satyr 1,314 Posted March 17, 2020 Popular Post Share Posted March 17, 2020 Currently stuck in quarantine, so I've had some time for writing. I have several ideas for one-shots I'm working on. This is one of them. Also, Three Sisters is a play by Chekhov. This has absolutely nothing to do with that. It doesn't even contain a Chekhov's gun. But it is about three sisters. Janet’s three daughters had learned her golden rule at a young age: public restrooms were no proper place for a lady to relieve herself. Janet was an eccentric, and probably suffered from an undiagnosed, but severe anxiety disorder. She always wore flowery hippie dresses with patterns inspired by Indian art and psychedelics, and often walked around nude in the house, even when she had guests—which accounts for her eccentricity. But her strange habits had a darker side. She could not leave the house without completing an elaborate ritual involving touching a sequence of household objects: bedroom doorknob (three times), stove (once, even if it was hot; she had the burn scars to prove it), bathroom doorknob (twice), a shelf which she had deliberately hung askew (four times), and so on. Sometimes, she suffered strange impulses, like the compulsive desire to bend down and grab a handful of sand or gravel off the ground and sift it through her fingers. Her daughters loved her, and mostly dismissed their mother’s strange habits as a kind of benign superstition, in the way that children do. After all, aren’t mothers supposed to be invincible? But certain habits rubbed off on them, certain beliefs which were close enough to ordinary that they seemed eminently sensible, even if their mother took them a step further than most parents. One of these beliefs was the absolute avoidance of public restrooms. Each daughter developed her own strategy to deal with the unfortunate fact that the body’s waste elimination system does not halt in the face of a stalwart belief that almost all the relevant facilities in the world are strictly off limits. Amber was the oldest, and so she had to learn how to deal with her mother’s rules without the guidance or example of her siblings. She had decided on a strategy which was simple and obvious, but came with complications: if you have to go, just go. Her mother didn’t mind that her daughter had accidents when she couldn’t hold it, so Amber learned to have deliberate “accidents.” It was not the mere lack of cleanliness in public restrooms that Janet objected to. It was rather a deeper, pathological and rigid belief in what was and was not proper, especially for a lady, and all Janet’s daughters were ladies, even when they were still in diapers. Public ladies’ rooms were spiritually unclean. Unfit for true ladies. But Janet’s daughters were spiritually pure, in her eyes, and so was anything that came out of them. Even if, by society’s standards, they were smelly, messy, dirty. Going to the bathroom in your underwear was the obvious solution, in a certain way, perhaps even the most elegant. It was natural, primal. But Amber couldn’t deny that it came with inconveniences, both practical and social. Thankfully, she’d had more than two decades worth of practice in how to deal with them. She often wore skirts or dresses, and when she did, she could just squat down in such a way that she only peed through her panties, holding up the hem of her skirt discreetly to avoid wetting it—she had it down to a fine art, the exact angle she needed to hold while seated or squatting, so as to minimize the risk of any stains. She knew how to move, how to sit and how to stand in wet panties so as to minimize discomfort—wet wedgies were no fun—and seep-through. When she wore jeans, she couldn’t avoid a visible stain, but she knew that if she squatted down and released in a controlled manner, she could keep the damage local, around the middle of her crotch and parts of her bum. She’d trained herself to release only enough to relieve the pressure; between one-third and one-half of her bladder was enough to get her at least a couple of hours, by which time it would have begun to dry and she could rewet. Amber often kept an extra sweater or jacket in her purse, just something small enough to fit but large enough that she could tie it around her waist and mostly get away with it. To minimize smell, she kept well hydrated, which was perhaps also why she couldn’t just stop having accidents, even if they weren’t quite “accidents”. Her purse also contained what she jokingly referred to as her “bum and crotch spray,” a certain perfume which she’d found through trial and error masked the smell of urine which would otherwise have clung to her, without clashing with her deodorant or other perfume. As for number twos, well, those were not exactly a walk in the park to deal with, but she kept herself regular and they were rarely a problem in public. But if they did become a problem on a rare occasion, well, Amber could have taught a class in ladies’ etiquette: how to walk with poise and purpose with a load in your pants and a smile on your face. Her husband-to-be had been left dumbfounded when, on their third date, a romantic walk in the park, Amber had excused herself and walked behind a bush. She had re-emerged with a small wet spot between her legs, and nonchalantly fished out a sweater from her purse and tied it around her waist. Once secured, it fell perfectly to obscure the small peach-sized stain in the front and the little half-moon on her bum. “Did you just pee yourself?” Mark asked. “I just had to have a little accident to relieve the pressure,” Amber said. She was, of course, aware by this point in her life that other people found her habit strange, but she’d been raised as a free spirit, and privately wondered why other people didn’t do as she did. Besides, she’d found that making a big deal out of thing was what made things a big deal in the first place. Some girls had teased her about her accidents, especially in high school, but they’d found no enjoyment in it as long as Amber maintained a perfect nonchalance about the whole thing. “But there’s a restroom right there!” Mark said, exasperated. He pointed to a little building not fifty meters away. “How can it be an accident when you deliberately walked past the bathroom to go pee in your clothes in a bush?” Amber felt her fists clench, her face flush. Her previous boyfriend had left her over this, and romance was perhaps the one area where she could not will her reality to become real. She stomped a foot into the ground, and she cursed her eyes for the betrayal when she felt tears begin to form. She would not cry: It had been a long time since anyone had made her cry over an accident. But she really liked Mark, and that asshole Aaron had dumped her for reasons that were very much to do with the habits her mother had instilled in her, and this was all too much. “I. Do. Not. Use. Public. Restrooms!” She yelled. “They’re unclean, you understand? It was an accident because I couldn’t have held on until we got home and I couldn’t go to the restroom because it’s a public restroom and I do not use public restrooms because they’re unclean and unfit for a lady!” The words were spilling out of her in rapid succession and with little care for natural pauses or sentence structure. “I’m sorry I ruined our date, you go date some hot chick who doesn’t piss her pants if you like!” She finished, just as the first tears began to fall. But Mark hadn’t left. He’d slowly teased out some of the background for her phobia of public bathrooms, and he sympathized. Amber was everything he’d ever wanted, and if he couldn’t deal with this, well, he didn’t deserve her. He’d taken her into his arms, rubbed the tears off her cheeks, and bought her ice cream. Over time, he’d pieced together the puzzle that was Amber—meeting her mother had been a revelation and a half. And he’d taken it in stride, even become an accomplice in her cover-ups. Neither of them had expected to find that, when she was wet, Amber was especially sensitive, and after the first time he rubbed her off after an “accident”, Mark was in love. Well, in lust. He’d already been in love with everything else about her. Now they were planning a wedding, three years after that fateful date. First, though, was a trip with Amber and her sisters. The excuse was that they needed to be sure he was fit to be her husband, as if he were some suitor in an old-timey play, but in reality, they had met many times before and had long since decided that he was a good match. Really they were just going on a weekend trip together for fun. Mark wasn’t quite sure whether Amber would have agreed to marry him if her sisters hadn’t given their enthusiastic consent; the three of them were nearly inseparable, which he secretly attributed to the fact that they’d been brought up together in a world apart, slightly off-center of ordinary society. Janet, the girls’ mother, had recently passed away from cancer, which seemed only to strengthen their resolve to adhere to the rules she had laid down for them as children. It’s like that with children and strict parents: once the parent passes away, some children are finally free of their influence, while others renew their commitment to their parent’s memory with vigor. Amber and her sisters were the latter kind. Traveling with three adult women who refuse to even consider using a public toilet was going to be somewhat of a challenge. But Mark was prepared to do everything in his power to make it fun and take it all in stride. He wanted them to have a few days in which the death of their mother, the woman who raised them alone in her own world of paranoia, but also of joy, would not be the foremost thing on their minds. Mark and Amber picked up the middle sister, Marlene, at her apartment. She was named after Marlene Dietrich, the actress and singer, a favorite of her mother’s. Marlene was perhaps the one who had inherited the most eccentric of her mother’s genes. Taking after her namesake, she liked wearing jazz-age outfits and kept a cigarette holder in her purse, which she would only use for the occasional drag of a cigarette purely for aesthetic reasons, as she didn’t normally smoke. Today, however, she’d dressed refreshingly ordinary, in jeans and a white top. “Gotta get comfortable for the trip,” she said. The youngest sister, Jasmine, had slept over at Mark and Amber’s home. She went by Jazzy and was all of twenty years and relentlessly ready for the world. An energy bomb once she’d had her morning coffee, a talker for the ages, and all-around busybody. Today she was dressed in a pink miniskirt that just about covered her underwear, a black punk t-shirt and an almost iridescent red lipstick that was warring with her freckles for dominance over her face. She hadn’t had her coffee yet, though, and Mark found it endearing to see her actually yawn. He didn’t think he could remember seeing her this subdued ever, aside from the period immediately prior to and following her mother’s death. “Everybody powder their noses and, uh, stuff?” Mark asked before they pulled out. He felt a trickle of sweat slide down his neck and hoped he didn’t have to deal with any accidents this trip. He could deal with Amber, but Amber was his fiancee, and it felt like an intimacy he couldn’t share with her sisters. “All ready,” said Marlene. “Yup!” chirped Jazzy. “Let’s go,” Amber said, and they were off. All three sisters shared a phobia of public restrooms, but their approaches to dealing with the problem were very different. Marlene could not stand accidents, and she held a mixture of disgust and fascination with her elder sister’s freewheeling approach. Marlene had instead trained herself to simply not pee. She could and would hold it until she was in a proper place to relieve herself. She nearly always made it. When she didn’t, she wasn’t able to brush it off as easily as Amber. It hadn’t come easy to her. She was not born with a camel’s hump for a bladder. In her early years, she had some spectacular accidents. Because she would not employ her older sister’s discreet, controlled-release approach, much to Amber’s chagrin and Marlene’s sorrow, she would simply hold it until she couldn’t. She could hold a lot, these days, but when she could hold it no more, it all came out. She’d been teased relentlessly for her soakings, her skirts and dresses and overalls and jeans dripping, until she’d devised a plan. She’d train herself until it was no longer an issue. She started by not peeing in the house until it was an absolute emergency. Soon, she could hold it all day through school, although her panties were often damp by the time she pulled them down on the porcelain sanctuary at home. Her first goal reached, she settled for the ultimate price: a full sixteen hours. That was an entire day from morning until night, and Marlene knew she could never feel secure until she was certain she could last an entire day’s outing with no risk of an accident. She’d have to do it gradually. It was like any strength training: progressive overload was the key to building strength, whether it be lifting weights or kegels. She began by extending her no-pee time an hour after school, then two, then three. It was a lonely, hard road, filled with wet and even, occasionally, messy slip-ups. By the time she was fifteen, she decided to extend her regimen all the way from morning to dinner, a final stepping stone to the waking-to-bedtime goal. She thought she was ready. But one morning, her mother knocked on her door and told her they had to talk. Marlene didn’t know exactly what it was about. Irrationally, she thought her mother must have smelled smoke on her breath the day before, when she had taken two drags off of a cigarette on a dare. But she’d brushed her teeth twice before her mother got off work! Then her eyes drifted over towards her full laundry basket, and she knew. She’d pushed herself extra hard this week, never peeing until she leaked twice, and her mother must have noticed. “I’ve called your school and told them you have to stay home today because you’re sick, honey,” her mother began. “But I’m not sick, Ma,” Marlene said. “I know, honey. But your underwear is all wet. All of it! I wash clothes all day and yet somehow you manage to dirty it all, and today you have nothing clean at all. And a lady can’t go out in public wearing dirty underwear!” Marlene blushed. “I’m thinking of booking a doctor’s appointment for you. It isn’t healthy to be having so many accidents at your age.” “No, Ma, please,” Marlene said, and then she launched into a tearful exposition on her efforts to train herself to be the perfect lady, one who never needed to pee until it was appropriate. “Oh, baby,” her mother had said, and hugged her. “Maybe you should look to your older sister for guidance on these things.” “I don’t want to be a baby who pees herself like Amber, Ma,” Marlene said. “That’s why I do this, so that won’t be a problem when I’m all grown up.” “Don’t speak ill of your sister,” her mother had said, and patted her head. In the end, she didn’t take Marlene to the doctor’s. She bought Marlene training panties. Training panties. Thick, absorbent. Basically thin cloth diapers, although they looked and felt like thick underwear. Marlene redoubled her efforts to hold it, and she kept the leaks to a minimum. By the time she was seventeen, she was almost to the point where she felt safe. That was when she had her most spectacular failure. Her mother had finally managed to find herself a boyfriend. It was a long time since she’d been in a relationship. Marlene found Hank creepy and ugly and all-around wrong, but her mother adored him. Now, he’d offered to take the whole family out to dinner to celebrate their mother’s birthday. The problem was, it was a late dinner. They weren’t going to be at the restaurant until nine. It was an hour longer than Marlene had ever held it, and she hadn’t peed all day. But she was determined that this was the right step in her training. Before they left, she sat squirming openly on the sofa, making fists of her hands to prevent them from straying to her crotch, which would have been most unladylike. Her training panties felt clammy and damp. Today, they were green with a picture of Kermit the frog on the front and far too tight because her mother bought them in the children’s section. It was patently obvious that she was on the verge of having an accident, and she hated it. “Marlene, dear, do you need the toilet?” Hank asked, his eyes leering at her with a look that seemed altogether too lustful to be directing at your girlfriend’s daughter. She hated the way he tried to insinuate himself into her family and her life like some creepy father figure. “No!” She said, and Hank shrugged. He probably didn’t expect his girlfriend’s almost-grown daughter to actually hold her pee until she wet herself. By the time they arrived at the restaurant, Kermit the frog could not contain Marlene’s leaks any longer. When she rose from the car seat, she felt the front of her dress and confirmed it was damp, and there was a wet circle on her seat. She quickly grabbed a colorful quilted pillow her mother kept in the car and placed it over the stain. Her older sister was off at college, but Jazzy was along, and in a good mood, as usual. She seemed to take to Hank more than Marlene did. “Come, sis,” she said, grabbing at her hand. “Eww, your hand is all wet and clammy,” she remarked, discarding it as easily as she picked it up. Marlene knew she was out of her depth. She’d overestimated her capacity, and now she was stuck. There was no way she could use the restaurant’s restrooms, of course, and now she was in for an hour of dinner. She thought she might have another ten minutes in her. As the waiter handed her the menu, she focused all her might on her pelvic area, clenching like she’d practiced so many times before. She simply had to hold it. There was no other option. Sheer willpower held her aloft through ordering pasta and water, but she was running on fumes. Her midsection was on fire, waves of pressure were rippling through her, sweat was pooling under her armpits, and she was leaking. She couldn’t sit still, constantly bouncing her weight from side to side. Marlene must look like an impatient toddler, but the others were busy talking and paid her no mind. She resorted to holding herself under the table. If a lady grabs her crotch under the table and nobody sees it, is she really unladylike? Just as the food arrived, the dam burst. A wave of pain stabbed at her, right in the small of the back, and she felt her body involuntarily push. That was it: three seconds of pushing, a stream of urine flooding through Kermit’s eyes and mouth and onto the floor, and then she was numb; her entire lower half felt like it was floating. She could barely even feel it as her body stopped pushing and began passively releasing. The urine pooled underneath her bum, soaked into her black dress, and then the pool expanded under her, trickling towards the edge. Now there was an audible hiss, and then there was a splatter as the torrent began cascading off the chair and splattering on the floor. The waiter’s mouth fell open. He jumped back as the pee reached his foot, and dropped a bowl onto the table so that it cracked, spilling tomato sauce onto the cloth. Marlene continued peeing as things became a blur around her: her mother screaming, her sister laughing hysterically, Hank jumping off his chair and shouting something, then storming out of the restaurant. She was too shocked to even cry, or so she thought, until they got outside into the autumn chill and she felt the chill on her wet face. Hank had apparently broken off all contact with Marlene’s mother. Her mother responded by grounding her for a week. She knew Marlene didn’t like Hank and accused her of deliberately sabotaging the dinner. But Janet had relented after only two days when she’d finally calmed down enough to listen to Marlene’s explanation. Her mother must have known, somewhere deep down, that her habits were irrational, and she must have understood that this was her own doing: her own rules had pushed her daughter to do this. That was the most spectacular failure in her training. But pretty soon, Marlene had reached her goal. She could go all day without peeing, and only on rare occasions did she lose it and have an accident. When she did, it was always a flood, but never quite as publicly as that time at the restaurant. And her training had worked: she found herself a lot more outgoing after she had proven to herself that restroom needs were no longer a daily hurdle to overcome. Soon, she had expanded her friend circle, hooked up with a guy or two, began experimenting with vintage fashion, and then she was off to college. Now, she was absentmindedly sipping on a bottle of water, as was her older sister. Jazzy had her headphones plugged in and seemed to have zoned out completely. Mark steered the car towards the airport. They lined up in front of the self check-in machines, one after another punching in their cryptic 6-letters-and-digits booking code. Mark was amused that his code was ZOOMAN: did that mean he was a superhero who could turn into random zoo animals? But, like, what if it’s the really uninteresting ones, like that one snake that isn’t poisonous and can’t crush a metal bar with its awesome jaw strength or the sea anemone that the tropical fish swim past? He chuckled to himself. His fiancee gave him a strange look. “What are you laughing at?” she asked, with a hint of bitterness underneath. “Oh, just this booking code,” he said. “Look: it says ZOOMAN. Do you think—” “Forget I ever asked,” Amber said, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Well, maybe he didn’t amuse her, but at least he got a kiss, so she couldn’t be that annoyed at him. They lined up for the security check. Amber went first, then Mark, then Marlene. When it was Jazzy’s turn, the scanner beeped, and a female security officer stepped forward. “Random check, ma’am,” she said. “I need to scan you with this,” and she indicated a handheld scanner that probably looked for explosives residue, or something. “Hold your arms out.” Jazzy did as she was told. “I need to check the inside of your skirt’s waistband,” said the security officer. Jazzy stood still as the lady put two fingers inside her waistband. The woman stopped short when she felt the bulky, padded waistband of Jazzy’s underwear. “Problem, officer?” Jazzy asked, her voice as sweet as an angel. Jasmine had solved the problem of public bathrooms in her own way: she never gave up on her diapers. After a while, her mother had stopped trying to potty train her, reasoning, perhaps, that it was better for her to wear diapers than to use public restrooms. Now, she was an adult, but still wore diapers whenever she went out in public. Jazzy had a considerable collection of different styles and kinds. She’d even gotten the state to subsidize them, since she had never been potty trained properly and had a diagnosis of medical incontinence. Mark had often thought that, if she could just get over her mental block, she could easily learn to use the bathroom like a proper adult, but when he’d tried to explain this to Amber, she’d refused to speak to him for a week. He never brought it up again. Jazzy had the kind of domineering and outgoing personality that made her almost invincible to bullying. Many had tried, but only one person had ever managed to make her cry over her diapers, and that was her own sister. She didn’t care, and always acted like her condition was perfectly normal, and not even schoolyard bullies could make heads or tails out of her nonchalance and bubbly personality. Everyone knew, and nobody cared—or at least, nobody dared to say they cared, because everyone loved Jazzy. That was how she’d survived kindergarten through high school, and it was how she was surviving now. “No problem, Ma’am,” said the security lady, and waved her through. Jazzy picked up her hand luggage with a satisfied smirk. She’d tried to convince her sisters to join her eminently practical solution to their shared problem, but they had their own strategies and wouldn’t listen. Their loss, she’d always thought. Amber might think she could pee anywhere, anytime, but she couldn’t, not really. Jazzy could. On their way to the gate, all three sisters picked up a coffee at an airside kiosk. Mark watched in uneasy anticipation, looking for any signs of discomfort. He’d already made a trip to the restrooms, but of course, the sisters weren’t going to. They boarded their plane, and everyone seemed comfortable. But by the time they were seated and the seatbelt sign was on, Amber was squirming. She couldn’t seem to sit still, wiggling her bum and her thighs this way or that, keeping her hands folded almost priest-like in her lap, but Mark suspected she did so for other reasons than religious devotion. “You okay, babe?” He ventured. “Just need to pee,” she whispered. In the seat next to them, Jazzy’s eyes flickered upward briefly, and a vapid smile fell over her lips. Amber guessed her sister had just wet. Unlike her, she could do it without any consequences. Amber would like to relieve the pressure, but it would leave a spot on the seat, and sitting down was not really the ideal position to conceal an accident. Squatting at a certain angle that she couldn’t quite achieve in the seat would have been ideal. She’d just have to hold it until their layover, although by this time, the water and coffee was starting to catch up to her. Her bladder felt like a lead ball in her abdomen, constantly jolted by any slight turbulence or even by her shifting slightly; but if she didn’t shift around, she felt like she would lose it completely. And she could not lose it completely. Amber had trained herself to release in a controlled fashion, so as to minimize exposure to others. If she full-on lost it, there would be no way to hide it, and she’d be mortified. Meanwhile, Marlene was feeling a familiar pressure build in her bladder, but she could deal with it. She’d dealt with it many times before. What bothered her more, though, was the quite unfamiliar pressure building in her bowels. She felt like there was a weight attached to her spine, constantly descending, and it would soon hit muscles which she’d never had to train. She let out a silent fart and cringed; she was usually so careful never to release gas in public, and never to be in a situation where she needed to release something more. But now she had hours left of her journey, and for the first time in years, she didn’t know if she could make it. Her seatmate, a woman she didn’t know, wrinkled her nose and gave her a look that said I smell what you did. Marlene blushed and turned her face towards the window to hide it. She flexed her buttocks and prayed that this plane trip would soon be over. By the time the seatbelt sign came back on for their descent, Amber was potty-dancing in her seat and attracting stares from fellow travelers. She had her hands in her lap, and Mark subtly moved to shield her from view of the other passengers. He wondered whether she could even make it off the plane: it had been a year since the last time she fully lost control. They’d been at a wine-tasting event, and midway through the last batch of wines, which Amber had insisted on not spitting out, she’d scissored her legs, bent her knees, and a waterfall had poured out from under her legs. She was wearing a dress, but that hardly mattered, as everyone could see the stream of her urine splattering on the concrete. He’d had to take her home under the pretext that she was overly drunk, although in reality she was merely tipsy and had waited too long. Amber had been mortified and refused to speak the whole way home, although when they’d gotten inside the door, she’d kissed him and he’d rubbed her wet panties and things had progressed to the bedroom at a rapid pace. Mark didn’t really understand this aspect of her: she seemed embarrassed, but also somehow turned on by the embarrassment; and yet, he thought, this time, there would be no way to bury her feelings in orgasms, should it happen. Marlene was clenching with all her might, biting her lip, and trying to keep her hands from straying to her bum. Not like holding her butt would actually help. She felt a trickle of sweat slide down her neck, and her armpits were already damp. Jazzy, meanwhile, was watching a video on her iPad and seemed to exist in a world apart from the others. In moments like these, Mark wondered which sister had truly chosen the most sensible strategy. Thankfully, they were seated near the front, so they could disembark among the first passengers. Amber strode with purpose up the jet bridge, then grabbed Mark’s hands and steered him towards a corner with a potted plant. “I’m going to pee, cover me,” she whispered, then ducked behind the over-sized plant and squatted down. She’d barely gotten into position when her bladder gave way, and with a subtle hiss, she began peeing. The urine flooded through her panties, some trickling down her inner thighs, but once she’d gotten in the right position, butt angled just right (and slightly sticking out from behind the plant, Mark noted), most of it fell down onto the floor. She was wearing a flowery dress, as usual, and only a little bit of it got damp. Amber tried to clamp off the flow when she’d emptied one-third of her bladder, as she often did, but she was so desperate she couldn’t get it under control until at least half of it was in her panties or on the floor. Satisfied, she brought a paper napkin out of her purse, dried off her legs, then fished out her “bum and crotch” spray and gave herself a liberal puff of perfume. That done, she walked over to a water fountain and washed her hands. Mark noted that there was a wet spot on the floor behind the plant, about the size of two dinner plates put together. “Phew,” said Amber. “Let’s get going.” Marlene couldn’t just go behind a plant. She walked gingerly next to her family, feeling like every step might shake lose something that better stay bottled up. She was sweating profusely, and her sister Jazzy shot her a concerned look. “Do you need to pee, sis?” Jazzy whispered. “No,” she said, truthfully, wondering if she could confess what was really going on. Their layover was scheduled to be quite short, so they walked over to the other side of the terminal where the gate for their departing flight was. Upon arriving, they found an information screen yelling at them: their flight was delayed one hour due to technical difficulties. Marlene sat down on a chair, and she could feel something touch cotton as she sat down. It was as if the resistance of the seat was the only thing keeping her from soiling herself. Jasmine stood nearby, and Amber noted the far-off look in her eye. Then she noticed something else: her miniskirt was barely enough to cover a dry diaper. Now, an offending piece of white padding was sagging underneath the hem of her skirt. Amber walked over to her sister and tugged her skirt and shirt down. “Hey, what are you doing?” Jazzy asked. “Your underwear is poking out, dear,” the older sister said. “Oh. Thanks, Amber,” she said, and seated herself next to Marlene. Mark used this opportunity to go to the restroom himself. He’d noticed the middle sister squirming, and although Marlene rarely had accidents, thanks to her extensive training, he was starting to get worried. He’d only had to deal with it once, and she’d been devastated. He couldn’t help his fiancee or her sisters if he was desperate to piss himself, though, he reflected by the urinal. Amber carefully placed a couple of paper napkins on the seat, then sat down. Her bum was wet, her crotch was soaking, and her sex was burning with a strange desire, but she couldn’t just stick a hand down her panties and get off. Instead, she put her arms around Mark’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. He leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the lips, wary of the strangers around them and, not least, her sisters. Jazzy gave them a cheeky thumbs up, while Marlene had her eyes closed with an intense look on her face. An hour passed, in which Amber’s bladder refilled, Jazzy played with her phone without a care in the world, and Marlene held on, somehow, although the strain in her lower area left her hurting. Then, finally, they were ready to board. Marlene rose, but she felt something begin to slip out and quickly sat down again, burrowing her butt down into the seat. “Jazzy, sweets, I’m feeling a little dizzy. Would you please help me stand?” she whispered. Her sister, quite oblivious, took her by the hand and supported her as she stood up. There was definitely already a skidmark in her panties, and her jeans felt tight in all the wrong places. Why did she try to dress sexy today, of all days? The only good thing about having the fabric strain against her ass was that when she inevitably lost control, it would stay contained. Amber was quite squirmy again, and, having sat down for an hour, the shock of standing up was too much: a little trickle escaped through her panties. It pitter-patttered on the floor, but no one seemed to notice, except for a teenage boy standing with his mother whose mouth fell open at the seat. What, you’ve never seen a grown woman pee herself before? Amber wanted to yell, but didn’t. Jazzy adjusted her skirt again to cover her puffy underwear, which she’d by now wet twice, and they all lined up to present their boarding passes. Amber seated herself next to Marlene, who by this point looked about to cry. “What’s wrong, sis?” she whispered. “Do you need to pee?” Marlene bit her lip. “Not… pee,” she managed, her voice cracking. “Oh. Oooh,” Amber said. “I’m so sorry. Just hold on, you’ll make it. You always make it. Unlike… me,” she said. She needed to pee, but she tried to avoid squirming too much so as not to aggravate her sister’s condition. Up into the air they went, and as they achieved liftoff, Marlene felt something start to slip out, and she furiously scooted forwards in her seat and grabbed her bum, oblivious to anyone who might be watching. She hadn’t needed to go this bad in forever, and to make matters worse, now she needed to pee, too. Her bladder was a boulder, sloshing around with every jostle of the plane. Usually, this was not a problem; she’d only had one accident since, what, since before Mark? It had been a careless slip-up, a forgotten morning pee spelling her doom in the evening, but apart from that, she’d made it for years. Now, however, her attention was divided between her bladder and her bowels, and as a particularly gnarly bowel spasm hit her, she leaned forward and momentarily took her mind off her bladder, sending a small leak into her panties. She looked down in despair, but the crotch of her blue jeans was still dry. Relieved, she leaned back and redoubled her efforts to hold it. Mark was seated next to Jazzy, who seemed impatient and unable to sit still. “What’s the matter, Jazzy?” He asked. “Nothing,” she said. “I’m just tired of sitting still.” Mark looked over and noted a damp spot on the seat beside Jazzy’s thigh. “Jazzy, you’re leaking,” he whispered. “Oh, dear,” she said, putting a hand to the damp seat. “Try and sit still.” “I’ll try,” she said. “Put on another movie on your iPad,” he suggested. “Okay,” she said, plugging in her earphones. As she moved about, Mark could see the white padding underneath her miniskirt. He quickly averted his eyes, searching for his wife-to-be. She was seated across the aisle, holding her sister’s hand. Marlene seemed to have it bad; she was squirming, holding herself, biting her lip, squeezing her sister’s hand, and her lips were moving subconsciously in what Mark could only assume was prayer. Thankfully, their trip consisted of two short, connected flights. Aside from the one-hour delay, they were on schedule, and soon enough, the seat belt sign was on again and they were descending. Marlene felt a tear trickle out, and she couldn’t help but release a little gas. Why, oh, why didn’t she go number two before she set out? She was usually so careful. Now, she was on the verge of a disastrous accident. Her sister was clenching her hand tight, but that was hardly more than a modicum of moral support. As the wheels hit the tarmac, she was bounced slightly off her seat, and when her butt hit the seat, she felt it squish down onto something small and nasty. She sniffed the air, but couldn’t smell anything yet. Nevertheless, she’d officially begun having an accident. A little trickle of urine also came out, and to her horror, it left a little spot on her jeans. Once again, they’d seated themselves near the front, and this time, it was Marlene who took the lead. Amber followed, a small oval the size of a peach in her seat from the landing. She’d only half released during the layover, and now she was as full as she’d been then. She could barely keep her hands from straying underneath the hem of her dress, but she had to be proper. A real lady. She was a grown woman, and though she might pee her pants, she couldn’t do it here. Mark indiscreetly grabbed the hem of his sister-in-law’s all too short miniskirt and tugged it down. Her underwear had been on full display, quite soggy and yellowed now. There was a small spot on the seat where she’d leaked. Now, all he had to do was get these ladies to their hotel, which might be another hour, and then they’d be home free. The return journey was a direct flight, so he wasn’t too worried about that. Marlene almost ran to the baggage claim, but then she had to wait for her suitcase to show up, and she ended up bobbing up and down, clenching with all her might. Her earlier leak now felt like someone’s poured a teaspoon or two of oatmeal down her pants, and the front of her panties were clammy, a little wet cameltoe tugging at her lower lips. She cursed inwardly as she scanned the belt for her suitcase. It appeared, and she quickly scooped it up and rolled it outside. But the others hadn’t been so quick, and now she had to wait, her legs crossed, her bladder spasming, and her bowels feeling like they were about to wrench themselves inside out and dump their contents in her tight jeans-bottom. “I have to tie my shoes,” Amber said as they reached the baggage belt. She reached down and pretended to tie her laces as she released a five-second spurt through her panties. It warmed her crotch and gave her butterflies, but she couldn’t afford to rub herself right then and there. Instead, she straightened up and discreetly smudged out the little puddle with her shoe. Then she sidled up to Jazzy and handed her a paper napkin without saying a word. Her youngest sister’s legs were glistening with leaks; she turned around, away from the crowd, and wiped down her legs. At least her underwear wasn’t sagging beneath the miniskirt this time, but that might be because Mark had tugged it so far down now the waistband was poking up between the skirt and her shirt. Mark picked up their luggage, and they made their way to find a bus to their hotel. Outside, Marlene was on her last leg. Her bladder was throbbing, her abdomen was on fire. Her bowels seemed to be pulsating, and just as the others appeared behind her, she was hit by a feeling like someone’d punched her in the stomach. Marlene’s knees buckled, her feet swung inwards, she doubled over, and then she began pooping herself. It was a long, solid log; she felt it touch the cotton of her panties, then balloon out into her panties, squishing against the resistance of her tight jeans, bulging on her butt. “Marlene, are you okay, sis?” Amber asked. Then the smell hit her, and she wrinkled her nose. “Oh, Marlene,” she said, putting a hand on her sister’s shoulder. Mark couldn’t help but look at his sister-in-law’s butt, the way it bulged out like she’d stuck a softball down her pants, the tight fabric slightly stained around the edges of the bulge. Then Marlene sank down into a squat, and the bulge expanded again, now more like a squished melon. Then the smell hit, and he knew everybody around would know. An elderly woman looked over at the young woman crouched over in a defecating position, noticed the smell and tssk-ed as she moved away from them. Marlene released a sob. Mark stepped up, put a hand under each of Marlene’s armpits, and pulled her upright. Then he pulled her into a hug. “Shh, it’s okay, it was only an accident. You held on so long, you were so brave.” Marlene cried into his shoulder, while Mark awkwardly patted her back. “Here, take my jacket and tie it around your waist,” he said. “It’s not that cold outside,” he lied. It was freezing and his arms were already developing goosebumps, his hair raising at the cold. “Wait,” Amber said, and gave her sister’s butt a squeeze of her bum perfume. “I think we’d better get a cab,” Mark said. Marlene walked bowlegged towards the cab stand, feeling the mess squish against her with every step. “No, no,” said Amber. “You can’t walk like that. It looks like you pooped yourself.” “She did,” Jazzy said. “Shh, Jazzy,” Amber said. “The important thing is to make everyone thing you didn’t. Here,” she said, demonstrating a confident, always catwalk-like swaying walk. “It’s gonna slip out of my panties and down my legs,” Marlene complained. “No, it won’t. Your pants are tighter than a virgin’s asshole,” Amber said. Mark stifled a giggle. Amber rarely brought out the vulgarities. “Besides, if it happens, it happens. You gotta walk with poise, let the world know your underwear is perfectly fine.” Marlene tried, with mixed success, to emulate her older sister’s confident swagger. They got into a cab, and once they were in a confined space, the smell of the mess combined with the perfume took on a pungent air. The cab driver wrinkled his nose, but was too polite to say anything. Marlene cringed as the mess squished against her bottom. Her bladder was still throbbing, and she placed her hands in her lap. Meanwhile, Amber was on the edge, also squirming. Jazzy sat in front, distracting the cab driver with small talk. As they got out of the cab, Mark noted a wet spot on the seat underneath Amber. Marlene felt another leak escape as she exited, but it was all hidden underneath Mark’s jacket. She was more concerned with the mess sliding around her panties, although, as Amber had so aptly put it, her pants were tight as a virgin’s bumhole and gave little room for her accident to move. “I think I’d better check us in,” Mark said. Amber pee-danced on the spot, Marlene grabbed herself, and Jazzy stood humming to herself off to the side as Mark got their room keys. Amber and Mark had one room, and Jazzy and Marlene shared another. Amber grabbed the key off Mark and hurried to the elevators. As the doors closed, she sank down into a crouch and let go. The pee splattered over the floor, and she turned around to look at herself peeing through her panties in the mirror on the back wall. She found a naughty smile on her face. Jazzy and Marlene took another elevator to their room. “I need to change,” Jazzy said. “I need to pee first,” Marlene countered. She abandoned her catwalk stride once they reached the corridor, waddling over to 303 and swiping the card. Then she rushed over to the bathroom, threw off Mark’s jacket, and waddled over to the toilet. She almost couldn’t bear to drop her pants, but her bladder was about to give in—how come she couldn’t even last ten hours today, when she normally managed sixteen without a sweat? It must be the double-threat of number one and number two that had her too nervous to focus on her training. She quickly undid her jeans, then carefully lowered her panties. Marlene couldn’t stand to look at the mound of filth piled up there, so she closed her eyes, sat down, and peed. It was blissful, the release, and for a moment she even forgot all that had happened earlier in the day. A wet thud from the other side of the door indicated that her younger sister had dropped her own sodden undergarments. Marlene would let her change, but first, she would dispose of her ruined panties, and then shower until the hot water ran out. Mark entered the room to find his wife-to-be completely undressed, her glorious breasts on display, wearing only a sodden pair of panties. There was a wide half-moon, half-dried from her earlier pee, and a glistening wet spot on top of that from her more recent accident. Her hand was inside the panties, her back was arced, and she stifled a moan when Mark opened the door. He walked over and took Amber in his arms, tugging down her wet panties, and slipped a finger inside her. The rest of the vacation was uneventful, at least as far as accidents were concerned. They went swimming and shopping and wining and dining. Marlene wore her flapper outfit and seemed to have put the embarrassing accident behind her. Jazzy was her usual, bubbly self, and Amber was like a mother hen herding her younger sisters around. But Mark couldn’t quite look at Amber and her sisters in the same way ever again. The good thing was, his handling of the situation had apparently gotten him the go-ahead—which he’d taken for granted—to marry Amber. As he lay down in bed and wrapped his arms around her on the last night, he wondered if, misfortune notwithstanding, it hadn’t all happened according to some cosmic plan. Mr_g, ed2, tevoka and 18 others 19 2 Quote Link to comment
Melificentfan 1,215 Posted March 18, 2020 ✨ Legendary Member Share Posted March 18, 2020 Loved that story it was a very enjoyable read Quote Link to comment
Ms. Tito 1,569 Posted March 18, 2020 Share Posted March 18, 2020 🎶Беларусь, Украина, Россия-- Wait, wrong three sisters. Quote Link to comment
theyellowsafe 57 Posted March 20, 2020 Share Posted March 20, 2020 I really enjoyed this story. Very nicely done. Quote Link to comment
TheOmoBoy 21 Posted January 21, 2023 Share Posted January 21, 2023 I’m gonna be honest with ya Champ, this was close to being my FAVORITE omorashi fic on this site. ……But then it was revealed Jazzy had diapers and that ruined the mood a bit, but still, you have a possible gold mine of a series, if you still have the account. Weird that I can’t click on it. Quote Link to comment
Bedwettingchik12 322 Posted January 21, 2023 Share Posted January 21, 2023 5 hours ago, Bobman23 said: I’m gonna be honest with ya Champ, this was close to being my FAVORITE omorashi fic on this site. ……But then it was revealed Jazzy had diapers and that ruined the mood a bit, but still, you have a possible gold mine of a series, if you still have the account. Weird that I can’t click on it. To each their own. Don’t think they’re losing sleep over this… TheOmoBoy 1 Quote Link to comment
TheOmoBoy 21 Posted January 22, 2023 Share Posted January 22, 2023 4 hours ago, Bedwettingchik12 said: To each their own. Don’t think they’re losing sleep over this… First off:Wow Surprised somebody commented Second:Yes I am aware the account is deactivated, and yes I do feel like an idiot, But like you said, to each their own bud! Or Atleast I think you meant that in a positive way Quote Link to comment
Flush 282 Posted January 23, 2023 Share Posted January 23, 2023 Because this story was “bumped up”, I almost thought that satyr was returning again… oh bummer. Well I can always dream of the return of his fantastic writing. FYI, in case you are interested in more stories of him, a lot of his stories (not all of them) are listed here: Quote Link to comment
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