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The Tree


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1.

“That stupid tree!” thought Lauren, “If I can ever dare to show my face in public again, I’m going to hack it down myself. I can’t believe I’m putting myself through all of this, just to save some poxy old oak tree.”

In truth, Lauren had no idea whether the tree was an oak, or something else entirely. She was sure that Nathan had mentioned at some point exactly what type of tree that god damned thing was, After all, he’d spoken passionately on the subject for well over an hour the other night in the pub, but very little of what he’d said had made any lasting impression on her. She’d been too busy thinking about how she could engineer a situation where she could get some alone time with him and concentrating on making sure that she played with her long, blonde hair enough to look flirtatious but not enough to look like she had lice.

He was handsome, sure, but what really drew her to him was his voice. As soon as he started speaking, she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. It was almost hypnotic. She just loved to listen to him talk. Well, perhaps “listen” wasn’t exactly the right word, given how little she could remember of what he’d said that evening, but she certainly loved the sound of his voice. And so, apparently, did he, because it had been an hour, hadn’t it, that he’d talked about that bloody tree, more or less uninterrupted. And when he’d finished his lecture and asked, “So, what do you think? Are you up for it?”

“Yes! Definitely!” she’d responded, immediately, snapping out of her trance. She didn’t know what she was agreeing to, but she was disappointed to hear a chorus of agreement from the rest of the group a moment later and realised that this wasn’t going to be the romantic, intimate experience she had been hoping for with Nathan, whatever it was she’d agreed to.

“Really Lauren? I didn’t think it would be your kind of thing.”

That had been Sophie, that slut. Lauren was not a fan of Sophie. She could tell that Sophie had got designs on Nathan as well, because she’d laughed far longer than necessary when Nathan had made some weak joke. Luckily, Lauren had been alert and had emerged victorious from that encounter by squeezing Nathan’s hand and telling him how funny he was. She had snuck a glance at Sophie, who must have known that Lauren had won this round, because she had looked dismayed, shifted around in her seat and cast her gaze downward, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. A few moments later, Sophie had excused herself to go to the bathroom and hadn’t even invited Lauren to join her, which had confirmed to Lauren that Sophie too was well aware of who had won this particular skirmish.

“Actually, Sophie, I’m really into leaves.”

She had considered for a moment.

“And roots.”

This had obviously been the right thing to say, because it had silenced everybody, especially Sophie, who’d just sat there, saying nothing, with a stupid smirk on her face.

Of course, all of this excellent ground work had been for nothing because of what had happened since, chained to that stupid tree. She should have just waited for another opportunity to spend time with Nathan. She should never have pretended to give a damn about the tree when in reality she wouldn’t have stopped to piss on it if it had been on fire.

Lauren felt her cheeks flush at the mere thought of pissing, and knew that it would be a long time before she would be able to hear that word, even in her own inner monologue, without turning a deep shade of crimson.

Sophie was also thinking back to the conversation which had set in motion the devastating chain of events at the protest and thinking about how she should have seen it for what it was: an omen of impending disaster.

Nathan had gone on and on at the pub, for literally an entire hour, about the tree in the middle of Fairelow University campus, and about what a tragedy it was that the University was going to cut it down in order to create more space for parking. It was a shame, she supposed that the University was going to destroy something which was part of the history of the place. The tree served as a convenient land mark for meeting friends and was useful for sheltering from rain, of which there was a great deal in Fairelow, but that was about it really. She knew that her father, who had also attended Fairelow University when he had first moved over to England from Hong Kong, would probably be dismayed to find out that the tree was due to be cut down. According to Sophie’s father, he and her mother had shared their first kiss under that tree. Her mother had told an entirely different story and Sophie had never been sure who to believe, but Sophie’s mother had passed away a few short years ago, and so Sophie felt she owed it to her dad to do what she could to save the tree.

And so, Sophie had been willing to sit and listen to Nathan drone on in that dull monotone of his. He really was a boring bastard. Still, at least Lauren had been there. If push came to shove, Sophie would probably have said that Lauren was the funniest person she had ever been friends with. Somehow, Lauren whatever the situation, Lauren always had the perfect comment or facial expression to set Sophie into hysterics.

This had proved somewhat disastrous that evening in the pub, in fact. Nathan had made some terribly laboured pun in the middle of his diatribe about the tree and Sophie had made the mistake of looking across at Lauren. Lauren had been sitting there, eyes unblinking but half closed, slack-jawed, as though she had been put into a trance by the drivel Nathan was spouting. Nathan had clearly been quite proud of his little joke but Lauren had acted like she’d never even registered it. Sophie hadn’t been able to help herself. She had burst out laughing, massive guffaws racking her body. She had laughed and she had laughed and she had laughed and she had…

Well…

She had wet her pants.

Just a little bit, yes, but oh god, she had definitely wet her pants. She had stopped laughing immediately and tensed all of her internal muscles, stopping the trickle before it could become a torrent. Sophie couldn’t tell whether there was much damage, but she was sure that she had stopped the flow before things had gotten catastrophic. The crotch of her underwear felt clingy and damp but she thought her jeans were probably unscathed.

Until, that was, Lauren had said, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “Oh Nathan, you’re so funny,” and squeezed his hand so patronisingly that Sophie had been overcome with laughter, this time mercifully silent. Less mercifully, Lauren’s sarcastic voice was not the only thing dripping. With each suppressed giggle, Sophie had sent out another spurt of warm pee, soaking her knickers. By the time she regained her composure, her bottom felt thoroughly drenched.

Sophie had found herself wondering what someone is supposed to do when she wets herself in public. Is she supposed to own it, announcing her accident to the group proudly as if to say, “Yes, I’ve peed in my pants, what of it? I am a strong, independent woman who don’t need dry pants.” She didn’t feel strong, or independent right now. Or like a woman, for that matter. She suddenly felt more like a girl. Felt like the girl who had woken up wet at a slumber party at her friend Catherine’s house, a few years after the age when such things were excusable. Felt like the girl who had slipped while abseiling on a school residential trip and had to be lowered slowly to the ground, cheeks burning and trousers glistening, in front of several of her classmates. Felt like the girl who had lost control of her bowels when her father’s car had been rear ended outside her dance school and who had to stand on the side of the road in her conspicuously bulging leotard, avoiding the gaze of her friends while her father and the other driver exchanged insurance details.

Sophie had briefly considered sheepishly admitting to or hinting at her predicament to attempt a level of PR damage control, getting the news out on her own terms and downplaying it, but had finally concluded that it would be crazy to admit to something she might be able to conceal entirely. She had shifted about in her seat, trying to work out the extent of the problem, all while studiously avoiding eye contact with the other members of the group. If she moved, she could carry her handbag in front of her crotch and, due to the fortunate positioning of the bathroom, more or less keep her backside pointing away from anyone, but if she moved, would there be a wet patch on the seat? If she stayed where she was and waited for her clothes to dry, would the others be able to smell what had happened? Oh god, could they smell it already? And what if Lauren did something else to make her crack up? Right now she was wet, but really it had only been a few small leaks. Another laughing fit and she might completely lose the remaining contents of her bladder.

When she had eventually settled on the idea of making her escape to the bathroom, discretely getting cleaned up and returning to the table, things had gone almost as well as could be hoped. Nobody had given her a second glance when she got up or on her way to the toilets, which was fortunate, because when she got there, she had discovered that there was a small but conspicuous wet patch visible on her jeans. The bathroom had been empty when she arrived, and she had gone into a stall to finish peeing, before making her way to the hand dryer. She had removed her jeans and, after a short deliberation, slipped her knickers off to dry them under the hot air, hoping like hell that nobody walked in with her bare bottom so brazenly exposed. No sooner had she pulled her underwear back on and begun drying her jeans, than a woman walked in to use the bathroom, but Sophie was able to deflect the woman’s inquisitive look by claiming to have spilled a pint down herself.

Finally, Sophie had been able to retake her place at the table in time for the end of Nathan’s rambling and oh boy, was she ever glad that she’d retreated to the bathroom and emptied her bladder instead of sitting and waiting to dry off at the table. When Sophie had confessed that she was surprised that Lauren was keen to join the protest, Lauren had said “Actually, Sophie, I’m really into leaves,” and then with a sideways glance at that dullard Nathan, had added “And roots.” Absolutely savage. Sophie was pretty certain that the brutal putdown had sailed far over Nathan’s oblivious head. He clearly had no inkling about the disdain which Lauren felt for him.

Why oh why had Sophie not realised then that fate had been trying to warn her to stay at home, to leave the tree to its demise?

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2.

So that was how it had come about, the protest. The six of them would chain themselves to the tree in the centre of campus and strike a blow against deforestation, in that small square of Fairelow, at any rate. On the morning when the tree was due to be cut down, they had met in the centre of the university grounds and prepared to chain themselves to it. Nathan, was there, of course, as were Lauren and Sophie. They were joined, as they had been in the pub, by Scott, which was a surprise, because he had a reputation for flakiness and bailing out at the last minute, and by Fat Mike, who was actually more or less average size but had been given the nickname to differentiate him from the final member of the group, Mike-with-the-hat, a rugby player who genuinely was rather overweight. He had, during the first two weeks of his university career, made the unfortunate decision to wear a bowler hat on a night out and had been bullied ceaselessly about it ever since.

For most of the morning, both girls were pretty happy with how things had played out. Lauren had been pleased that when it came to being chained up, she had managed to bag herself a spot next to Nathan, although this was tempered somewhat by the fact that Sophie was on Nathan’s other side and would no doubt spend the whole day throwing herself at him. Sophie, for her part, was happy that the protest seemed to have scuppered the efforts to fell the tree, at least for now, and because she had received a message of support from her dad, who usually did his best to live up to the impossible-to-please-Asian-parent-stereotype. Scott’s friend, who worked for the local newspaper, the Fairelow Courier had promised to come along to take photos and get some quotes for an article, and Nathan had spoken at length about how the student body and locals alike would rally behind them as soon as the article hit social media.

Unfortunately, as the day had worn on, a problem had begun to occur to Sophie. It was a problem which she really should have foreseen after the incident at the pub, but it was only when she started to feel a pressure in her bladder that Sophie started to become concerned about the tree’s lack of bathroom facilities. She had known that it would never have been as simple as standing, chained to the tree, for twenty minutes and then going home as soon as the workmen shrugged, downed tools and left, but now, a few hours later, there was no end in sight. The workmen had disappeared for now, but their heavy machinery was still lurking, ominously, a few metres away, ready to be put to use as soon as the little band of protesters left their post. Sophie wriggled slightly in discomfort.

“Uh, guys, I kind of need to go to the bathroom…”

Sophie’s words were music to Lauren’s ears. If Sophie had to go and take care of her bathroom requirements, the chain would have to be unlocked and campus security would be certain to swoop in and stop the remaining members of the group from reattaching themselves to the tree, putting an end to all of this nonsense. It would also absolve her from being the one responsible for ending the protest. She too was suffering from an increasingly urgent need to relieve herself and had been thinking of calling time on the whole thing too. Unfortunately for Lauren, it was not to be. Sophie had obviously decided that she could hold it a little longer, and said no more for the time being, despite the fact that she was beginning to show visible signs of distress, squeezing her knees together and occasionally wincing slightly. For now, Lauren was managing to avoid such obvious displays, but silently, she wondered how long she could wait before risking having an accident in her pants. She had no intention of waiting long enough to find out, confident as she was that Sophie was going to have to excuse herself any moment and in doing so, put an end to Lauren’s ordeal too.

Surely, Sophie wasn’t willing to piss herself, in full view of anyone who happened to pass through the middle of the campus, just to save some old tree? Ordinarily, Lauren would have been over the moon at the idea of Sophie wetting her pants, in public and just centimetres away from Nathan, but today? Lauren didn’t want to have to cry off and, in doing so, take the blame for scuppering Nathan’s plans of protecting what he seemed to think was some kind of iconic piece of university history. On the other hand, however, if Lauren allowed herself to get pulled into an unspoken game of urinary chicken and if Sophie, against all odds, had some kind of Kevlar pelvic floor…

The mere thought sent a jolt of a panic through Lauren and for a fraction of a second, she was on the verge of emptying her bladder there and then, but she quickly regained her self-control, tensing her internal muscles before disaster could strike. Had a trickle of pee escaped into her underwear? Hand on heart, she honestly couldn’t have said for sure. The temptation to try to find a way to inspect the state of her thong took hold of her briefly, but she resisted. If she had dampened her knickers, it could only have been a tiny amount, nowhere near enough to show on her jeans. She was going to be fine. She was in nothing like as bad a state as Sophie, who, by now was performing as close to a full-on pee-dance as was possible, while chained to a tree.

“If you need to go that badly, why don’t you just piss against the tree? Everyone does it.”

That had been Fat Mike, who was well clear of any potential splash zone, with Lauren and Nathan both separating him from Sophie. Mike-with-the-hat, by contrast, seemed much less enthused by the prospect, standing, as he was, to Sophie’s immediate right. Fat Mike was correct, it was pretty much a nightly occurrence that students traversing from bar to bar across the campus, or on their way home from a night of drinking, would stop at the tree for a bathroom break. It was mostly the boys, but it wasn’t exactly unheard of for female students to do so. Occasionally girls would do this in small, giggling groups, egging each other on to take up slightly more brazen spots, further around the better lit side, out of the relative safety of the shade cast by the thick trunk.

Only once had Sophie, reluctantly, made use of the tree for this purpose, at the end of a night out as she made her way back to her hall of residence. She had been left with no choice that time. Her desperation had been so strong that she had known that she could either water the plants or water her pants. It had not been a success. A moment after she had begun to go, she had noticed that she was peeing onto the trousers around her ankles. After she had adjusted her position, she had realised that another student was approaching. Without stopping to think, she had stood up, inadvertently exposing herself to the startled boy, and, still mid-flow, pulled up her clothes, spectacularly failing to preserve either her modesty or her dry pants. Horrified, she had sprinted away from the scene of the crime and back to her room, thankfully without bumping into anyone else en route. Slamming the door of her bedroom shut behind her, she had thrust her hand into her underwear to find out the extent of the damage and found herself overcome by the illicit thrill of what had just happened, rubbing herself to a panting, shuddering and very confusing orgasm in a matter of seconds. Though she had no idea why, the thought of that humiliating episode brought a tingle to Sophie’s nether regions, but even in spite of her sudden, baffling arousal, there was no way she was planning to recreate any part of it, particularly in broad daylight.

“You know what, Mike? I’m usually quite happy to parade my privates in front of all and sundry, which is lucky, because there’s no way I’d be able to pull my pants back up since we’re chained to the tree and all. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure I’d end up weeing all over them if I tried that anyway, so it’s a no go.”

It was true, the way that they were chained, completely upright against the tree trunk, meant that there would be no practical way to cover herself up, there was no likelihood of being able to pull her clothes back into place and, even if she didn’t mind standing around with her muff on display for however long this went on, she was certain to drench her jeans anyway if she tried to pee.

Nathan had been uncharacteristically quiet for a little while now, but alas, it could not last.

“That’s a very enlightened stance.”

Not for the first time, Sophie found herself wondering if she was doing sarcasm wrong. Clearly, either she didn’t understand it properly, or Nathan didn’t. He was off again on some rambling lecture about how people should be able to wear as little as they wanted without being slut-shamed and that the human body was beautiful and blah, blah, blah…

The awful thing was that Sophie didn’t disagree with him. In principle, she didn’t think nudity should be a big deal or that body parts should arbitrarily be deemed taboo. In practice, however, she was cripplingly shy about her own body, even though she knew that people considered her attractive and that she was objectively quite slim. When she had finally allowed a boyfriend into her bedroom earlier this year, she had insisted on wearing pyjamas overnight, which she had changed into and out of with her back to him. She had made him promise to look away every time and had tried not to think about whether he was actually doing so, or if he was, as she suspected, taking in an unobstructed view of her bottom and stealing glimpses of her nipples or bush when she strayed in front of the mirror on her wardrobe.

In bed, she had allowed him to reach underneath her pyjama top to caress her small breasts, let him slip his hand beneath her waistband and touch between her thighs while she played with him. A couple of times she had even taken him in her mouth, an act which she had, to her surprise, sort of enjoyed, until he came, quickly and without warning. After a few weeks of this, she had eventually allowed him to pull down her pyjamas so that they could have sex, but only under the covers, only with the light off and she would always pull her pyjamas back on as soon as he had finished and rolled off her.

With Nathan now in full flow, Sophie had reached her breaking point. For one thing, she couldn’t stand to spend the rest of the day listening to him or have him try to turn their little protest group into the Fairelow University Nudist Society. For another, if she didn’t make her escape now, she was going to reach a different kind of breaking point and find herself in a full flow of her own. Her father would understand. She had done her bit for the cause now and he would never expect her to publicly wet her pants and humiliate herself, no matter what the sentimental value of the tree. As  soon as she could get a word in, she decided, she would ask to be unchained and would make a beeline for the nearest toilet. For now though, Nathan was showing no sign of letting up.

“I wish more people thought like you do, Sophie. The world would be a much better place.”

Lauren couldn’t believe it. Sophie, that lying bitch, had somehow convinced Nathan that she was some kind of Bohemian who only bothered with clothing to avoid arrest. Lauren was fully aware that this wasn’t the case. They both attended the same spin class at the gym, three times a week.

Usually, they would both go back to their accommodation to shower afterwards, but every fortnight, their timetable didn’t give them enough breathing room before their next lecture, so they were forced to shower at the gym, an arrangement with which Sophie was very obviously uncomfortable. She kept her knickers on the whole time she was in the communal shower, only removing them for the shortest time possible, in the changing area, while she dried between her legs, before replacing them with a dry pair. Lauren thought that she would probably be uncomfortable being naked too, if she had Sophie’s big Japanese bush and, like Sophie, had no tits to speak of.

Lauren didn’t think Sophie was actually Japanese, but she definitely had some Asian heritage. Even so, any time Sophie was careless enough to leave her crotch briefly uncovered, or any time she wore white underwear, (which she still kept on in the shower, despite the fact that they went instantly transparent under the running water,) Lauren couldn’t help herself. She saw all that thick, dark hair and immediately thought of the pixelated vaginas from the Japanese pornos her ex had cajoled her into watching with him.

Lauren knew what Sophie was up to. Sophie had seeded the idea of and now, her big Japanese bush and tiny breasts were wandering around, stark naked, inside Nathan’s imagination. And it was all based on a lie! Sophie wouldn’t even willingly get naked in the privacy of the changing rooms. Lauren was the one who had gone topless last year on a girls’ holiday to Ibiza, had gone skinny dipping on Fairelow beach during Freshers’ Week and had stripped off for the hockey team’s charity calendar with only strategically placed sports equipment to cover herself. By rights, it should be her boobs, jiggling in front of Nathan’s mind’s eye. It should be her own big Japanese bush, gyrating sensuously. Or rather, as she was a white girl who waxed religiously, her own hairless pussy.

It was bad enough that Lauren was no longer confident that she could outlast Sophie in the silent battle not to be the one to end the protest for a bathroom trip, but now Sophie was apparently ahead in the battle for Nathan’s romantic attention. Something had to be done.

“I’d just walk around naked all the time if I could. If it wasn’t so cold. I think everyone should.”

She was quite pleased with that. Now she had planted the idea of her naked body in Nathan’s mind and had convinced him of her own liberal, bohemian mindset. Good work. After a moment, she added,

“You know, unless they’re fat and gross.”

Laughter erupted from Sophie. She couldn’t help herself. As always, Lauren had known exactly the right thing to say to crack her up. Oh God, she was so funny! Oh God, she was hilarious.

Oh God…

A droplet of pee escaped.

Another.

Sophie stopped laughing instantly, but it was too late.

A dribble.

Another.

She slammed her hands into her crotch.

A spurt.

Another.

She heard herself whisper, “No, no, no!”

A trickle.

Another.

She felt their eyes all fix on her as the crotch of her jeans began to darken around her hands. There was no disguising what had happened. Not this time.

A stream.

A river.

A torrent.

And then it was done. As the others looked on, Sophie straightened, unsure what to do with her hands, which were now dripping with pee. She settled for wiping them on the denim of her jeans, by her hips, which were still dry, unlike the back and inside of her legs, which were completely saturated. A dark stain stretched down, like a shadow, from her crotch down to a puddle beneath her feet. She became aware that even her socks were sodden and she had to resist the urge to kick off her shoes and rid herself of the liquid which had pooled inside them. Feeling tears begin to fall, but not wanting to touch her face with her still pee-damp hands, she was forced to use her wrists to dry her eyes.

She had suffered from more than her fair share of accidents before, of course, sometimes quite publicly, but that didn’t help ease the shame. Unfortunately for Sophie and ultimately for Lauren as well, the ordeal was not over yet.

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3.

 

Sophie had pissed in her pants. As far as Lauren was concerned, this couldn’t be more perfect. She’d been hoping that Sophie would have to call a halt to the protest in order to go to the bathroom and that this would give Lauren the chance to take care of her own toilet needs without taking the blame for the aforementioned halting of the aforementioned protest. She’d never dreamed that things would take this particular turn for the better. Now, not only would they have to unchain themselves from the tree so that Sophie could go and clean up, meaning that Lauren would be able to escape and relieve herself, but this whole incident had surely taken Sophie right out of the picture when it came to the battle for Nathan’s affections. He would be angry with Sophie for effectively condemning the tree to being cut down and he would surely no longer be attracted to her, now that he had seen her like this, legs streaked with piss, eyes and cheeks both red and sticky with tears.

But wait, what was going on?

“Wow, Sophie. I think it’s really commendable that you would be so committed.”

What the hell? Nathan actually seemed to be pleased with Sophie for pissing herself, as though she’d made a conscious decision to do that rather than stop the protest. Was he trying to make her feel better, or was he just completely oblivious? It was quite clear to see from the state of her that she’d had no intention of sacrificing her trousers and dignity to the cause. Lauren was certain that she had to step in immediately to stop this whole thing being spun into a kind of noble bladder-based heroism, instead of the utter humiliation this sort of thing was supposed to represent.

Even worse, Lauren’s own need was getting more pressing by the moment and she wasn’t about to stand by and let Sophie’s display set a precedent for what was expected of her. She had her excuse to get out of here and damn it, she was going to make the most of it.

“For goodness’s sake guys, don’t be ridiculous. She’s wet herself. She’s humiliated. It was an accident. The last thing she needs is for you to act like she did it on purpose and guilt trip her into staying out here, covered in pee, so that everyone on campus can point and laugh at the girl who pissed her pants. Unlock the chain and let’s get out of here so that Sophie can have a shower, put some clean undies on and have a proper cry in the privacy of her own bedroom.”

Sophie could have kissed Lauren at that moment. How on Earth could that moron Nathan be so tone deaf as to think that she’d deliberately soaked her jeans in full view of the entire university? Oh god, he was talking again!

“Sophie, you want to carry on with the protest, right? You don’t want to go home? I mean, I’m sure you didn’t exactly plan to pee yourself, but it was a choice between giving up on the whole thing or… y’know… this… so you took one for the team, right? Right?

“I…”

Now Sophie was torn. On the one hand, she had no desire to stay out here in here wet, rapidly cooling jeans, giving more people the chance to see her shame. On the other hand, news travelled fast on campus. Even if she got home without any more people seeing her and her peed-in-trousers, she was probably doomed to be known as “that girl who peed her pants while chained to a tree” for as long as she was at the university. Nothing was going to change that now. Wouldn’t it be better if people thought it was on her own terms?

“This is insane. Just admit you pissed yourself by accident and let’s go home. Do you know how mental you’ll look if people think you did this on purpose?”

Jesus, Lauren was right. It was one thing to have everyone know she’d wet her pants. Anyone could have an accident. If people thought it wasn’t an accident, they’d think she was a lunatic. She had to ‘fess up. Besides, it hadn’t been her main concern when she was trying in vain not to pee, but she was now increasingly aware that, while her bladder was empty, she did still need to use the toilet.

“It was an accident. I had an accident in my pants, ok? Can we just go?”

“Ok, ok, it was an accident, but look, the damage is done now, right? You can’t un-pee your pants. It might as well have been worth it!”

“No, Nathan, I just want to get out of here before anyone else sees. Please, just unchain us.”

For a moment, there came no reply from Nathan. Lauren chimed in again.

“Come on Nathan, let’s just go. I need to go to the loo as well and there’s no way I’m hanging around here until I piss my pants too. Let’s go. Sophie can go home and get out of her pissed in clothes and the rest of us can go and get pissed.”

Again, Nathan didn’t respond. Sophie pressed him.

“Nathan?”

“Well, the thing is…”

“What?!” erupted both girls as he trailed off.

“I kind of… threw the key away.”

There was a kind of stunned silence as the girls took in what Nathan had said. Finally, Lauren spoke up.

“So what are we going to do? Stay here forever? Just stand around waiting in pissy jeans until… with Sophie in her pissy jeans until… Until what?”

Wait a minute. Had Sophie heard that right? Before she’d corrected herself, the way Lauren had spoken made it sound as though Sophie’s jeans weren’t the only ones which were wet. Had she simply misspoken, or was Lauren concealing an accident of her own? Under normal circumstances, Sophie would never wish that on anyone, least of all Lauren, but part of her couldn’t help wanting it to be true. She tried, as discretely as possible, to get a look at the crotch of Lauren’s jeans. There was no tell-tale puddle beneath her feet, but…

Was that a shadow on Lauren’s leg, or an incriminating damp patch?

“Lauren, have you…?”

Sophie caught herself before finishing the question. If Lauren had wet her own pants, Sophie wouldn’t be the one to draw attention to it, even if it would take some of the attention off her. She returned to her silent shame.

Lauren hadn’t wet herself. Yet. She could no longer see how she could get out of this predicament with dry trousers. Her only hope, as far as she could see, was that the workmen might return and use their power tools to free her and the others from the tree, but there had been no sign of them since they had walked away and Lauren knew that she could be just moments from disaster.

She had considered trying to let out just enough pee to relieve some pressure, but only briefly. Perhaps she would be able to retain enough control to create just a small damp patch, unnoticeable to anyone else, or at least concealable. In reality though, she knew it wouldn’t work.

She’d made that mistake before, once, at the cinema with her friends. Watching the movie version of Into The Woods, she had over-indulged on pop and found herself desperate to piss. With the fairy-tale stories apparently approaching their conclusion, Lauren had not wanted to go to the bathroom and risk missing the ending and so had tried to “take the edge off” by letting out a small amount. Just, she had hoped, enough to help her hold the rest but not, she had hoped, enough to do any more damage than leaving her with some slightly damp knickers.

What had actually happened though, was that she had emptied the entire contents of her bladder into the cushion of the seat and sat, soaked and mortified, through the rest of the film, which, it had turned out, still had a significant amount of running time left. She’d gotten away with it, kind of, by making a big show of spilling the remains of her drink over herself as she stood up at the end of the film.

In retrospect, she should have known, even then, that trying to release some of the pressure was a technique destined to fail. On some of the relatively rare (she liked to think) occasions when she had wet her bed while sober, she had started to piss in her sleep and been completely unable to stop the stream when she woke up. Invariably, she would end up having to clean not only her bedsheets, but also the floor on the route between her bed and the toilet.

Now, chained to the tree, Lauren was making no attempt to hide the fact that she was in dire straits. Desperation had become outright despair and she couldn’t see any way out of the predicament which didn’t end with a long, wet walk across campus back to her room.

A slow realisation was dawning on Sophie. Lauren was about to pee her pants. She was about to wet herself, and as far as Sophie could tell, she was going to do it on purpose to make Sophie feel better about her accident. It seemed obvious to Sophie that Lauren had made the decision as soon as she had found out that the key to the lock was gone. That was the reason for her slip of the tongue earlier, the reason for her ostentatious display now. What had Sophie done to deserve a friend as kind, as lovely, as Lauren? She couldn’t let such a good friend be humiliated on her account.

“Lauren, you don’t have to…”

But it was too late. There was a hissing sound and a dark, wet shape blossomed from the crotch of Lauren’s jeans, making its way down the inside of her legs and escaping in the form of a puddle at her feet.

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Thanks for the feedback guys. I'm glad that this seems to be well received.

When I came up with the idea for the story I did envision one or possibly two more chapters, so I might continue this, although I should warn you that the remaining chapters would probably contain poop desperation and/or messing (both of which have very briefly been touched on already,) which I realise might put some people off.

If it does put you off, I guess that the current point would be as good a place as any to consider the story closed- Lauren has got some comeuppance, and I doubt whether anyone is massively invested in the fate of the tree itself, although I could be wrong!

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  • 3 months later...

4.

In the time which had passed since Lauren had pissed in her pants, a number of things had happened, and none of them had done anything but deepen her misery.

Firstly, passers-by, who had, in the early part of the day, paid little to no attention to the protest, now seemed to be gawking in slack-jawed astonishment at the group who were chained to the tree.

Secondly, Scott’s friend from the Fairelowe Courier newspaper had arrived. He had spoken to the group about the protest to get information and some quotes, which Nathan had been all too keen to give. To Lauren’s great dismay, the reporter was quick to focus his questions on the subject of the wet jeans sported by the female members of the group, asking about whether there was some greater symbolic message behind the dampened trousers. Nathan had immediately explained that no, there had been nothing like that planned and that the girls had both simply had accidents, independently of one another. Despite Lauren and Sophie’s protestations, photographs had been taken to accompany whatever article would eventually be produced. All Lauren could hope was that the Fairelowe Courier, with its tiny circulation and old-fashioned methods, did not have a website or any social media presence. She was certain that nobody at the university would read the print edition.

Finally, and worst of all, she needed to take a crap. Badly. Whether it was the stress of the situation doing funny things to her stomach, or the pressure being put on her body by the chain fastened tightly around them all, Lauren was experiencing some significant intestinal distress. By now, the group had made calls to university management in an effort to get somebody to come and cut them loose, but, perhaps unsurprisingly, nobody had been in too much of a hurry to come and help the group of students who had scuppered the planned building works. Lauren now found herself repeatedly imagining the embarrassment of soiling herself here in the square, her anxiety increasing with each visualised accident. She felt as though she was locked in a downward spiral. Each time she thought about crapping herself, she became more stressed out and as she became more stressed, the physical situation felt worse.

Perhaps she wouldn’t have felt so panicked if she hadn’t been so easily able to imagine a worry-related emergency, but unfortunately, the whole thing felt eerily familiar. When she had first moved to Fairelowe, when she started uni, she had, like most new students, been anxious about what university life might have in store for her. Unfortunately for her, this anxiety had manifested, en route, in an urgent need to empty her bowels. Each mile without a rest stop in sight had gradually piled worry on top of worry. Her anxiety at the thought of not fitting in and not doing well on her course gradually became an anxiety at the thought of arriving at her halls of residence with messy underwear. Finally, her step-dad had been able to pull into a petrol station and she had darted out of the car almost before it had stopped moving, only to lose control on the forecourt, completely filling her pants and ruining the cute playsuit she had been wearing. When she opened the door of the petrol station to look for a bathroom in which to clean up, the owner had taken one look at the state of her and refused her entry. He had directed her instead to a hose around the side of the building, where she’d had to strip off and wash herself in full view of the road, not to mention her step dad and teenage step brother who were waiting for her in the car with her mum.

Maybe, maybe Lauren could survive having pissed her pants without becoming a complete social outcast. She knew that other girls on the hockey team had dampened their knickers and lived to tell the tale. One had pissed all over herself during the team’s “onesie bar crawl social,” when the zipper of her onesie had got stuck. When another member of the team had half-confessed, half-bragged about getting so drunk that she’d soaked the bed of her one-night stand while she was sleeping and snuck out the next morning without saying a word to him, Lauren had laughed along, keeping quiet about her own occasional wet wake-ups. One of the girls had even pissed her shorts on the hockey field after over stretching while trying to stop a goal. They’d all been mocked pretty relentlessly afterwards, but eventually people had stopped bringing the incidents up so much.

But if Lauren shat herself? That would be unthinkably humiliating. If she didn’t drop out in disgrace, people would still be going on about it at graduation. The hockey team would almost certainly name an annual award after her and she’d go down in infamy, with every new crop of players being told the story of her messing her pants while chained to this bloody stupid fucking tree.

She couldn’t let that happen. Even after what had already happened today, and knowing that her chances of getting with Nathan must be long gone, she hated the thought of admitting that she was on the verge of crapping herself, but there wasn’t much choice left.

“Nathan, look, I know you said that you’d thrown the key away, but please, if you still have it, or if you know where it is, or if there’s a spare somewhere, please, please do something to get us out of here. The workmen have gone. They’re not going to cut the tree down today. We’ve won. We can’t stay here forever. I want to go and clean up… and… I really need the toilet.”

“Nobody will even be able to tell if you just pee yourself some more,” Mike-with-the-hat interjected, displaying the level of sensitivity Lauren had grown to expect from rugby players like him.

“No, Mike, I need a bathroom. I don’t… I need… I’m about to… I…”

“Mike, I think she needs to poo…”

As soon as the words had passed her lips, Sophie couldn’t believe what she had said. At some point, she had become aware of the idea that “girls don’t poo” and ever since, she’d been fastidious about trying to maintain that illusion. She knew it was ridiculous, and she also knew that boys didn’t honestly think it was true, but even so, she found herself mortified at the thought of anybody knowing she had anything going on in her bowels. Any time she was in public and needed to wee, she was sure to be as quick as humanly possible, to leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that that was all she was up to. If she ever needed to poo, she’d either find another excuse to separate from any companions for long enough that she could do the deed in secret, or she would say her goodbyes and make her way home, although a couple of recent disasters had made her wary of trying to hold on too long.

This summer, after the end of her first year of uni, Sophie and some of her friends from home had arranged a catch up in the nearest large town to the village where she lived. After a few hours of mooching around shops and sitting in coffee shops and pubs, she’d felt a stirring in her stomach and decided it was time to call it a day and head home in the car she’d borrowed from her father. Halfway home, traffic had reached a standstill in the wake of a collision, and by the time the debris had been cleared, Sophie was facing an uphill struggle to keep her knickers clean.

In the summer heat, she’d been wearing uncharacteristically small shorts and had found herself fretting over whether, if she couldn’t hold it and ended up soiling herself, her shorts would contain the mess or if she would have to confess to her father that she had pooed all over the driver’s seat of his Audi. Miraculously, by the time she pulled the car onto the drive, her pants had been unsullied, save for a couple of dribbles of wee. It wasn’t ideal, but no worse than she might have expected if she’d had a sneezing fit or heard a particularly funny joke. The seat had been almost entirely dry and unless anyone looked extremely closely, they’d have thought her shorts were too. She’d made it to the porch, through the front door and into the hallway. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, however, the jolts to her abdomen which came with each step had started to take their toll on her knickers. They were now rather more noticeably damp and she was quite certain that she was literally touching cloth. Despite this, and despite the trickle of pee slowly making its way down her leg, the situation and her underwear had been salvageable. That is, they’d been salvageable until she’d reached for the bathroom door handle. Before she could grasp it, the door had swung inwards, to reveal her father on the other side of the door. Whether it had been the surprise, or whether she’d simply reached the end of her resolve, she couldn’t have said, but before she knew it, she had completely emptied herself into her underwear.

That feeling of humiliation as she stood there in front of her father, with lumps of poo escaping through the leg holes of her overfilled knickers and sliding down her already soaked legs was not one that she was going to forget in a hurry, but it still hadn’t been enough for her to get over her desire to keep the workings of her bowels a secret. Neither had a further pants-pooing incident, mercifully unwitnessed, which had taken place a couple of months ago after a rare night spent in her then-boyfriend’s bed. She had woken up early, a little worse-for-wear, following a night out. Needing badly to use the bathroom, but absolutely not willing to use the en-suite in her boyfriend’s room, she had excused herself and, wearing the nice dress she had gone out in and still with the remains of her make up from the previous night on her face, set off home at a march, only to poo her pants a little over half way there. What a state she would have looked, had anyone been there to see her, as her walk of shame became a waddle of shame, the back of her dress bulging out further with each step as she continued to mess her knickers.

So, it was not, for Sophie, a small thing to have blurted out in front of the group that Lauren needed to poo. If Lauren needed to poo, then girls did sometimes poo and by extension Sophie did sometimes poo and what a ridiculous thing it was for Sophie to care that people knew that, when really, obviously they knew already deep down and she was already standing in peed in trousers and so how much lower could their opinion of her get anyway but she still couldn’t believe she’d said it anyway but she had because it was for Lauren, Lauren-who’d-peed-her-pants-for Sophie and now she’d said it and itwasgoingtogetevenworsebecauseshewasabouttosay

“I think she needs to poo… and so do I.”

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