. “Is that your coat?” She asked. I turned around and did an awkward arm gesture, in which I suppose I was feeling for the coat I was not wearing, realized I did not have it, walked back to the waiting room, and found my coast still on the back of my chair where I had left it hours(?) ago. I retrieved it, not really paying any attention to the three people in the waiting too, except to notice that the man and the woman and her child were no longer there. I thanked the receptionist, slipped into my jacket, and beat a retreat back to the SkyTrain. Outside the office I texted my husband to let him know that everything had gone ok, neglecting to tell him about some, or rather most, of the actual things that transpired at the urologists office. I think sending him this much writing in a single text might challenge his appreciation for smart phone technology, and well while I’m open about my medical issues and kinks with him, this isn’t exactly something I think either of us are comfortable discussing. I decided to treat myself to some food, as I’d not had much before the appointment. I found a nice place nearby, and as I worked my way through some sushi, my heart rate reached a normal rate. The complicated maelstrom of emotions associated with these kinds of embarrassing incidents began to roil inside of me. It would take a while for me to process all the emotions from today’s misadventure, to isolate the exciting ones from the terrifying ones. But what was clear was that I had some writing to do when I got home. Thanks for sticking out to the end of this, I realize that 17 pages is actually quite a lot of writing to tell a story that could have been told in a couple of paragraphs, but I suppose that it is cathartic to write this stuff down. I’ve got a whole folder of experiences I’ve had, with half-completed one dominating at this point, and it’s interesting to go through them and re-read some of the strange, embarrassing, funny, and exciting things I’ve got up to. Stay tuned for another update. Hugs, Rach
  22. https://thisvid.com/videos/nikki/ This is a video about an 18 year old girl who still wets the bed and her (mom?) takes away her panty privileges. It’s from Diapermess.com and I didn’t see it on the do not post list and idek if it’s still a website.
  23. Last week I explained in my status that I had told my parents about my fetish. In responding to comments I received on that post, I realized there is more that I want to share about that experience. I'll start by elaborating on what happened that led to my telling my parents, and then share what I think makes this post belong in Wetting Experiences. I was getting ready for bed, and decided that I wanted that extra warmth and comfort that I get from wearing a diaper to bed. I put on a Goodnite with camo print and slipped in two depends pads which I'd poked holes through the underside of to make sure that I could empty my bladder fully into it without much risk of a leak. I drank a full bottle of water, refilled my bottle and put it at my bedside so I could sip from it while I read before falling asleep. On top of that, I hadn't peed for at least several hours before getting in bed and could barely feel a little fullness - around a 2 or 3 out of 10. I finished the second bottle and felt a little more of an urge, maybe up to a 4, before falling asleep. I was woken up in the early hours of the morning by a feeling of intense pressure from my bladder. I was very full, enough to see a bulge and feel my bladder with my hand. Hoping to further intensify the feeling, I got up and refilled my water bottle. I had no trouble walking, and only a little feeling of desperation filling the bottle from the tap. After getting back in bed, I took a few big swigs, crossed my legs and held myself with one hand for fun and to help ease the feeling so I might fall back asleep. I must have dozed off because it seemed like a moment later the pressure had almost doubled! I pushed with a fist on my now extremely distended bladder and was rewarded with a wave of mixed pleasure and pain throughout my entire body. I lay in bed for a few minutes, enjoying squirming, laying in different positions, holding myself and pressing on my bladder more. It began to get more painful than fun after a bit, so I decided it was time to let go. Even with all the added protection of two pads, I was pretty sure that as full as I was I would overflow my diaper so I went to the bathroom and stood in the tub. The release was amazing and I watched as the wetness spread upward on the front of the diaper. Continuing to pee, I squatted down to let the hot pee pool up against my butt. I peed for at least 30 seconds and I was pleased that the diaper only leaked a little at the end. Feeling completely amazing and thoroughly relieved I returned to bed, placing a towel under my butt to absorb any pee that got squeezed out as I lay down. I fell asleep, wet and happy and woke up to my alarm only to silence it and lay back down to enjoy the wetness some more. This was a bad idea, since I fell back asleep and woke up with only twenty minutes before I was supposed to be at work. My blissful daze was shattered and replaced with panic-mode urgency. I ran to the bathroom, pulled down my diaper and tossed it in the trash. I hopped in the shower to wash the pee off of myself, thinking that I had better conceal the diaper or take it back to my room to put in the trash there where I could take it out on my own (my parents give me pretty much complete privacy with regard to my room). However, by the time I was done showering and brushing my teeth my mind had moved on to how to get dressed and put my work things all together in the quickest way possible. The unconcealed, pee-soaked Goodnite that I had left in a bathroom that I was about to have to share with my parent's guests only returned to my mind well after I had gotten to work. I prayed that it would go unnoticed until I got home, but I ended up staying pretty late because it was Valentine's day; I'm a cook at a fancy restaurant and our Valentine's Day special dinner had attracted enough people to fill the house for the entire evening. When I finally got home at about 7:30 pm, the guests had arrived and as my parents introduced me and I made small talk the only thing on my mind was whether or not that diaper was still in the trash upstairs. I got away from the conversation quickly, saying that I was tired from work, and went upstairs to the bathroom. The trash was empty, as I had been almost sure it would be. Potential scenarios raced through my mind; my mom showing her friends to their room upstairs, then showing the bathroom they would be using and all three of them noticing my diaper. At that point I knew my only hope was that my mom had simply emptied the trash without noticing what was in it, and I wished and prayed that I wouldn't have to talk to her about it. For the next three days, it didn't come up and I began to believe that she hadn't noticed it or that if she had she wasn't going to talk to me about it. Sunday evening came around and as usual she asked me to collect the trash from around the house for pickup Monday morning. As I walked upstairs, she said, "Hey, when I cleaned up before my friends came to visit, I found what looked like an adult diaper in the trash. What's that about?" Halfway up the stairs I turned around, looked at her for a long moment, and said, "You don't want to know. You really don't." At this point I feel like I should mention to anyone who has read this far that I am 9 months clean and sober and the 6 years prior to the past 9 months were an ugly downward spiral of drug addiction. So, given that I kept much of my drugged out life a secret from my parents with constant lies, of course my parents get worried when I don't want to answer their questions. At this point, having overheard us, my dad joined my mom at the bottom of the stairs. My mom looked up at me with the same pitifully worried face I've lied to countless times and said "I'm just concerned that this means that you're doing drugs again." To which I said, "No, I'm not." But the look on her face didn't go away, and I knew that without an explanation both my mom and dad would continue to be worried and suspicious. Up until that point when my mom told me why she was worried, I thought that she had guessed my fetish and was disgusted by it and worried for my mental health or something like that. I thought about the best way to tell them the truth and show them that it was the truth. I said, "This is just a fetish that I have, and have had in some way since before I can remember. I like wearing diapers. Remember when I was 4 and started wetting the bed and wetting myself all the time and you put me back in diapers? I did that on purpose so I could wear diapers again. Remember when you found wetting porn on the computer when I was in 7th grade? All these events are linked." I could see relief mixed with embarrassment come over their faces and knew I had gotten my message through successfully, if awkwardly. I think one of them said, "Oh... ok." That was the end of it. We haven't talked about it since, and I think, I hope that it will stay that way. Well, if you've actually read this entire block of text I'm extremely thankful to you because I've felt a real need to tell someone about it. I'm sharing this because it was a pretty emotionally charged moment all around, and I'm wondering if others have been in the same situation of being discovered by a parent. The reference I made to the time when I was 4 is something I've been meaning to write a post about on its own because it's my earliest recollection of enjoying wetting and diapers, I think.
  24. Here's my latest story. It's just a start for now but I have the full plot in my mind and the rest might be coming quickly (at leats if it's of any interest for somebody). Comments more than welcome ;) The Ultimate remediation test. Part 1 ---------------------------------------------------------- When Lily arrived at the door of class 34, as she had been asked to through the intercom, she met two older girls out of the three other who had also been called for an unknown reason. “Hi!” one of them spoke with a friendly voice, “I'm Shania, from grade ten.” She looked like the classical sixteen year old with a regular sized breast and an average shaped body topped by an abnormally delightful face. “Hi...” Lily muttered shyly, quite surprised that someone would speak to her for something else than insults or mockery. She had always been quite reserved, but it had only gone worse after both her parents had been brutally murder by a psychopath, just a few weeks before she was to enter high school. “And? Who are you?” Shania asked innocently after a brief and uneasy silence. “Well, you see it's not Karen, so she must be Lily.” the third girl answered in a disconcertingly casual way. Indeed, four girls had been called: Lily, Shania, Karen (who wasn't there yet) and Hayden. So this was Hayden. A slim girl with small round breasts dressed like a boy. She was wearing a baseball cap and didn't even bother to use make-up. Still, she looked quite attractive in a way for whomever likes boyish girls. “I... Hmmm... Yes, I... You... know me???” Lily stuttered. How could Hayden, a senior she had never met, know an insignificant freshmen like her? “I've heard about you.” she answered with a faint smile. Lily looked away, her face turning beet-red and burning as if it had been put into the microwave. Of course that was it. She remembered her very first day of high school and the utterly embarrassing accident she'd had that day. It was as if she could still feel the hot streams of urine rushing down her legs and hear the torrent cascading from her chair. She had not forgotten the humiliating laughter of her classmates and their degrading comments. She had not forgiven the inhuman indifference of her homeroom teacher who had forced her to sit in her smelly puddle until the end of the period. Most of all, she would never heal from the extreme disgrace she had endured while spending a whole afternoon in the thick diaper the nurse had made her wear. Since then, her school life had been worse than hell. She had been bullied every single day. She hadn't spent twenty-four hours without crying. She had been nicknamed “baby-Lily”, which was quite easily found given her small child-like body. She had not made any friend and not even a teacher would have defended her. Lily was fighting to hold the tears invited by those painful memories as loud hateful cries emerged from the end of the hall. “Keep your hands off me, bastard!!!” the angry voice shouted. “Just go and suck your daddy's tiny dick!!! I swear, I'll kill you, fucking asshole!!!” “And here comes Karen...” Hayden noticed, even before looking her way. to be continued
  25. Version MP4

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    A young student sits down on a bench. She wonders whether she will be able to pass an English test tomorrow. On the other hand she has always had great experiences with studying outdoors, fresh air does miracles. She drinks her favorite brand of tea. After a while she walks around the local pond to let her muscles relax. When she's back on the bench she suddenly feels pressure in her bladder. She is very shy and doesn't pee outdoors very often but nobody seems to be around so she decides to relieve herself behind the nearest tree. As she is constantly looking around she doesn't notice she did not pull down her pants enough and she pees in them. Watch this video to see more.

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