satyr 1,314 Posted June 5, 2018 Popular Post Share Posted June 5, 2018 This is a bit of an experimental story. Instead of front-loading with a lengthy author's note, I put it at the bottom. Enjoy a tale of epic desperation, then tell me what you think. People say gods don’t exist. They’re wrong. A whole pantheon of them sits somewhere in the fifth dimension, looking down on us and writing down events pertaining to their particular area of interest, more for their personal amusement than for some future karmic justice. They just aren’t the sort of gods you’re likely to be familiar with. There’s Eeroonee, who spends his time looking out for people who misuse the word “ironic” and laughing behind—if there is such a thing as behind in the fifth dimension—their backs. There’s Pee-Zee, whose field of interest includes any and all uses of the word “politically correct.” I could go on for days. The deity you’re likely interested in, however, is one so obscure even most of the other denizens of the fifth dimension haven’t heard of him, or her, or it—for the gods have nothing so pedestrian as gender. Their name is Omo Rashi, and I happen to have procured a sample of their notebook. I didn’t exactly sell my soul for it, but it was a close thing. Suffice to say I owe the ambassador from the Fourth Circle of Hell a favor. This is a selection of case reports from Omo Rashi’s extremely extensive notebooks. I will simply call them cases #1, #2 etc. The original follows some arcane classification scheme I can’t decipher. The deities of the fifth dimension—as best as my fifteen years of arcane studies have taught me—are near omniscient in their particular field of interest (although they may be unaware of events or facts pertaining to other matters). As one might imagine, the notes of a being privy to so much more information than any human being could hold in their head at the same time, or even comprehend in a lifetime, are quite hard to follow. Especially since they appear to experience past, present and future simultaneously, or out of order at any rate. I have therefore attempted to fashion a sort of narrative out of the chaos. Suffice to say, if the following reads like a short story, that is not the fault of Omo Rashi. Enough babble. Let’s get it on. Case #1 Subject: Rachel Annabel Rose Age: 24 Height: 170 cm Physical description: Slim, brunette, wears glasses Last recorded daytime wetting: age seven (7) Last recorded bedwetting: age eleven (11) Bladder size: Above average It was a nice morning in early summer, and the two of them were both excited to be here. As soon as the wristbands went on, Rachel let out an uncharacteristic squeal of joy. Her boyfriend and companion for the day, Aaron, shot her a quizzical look. Rachel was not one to express strong emotions in public, and when he suggested they check out this festival, she hadn’t been all that enthusiastic. For one thing, she got nervous in crowds. “Someone’s a bit excited, I see,” Aaron said. “I might have taken something for my nerves,” Rachel said. Indeed, she might have taken a bit much, all things considered. But that would become evident later. “Was that a good idea?” Rachel giggled. “Well, maybe not. But otherwise I’d be a nervous wreck when the crowd really gets going. Come on, let’s go grab some drinks!” They were early, so there wasn’t much of a line at the beer tent. Although Aaron questioned the wisdom of mixing whatever sedative his girlfriend had taken with alcohol, he let it slide. If there was one thing Rachel wasn’t, it was reckless. She was a bit on the neurotic side—hence the need for a calming agent—and would have spent hours online assuring herself that she could indeed drink on this thing. They grabbed a beer each and settled on a bench, waiting for the first band to come on. Actually they were here a bit early: not only was there another hour until the first band, but the acts that people actually paid to see—rather than the local warm-up bands that played earlier in the day—would not be on for many hours. Rachel, on the other hand, had wanted to go early because, as she had told her boyfriend repeatedly, she didn’t “do” crowds very well, and might need to leave early if things became too overwhelming, so she’d rather go early and catch some lesser known bands than go late, stay for an hour and then leave. Pretty soon, she’d drained her beer and procured another. Aaron had to restrain himself from grabbing her and telling her to slow down. She was a big girl, and besides, two beers wasn’t much. Still, it was strange, seeing her like this: not just relaxed, but exuberant. This was a side of her he loved, but it was one she rarely showed in public. In the privacy of their home, or a small gathering of friends, she could be the life of the party. It was strange, but it was like there were two of her. One was a freaking rock star around whom everyone else orbited like satellites, the other was a nervous wreck who hid in a corner. The only difference was the size of the crowd: more than a dozen people in close proximity, and she’d become a wallflower. Today, however, she was not, even though the crowd definitely warranted it. “So, anyway, how’s Amanda?” Rachel asked. Aaron shivered. Did she know? It had only been a kiss… But no, Rachel only wanted to know how their mutual friend’s job search was going. A drunken mishap one night when Rachel was out of town, thankfully, was not the topic of the day. “Oh, you know, she’s busy sending out resumes,” Aaron said, then, thinking to change the topic before it got uncomfortable, he continued, “But anyway, this beer’s going right through me. I’m gonna go find a toilet. Come with me, that way you’ll know where they are for later.” Rachel frowned. Her boyfriend didn’t know what she was thinking, but if there was one thing she didn’t intend on doing, it was using one of those dirty, bacteria-infested porta-loos. And she could already feel a twinge in her own bladder. Nevertheless, she dutifully followed her boyfriend to the designated area, which was indeed a vast row of portable toilets. This early in the day, there was no line. Rachel bought a bottle of water from a vendor passing by with a trolley while she waited. Better limit the alcohol intake—two beers was more than enough for a buzz in combination with her little pill. It was a hot day, though, and she was thirsty. Aaron exited the toilet as she finished off her water. “You really went in there, didn’t you? Those things are disgusting,” Rachel said. “Oh, come on,” her boyfriend said. “They’re not that bad. Especially early in the day, before hardly anyone’s had the time to use them. Why don’t you pop in now, so you won’t have to go later?” “I’m not going in there!” “You’ve had what, two beers already? It’s only going to get more disgusting as the day goes on, if you think this is bad. You didn’t even stick your head inside and see what it’s like!” “I don’t need to pee. Let’s go!” Rachel said. “I think the first concert’s about to start.” Shaking his head, Aaron joined his girlfriend. They found a spot in the crowd in front of the smaller of the two scenes. It was a local indie rock band playing the first set of the day. Neither of them had heard of the band before, but once things got going, it wasn’t bad. The crowd was still pretty sparse, and few people knew any of the lyrics, but still, there was a general head-bobbing going on, which is about as much as you can ask for as an unknown band so early in the day. By the time the set was over, Rachel’s light-headedness had resided somewhat, and she felt ready for another beer. Her boyfriend was getting thirsty himself. Now, friends, here is an editorial insertion: as mentioned, the denizens of the fifth dimension see and hear all, at least in their given domain of knowledge. The god of Lost Socks in the Wash might not know the exact time-table of the London tube, but it damn well knows where every last one of those single socks that always disappear inconveniently, is located. And as for Omo Rashi, nothing to do with urine, bladders, or urination is beyond his knowledge. All of this is to say that we find exact status reports about the state of various persons of interest’s bladders, and so I can inform you that at this point, Rachel’s bladder already held a good 700 milliliters of urine. An average adult bladder is full in the 500 milliliter range. And though Rachel certainly had a large bladder, even she was not immune to the call of nature. An astute observer could spot her somewhat shaky, impatient foot-tapping when she stood still—although without knowing what to look for one might assume she was keeping the beat of the music—and the growing bulge of her bladder, pushing on and stretching the denim of her tight jeans. As for the main character herself, she was now fully aware of her need to go—it was an ever-present, nagging irritation, but she could still control herself. She could certainly keep in one more beer. Her boyfriend had not noticed anything yet, and she wasn’t intending for him to do so, either. He’d surely insist she’d go to one of those awful loos, and no amount of sedatives could get her to do that. Ugh. The crowd was now growing thicker, and there was now a line for beer. Aaron got them a plastic cup each, and they wandered around for a quarter of an hour before they found a seat. By this point, Rachel’s bladder was nearing a full liter of pee, and even her oblivious boyfriend was starting to catch on to the fact. She was dressed in a tank top and light, faded jeans, pretty as always, but now she was seated with her legs crossed and her free hand in her lap, pretending to be resting it there but really waiting for Aaron’s attention to lapse long enough for her to squeeze. The weather was hot, the sun was out, and the drinks were flowing, but now a slight breeze came blowing past. Rachel had grown used to the heat, and the slight cool gave rise to a shiver in her bladder. She bit her lip. Never had she even been close to having an accident, but it was only a bit past midday and she was already growing desperate. And yet there was no way she was using the disgusting facilities. A germ of concern grew in her mind. However would she last the day? When would Aaron notice and start nagging her? At this point, dear reader, it’s time for another authorial intrusion. Those were Rachel’s thoughts, but the factsheet at the top of the case file gives the lie to her unbroken streak of dry underwear. Once, when she was seven, she had been drinking juice and watching cartoons all morning, and didn’t notice she had to pee until it was an emergency. Then her mother called her into the kitchen for lunch, and she’d made pancakes, Rachel’s favorite. As a girl, there were two things she couldn’t resist: cookies and pancakes. So she ran into the kitchen, bouncing all the while, and her mother took it for general excitement. Seven-year-olds can be enthusiastic. All throughout lunch, Rachel squirmed. Finally, a little dribble escaped. Rachel must have gasped—here the fifth-dimensional notes are a little hard to interpret—but whatever she did, her mother caught on. She sternly reminded her daughter to take care of her natural needs, and Rachel stormed off to the bathroom. But before she could get down her shorts, it started pouring out, all over the floor, pooling neatly around the bottom of the toilet. Rachel’s mother was not pleased—not because she’d had an accident, but because she’d had an accident out of pure laziness. Then there was the time she was eleven and, again, too much juice was to blame. That, and she stayed up late watching a horror movie—her babysitter had let her to watch something her parents would never allow—and she was too tired by the end to go potty before bed. She had a nightmare. When her mother woke her the next day, she found a dinner plate of pee on the bedsheets, and one very embarrassed daughter. But that time, her mother’s ire was reserved for the babysitter, once she learned what had happened. So Rachel might not have been entirely honest with herself that day at the festival. But those incidents were long ago. Seven is an age at which accidents are still within the realm of acceptable mishaps during the day, and wetting the bed after watching a horror movie at eleven, too. She could rationalize that away. The point was, she had not been in trouble since she was a little girl. Rachel really did have an exceptional bladder. Whenever she went to the pub with her friends, she would go once for every two times her friends went. One time, on a road trip with Aaron, they’d both had large coffees, and he’d been desperate while she was totally fine. Aaron had to make an emergency pit stop by the roadside and barely got his dick out in time. She often teased him about that. The fact that she was starting to worry, then, was a testament to the urgency of the situation. “Looks like it’s going to be packed,” Aaron said, and burped. He’d just drained the last of his beer. “We better get ready if we want a good spot for when the main acts come on. Speaking of, I gotta take a leak. You ready to move?” Rachel rose, a bit unsteady. She bit her lip and tried with all her might to stand straight, but couldn’t help but do an involuntary little curtsy to keep a wave of pressure in check. Aaron raised an eyebrow. “You okay?” He asked. “Yeah, yeah… I think my leg fell asleep,” Rachel lied. At this point, her attempts to hide her pee-dance were no longer convincing. You didn’t have to be Omo Rashi, god of pee desperation, to see that this young woman needed to pee. “Let’s head to the restrooms,” Aaron said, giving her a look that said “that means you too.” Unfortunately, that was not the right approach to take with Rachel. Especially not when she was a bit drunk, and perhaps overcompensating a bit for her discomfort with large crowds. She’d resolved to put on a brave face, and his tone reminded her far too much of her mother. In her teens, when it became clear just what a prodigious bladder nature had endowed her with, her mother would often nag her about going to the bathroom. She’d often forget, and rarely went “just in case.” But as a teenager, the last thing you want is for your mom to treat you like a child. Finally, her mother had had enough. It had been another one of those long road trips where Rachel never took the opportunity to pee because she simply didn’t need to. “Fine,” her mother had said, frustrated. “One day you’ll be sitting there in wet pants and begging me not to say ‘I told you so.’” That day had never come, and it wasn’t about to come today. This time, there was a small line for the port-a-loos, even though there were plenty of them. Aaron was restless himself, dancing a bit on the spot. Rachel couldn’t resist poking him in the belly. “Had a bit much to drink, big boy?” She asked with a smirk. The look he gave her then sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t malice, it was pity. She could not stand still herself, dancing on the spot even worse than her boyfriend, and yet she was the one poking fun and insisting she was fine. Another wave of pressure wracked her body, and she had to resort to a squeeze in full view of everyone. It dawned on her, then, that she could not keep this up all day. And yet she could not use those… Things. So Rachel did a very stupid thing. While Aaron was in the toilet, she grabbed a beer from a nearby stall and downed it all before Aaron came back. She needed to calm her nerves. But more than that, she needed to limit her fluid intake. She almost coughed up some of the beer and had to collect herself so she didn’t vomit—not because she was that drunk, but chugging can do that to the best of them. Rachel was determined not to let her boyfriend know, and she just managed to gulp down the last of it and throw away the cup before he returned. Aaron had a very relieved look on his face. Rachel’s must have been a blank mask, so hard was she trying to look unconcerned. She was now holding at least 1.1 liters, and she’d downed another pint. Rachel was in agony, and her troubles were only just getting started. “You sure you don’t want to…?” Aaron tried. “No! Let’s go and get a nice spot.” She was resolute. Then a cosmic coincidence occurred. Perhaps good old Omo Rashi had a hand in it. I don’t understand the rules governing the interference or lack thereof well enough myself. I don’t know if they merely observe, or if they sometimes act to influence events in our universe. In any event, as the couple were making their way towards the main stage, they ran into Amanda. You might recall, the girl Aaron had fooled around with a few months back—long after he and Rachel became exclusive. The three were mutual friends, and Rachel had no idea what had happened. Amanda almost rushed straight past them, but then she caught herself. Apparently she was in a hurry. “Amanda!” Rachel yelled. Rachel didn’t notice, but her boyfriend cringed. This was the last thing he needed. Amanda stopped in her tracks, swiveled around to face them. She was a bit unsteady on her feet. “Oh, Rachel! Fancy meeting you here!” She said. Her tone was studiously neutral. She couldn’t know whether Rachel knew. Rachel, for her part, was trying her best to hide her desperation. And it takes one to know one: She could clearly see that Amanda was in dire straights herself. The petite blonde was dancing on the spot. She must have been headed to the loos. And was that—yes it was. The realization sent a wave of pressure to Rachel’s bladder, and she had to double over to keep control. Between Amanda’s legs, where her legs met her shorts, was a small damp spot. “I really can’t talk...” Amanda said. “Kind of an emergency. You don’t look too comfortable yourself, Rachel. Want to come with me to the toilets?” Rachel blushed. Aaron stood beside her, wishing he could find a hole in the ground to disappear into. The last thing he wanted to do was stand here chatting with the girl he almost-kinda-sorta cheated on his girlfriend with, with his girlfriend right next to him. His next least favorite thing about the whole situation was how obvious it was that his girlfriend was desperate. On the one hand, he could save her some embarrassment if he managed to convince her to go with Amanda—for surely not even Rachel’s bladder could stand a whole concert in her state—but then they might get to talking, and things better kept under wraps might come up. Luckily for our hapless antihero, Rachel simply smiled, said she could hold it until after the concert, and told Amanda they’d catch up next time. Amanda was gone in a second. The wet spot, viewed from behind, had grown an inch while they’d been talking. Unfortunately, in the copious journals of Omo Rashi, I have yet to locate a case file on Amanda. I’m almost certain there is one, and I’m sure it’s juicy. Cross-referencing other case files hints that she’s had some incidents of her own. Crisis averted, Aaron escorted his girlfriend to the best spot they could find, which was in the middle of the crowd. They were clearly too late for a prime spot. Rachel was now dancing on the spot, but thankfully for her, the show started pretty soon. Casual onlookers would take her for a particularly enthusiastic dancer. Halfway through the concert, a wave of pressure literally forced her to her knees. It was like a tsunami assaulting her peehole, and the pain was almost unbearable. She sank down to her heel and pretended to fiddle with her shoelaces until the worst of it was over. When she stood up, she thanked the heavens her panties were still dry. They were light pink, bikini-cut; if she and Aaron decided to get frisky later, any little leak would be obvious. And it was rapidly approaching the point where any leak would not be little at all, but a flood. As the concert was winding down, Aaron leaned into her and whispered in her ear: “Babe, I can see you’re in pain. Let’s just go find you some relief before it goes all wrong.” Rachel was tempted, but she had a combination of pride and trepidation at the thought of the public facilities, so she simply shook her head and continued pee-dancing and occasionally squeezing her crotch. During the encore, she crossed her legs and permanently wedged her hand between her legs. Luckily for her, most eyes were on the stage, not on an anonymous, desperate young woman in the middle of the crowd. Then the concert was finally over. A couple of local bands would play next, and it would be maybe four or five hours until the headliner on the main stage. Anybody with half a brain could see that Rachel wouldn’t last that long. The two wound their way out of the crowd towards a sort of picnic area with some benches, next to a food stand. They didn’t speak; she, because she was too busy keeping her pants dry, and he, because he felt too awkward. They hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and he was hungry, but there were more pressing issues at hand. Rachel sat down on a bench, legs tightly crossed. A pearl of sweat flowed down her neck, nestling between her breasts. She bit her lip. Her abdomen was cramping, her eyes were watering. She had no idea what to do. “So….” Aaron began. “You have to get over it and go. I can tell you can’t last much longer.” She turned towards him slowly. “I… can… Make it.” She managed. “Let’s just go home.” “And miss the headliner? The one we paid so much to see?” “Look, Aaron, I told you I don’t do crowds very well. I’ve been compensating by getting drunk, but even that isn’t helping anymore. Please, we’ve seen a bunch of bands, we’ve had a good time, haven’t we?” Aaron really felt for her. He really did. But selfishly, he really did want to see the last concert. And remember, this was a guy who kinda-sorta—you get my drift—on his girlfriend. But seeing her wet her pants in such a public place wasn’t high on his list of priorities. “Fine. Okay. Let’s just go, then,” he said. The notes, as best I can decipher them, indicate that Rachel was holding close to 1.5 liters at this point. They got up and began heading towards the exits. Rachel had to stop several times to hold herself. She caught stares, and her face was a permanent stoplight red. But if she could only get out, then she could maybe find a café or something with a decent, nice, clean restroom. Every step was agony. Her bladder bulged out of her jeans, her shirt riding up to expose some skin in a way that might have been alluring, if she wasn’t acting like a little girl who left for the potty too late. Just one step at a time. She could do it. She had an amazing bladder capacity. Their route took them past one set of port-a-loos. Aaron pointed them out. Rachel strolled past. Then they got to the exit gate, and apparently they weren’t the only ones who’d had enough. The gate was small, and there was a line. Apparently they had a system where you had to show your wristband on the way out, just in case somebody sneaked in. Catch ‘em on the way out, like. A stupid idea, perhaps an idea put into some festival administrator’s mind by Omo Rashi itself. A tear rolled down Rachel’s cheek. The pain was so much. Her panties were still dry, but she was sweaty all over, in pain, dancing on the spot, squeezing herself. She wanted to tear down her pants and pee right there. But she couldn’t do that, of course. The line was agonizingly slow. Every minute, another wave wracked her. Another step closer to the flood. They were almost to the front of the line when the girl in front of them got in an argument with one of the guards. Something about having “lost” her wristband. The altercation escalated. Five minutes passed. Aaron grabbed hold of Rachel’s hand, trying to offer some moral support. She squeezed it once, then released it. She needed both her hands to do hold-it duty. Finally, the belligerent girl got escorted away by security. It was their turn. As she stepped forward to show her wristband and get out of there, Rachel felt it. A slip in her control. A leak. She could feel her nether lips get wet, feel pee saturating her panties. She squeezed shut with all her might. Her expression gave away that something was wrong, but not what. Not yet. Nevertheless, it caught the attention of the guard. She’d just had to deal with one suspicious, quarrelsome guest, so she was probably in a bad mood. “Something wrong, miss?” Asked the security lady. “No...” Rachel began. She couldn’t stop it. The leaks were coming. Her panties were now well and truly wet, and it would soon start dripping into her pants. “Let me have a look at that wristband,” the woman said. “I...” She couldn’t stop it. The leaks became a flood. Pee poured out the front of Rachel’s jeans, trailing down the insides of her thighs, creeping up her butt, trailing into her shoes. It splattered on the ground, and it kept on coming. She couldn’t stop it. She could only stand there, mortified, peeing herself in front of this suspicious security lady. The woman didn’t notice at first, but when she did, she just gaped. Finally, she mumbled something sounding vaguely apologetic and waved the two of them through without so much as a look at their wristbands. By that point, Rachel had gotten the flow shut off, but it was a lost cause. Her jeans were soaked front to back. A little bit had gotten on her shirt, which had stuck into the back of her pants. Nobody could doubt that she’d well and thoroughly pissed herself, like a little girl. Like that time with the pancakes when she was seven. If you want the details, she’d held 1.6 liters when she burst, and emptied about a liter of that in her pants. She still had to pee, but it was under control for now. Aaron didn’t know what to say. Neither did she. They walked in silence. Well, aside from the squishing sound of Rachel’s wet sneakers. Her bladder weakened, Rachel had trouble keeping what was left in. A few yards outside the entrance, Rachel gave up. She sank down in a toddler-ish crouch and peed the rest of it straight through her pants onto the ground. At this point, she’d had enough of the pain. It couldn’t get worse than this, right? When she looked up, there was Amanda, of all people. Aaron was probably more embarrassed than either of them, for what Amanda said was simply, “Oh my god! You too?” I said I couldn’t find a case file on Amanda. I did say I found references to incidents in other case files. Amanda’s shorts were soaked. Clearly, she hadn’t made it—perhaps the very conversation she’d had with Rachel had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Or perhaps it was Omo Rashi’s hand involved again, because Amanda’s appearance saved the day for Rachel. She’d been about ready to cry, but here was another girl, a friend—as she saw it, not knowing of Amanda’s indiscretion—who’d just gone through the same thing. Aaron had no interest in sticking around this mess. He’d been trying to avoid Amanda ever since you-know-what happened between them. Not because he regretted it, so much as because he feared getting caught. Amanda, for her part, was genuinely sorry. But that’s neither here nor there. Aaron invented an excuse to disappear, suddenly wondering whether he’d turned off the stove back home, leaving two soaking wet girls alone together. The two decided to head to Amanda’s place, which was closer. Rachel had a shower and borrowed some clothes. They swapped their stories of misfortune, and it turned out that each had their accident for much the same reason: they found the port-a-loos disgusting. And so at the end of the day, they were able to laugh at and with themselves, and no tears were shed over this catastrophe. Thus ends Case File #1 of the Omo Rashi Files. Author's Note As mentioned, this one is a bit of an experiment. I figure it's a place I can stuff disconnected stories when inspiration strikes. I'm experimenting with several things here, and I'm not sure if they work, but it's good to try something new. For one thing, I'm doing third person omniscient, which is something I never do usually. For another, it has an element of metafiction. There's a narrator that exists outside the story yet continually intrudes on it to comment or joke or be sarcastic. Sometimes, the narrator rambles on for a bit. This is intentional. Whether it works or not is up to you to decide, but I didn't write it that way on accident. Unless this story is a horrible flop I'll probably (but no absolute promises!) throw up another case file or two soon. Not necessarily this long. Some might be shorter. I tend to have periods of extreme productivity and then long periods of no activity. I have a folder full of drafts, some almost finished, and none felt quite right. So this time I just tried to write something silly and hot and then I just put it up here. SJC Omorashi, Bf1fan, Concensus and 12 others 15 Quote Link to comment
Melificentfan 1,215 Posted June 5, 2018 ✨ Legendary Member Share Posted June 5, 2018 Loved that it was excellent Quote Link to comment
SpaceWonderer 699 Posted June 5, 2018 Share Posted June 5, 2018 I like it, and I hope you'll write more chapters to it. Quote Link to comment
satyr 1,314 Posted June 5, 2018 Author Popular Post Share Posted June 5, 2018 When it rains, it pours. Thus it is with my creativity, anyway. Cases #2-4 Subject: Lily van Zant Age: 16 Height: 159 cm Physical description: Average build, dark hair Last recorded daytime wetting: age four (4) Last recorded bedwetting: age three (3) Bladder size: Above average Subject: Alicia van Zant Age: 36 Height: 165 cm Physical description: Average build, dark hair, stylish businesswoman, looks near a decade younger than her age Last recorded daytime wetting: age two (2) Last recorded bedwetting: age six (6) Bladder size: Exceptionally large Subject: Sophia Olsen Age: 16 Height: 172 cm Physical description: Slim, pretty blonde, braces Last recorded daytime wetting: age sixteen (16) Last recorded bedwetting: age sixteen (16) Bladder size: Small This was so embarrassing. Why did her mother have to make her do this? Couldn’t she have done it for her? Sophia circled the store four times before she finally got up the courage to turn to the diaper section—her section. Now she was stood in line holding nothing but a pink package of pull-ups for girls. A smiling girl about six years younger than Sophia was shown on the front. “Discreet, for night-time and occasional daytime use,” the label read. When it was her time to pay, the shade of her face left little doubt that these were intended for her, rather than a younger sibling. The lady at the counter gave her a sympathetic smile. A teenage boy behind her audibly snickered. But there was nothing else to it. Her mother had made her buy these for her upcoming trip, and she had every reason to. Sophia had always had a small bladder. And she’d never been good about making it to the bathroom on time, no matter how hard she tried. And she did try hard. It just never worked out. She had leaks almost daily, weekly night-time accidents, and she’d wet her pants at school twice this year alone. At age sixteen! It was terrible. Kids called her Pissy Missy behind her back. But in the past year, she’d really thought she was getting it under control. It had been a while since a major daytime accident, and she’d only wet the bed once this month. (Editorial note: Not true. She’d only soaked the bed once that month, but had most certainly made her sheets damp a dozen times.) Now she was going on a skiing trip with her best friend Lily and Lily’s mom, and Sophia’s mother had insisted she get a handle on the problem. She didn’t want Sophia wetting somebody else’s car, or hotel bed. And strolling out of the store, blushing at how see-through the plastic bag that held her package was, Sophia could see the sense in it. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. Now, surely, the worst of it was over. She’d gotten through the ordeal of buying diapers for herself in public—calling them pull-ups was just a ploy for kids to feel more grown-up; these were most definitely diapers, built to handle urinary accidents. Now all she had to do was tell her friend about them—but Lily knew all about Sophia’s problems. It couldn’t be so hard, could it? And maybe Sophia could finally have some peace. A quiet moment without the constant worry, the constant need to ascertain the location of an available restroom. The day came. It was going to be a long road trip to the ski resort, so Sophia dutifully donned her infantile new undergarments, and stuffed the package in her backpack. She also lugged along a suitcase with assorted clothes and other things she thought she’d need. The skiing gear itself they’d rent on location. “Hey sweetie pie, what’s in the backpack?” Lily asked as her best friend slipped in beside her in the back seat. Although they were friends, Lily had always seen Sophia somewhat like a younger sister. It was something to do with her youthful demeanor, her innocent naivete, and of course, her proneness for wetting accidents. The fact that Sophia was taller and had a fuller, more womanly figure, that she’d gotten her first period a year earlier, and probably knew more about geopolitics or ancient philosophy than even Lily’s mom, didn’t enter into it. Now Lily was curious what strange supplies were so important they had to be brought into the car, instead of in the trunk, yet were big enough to require a backpack. Could she… No. Sophia was far too innocent to have done something so brazen as smuggle alcohol into a car with Lily’s mom in the front seat. Lily’s curiosity was certainly piqued further when her friend only blushed at her question. Lily took a sip of her coffee—she was a caffeine junkie, and it was early—and thought, this better be interesting. They’d been half an hour on the road when Sophia finally worked up the courage to tell her friend what the hell the deal was. She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered: “So, about the backpack?” Lily nodded, encouraging more detail. “Uh, this is really embarrassing… Promise you won’t laugh at me?” “Of course not,” Lily said. Sophia didn’t notice, but Omo Rashi’s notes indicate that Lily was already crossing her legs at this point. All casual-like. “You can tell me anything.” “So you know how I, uh, I sometimes, you know, I… I sometimes have accidents,” Sophia stammered. Somehow, buying the damn diapers in public was less embarrassing than admitting to it to her friend, one-on-one. This was a personal conversation, not an impersonal, anonymous transaction. “Er, my mom made me get these...” Sophia opened the zip on the backpack slightly to show off the package. Lily had to swallow down a laugh. It wasn’t polite to laugh at her friend, but really, pink diapers? But then again, she did pee her pants like, all the time. Lily, on the other hand, had a large bladder and rarely had any trouble with it whatsoever. She’d been well trained by her mother. In fact, Alicia van Zant was something of a fanatic. She was a camel, and expected her companions to be the same, especially her daughter. She would never go out of the way to relieve herself, and wouldn’t do anyone else the courtesy either. Even with Lily’s natural gifts, she’d had a couple of close calls over the years, due to her mother’s refusal to find her somewhere to pee if it involved even a minor detour. But knowing this, it was probably a good thing Sophia had taken precautions. Lily’s mom wasn’t cruel, not really—she was actually a rather nice woman who doted on her daughter. She simply had a blind spot when it came to the call of nature. But still, even she wouldn’t just smile and shake her head if her daughter’s sixteen-year-old friend pissed all over her expensive car seats. “That’s brilliant,” Lily said. “I mean, are you, like, wearing one right now?” The blush on Sophia’s face told it all. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone—well, maybe mom, she’ll find out anyway, but nobody at school,” Lily swore. She had done herself the disservice of not taking her morning pee that day, and so she hadn’t been since after school the day before. For once, Lily was the one in more dire need of a pee, although it was nothing like a true emergency yet. Besides, she’d been in dire straights before and managed to stay dry. And she knew her mother wouldn’t stop, so she couldn’t even be bothered to ask. They’d gotten started early, and Sophia hadn’t slept well the night before, both excited about the trip and worried about the ensuing situation with the diapers, so after a while, she excused herself and closed her eyes. Soon, she had drifted off into sleep. Meanwhile, Lily was starting to feel the pressure. She now had trouble sitting still. She bit her lip. She gave her crotch a quick squeeze. She prayed to the gods that the trip would be shorter than predicted. Lily tried conversing with her mother to distract herself, but it didn’t work. Finally, she was about to ask her mother to stop, but then they passed a rest stop with a sign that indicated the next one was a long ways away. Fuck, she thought. She was already in more trouble than she’d been in years. After a while, Lily grew completely quiet, with a hand permanently lodged between her legs. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so cavalier about her friend’s diapers after all. Sophia was sleeping blissfully, and at some point, trickled into her underwear. Nevertheless, her pants stayed entirely dry. It was all contained, although she’d wake up to an embarrassing, cold wetness around her bum area. Now it was crunch time for her friend, although Sophia didn’t know. Lily knew she couldn’t last much longer. She might actually have her first real accident since she was potty trained. Unless… The diapers! She quickly shook her friend awake. “Whaa—?” Sophia said. She could feel the wetness around her bum and was afraid she’d been awoken to the fact that she’d pissed the seat, but the seating was dry. And yet her friend seemed frantic. “Sophia, the diapers!” Lily whispered in a hiss. “I really, really gotta go and there’s nowhere to go and I can’t hold it any longer! You gotta help me out!” Sophia looked at her friend in a new light. This was the first time she could ever remember seeing Lily desperate to pee. And apparently desperate enough that she’d be willing to resort to diapers—an undergarment which Sophia was certain her friend had been mocking in her mind, if not to her face, a few hours before. And yet, obviously she couldn’t let her friend pee herself. Or, well. It looked like it was going to happen whatever she did, but maybe she could spare Lily’s pants and the seats. “You really want one? You can’t hold it?” Sophia asked. “Yes! No! I mean, I do!” Squirming like a child, Lily was in no state to speak coherently. “Please, give me one. I’m going to try and shimmy out of these pants before I wet myself.” Lily began working on her pants, unbuckling her seat belt, then she had to stretch down to get off her shoes, and felt a slight leak as she bent over and pressurized her bladder. Her first leak since kindergarten. (Editorial note: Not quite true. But close enough.) All this, while hoping to god her mother wouldn’t happen to look in the rear-view mirror. The commotion did cause her mother to inquire what was going on, but Sophia quickly said they were just a bit restless and promised to keep it down from there on out. Alicia, herself carrying a good melon of a bladder of pee, was oblivious. Her control was so great, and she’d trained her daughter so well, that the operation now ongoing in the backseat was far beyond her ability to imagine. Alicia kept her eyes on the road. Lily now finally had her pants off, still dry, and then she yanked off her panties. They were not dry. There was a wet spot between the legs the size of a peach. Her friend stared wide-eyed. Lily had started to wet herself! Even as she slipped the panties off her feet—to desperate to be embarrassed about her state of nudity—a tiny trickle escaped her slit and fell onto the seat. Sophia quickly handed her friend one of the pink diapers, and Lily just about got it up her hips before the floodgates let loose. The hiss was audible. Thankfully, Alicia had turned on the radio, so it was only audible in the back seat. Lily felt warm all over—her face, out of embarrassment, her bum, out of wetness, and somehow, in between her legs, in a sort of ecstatic relief that made her shudder. She wasn’t entirely naive to the ways of human sexuality, but Lily could never have imagined a relief so sweet that merely releasing her pee—in her underwear no less—could be arousing, and yet somehow… Now there was a problem. The pull-up wasn’t designed for a flood such as this, and once she’d gotten going… “I can’t stop it!” Lily gasped. “I need another one!” Sophia was amazed. She’d released a little stream of her own into her pull-up as a kind of bodily, subconscious empathy, and yet hers was nowhere near saturated after two wettings. Her friend really must have been desperate to flood one and be in need of another. But how was she going to keep the seat dry if she couldn’t stop? “Just give it to me!” Lily hissed. Sophia handed over another pink little thing to her friend. Lily solved the problem inelegantly by simply lowering the sodden diaper slightly, still trickling into it, and simply pressing the new, dry one onto her crotch, sort of wedging it into the other one. It wasn’t a graceful operation, but she managed with minimal spillage. By now, finally, she was running dry. Lily could feel an ocean of warm urine pooling around her bottom. She couldn’t believe this had happened to her—to her! All because of her stupid mom and her stupid policy. (Another editorial note: It is entirely possible that Alicia would indeed have stopped, had her daughter asked. But she’d so thoroughly ingrained in her daughter the idea that ladies do not pee until absolutely convenient, her daughter was prepared to pee in a diaper before asking for a rest stop.) Somehow, perhaps by the intervention of old Omo itself, Alicia never noticed anything going on in the back seat. It was rather incredible, but she kept her ears tuned to the radio and her eyes on the road, and never noticed her daughter’s total accident in the backseat. Well. Lily would later argue that she totally didn’t have an accident, since she didn’t actually pee in her pants—even though she’d uncontrollably emptied her entire bladder into her underwear. But that’s semantics. Old Omo Rashi knows, that sure counts as an accident. At sixteen, Lily’s bladder had finally defeated her will. Sheepishly, Lily lowered her two sodden diapers and deposited them in a plastic bag Sophia had brought for just such a purpose, then wiped her legs down with some wet wipes and put on her wet panties and dry pants. Sophia hid the bag away in her backpack. She’d planned for such an eventuality. There was an awkward pause. Neither girl knew quite what to say. Finally, Sophia whispered, “I’m so sorry that happened to you. I’ve been there, only, like, much more publicly.” Lily was embarrassed, but she was simply too relieved, to worked up, to really let any emotion show. She only nodded and mouthed a “thanks.” Besides, she had a curious urge to touch herself down there which was entirely unlike her. She should feel dirty—her panties were wet with pee, after all, and she’d just done something her mother had portrayed as the gravest sin a girl could commit since Lily was barely out of diapers (the first time). And yet, she was curiously aroused. Sophia took the flush in her friends cheeks for embarrassment, thankfully. She did have plenty to be embarrassed about, after all. The rest of the journey was uneventful. Sophia had watched her fluid intake, and although her bum was sodden by the time they arrived in the evening, nothing had leaked. She walked a little bow-legged, her underwear puffy between her legs and probably visible if one knew what to look for, but her friend only gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Lily would be able to change soon. By this time, even Alicia was feeling a certain urgency. She was holding a full day’s worth of pee, and hadn’t stopped once. It never entered her mind. Now, she knew she would have to give in soon, but she wanted to settle the growling in her stomach first. Before they even checked into their hotel, she pulled into a restaurant. Lily was happy for it; she was hungry, too. Sophia, a little less so, since it meant having to walk around in a drooping wet diaper a while longer, but she resolved to bring her backpack and wet wipes into the restaurant and change in the restroom. The restaurant happened to be Mexican. The significance of this will soon become apparent. Sophia managed to get changed out of her sodden diaper as they were waiting for their food. It was high time, too: a tiny trickle had trailed past the leak guards and down her thigh, although the only thing visible on the outside was a tiny patch that might have been a careless splash of water from washing her hands. Thankfully, the restroom was deserted, so Sophia didn’t have to sneak around to deposit her diaper. She smiled as she put on a dry one, happy to have gotten this far with dry pants. And she smiled again, thinking of her friend—not that she was happy that Lily had had a massive accident, but now at least the two shared a urinary pact of sorts. It made her feel more grown up, knowing she wasn’t the only sixteen-year-old who still had accidents. The girls chatted amiably during dinner. Alicia, however, had grown taciturn. She was discreetly crossing her legs under the table. Although she would never deign to use a public restroom until her piss was literally knocking at the gates of her urethra, she definitely planned to avail herself of the facilities as soon as they checked into the hotel. Adding food to her belly abated her hunger, but it added an unpleasant fullness to an already strained area of her anatomy. Alicia was too much of a lady to squirm where she sat, dressed in slacks and a blazer like the businesswoman she was, but it was a close thing. When they were finished eating, she was quick to get the bill and even quicker—speed limits be damned—to get them to the hotel. I must intrude on the story yet again, dear reader. Excuse me if I interrupt your fappy thoughts, but I feel the need to insert a philosophical aside. I think Omo Rashi is a trickster. I think he/she/it likes to prank people, likes to put roadblocks in the way of continence just to see what happens. To test your mettle, or to amuse the old god, or whatever alien motivations move the minds of the fifth dimension. I cannot otherwise explain what happened next. It could have occurred naturally, but the speed with which it set in makes me suspect supernatural intervention. Or at least, cosmically bad luck for poor Alicia van Zant. She’d booked them for a family room. The girls had been best friends almost since they were born, and were used to sharing a bed. Lily had experienced the unpleasantness of sharing a bed with a wetter on more than one occasion. But this also meant there was only one bathroom for the three of them to share. And whether it was simply unfamiliar spicy food or actual food poisoning, both girls got violently ill, and it set in about as soon as they set foot inside the room. The girls took turns occupying the bathroom for the rest of the night, emptying themselves out both ends—sorry for the disgusting expression, but there is no pretty way to describe the effects of food poisoning. Poor Alicia was forced to sit awkwardly on the bed, pretending to watch television with her hands in her lap. She’d now gone close to twenty-four hours without a pee, and she was more desperate than she’d been in living memory. It was only by a colossal force of will that she was able to hide her desperation from her daughter and her daughter’s friend. Actually, she was squirming pretty badly, even resorting to holding herself openly, and on any other day, the girls would have noticed and probably remarked on it. But both of them were too busy being sick to take much notice of Alicia’s increasingly desperate state. Here is another point in favor of my theory of divine intervention: the girls were sick all night, but then it was all over. They were perfectly fine and healthy for the rest of the trip, the first night’s illness a mere unpleasant memory by morning. It was as if some higher power had intervened specifically to leave the bathroom occupied, out of reach for Alicia. Oh, there must have been restrooms in the lobby she could have used, but Alicia was a lady, and a lady doth not urinate in a public restroom when there is a private one nearby. It just happened to be occupied continuously, all night, by a pair of very sick girls. By midnight, Alicia was on the verge of an accident, and both girls were in the bathroom, one holding the hair as the other vomited, or some such. I won’t ruin your mood by further detailing the goings on in there, know only that they were still being sick in there, supporting each other physically and morally, and accidentally preventing the relief Alicia van Zant so urgently needed. Alicia finally decided that the bathroom was a no-go zone for her that night. She was a lady. She would persevere. After assuring herself through the bathroom door that the girls were going to be okay—they were sick, but not dying in there—Alicia undressed and settled into bed, trying to will herself to sleep. To ignore her throbbing bladder. It was the size of a water melon, and even her thin cotton panties seemed to sharply jab at it. With her hands safely under the covers, she could squeeze herself as much as she liked. Legs pretzeled, hands on crotch, she finally managed to fall asleep. It was a minor miracle: A lesser woman would have wet herself twice over. But not Alicia. No, she slept unsoundly, but remained dry, although she dreamed of a never-ending bathroom line. At one point, the dream shifted, and she was in class, standing at the blackboard. Her teacher, a mean old hag, had commanded her to solve a complex equation in front of everyone, knowing full well that Alicia was desperate to pee. She was ten years old again, potty dancing and mortally embarrassed. She began to cry as she wet herself in front of everyone, urine pouring out from under her skirt. It splattered all over the floor, and it never ended. The mean old hag laughed. And yet in the real world, her sheets remained dry. I have to say, reading the emotions of a god from a confusing mess of notes written in a language that doesn’t exist in this universe is no hard task. But having studied the notebooks of Omo Rashi for several years, and the arcane in general for a decade longer, I think I’ve learned to read between the lines. And I think even the god of desperation and accidents was astonished that Alicia van Zant did not wet the bed that night. Around five in the morning, Alicia awoke with a start. She’d been holding herself between her legs in her sleep, and as she woke, she reflexively squeezed. Her panties were damp with sweat, and for a moment she thought she’d done the unthinkable. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she looked over to the girls’ bed. Surely now would be the hour of her relief. But no: she could only make out one sleeping figure in the bed. Which meant the other must be in the bathroom. What sounded like someone dry heaving confirmed her fears. Foiled again. Now she was beyond desperate. She was on the verge of disaster. Alicia squeezed and squirmed. She clenched her muscles for all they were worth, retained an iron grip on her panties. Waves of pressure wracked her body. It was like an ocean crashing against a set of cliffs, and they had been doing so for ages. Even stone crumbles under such pressure over time, erodes. Even an iron will, a bladder of steel, a rock of sheer willpower must eventually fail. Alicia let out a moan as another wave overtook her. She arced her back up involuntarily. It felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to her bladder. It pounded on that rock hard protrusion. She felt her eyes water. She stayed in that awkward position for a minute, clenching with all her might. When she finally felt like the worst wave had passed, Alicia sank down again, exhausted. And just like that, it happened. As soon as her bum made contact with the sheets, her bladder burst. It wasn’t a leak. It wasn’t a trickle. It was a biblical flood. Alicia moaned and tried in vain to will herself to clench shut, but to no avail. The pee saturated her panties and began pouring out onto the sheets. In no time, she was lying in a huge puddle. It crept up under her butt, soaked into her nightshirt. There was nary a dry spot on her panties. She kept going for close to three minutes. She was so exhausted, she simply gave in. Alicia van Zant peed the bed and fell asleep shortly thereafter, in her pool of pee. For those curious, the notes state that at the time it burst, her bladder contained an astonishing 1955 milliliters—close to two liters—of urine. And as if that wasn’t enough, she wet again in her sleep a few hours later. “Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead!” Lily’s chipper voice woke her mother. Apparently, once she’d purged herself of whatever foul toxins she’d eaten at the restaurant, her health had improved dramatically. The same could not be said for Alicia’s state. She, who had always admonished her daughter never to give in to her need, was lying in a cold, wet bed. An extremely, thoroughly soaked bed. As a woman in a man’s world, Alicia van Zant had conditioned herself to always remain in control. Of her bladder, of her emotions. She could not allow herself a moment of weakness, or she’d never be taken seriously. And yet, at that moment, she broke. Alicia burst into tears. Lily was astonished. She’d never seen her mother cry. “What’s the matter, mom? What’s wrong?” Both girls gasped as Alicia gingerly removed the covers, revealing the wetness underneath. Lily could not believe it. Her mom had peed the bed? Had hell frozen over night? And yet the evidence was right there. Sophia, dressed only in a shirt and a damp pull-up, climbed out of bed and walked over. She’d been there so many times before. She instinctively knew what was needed. Sophia walked over and hugged her best friend’s mom tight. She didn’t understand what or how or why, but she understood what was needed. Lily made it a three-way huddle. Nothing more was said of this incident during the trip. Well, the girls might have whispered among themselves, but outwardly they pretended like it had never happened. Alicia had to have a very awkward conversation with the hotel staff, explaining that yes, there was a pee-stained mattress in her room, and no, it wasn’t her “one of her daughters”—they just assumed, she didn’t correct them—who had done it. It was all her. By this point, however, she’d regained her composure, and was all business. Of course she had wet the bed. It was just a thing that had happened, and it needed dealing with. She would pay, just get it cleaned up before nightfall. Her pride might be humbled, but her personality remained the same. On the way home, Lily borrowed another pull-up. She stayed dry. Sophia did, as well. As for Alicia, of course she did—she never had trouble containing her bladder. It took divine intervention to make Alicia van Zant wet the bed. At least that’s what I believe. And I think that’s what she believes, as well. I don’t think she could handle the idea that she might be at fault for her ultimate embarrassment. Thus end case files #2, #3 and #4, which I’ve combined for narrative structure. Concensus, Flush, Drying and 6 others 9 Quote Link to comment
Melificentfan 1,215 Posted June 5, 2018 ✨ Legendary Member Share Posted June 5, 2018 Damn poor Alicia but I loved the story I'm eager to read more ola93 1 Quote Link to comment
Flush 282 Posted June 11, 2018 Share Posted June 11, 2018 I really enjoyed reading those two "little" stories, satyr, although that I'm not going to lie and say that I like the connected stories more than the unconnected ones, I think. On the other hand, I think the concept isn't bad at all, maybe the glue can be even thicker? Or, maybe it's perfect the way it is. I wouldn't know. It's an experiment and the sample size is (still?) small after all... And not in the least, the "character statistics part" is quite interesting in my opinion; a few silly numbers almost completely give away the character's state of mind when it comes to their bathroom visits... Thanks for the good read. Pouring is good, we're here for the wetness. Quote Link to comment
DerivativeWings 1,648 Posted June 11, 2018 Share Posted June 11, 2018 This story seems just about made for me! I'm absolutely in love with the setting, the tone, the rock hard bladders - and the writing is absolutely on point. I'm eagerly anticipating future cases. Cases 2-4 was also a fun read, the dynamic between the different bladders was great. Quote Link to comment
Bothan1138 425 Posted June 11, 2018 Share Posted June 11, 2018 These were both excellent stories. The concept of a higher power obsessed with wetting accidents, and occasionally manipulating things to lead to that outcome, is an amazing idea for a story. Quote Link to comment
SJC Omorashi 1,550 Posted June 12, 2018 Share Posted June 12, 2018 I really liked the first one and look forward to later on reading the second one. I find this a very interesting concept, and the idea of the narrator narrating as if they're talking to the reader is a great effect. Keep up the great work! Quote Link to comment
Avery Fox 100 Posted June 16, 2018 Share Posted June 16, 2018 I love this story You have a good style and the naration just makes it a complete story So 1 sugestion (i cant spell btw) keep digging throug it files and all hail the god omo rashi Quote Link to comment
Aloe 580 Posted June 16, 2018 Share Posted June 16, 2018 Dude this was awesome. Do you be any more ideas for this series? Quote Link to comment
SpaceWonderer 699 Posted June 16, 2018 Share Posted June 16, 2018 Definitely very interesting concept, please keep it going. Quote Link to comment
Ranpalan 496 Posted June 20, 2018 Share Posted June 20, 2018 This works great. Definitely hope you'll write more in this style. :) Quote Link to comment
Manowar 170 Posted June 20, 2018 Share Posted June 20, 2018 That was great. Fantastic idea. Now we know why accodents happen! ? Quote Link to comment
AngelNim 79 Posted June 22, 2018 Share Posted June 22, 2018 I love this idea, and it's very well written. Please keep going! Quote Link to comment
satyr 1,314 Posted July 18, 2018 Author Popular Post Share Posted July 18, 2018 (edited) Author's note: I've always wanted to write a story like this, and here it is. It concludes this series for the foreseeable future. It's the longest story I've written. Very long. I could break it up into multiple post to milk visibility on the site, but I won't do that. I've divided it into 3 chapters and 3 epilogues for increased readability. Read at your own pace: You can always come back to it later and finish it if you like the beginning, but don't have the time or patience for a single-sitting reading. I won't apologize for the length, because this story needed it (not every story does, but some do). I actually wrote 10K words for this, and deleted them all. Took the best ideas from that draft and wrote a new story, and this one comes in at 12K words total. Proper novella. But unlike the earlier tripe I scrapped, I like this one. Long desperation stories can get a bit repetitive, but I hoped I managed to break it up with character interaction and the occasional intrusive narrator. Cases #5-7 Subject: Jenny Winter Age: 25 Height: 176cm Physical description: Pretty, slim blonde Last recorded daytime wetting: age nine (9) Last recorded bedwetting: age fifteen (15) Bladder size: Exceptionally large Subject: Mary Alice Johnson Age: 25 Height: 167 cm Physical description: Brunette, nice face, average proportions Last recorded daytime wetting: age three (3) Last recorded bedwetting: age five (5) Bladder size: Above average Subject: Penny Waterson Age: 20 Height: 153 cm Physical description: Pretty, petite blonde Last recorded daytime wetting: age twenty (20) Last recorded bedwetting: age nineteen (19) Bladder size: Average to above average Chapter 1 Do you believe the gods ever make two people to be perfect foils for each other, just for their personal amusement? That would be Jen and Mary. The two had been best friends since grade school, and gone through every embarrassing adolescent ritual together. Jen was a slim blonde who got all the looks, but she wasn’t terribly bright. She made up for it by working very hard at whatever she tried to achieve. Mary was by no means an unattractive young lady, but the taller brunette got no attention next to her friend. She made up for it with an iron willpower and stunning smarts. Thus the two came to compete at everything. Jen was jealous of how seriously everyone took Mary from an early age, wise beyond her years as she was. She wanted to be seen as more than the pretty blonde. Mary, on the other hand, would never admit to it, but she coveted the attention poured onto her friend because of her looks and easy-going manner. The result of these opposites attracting was an intense competition in whatever caught both of their attentions. If you were keeping score, it would be about even, but it was all about that last loss, the most recent win in a long series of informal bets on everything from grades on a test to who could most entice a particular guy to who could complete a certain level on a video game the fastest. One time, when they were about fifteen, they had been at a summer camping trip organized by a local youth organization. Non-alcoholic drinks were flowing freely throughout the night, and it’s lost to the sands of time – or at least, I can’t make it out of the confusing jumble of an incident report – which of them first suggested they compete to see if they could last the night without a pee break. Likely Jen wouldn’t have accepted the challenge, or proposed it, if she were indeed the one to do so, if she hadn’t lost some other bet the previous week. Both of them knew that Mary had the stronger bladder. She was the one always complaining that her friend was holding them up, interrupting whatever they were doing to find a bathroom. The conclusion of the contest was predestined. The two shared a tent, and shortly after midnight, whimpering and shaking, Jen had lost control. Both of them had been drinking heavily all night, and both would have been happy to take a pee before bed, even Mary. Mary was in a bad shape herself, but her mood improved immensely when she saw her friend’s eyes glaze over. She leaned in closer, and over the sounds of the forest—owls, other animals of the night, and muted chattering from the other tents—she heard a hiss that signaled Jen’s release. Jen, for her part, lay stunned in her sleeping bag, feeling her bum and crotch area grow warm as a whole day’s worth of heavy hydration assaulted, then conquered her sphincter: it flowed out into her panties, pouring through them into her pajamas, and finally leaving a pool in her sleeping bag. Some crept up the back of her shirt. Neither girl said a word: it was obvious what had happened. Afterwards, Jen had to wordlessly climb out of her soaked sleeping bag, displaying a wet circle around both her front and her back, and make the embarrassing trip to the camp counselor to request a spare sleeping bag. “Oh, honey, do you have a medical condition?” Asked the counselor, a young woman in her mid-twenties. She didn’t appreciate being woken up when she’d just fallen asleep after a day of herding rowdy teenagers, and the girl in front of her was standing in urine-soaked pajamas and asking for spare equipment. Which meant extra work for the counselor. “No,” Jen admitted. She couldn’t exactly say that she’d lost a holding contest with her best friend, so she only added, “I thought I could hold it until morning, but I guess I had too much to drink.” The counselor shook her head. “You’re really too old to be wetting the bed from sheer carelessness,” she chided. “If it was a medical thing, I’d be more sympathetic, but this is just pure immaturity. Well, I’ll see if I can find you something dry to sleep in.” Before the bus journey home, the counselor took Jen aside. She firmly reminded Jen to make sure she peed before entering the bus, to avoid any further accidents, and she also informed the girl that she’d be making a call to her parents to inform her of the incident. Jen couldn’t have been more humiliated. When she got home, her mother took her aside to discuss the incident. She wasn’t mad: Jen’s mom wasn’t like that. She was just disappointed in her daughter. How could she be so careless? Then she had hugged her daughter, and told her that she could talk to her about anything, even if she was wetting the bed – as if it were a regular occurrence! It was worse than if she’d been brought over the knee. Jen always preferred and unfair, over the top punishment to fair disappointment. Neither the counselor nor her mother’s reaction left her anyone else to blame, to be angry with: it was all her. She, Jenny Winter, almost sixteen years old, had bet her friend that she could hold her pee until morning, and she couldn’t. For a young, prettty girl used to being praised for her looks and judged for her presumed immaturity, it was the worst that could happen. That incident was now many years past. Mary had made it through the night squirming, but dry, and had an almost orgasmic release in the morning. It had been a close call, but she’d never admit that. Now, she used the incident sparingly, if she wanted to score a point in the best friends’ ongoing, eternal rivalry. For Jen, this was worse than if Mary had spread the story all around school or mentioned it every week. If it had been that over the top, she could retaliate in kind, with other, non-urinary embarrassments. But no: Mary would bring it up once or twice a year, and Jen would relive the shame all over again. Still, you must not think the two were a bad match. They got along great most of the time. They shared interests, like art and similar tastes in music; they were each others’ only confidantes, the one person in the world to whom the other could confide their deepest, darkest secrets. But their opposing personas as presented to the world – the “dumb blonde” and the “average-looking genius” – meant that things that could turn into a contest often did. Most of the time, there was no love lost over it. But certain incidents stung so hard that, even buried years in the past, they were never forgotten, and each girl was secretly plotting their revenge. For Jen, it was her wetting accident. For Mary, it was a particular boy she’d been in love with, and Jen had only a passing, physical interest, but she’d been sore about something or other and so decided to seduce and sleep with him just to bother Mary, not because she had any interest in the guy himself. I must remind you that I record mostly facts relevant to the incidents at hand. As such, people often come off looking like total assholes, vain, cruel, the works. This is not an accurate portrayal of Jen and Mary: both of them were, for the most part, great, dependable friends, got good grades, and respectful to their elders. It just so happens that no incidents worthy of mention in these reports would have occurred if their dark side didn’t rear its ugly head every once in a while. Both of them were now in their mid-twenties, working together as assistants at an accounting firm. If nothing else, the fact that they saw each other in a professional and a personal context almost every day, nearly two decades after they first met, should be a testament to the fact that they were, on the whole, good to each other. Since they worked for the same company, their vacations lined up, and that provided the opportunity for Jen to set up her long-planned revenge. The two had kept up their little bets and contests on all sorts of matters, but bladder prowess had never been in question since that day. In fact, purely coincidentally, the two had been out drinking together a few weekends before their vacation started, and they both happened to be single at the time, so Jen stayed at Mary’s place. By the time they got there, both girls were desperate to pee. Jen claimed the bathroom first, and Mary let her. She was, after all, capable of waiting. Jen took a long time. Fifteen minutes grew into an hour, and Mary was now clutching herself, dancing on the spot, and pounding the door to the bathroom, demanding to know what was taking so long. She could hold extreme amounts of liquids, but even she had a limit. Then there was a whimper from inside the toilet, and Mary heard a muffled sob. “Mary, I… I didn’t make it.” Jen said through the door. She had gotten as far as starting to pull off her pants when the floodgates opened. She’d spent the last hour sitting on the toilet, her socks wet from the puddle in front of the toilet, and trying to work up the courage to admit what had happened. This was all bringing the earlier incident back, fresh as if it happened yesterday. It was also the germ of a plan, but more on that later. This time, Mary didn’t joke around. As gently as possible, she told her friend: “I’m so sorry, hon. It could happen to anyone. You can borrow some clothes from me. But please, I’m bursting, let me use the toilet!” Jen unlocked the door. She had mostly cleaned off her runny mascara, and her puffy eyes looked healthier after an hour, but the puddle on the floor and the smelly, darkened streaks down her legs couldn’t be hidden. “Oh, dear,” Mary said. She was hobbling herself, near her absolute limit. “Just go to my bedroom and pick whatever clothes fit you. I’ll never mention it again. I’m about to piss myself as well, so please get out of the way.” That was when Jen knew she had a shot at getting back at her friend for the worst loss in their long history of friendly competition. She’d never planned to wet herself after a night of clubbing, but this presented an opportunity. “Yeah,” she said, pretending to be sadder than she really was. “It would be pretty embarrassing if you proved to be as weak as me.” “What do you mean?” Mary demanded. She was now bent over with her legs crossed. Only Jen and a large puddle stood between her and relief. And relief was coming, whether she was clothed and standing or undressed and seated on the potty. “I just mean, you’re always telling me you can hold it until morning, no matter what. You keep reminding me that you did that at camp that summer, remember?” Mary groaned. “Fuck,” she said. “Yes, so what? I gotta piss. Move.” “If you think you’ll pee the bed if you don’t go now, by all means, I’ll go change and leave you to it,” Jen said. Then she walked out of the bathroom squishing with every step. Mary was left cross-legged, considering the challenge to her pride. She stood there, clinging to control and considering her issues for minutes. Finally, she decided to give in to nature, bending down with a strained effort to remove her socks so they wouldn’t get wet in Jen’s puddle. That’s when her friend showed back up in the doorway. “By the way, I just looked at the receipts. I know you always keep them, you’re so neat and organized.” That part was true, but Mary had no idea what the relevance was. “I had three more pints than you tonight,” Jen said. “So it’s really sad that you think you have a bigger bladder than me but also think you’ll piss yourself if you don’t go right now, having drank so much less.” Mary turned slowly and gave her friend a look. Both of them were quite drunk. She couldn’t recall how much she’d drank. The two had agreed to split the bill in the morning. Her bladder sent her a spasm telling her it was not to be ignored, but Mary didn’t make a move towards the toilet. “Whatever. If you give in, I’ll just consider that one time at summer camp a fluke, not really counting,” Jen said. “I’m going to sleep. Are you going to pee or not?” Mary gave her friend an ugly scowl. “Yes, I’m going to piss in the toilet and then sleep. Good night.” She began walking towards the porcelain throne, but turned around when her friend suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders and whispered a final riposte in her ear: “Coward.” Then Jen was gone. Mary stood there, legs shaking, right in front of the toilet, and made a dumb decision. She was drunk enough that the insult had the intended effect. Resolutely, she turned around and walked out of the bathroom unrelieved. She put on a brave face and managed to walk to the bedroom without betraying more than slights hints at the extreme discomfort she was in. Jen was already undressed and lying in Mary’s double bed. “Relieved?” She asked casually. Mary undressed, careful not to betray her desperation any more than necessary, and got under the covers. “As a matter of fact, I will be delaying that relief until morning,” she slurred, making up for her unclear enunciation with overly formal wording. Jen lifted the covers and marveled at the size of her friend’s bulging bladder. “Man, I don’t want to sleep in your pee,” Jen said. “Please just go.” Of course, this was all a part of the wind-up. Her hope was that Mary would take the bait and refuse. “Good thing I won’t be peeing any beds then,” Mary said, and rolled over facing the opposite wall. She clenched her muscles for all they were worth, and closed her eyes. Of course, so near disaster, she couldn’t really sleep, but she waited until she thought her friend was sleeping before quickly using her hands to grip her crotch. Wave after wave of pressure crashed against her walls, and she was shuddering and shivering, unable to lay in one position for very long, but she held on. At long last, she fell asleep. Around eight in the morning, Jen shook Mary awake. “Good morning,” Jen said. “At least you didn’t pee on me, but did you manage not to pee on yourself?” Mary blushed. In her disoriented, half-asleep state, it took her a while to realize that although she was in incredible pain, she had not wet the bed. It took her too long to come up with a sarcastic answer for it to be worth delivering it, however. Instead, she just shook her head. Jen lifted the covers. “My, what a good girl,” she cooed. “Dry all night. Better run along to the potty. Except, I have some bad news.” Mary was gripping herself harder than ever. Problem? “What?” There couldn’t be a problem, or a problem would find its way into her panties. Within the next ten minutes, by her estimation. “I woke up in the night and went to the toilet and, well, I...” Jen said, pretending to be embarrassed. “I kind of clogged it up. It’s not functional right now.” Of course, she had done that on purpose. It was one step in an elaborate masterplan Jen had constructed in her head while stealthily observing her friend’s fidgeting when Mary thought she was asleep. This wasn’t supposed to end here, but making sure Mary had an unhappy ending this morning was necessary to set up the real endgame. As an outsider, I have to insert a comment: I find it ironic that Jen here takes a Machiavellian page out of the stereotype Mary always gets taken for, even if Mary isn’t all that cold and calculating. And I’d like to remind you all that I could have written a great deal more about all the good things Jen has done for Mary over the years, but they are not strictly relevant to this story. “What? Fuck!” Mary exclaimed. She managed to somehow roll herself out of bed and land on her feet without a leak, but she had to bend over immediately. “I’m about to piss myself here!” Jen gave her friend a patronizing smile. All thoughts of her own accident the previous evening had been erased by the thought of the much greater humiliation she would inflict on her friend. “Babe, I can see that. I know there’s a coffee shop down the street that’s open right now and I think it has a customer toilet. I can take you there.” Mary was too desperate to think straight, and hungover to boot. Instead of thinking of something more logical and less risky, like trying to find some receptacle in the apartment to pee in, or the shower, she just began dressing immediately. But she was fidgeting so madly that Jen actually stepped in and helped her into her pants. “There, babe, all dressed and ready to go. Hopefully not in those clean pants.” Mary gave her a dirty look. Now more sober than the previous night, she was smelling a setup. Her friend was enjoying this far too much. She’d let herself be goaded into this, and now Jen got to act like the older, more mature sister. And Mary got to be the toddler in potty training. Oh, she was going to get back at Jen for this, however this ended. The cycle of revenge was back in full swing. The pair walked down the block to the coffee shop. One of them walking more conspicuously than the other. Mary had little strength left, and was more shuffling than actually working. Her hands were balled up into fists, and frequently shot into her crotch for a quick squeeze. Thankfully for her, only an old gentleman walking his dog was out this early on a Sunday morning. The man gave her a look and briefly thought that today’s youth are getting more immature every generation, but said nothing. They reached the coffee shop, which was open and did indeed have a customer restroom: Jen wasn’t that cruel. Besides, this wasn’t the final humiliation she had in mind for Mary. Jen walked up to buy the two of them coffee, and Mary hobbled over to the restroom. It was unoccupied. She found a stall, but when she opened the door and saw the toilet, the psychological shock sent a jolt to her bladder. Bending over wasn’t enough: Mary had to squat down into a position akin to a toddler taking a dump in her diaper to keep it in. Even so, a trickle escaped into her panties. She managed to get it under control after a minute of frantic clenching, then slowly rose, tore down her jeans and panties, and sat down on the bowl. Mary closed her eyes and would later swear she could see stars and angels as she emptied herself into the toilet. Then she wiped, pulled on her damp panties and her jeans, washed, and met up with Jen. Jen had to admit to herself, she was disappointed. She’d hoped there would be some visible wetness on her friend’s crotch. She settled for patting her friend on the head, like she were a dog, and handed her a large black coffee to go. The two exited the shop and headed back to Mary’s apartment for breakfast. “I can’t believe you,” Jen said. “You looked like a little girl in there, but you managed to stay dry!” Mary, very aware of her wet panties, only grumbled. “Of course,” she said. “It was a close call, but only because of your hideous goading. Let’s not forget whose pants you’re wearing and why you aren’t wearing yours.” Jen had the decency to blush. They sat down at the kitchen table, each with a coffee in hand. Jen had one more ace up her sleeve. “I don’t believe it, I still can’t fathom it,” she said. “The way you looked, there’s no way you didn’t pee yourself at least a little.” Mary was about ready to kick her friend out of her apartment, but she restrained herself. She was starting to piece together a bigger picture. “Well, I did,” she said instead. “I’ll wash your pissy pants for you, and you can thank me later by.” “Show me,” Jen demanded. “What? Show you what?” “Show me your dry panties and I’ll admit I’m the only pissy baby around here who can’t hold her liquor,” Jen said. Mary grimaced. “I’m not gonna show you my underwear just to please you, you pervert!” “Then I’ll take that as an admission of guilt.” Mary had two options: one, deny it all, and justifiably kick her friend out of her apartment. They were true BFFs forever, but this time Jen had gone too far, and Mary, being the more sensible of the two, recognized that the best thing to do to preserve their friendship was to separate for a while and cool off. But her personality made her curious enough to choose the option behind door number two. This is why I think some people are just made to be natural foils. Their personalities match so well they’re destined to be friends, but their flaws also clash so hard that they’re destined to drive each other nuts on occasion. “Okay,” Mary said. “I’ll make you a trade: the receipt for a shot at my panties.” Jen’s eyes widened. She hadn’t foreseen this. “The receipt? What’s that got to do with anything?” “We’ll see. Give it to me right now, and we’ll read it together while you can perv out at the sight of my undies.” Jen had gone too far to back down now. She rummaged around in her purse and found the receipt, which she’d stolen from Mary’s own purse when Mary was in the bathroom. Mary rose, a slight color to her cheeks, and unbuttoned her jeans as Jen handed over the receipt. Make a circle with your thumb and index finger. A wet spot around that size could be clearly seen adorning Mary’s red panties. “I knew it! You did wet yourself!” Jen was saying, but Mary held up a finger for silence. She was scanning the receipt. They had shared a tab, and it was easy to figure out whose charges belonged to whom, since they each preferred different brands of beer. Tallying up the numbers, Mary realized she’d had two pints more than Jen. “Look at this, you perv,” Mary said. “You lied. Or drunkenly miscounted. I’ll be nice and say that’s what happened. I had two pints more than you, and I still lasted until morning. And I wouldn’t have leaked even a tiny bit if you hadn’t messed up my toilet. So I outlasted you, while drinking more, and you pissed yourself like a baby. And all you got to show for it?” Mary pointed at her wet spot. “The kind of thing half the women who’ve ever given birth experience when they sneeze.” Jen had to admit, the evidence was incontrovertible. But then again, seeing her friend embarrassed today was only part of her long con. A bonus. After she’d gotten over the humiliation of her own accident and realized her friend was in a similar state, she’d hatched a plan to get payback once and for all. If all went according to plan, she would see her friend fully and completely lose control, in public, in the near future. And this hitch in the plan could be spun like a corrupt talk show angle to convince Mary to have another contest of bladders. One rigged so Mary would lose. Of course, this is yet another confirmation of my hypothesis that the gods rig the odds. A plan this Machiavellian, this complicated, this dependent on the outcome of personality-based decisions and of randomly setting aside good sense, could only work if someone out there were messing with reality like the author of an erotic novella. “I’m sorry,” Jen said. “I guess I did miscount. You did well, but you didn’t quite make it to the finish line.” Mary gave her a look to kill. “I think there’s a plunger in the bathroom. Kindly unclog my toilet and get out of my house,” she said. Jen did as she was told. She didn’t enjoy the process of unclogging the toilet, nor the sight of Mary waving Jen’s soaked clothes in her face, but she distracted herself with thoughts of better times to come. So that brings us to the main event. The vacation. Things were icy between the friends for a week, owing to recent events, but as always, they were thick as thieves once egos cooled off. Jen suggested they go on a guided over-night tour to the regional capital, which sported a renowned art museum they’d often talked about visiting together. Mary was immediately on board. But at some point, the events described above were brought up again—the two had avoided any mention since Mary delivered Jen’s newly cleaned clothes the day after. And whoever first suggested it, the idea was put forth that they do a formal holding contest to determine things once and for all. “I bet I can outlast you and the entire trip,” Jen said. “I propose the following rules: As soon as we board the bus, no one is allowed to pee until we get back home the next day—peing your pants excepted. We each drink exactly the same amount: if I take a drink, you must take an equally large drink, and vice versa.” Mary regarded her friend with a look somewhere between disgust and confusion. “Are you mad? You’ll piss yourself for sure, and this will be in public. And I’m not keen on a repeat experience either.” “You’re afraid you’ll lose, you mean! I’ve been practicing like mad these past weeks, and my capacity’s enormous now.” Mary wasn’t entirely unaware that Jen must have something planned. After all, the mortification of her one and only public accident had given birth to a grudge that lasted a decade. But at the same time, she had her pride. After all, though it was but a small leak, a few weeks ago she did involuntarily pee for the first time since she was a toddler. “You’re planning to cheat, aren’t you? Slipping me some diuretics, sneaking off to use the bathroom when I’m not looking, even… Oh god, I could just see you wearing an adult diaper just to screw with me.” “No tricks,” Jen said. “I promise it’ll be one hundred percent fair and proper. I run the exact same risk as you of having an accident in public. Or I would, if I didn’t have the superior bladder,” she added with a smirk. Mary couldn’t turn that down. So it was set. Just according to keikaku (editor’s note: keikaku means bad meme). Chapter 2 They both emptied their bladders before boarding the evening tour bus. The tour guide was just the kind of authority figure Jen wanted for her revenge fantasy: much older, strict, generally tired of her job and of the opinion that most of her charges were immature idiots. Not unlike the camp counselor all that time ago. Except here everyone was of age, so she couldn’t exactly call their parents and tell them about embarrassing bedwettings, for instance. What she could do, however, was list a number of things that would prevent their deposits from being refunded,, including property damage to the bus, the hotel or the museum, and another list of things that could get them kicked off the tour. Alcoholic drinks were not allowed on the bus, for instance. Finally, the guide, whose name was Miranda, reminded everyone to make good use of the restroom stops. It would be a long journey. Mary and Jen settled into the back of the bus. It held fifty people, but only half the seats were occupied. There was no on-bus lavatory, but breaks would be inserted for “stretching of legs and powdering of noses,” as Miranda had put it. Having just emptied their bladders, neither of the two friends was in any urgent need to pee at this stage, but they certainly would be come the return journey. Assuming either of them lasted that long. Jen immediately fished out a large bottle of water from her purse, and chugging it down almost in one go. “Wow,” Mary said. “Don’t get overconfident. We’re only just starting.” “Don’t forget, however much I drink, you have to drink too,” Jen said. “I brought another one for you.” Mary cringed. She didn’t feel like starting off so strongly, so quickly. Although she was certain she could outlast Jen, and almost sure she could last the entire trip without a leak, her recent mishap had shaken her once indomitable confidence in her bladder. Still, she did honor the agreement. Mary downed her bottle of water more slowly, but half an hour into the journey, both girls had already had a liter to drink. Mary felt bloated, but she couldn’t feel any pressure in her bladder yet. By the one and a half hour mark, Jen fished out two cans of Red Bull and handed one to Mary. Mary hadn’t slept well the night before: her excitement about the trip, and anxiety about the holding contest both contributed. Loathe as she was to fill up too quickly, she welcomed some caffeinated energy. Besides, she knew Jen would have to slow down soon. She couldn’t last as long as Mary, and they had a full twenty-four hours until they were home, by her estimation. Two and a half hours into the trip, they stopped at a gas station. Miranda directed everyone to stretch their legs and use the restroom if they felt any need at all. By now, both girls were feeling an uncomfortable pressure in their neither regions. It wasn’t yet bad enough that either of them had trouble hiding that fact. At the gas station convenience store, Jen bought them each a bottle of Coke Zero. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Mary asked. Now she was genuinely concerned. Jen must have something up her sleeve or she wouldn’t be drinking this much, this early. But all she’d given Mary to drink thus far had been factory-sealed and tamper-proof. She wasn’t being drugged, but there must be something else. If they kept this pace up, neither of them would last the entire trip. Hell, they might not make it until morning. And Mary knew Jen didn’t want to see her pee herself in public more than she wanted to avoid the same fate. “My training regimen has prepared me for anything,” Jen said. “This is your last chance to admit you’re a chicken and back out.” Mary accepted the bottle and drank it slowly as they settled in the back of the bus. By now, Jen was crossing her legs casually, and had an uncomfortable expression on her face. While the other tour-goers settled in, Miranda came over. “I couldn’t help but notice neither of you two young ladies availed yourself of the facilities,” Miranda said. She seemed to speak entirely in euphemisms and circumlocutions, but the meaning was perfectly clear. “Oh, we’re fine,” Mary said. Miranda gave the two of them a skeptical look. “I’ve survived three births,” she said, emphasizing the word survived to indicate they must have been tough ones. “I suppose my capabilities are not equal to you unwed youngsters. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The silver-haired tour guide turned and trudged back to her seat at the front. “That one might be trouble,” Mary whispered. “At this rate we’ll be visible desperate before long. I don’t know how to explain away that.” “We’ll find a way,” Jen said. She was now fidgeting in her seat. The rest of the journey, they talked about anything but their little contest. Jen didn’t proffer any more liquids. Mary was now shifting subtly in her seat, and Jen, who had the window seat and was more shielded, made no effort to hide anything. She was already desperate. Mary didn’t think her friend could make it until bedtime. Finally they settled on a discussion of the art they were going to see. It was the topic furthest from the signals each of their bodies were sending. Five hours and a brief pit stop after they boarded the bus, they were at their destination. An astute observed might have picked up on the fact that one other passenger was fidgety: a recent high school graduate named Penny. She had not peed since lunch. Once they started piling out of the bus at the hotel, it became hard for Jen and Mary to walk normally, and Mary decided keeping her overnight bag in front of her was the best way to redirect attention from the wriggling of her thighs as she walked. Miranda left them waiting outside the hotel lobby while she went in and settled affairs. Then she handed them each a key card—Mary and Jen had insisted on a double room—and announced they had the rest of the evening off, but then they’d meet up after breakfast tomorrow at nine for scheduled activities. Jen was discreetly clutching herself the moment the crowd dispersed. Penny, the younger girl, sidled up to the pair. She was also fidgeting wildly. “Oh my god, I need to pee,” she said. “Want to find a bathroom together?” Mary gave the girl a look. She was like a younger, shorter version of Jen: just as blonde, but at least five years her junior and more petite. And equally desperate. “We’ll be fine until we get to our room,” Mary said diplomatically. She wanted the contest kept on the down-low. Jen wasn’t having any of that. “Actually, we’re planning to hold it for the entire trip!” Jen said. It’s not often you see a person literally, physically gasp at a simple statement without any sort of controversial edge to it. But Penny did. “What? That’s insane! You both look about to pop!” “We can hold it as long as we need to. Or I can, anyway,” Jen said. “You guys are crazy,” Penny said. But her eyes had a glint to them. “Maybe even my kind of crazy.” “Your kind of…?” “Never mind,” Penny said. “I just mean I kind of like to hold my pee. Mind if I join you guys in your room for a little while? Just hang out and hold for a bit? I know it sounds crazy coming from a stranger...” Yes. Yes it does. The kind of thing a fifth-dimensional author would insert into the narrative of reality. “I can’t promise I’ll join your little thing for the entire trip, but maybe for a few hours?” Mary gave Jen a questioning look. But then came to think of something. Whatever Jen had planned, whatever cheat or creative interpretation of rules she was thinking of: All of it would be harder with a neutral third party around. “You know what,” Mary said. “You’re crazy, we’re crazy, we can hang for a bit. You can actually hang on to our bathroom key for us, so neither of us can cheat that way.” So it was settled. Jen did not seem pleased at the prospect, but she wasn’t outspoken enough to say no when Mary had already said yes. And neither girl was thrilled when it became clear that Penny had brought a six-pack of beer with her. She must be recently old enough to legally buy alcohol. They each settled into whatever contortions seemed most likely to keep their floods at bay, Mary on the bed, Penny on the floor gripping her crotch, and Jen seated cross-legged, rocking back and forth on the one chair in the room. Penny handed each of them a lukewarm can of beer. “Cheers!” Penny said. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you doing this exactly? Not that I don’t find it interesting, even exciting, but it’s kind of out there. And in public!” “Settling a bet,” Mary said. She had trouble speaking and keeping it all in at the same time. Jen elaborated. “Mary had a little accident a few weeks ago, and now she wants to prove she’s stronger than me.” “That’s not exactly the real story,” Mary said. Penny leaned forward to listen, but the added pressure elicited a moan. She was forced to slide into a sort of fetal position on the floor, holding herself. Mary gave a brief rundown—much briefer than the one I’ve given above—of the events leading up to this moment. “Damn, girl,” Penny said when Mary was done. “No offense, Jen, but I’m rooting for my girl Mary here.” “Why?” Jen shot her an angry look. This girl was getting more annoying by the minute, and she was a hitch in the masterplan. Also, she was too young and pretty for her own good. The irony of these thoughts—so often applied by others to Jen on first glance—passed on by Jen herself, like a curse, is not lost on this author. “Because you’re a bad loser.” Penny said. “You should just accept you lost. That way, no one needs to humiliate themselves in public.” Wiser words have never been spoken. “Why are you even in our room?” Jen inquired. Now she was pissed. This girl was spoiling her plan and being rude, and what the fuck did a total stranger have to do with a private bet between two best friends? A revenge plot birthed by one of her most traumatizing childhood experiences? “I invited her,” Mary reminded her friend. “And I like her. Plus, I want a neutral third party to make sure nobody cheats. And she’s all we got. Who else would go along with this...” Here, she experienced a sudden spasm, and had to bend over before resuming speaking. “… This madness?” “If it’s not too forward, okay, so I kind of find it hot to be desperate to pee. Or see others be desperate to pee,” Penny said. She had somehow managed to down two beers despite being in the fetal position most of the time, and I suspect her boldness may have been bolstered by a flask on the bus earlier. And she was probably not an experienced drinker either, given her age. “Not that I’m hitting on you two or anything,” she added. “My god,” Jen said. “We got a pervert.” “Says the girl who just had to inspect my panties the other weekend to check for wetness!” Mary exclaimed. “That was for evidence! Not for sex stuff!” Jen protested. “You two,” Penny said. “I can tell you’re just friends and nothing more, but I can also tell you’ve got some weird unresolved chemistry going on.” “My god, she’s a psychoanalyst and a party pooper,” Jen said. Mary was now not only desperate to pee, she was also desperate to resolve the tension in the room. She had several reasons for keeping someone like Penny along: Mary didn’t fully trust her friend, and wanted a neutral third party; she also liked the girl in question, and thought they might have struck up a friendship if they’d been of the same age and grew up together. On the other hand, something other than her extremely full bladder was clearly bothering Jen, and she needed to either diffuse the tension or get Penny out of there. “Okay, guys, I’m sorry Penny, Jen and I are on edge and the mood is turning bad. Personally I’d love to see you again tomorrow, assuming my friend won’t go mental over it. But I think it’s best if you went to your own room for the night.” “Okay,” Penny said. She struggled to raise herself to a proper seated position. “I know when I’m not wanted.” “Hey, girl,” Jen said. Now that the girl was actually leaving, on second thought Penny wasn’t so bad. Jen had been a bit dishonest in her description of events, and Mary had rightly called her on it, and then Penny had taken Mary’s side because of it. “I’m sorry. Maybe we meet tomorrow, maybe not, but don’t take it personally either way.” She attempted a thumbs up, which turned into a crotch squeeze. Jen was now at her absolute limit. She felt like she had felt as she entered Mary’s apartment that night, about five minutes before she totally wet herself. Meanwhile, Mary had collected the towels from the bathroom. She’d been so quick neither of the two others had seen her enter the unlocked bathroom, but she couldn’t possibly have peed in that time, without sound, while also looking as bloated as before. “I figure just in case we need these,” Mary said. Then she ceremoniously locked the bathroom from the outside and threw the key to Penny. The throw was bad, and Penny overreached in trying to catch it. As she did, a yelp escaped her. She was wearing cotton shorts, and a spurt of pee shot out as she reached forward. “Oh!” She said. “I really gotta run anyway or I’ll be as wet as you guys will be if you insist on lasting the entire trip!” Penny got up, leaking a bit more down her leg, squeezed herself, and regained control. Then she picked up the key and walked stiffly towards the door. “See you tomorrow to return the key!” Penny said. “I don’t think either of you can do it, but good luck.” Then she was gone. Mary got a good look at the wetness between her bum cheeks, accentuated on the beige shorts, as the girl left. For a brief moment, Mary felt a strange tingle that had nothing to do with her own needs. Then it was gone. The girl might be going to college, or starting soon, but she was too young—and what kind of reason was that to get turned on anyway? Jen rose from the bed as soon as Penny left. An astute observer could have seen the way her abdominal muscles cramped, the way every muscle in her crotch region strained to keep the flood in. Jen picked up a towel and gingerly walked over to the corner where Penny had left some dribbles. Now came the masterstroke of her plan. Jen put the towel down on the floor, then sat down on it. She closed her eyes, leaned back, and let go. “Ahhhhhh,” was all that escaped her. A small trickle turned into a flood, darkening her light jeans, soaking into the towel. It went on for two minutes. Mary looked on, stunned. When Jen opened her eyes again and looked down at the mess she’d made all over herself, Mary exclaimed, “You lost! You just gave up and lost! I won! What the hell?” Jen calmly rose. Now that her bladder was empty, she had no trouble moving freely. She began unhurriedly peeling off her wet jeans. As she stripped, she began a prepared monologue. If she were a supervillain, she’d have it down word for word, but she was but a regular human, so it was mostly an impromptu delivery of a list of talking points. But she’d spent some time thinking this moment over. “Ah, now,” she began. “Yes, I lost. I peed myself. Now I’m going to change into clean, dry clothes and drink with abandon for the rest of the trip. You, on the other hand, haven’t won yet. You beat me, but we’re not even halfway through the trip. You still have to drink whatever I drink.” Mary was stunned. This was the masterstroke that would rig the contest in Jen’s favor? She’d never imagined Jen would stoop so low. Of all the devious plans she had imagined Jen might have come up with, deliberately losing just so she could see Mary lose as well was not even on her radar. And of course, the point of it was, if she didn’t back out, she would surely have an accident, and her accident would likely be a great deal more public. “I trust you’re a woman of your word,” Jen said. Mary wanted to cry. She knew she could do this—knew the worst that could happen was what happened that weekend: she would leak a little, but not visibly to the public. Mary had gone twenty-four hours without peeing on several occasions, and although each one was a close call, she had always made it. That was with a normal, or even above normal liquid intake. Now, Jen would continue drinking like she found an oasis in the desert, and force Mary to do the same. It was an impossible task, designed to humiliate her in public. And for one who prided herself on her proper image, it would be even worse than Jen, whom everyone assumed was a dumb blonde anyway. As these thoughts ran through Mary’s head, Jen had finished changing clothes. Mary doubled over in agony, and the combination of the physical pain and the emotional blow actually brought tears to her eyes. She hated herself for letting Jen see her like this, but she couldn’t help it. Jen walked over and put her arms around Mary’s shoulders. “There, there, honey. I’m sure you can be a big girl and make it through the night. That’s step one. But just to be sure, I think you should sleep on a towel.” Mary wiped off her tears and looked her friend in the eye. “You’re such a bitch,” she said simply. Then she proceeded to very carefully remove her jeans, and crawled up in bed, holding herself and squirming. Jen smiled. She was getting her money’s worth and Mary hadn’t even wet herself yet. Later, she would come to reconsider some of her actions. Was her obsession not just a cruel way to project her own trauma onto her best friend? Yes, it absolutely was, but that didn’t matter in that moment. Chapter 3 At this point, with the bathroom locked and Mary having no way to contact Penny, her only choice—other than an even more humiliating call to the hotel reception, or an impossible walk to the lobby—was to hold it until breakfast. Then she could call off the whole thing due to Jen’s bullshit and pee in a bathroom. She had never peed the been as long as she could remember. She had also never gone to bed this desperate, possibly excepting that weekend where she ended up leaking fifteen minutes after she woke up. But she had to try. Mary accepted the damned towel to sleep on, and got on with trying to doze off. Fat lot of good that towel would do to the sheets if she lost it. Eventually, Mary fell asleep. She dreamed of something that had happened while she was a student. She had not peed before bed, and overslept before an exam. By the time the exam ended, she had gone a full day without peeing and was beyond desperate. In real life, Mary had handed in her test, ran off to the nearest bathroom, and relieved herself like a big girl. In the dream, she lost it just as she handed the test in. She was stood in front of the whole class, and a cascade of pee emerged from beneath her short, pleated skirt. The auditor had to take a step back to avoid the emerging puddle. Several people laughed. Jen woke Mary at eight in the morning by violently ripping the sheets off her. She insisted on checking on her friend’s state. Mary felt her bladder throbbing, and could not take her hands off her crotch, but she had made it. “Wow,” Jen said. “I’ll give you a silver sticker for not wetting the bed. Gold stickers are only for those who don’t pee their pants during the day.” They were late for breakfast. Mary had no idea how she would manage to get out of bed, dress, and get down to the breakfast hall without losing it. In the end, she had to beg Jen to help her out of bed while Mary desperately clutched herself. Once she was standing, the waves abated somewhat, but she still had to ask for help getting dressed, too. Jen made a comment about raising a toddler, but Mary ignored it. She had no energy to argue, and she’d have to depend on Jen’s goodwill to survive this, at least a little longer. They got odd looks from an older gentleman in the elevator. Mary was potty-dancing like a schoolgirl. But it was either that, or wetting herself like a baby. Walking was hard, walking without attracting attention was almost impossible, but they made it to a table. Jen immediately went to fetch them some food and coffee. Despite having emptied herself out last night, Jen was already feeling some urgency. And she was planning on keeping the liquids flowing until Mary lost it. But Jen was sure she was in no danger. As Jen fetched breakfast, Penny found the table. She took one look at Mary and shook her head. “You look like you’re in terrible pain,” she said. Mary related the events after Penny had left. “She really did that? The bitch, excuse the French. Do you want the key now?” “What’s this I hear about a key?” Jen asked. “Are you really giving up and going back on your word, Mary?” “With your bullshit, yeah, considering it.” “I can’t believe it.” Jen said. “So you’re really sure you’ll piss yourself any second. That’s as good as actually doing it, except for one thing: no one gets to see it.” “Is that what this is about?” Mary asked. “You were humiliated once, so you want to humiliate me?” Jen blushed. “Er….” “It totally is,” said Penny. That was it, then. The anticlimax to the Machiavellian masterplan. Mary would get the key from Penny, or hobble to the lobby, and use a toilet. But then this whole incident report would be a bit of a bait-and-switch, wouldn’t it? “You owe me so much for this,” Mary said. “I can hold it.” Penny protested that Mary obviously couldn’t, but Mary shook her head. “In for a penny...” She mused. Penny snorted. “I’ll try and be moral support, then,” Penny said. “I’ve got a backpack I’m planning to bring, and you can stick a change of clothing in there.” They finished their coffees, and two of the three ate. Mary had no appetite. She was crossing her legs under the table and trying not to think of waterfalls. Then they lined up to hand in their hotel keys and be escorted to the nearby museum which was the primary purpose of this whole trip. For everyone but two foolish young women, that is. Penny and Jen flanked Mary to shield her erratic movements from undue attention. They passed a “public restrooms” sign on the way into the museum, and Mary had to stop and squat down on her heel for a moment. Then Miranda began escorting them through a series of rooms showing off sculptures, modern photographic art, ancient vases, prattling on about the cultural significance of each item. Mary couldn’t pay attention to anything but the state of her bladder, and Jen was distracted by watching her friend. The tour of the museum was to last four hours total, with a lunch break inserted between. By the end of the first period, Mary’s state had stabilized to near-critical. She could not move normally, or stand still, and had to stop frequently to discreetly squeeze herself, but she appeared not to be getting any more desperate. Perhaps because other than one cup of coffee at breakfast, she hadn’t had anything else to drink since the night before. At lunch, though, Jen had a large glass of water and a glass of juice, and Mary had to keep up. Each gulp felt like the final straw, but by vigorous squirming she kept control. Mary was now cold sweating, from anxiety and the continuous strain on her muscles. Her face was pale. Frankly, she looked ill. Miranda came over and asked if she was okay, and Mary only nodded and mumbled something about poor sleep (not strictly a lie). Thankfully, the guide left them alone after that. The last hour of the tour was more of the same. Mary and her friends stayed at the back of the group to shield her, and missed most of the ongoing narration. The three learned only about the art of omorashi that day, even if none of them knew the word. At the gift shop on the way out, Jen picked up an energy drink and a bottle of water for the trip back. Truth be told, she was now getting squirmy again herself. And worst of all, despite her intense and obvious desperation, Mary was holding strong. Jen had sacrificed so much to set this up, and the payoff was left hanging. She hoped these extra drinks would finally bring the plan to a conclusion. Then the tour was over. They lined up for the bus, and Miranda once again reminded everyone to avail themselves of the restrooms. The three girls skipped that instruction and seated themselves at the back. Then they were off. Five more hours of hell for Mary. Penny leaned in and whispered, “How are you holding up?” “I don’t think I’ll make it,” Mary admitted. “But I’m gonna try.” “It’s okay,” Jen said. “Accidents happen to the best of us. Drink up, baby.” She had taken to using infantile language to make up for the lacking ultimate humiliation. Mary struggled through her bottle of water, but once it came to the energy drink, she had to take a pause. “I’m gonna have to pace myself,” she said. Her hands were permanently in her crotch. Both Penny and Jen were now squirming. Jen most obviously. She was beginning to doubt she could make the return journey. Consequently, she didn’t object to holding off on the second drink. Time passed glacially slow, but it did pass. For Mary, the world had shrunk to an ocean of urine and a bottle with a questionable cap trying to keep it in. Finally, they were at the halfway point, with its gas station, convenience store, and restrooms. Miranda herded everyone off the bus. Again, Mary tried her best to shield herself behind everyone else. She had no idea how she’d explain her refusal to use the bathroom if anyone took even a chance look at her. It was that obvious. Surprisingly, Penny seemed to be almost as bad off. And she wasn’t as careful. Miranda caught her eye and beckoned her over. “Young lady, I can see you’re bursting. This is the last rest stop in hours,” the matronly guide told her. “It’s okay to be shy about these things, but needs must. It’s not okay to damage bus company property. So I suggest strongly that you go and do what you need to do.” Penny blushed. She had mostly made it to her own bathroom the night before, but since her accident she had challenged herself to keep up with the other two girls. This felt like a lecture a mother would give a young child just out of diapers. But she was hard pressed to counter it. Penny beckoned the other two over and explained what had transpired. “Honestly, I’m bursting but I think I can make it. But if I don’t even pretend to go pee, I’ll get a lecture and a half from that crazy old lady.” That gave Jen an idea. “Let’s all go together,” she said. “But not to pee, obviously. Just go in and go out again unrelieved.” She hoped the sight of a toilet would be too much for her friend. Mary was in no state to object. She needed the other two around to shield her, so she followed along. This was a truck stop, really, so it had a real big public restroom with many stalls. Most of the other passengers had left when the three girls entered, though. Jen opened the door to a stall invitingly, gesturing from Mary to the toilet. “Here’s your last chance,” she said. Mary bent over. The sight of the toilet was almost too much. She could feel a leak on the verge of escaping, and couldn’t suppress a moan. She stayed in that awkward position for a minute, then got up again. “Let’s go,” she said curtly. Penny took a longing look at the open stall, but didn’t go in. Being the last ones to enter the bus and pass by Miranda, the three desperate women had to walk extra straight to pretend they’d actually relieved themselves. The strain of not squirming, squeezing, bending, clutching, or otherwise giving herself away was almost too much for Mary. Almost. They got back to their usual seat, now free to potty dance for an Olympic medal in toddler-hood, and settled in for the last part of the journey. An hour away from the truck stop, Mary had almost given up. The familiar pressure had been sitting at near-max for hours, but now it was building, building, building. But then came a gasp from Jen, and she doubled over. Mary looked over. Her friend’s face was strained, looking down at her lap. Nothing was visible, but Mary was pretty sure her friend had leaked. The idea gave her own motivation a second wind. Logically, if Jen was starting to wet herself, Mary, who had drunk twice as much and gone twice as long, should be twice as close to the same. But emotionally, the idea that even with this stupid, unfair gambit, Jen might embarrass herself twice gave Mary a boost. Penny noticed too. “Hey, I think your friend’s leaking,” she stage-whispered to Mary. “I’m not!” Jen protested. “Want to submit to a panty check?” Penny asked. “You cheeky little...” “Not the time and place, dear,” Mary said. Now all three girls were at the stage where their dignity and pride were hanging on a dice roll every minute. Mary placed her heel under her, pressing against her pee-hole, and supplemented that with a firm grip. She would double over whenever a particularly bad wave crashed down. Time passed. Miles, or kilometers, whichever you prefer, were traversed. An hour away from the destination of the bus, Penny moaned. She leaned in to Mary and whispered: “Hey, when is the official end point of this whole thing? When you get to your apartment?” “Yeah,” Mary answered. “Why?” “Can I, like, come with you guys? I kinda already leaked a bit. And also, I want to see an end to this. I’m pulling for you.” “Sure. Why not?” Somehow, they made it to the bus stop. A bus stop which was literally just a place for people to get on and off, no toilet in sight. It was a fifteen-minute walk through the center of town to Mary’s place. The girls hobbled off. Jen was biting her lip, every bit as squirmy as Mary. Penny had a visible wet spot on her pants, but it was getting dark and not that obvious from a distance. At this point in the incidence report, I found something novel. I think the deities of the fifth dimension might be observing many parallel universes, most of them just like ours, with just a few minor differences. Either that, or they like to write alternative scenarios as fanfiction to reality and present it as fact. Whatever the case, I’ve found no way to reconcile the three distinct endings to this report that I have in my files. So I will simply present each one in turn. I suspect depending on the reader’s personal tastes, which one they hope occurred in our universe will differ. Epilogue One The only thing standing between Mary and relief was a quarter of an hour of walking. The problem was that they had to pass through the busiest part of town. Since they were on vacation, they’d gone on a Thursday and returned on a Friday night. It was still somewhat early, but people were beginning to gather around the bars and clubs they had to pass through. There was nothing for it than to begin walking. Or hobbling, with frequent stops to squeeze. A group of young guys headed to a party hollered at them. Mary ignored them. She just put one foot in front of the other, straining with all her might not to lose it all so close to home. Just as they were passing the busiest nightlife area, their erratic walk caught the attention of a police officer on duty. Perhaps he thought they were on drugs, the way they walked. He came over and asked them for their names. They each responded with monosyllables. “I can’t help noticing you’re acting a bit oddly,” the officer began. He didn’t get any further. A massive cramp hit Mary’s bladder, and she instinctively sank into a squat. As she did, it was all too much. With the police officer looking on, Mary began peeing. It emerged like a fire hose, straight through her pants, splashing her feet, seeping into her socks and sneakers. The puddle began running down the incline of the cobbled street. The police officer took a step back, still too stunned to speak. Mary continued wetting herself as Jen took control of the situation, in her preferred style. “I’m sorry, officer,” she said. “We’ve been on a long bus journey and all need a bit of a pee. But my friend here, she never listens when I tell her, ‘This is the last restroom in a while, you better take the chance.’ She thinks she can hold it. She never learns.” Mary’s cheeks were reddening, and she could feel tears welling up. Here she was, a serious woman in a good job, a real adult, and she was wetting herself like a toddler and getting told off for it as if she were one. But the relief of all that pent up urine was so pleasurable, she was able to keep from breaking into crying. Jen truly had gotten the revenge fantasy she wanted. “Oh, my,” said the officer. “Sorry for holding you up. I think I can let you off with a warning for public urination, given the circumstances. I suggest you get home safe.” Jen nodded. The effort not to squirm was almost too much for her, but she had half the volume and half the holding time of her friend, and she didn’t break yet. “We live right by. Sorry again. Bye.” Mary had finally gotten the flow under control, and was now soaked front to back. There was really no dry spot left on the front of her pants, given the main stream, the rivulets down her thighs, and the splashback. She also had a large wet patch surrounding her butt and going halfway down the backs of her thighs. Jen and Penny dragged her along. They walked in silence back to Mary’s place. Jen would save the gloating for later. She’d replay the memory in her mind any time she felt jealous of her friend. It was a card she could play any time. Right now, silence was actually the crueler thing. Thankfully for Mary, Penny took up the mantle her best friend did not. She put an arm around Mary’s shoulder, rubbing it and whispering that she was sorry, how proud she was that Mary had lasted so long, how cruel Jen’s gambit had been, but mostly, that embarrassing things happen but you get over them. When they arrived at Mary’s place, Penny ran into the bathroom with Mary, locking Jen out. Mary was too humiliated to care much about privacy by this point, so she began undressing for a shower while Penny peed in the toilet. Penny’s wet spot had grown down the inside of one thigh. “I didn’t exactly make it either,” she offered. “Guess not,” Mary said. Outside, Jen was frantic. She had gotten her wish, true, but now she was in danger of having another accident herself. She squirmed and squeezed. Jen was uncomfortably aware of the dampness of her panties, from the earlier leak on the bus she’d denied so vehemently. The girls took their time in the bathroom. Perhaps this was karmic justice. She wanted to be here when they got out to gloat, and of course to use the bathroom herself, but she was working on a timer here. Finally, she decided to hurry home. Unlike Mary, Jen shared an apartment with three other people. It was less convenient but more economical. It was just down the block, and she hobbled her way there. At one point, she felt a little leak dampening her panties again. But she got home, and found there was a party going on. Her roommates invited her to join them predrinking, but she only had a mind for one thing: the bathroom. It was locked. “Oh, that,” said Robert, a friend of one of her housemates. “I think someone’s passed out in there or something.” Cursing inwardly, Jen locked herself in her bedroom. Her options were limited, and she didn’t want to expose her state to the party guests. Jen crawled into bed, gripping herself, and finally made a decision: she’d have to get back to Mary’s place. Even if it was embarrassing. She sent Mary a text asking if she was done cleaning up. No reply. Jen had spent most of the previous night too excited to sleep, hoping to observe her friend wet the bed, fantasizing about what might happen the next day, and now she was quite tired. After a while, she dozed off. The next morning, she was woken by a knock at her bedroom door. “Hey, Jen,” Mary said. Someone must have let her in. “I thought we might talk about what happened. Square things.” Without asking permission, she entered Jen’s bedroom. “I got your text, but only saw it this morning...” Mary began. Then she saw the look on her friend’s face. Before Jen could object, Mary ripped the blanket off the bed. It revealed her friend settled in a fetal position, on top a wet spot that encompassed the entire center of the bed. “Now that,” Mary said, “is absolutely priceless. Penny is going to hear all about that one.” Epilogue Two They made their way slowly through the town center, trying to avoid either wetting themselves or attracting any undue attention due to their erratic walking. Step by step, they came closer. Mary almost lost it when she put the key in her door, but with an epic crotch-squeeze and a dip, she held in the flood. Jen was right behind her, almost as desperate. Mary let go of her crotch and stormed to the bathroom. She felt a leak coming on in seconds. She had her jeans unbuttoned before she was in the room, and down a second later. Mary swung herself around and down onto the toilet seat while simultaneously lowering her panties, which were by now damp with sweat but no urine. And not a second too early. The stream began before she was fully seated, and continued for three minutes. She closed her eyes and simply enjoyed the feeling. It was the closest she’d ever come to an all-out accident. Arguably closer than the time she actually leaked a little. But she’d made it, she’d beat Jen’s stupid gambit, she’d even made a potential new friend in Penny. Life was good. Outside the bathroom, life was not good. Jen was desperate and had just been denied the revenge she spent so much effort and sacrificed so much to gain. And thinking it over now, torturing her friend, manipulating her like that, was a shitty thing to do. It was all about her own trauma from years ago. It had nothing to do with Mary, who didn’t do any of the many manipulative tricks Jen had employed to set this contest up. It had just been one in an endless serious of pointless, informal contests between them. She’d just taken the loss especially hard that one time. It would have been a hollow victory if she won, and she didn’t even win. Penny had a dinner-plate sized wet spot between her legs, but now seemed to have gotten back in control. Out of the blue, she asked: “So, do you wanna talk about why you want to humiliate your friend so much? Because it strikes me as cruel.” “You said that yesterday,” Jen said. “And it pissed me off then. But you’re right. It’s just me projecting my own insecurities on other people. Wanting to feel better about myself by making others endure what I did. That doesn’t make you a good friend.” “No,” Penny said. “It makes you a bully. But I can tell you’re a good person at heart. You two will discuss this over, you’ll get over it, and you’ll realize having an accident one time at summer camp is nothing to spend the rest of your life worrying about.” “Wow,” Jen said. “I took you for immature, but you’re just calling me on my bullshit. You’re right.” “Wanna know why I got caught up in this whole deal?” Penny said. “I can’t imagine why anyone would… Excuse me, get horny, I guess? At this.” “I waited too long one time. It was a foolish decision. Family road trip. You want to know how old I was? Fifteen. Same age as you, and I peed in the car seat after I refused to pee at a rest stop. My mom told me to grow up and stop acting like a child, and I did. I did it by acting like a child on my own terms. Now, I challenge myself because I like to. I like the thrill of it. And if I lose, well, I lost because I wanted to play a game where wetting was a possible outcome. I took control.” “I don’t feel like going around getting desperate and pissing myself on purpose just to get over this old thing,” Jen said. “Then don’t. Just think that now you’re an adult. You do what you want, how you want. You’re not who you were then, now.” At that point, Mary emerged from the bathroom. “So, Jen, do you want to do your damn panty check now?” Jen shook her head. “Nah. I’m sorry for setting this up. It was stupid and cruel. I should be a better friend, and I’m sorry.” “Whoa,” Mary said. She looked over at Penny. “What did you two talk about while I emptied an ocean into the bowl?” “I think we could all become good friends,” was Penny’s non-answer. Epilogue Three (Content warning: light messing) It had gone so well for so long, when Mary put the key in the lock, she thought she’d made it. Unfortunately, so did her brain. It assumed the closeness to a suitable place to relieve herself was permission to do so. She soaked herself on the doorstep. Jen patted her on the back while Mary emptied herself out, offering words about getting her gold star the next time. The gold star, remember, was the sticker she was supposed to get for being a good girl and not peeing herself that day. Just another cruel, infantilizing jab. Mary was too exhausted to respond. She finished up her accident, then walked straight to the bathroom, locked it, and got ready for a shower. That left two desperate girls in the living room. Each sat down on the couch, squeezing themselves. Penny already had a pretty big wet spot between her legs, but the involuntary release seemed to have strengthened her resolve. She was able to sit almost upright, and only occasionally squeeze herself. Penny picked up the remote and flicked on the TV just to have some background noise. She didn’t want to attempt conversation. She was still unsure what the deal was with Jen. She’d been hostile, but also somewhat accommodating of Penny’s intrusion into the two besties’ private bet. Come to think of it, inserting herself between them like that was a bold and crazy move. She did like Mary, though. Penny was sorry to see her lose, although she couldn’t deny she’d enjoyed watching the buildup. On the other side of the couch, Jen was in big trouble. At one point, she placed her heel under her. She was constantly squirming. Then, out of the corner of her eye, Penny saw Jen’s gaze go blank. Jen raised herself slightly, closed her eyes for a moment, and then repositioned herself so she was sitting on her knees with her butt slightly raised off the surface. The two of them sat in silence like that for a few minutes, watching a mindless reality show. “You better go change, too,” Penny said. “What? I don’t need to...” “Girl, I can smell you. If you’re lucky, the smell will be gone by the time your friend emerges from the shower. I’ll be nice and tell her you peed yourself and that’s why you’re wearing her clothes and yours are in a plastic bag. Unless you wanna walk home like that.” Jen’s face lit up like a stoplight. She couldn’t deny it. Her plan had been perfect, except for one detail: every body expels two kinds of waste. And she hadn’t thought about the second one. She’d been desperate for that too, for a while. Sitting there waiting for the shower, while also trying to hold her pee; it had been too much. She’d lost it and now had a nasty lump in the back of her pants. To say that it was a Pyrrhic victory would be understating things. Things might get interesting if I keep hanging with these two, Penny thought as Jen made her waddle towards Mary’s bedroom, where she knew most of Mary’s clothes were. Jen hoped they’d fit, seeing as she’d used up her spare change of clothes on her deliberate accident. And thus concludes this sequence of interconnected case files. Edited July 18, 2018 by satyr (see edit history) amugeR, ed2, WaityKaty and 5 others 8 Quote Link to comment
Melificentfan 1,215 Posted July 18, 2018 ✨ Legendary Member Share Posted July 18, 2018 I a loved that Quote Link to comment
Manowar 170 Posted July 18, 2018 Share Posted July 18, 2018 Oh my... That was absolutely fabulus. Thank you. I hope that Omo Rashi has more files like that and will share them... Quote Link to comment
remos6 22 Posted July 18, 2018 Share Posted July 18, 2018 Another great entry - I really dig the concept of these too Trickling Down 1 Quote Link to comment
wedgeantilles 156 Posted July 18, 2018 Share Posted July 18, 2018 I just read the first 2 stories - the first one was very good, but I loved the second one even more! Can't wait to read the third :) Quote Link to comment
Flush 282 Posted July 20, 2018 Share Posted July 20, 2018 "Cases #5-7" is the kind of story that you read once, and have to read over again to get all the details*. Great story again, satyr. A little more on the improbable side this time, but good nonetheless. Omo Rashi's notebook is filled with accounts of large-bladdered women, it seems. *speaking, of details, aren't the bladder sizes in the character spec sheet mixed up? After reading this story, I think Mary's bladder size must be the one that is exceptionally large... I would say impossibly large, even. Not that it made me enjoy the story even less, off course. So never mind. I just mentioned it to point out that I did read the story over and over again, and paid attention to the details... Quote Link to comment
satyr 1,314 Posted July 20, 2018 Author Share Posted July 20, 2018 (edited) 48 minutes ago, Flush said: "Cases #5-7" is the kind of story that you read once, and have to read over again to get all the details*. Great story again, satyr. A little more on the improbable side this time, but good nonetheless. Omo Rashi's notebook is filled with accounts of large-bladdered women, it seems. *speaking, of details, aren't the bladder sizes in the character spec sheet mixed up? After reading this story, I think Mary's bladder size must be the one that is exceptionally large... I would say impossibly large, even. Not that it made me enjoy the story even less, off course. So never mind. I just mentioned it to point out that I did read the story over and over again, and paid attention to the details... Thank you, that's high praise coming from you! Yeah, you're right, the bladder sizes got mixed up - I would edit it, but apparently the time limit on editing has expired. I wrote the character "profiles" last, and even had to go back and edit them once already because I referred to a character with two different last names. I honestly could have skipped the profiles for this one, I think. And yeah, totally improbable. Which I tried to put into the metatextual commentary of the narrator. It's kind of my tribute to the impossibly long holds of authors like holditin, Rexone or Peter-P: except I squeezed it into 24 hours to at least give it some semblance of realism. I like those kind of stories but I also always think to myself, if only the amounts and durations were halved, I could immerse myself in the story better. I also tried to put a lot of effort into the character interactions. Not just one big mega hold. Edited July 20, 2018 by satyr (see edit history) Quote Link to comment
LittlePunkGirl 109 Posted July 22, 2018 Share Posted July 22, 2018 Really enjoyed this, what can I say I'm a sucker for metaficition. Although the multiple endings seemed to lower the stakes a lot, but maybe that was the point? Quote Link to comment
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