Dimwitrolo 3,018 Posted October 15, 2017 Popular Post Share Posted October 15, 2017 I knew it wasn't going to be a good day when I saw the train pulling out right as I reached it. I'd heard the buzzer going off as I'd reached the station, and was a step away before the doors slammed shut and I ran face first into them. From there, I really should of gone home and called it a day. Maybe called in sick. But no - today I decided to carry on. As a result, I'm sat here typing this in a wet skirt, with a pair of wet jeans waiting to go in the washing machine, and I have no idea where one of my socks are. My hands are cut, my knee is grazed, and I'm half expecting a call from my boss telling me not to come back tomorrow. Let me tell you what happened... Chapter One - A run of bad luck I hit the doors with a smack, and the next thing I knew I was sitting on my ass, with my arms behind me propping me up. I open my eyes and watch the train pull away, and the passengers inside all laughing, looking and pointing at me. I'm too stunned to do anything, and I hardly know where I am until the train is out of sight and I'm left staring at the wall with the familiar metro sign for Kings-gate station. I blink and let myself come to for a moment, before glancing to either side. There are about six people on the station, five of them are laughing and the sixth doesn't know what's going on. It's at this point I realise that my bag is about three feet away from my and that my skirt has billowed upwards and I've just exposed my underwear to an entire train's worth of people. I blush a hot red as I stand up, wiping the grit from my hands down my jacket. My palms sting a bit, and when I take a look I realise that I've got a cut on my left hand. Nothing massive, but I'm bleeding slightly. I brush my skirt down to make myself decent again, leaving a small red smear as I do. I wipe some more grit from under my skirt and I can feel a damp bit where I smear some more blood on my thigh. I walk over to my bag, pick it up, and look around the station. I better wash my hands before I head to work... I step into the bathroom. It's a station bathroom, which means it's - well, it's a bit under the weather to put it lightly. Do people forget how to use toilets when they go into a public restroom or something? Puddles all over the floor, and only some of it comes from the fourth sink which has leaked for as long as I've lived in the area. I cast a glance at the four cubicles and consider using them for a second - I haven't been yet - but the sight of various bodily fluids and other assorted goodies puts me off. I look back at the sinks and hope to God that I didn't just see a used Johnny hanging over the handle of one of the loos. I twist the tap with my good hand, and put my bleeding hand under the stream. I then yank it away and yelp - It's really damn hot! I flick my hand to the side throwing a mix of water and blood at the wall, before I use my good hand to run the cold tap too. I gingerly try running my fingers under the stream again, and when the water's neither scalding or icy, I rinse both my hands under it. A quick look at the soap dispenser tells me that I won't be using soap today - I'll spare you the details as to why. I consider sighing before it dawns on me that breathing in here might be a health hazard. I pull a tissue out one of the tissue boxes and dab my hands dry, and then I take a little more in case I start bleeding again. Which is immediately. I hold the tissue in my hand and open the bathroom door to head out. Just my luck - as I step out the second train blows the door-closing siren and I watch in awe as the doors follow by closing. I slap my palm into my face and sigh as the second train makes it's way into town, and I'm left angry and late for work. I pull my hand from my face and realise I've made another mistake - a cool breeze on a damp spot on my face tells me I need to wash up again. Back into the bathroom I go... I leave the bathroom, and as I do there's a third train, sitting with it's doors open. Without even thinking I charge at the open doors, half expecting to bounce off them as I reach it. As I reach the train however, eyes shut and firmly expecting to bounce onto the floor, I fly through it's two open doors. I wasn't prepared for this - I trip over as my legs can't keep up and I land nose-first onto the other side, spilling my keys out my jacket pocket. I moan and pull myself to my feet, again slapping down my skirt. I'm too busy grasping for my keys with one hand and wiping at my ass with the other to realise all the carriage is giggling. I stand up and turn around, my back to the doors I've just kissed, and try to pull a straight face. Then I stop trying, wince and rub my nose. As I pull my fingers from my face and realise I've given myself a nose bleed, I decide I've had enough. I'm going home. I take a step forward. The alarm sounds and the doors slide shut, with me on the inside of them. The wrong side of them. An urge to cry rises in my, but I quash it down and wipe my nose with the tissues I'd taken from the bathroom, hoping that I won't be giving myself some horrific illness. I hold it in place and slump down on a chair, between a man who's fallen asleep, and an old woman who seems to be watching me. I look at myself in the reflection. My hair's thrown about, and my nose is a bit red. I brush my hair to one side. I've got blonde hair, a little wavy but it mostly sits flat and hangs somewhere between my jaw and my shoulders. Though right now it also hangs onto my lip, my nose, and my eyelashes. I've got green eyes, and a number of freckles over my face, neck, and breasts. Not that you can see my breasts under my shirt of course. My shirt - my work shirt - is a white polo with the company logo on the right breast. A plain logo - a wide red and white striped shield with red text reading Washington's. It's an American style diner. My skirt - not part of the uniform - is slate coloured, mid/lower thigh length skirt with brass buttons to one side. Under the skirt, white underwear, and further down is a matching pair of white knee-high socks and white tennis shoes. My jacket, also not uniform, is a blue Letterman style jacket that used to be my brothers. What is the uniform is in my bag - a set of tan slacks. I can put them on in the changing room. Or anywhere really, I could just put them on under my skirt. Not here of course, there's a man to my left and an old woman to my right. "Are you okay, sweetie?" I turn my head to the right - the old woman is looking at me with a look of concern for my bloodied nose, red face, and stinging hand. Well, she can't see that my hand is stinging, but she seems to sense it. "Hm? I'm, Uh, fine" I lie to her. The red streak that's about to flow over my lip says otherwise. She reaches into her handbag and pulls out some tissues without even looking inside the bag. "Here you are, love" She says to me, pushing the tissues into my face. As much as I appreciate the sentiment, my immediate response is to pull my head back. She notices and pushes the tissues into my hands. "Sorry, err, miss" I say to her, taking the tissues to my face. "And thank you for the tissues" "Not a problem" She says to me, smiling. "I'm always glad to help" "T-thanks" I repeat. She smiles and nods. Maybe things are looking up for me now. Wrong. I reach my station. It's only four stops down, but that's exactly enough time for the train to go from 'a bit busy' too 'absolutely packed'. I can't move. Luckily I'm sat down, so I'm not being squeezed between some sweaty bloke and a heavy-breathing pervert. No - today they're just standing directly in front of me, bashing their bags into my face and my legs. As the train begins to slow down, I rise to my feet, pushing the two men a little to the side (and receiving some harsh looks from them). I try to step forward. Of course no-one moves or even seems to notice. They ignore my pleas of "'scuse me" or my pressing into their shoulders for the most part. Eventually though, I reach the door. Just in time to hear the buzzer and watch the doors closing inches from my head. I try to put my arm through the gap but I'm too slow - instead I get my fingers squeezed back inside. I wince and grab my hand with the other, and glare at the doors as the train lurches forward again and my station disappears behind me The train reaches the stop ahead of mine, and as the doors open a movement of people throws me out and onto the floor. Again. Still, as I lift myself off my face I can appreciate no longer being on that damned tin can. I breath in fresh air for the first time in two minutes and try to avoid the thought that I'm going to have to force myself into another one to get back. I pull my phone out my pocket to check the time, and my luck being what it is I manage to toss it into the bin next to me. I look at the bin. My phone's just landed in there. From here I can see a banana skin hanging over the edge of the bin. I dread to look inside... I look inside. A grim sight looks back at me. My phone is sitting in a plastic jar of half eaten pasta salad. I wince again as I reach inside and pull my phone out, dripping tomato sauce. Another grim sight greets me as I see the clock telling me it's already six-thirty. I have walked through the door to Washington's exactly half an hour ago. Jerry - my boss - Is not going to be pleased. He's always had it in for me. Still - better late than never, I guess. I walk to the other end of the platform and wait for the train. As I hear the train pull in it dawns on me that I need the toilet. I take a glance down the line and see the train drawing near - it's too late for a break now, and the train after this won't be coming for a good fifteen minutes. Still - at least this one's empty. Each carriage seems to only have half the chairs taken up - except for the one that goes still in front of me. I smile and step in, before I realise why it's empty. A puddle sits in the middle. It spans the carriage side to side, and it reeks. Someone's been travel sick. And now no-one is stupid enough to sit here. I recoil for a moment, and go to leave the carriage. I don't even make a full turn before the buzzer's sounded and the doors slid shut, and the train lurches forward. I've not had the time to brace for movement, and I fall straight to the floor, my face inches away from the mess on the floor. Without even thinking I'm pushing myself back and trying not to retch, checking my reflection to see if I've come out clean. Luckily for me - I have. Well, so far as I can tell. I push myself into the far wall of the carriage and try not to breath through my nose until the train reaches the station. The train reaches the station - Liberty garden, and I manage to step onto the platform with tripping over, or hurting myself, or having a stroke. First achievement of the day. I decide to jog to work from there - up the station's stairs, through the corridors, and into the ticket gate. Yes - into. I swipe my card over the reader as I'm walking, and then walk straight into the gates that refuse to open. I'm caught by the doors just under my ribs, winding my a little. I groan and step back a couple times as the doors open and close. I think I must have growled audible, because the skinny teenage door guard turns around and sees me. "Y-you okay miss?" he squeaks. "Yeah, f-fine" I wheeze, clutching my chest. "Can you let me through? Please?" He looks to either side, then steps forward. "H-here, come on through" he squeaks, pressing his own card onto the reader. The doors don't respond. The doors next to me do though, and I glare at him. He notices and is too stunned to respond. Neither of us move for a moment, until the doors swing shut again. I raise and eyebrow and he taps his card down again. The same doors open. Again, neither of us move until they close again. I take two slow steps the side, and he taps his card again. I step through, and the gates close behind me. "Thanks." I say to the kid, who's clearly embarrassed about the whole thing. If I hadn't had such a bad morning I might find it funny. But right now I'm angry, I've been bleeding, I've got a dirty phone, and I need to pee really bad. I walk briskly from the station. Having left the station and reached the street, I'm greeted by a thin rain and some stronger winds, blowing my hair about. I clutch my jacket shut and push myself forward. I arrive at work at about six forty-five. Fourty five minutes later than I'm meant to. Jerry greets me with a glare and raised arms. If looks could kill... "Sarah? What the f- what on earth are you doing?" He half-shouts. "What time do you call this?" "S-sorry, Mr Ford" I say to him, exasperate. I sigh - which makes him frown harder. "I just - I've had a rough morning" I say, raising my hands and showing him my grazed palms. "I missed two trains-" "Two trains, Sarah? Two?" "Y-yeah - b-but it wasn't my fault!" "Who's fault was it, Sarah? Sure as shit wasn't mine!" I don't know what to say, so I just look at him, trying to resist the urge to burst out crying. I don't know if he notices and feels sorry for me, or if he just gives up on shouting at me, but he stops yelling. "Right. You - behind the counter, now. You're on tills today" "S-should I get changed?" "Oh for - YES. Yes you should get changed, there's a uniform for a reason!" I try to avoid eye contact as I make my way to the changing rooms. I head inside and shut the door. I drop my bag to the floor and pull out the slacks, then pull them on. I undo the buttons on my skirt and let it fall to the floor by my feet. I shove it unceremoniously into the bag, hang my bag and coat on the hangers, and head back into the shop front right as the clock hits Seven. Jerry casts an icy look at me from the front till, catching me before I can even move toward the toilet. I daren't head to the loos without saying anything first. "H-hey, Mr Ford, mind if I -" "Mind if you what? Take up more time? Sarah - it's seven in the morning. Morning Rush - you know what that is, right? You've only been here for three years" He spits out the words like some kind of machine gun. "If you even consider asking to do anything except overtime, I'm going to be putting you on tomorrow's special lunch menu" "Err, nothing" I say, My bladder doesn't agree. I have to go, really badly, and I genuinely fear what Jerry might do more than I fear wetting myself right now. I take my place at the till. There are about six tills in total lining the bar. It's a thirties-American-diner style shop, with a checkered floor and red leather seats against the walls with a table between two. My colleagues don't say a word until I take my place behind the till, waiting for the morning rush to begin any moment now. We never used to get such rushes in the morning, but then one day about a year ago, Jerry's wife bought two coffee machines and a coffee filter - so now we do coffee's too. We've got our own personalised paper cups and everything, with a blue shield with a white star on the sides. It makes a lot of money of course - everyone wants a coffee in the morning - but it also makes a lot of work, and they've had to hire a barista and train another. That other one is me. Usually I'd be getting ready to use it, but my machine's been broken for about a week. Just as well really, the sight of espresso pouring into a cup would not help my bladder right now. I lean against the counter and wrap one leg around the other in an attempt to hold it easier while also looking casual. My bad luck seems to carry on through the day. I manage to screw up at least one out of every five orders, to the point that one customer calls me a moron and leaves without paying. I'm too busy hopping foot to foot behind the counter to give my full attention, and each screw up gets me more flustered, and then I make more mistakes, and - it's a vicious cycle. It's not until I accidentally through a double espresso and a panini onto a customer's newly polished shoes that I get called away. The porcelain shatters in slow motion - the coffee flies up, the panini falls apart and the business man flinches as a dark brown coffee stains his suit pants, his shoes and his socks. Jerry thunders over to me while the poor man stands stunned and trying to realise what's going on. Jerry grabs me by the arm and pulls me behind the counter, letting my colleague Chrissie take over from me. "Sarah? What are you playing at, Dammit!" "I'm sorry - I-I-I" "Don't be sorry, Sarah, don't make any more mistakes, got me? I run a diner here, not a circus" "Y-yes Mr Ford" "No. More. Mistakes. Got it?" "Y-yes" He looks at me like he doesn't trust me. I shift foot to foot as my bladder becomes the one thing on my mind. "Get on coffee's Sarah" He says to me after a moment of silence. "And try not to throw them around, alright?" "Y-yes Jer- Yes Mr Ford!" Jerry thunders away, swearing under his breath. I stand still watching until he's gone through the doors to the kitchen, before I bend over double as my bladder reminds me that it needs emptying - badly. I turn around to see the state of the shop. It's packed. I can't take a loo break now - not when I'm on the only coffee machine. Jerry might actually kill me, which is something I'd rather avoid. I take the barista's white apron and put it over my head, and hit the espresso button on the machine, getting one ready. The coffee's aren't too hard to make. An Americano is an espresso topped up with water, and everything else is an espresso topped with steamed milk and foam. No, not hard to make - what is hard is taking about five coffee orders at a time, every minute or so. Especially when each new coffee getting poured pushes you a step closer to pouring something warm down your legs. There's not too much more to say about the busy period here. At the till they call for coffee, and at the machines I make the coffees. I also squirm and wriggle and moan - but that isn't part of the job. At least when I'm making coffee at a rate of knots I'm slightly distracted from my bladder getting fuller and fuller until it starts to feel hard. The customers like to mix things up by asking for a tea or a hot chocolate occasionally (who has a hot chocolate in the morning? Honestly!) Some customers go even further, asking for things that we don't have and then complaining. Still, here at the machine, I don't mind too much because the customers aren't complaining to me, and I'm not spilling anything on them. No, back here I'm just spilling it on the floor while avoiding spilling inside my pants. By the time it reaches ten my bladder is too full to think straight. I'm making coffees in order and hoping that the customers aren't asking for too much. I don't think I'm doing anything wrong until Jerry grabs me by the shoulder again "Sarah!" He shouts. "Soya tea - where is it?" "What?" "You're joking, right? I've had this gentleman asking for a soya tea for about fifteen minutes now!" Shit. "I-I, err, sorry! I-I'll get right to i-hnnnn!" "....what?" I wince hard and grab myself with both hands, knocking over an empty paper cup. "What are you - MAKE THE TEA" I nod and turn back to the machine. I jam an empty cup under the water spout and hold down the lever. I chuck in a tea bag with one hand and watch intensely as water pours into the cup. The splashes thunder into the cup as it fills up, and I can feel my bladder getting ready to blow any moment now. I watch as more water pours in and in, mesmerised by the flow. More water splashes in, until brown water is flooding over the top of the cup and into the water tray below, splattering and splashing. My own bladder is fit to burst, egged on by the streaming water from in front of me. I can almost feel myself go when Jerry grabs me again "SARAH!" He shouts - way louder than I think he'd meant to. The shop goes silent, save the jazzy music playing in the background. He grabs my arms and holds them up, leaving the water overflowing the cup behind me. "Sarah - what the hell are you doing?" "I-I-I" "Don't give me stuttering dammit, give me that tea!" "But I have to-" "Have to what?" I look at Jerry - he's fuming. The customers and my colleagues are all watching me, waiting for my response. The water is splashing into the cup behind me, flicking water around. My nose aches, my hand still stings, and my bladder is rock solid. I look down at my feet - I can actually see a bulge where my bladder is. I look back to Jerry, then the customers, then the staff, then over at the spilling cup. It's splashing, and pouring, and flooding, and I... I lose control. It's all too much for me today - I'm late, I'm hurt, I'm overwhelmed, and now I'm getting wet. My bladder gives up trying to hold everything in and before I can tell what's happening there's a hot burst around my crotch as my overfilled bladder spills out. The jazz and the splashing are quickly joined by murmurs, gasps, and more splashing, as an entire days worth of gold pee flows out of me, I whimper as Jerry stares me in my eyes, which I feel tear up. Meanwhile, I can sense a growing flow of pee down my thighs and shins, with the streams wrapping around my legs and flowing around my knees and ankles. My pants, my socks, my underwear and my shoes all soak in the pee rapidly as it jets out of me. A dark black stain floods down my legs over the brown fabric of my work pants, making my accident more than obvious. Some chuckles behind me, some gasps, and more muttering tells me that everyone is looking. I blush powerfully and clamp my eyes shut as I try to wake up from a horrible dream. O f course I don't - what happens is my socks and shoes get stained a pale yellow, and a hot puddle begins to grow beneath me. Jerry lets go of my hands and I fall to my knees, resting my body on my heels, letting my bladder empty itself after being forced to hold everything in for so long. Talking and ordering carries on again as the spectacle of a grown girl of twenty-three pissing herself loses its appeal, but my bladder doesn't seem to realise as it continues squeezing itself empty. As the last squirts shoot down my thighs, I start to whimper as it all really starts to get to me. I open my eyes, and through the tears I can just about make out Jerry. Or, more accurately, Jerry's crotch. I look up to see his face, and he's looking straight at me. "S-sorry Jerry" I stutter, drips still falling from beneath me. He doesn't look like he knows what to do. He sort of looks at me, tight lipped and a bit guilty. "Get up Sarah" He says to me, giving me his hands. I climb back up to my feet, the still-warm fabric sticking to my thighs. I stagger once or twice as my body isn't quite prepared to be stood up so soon after loosing all control. I nearly slip in the fresh puddle, but Jerry catches me. "That's Mr Ford to you" He reminds me, but he doesn't seem too insulted. I figure he knows that in my state my mind isn't on being polite, it's on my still warm clothes, my soaked legs, and my fantastically empty bladder. I sigh hard as the relief begins to set in. He turns to one of my colleagues, a woman about my age - Martha. "Martha, take her to the staff room will you?" Jerry says. "Get her changed into her skirt, I'll clean up here and then deal with her" "Sure - come on Sarah" She says, offering me her hand. I nod, flicking a tear off me, and take her hand. She leads me through the kitchen. The kitchen staff don't seem too pleased to have me dripping my way through to the staff room, but they haven't really got a choice. "Are you alright Sarah?" Martha asks me. I manage to nod, sniffing. "That looks pretty embarrassing" She says to me, as if I don't know. I nod. "Still need to go?" She asks. At first the seems like a dumb question, but then my bladder tinges. I don't know if I just didn't let it all out or if my bladder was pushed too far, but I still need to pee. I nod at her sheepishly. "Come on you then" She says, leading me by the hand and out the back door. The door leads into an alley behind the store where we keep the bins, and the smokers have a their breaks. The cold air blowing in my face really exaggerates how warm my face is from blushing, and how cold my legs have gotten. She takes one of my hands. "Go on then - finish off" She says, smiling in what I assume is an attempt to be comforting "W-what?" I ask. "Pee? Here?" "Why not, you're over a drain!" "People would see! I'm not going to expose myself in an alley way!" "No, silly! Go in your pants!" She says it like it's obvious, but to me the obvious thing to do would be to pee before I left the house and missed three trains and wet myself at work. She smiles warmly at me again like it's meant to help, but it's not so easy to feel like she's got all her marbles when she's trying to make me wet myself again! "You gonna go or not?" She asks me, looking like she's getting bored. "I, err, I guess - couldn't I just use the-" "Sarah. It's fine. Don't you think it feels kinda nice anyway?" "Martha! Eww!" "Would you feel better if I went too?" "I guess - don't piss yourself Martha!" I laugh. She smiles - I guess she's just trying to be nice. "Alright then" I say. "Here goes". I take in a deep breath, hold it in, then release. A subtle hiss, followed by a familiar sensation of heat shooting around my crotch hits me. Relief begins to flood over me again, and I must moan because I catch Martha giggling at me. Deciding that it'd be best to get this over with, I squeeze on my bladder, resulting in a harsh hiss as pee shoots down me and runs through my pants, splashing on the floor between my feet. The cold patches quickly warm up again as fresh pee is absorbed by the fabric, before it flows out and lands on the floor, draining quickly away into the drain and leaving black streaks behind it. I close my eyes and just let my bladder do its thing. Pee runs over my thighs and shins again, taking the same still wet path it had before, occasionally making new paths down me, including one that runs down the very front of my shin and making me shiver. My shoes squelch as I wriggle my toes inside, as pee floods into them. My socks are going to be stained a pale yellow top to bottom, and my shoes appear to be like that too. I feel my face relax into a blissful smile as I empty my bladder completely, warming myself up in the process. "Better?" Martha asks, leaning to one side. I blush and nod, still letting pee trickle out of me. It takes a short moment to stop, and I can feel Martha watching every single drip run down my legs. When I open my eyes, she appears to be blushing too. I'm not surprised - I'd be embarrassed if someone deliberately wet themselves in front of me! "B-better!" "I kinda need to go now too" Martha says to me. "I told you it feels good!" "Martha-a!" I laugh. "Might do it myself now anyway" "Martha! Don't wet yourself, okay!" I laugh, taking her by the shoulders. She smirks back at me. "Alright Sarah, you've convinced me. Another time then?" I chuckle at the idea of someone planning to wet themselves sometime. Martha smirks back at me. "Come on you, let's get you changed" We head back into the office, after I've flicked my legs a couple times to stop them dripping. That's not the end, by any means. You need to know why my skirt is wet, and why my sock is missing. Well - I'll tell you. Next time. Right now it's midnight, and I've got work in the morning. Here's hoping the day goes better than today right? I mean, how much worse can a day be than pissing yourself TWICE in front of your boss? Whoops - spoilers! Don't worry, I won't tell you any of the important details, like whether or not Jerry still employs me, that's what you're really here for, right? What's that? That's not what you're here for? See you next time! Marquis de Pee, WaityKaty, Kei and 6 others 9 Quote Link to comment
Melificentfan 1,215 Posted October 16, 2017 ✨ Legendary Member Share Posted October 16, 2017 What a amazing chapter I can't wait to read where this story goes Quote Link to comment
largebio 439 Posted October 16, 2017 Share Posted October 16, 2017 Can’ wait for this story to continue! Quote Link to comment
DerivativeWings 1,648 Posted October 16, 2017 Share Posted October 16, 2017 If I had to go through a day like that, I'd cry. It was lovely though. The story felt as though it spiraled towards a boiling point of a mess of a day in a very cathartic fashion. Quite hot at the end, too. Quote Link to comment
Dimwitrolo 3,018 Posted October 19, 2017 Author Share Posted October 19, 2017 Let's recap what happened last time. I had a shit day. Here's a preview of what's about to come: I continue having a shit day. I guess that's kinda obvious - I'm sat here in a wet skirt that's starting to smell. Of piss. Because I pissed myself. And me being me I tried to hold on as best I could because I didn't want to wet myself twice in the same day. Which means I held on with both hands until thee pee stopped running through my fingers. I won't go into detail about that right now though, you can read on for that. Chapter Two - Chapter one but continued Martha leads me back into the building, and once we're inside she leads me through the kitchen and into the staff-room. Each step I take squelches and leaves a wet footprint on the floor behind me. I can tell everyone in the kitchen is watching me, which makes me blush again. I try looking down, but the sight of my still warm pants just reminds me of what they're staring at, so instead I let Martha lead me by the hand into the staff room with my eyes closed and a couple tears running down my cheeks. "They all were looking, weren't they?" I ask as Martha shuts the door behind me. She nods at me. I stand in the middle of the staff room while Martha roots through a cupboard to find something. The staff room isn't massive - it's about ten metres long, and about three metres wide, and of course it seems smaller because of all the stuff piled in here that they couldn't put in the kitchen - things like spare boxes, draws, and the staff lockers, including mine. On the wall opposite the wall with the lockers is a cheap leather couch, and right infront of that is a folding plastic table with some discarded food packaging. While Martha roots about in the cupboard I squelch over to my locker and pull out my bag with the skirt inside. Of course I don't have spare underwear, socks or shoes because I hadn't planned on pissing myself today. All I have is a skirt. I pull the skirt and look back at Martha, who's set down a plastic sheet over the sofa. It's just the plastic from around a box of something or other, but it'll keep the seat clean. Martha points to it. "Want to sit down, wet-pants?" She asks me. I blush immediately. "T-thanks, Martha" I say to her, stepping over and sitting down, leaving my bag next to me. I lean forward and pull my shoes off, followed by my warm, wet socks. They're stained a shade of yellow that tells me I really ought to drink more, ironically. I flop them into my shoes and sit back on the sofa, stretching out my legs and wriggling my toes. It feels quite liberating being barefoot and sat down after being stood up all day, especially considering what's happened. By all day I mean from about seven until now - and now is about ten-thirty, but it feels way longer. I rest one leg over the other, and rest my head back on the sofa cushions. Martha takes a seat on folding chair in front of the lockers and smiles at me. "You look real comfy there" She says, titling her head to one side. I smirk. "Ha, I would be if I wasn't starting to get cold" I say to her, as the wet fabric clinging to me begins to go from warm to room temperature. I look down at them again to really assess the damage. The main wet patch is around my crotch, obviously. It sort of seems to have exploded out from my crotch, sideways over my thighs, about a foot in width at it's widest, making the inner edges of my pockets damp. Judging by how my backside feels, the wet patch behind me covers me cheek to cheek. The wet patch tapers down my thighs, before bowing outwards at my knees, then tapering down again the the leg-holes. I lift my feet up to get a better look at the ends of the legs. At the holes the wet patch seems to have become a complete circle. My feet glisten under the flickering light bulb. "So what now?" I ask Martha, hoping she'll know what to do. She shrugs. "I guess get changed" She says to me. "Unless you want to go home wet and cold, drawing looks from everyone" "I can't say I do" I admit. "All I have is the skirt though - no spare shoes or anything, and I'm not going barefoot" "Well, obviously" Martha says. "If I were you, I'd take everything wet off, then put on the skirt and shoes." "No underwear?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "When I'm wearing a skirt?" "Well, your underwear's wet" She reminds me. "Still, I'd rather have wet panties than no panties!" "But what if someone sees them?" "Martha - If someone's going to look up my skirt I'd rather they just saw underwear, no matter no wet it was" "But then people would think you wet yourself!" "I did wet myself!" I remind her - and with perfect timing. Right as I shout that out, Amber comes in, swinging the door open and letting the entire kitchen hear me. I feel myself go red again. Amber stands still for a moment with the door resting against her, looking at me, sort of stunned. "A-are you okay, Sarah?" She asks in her thick Scottish accent. "Me? Yeah, fine!" I answer, slapping my hands down on my thighs before I can remember what's on them. "Amazing, in fact, Amber - fucking amazing" "S-sorry, I was just asking" she says. I sit, staring at her, until she realises that she should shut the door. "What happened?" She asks. I raise an eyebrow. "It's not obvious, is it?" I ask her, my voice dripping with more sarcasm than my legs are dripping on the floor. "Sarah, don't take it out on Amber" Martha says to me. I lean back again and sigh. "You're right - sorry Amber" I say. "I've had a crap day. What's up, anyway?" "Erm, Jerry sent me down to collect you once you're ready to go back up" She explains, rolling all her 'r's. "A-are you ready yet?" I raise my eyebrow again, and I'm about to go off on one when Martha coughs and brings me back down. Amber seems to notice as she nods at me and leans against the wall. Amber's only been here a few weeks now - whereas I've been here going on two years. She's about twenty two, and she's quite small for her age. I don't think she's ever been into a pub and not had them ask for ID. She's got brunette wavy hair that falls over her shoulders, and a face full of freckles. Martha, by comparison, has flat blonde hair cut into a bob, she's just under thirty, and she has no freckles. She's also quite tall. I lift the skirt of the top of my bag and stand up, throwing one or two drips off my legs and onto the floor. I go to undo the button on my pants. As usual, the thing doesn't want to come off, and it doesn't help today that it's wet and slippery. I look back up at the two girls at the other end of the room. "Err, I'm gonna get changed, would you mind...?" "No - not at all!" Amber says, smiling. "You go ahead, we don't mind!" I wait for them to leave - Martha makes initial motions to get up and leave, but when she sees Amber standing still, beaming and waiting for me to get changed, she sits back down. Martha looks back at me, and I look back at the two girls. Martha looks confused as to what to do, Amber looks like she's genuinely trying her best to be friendly. "...Well could you?" I ask. Amber's eyes shoot open "Y-you want us to undress you?" She stutters. I rub my hand against my face. "I want you both to leave. So I can get changed." I explain. I can see the realisation physically impact her. She raises her eyebrows and nods slowly. "R-right, we'll go!" The two girls get up and leave, leaving me alone in the staff room with my wet pants and unmistakable odour of fresh urine. I fight with the button on my pants for half a minute before it finally comes undone, and then I let the pants fall down my legs into a wet heap around my feet. The now-cold stain makes me wince as it lands on me. I step out of the heap, one foot at a time, leaving wet foot prints on the blue-painted concrete floor. I've never taken my shoes off in here - I'm surprised at both how cold and how smooth the floor is! I do my best to stay on my tiptoes to keep off the floor. I hobble over to my sneakers and slide my feet in - they're really cold, so I take them back off and groan. I look around to see what to do, and as I look to my left I can see both Martha and Amber watching me through the door's window, gaping at my half-naked body. I sheepishly take a step back, out of their view. I decide to put my skirt on before I do anything else. I put one foot after the other through the skirt, pull it to my waist, and button it up so it hugs me around the waist. It goes just under halfway down my thighs, hiding a little bit of my still glistening skin. I tip-toe to the door and open it, gesturing for the other two to come back inside. "You ready now, Sarah?" Amber asks, with curiosity in her voice. I don't think she notices my bare feet, my wet pants in a heap on the floor, my still wet legs, or my unimpressed glare. "No, Amber, I am not." I say after a moments pause. She nods in an attempt to look understanding. I look to Martha who just shrugs. "Come on then, Sarah" Martha says to me. "Get your shoes on and lets get you back upstairs. "I...can't" "Why not?" Martha asks. "They're too cold" I tell her. She raises her eyebrows at me now. "Then put your socks on" "They're even colder" "I-I could run your socks under the hot tap for you" Amber suggests. "That would rinse the pi- the wee out of them, a-and it would make them warm for a while." I look to Martha, and we consider it. Martha shrugs. I do too. "Alright then, that'll work" I say. "I'll take them" Martha says, standing up and picking my socks off the floor. "I'm on break now anyway, I can spare the time to rinse some socks out" "Thanks, Martha" Martha heads out the staff room, leaving just me and Amber. I slump myself down onto the sofa. Then I stand up, take the wet plastic sheet off the sofa, put it in the bin, and sit back down. I pull a couple tissues from the table and start blotting my legs. The cheap tissues falls apart a little, occasionally leaving white specks as bits of tissue disintegrate and stick to me as they get wet. "S-so, you wet yourself, Sarah?" I look up at Amber, stood watching me cleaning my legs. I'm sure she can see straight down my skirt, which is making her blush. I try to position myself so she can't. "What gave it away?" I ask her. "Oh, Jerry told me." She says. "He said you spilt a bunch of tea, then you wet yourself." "That's more or less what happened." I admit. "Why did you do it? Why not use the loo?" "Amber, if I could have used the loo, I wouldn't of wet myself" "D'you mean you had an accident? You didn't do it on purpose?" "W-why would I do it on purpose?" I stutter, confused. "No! I couldn't hold it, and it just sort of came out" "Wow" Amber says. "I havnae done that since I was a wee one at school" "Wow." I say flatly. "Impressive." "I was about fourteen or so" She tells me, without waiting for me to show any interest. "The lunch bell has just gone, and we were heading back into our form rooms. I'd not been to the toilet, so I asked my teacher if I could go, and she said no so I went to my seat. Once form was over, we all got up to head to our next classes, except me - I stayed sat in my chair. When the teacher asked what was wrong I completely lost it and wee'd myself right in front of her" "Amber, could we talk about literally anything other than wetting ourselves? I'm still pretty humiliated by this whole thing" "Oh, sorry! There's no need to be upset Sarah, it could happen to anyone. "That's what the teacher said to me - I never believed her until today, when you-" "Amber. Stop it." I tell her. I'm really not in the mood for this. It's also making it worse to know that I'm the first person Amber saw wetting themselves in about ten years. We sit and wait in silence for a while, until Martha comes back in with a sock in her hand "Okay! First one done!" She says, triumphantly. "Now where's the other?" "What?" I ask. "The other sock, where is it?" "Martha, you're taking the piss right?" I ask. "Ha, I get it!" she says, chuckling. When she notices that there's no amusement on my face she promptly stops. "N-no, there's only the one sock..." "Martha, how do you lose a sock?" I ask. She shrugs at me. I make some noises that are attempts at words but none of them become anything. So I sigh and fall back in the chair. "Fine, I'll take one sock, thank you Martha". I slide the warm, mostly dry-ish sock on up my right leg, and then slide that leg into a shoe. Then I slide my other foot into the other shoe, wincing at the cold wet fabric. I look up at Martha, trying to pull a straight face as I wriggle my toes in an attempt to warm them up. They don't warm up, they just squish a little. "Shall I take you up to Jerry now?" Amber asks as I shove my wet pants into my bag, too exasperated to worry about the bag or its contents. I zip up the bag, look at Amber, and nod. I let her lead me out the staff room and through the kitchen - once again I can feel them all looking at me, and I blush. She leads me out the kitchen and into the shop floor, taking me straight to Jerry - who has taken my place at the coffee machine, while Gary mops up around him. He turns around and walks over to us while we walk to him. "What took you so long?" Jerry asks, immediately. "I sent you down about five minutes ago, Amber." "S-sorry, Mr Ford, she was getting changed." Amber tells him. Jerry looks at me and points to my one sock. "Where's the other?" He asks. "No idea" I tell him. "It just got lost" "How do you lose a - I-i-it doesn't matter. I want to talk to you, Sarah, come this way". Jerry starts walking toward his office, and me and Amber follow. When we reach his office door he turns around and frowns at Amber. "Not you Amber, you get back to work". "R-right, okay!" Amber stutters, before heading off. Jerry looks me up and down. I'm blushing, my leg is damp, and my white shoes are slightly yellowed. There's a subtle smell of pee coming out my bag. Or at least I hope it's my bag. Jerry sighs and leads me into the office. The office is a small room - it's barely a re-purposed cupboard, with a computer desk, computer, and two chairs. He sits down and pushes a bottle of water to me, gesturing at the chair. I take the chair and the water. I take a swig before he starts talking to me. "Right - Sarah. What happened today?" He asks. I look at him and sigh, leaning back in the chair. "It's just been a rough day, Je - Mr Ford." I tell him. "I woke up late, I missed two trains, I've cut myself, I've fallen over a couple times, and I didn't get any time to use the toilet." "So you used the coffee station instead?" He says. I blush. "W-well, I hadn't meant to...everything just got too much for me and I-" "I know how that ends, Sarah. You don't need to remind me." "A-am I fired?" I ask, getting ready to tear up again. "No, no you aren't" "But sir, I - w-what?" "You aren't fired, Sarah. This is your first issue in two years - just don't let it happen again, okay?" "R-right sir! T-thank you! No more wetting myself, r-right?!" I laugh, tearing up with relief. He gestures to my bottle and I take another drink - the water really helps cool me down. "I don't mean that bit, Sarah - I mean the bit where you arrived half an hour late, the bit where you kept making little mistakes, the bit where you threw a mans lunch at him, and then the bit where you spilt about half the coffee you put into cups" "Oh...that bit. I-it won't happen again, Mr Ford" "See that it doesn't." He says. "You can piss yourself all you want so long as you clean up." I raise an eyebrow. "That's a joke - don't wet yourself. Take the rest of the day off Sarah - but I want you on top form tomorrow." I thank Jerry and stand up, leaving his office and hoping I'm not leaving wet stains on his chair from my legs. If I am, he doesn't notice as he follows me out. I head over to the counter, while he heads to the kitchen. I pull my jacket out from under my wet clothes, regretting my previous lack of foresight, and put it on, stuffing the pants back in having learnt nothing from my slightly damp coat. "A coffee please, Gary!" I say, leaning against the counter. It's fairly quiet now - the rush for breakfast is over, so I don't need to wait. Gary turns around and looks at me. "Oh hey Sarah, you off?" he asks. I nod. "Yup - had a little accident, gonna go home and sleep until tomorrow happens." "Oh yeah - would that accident be the one I've just mopped up?" He asks. I blush again. "M-might have been. W-why?". He glares at me for a moment, then winks and smirks to show that he's not too bothered. "So, what coffee do you want?" "Erm, I'll take a, erm, mocha. Please." "Why go for an easy one right? One mocha on the way for you, Sarah" I've always liked Gary. He's forty-something, but he acts like he's still a teenager. He plays it up a lot, and most of the time it's pretty funny, and he means well. He's pretty tall, and he's got a Mohawk hair cut, and about three ear-rings in each ear. He's also really good at making coffees. He hands me one of our larger paper cups. "Are you sure you should be drinking so soon after an accident like that?" He asks, making me blush again. "Err, no...but I'll be home soon, Gary, it won't happen again, right?". He casts me a look that says I'm making a mistake. I cast him a look that says I really like mochas. "And water too?" Gary asks, pointing at the water bottle from Jerry in my other hand. "Are you trying to do that again?" "Oh, no! This is from Jerry!" I tell him. "A-and I'm not going to have another accident!". Another customer walks up to the counter and starts ordering from another cashier. "Sarah, after that incident, your bladder's going to be a lot weaker, (I notice the customer blush as he over-hears us) and on top of that, coffee is a diuretic. You sure you'll be fine?" "No. But I'll manage!" "That's on you, sweetie" He says to me. I smile at him and say goodbye, then leave. I rest my water bottle in my bag on top of my wet work-pants, and take a sip from my coffee. I almost spit it out because it's way too hot - I counter the heat with a swig from the water bottle. I make my way down to the train station, down the stairs, and toward the ticket gate. When I reach the ticket gate I notice something new on the notice boards. 'Accident on the monarch line - delays upward of half-an-hour'. Sod that - I'll get the bus. I take another drink from the bottle, then decide it's not worth carrying the bottle around all day - so I finish it, then throw it away in one of the bins. I climb back out the station onto the street level, and make my way to a bus stop. While I'm walking around, I can see people occasionally giving me a second glance, which I attribute to my one missing sock. I brush down my skirt to make sure it's not got stuck in my underwear - which is now distractingly cold - and I straighten my shirt and jacket. I guess it could be the slightly yellow shoes, but I'm assuming its the one sock. The one sock which is slightly see through, has been thoroughly rinsed, and is now getting very cold. Meanwhile my other foot has warmed up the wet shoe, making it strangely comfortable as it squishes slightly with each step. I reach the bus stop right as my bus pulls away. By now - eleven in the morning - most people are at work. So the only people around are unemployed, late, or tourists. Meaning a bus going in and out of town isn't very busy. That of course means my next bus won't be arriving for another half an hour. I slump myself onto the bus-stop bench and wait. This is going to be a long journey. *** About fifteen minutes in and I realise how true what Gary said was - I need the loo. Not badly, not anything I can't deal with, but I can feel my bladder filling gradually as a bottle of water makes its way through my system. I can manage though. I take another sip of my coffee - not too hot any more. On the one hand, it will fill my bladder quicker, on the other hand I don't want it to go cold before I drink it! *** Twenty minutes goes by. No bus. It has to be here soon though. Right? *** Forty minutes. Ten minutes over-due. The bus finally arrives, and I stand up and put my hand out to let the driver know I'm waiting. He slows down, pulls over, and lets me on. As I make my way to a seat, I realise just how much liquid is in a bottle of water, and a large mocha. When I reach my seat I cross one leg over the other. No one else is on the bus - just me and the driver. Still, I don't want him to see me - or the CCTV for that matter. I often wonder what kind of things show up on CCTV. I know for a fact that they must see a lot of drunks at night, there's probably a few accidents on film then! I'd imagine there's also a number of people that have been filmed with two hands in their crotches, trying not to rock side to side. Like I'm doing right now! God, I have to go so bad! I lean forward in an attempt to make it easier to hold - it just puts pressure on my bladder, so I lean back again. While I sit on the bus, it dawns on me that it's taken a good fifteen minutes to go through four bus-stops. Considering that there are thirty-two between Washington's and my flat, this is not a good pace. My bladder, in contrast to the bus, is filling at a breakneck pace. I'm tempted to let myself have another accident here on the bus. *** You know what? If the bus driver is going to have me sit on his bus for half an hour and only manage to go through ten stops, he deserves to clean up piss! And I am about to burst here! What on earth is taking him so long? I decide to find out. Not by doing anything crazy like asking the driver, but by pulling my phone out my jacket and searching the bus route. Car crash. An accident. Funnily enough, it was an accident that got me into this whole mess. I look around me. I'm on the top deck of the bus - no-one else is on. It's not likely anyone will be getting on soon, either....and my underwear is already wet - cold too. An idea begins forming... It's technically illegal to pee on a bus of course - it's property damage. And getting nude to pee on the bus is also indecent exposure - two crimes in one. But if someone wets themselves on the bus...if they have an accident, then it might not be punishable. If someone pees themselves on a bus then obviously they didn't mean to pee, right? Who would soak their clothes, leaving a wet patch, rather than wait? At least they tried to hold it right? Wondering where I'm going with this? Wonder no more! If I'm already wet from before - I'm not getting wetter if I wet myself again! Sarah, you are a genius! I'll act up how desperate I am for a little while, then I'll piss myself, and no-one will know it was on purpose! And considering that there's no-one else around, I can just change seats once I'm done, so no-one else would know it was me who made the mess! I start rocking back and forth exaggeratedly, really playing up the look that I'm desperate to pee. I check my phone for the time. It's almost twelve. Okay - I'll have my 'accident' at twelve or so! Five minutes in, and I'm really going for it! I'm tapping my feet, I'm drumming my fingers on my knees, I've got one leg wrapped around the other and I'm moaning softly every now and then. My bladder seems to be filling faster, almost in anticipation of finally letting it go! I check my phone again as the bus passes the halfway point. Five minutes left. If the bus keeps going at this pace, I'll wet myself soon anyway. So in that sense I'm just getting it out the way!. Okay - one minute left - now's the time to put my acting talents to use! I tap my feet louder, I moan, and I writhe in my chair. Okay, it's mostly acting at this point - some of it's genuine - I really do need to pee now. My bladder feels solid. How long left? Thirty seconds! Okay, time for the final phase! I lean forward in the chair, hands on my knees, with my knees apart and my toes pointed inwards...I'm really about to do it! My heart thumps as I build up the courage. Twenty seconds left! I'm so ready for this - the promise of sweet relief almost pushes me over the limit now! I strain my face to make it look genuine, and I moan again. Ten seconds! I start to relax my bladder! Nine! I can feel it coming! Eight - so close! Seven! The doors downstairs open. Six - I hear footsteps. I swear to god - don't you dare come upstairs! Five - I see a man's head appear as he starts coming up the stairs. Four - abort abort abort! Can't pee - he'll see me! Damn. After all that acting, I can't do it. This chap has come upstairs, and now he's sat on the seat to the side of me. Not next to me, of course, but the aisle to one side. Of all the places! If he sat even one seat forward I could get away with wetting myself - even if it meant sitting in my own mess until I had to get off! But no - he sits opposite me, where he would be able to see every single drip. I sigh, lean back in my chair, and look out the window, one of my hands firmly planted between my legs. "Excuse me!" I hear a very indignant voice from my left - it's the man who got on the bus. He's a rather well-to-do looking man, in his early sixties or so. "What do you think your doing? And on the bus of all places?" "I - erm, what?" "With your hand between your legs - have you no shame?" He frowns. I blush again, harder than before. "I, err, really need to use the toilet!" I explain to him. He almost recoils when I say that. "I - oh! I am so sorry, I thought you were doing something quite different" "...no, why would I do that?" "I know you sound shocked" He says. "But I've seen exactly that before, on this very bus. Some people have no shame" I don't know what to say to that, so I just sort of sit, mouth open in surprise. I don't think I've ever seen someone do that, but I've seen news articles from local papers of people getting caught. Why would you do that on a bus anyway? Peeing I can understand... Speaking of peeing, I am about to blow! My bladder is sorely disappointed that it isn't emptying itself into my underwear right now, and so am I. I show it by feeling a bit glum, my bladder shows it by aching, swelling, and by being an all-round pain. *** So as it happens, the old man from before got off the stop before mine. Luckily for me - we passed the accident on the road a few stops after he sat down, so I'm finally on the last stretch to my own stop. Of course now there are a number of people on the bus - peeing now is not an option. Not to worry though - as my stop draws into view, I stand up - nearly doubling over as my bladder screams at me - and make my way downstairs. As I step onto the floor off the stairs - nearly leaking with each step - the driver calls me over. "Hey - you!" He shouts. "Come here". Sheepishly, I walk over. He looks me up and down. "Turn around" He says. I don't know what to say, so I do. He looks me up and down again as I do. I turn back to face him. "W-what's wrong?" I ask, shifting my weight. "Did you pis- did you wet yourself up there?" "I - no! No, I didn't do that!" "I don't know if I believe you. If you have, you're on CCTV, and that is a crime, and you will be fined." Fuck. Thought it'd be okay if I went in my clothes. "What makes you think I did that?" I ask him. "Don't play coy - I saw you writhing about, then stop all of a sudden. If I go up there now, I'll find a puddle, won't I?" "N-no! I still have to pee really badly! C-can I go?" He glares at me. "No. Come up with me, now." He storms out the drivers cabin, then up the stairs, demanding I follow. Each step I take threatens to send me over the limit. He leads me up to my chair. "Right - touch that seat" He says, pointing. "W-why?" "Prove that it's clean" I look at him funnily. He doesn't seem to know that he's mad. I lean over, bending at the knees with my other hand still between my thighs, and tap the chair. Of course it's dry. I look at him, showing him my dry fingers. He frowns and pats the chair himself. Of course it's still dry. He stands up and looks at me. "You were thinking about it, weren't you" He accuses me. "N-no!" I lie. "Well, m-maybe...but I didn't in the end!" "...get off my bus." I hobble back down the stairs, feeling a definite heat appear in my underwear as I thump down each step. I reach the floor outside - and my luck being what it is - I land flat on my face again. As I pick myself up off the floor, I suddenly become very away of a trickling sound below me and a heat coming from inside my underwear - a leak! I slam one hand down, stopping it before it can gain too much speed, getting my hand wet and my skirt stained in the process. I growl as I stand up, brushing my hands off on my skirt. Only a ten minute walk until I get home. Walking is impossible! Each step sends shock waves up my body and into my bladder, which gets closer to bursting with each step. I hobble down the road, taking care not to walk too fast, without stopping still. If I stop now, I don't think I'll be able to keep walking! My bladder fills faster and faster, and by now I can see the bulge again. It's so full it hurts. I can't hold it anymore...I just have to concentrate on walking! Each step is intense now. I've finally reached my road, and my flat isn't too far away now. I lift up a foot, then place it forward. My bladder screams the whole way. I lift up my other foot and push it forward. I feel another sharp heat in my underwear... It's so hard to walk now that I'm hardly paying attention to where I'm going, and I nearly walk straight past my flat. And by walk, I mean hobble. Each step is impossible, and every now and then I dribble a single drop into my underwear. I turn to face the path to my front door. I moan loudly as my bladder begins to tense up. I don't have long! I pull the key out my jacket and then jam my hand back between my legs! I can do this! One leg forward. I manage it. My bladder begins to tense up as it reaches total capacity. I moan again. I drag my other leg forward, closing the gap between my legs. I push the first leg forward again. It hits something solid. The tiny step before the path. It's about four inches high - but my bladder won't permit moving my leg a whole four inches upward. I grit myself and brace. I heave the leg into the air and slam it down over the step. I make it! My bladder screams. I clench my eyes shut. My whole body tenses up. I shudder hard and moan. And then again, my bladder squeezes, I tense up, I shudder, and I pee as hard as I can. My bladder's had enough! The step is too much, and before I can even tell what's going on, my hands are coated with something hot and wet, as piss shoots out of me and into my skirt, which is held against my body by both my hands. I moan hard and try looking up - I can see my front door! Tears well up in my eyes, as my bladder continues to squirt out all it can. The stream is directed straight into my right fist, almost ignoring the fabric of my underwear entirely to shoot into and through my skirt. My skirt never stood a chance, of course. It soaks up pee like a sponge, creating a massive wet patch to explode around my crotch as hot gold piss floods into it. The key in my hand fares just as well - pee soaks through my fingers and over them. It's so warm! It's so damn warm! It shoots down my thighs, which are clenched together, making a valley where my legs touch, creating a powerful stream that shoots down through it before splattering loudly onto the floor, creating a rapidly expanding puddle. My one sock takes it's second wetting of the day much worst that the first - it's already damp from when Martha washed it, so rather than letting the pee soak in, pee instead runs through it rapidly, staining the whole thing pale yellow as piss runs down my leg and into my shoes again. My other leg doesn't have a sock to stain, luckily, and instead streaks of pee run down wherever they can. The larger streaks flow around the back of my thighs as my knees bend and my entire torso tenses up. It pours around me, catching in and around my knees, flicking off small streams that splatter to the ground, creating their own smaller puddles on my tiled pathway. I shudder again as everything courses out of me and hits the ground. I can feel myself moaning, but all I can hear is the hiss of my bladder forcing out every drip inside me, and the splatter of those drips around my feet. I feel myself beginning to loose balance, so I swing my soaked hands from between my legs and grasp onto the wall - throwing my keys aside as I do so. They clatter somewhere in the hedge, but I'm too busy relieving myself so hard I think I might pass out. As my bladder stops squeezing itself and I instead let it empty, I finally regain control of my body. It's not worth trying to stop the stream at this point - and so I let it all out. I clutch the wall - gasping for air - as the stream flowing out of me begins to slow down to a trickle. The fierce hiss begins to die down, and the powerful streaks down my legs slowly die down. I have never felt such a combination of relieve and exhaustion at the same time. I stand still for about five minutes as I try to get myself back to life, gasping for air as the last drips splash down into the massive puddle beneath me. When I finally recover my sock has gone cold already. My skirt clings to my form, and I might have pissed a hole through my underwear. Okay, obviously I haven't, but that felt like I could of cut through anything with the force that I pissed. I step out the puddle and scramble for my keys in the hedge, pretending to ignore the passers by who can see straight up my wet skirt. Right now, I wouldn't care if I was completely nude - I just want to get inside. And from there on I came inside - and that leaves me where I am now. Obviously since then I've carried myself over to my computer, booted it up, and type out all this. And now I need to pee again. My wet work pants are sat somewhere near the washer after I sort of threw them out my bag, I've kicked my shoes out into the back garden, and I'm about to peel off my one soaked sock...There we go, that's off. Well, I hope you enjoyed reading that. What a day it's been...I don't think I'll tell Gary about this - he can get really smug when he's right. I really can't be bothered getting up to use the toilet now...I'm just going to....ahh....okay, I don't need the loo any more. I do need to clean up though. See you all next time! TheGreatNobody, WaityKaty, Bismiris and 2 others 5 Quote Link to comment
Melificentfan 1,215 Posted October 20, 2017 ✨ Legendary Member Share Posted October 20, 2017 That was awesome Quote Link to comment
WaityKaty 1,171 Posted October 21, 2017 Share Posted October 21, 2017 Great stuff! The writing style is really cool. :) Quote Link to comment
TheGreatNobody 508 Posted October 22, 2017 Share Posted October 22, 2017 One of the better stories I've seen on here! The excellent writing really kept my attention throughout the whole story. Quote Link to comment
dudelobowski 51 Posted October 23, 2017 Share Posted October 23, 2017 I loved that, thanks for being so descriptive with everything, I saw every detail in my mind so clearly Quote Link to comment
Manowar 170 Posted November 1, 2017 Share Posted November 1, 2017 Very good story. Next chapters are welcomed. Quote Link to comment
Dimwitrolo 3,018 Posted November 23, 2017 Author Share Posted November 23, 2017 I don’t wet myself at work most days, you know? It’s not normal for someone to write themselves often, barring a medical condition or something. Being put in a position where youre forced into an accident is usually a violation of human rights too, so management tries to avoid it. I’m sure this isn’t the case in some parts of the third world, but I don’t work in the third world. I work in Washington’s cafe and diner, near Liberty Garden station, just opposite the Grenadier pub. Still, accidents happen time to time, especially when things are busy. Like in the mornings. Chapter Three - Barista’s bladder ”One double Mach, two cappuccinos, and a latte, please!” I shout back to the barristas. My shouts seem like drops in an ocean of noise and more coffee orders, but one of the barristas manages to hear me and shouts my order back. I turn back to the four men who ordered the coffees. ”They’ll be ready in one moment, sir” I say to the one paying, who’s stood in front of me waving his bank card around like it’ll do something useful. Of course I’d doesn’t, so I hand him the card reader. I look back at the baristas while he taps in his PIN. We’ve got a third coffee machine now, and a third barista. In theory it should be easier to meet the demand for coffee in the mornings, but in practice in means everyone’s tripping over each other behind the till trying to get their coffees. Not much fun. There are a total of six tills now too, though the counter’s not grown any longer, so us six poor souls on the tills are stood shoulder to shoulder most of the time. The closest barista, a girl called Jennie, calls out my order again. I turn around, bash into Herbert next to me, then Annie runs past me, then I manage to push myself all three feet to the coffee counter. I pick up the macchiato, cappuccinos and the latte, and look back at the four men over the till. I say a quick prayer and make a dash to the till again. By some miracle I make it without dropping one of the paper cups. I hand them over to the men, who all exchange coffees with each other until they’ve got the right one. They thank me and leave. Washington’s wasn’t intended to be a coffee house - Mr Ford wanted the place to be an American style diner, serving greasy breakfasts, lunches and dinners all the while playing fifties music. Problem is, we aren’t in America, or the fifties. We’re in the financial sector of the city, and people in the financial sector don’t have time for greasy food and Presley, all they want is a quick pick-me-up coffee before a crap day at the office, filing taxes or whatever they do. Still, it means most of our customers are too emotionally drained to be rude or antisocial or anything, so I’m not complaining. As the four men leave, another customer takes their place and orders their own coffee - a strong mocha. I call it to the barista, she responds, I wait, the barista calls me back, I get the coffee, I hand it over, the customer pays and leaves. And thus the cycle begins again. Most days are like this - except weekends, because I don’t work weekends. On weekends I stay and home and spend most of my time playing games on the computer. Been playing a lot of Hearts of Iron recently - nothing funnier than kicking off the Second World War by having fascist Canada invade Sweden, angering Germany and the USSR at the same time. That game didn’t end well for me... Another customer, another coffee, I call it to the barista, who...is stood kinda funny. Shifting her weight side to side, that sort of thing, as she wrestles with the steam wand. She turns to me, ready to shout my order back now she’s made it. She catches me watching her and blushes a bit. ”Y-your coffee, Sarah!” She stutters, handing me the paper cup. I smile and take it, turn around, and give to the customer. Looks like Jennie needs the loo. Since my, err, incident, Mr Ford’s been real lenient regarding toilet breaks, but right now Gennie is in the unfortunate position of being a barista, with six of us relying on her for anything that has full-fat milk. Well, semi skimmed. Which is most of the orders we get. Another customer. ”A coffee, please” He says. A coffee. Fuck you, guy, you can damn well see the massive board behind me which lists Espressos, Americanos, Macchiatos, Cortados, Flat-whites, Lattes, Mochas, Frappuccinos, and filter coffees, black or white, with a choice of full fat, skimmed, soya, coconut or almond milk, along with a choice of flavourings inlcuding hazelnut, vanilla, almond, caramel and pumpkin. And you ask for a coffee. “Which coffee would you like, sir” I say to the customer, trying to force a smile. ”White, please.” He says. I turn to Jennie. ”One white filter coffee” I say to her. ”No, no!” The customer says. “An Americano, please”. ”One white Americano please, Jennie” I say through my teeth. I never used to be like this with coffee. Hell, before I started working here I couldn’t tell you the difference between a filter coffee and a mocha, but now I have to work with them. So it’d be nice if customers told me what they wanted instead of just hinting at it. I turn to watch Jennie make the coffee. She’s got her thighs pretty tightly clamped together. Jennie’s a nice girl, half a year younger than me. She’s a little shorter than me, but curvier for it. Not by much though. She’s got short brunette hair that barely passes her jawline and curls forwards at her ears. She’s got light brown eyes and a good number of freckles. When she gets angry she swears in French. She’s a little frustrated right now, having a full bladder and an ever-growing list of coffees to make. Not too frustrated though - she’s only swearing a little bit, and it’s all in English. She turns back to me, coffee in hand, and hands it to me, avoiding eye contact. Poor girl, she really needs to go. Jennie works the early morning shift from five until twelve, and now it’s eight-thirty, and by the looks of it she hasn’t had the chance to visit the little girls room. Either that or she’s had one too many coffees. I swear the girl drinks enough coffee a day to put drain Columbia of its bean supply. I guess that much caffeine is necessary when you work the coffee machine at rush time. I hand over the coffee to the customer who looks at me like he thinks I’m a idiot for getting his order wrong the first time even though he asked for ‘a coffee’. The git. He turns around and leaves without so much as a thanks and the next customer takes his place. I take his order, then repeat it to Jennie. “One almond latte, coming” she repeats back to me. “Oh, I need you to get more beans from the kitchen when you’re done there Sarah” she adds. “Sure!” I say to her. Anything that gets me off the tillis good in my books. I turn back to the customer, ask them about their day and wait for Jennie to call the coffee. When she does I hand it to the customer, they pay, they leave, and I head back into the kitchen. To get to the kitchen I have to walk down the whole length of the counter (I’m at the far end), then to get the beans I need to go through the kitchen and into a small corridor which leads out to the back. We keep the beans on a shelf in that corridor. Just before the door leading out is the door to the staff toilet on the right. I pick up the beans and make my way back to the shop front - back through the kitchen, say hello to Martha, back behind the counter, all the way to the far end of the counter, bump into Herbert again, then I reach Jennie coffee machine. She clenches her legs together, stands on her tiptoes, and opens the lid. I try to ignore her obvious needs and pour the beans into the grinding machine at the top. She wriggles her hips side to side and tries to suppress a moan. “Need the loo?” I ask her innocently. ”Oh, merde...is it so obvious?” She responds with a sigh. ”it really is, wriggles” I tell her. “Go to the loo real quick” ”But who will cover my machine?” She asks. I sure as shit won’t - I’m not dumb enough to work coffee machines during the rush! Or paid enough. “You gotta stay, Jen” Herbert says - I guess he was listening. “We need you here, these coffees are coming quick! Oh, one cappuccino, by the way” he says before ducking back to his counter. “He is right...” Jennie mumbles. “I ‘ave to stay here” ”Up to you” I say, shrugging. “Just don’t make a mess”. Jennie blushes again and looks away. And so we go on, ordering coffee after coffee. No one stays in of course, all take away. Each time I order, Jennie looks slightly more urgent than before. Five minutes since our chat, and Jen is sneaking her hand between her legs every few moments, pressing her red barista apron into herself. I order a filter coffee, and I can see that the pouring coffee is having a quite strong effect on her - the splashing, the pouring, the sounds - it’s spall starting to get to her. Another five minutes in and she’s moaning every now and then. Soft but pained moans, that she thinks we can’t hear over the shop noise. But we can hear it, quite clearly. ‘Hnn’, ‘haah’, ‘awwh’. She’s got a soft, gentle voice, and a thick French accent. Her moans are sensual, with enough of a hint of pain to sound like she’s being quite intimate. It’s enough to make me question my sexuality...not Herbert though - he’s standing funny now too, and he doesn’t need the toilet. Ten minutes have passed. The moaning hasn’t. It’s gotten so much more so than before. Each of Jennie’s breaths is a gentle moan. Worried, pained, but soft and quiet. I have never fancied a girl so much in my life, just based on her moaning! I have to force myself to remember it’s because she needs the toilet so badly, but it doesn’t change how I feel! I feel all warm and tingly, like I’ve got butterflies in me...I can see Jennie’s moans are having a similar effect on Herbert - he’s sweating a little, trying to act natural while pushing his body into his till to hide his, err, enthusiasm. Another five minutes passes, and I’ve managed to just about stave off arousal by replaying episodes of Red Dwarf in my head and serving coffees. Herbert’s not been so lucky. Although Jennie’s moans are now more like gasps than moans, like she’s on the verge of- “S-Sarah?” ”Huh? Yeah?” I say, turning to Jennie. ”c-could you get more coffee b-beans, hnnn, q-quickly!” ”oh, yeah, sure!” I say, turning away from an approaching customer before he can ask for anything. I start stepping toward the kitchen and notice Jennie taking off her apron - looks like she’ll be using the toilet after all! Well, the rush is more or less over, and she’s held it so long, she deserves it! I push my way through the other cashiers and glance back once more before going into the kitchen. Herbert looks relieved to see Jennie shuffling away, Jennie looks urgent...then very shocked, then embarrassed. I try to see if she’s having an accident, but the speed at which she shuffles in my direction indicates otherwise. I open the kitchen door and head through. As I reach the corridor with the coffee she reaches me and almost barges past. ”Looks like you’re gonna make it!” I joke as she pushes the bathroom door. She turns to me and starts a sarcastic laugh, which quickly becomes a look of dread as the door doesn’t budge. ”What’s wrong?” I ask. “Zut! Someone’s in thereeeee!” She moans, trailing off into a longer moan as she bends over and stumbles against the wall. Now I can see the drying wet streak on her leg. On the inside of Jennie’s right leg there’s a single dark streak on the thigh of her tan slacks. “S-sarah! I can’t hold it!” She moans. I just stand there watching, bag of coffee beans in my hands. She pushes herself off the wall and back to the door. Her legs are bent, one hands stuck between her legs, and the other pounds the door. “‘Urry! I ‘ave to go!” She yells, but it’s no use. She pushes her body onto the wall, facing me, and does her best to hold on. She breaths out hard, then tries breathing in. Her breath quivers hard, and as she fills her lungs with air her bladder begins to leak. She moans hard as she breaths out, and a wet dribble grows visible on her pants. She breaths in again, with both hands clamped between her thighs now. Her eyes are shut tight, and she can draw breath, but as she does, more leaks out of her. It begins to sleep through her fingers, and a couple drips hit the deck. Wet stripes run down both her thighs, almost six inches on either side. “Come on, Jen, hold it” I say, trying to encourage her. She doesn’t respond. She’s doing her best to hold her breath. Her bladder must be so full that even breathing in is too hard for her. She stands quaking on the spot, holding her breath and her bladder, with tears forming in her eyes. She looks up at me. She breaths out - slowly, like she’s trying not to. Then draws in air, quaking as she does. Another wave of pee flows out of her, splashing down her legs and hitting the floor between her feet. She closes her eyes and pushes her head against the wall. ”m-merde...” She mumbles. She exhales once more. Then she tries to breath in. That last breath is too much, and her bladder bursts like a dam. She pushes her body against the wall as a hiss thunders about the corridor, coming from inside Jennie’s rapidly darkening pants. A wet patch bursts around her hands, smothering her thighs as piss coats her skin and runs down her. Pools begin expanding around her feet within seconds, with bubbles around the edges as pee splatters out from her pants and splashes onto the ground. The usually silent corridor is filled with the sound of pee spattering against the tiled floor as it cascades down the poor girls legs. Jennie’s shoes barely slow the flood as it soaks over and through the white fabric of them - her once clean canvas shoes quickly turning a shade of pale yellow as pale yellow pee is washed through them and over her feet. Yellow streams flow from between her fingers as she keeps them clamped to herself - I can only imagine the force at which the stream of piss is being shot into them. It’s probably hitting her in the palms before squeezing through her fingers like they aren’t even there. Pee runs over the back of her hands before falling off in a steady stream at her knuckle and flowing onto the ground to join the rest of the ocean once inside her. Jennie moans as the relief hits her. So much pee, held in for so long, it must feel great to be finally letting it go, even if it is into her slacks. After so much stress and hard work, the feeling of relief and warmth spreading over her must be great, even if it is just her legs. As relief takes over he, she lets her arms drop to her sides and slumps against the wall, sighing loudly as she lets it happen. No more holding back, just the relief and warmth of finally letting go. Well, being forced to let go, but that’s beside the point. Either way, there’s an entire bladder’s weight of warm pee going down her legs and onto the floor - but at least it’s out of her! Jennie stands slumped against the wall, mouth hanging open, the last of her pee trickles out of her, then out her pants. She stays panting until the huge puddle beneath her stops rippling. “Uh, Jennie?” ”oh my god...” she mumbles. ”Hey, it’s okay...” I begin. ”Oh, it is so much better than okay...” Jennie says, laughing a little. “My god! That is so much better!” ”Umm....” Jennie doesn’t say anything. Instead she looks up at me and smiles. “Hey. I don’t need to go anymore...that is good, non?” ”I guess” ”ohhh...” Jennie moans, tilting her head back. “Oh, now I know how the filter machine feels...” I chuckle at that. “You know Jen, you’re taking this really well” Jen shrugs. “I suppose so” she says, flicking her legs. “Right now I am too drunk with glee to feel bad” ”Give it five minutes...” I say to her. Before she can respond, Martha walks into the corridor. ”Hey, what happened he- oh.”. Martha looks at Jen, and then at the puddle, then at Jen’s soaked slacks. “Couldn’t hold it?”. Seems like a silly question to me... ”Well, we’d better sort this out” Martha says. “Sarah, go get a mop please, I’ll deal with this”. I nod and begin to leave. As I’m walking out I hear them talking still - Martha speaking to Jen. ”You’re okay, yeah? Would you feel better if I wet myself too? I told you I didn’t wet myself all the time. No - other people do it too! So Jennie got the rest of the day off, of course, lucky for her! Now I know if I ever want the day off I just have to ‘have an accident’ and then I can leave! Ha, not likely though - I can’t afford days off all the time. Anyway, I have to go, I really need the toilet myself now! I guess I could...I mean, if you wanted to see me go I could just...nah, not today! Like I haven’t got enough laundry to do already! TheGreatNobody, Bismiris, Noone000 and 3 others 6 Quote Link to comment
Melificentfan 1,215 Posted November 23, 2017 ✨ Legendary Member Share Posted November 23, 2017 Lol that was a great chapter Quote Link to comment
Manowar 170 Posted November 23, 2017 Share Posted November 23, 2017 Indeed. Very good story. Quote Link to comment
DespMely 287 Posted November 23, 2017 Share Posted November 23, 2017 Very nice! And well written:) I like the references to red dwarf anf HoI too ;) Thanks! Quote Link to comment
keyaru-sama 136 Posted November 23, 2017 Share Posted November 23, 2017 I really like the story. Well written. One of my favorite stories I have read on this site. Keep up the good work. Quote Link to comment
Mrsonata 118 Posted November 24, 2017 Share Posted November 24, 2017 This is good. Looking forward to the next part. Quote Link to comment
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