Jump to content
Existing user? Sign In

Sign In



Sign Up

Recommended Posts

3 hours ago, wettingman said:

I absolutely love long richly detailed desperation stories like this. Please don't change your writting style .

I hope you found the incident hot looking back. I did, in fact I am fully aroused by it.

 

Thank you! That's really flattering. And yeah, in retrospect it's not too bad. I am glad nobody saw me, and I could just tell my mom I changed my mind about the shorts. It would've been a lot worse if one of my parents had come downstairs.

Link to comment
On 5/16/2020 at 12:20 PM, Alphabetti said:

Amazing story! I love you’re writing style - perfectly dramatised without feeling like fiction. 
 

if I’d been in your situation I would have taken advantage of the dirty laundry and just peed in the pile of clothes, since it’s about to get washed anyway. Maybe something to bare in mind for next time 😉

Thank you! 

 

And dammit that's a good solution. That didn't even cross my mind at the time! I was just so obsessed with making sure I didn't pee on my clothes that I didn't think to just...pee on my other clothes. 

Link to comment
On 5/14/2020 at 2:26 AM, Likealemon said:

Hi there! So the past few days, I have had the worst bout of tonsillitis of my life. We don't think it's Coronavirus, but my doc has recommended I follow Covid procedure just to be safe, since there's some overlap in the symptoms, and no tests to be taken. So I'm off work for two weeks, and now that I'm capable of doing more than laying in bed, feeling feverish and sorry for myself while staring at reddit, the fortnight at home has given me plenty of time to write. I've been drawing inspiration from some of the times in the past couple years I've had genuine accidents. They're rare, despite what it may seem, and normally if I want to have an accident I'll deliberately set myself up for one. I wanted to tell you today about a completely genuine, unplanned accident I had just over a year ago, before I moved in to my current living situation. So strap in for another overly detailed, long-winded tale!

The place I lived in before this was a house shared among three people, including the landlord. Someone, we shall never figure out who, tried to wash one of the landlord's dog beds in the communal washing machine. It tore itself to shreds, and got cushion fluff all into the inner mechanics of the washing machine, rendering it beyond repair. I lived in the same city as my parents then, and they were happy to let me borrow the washing machine. The place my parents live isn't the same place I grew up in. They have a proper Rust Belt apartment, complete with narrow hallways, rickety stairs with uneven, open gaps between them, handy thin walls you can chat to your neighbors through, a single shaky upstairs toilet I hate using, and more room in the basement than in the main living room. Why they chose to move there I'll never fully understand, but I was grateful to have a place to clean all my clothes, especially since I had put this trip off and now needed to wash the majority of my wardrobe. Besides, I hadn't seen them in a couple months, and this was the perfect excuse to have a nice, long visit with them.

My dad has a white collar job, but a blue collar heart, so the first thing he did when I got there Friday evening with my enormous bag of clothes, was produce a twelve pack for us to drink together. I loaded my first batch of laundry into the tiny, clunky, old washing machine in the basement, came back upstairs, and enjoyed a beer with my dad (while watching him enjoy three or four) out on the porch in the cool spring air. It had yet to fully shake off winter, but the first brave few fireflies were out regardless. We watched them twinkle while dusk fell, swapping rants about work, politics, whatever. It was on the way back down the wooden, wobbly old stairs to the basement I first noticed my bladder was filling. It wasn't bad, like a 3/20, and besides, I hate using their toilet. My dad was rounding the corner on his fifth beer at this point anyway, so he'd be going to bed soon, and I wanted to keep chewing the fat with him, so I ignored it. By the time he hugged me goodnight and went to bed, it had built to a 5/20, but I had it in my head I could make it until I left their place and got back home. Besides, I only had two beers over three hours (I had to drive after all!) so it's not as if I was constantly filling my bladder with drink. I followed my dad back into their cramped living room, bid my goodbyes to him with my mom, and sat down with her to charge my phone and chat. 

My mom had me well later in life, and falls very early in the Baby Boomer range. As such, she's an old fashioned lady enjoying her retirement, with her cats and TV and is just now learning the wonders of Facebook. I took the opposite end of the couch to her, and let her fill me in on what was happening with the debates on TV. She told me they bought some of my favorite sparking water just for my visit, and to help myself to that and whatever was in the fridge. I swear, this isn't the first time Waterloo Black Cherry was my undoing. I thanked her, and grabbed a couple cans for myself and some snacks for us to share while we watched TV. I still remember our conversation when I came back:

"Are you sure you're comfortable in those shorts, honey? Do you want to change into some different pants?" Which was her way of saying she didn't quite approve of how far up my thighs my cutoff jean shorts rode and how much leg I was showing off. 

"No, Mom, I'm comfortable. I only wear these while I'm doing laundry anyway." That seemed to reassure her. 

Our conversation kept me interested enough I hardly noticed my ever-growing need for the toilet, or just how much I was putting into my taxed bladder. I drank at least three cans of sparking water, talking to my mom about all the usual suspects. More politics, her cats, the majesty of Facebook, and how exactly she could sign up for Twitter and why she really shouldn't, and by the time the timer on my phone went off I really had to piss at a solid 13/20. But, fortunately for you and unfortunately for me, I am nothing if not a stubborn idiot. I inherited exactly two things from my Irish/Native American father: 1) A love for alcohol, and 2) sheer, inflexible, utterly spiteful stubbornness. My bladder had been bothering me enough over the last hour and a half I had grown resentful of it. I was going to hold it, damn it, at least until I was done with my laundry. Then, maybe, if my bladder didn't bug me too much I could go before I left. What a mistake that turned out to be. 

My bladder sloshed inside me as I made my way downstairs to put my final load of laundry in the washing machine. As it turned out, the machine still had a good 10 minutes on the end of its cycle, which was just short enough I figured I should just wait in the basement. I put on a brave face and ignored my bladder's protests, emptied penultimate bundle of clothes into my bag, and waited. My need grew to a 16/20 while the washing machine completed its cycle, every single splash of water within the machine seemingly punching me in the bladder. I unfolded an old, dusty outdoor chair in storage and tried to sit in it, hoping that it would help relieve the pressure. I unzipped my little jean shorts, letting the bulge of my bladder expand outward. Neither helped as much as I had hoped, and I felt the barest amount of moisture wet my panties. So I went from chair to wiggling my hips frantically in front of the washing machine, willing it to end, before returning to the chair again. If I were smart I just would've gone up stairs and peed, but no, stubborn as the ass I am, I stood there, desperate as all hell, willing myself to make it through. I reminded myself I used to hold it for 8 hours at a time in school, this was nothing. I am not going to wet myself in my parent's basement like a little girl.

With 3 minutes left I was twisting my legs around, trying so hard to hold on, but not slip out of my flip-flops. I had both hands pressed hard against my crotch, now at an 18/20 as I felt the first few proper leaks into my panties and through my shorts. I felt the warm, silky liquid against my hands and realized this was not going to happen. I was losing. There was no way I was even making it up two flights of stairs to the bathroom, let alone making it until I could switch my laundry over.  You'd think I'd find the situation hot, but, at the time, I was mostly just embarrassed. I started casting around for any solution to my issue, anywhere I could put this bladder full of piss when it inevitably gushed out of me.

I considered hopping up onto a step-stool and hanging my ass over the utility sink under the stairs, but the angle of said stairs made that impossible. I still waddled my way over, trying to figure a way to squat over it or something, but no, there was no way. Another squirt of liquid hissed out me, through my saturated panties and wet crotch into my hands. I shook the droplets off as best I could, and wiggled in desperation. Each solution I ran through in my brain got more and more absurd. I saw a drain in the middle of the basement floor, but no, it was blocked, and I had no idea how to unblock it. I saw a bucket in the corner, but when I managed to trudge over to it, my legs held almost stock-still together, I realized there was a huge crack in the center, and I would just be peeing on the floor. Hell, I considered finding a corner behind the clutter, squatting, and relieving myself and hoping that my family either didn't notice or blamed it on the cat, but no, I couldn't bring myself to do it.  Another huge, warm gush came uncontrollably out of my pussy, and ran down both my legs. This time I felt a twinge of relief on my aching bladder, and could barely resist the urge to just let go. There was a small puddle on the floor now, and another jet of pee added to it. I groaned, clenched as hard as I could under the pressure of both hands, and tried to make a last-ditch run up the steps. 

Every step I took on that ancient staircase with uneven spacing, another squirt came out of me. I was leaving pissy, flip-flop footprints on every other step. The squirts had become a solid, thin stream now that I couldn't get under control. I made it around the bend in the stairs, and I was almost to the kitchen when I just couldn't take it any more. My bladder won, and any semblance of control I had vanished. Piss gushed into my panties, through the soaked denim of my shorts, ran down my legs, and dripped down between the slats of the old wooden staircase. A tiny trickle of pee formed between my still-clenched thighs as I dropped my hands, awash in the relief of finally letting go. I swore and groaned in spite of myself, feeling my bladder finally empty. I took a step back, so the trickle of piss now running over my knees would end up between the slats of the stairs.

My long-tormented bladder finished emptying just as the buzzer on that old washing machine went off. I slipped off my flip-flops, picked my way back down the stairs in my dripping jean shorts. I threw my shoes in the utility sink to rinse them off, stripped naked below the waist, and used what little fabric on my shorts wasn't saturated with pee to soak up the excess piss off my legs. At least I had another load of laundry to do anyway, so I washed my hands, put the now-clean laundry into the drier, and fished a pair of leggings out of my last load to wear commando. After adding the soaked shorts and underwear to the final load of laundry and starting it, I did what I could to wipe up the puddles with some paper towels, and walked back up stairs.

Hopefully you guys enjoyed this! I feel like I might be getting too verbose, but this is how I write stories naturally. Let me know if you have any feedback, and if you have, thanks for reading! 

That is an amazing story!! I only wish I could've seen it happen

Link to comment

This is exactly the right amount of verbose. You can't rush the juicy details. You've written this a bit long yet nonetheless filed to the brim with valuable details. This could be an example piece for a writing class.

That being said, the introduction could be a bit shorter and the climax could be stretched a bit longer but hey, sometimes that's just how life gives you the story.

4.5 / 5 stars and I mean that. This is going into my favorites!

Link to comment
  • 4 weeks later...
  • 3 months later...
  • 2 weeks later...
On 5/14/2020 at 2:26 AM, Likealemon said:

Are you sure you're comfortable in those shorts, honey? Do you want to change into some different pants?" Which was her way of saying she didn't quite approve of how far up my thighs my cutoff jean shorts rode and how much leg I was showing off. 

This story lives on and rightly so keeps popping up. One thing I forgot to mention the first time I enjoyed reading it. Your description of your shorts made me imagine they were very, very short and tight, just covering the essentials. They were crotch hugging revealing you womanly shape down there, leaving little to the imagination, giving an excellent view of where your pee was coming out from, right from the initial leak

Link to comment

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.
Note: Your post will require moderator approval before it will be visible.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.

  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    • No registered users viewing this page.
×
×
  • Create New...