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A Fun Writing Exercise That You Should Definitely Do With Me


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I Rolled 1,6,6. So I need to write a story about publicly wetting myself at a party with no one that I know. In 30 minutes. Go.

 

I lean back against the door jam and let the unfamiliar music wash over me. The clatter of unintelligible conversations and the clinking, thumping, jumble of party. The thrum of cicadas almost inaudible for the first time in weeks. 

I don't know anyone here. Which is good! Because if I did know anyone there is absolutely no way I could possibly go through with this. I've always wanted to. But I've never had the guts. Even now I'm not sure I do.

I nervously swallow another gulp of cider. It's my fourth, i should be tipsy but I'm still so, so nervous. Not just because it's a party and I'm on my own. Not just because I'm not exactly invited to this party. But because my bladder is very, very full and I have absolutely no intention of finding the bathroom.

I have done this before. But only in places where there was almost no chance anyone could see me. Late at night on a quiet street, a park with no one within fifty meters of me. But today... is different. Today I am going to wait until my bladder bursts in front of people. A lot of people. I'm wearing a black skirt that doesn't really show wetness. But it is going to be right in front of people so... my heart is pounding.

I finish my cider and grab another on the way to the deck off the back of the house. I'm not going to deliberately pee on someones carpet. The music is a little quieter out here. The cicadas much louder; the ghost gums are close enough to reach out and touch. 

I'm dying to pee. I try not to make that too obvious as I neck half my cider. I'm always nervous about finding bathrooms in unfamiliar places and habitually leave it to the last minute even though I almost always definitely want to go before I get uncomfortable and worried about having an accident. 

Now I would be really worried about finding the bathroom in time. I would be able to, almost certainly, but if there was a queue I could be in trouble. But, of course, it doesn't matter. Because today I'm just going to wet myself. 

I look around to see if anyone is paying attention and accidentally make eye contact with a woman, around my age and not talking to anyone. To my horror she walks over to me. I'm almost pissing myself. I want to wet myself in front of people but not while I'm literally talking to someone. 

"Hey? The cicadas are crazy loud huh?" She starts a little small talk. I'm pretty distracted but she isn't giving up on me easily.

Because she is looking right at me I feel like I need to act like I don't need to pee. Otherwise why wouldn't I be looking for the bathroom? But that makes it so much worse. To know I can't pee dance.

The cicadas might be crazy loud but she looks down the instant my pee starts splattering on the decking. I just burst. I do that when I lose control. Flood. She looks back up at me all concern while I'm still going. Trying to work out if I'm drunk, or sick, or crazy.

I lie quickly though my eyes are filling with very real embarrassed tears, "Oh my God... I'm so, so sorry. I thought I could wait a bit longer and."

She touches my shoulder briefly and lightly while subtlety stepping to cover me from the rest of the deck. "Totally OK. Want me to call a car or something?"      

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(1-6-2. I accept your challenge, d6.)

It was supposed to be a networking event. The kind of place where people made professional connections, and I could certainly use some of those. Which is why I ended up heading to the place in the first place. Ultimately though, the term "networking" was a euphemism for "reconnecting" and the word "reconnecting" really met "catch up with old college friends while getting very heavily intoxicated" as long as we're aiming for accuracy. In the first of the only two conversations I had with anyone all night long, I asked why the event was open to the public if it was intended to be a private class reunion thing. The person I asked said something about liquor licenses and the rules for renting the venue. It was kind of hard to hear over the bass heavy music... if it could be called music. Nothing against house music personally but at some point it stops being music and starts being recreational ear damage.

Rather than admit the evening was a lost cause, I ended up grabbing a drink and walking around for a while, hoping to talk to some people who didn't have any conversation partners and see if I couldn't do a little social engineering myself. Unfortunately the opportunity never came up and I went through about four drinks before I realized it. I resigned myself to a consolation prize of being a wallflower observing how different people from different social groups interacted with each other, while also filling up on beverages and finger foods that sounded more sophisticated in French. Actually, filling up was an appropriate term, since I started looking around for the bathrooms pretty quickly.

The long lines didn't exactly inspire my confidence, especially since a few people in those lines, both in front of the ladies and the gents, looked to be in much worse straits than I was. And, in hindsight, I was fortunate enough to eventually know when I had hit the point of diminishing returns. After one last visit to the cheese board, I left the building, found my way to my car, and started the long drive home.

I knew in advance that I wouldn't have a designated driver, and it was never part of the plan to make professional business or peer connections with people by getting drunk anyway, so I had stayed far away from anything that could have dulled my reflexes. The downside was that I had favored drinks with a fair amount of caffeine in them. That stopped becoming an alertness-improving advantage and started becoming a distraction about one third of the way back home. On the plus side, I lived in a rural area at the time, so I didn't have to worry about being stopped at a red light forever and a day.

On the down side, there were deer in that particular part of the country, and deer are not known for looking both ways before crossing the road. When the two does crossed over in front of me, time slowed down, like I was using some sort of aim-assist power in a video game. I could see the patterns of the fur on both animals. I could practically count the blades of grass lit up by the headlights. In the end I missed them by a few inches.

Unfortunately for me at that point, while my leg had slammed on the brakes, my bladder had seen the risk of death in my windshield and gone full speed ahead. My seat, and my pants, were both hot and soaked. I didn't dare try to take my hands off the wheel for anything, and my brain - quite rightly - decided it was safer to just deal with it when I got home. By that time, the warmth had gone out completely, leaving a chill and a slick clamminess that caused the pants to stick to my legs as I climbed out of the car.

Cleaning up the seat was something that, by necessity, I left for the the following morning. Inside the house, I stripped off everything, tossed it in the washing machine, and sat at the kitchen table for a while, contemplating mortality and fate and destiny and other deep, heavy subjects like that. That night I ended up having one of those "gotta pee but can't find a toilet" dreams that woke me up and had me heading to the bathroom in pitch blackness. If the alternative was waking in a cold sweat after a nightmare of almost dying, I was okay with stubbing my toe and almost wetting myself twice in a night. Lesser of two evils and all that.

Still, lesson learned. Networking is for people with a death wish.

(Slight variation on the setting but I hope it still qualifies.)

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Sounds good.  I'll replace "1. You, exactly you" with "1. Your last partner" for privacy's sake.  Also, just a suggestion, maybe replace "waitress" with "waiter/waitress"?  The rest are all non-gender-specific.

I'll let you figure out my rolls.

***

When I was young, I dreamed of space.  My schooldays were spent drawing spaceships, from the tiniest escape pods to the majestic colony ships and terrifying dreadnoughts.  Once in a while, I would—I cringe even now—scribble a poem between the sketches, romantic fluff about where I'd go and who I'd meet.  The future seemed so bright at the time, a new frontier opening so fast, and I couldn't wait to get in.

I didn't.  Humanity turned elsewhere.  I cried, just a little, just for a few years.  Then I turned to a different kind of ship.

In a way, being in the middle of an ocean is not that different to being in space—it's just missing all the fun parts.  I don't know why people would rather spend their time getting drunk here than in all-inclusive hotel, but here they are.  And here I am, too, bringing them their snacks and drinks, keeping an eye out for unsavoury behaviour, being a prime target for them to blow off some steam.  Astronauts are trained to live together in cramped quarters, tested for compatibility.  The same precautions would have been fitting on a cruise liner, too, but management seems to hope that alcohol soothes more tempers than it broils, and so again, here I am.

We departed from Sydney a week ago.  I've slept about four hours a night since then.  Falling asleep isn't my forte to begin with, and three four-hour shifts spread evenly across the day don't help with that.  I am running on energy drink and adrenaline.  I could do with a drink of some stronger stuff, too, but I know I would surely collapse.  It wouldn't do my other problem any good, for that matter, and I'm getting worried about that.

I need to pee.  I've had three cans of Red Bull since my shift started three hours ago, and I'm guzzling down another right now, and the official tight skirt is not helping me at all. On the first day, I didn't make it and dashed off to pee half an hour before my shift ended, and I've still not heard the end of that, so I hold it.  Quite literally: I'm pouring out drinks behind the bar with one hand, and my other is buried deep in my skirt.  The trickle of wine is not helping, although it's better than the beer.  My fingers are a little wet, but what can I do?

Drinks on a tray, I walk out to the group of girls who ordered them.  I smile subserviently, don't show my disgust at the kind of people who drink wine with their breakfast.  I can hold it.  I can hold it.  I'm on deck, there's men staring at me eagerly enough without me pissing myself, the creeps.  I can...

A wave of desperation comes over me and I feel a longer leak.  My hands fly to my crotch again, trying to stem the flow, not even noticing the shouts and sound of breaking glass around me.  I'm peeing, completely wetting myself full force, as the girls complain and the other passengers gape.

Fuck this shit.  In space, at least I'd have had a diaper.

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  • 2 weeks later...

I had 2, 3, and 1, so that's an exhausted waitress, on a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean, just making it. Nor what I would typically go for, but not beyond the realms of possibility.

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Everything was so heavy. Her eyes would barely stay open, her legs felt like lead, and at the end of another marathon evening shift there was a serious weight in Jen's bladder too. She didn't fight the motion of the ship, instead letting the gentle rocking throw a little more force into each step - she had neither the energy nor the willpower to do anything else. The corridor that stretched out in front of her was lit with dim, warm bulbs, and just beyond the horizon stood the stairs that would take her down to the crew cabins. After hours of professionalism, the relief of being herself came like a wave, but that relief wasn't quite complete yet.

It wasn't that she didn't like the passengers. On the contrary, most were polite and the majority of those even friendly, however it felt a lot like visiting her grandparents. Not exactly treading on eggshells, but still nothing more robust than a hard-boiled one at best. Keeping a face on, moderating her speech, gently steering conversation away from "difficult" topics (foreigners, gays, and were they likely to have a great-grandchild any time soon). Obviously none of the passengers had been as forward as her own grandmother - thank God - but it was an exercise she found just as tiring. Several days into the cruise and a pattern was beginning emerge - Eat. Sleep. Work. Repeat.

After what felt like an age, Jen reached the end of the corridor, rode the crest of the next wave, and let herself lurch into the stairwell. She let herself be caught against the banister, and at once wished that she had not. God she was full! Unconsciously a hand dropped to her abdomen and massaged her sore bulge. Watching the clock tick down to the end of her shift had been agony, but having been released from her duties for the night her need had faded a shade or two. Now, however, it burned brightly again.

Jen considered herself to be a sensible girl, and was careful to moderate her drinking over the course of her shift. Experience had taught her that indiscretions could quickly get out of hand - one of her first cruises had seen her and another girl take their complimentary beers before their shift, which had led swiftly to crossed legs, red faces, and muttered excuses. There was no getting away from the length of the shifts though and while she was rarely "desperate" she was often in the "quite like a wee" stage.

The tight waistband of her uniform skirt cut painfully into her bladder with each step down to the crew deck. Two bunk beds, a mirror and a tiny TV were the amongst the few comforts on offer, but right now Jen had interest only in the cramped little toilet-cum-shower combination that stood in the corner of her cabin. Swallowing, she forced herself to not to rush on her way to her cabin, calmly popped her shoes and her bag away under the bunk, and then reached for the handle.

"Occupado!" rang out a shrill voice.

Jo. Fucking Jo. When it comes to roommates - you win some, you lose some. In this case, Jen felt that Jo fell distinctly into the later camp. In fairness there wasn't anything particularly horrible about her, she respected Jen's space and her things which is more than she could say for some of her previous roommates, but there was something about her manner and way of speaking that really grated, exacerbated by the cramped quarters, lack of privacy, and long hours for all involved. Fortunately their shifts kept them apart for most of the time, brief crossovers like this aside.

"What should I say?" Jen wondered, "Ok", "No problem", "Will you be long?", "Please hurry!".

No. None of those. They sound stupid. Something else. It's too late now - the pause has been too long. What would sound weirder, saying something now, or nothing at all? Ugh.

She flopped down on the bed, wincing again at the liquid sloshing around inside of her. Her uniform belt could now come off which helped a little, but her skirt had to stay on with Jo still in the cabin. Sitting up was making her need ever more pressing, and her aching shoulder were in agreement with the plan to let herself sink down onto her pillow.

"What the hell is taking that girl so long?"

She wanted desperately to hold herself, to rub and press herself gently as she often did at home when feeling particularly tired and lazy, but not with Jo about. Lying down had lessened the pressure to pee a little, but was doing nothing for the pressure to let herself nod off. She longed to pull off her clothes and stretch out under her duvet, but not yet. It felt like driving tired: head getting heavy, eyes slowly drooping, then catching and opening with a start! Both activities were pretty stupid, but at least now she risked only an accident in her sheets.

Must. Stay. Awake. Her head ached with the effort. She stretched and strained her muscles, squeezed her nails in to her skin, scrabbling desperately to hold onto consciousness. She dared not turn onto her side as she usually slept, as that would surely mean the end of it.

Suddenly came the flush, and then the click. Shit. "Did I fall asleep?". A cursory caress of her bum coupled with the lingering pressure from below confirmed that she had no worries on this occasion.

"See you later, alligator!" came the twang. Ugh.

Jen raised a hand in acknowledgment, and then was blissfully alone. Relief was at hand, if she could will herself to get up. Rolling onto her side, she then pushed herself into a sitting position - paused - and then pulled herself up via the bed frame. Too fast. Her vision dimmed and her limbs felt heavy. Her bladder sloshed again. Hanging from the bunk to keep herself upright, she leaked. Shit.

A drop. A single drop it felt like. It might not even have touched her knickers. She wanted to hold herself badly, but that would definitely make them wet. She let the motion of the ship throw her towards the bathroom, one staggered step at a time. Letting herself fall onto the handle, she leaked again.

Was that a leak, or was it a spurt? Either way, it was undeniable. Her knickers had definitely been wet now, the sheer cotton had no capacity for this. A drop rolled down the inside of her left thigh, tickling the back of her knee. With one final effort, Jen pushed open the door, yanked down her skirt and knickers, and fell onto the toilet.

Hiss.

The relief was immediate. It was as if every muscle in her body relaxed at once, and she sank down onto her thighs, head lolling upon her knees. Lacking the energy to push, she merely let nature run its course. A burning hot river was running between her legs, her bum felt warm, and spray flecked her calves.

"Oh bollocks - the seat!" said something deep in her brain, but Jen was beyond caring, focused now only on her relief and the delightful warmth that was now enveloping her toes.  What did it matter in the all-in-one cubicle anyway? Besides, now she definitely needed a shower before bed...

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So there we go. I cheated a little on the time front and the structure/balance is pretty poor but I guess that is to be expected given the challenge. I have at least succeeded in writing on a topic that is not usual for me, but most importantly have actually managed to write and post some fiction on Omo.org. Thank you very much for the challenge Katy ?

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On 1/13/2019 at 2:46 PM, DrBorderline said:

(1-6-2. I accept your challenge, d6.)

(Slight variation on the setting but I hope it still qualifies.)

We nearly rolled the same! The settings are really just prompts, anything qualifies ? Loved the story!

 

On 1/13/2019 at 8:59 PM, Ranpalan said:

Sounds good.  I'll replace "1. You, exactly you" with "1. Your last partner" for privacy's sake.  Also, just a suggestion, maybe replace "waitress" with "waiter/waitress"?  The rest are all non-gender-specific.

You know I actually nearly put "your last partner" in there. But then I was like, "actually *I* don't want to write that one!" I totally encourage that substitution. Actress was gendered as well. Without getting into a OT discussion I personally find writing "male noun/female noun" unwieldy and resent male terms being the default otherwise. People should defo pick whatever gender that prefer to write, or maybe flip a coin if they don't mind overly! 

It was really cool how you tied in both the space and cruise ship prompts. ?

On 1/26/2019 at 10:22 PM, remos6 said:

I had 2, 3, and 1, so that's an exhausted waitress, on a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean, just making it. Nor what I would typically go for, but not beyond the realms of possibility.

So there we go. I cheated a little on the time front and the structure/balance is pretty poor but I guess that is to be expected given the challenge. I have at least succeeded in writing on a topic that is not usual for me, but most importantly have actually managed to write and post some fiction on Omo.org. Thank you very much for the challenge Katy ?

It's pretty hard to get structure right in half an hour! Or how ever long ? Glad inspired you to write a story. I liked it a lot!

 

Also! For anyone else reading this, the stories have been great so far from everyone but don't let the super high bar put you off from writing and posting your own story. This sort of thing is really good practice and it's lower pressure that writing a stand-alone story. If you've got half an hour and any interest in writing I'd love to read what you've got. ? 

Now I'll roll up another one of my own...

***

"Are you ready?" I ask. My cameraman gives me the "I'm definitely not ready" signal with one hand. 

"For fucks sake Carlene... We only have a few minutes!" I snap irritably. 

I'm not really sure what's happening in a few minutes, only that it only happens every few hundred years. I can read my feed I don't need to know about space stuff. The words are all prepared for me by one of the writers back in Toronto. There wasn't even a good reason for the station to send me and Carlene up into orbit, we could have green-screened it. But it's not like it's a huge deal anymore. So here I am. In space. Doing a report on a... comet? Something is transiting something. Whatever. I'm well aware I got this assignment because I'm pretty, instead of something important. Also... I need to pee super badly. So I really want the meteor to do its thing so I can go to the restroom already.

The main viewing window is packed with people. But that doesn't matter, we actually want the crowd to be the backdrop for the shot. There'll be other feeds showing... the sun..? the moon? In glorious 16K. I'm commenting on the fact that hundreds of people actually went into space for a slightly better view of whatever is meant to be happening. And possibly pissing myself live on the air.

I drink too much coffee. I'm not going to lie, it's got me in trouble before. My bladder isn't the best. But I'm good at keeping it together so people don't notice.

Carlene throws me the "ten seconds" signal with visible relief on her face as she must have established the hookup. I immediately queue up my part on my feed. I can see the little "critically overfull bladder" icon flashing in the top right. I minimize it because I do not need the reminder.

The piece goes well. I pronounce everything perfectly and the people at the window get all excited at the right time. I guess the thing happened. Also I didn't pee my pants with three and a half million viewers watching live. I'm pretty sure no one would have even noticed I'm pretty much about to. Pee my pants that is.

"We done?" I ask. There better not be some sort of follow up I didn't remember. But to my relief Carlene is folding away her equipment.

"All done. Good copy. We are on the first shuttle back but want a coffee?"

"Yep. Restroom first though!" I reply and race off before Carlene has time to say anything else. And more importantly before anyone near the window has time to beat me to the ladies room. I'm not going to make it if I have to wait in a queue.

Thankfully the "Welcome to Bleeker" app has real time mapping software and I can just follow it to the nearest restrooms. I'm terrible at navigating on my own. Even more thankfully while I'm not the only person needing a post "rare astronomical event" pee I've got there quick enough there is a vacant stall. I move quickly and get my panties down just in time to use the toilet properly and not all over the tiled floor. 

I tidy myself up, wash my hands and go to see if Carlene has my coffee yet.

Went to space. Filed a stupid story. Didn't pee my pants. 7/10 day I'd say. 

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10 hours ago, WaityKaty said:

Without getting into a OT discussion I personally find writing "male noun/female noun" unwieldy and resent male terms being the default otherwise. People should defo pick whatever gender that prefer to write, or maybe flip a coin if they don't mind overly! 

Fun fact: Actress is a very recent term. It used to be that both male and female actors were just called actors. The word actress was introduced because someone thought female actors were somehow different from male ones. Most theatre people don't operate with the word actress. /off topic

 

Definitely doing this exercise when I get the chance! ? 

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  • 2 weeks later...

Although it was tempting to re-roll, I promised myself not to cheat, otherwise it wouldn't be too much of a challenge. I have to admit that I missed the 30 minute deadline by 15 minutes though, so I cheated a little bit after all, but I wanted to finish the story. Maybe I'll do better next time. My rolls were 4-3-3 (A tipsy actress on a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean.)

- - -

“So let’s talk about your costume. Throughout the movie, your appearance constantly changes like a chameleon. It’s incredible, is it all CGI, or did you switch outfits all the time? I mean, it must have cost a fortune either way!”

“Well Pence, it is incredible. Actually, i was wearing the same ensemble for the entire duration of the filming days. The lead costume designer had created this white bodysuit with black dots and stripes at specific points, so that the software the CGI guys were working with could track my entire body. It’s an amazing technique, but it was very demanding for both me and my costumier; any button or zipper could not be filtered by the software, so my suit had to be sewn around my body every filming day.”

“So for example, if you had to go to the bathroom, it had to be unstitched, and stitched again for the next scene?”

“Yeah, basically - my costumier had to be by my side for the entire day…”

“... but one time, she wasn’t - or so I’ve heard. Is the rumour right, did you really pee your pants on the set?”

“I’m afraid I did, Pence. It was an unscheduled filming day on the cruise ship, and the team had to work on their day off, the day after my birthday. I had celebrated until deep in the morning, but my assistant woke me up and told me I had to be at the set to shoot a few scenes that didn’t work out the day before. We were on a tight schedule, and although I felt tipsy from the night before, it had to be done. So I chugged down a good amount of water to sober up…”

“I can see where this is going, but please, tell us more.

“Well, I did not see where it would go at first - the costumier had sewn my bodysuit together rather quickly and it was just one scene, so it all went pretty smooth, actually. Near the end of the last take, I had to pee just a little bit, but not that bad. Seven on a scale or ten, or something like that.”

“But then, your costumier was nowhere to be found…”

“Yes, Pence, apparently the lead producer had mistakenly told her that she wasn’t needed anymore until noon, so she had left us - for a spa appointment, we found out later. I wasn’t worried at first, but then they told me that she could not be found anywhere. I sent out my assistant to look for her, but on this big cruise ship it was like finding a needle in a haystack.”

‘Couldn’t another tailor unsew the bodysuit?”

“No, it was an expensive piece, and if the stitches were undone the wrong way, it would be impossible to do them right again, messing up the entire system. So I knew I just had to cross my legs and hope that my assistant would find my costumier soon.”

“So all that water around you, and you couldn’t pee.”

“Yes, it was so frustrating! Right when I thought I couldn’t possibly hold it any longer, my assistant announced the costumiers presence, and then followed the hardest part; I had to sit still while she undid the stitches. I pressed my hands between my legs and tried to remain calm, but my bladder was pounding inside me, I thought it was going to explode!”

“And then you couldn’t hold the flood back any longer.”

“I could, at first. The costumier had unsewn my bodysuit down my waist, so it was just a matter of pulling the suit down my legs and run towards the bathroom. I joyfully jumped up to do so, but then something broke inside me, and I started peeing uncontrollably in my suit that was still hanging around my hips. It felt amazing to let it all go, Pence, but the rest of my team was watching me as I did, so…”

“Well, wow, thanks for sharing. Now, on another topic…”
 

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  • 3 months later...
On 1/30/2019 at 3:16 PM, WaityKaty said:

We nearly rolled the same! The settings are really just prompts, anything qualifies ? Loved the story!

 

You know I actually nearly put "your last partner" in there. But then I was like, "actually *I* don't want to write that one!" I totally encourage that substitution. Actress was gendered as well. Without getting into a OT discussion I personally find writing "male noun/female noun" unwieldy and resent male terms being the default otherwise. People should defo pick whatever gender that prefer to write, or maybe flip a coin if they don't mind overly! 

It was really cool how you tied in both the space and cruise ship prompts. ?

It's pretty hard to get structure right in half an hour! Or how ever long ? Glad inspired you to write a story. I liked it a lot!

It's been a fair while since we've been fortunate enough to enjoy your writing Katy. Hopefully just a lack of time, motivation, or a new plot idea to pique interest, rather than being symptomatic of something outside the little bubble of this community. I'm one to talk - if I recall, the gap between the story I wrote for this thread and my previous is in the region of 5 years... Here's hoping that the right circumstances and perhaps inspiration come again soon 🙂

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14 hours ago, remos6 said:

It's been a fair while since we've been fortunate enough to enjoy your writing Katy. Hopefully just a lack of time, motivation, or a new plot idea to pique interest, rather than being symptomatic of something outside the little bubble of this community. I'm one to talk - if I recall, the gap between the story I wrote for this thread and my previous is in the region of 5 years... Here's hoping that the right circumstances and perhaps inspiration come again soon 🙂

Mostly time Remos6 :) I’m actually doing really well! However, I’ve been pretty morning sick lately and I have a toddler and a job! *And* I’m getting my floors redone so I’m up every night trying to pack stuff after family has gone to sleep! Busy! I’ve only logged on here a couple of times in the last few months (shear chance it’s been 14hrs since your comment).

I have a list of ideas I want to write. Not sure when I’ll get the chance though. An uniterupted hour isn’t really a thing for me atm :p Which is a bit frustrating! 

But thanks for checking up on me :) 

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6 hours ago, WaityKaty said:

Mostly time Remos6 :) I’m actually doing really well! However, I’ve been pretty morning sick lately and I have a toddler and a job! *And* I’m getting my floors redone so I’m up every night trying to pack stuff after family has gone to sleep! Busy! I’ve only logged on here a couple of times in the last few months (shear chance it’s been 14hrs since your comment).

I have a list of ideas I want to write. Not sure when I’ll get the chance though. An uniterupted hour isn’t really a thing for me atm 😛 Which is a bit frustrating! 

But thanks for checking up on me 🙂

You're very welcome - busyness is an affliction I'm happy to empathise with 🙂

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  • 4 weeks later...

This is a great idea. Tried this yesterday morning before everyone was up. I gave myself a few minutes to plan an outline, and overran by a few minutes. This isn't something I'd ever imagined before yesterday, but I'm pleased

My rolls were:

Character: 4 - A tipsy actress
Setting: 2 - A space station during a rare astronomical event

Climax: 

Spoiler

2 - "Private accidental wetting"

8:40 start

Sarah was aboard the Heart of Silver to witness the Yellow Fires of Flowing, a rare event said to inspire great need and passion among those who saw it. Normally she couldn't afford to attend such an exclusive event, but her theatre troupe had been booked as part of the pre-show entertainment. The performance went better than expected, and Sarah was now free to enjoy the rest of her evening.

Sarah was nervous. The nature of the event meant that the great and good (and, to be honest, the not so good) herein attendance. A simple country girl from a backwater rock, she had never felt so out of place. Still, part of her compensation for the evening was a card with unlimited drinks tokens, and Sarah had never seen such a vast array of exotic cocktails. She had several drinks while she waited for the event to start.

Before long, Sarah realised she needed to use the facilities. She glanced at her digital watch and saw that she only had 15 minutes before the Fires were due to begin (and one of the great mysteries of the fires was their regularity). She headed towards the toilets, but was then horrified to see that seemingly every other female aboard had had the same good idea. The line was out of the door and spilling into the observation deck outside. Sarah did the sums and realised there was no way they'd all get through in time. There was no way she was going to miss this - the Fires would not flow again within her lifetime. She considered going back to the private facilities in her quarters, but they were on the far side of the ship and did not have windows, so she'd miss the event for sure that way.

There was nothing for it. She was going to have to hold it until after the show.

One advantage of the line for the facilities was that there was more space on the viewing deck. Sarah was able to find a good spot, and rubbed her thighs together while she waited the last few minutes for the show to begin.

And then the Fires began, and Sarah was lost in their indescribable beauty. They seemed to be speaking to her, and only to her. The rest of the deck faded out - there was only her and the Fires now. She stood transfixed, not noticing that one hand, and then her other, drifted to her crotch to hold herself. Not noticing that she was bobbing up and down, breasts heaving. The Fires were too captivating for her to realise just how badly she needed a wee.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours. None present could say for sure.

And then, as quickly as they started, the Fires receded. Sarah came out of her trance, and was embarrassed to realise she was holing herself, and then she realised that she was absolutely busting for a wee. She ran towards the bathrooms, but if anything, the line was now even longer than before. There was nothing for it - she was going to have to head back to her quarters.

Thankfully the rest ship was deserted, so Sarah was able to make good progress, and was free to hold herself in a most un-ladylike manner. She made it to her quarters, and struggled for a few moments with the keycard, before gaining access and closing the door behind her.

She could do no more. Panting slightly, she parted her legs and leaned back as she began to wee forcefully into her undergarments. She closed her eyes and sighed softly as her release overtook her.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours. Sarah could not say for sure.

At last, she finished her wee, and slid down the door into her puddle. Almost spent, she felt a deep passion stirring within her. And then she remembered the toy that had been placed into the complementary gift bag. She'd giggled when she saw it the first time, but she wasn't giggling now. Ripping off her knickers, she plunged the toy into her with one hand with furiously rubbing her clit with the other, reliving the Fires once more.

9:14 finish

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  • 1 year later...

(6-5-5, starting at 2:55 with the intent to post at 3:25 exactly)
"Go left here. LEFT!"


The aching old car sputtered around a corner, trading a dirt travel for packed gravel. Christy wished she'd just done this on her own but her boss insisted she not do this on her own. Generally when somebody dumps a body they don't stick around to also kill whoever else shows up, she thought. 

Her newspaper had gotten a call from a blocked number, with a mysterious voice on the other end that said there was a dead body on the side of a creek inside the national park. Christy had practically grown up in the park and couldn't believe what she was hearing.

It was an intern who had taken the call and the poor girl frantically flagged down the editor to listen in. Once Christy heard the details, she immediately volunteered to take a trip out and see what was going on. Of course, her editor had called the police to inform them of what was going on, but she wanted to beat them there. It's not like she was going to touch anything, but she'd be able to get a much better picture if she was able to get there before they taped off the area and made her wait 100 feet away.

So she raced off along with the intern, and about two minutes into the drive Christy remembered what she was about to do when the call came in: use the bathroom. The excitement of the pursuit and the possible story were fueling her body more than any cup of coffee could ever do, but then again, she had also had three cups and hadn't yet taken a pee break that day. 


The intern, Becky, drove the car into the park while Christy shot b-roll footage out the window that they could use for a story on the website. But now she was wishing she had driven, because she knew the park and the trails way better. She would've had time to stop and pee and would still be ahead of where Becky was.


"Come on, I think I hear a siren! We have to get there first!"


She hadn't meant to sound that urgent, but the pressure in her bladder was increasing quickly and it was more than irritating. This potentially huge story was unfolding and she was thinking more and more about her stretched-out bladder.


"I'm trying, this road sucks!" Becky complained. It was a valid point, with all the dust being kicked up it probably wasn't a great idea to speed.
 

"Just... keep going, this road just runs parallel to the creek. Once it splits, stay to the right and stop at the cutout that's like a mile after."
Christy ended the video on her phone and with a moment of nothing to do felt the urge to pee REALLY hit hard. She squeezed her muscles tight and tried to distract herself with something else on her phone but the horse was already out of the barn. She had to pee BAD.


Becky finally got the car parked and Christy jumped out, running over to where she knew the mysterious voice had described. She kept an ear out for the siren she thought she'd heard but all quiet, but even still she couldn't slow her gait down. She was feeling the rush of the story, to be sure, but more importantly her bladder wasn't giving her the opportunity to stand still.


She ran best she could along the trail, keeping a tight hold on her bladder. Years of soccer in high school with the intense tournaments where one game started as soon as the last one ended had trained her on how to run with an overflowing bladder. 

She finally reached the egde of a small ravine, looked down, and gasped. Sitting stop a pile of leaves was a black bag, exactly as the mysterious caller had said. Prancing on the spot in a nervous thrill, she turned. Becky was lagging far behind, carrying the equipment.


"Hurry the fuck up!" Christy shouted to her. She took some pictures with her phone but she really needed the camera to get one that would be good enough to run in the paper. Finally the intern caught up and Christy ripped the bag from her hand, unpacking the camera.


"Holy shit, holy shit," she said to herself as she snapped photos of the scene. She heard the sirens, this time for real. Her time to shoot the scene was running out, and her need to pee was growing more and more intense.


A wave of desperate pressure hit, and she dropped the camera as she used one hand to hold her pussy. "Get the fucking camera and come on," she ordered Becky. "If they catch us here they can make us hand this shit over."


The sirens got louder as they drew closer, so Christy cut down a different trail. Her bladder was absolutely bursting, so she knew it was time to apply another lesson she'd learned from those earlier years: how to pee your pants while running. She eased off the pressure just enough to start it coming out. Not the violent, hissing flow of a defeated bladder but the measured, steady flow of pure relief. Maybe she could have held on another few minutes, maybe not. She took a glance over her shoulder and saw the intern keeping pretty good pace, so Christy kept running.
She felt the warm pee soak into her underwear and run down her legs. She was used to doing this in her soccer uniform where could blend the pee into the sweat, but she figured the skirt she was wearing would provide enough coverage.


The trickle continued down her legs, the hot yellow pee glistening like the water in the creek. Christy let out a satisfied sigh as she felt her bladder empty out. Finally she came to a stop, safe from the sound of the sirens. She used her hand to wipe off her legs best she could, though some drops kept falling anyway. As she waited for the intern to catch up, she took a long breath in and focused in on the thrill of the narrow escape to go along with the delightfully warm fabric sticking to her beneath the skirt.
(Went 5 minutes over, not bad)

Edited by TrailRunner (see edit history)
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I rolled 3, 3. So, a frustrated scientist aboard a big ol ship. Not sharing the climax.

11:12 start

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lena stands, frustrated, in front of a bunch of fishtanks. Aboard the S.S. Darwin, because the commissioner couldn't think of a more clever name for a biology research cruiser, she's attempting to learn more about Tracheloraphis, a rare organism that few people have been able to truly understand. She stares into a microscope, trying to find even one that's still alive.

Lena had been there for many hours, stuck in the lab, alone, trying to find literally anything about this thing, such as how it eats and reproduces. By now, her bladder is quite distended, enough that by now she would be rushing off to the bathroom, but work is over in five minutes. She can do one cursory search and then just rush off to the ladies' room.

Wearing a pair of baggy brown slacks and a white lab coat, along with her choppy butch haircut, Lena is more masculine than other women who work in her field. Because of this, some of the guys think she's particularly cool, or at least the decent ones do. But today, she's working overtime, late at night, and nobody is around to really see. After all, she's just filming the slide of a microscope for a while and then just cleaning up to head off for the day.

The time approaches 7:50, and Lena begins to finish up her cursory search before she heads to her quarters; at this point, her bladder is absolutely bursting, But, at the absolute WORST possible time, she sees something- It looks kind of like an X, with four long spindly fibers; the two that point down appear to have some sort of mouth parts. In addition, many strings can be seen inside the fibers, which are clearly chromosomes. In this moment, Lena has found it: She's watching a Tracheloraphis divide! It's undergoing cytokinesis! This is stupendous news, nobody has ever seen Tracheloraphis divide before.

Suddenly trapped there, Lena zooms in towards the dividing zone, but even still, her bladder is protesting like mad. Even still, she stays, fixed on this beautiful shot; she stays there for twenty minutes, filming every last detail, as her aching, bulging bladder becomes intolerable. But finally, the two halves split, and the worms gently glide across the slide, now their own people.

Finally free, Lena quickly cleans up and runs back to her quarters from the science deck, gripping herself between her legs with an iron fist. Even still, as she runs, she begins to leak, as the piss inside her bladder begins to force itself past her weakened muscles. Finally, after several seconds of fumbling with the keys, Lena runs into her room and shuts the door; long before she could have gotten onto the toilet, she falls down right then and there as her bladder begins to violently gush out hot piss into the seat of her pants, forming a large puddle between her legs and a loud hsssssss sound that reverberates through the room.

It takes a full minute and a half for Lena's bladder to empty itself; when it does, Lena slumps over, struggling to push herself up after so strongly gushing out piss. She sloppily removes her pants and undies, finally resting on her bed.

Whew... what a long day.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

11:43 finish (CRIES!!!!!!!!!!! this feels so rushed but it was a really good exercise even if i basically failed... aaaaaaa)

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  • 2 weeks later...

2-6-?: An exhausted waitress on a party with no one that she knows, not telling the climax just yet.

- - -

“Miss Taylor?”

I nodded and followed the security guard into the dark backroom. A younger girl, wearing tight grey dress pants - following the same briefing as the one I had received earlier - was putting on a white shirt, and I was instructed to do the same. I hadn’t waitressed in years after quitting my Hooters girl gig, but I needed the money, and the offering seemed promising. Just three hours of work, and five times the usual pay - it definitely sounded like an escort job, but I was explicitly promised that it involved no sexual activity of any sorts. I had decided to take the bait, along with another girl. After preparing ourselves, the guard went over the ground rules again.

“Three hours of work, the clock is now ticking. No sexual moves, no breaks.”

The job was even better than promised. The clientele that we were serving were rich Russian businessmen, all neatly dressed in costume, enjoying an exclusive party. Hauling expensive bottles of champagne around was exhausting, but although I couldn’t understand a thing they said, they were very nice to me, frequently tipping me good extra money and offering me drinks. This place was a goldmine. None of them tried to grab my ass, not a single one even stared at my bosom - I wondered what were they paying us so much for?

The given drinks were fueling my bladder, and at the two hour mark, I could no longer ignore the signals nagging my brain; I really had to pee. I decided to make use of a calm moment, and swiftly headed towards the bathroom - I had noticed in the corner of my eye that the other waitress had also done the same thing fifteen minutes ago. But, much to my surprise, I was stopped by the security guard.

“No breaks, or no money.”

I nodded, turned around, saw the other waitress pressing her thighs together, and suddenly understood what the exuberant pay was for. It was a power thing. These rich guys did not care for paying a woman for sex, no, they craved for power. Power to control the most basic right a woman had, which was to relieve her bladder whenever she needed to. More money, more power. Suddenly I noticed many of them staring at me; my intention to visit the bathroom hadn’t gone unattended. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed that they were placing bets - were they betting on which waitress would soak her pants first? One thing was for sure; for me, the next hour would be a long one.

I deliberately stopped looking at the clock from that moment, knowing that it would only make me nervous, but I soon noticed that the other younger waitress wasn’t in great shape, crossing her legs and even pressing her hand between her thighs once. Had she accepted more tips and drinks more than me, did she have a smaller bladder, or was she just putting on a show for the power-hungry crowd, I did not know. I didn’t think too much of it; I had my own game to play, and it was getting harder by the minute. Soon, I was crossing legs myself, although I had promised myself not to do that too soon. My bladder was bulging against the waistband, screaming for relief, making it hard for me to focus on my job which was to haul more magnum bottles around. It was exhausting, both mentally and physically, but the prospect of the payout at the end was keeping me on my trembling legs. 

As I was filling up some champagne glasses, there was a cheer amongst the crowd, and I looked up to see the young waitress helplessly standing in the middle of the room, doubled over, hands pressed between her locked legs. For once, I looked at the clock. Fifteen minutes. Or she was putting on a show, or she wouldn’t make it. Slowly, she raised her torso, but then doubled down again, the back of her grey dress pants darkening. I looked away, because my bladder was crying in sympathy.

The last quarter was excruciating. Fueled by the sight of a woman who had soaked her pants in plain sight, the Russians offered me more money and drinks, determined to repeat the outcome. I took them all, hoping that the champagne wouldn’t travel down too fast. I was holding myself constantly, taking very small steps, hardly serving anything anymore, but no-one seemed to mind - it wasn’t against the rules of the game, I suppose.

Against all odds, I held on, somehow, the painkilling effect of alcohol helping me just enough to endure, and I pranced towards the backroom, where the employee bathroom was that I had used three hours ago, the bathroom that I so badly needed, the one that I deserved. Once the door closed behind me, I unbuttoned my pants and jammed my fingers against my privates, who were moist with sweat, but not a drop of urine had escaped my bladder. I stood there for a few seconds, heavily breathing, before I buttoned my pants again, the waistband of my pants hurting me, feeling like a knife slicing through me. I collected my envelope full of hard deserved cash, and then walked into the party area again, painfully smiling to show confidence. In reality, my control was slipping, my bladder unable to grasp why I didn’t use the bathroom, or the alley behind the back door. A leak bursted into my silk underwear, but I kept my composure, grinning, making sure anyone in the room spotted me. The second leak made me doubt my decision to walk in again; I simply couldn’t hold it all back anymore. Tears were welling up in my eyes, realising that I was slowly peeing my panties, but when I looked down while opening the front door, I realised that the grey dress pants were still spotless - mission accomplished. I pulled the door shut behind me, shuddering, and relaxed my muscles, darkening my pants instantly with an explosive burst. I gasped for air and smiled.

I decide when I pee my pants - it’s a power thing.

- - -

Note from the author: I have to admit - this definitely wasn’t 30 minutes. Double that, and that’s not even counting the time that I was using the online translator. I blame it on my rusty writing skills. Sorry I cheated somewhat (again).

Link to post
2 minutes ago, Flush said:

2-6-?: An exhausted waitress on a party with no one that she knows, not telling the climax just yet.

- - -

“Miss Taylor?”

I nodded and followed the security guard into the dark backroom. A younger girl, wearing tight grey dress pants - following the same briefing as the one I had received earlier - was putting on a white shirt, and I was instructed to do the same. I hadn’t waitressed in years after quitting my Hooters girl gig, but I needed the money, and the offering seemed promising. Just three hours of work, and five times the usual pay - it definitely sounded like an escort job, but I was explicitly promised that it involved no sexual activity of any sorts. I had decided to take the bait, along with another girl. After preparing ourselves, the guard went over the ground rules again.

“Three hours of work, the clock is now ticking. No sexual moves, no breaks.”

The job was even better than promised. The clientele that we were serving were rich Russian businessmen, all neatly dressed in costume, enjoying an exclusive party. Hauling expensive bottles of champagne around was exhausting, but although I couldn’t understand a thing they said, they were very nice to me, frequently tipping me good extra money and offering me drinks. This place was a goldmine. None of them tried to grab my ass, not a single one even stared at my bosom - I wondered what were they paying us so much for?

The given drinks were fueling my bladder, and at the two hour mark, I could no longer ignore the signals nagging my brain; I really had to pee. I decided to make use of a calm moment, and swiftly headed towards the bathroom - I had noticed in the corner of my eye that the other waitress had also done the same thing fifteen minutes ago. But, much to my surprise, I was stopped by the security guard.

“No breaks, or no money.”

I nodded, turned around, saw the other waitress pressing her thighs together, and suddenly understood what the exuberant pay was for. It was a power thing. These rich guys did not care for paying a woman for sex, no, they craved for power. Power to control the most basic right a woman had, which was to relieve her bladder whenever she needed to. More money, more power. Suddenly I noticed many of them staring at me; my intention to visit the bathroom hadn’t gone unattended. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed that they were placing bets - were they betting on which waitress would soak her pants first? One thing was for sure; for me, the next hour would be a long one.

I deliberately stopped looking at the clock from that moment, knowing that it would only make me nervous, but I soon noticed that the other younger waitress wasn’t in great shape, crossing her legs and even pressing her hand between her thighs once. Had she accepted more tips and drinks more than me, did she have a smaller bladder, or was she just putting on a show for the power-hungry crowd, I did not know. I didn’t think too much of it; I had my own game to play, and it was getting harder by the minute. Soon, I was crossing legs myself, although I had promised myself not to do that too soon. My bladder was bulging against the waistband, screaming for relief, making it hard for me to focus on my job which was to haul more magnum bottles around. It was exhausting, both mentally and physically, but the prospect of the payout at the end was keeping me on my trembling legs. 

As I was filling up some champagne glasses, there was a cheer amongst the crowd, and I looked up to see the young waitress helplessly standing in the middle of the room, doubled over, hands pressed between her locked legs. For once, I looked at the clock. Fifteen minutes. Or she was putting on a show, or she wouldn’t make it. Slowly, she raised her torso, but then doubled down again, the back of her grey dress pants darkening. I looked away, because my bladder was crying in sympathy.

The last quarter was excruciating. Fueled by the sight of a woman who had soaked her pants in plain sight, the Russians offered me more money and drinks, determined to repeat the outcome. I took them all, hoping that the champagne wouldn’t travel down too fast. I was holding myself constantly, taking very small steps, hardly serving anything anymore, but no-one seemed to mind - it wasn’t against the rules of the game, I suppose.

Against all odds, I held on, somehow, the painkilling effect of alcohol helping me just enough to endure, and I pranced towards the backroom, where the employee bathroom was that I had used three hours ago, the bathroom that I so badly needed, the one that I deserved. Once the door closed behind me, I unbuttoned my pants and jammed my fingers against my privates, who were moist with sweat, but not a drop of urine had escaped my bladder. I stood there for a few seconds, heavily breathing, before I buttoned my pants again, the waistband of my pants hurting me, feeling like a knife slicing through me. I collected my envelope full of hard deserved cash, and then walked into the party area again, painfully smiling to show confidence. In reality, my control was slipping, my bladder unable to grasp why I didn’t use the bathroom, or the alley behind the back door. A leak bursted into my silk underwear, but I kept my composure, grinning, making sure anyone in the room spotted me. The second leak made me doubt my decision to walk in again; I simply couldn’t hold it all back anymore. Tears were welling up in my eyes, realising that I was slowly peeing my panties, but when I looked down while opening the front door, I realised that the grey dress pants were still spotless - mission accomplished. I pulled the door shut behind me, shuddering, and relaxed my muscles, darkening my pants instantly with an explosive burst. I gasped for air and smiled.

I decide when I pee my pants - it’s a power thing.

- - -

Note from the author: I have to admit - this definitely wasn’t 30 minutes. Double that, and that’s not even counting the time that I was using the online translator. I blame it on my rusty writing skills. Sorry I cheated somewhat (again).

Oh, please, Flush, your writing is just as incredible as ever XD

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(I got 2,2,3. So it’s a story about an exhausted waitress in a small town during a thunderstorm (private accidental wetting )

Lizzie was taking the last peoples orders , wishing that she could go to bathroom . She had been working almost all day and her bladder was aching for release . She grabbed some plates of food and went over to the table that ordered it . As she was serving it ,  a wave of desperation washed  over her , and she felt a small dribble dampen her underwear . She quickly finished serving them and leaned against the counter , almost in tears . She looked at the clock . “It’s only 5 more minutes till my shift ends , I’ll make it , I’ll make it .” She tried to reassure herself even though she knew she probably wouldn’t make it . 

                                                                        2 minutes later 

she finally finished serving the last of the customers , and she was allowed to go home early . She grabbed her coat and umbrella and started to walk home .n A flash of lighting and thunder made her jump and slough she tried to stop herself ,  dribbles ran down her thigh. She stopped for a second . leaning on a lamppost  , wishing she had taken a bus . The rain was making her even Moreno desperate Andy couldn’t bear the sound of it splashing onto the sidewalk.

30 minutes later , she finally got home and fiddled with the buttons on her coat . She finally got it undone and immediately ran to the bathroom and unlocked the door . She ran in , trying to take her work uniform off. “No , no no!” She said , as it wouldn’t come off. Tears formed in her eyes as she looked at the toilet . She was right next to the toilet , yet she couldn’t use it . She leaned on the wall holding her crotch as hard as she could , but she still started to dribble again and kept trying to get her uniform off . After a few minutes , a long spurt made a wet spot form on her uniform . She kept leaking and after a while she couldn’t hold it anymore And let the pee run out of her and wet her socks as it puddled under her. 

I know it’s bad , I haven’t done many stories 😅

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