satyr 1,314 Posted December 1, 2019 Popular Post Share Posted December 1, 2019 I wake up with a jolt to discover two things: I need to pee, urgently, and the car isn’t moving. Behind and in front of us and all around us are cars at a standstill. My bladder is on fire—I must have slept through that rest stop where I was planning to pee. I cross my legs and try to put my mind off of it. Can you really blame me for falling asleep? We’d been at a concert the day before, all of us in a state of chemical, euphoric haze, and barely slept. My throat was parched when I woke up and I’d downed a “repair beer” and a bottle of water. Now, I’m far too sober and all too aware. I kind of wish I’d been drunk and skunked out of my mind, then I might have just let go and not even noticed. “Hey Alex, w-why aren’t we moving?” I ask. My voice breaks and I hate it. I’m in the back seat alone. She’s in front with my other mate Mark. “Don’t know, munchkin,” she says, all sweet. It’s an affectionate nickname and normally I enjoy it, but for some reason it grinds my gears today. I grit my teeth, bite my cheek to take some of the sting out my bladder. “But we’ve been barely moving for the past hour. You were lights out so we just let you sleep.” I shift uncomfortably. I can feel my bladder digging into the waistband of my jeans. They were not ripped when I bought them, but sometime last night, they must have snagged on something, or maybe I just fell down. There’s a hole where the knee was supposed to be and dirt around my ankles. I’m twenty-eight and getting too old for this shit. “Why, something the matter?” Mark asks from the front seat. “I kind of have to pee,” I say meekly. “Scratch that, not kind of. I really, really need to piss quite badly.” “Aw,” Alex says. “We both peed at the rest stop but we just let you sleep through it. Sorry.” “I told you not to have that huge bottle of water,” Mark says. “Oh, fuck off,” I say. The situation is absurd. I give a weak chuckle. It’s one of those if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry situations. I give up on modesty and grip myself between the legs. Better that than piss my pants. Suddenly, the car moves forward. It’s all of five seconds before we’re at a standstill again, but it’s enough. I lean forward involuntarily as the car moves, and when it stops I slam back in my seat. As my butt hits the seat I feel a warmth between my legs. I grip furiously and manage to stem the flow, but my panties definitely feel wet. “It’s started,” I say weakly. “No, we just moved up one spot. Doesn’t look like we’re getting out of this anytime soon,” Alex says. “No, I mean I started… My bladder, I… I just peed myself a little.” “Please don’t pee in my seats,” Alex says. “I’m trying,” I say, gripping myself tighter and scissoring my legs. It feels like I’m packing a balloon in my abdomen ready to pop. “But I might not have a choice if this doesn’t let up. And it’s kind of your fault for not waking me up!” “Sorry,” Alex says again. She cranes her neck back to look at my sorry state, then shakes her head, seems to make up her mind, unbuckles her seat belt and crawls awkwardly between the front seats to sit with me. “Hey, what are you doing?” Mark calls out from the drivers’ seat. “Moral support,” Alex says. “My sister needs me.” She’s not really my sister, but I appreciate the sentiment. “Besides, it’s more for my own benefit than anything else. Can’t afford to have someone clean the piss stains out of the seats.” Scratch that, she’s definitely my sister, because only a sister would be so cruel. Alex yanks one of my hands out of my lap and squeezes it. It’s a supportive gesture, I suppose, but she seems unaware of the precarious grip I have on my bladder. As I let go of the furious squeeze between my legs, I lose it for a moment, and another trickle leaks out. It seeps slowly through my panties and into my jeans. I blush. I don’t dare look down until Alex says, “Oh my god, she just leaked!” and I see that there’s a small wet spot on my jeans. I struggle on for another quarter of an hour, but it’s really a losing struggle. Every few minutes, I’m wracked by a powerful spasm, and I squeeze, bite my lip, beg the heavens and lean forward, to no avail. A little leaks out, warming the cooling wetness between my legs. If it wasn’t so embarrassing, it would almost be pleasurable. The cool, clammy fabric, starting to get itchy and uncomfortable, suddenly warming up—combine that with the momentary relief and I’m getting flashbacks to last night’s high. Alex is alternatively whispering soothing words and begging me to not piss in her car as if I could just decide not to and just, not. It’s no use: by twenty minutes, there’s a dinner-plate sized wet spot on my pants, extending from my crotch halfway down my thighs towards my knees. My bum is damp and some must have soaked into the seat already. The pain is getting worse. We’re not moving. I’m stuck in my personal hell and, as a little more trickles out, warming my bum and between my legs, I lower my shoulders and reflect: It could be worse. Right? I could be having to deal with this forever, but it’s going to be over soon. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my lower back. It feels like somebody has just stuck a knee in my back and bent me on over it. I can’t handle this. I lean forwards and the pain gets worse, and I make a fateful decision: it’s gone on too long. With tears of pain in my eyes, I push, and I feel the urine rushing out. The pain abates, and I watch in morbid curiosity as some of the pee arcs up from the pressure, straight through my panties and jeans, a little fountain between my legs, puddling in my lap and rushing down—Alex: “Oh my god she’s peeing!”—damn right I’m peeing, bitch! One stream goes between my legs, soaking into the fabric of the seat, another goes down one of my thighs, creeping towards my soaks, which have up until now been blessedly spared of golden water. A third trickles down between my bum cheeks, and I don’t know if it’s just the relief or if there’s a perverted part of me I never knew about, but damn if it doesn’t feel good. I moan as the last of it trickles out, and now my entire lower half from the waistband to the knees, and under the butt, is soaking wet. It squelches in the seat as I move around, squirming like an echo of the previous half-hour’s struggle. The lower half of my shirt is wet. My panties are soaked, my jeans are ruined, the seat is ruined, and I’m free. Free of the pain and the struggle. I’m warm and wet and it’s all over. “It’s okay,” Alex says, trying to inject some warmth into her voice to hide the insincerity. Of course it’s not okay, but bless her for trying. I slump back in my seat and close my eyes. “I’m going back to sleep,” I say. I wake up with a jolt to discover two things: I need to pee, urgently, and the car isn’t moving. A powerful wave of deja vu hits me. I’ve been here before. Have you ever wished you could get a do-over? Go back in time thirty minutes to undo one of the worst mistakes of your life, now wiser and more mature? Perhaps this is one of those situations. Perhaps it was all just a bad dream. But I definitely need to pee, very badly. We’re definitely still stuck in a traffic jam. And what if you went back in time only to discover that there was nothing you could do to avoid your mistake? What if you were just stuck in a loop of error and misfortune, like it was all preordained? Better not to think like that. Be zen. I close my eyes, place my hands in my lap, and try to meditate. Mind over matter. There’s nothing your body will do that your mind doesn’t will to happen. Omomomomomomom… I repeat the mantra to myself like some goddamned Buddhist monk until I feel a wave of relief wash over me. My shoulders slink back, the pressure between my legs abates, my bum gets warm—wait. Shit, I’m peeing! I try to clamp it off, but my body’s gone soft and unresponsive and I can’t snap out of my zen-induced incontinence quite in time. I open my eyes and let out a little cry as I notice that my entire crotch is wet and there’s some pee on the seat. “What’s wrong?” Alex calls out from the front seat. “I really really need to pee and some just came out, that’s what’s wrong!” I yell. Alex takes a look back and her eyes linger on the shameful state of my crotch. “Oh dear,” she says. “I’m sorry, but I can’t...” I begin to say, and then it starts again. It’s like a faucet. It’s just like last time, in the bad dream. I can hold on until I leak enough that my crotch is covered in pee, but no more. It bursts out of my panties and starts soaking into my jeans. This time, it trickles all the way down to my right knee, and I feel warm droplets of urine grace the uncovered skin. It’s the knee with the rip. I close my eyes and try to shut out the confused yelling from Alex in the front. I’ve pissed myself again. I feel myself tearing up and let out a sob or two. This is so monumentally unfair. What cruel god would give me the chance again just to watch me fail twice over? I wake up with a jolt to discover two things. Fuck no. No, no, no. I’m back where I started, again. We’re still stuck, I’m still about to wet my pants like a little girl, and nothing’s changed. My heart is beating faster and faster, my hands are clammy, I leak, my panties are clammy, I’m panicking. This can’t be happening. The universe is malfunctioning. I’m stuck in a nightmare on repeat. I can’t deal. I just can’t. Without even thinking about it, I push, and the urine starts flowing again. I’m almost getting used to the curious warmth emanating from between my legs, nodding at the little squelch when my wet butt slides against the puddle underneath me, slowly soaking into the seat. I block out the confused yells from the front seat, like, check that, that happened again… Let’s just get this over with. I wake up with a jolt. Okay. Deep breath. I’ve seen Groundhog Day and Edge of Tomorrow. I know how this goes. The first couple go-arounds you just keep trying shit and it fails. Then you despair. Then you think rationally about it and find a solution. No time to spare. “I really need to pee and I’m not going to be able to hold it much longer,” I say. “You guys got, like, a bottle or something?” “I don’t know, munchkin, girls don’t really have the machinery to pee successfully into a bottle,” Alex says. “Can’t you just hold it?” “No, I bloody well can’t!” I say, grabbing my crotch to emphasize my plight. “It’s either a bottle or your seat, so if you got one and you know what’s good for you, you better hand it over!” Alex gives me a look of disapproval, but I hear her rummaging around and then she produces a one-liter bottle of ice tea. There’s a little left in the bottom, but she takes a sip to empty it, and she hands it over. I put the bottle on the seat beside me and start unbuttoning my pants, which causes me to leak a little into my panties, but I can deal with wet panties if I can spare the jeans. “Don’t look,” I say, and I know Mark’s too polite to sneak a peek, but I also know Alex can’t help herself. Not that she’s into me like that—we’ve seen each other nude plenty of times and I never got that vibe from her—but she’s an addict of gossip. If something juicy’s about to happen she wants front row seats. Besides, she’s my sister-from-another-mother-and-father. She won’t miss that time I pissed into a bottle on the highway because I just couldn’t hold it. I try to position the bottle correctly, pushing it awkwardly—I feel the cool plastic contact my lower lips in a not particularly pleasant way—and then, once I’m satisfied it’s as well positioned as it’s ever likely to be, I try to let go. It doesn’t start immediately. There are still lingering doubts in my mind about the soundness of this venture. But I’m too desperate for that to matter in the long run. I let go. It’s a disaster. For all of one second, my pee trickles into the bottle, but when it really gets going, it gets going everywhere. It hits the lip of the bottle and starts spraying, onto the floor, onto the seat, onto my jeans and between my legs. I’m too far gone to cut it off—Alex: “Noooo! I told you it wouldn’t work!”—and it keeps coming. By the end, I’ve soaked my panties, my jeans, the seat, the floor, the bottle… It’s on my hands, it’s dripping off the bottle, and maybe two shot-glasses worth of pee is actually sitting in the bottle. It’s faintly yellow. I wasn’t exactly dehydrated. My shirt is wet, my socks are damp, there’s a puddle on the seat and another one on the floor. I wake up. I’m back. Dry, desperate, and out of ideas. “I’m about to piss myself. Any ideas?” I’m way past caring what they think of me. They’ve seen me wet myself four times already, even if they don’t remember it. “Uh,” Mark says. “Oh, munchkin,” Alex says. “Screw it,” I say. “We’re not moving. I’m going to go on the side of the road. I don’t give a shit if someone sees me. It’s better than the alternative.” “I don’t know, munch,” Alex says. “That seems a little… Drastic? And, like, out of the blue? Can’t you just hold it a little bit longer?” “No, I can’t!” I’m frustrated. “Maybe a bottle or something?” “No, Alex, girls can’t pee in bottles. I’d need a funnel or something and I don’t have one. It’d go everywhere.” “Munchkin...” “Screw it,” I say. I unbuckle the seat belt and open the door. Mark and Alex are yelling at me but I don’t care. I jump out of the car and take a moment to appreciate the true gravity of the situation. There are cars standing still as far as I can see in both directions. We’re on an elevated highway and the horizon is all cars and blue sky and exhaust from idling cars. I don’t really have the time or inclination to admire the scenery, though. I squat down and hike down my pants and panties. At least my mom taught me how to piss in the open air. And those squats at the gym must have firmed up my buttocks and thighs, because it doesn’t even hurt. I close my eyes as the pee begins splattering on the ground beneath me. A little bit hits my ankles and shoes, but who cares? It’s still 99% less piss on my pants than any of the previous times. “Excuse me, miss, what are you doing?” A hoarse woman’s voice from behind me. And I was just getting going! Who would be so rude as to… I open my eyes, still squatting, trying to cut it off to a trickle, and see that it’s a woman sat in the white sedan behind us. It’s a civilian car, but she’s wearing a uniform. Shit, it’s a policewoman! I hurry to yank up my panties and pants, still peeing, and I can’t stop a trickle from creeping into my untouched panties, soaking into my jeans, down the inside of my thighs and a little up my butt crack. If I wasn’t so mortified, I’d take a moment to appreciate the novelty of wetting myself standing up. The policewoman, who looks to be around the age of my mother, just sits there, staring at me as I finish my accident. “Public urination is a misdemeanor, young lady,” she says. “Given the, ah, circumstances, I’ll let you off with a warning. But don’t let it repeat itself. Imagine if others saw you and decided to do the same! It’d be anarchy, pissing everywhere!” I’m not that concerned about accidentally unleashing a pee-copalypse. I spare a thought for the other ladies—and probably a few dudes as well—who must be in the same situation as me. Surely I’m not the only one who’s going to have an accident today. RIP. Rest in piss. I stifle a giggle, aware that the policewoman is still watching me. “T-thanks,” I stammer, then slink back into the car, wet and defeated. “Oh, munch, what happened?” Alex says. “Couldn’t get your pants down in time?” “There was a fucking cop in the car behind us,” I say. “I had to pull up my pants and I couldn’t stop in time. She let me off with a warning.” “No way,” Alex says. I wake. Well, peeing in the open isn’t going to work. But I have an idea. While I was outside, I noticed an emergency staircase leading down off the freeway two cars ahead of ours. And I think I saw a gas station on the level below, somewhere in the distance. “I really need to pee and it really can’t wait,” I say. “I’m gonna run off down that staircase and find a gas station, I think I saw one. You two pick me up once you get out of the jam. I’ll call you with directions.” “Uh, can’t you just hold it?” Mark asks. “No, I really can’t, trust me,” I say. I dash out of the car before I can hear any further objections. I’m off at a brisk trot, wary of the policewoman noticing any irregularities. The staircase is where I think it was, and I make my way down. It’s a little dizzying seeing how high up we are, and my heart catches in my throat when I look down, causing a little leak. No matter. I resolve not to look down and make my way down the staircase, switch-backing it to the ground. There is a gas station and a McDonald’s in the distance, but it looks to be quite far off. I walk gingerly, aware of any bumps in the side of the road by the little jolts it sends to my bladder. Ten minutes later and I’m still not there. Another wave of pressure hits me, and I cross my legs, doubled over. So close. It’s right there! I make my way to the gas station. There’s a WC sign on a door outside. I pull at the handle. Locked. Fuck! Another leak. I don’t dare to look but I think my pants are wet now. “Key at the counter,” a sign by the door reads. I hobble inside. “K-key!” I stammer, and my posture leaves little doubt as to the meaning of my cryptic announcement. A gangly teenage boy is behind the counter. He’s got pimples for days, but he’s looking at me with a mixture of concern and lust. I’m wearing a checkered shirt with a pocket over my left breast, which he’s no doubt noticed, judging by the angle of his gaze, and I’ve got my brown hair in a messy bun. I was all dolled up to party last night, but today I look like a wreck and I’m about to piss myself and this is what gets him going? Fucking hormones. I guess I can’t fault him if he can’t help it, but it is his choice whether or not to stare at my bust, which isn’t anything to write home about, especially not in a baggy shirt and no push-up. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s out of commission. But, ah, maybe I could let you sneak into the staff restroom.” What a gentleman. It’s too late for me, though. I hunch over as another wave of pressure hits my bladder, and urine starts pouring out. Two rivulets, almost perfectly synchronized, on either side of me, trickling down the insides of my thighs. It’s warm and wet and wonderful, in a way, but also horrifying. I’d almost enjoy the relief if this creep weren’t staring at me. “I’ll, uh, get the mop, so sorry,” he says, blushing. He’s blushing? Well, fuck me. I sit down on a bench outside and call Alex. Tell her where to pick me up and to have a change of clothes ready. “Oh, munch, I’m so sorry,” she says. I wake up. This time, there’s to be no mistakes. “I’m about to pee myself and it really can’t wait. I gotta run, there’s a gas station, I’ll call you to pick me up,” I say, very fast, and I’m out of the car before they can even protest. I run towards the staircase, make a point not to look down, and make my way down. Once I’m down there, I take a look around. A car passes by the road, but it’s a hundred paces away. I walk behind a pillar, squat down and pull down my pants and panties. Nobody around. Not Alex, or Mark, or Mrs. Police Grandma or Gangly Teenage Boner. I sigh in relief as the piss hits the gravel. Good thing about gravel, it doesn’t splatter as much as concrete or asphalt when you pee on it. A minute later, I’m relieved and, for seemingly the first time in forever, completely dry. Not a drop on my clothes. That this feels like a victory ought to concern me, but I’ll damn well savor it. Technically, in this timeline, I haven’t pissed myself once. Once I’ve redressed, I make my way over to the gas station. I give a wink to the boy at the counter and linger long enough to watch him blush, then I take the five-minute walk over to the McDonald’s and order a late lunch. Chicken nuggets and fries never tasted so good. I text Alex the directions and start up a game of Words with Friends on my phone. Get a coffee so the McDonald’s staff don’t kick me out, not that it’s in any way busy here. Just a middle-aged couple and a few local teens. I might have encountered the one time a fast-food joint is actually overstaffed. A full two hours later, I see a familiar car pull in. I’m on my third cup of coffee, but you damn well know I’m visiting the ladies’ room before we leave. Alex rushes in and only sends a nod in my direction before running off to the restrooms. Mark comes in at a more leisurely pace. He goes over to the counter and orders a Big Mac, then comes to sit with me. “A semi fell on its side, somehow,” he says. “We were stuck there for almost four hours total, but finally they got it cleared up.” Alex is in the restroom a worryingly long time. Finally, she comes out, eyes downcast. I look her over and notice… My god. There’s a wet spot the size of a peach on the front of her skirt. “Sprung a leak?” I ask. “Shut up! If I’d known it was going to be this long I’d’ve come with you!” Her lip trembles and I know her well enough to see that she’s about to cry. “Come here,” I say, and pull her into a hug. She buries her face in my back. “It’s okay, accidents happen,” I say. I’d know, although she doesn’t know that I know. And quietly, so Mark won’t hear, I whisper to her, “I won’t let you forget this, sister.” It might be a little bit mean, but I think I earned it with pee, sweat and tears. I use the restroom before we leave and make it home dry. Maybe there is a god after all. Ranpalan, Bismiris, tevoka and 5 others 8 Quote Link to comment
huberp76 3,803 Posted December 1, 2019 ✨ Legendary Member Share Posted December 1, 2019 Really, really hot , this story. The boys peed, the girl did sleep, she did not wee, her bladder was full. She was needing to wee so bad, she was nearly bursting and Alex asked her „can‘t you just hold it „ She had to go so urgently that she did not care anymore if anybody is watching her. She had to piss! Nothing could stop her! Or? Out of the car, panties down, squatting and piss, but the police woman did not let go. She could not stop it at the moment, she pulled her wet panties up and had to hold it longer. A really great story, please more of it. Quote Link to comment
Melificentfan 1,215 Posted December 1, 2019 ✨ Legendary Member Share Posted December 1, 2019 That was a fantasmic story I really enjoyed reading it Quote Link to comment
aumonier95 76 Posted December 1, 2019 Share Posted December 1, 2019 It is positively excellent. The supernatural aspect is well-handled, and the resultcis a story not about one accident not two, but five by the same character without sounding redundant + a very nice finale with another female accident to compensate the fact the heroin didn't had an accident in that timeline. You are brilliant. Thanks a lot Quote Link to comment
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