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Ultimate omo fantasy


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On 7/26/2020 at 9:28 PM, spiritedpearl said:

I've always wanted to wet at the park in the rain and also have control of someone else's bladder for a day. 

Last fall, I wet at the park without rain.  I've done that many times, though.  What was different about this time is that instead of going deliberately, or even simply not bothering to hold, I decided to try to hold on as long as I could and have an actual, real accident in my pants.

It was wonderful!

 

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I'm on a date with a woman and she's desperate to pee but doesn't want to stop until we get home, she can't hold it long enough for me to get the door open and she pisses herself at my doorstep. She thinks I'm going to be disgusted with her but instead I fuck her senseless the rest of the night and next day.

The next weekend, she secretly tries to hold it to recreate that accident again but she drinks way too much and has an accident in the car halfway home but because she drank so much she gets desperate again in a short time and can't hold it again right as we pull into my driveway.

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My ultimate fantasy would be with someone who likes making me desperate and holding it in public for them. They would have control over my bladder but never allow me to release. 
A specific scenario: One day, I am very desperate for a pee, but you do not want to let me go. So we go out to run some errands and whatnot. I am squirming and holding myself in public, doing everything I can to hold it in. I am begging you to let me pee, but you tell me no and that I can hold it. You are watching me intently, getting aroused by my desperation. It is going to be a long drive back home, so I ask you if I can pee before the ride. Of course, you tell me no. I beg and plead with you to let me pee, but instead, you look me in the eyes and tell me that if I do not keep still, you will make me drink another bottle of water and then take the bus home. So, I obey your orders and sit down in the car. I keep both my hands pressed between my thighs, squeezing my crotch tightly as if it’s the only thing keeping my bladder from emptying itself. You glance down at me and I can see that you are very much turned on by my predicament. Less than 5 minutes into the ride, a huge wave hits me, and I gasp out loud as a spurt of pee escapes from under my skirt. I start shaking my legs again to hold back the flood. I tell you that I am seriously going to wet myself any second. I know you will punish me if I wet your car, so you hand me a plastic bottle and tell me that I can use it. I want to take the bottle from your hand so badly so that I can finally release my bulging bladder, but I cannot. Because if I move my hands away from my crotch, I will wet myself completely. You knew this, which is why you waited until this point to give me the bottle. Fortunately, knowing that the bottle was there helped calm my mind so that I could make it the rest of the ride. We arrive at your house and you tell me that I can relieve myself once we get inside, so I hurry as fast as I can to get to the front door. I am struggling to hold it in as you fiddle with your keys, and I feel like I can’t last any longer. I’m about to give in and wet myself right there when you finally get the door open. I frantically rush inside and head straight for the toilet. You suddenly grab me by my arm and pull me back towards you into a strong kiss. It feels like you’re trying to devour me as chills from your touch run through my body. My muscles relax for a split second and a stream of warm pee leaks out. I gasp as my hand darts down to grab myself, but you take my hand away, pull me in closer, and lock your lips with mine once again. Suddenly, all the liquid inside of me comes flooding out uncontrollably. We both moan in pleasure. Then we head into a room and have hot sex.

....just thinking about it...~mmmm~

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Guest Soma-Matic

I'd like to meet a woman or trans-woman... who is broke and in need of shelter a forever home invite her in and have her just piss all over my bed for the rest of her life.... ideally a thick girl age 18-26... who just wants to wet cuddle, and snuggle. My wife is too timid to do such things and finds them gross.... she's at the point of an open marriage. The Social Democrat in me wants to save poor people, the horny bitch in me loves to see a thick girl just ruin a nice mattress, carpets, rugs, couches....

My horny bitch side is an anarchist lol. :shiba_cool:

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On 8/4/2020 at 8:53 PM, omoyazyaoi said:

My ultimate fantasy would be with someone who likes making me desperate and holding it in public for them. They would have control over my bladder but never allow me to release. 
A specific scenario: One day, I am very desperate for a pee, but you do not want to let me go. So we go out to run some errands and whatnot. I am squirming and holding myself in public, doing everything I can to hold it in. I am begging you to let me pee, but you tell me no and that I can hold it. You are watching me intently, getting aroused by my desperation. It is going to be a long drive back home, so I ask you if I can pee before the ride. Of course, you tell me no. I beg and plead with you to let me pee, but instead, you look me in the eyes and tell me that if I do not keep still, you will make me drink another bottle of water and then take the bus home. So, I obey your orders and sit down in the car. I keep both my hands pressed between my thighs, squeezing my crotch tightly as if it’s the only thing keeping my bladder from emptying itself. You glance down at me and I can see that you are very much turned on by my predicament. Less than 5 minutes into the ride, a huge wave hits me, and I gasp out loud as a spurt of pee escapes from under my skirt. I start shaking my legs again to hold back the flood. I tell you that I am seriously going to wet myself any second. I know you will punish me if I wet your car, so you hand me a plastic bottle and tell me that I can use it. I want to take the bottle from your hand so badly so that I can finally release my bulging bladder, but I cannot. Because if I move my hands away from my crotch, I will wet myself completely. You knew this, which is why you waited until this point to give me the bottle. Fortunately, knowing that the bottle was there helped calm my mind so that I could make it the rest of the ride. We arrive at your house and you tell me that I can relieve myself once we get inside, so I hurry as fast as I can to get to the front door. I am struggling to hold it in as you fiddle with your keys, and I feel like I can’t last any longer. I’m about to give in and wet myself right there when you finally get the door open. I frantically rush inside and head straight for the toilet. You suddenly grab me by my arm and pull me back towards you into a strong kiss. It feels like you’re trying to devour me as chills from your touch run through my body. My muscles relax for a split second and a stream of warm pee leaks out. I gasp as my hand darts down to grab myself, but you take my hand away, pull me in closer, and lock your lips with mine once again. Suddenly, all the liquid inside of me comes flooding out uncontrollably. We both moan in pleasure. Then we head into a room and have hot sex.

....just thinking about it...~mmmm~

I have this exact fantasy, except I am obviously the guy controlling the bladder in this scenario. I'm actually not a very dominant guy, despite  my height lol...I'm pretty soft-spoken but the thought of controlling when a gorgeous woman gets to pee? Good golly. 

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I was going to say my ultimate fantasy would be to see a woman in a situation where she is kept away from a bathroom for a prolonged amount of time or couldn't go to the bathroom while others could, but now that I'm actually living that scenario at my job regularly I have to say the reality of it, while it makes for an interesting fantasy, would be more interesting if it was happening to someone else. Actually living through it is quite nightmarish. But I am sure that there are probably a lot of people here would probably find my situation extremely exciting both as an experiencer or as an observer.

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Do we need a stage and an announcer for a fantasy, a storyteller, a summary of the plot and a fanfare from the orchestra? 

All it needs is a willing woman, and to be there. 

 

She just smiles, mutters a quick "Excuse me" into my ear, as if she plans to dart into the  restaurant across the road and use the loo. 

Of course she will, nothing out of the ordinary, and she'll be back in a moment.

She moves half a step away, as if she's about to check her sunglasses, perfectly at ease, to stand with her legs apart.

Her eyes are just a little out of focus, as she pauses in her breathing. 

I can't believe that I am watching this. 

Piss patters down onto the paving slabs, tapping on the stone for a moment.

Then...  Nothing. 

I can see a little trickle, down inside her thigh and winding around her calf: a quick flash on her ankle and a glimpse, a bubbling little flicker in her sandal. 

She looks me straight in the eye - a game: look down and lose! - with a polite little pucker of her lips, and a look in her eyes of filthy, filthy mischief...

But no hint, unless you can see the wet flash of sunlight on her skin and the spots on the pavement, that anything is happening under her skirt. 

...I can hear it. The whisper and hiss of pissing, deepening to an espresso-cup roar as a hot little pool fills out the cup of her pants and rises to immerse her; and now we hear the muffled rush of pissing underwater. 

And there it is, falling from under her skirt and clattering on the ground, a stream of piss, hosing straight down into a puddle, spattering her ankles with a fine spray of droplets. 

She throws back her head, runs her fingers through her hair, slips her headband back on and looks over her sunglasses:

"You lose!" 

And indeed I do, looking down to see a sudden patch on the front of her miniskirt, where it touches the waistband of her underwear: damp, darkening, wet, spreading-out and  running to the hem, a long finger pointing to a steady run of droplets falling in the air. 

The falling stream falters and wavers, disappears beneath her skirt again, becoming two bright trickles on her legs: and that accusing finger on her skirt broadens out into an unmistakable "I've wet myself" patch on her front. 

A sudden pattering behind her marks out a matching handprint of "Wet myself" at the back: I watch the hem drip-dripping as she walks away, legs still wet, trickles still running, as the fabric slithers and clings between her thighs, picking up more wetness from her skin. 

One dark thumbprint, then two, joining-up into sharp wet lines at her backside, soaking down to the handprint at the hem. 

What must it be like, as the pool drains down, combing through her  little ruff of hair and slicking it down with foam, to tickle and prinkle and spring  back? 

Surely she gasps and shivers a little? 

Not a hint of it, as she walks the bold and confident strides of a fashionable woman on a perfect day. 

I cannot follow her: I cannot move, losing our 'game' in spurt after spurt, as a dark spot at my pocket glistens and flows downwards... 

Breathe. 

This stops, right? I can move? 

I can't. 

She shimmies as she walks, relishing the slick silkiness of wetted skin on skin, droplets and trickles and trails, flashing, flickering and fading. 

She pauses, still facing away from me, legs slightly crossed in a 'swimsuit' pose: and new a trickle runs down the back of her leg, bubbling at the heel of of her sandal, joining one wet footprint to another, and another, and another. 

What, more?

 Could she be standing like that to squeeze out her underwear? It must be sopping wet! 

I compose myself, and start to catch up: just as I get to her, she sets her feet apart again, breathes out slowly, and a long, thin, stream of piss falls down again, pitter-pattering between her sandals again, faltering and wavering.

Not the cascade of a minute ago: but unmistakably, a woman letting herself piss until she has the satisfaction of relieving herself completely. 

In her pants, to patter on the pavement, without embarrassment or hesitation. 

I am frozen to the spot, losing again, and it seems like every shot of it is bigger than the last: I can feel it dribbling on my skin and I can't bring myself to care... 

Her skirt is drying already, faintly stained but you just wouldn't know, until you saw her sprinkling, oh-so-very-delicately, onto the ground and onto her sandals, and onto those prettily-lacquered toenails. 

A spurt, a sudden rush of droplets, a wet line on the pavement and a little flicker of a trickle on her ankle. 

And off we go. Her, striding out, drying out, loving the feel of sunlight on her skin, knowing that the trail of wet footprints is fading to nothing as the last of the trickles run out of her sandal: walking away from the scene.

And me, wondering if anyone will see how awkwardly I'm walking - still painfully erect, for I know that she's  walking in wet knickers - and trying not to draw attention to a wet patch in my trousers which will still be visible for quite a while. 

It doesn't go away: she spends the afternoon releasing sudden spurts, every few minutes, drawing a line on the ground below her with a sharp little patter; or pausing in her walk to let a discreet little trickle flash and glisten down her leg, and disappear. 

Sometimes she teases me with a glance, sometimes I am left to wonder whether I should lose another game of sweety-sweet smiles and puckering invitations to a kiss, while her eyes meet mine in a wordless mischief of slick and liquid sin. 

And if you miss the moment when she did it? 

We're out for a walk on a sunny afternoon, just another casually-fashionable couple taking the air. 

 

 

 

 

Edited by betanumeric
Repairing terrible sentences (see edit history)
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Another fantasy? 

.

She knocks on the door of the hotel room:

"It's open" 

 

And in she comes, turning like a dancer and setting the chainlock, one light step as she turns again, taking both my hands. 

Up on tiptoes, looking up at me, and a quick kiss: once, twice, then slowly and a darting tongue turns it into urgent little whispers. 

A hand guides mine to her, under her skirt, a fingertip on soft, soft skin... 

And latex. 

A step back, hands held between us, standing demurely, if anything about a lithe little dancer in a tight, tight dress can be 'demure'. 

A glance, a wicked glint in her eye, a flicker with the tip of  her tongue, wetted lips parted as she looks up at me again, becoming a little distant, her eyes unfocused... 

A sharp patter, then another: a spray of droplets onto latex. 

Take a breath. 

The distinct sound of piss, spurting: once, twice, and stop. 

Again, and stop. 

Again, not stopping, but fading into a steady little hiss. 

Breathing. 

The hiss becomes louder, little by little: I can feel her relaxing, letting go. 

And then her eyes go wide, her hips rise up, and she's riding a firehose, roaring, rushing and frothing... 

...And suddenly deadened: she's immersed herself in her own wee and now she's pissing underwater. 

I can hear it, a dull rush and a swirling surface, rising, rising, filling-up and rising. 

A droplet rolls down her leg: another, and I catch it with a fingertip, caressing it into a glistening line on her thigh. 

She rises up again, we kiss, again, tongues and gasps and whimpers. 

I cannot speak. 

I AM KISSING A WOMAN WHO IS PISSING HERSELF, WETTING HERSELF, IMMERSED IN THE SIN AND THE PLEASURE OF IT

...All of it and - My God!  - she is still pissing and I can hear it. 

I can feel it like thunder roaring in  my ears. 

We part the kiss again, breathless. 

To the bathroom, or to the bed, to fuck each other brainless and not give a damn? 

A long breath out, a short breath in, and two sharp spurts, felt as much as heard, as she finishes-off a long and satisfying wee, taking a moment to savour the deep, deep pleasure of having relieved herself. 

Relief, and a bright smile, and a gaze still softened by arousal: she leads my hand down her, over her breast in the dress, and my gaze follows it down the line of her body, rounded slightly at the front as if she still had a full bladder... 

And there, perfectly visible beneath the hem, the latex has sagged and bulged and formed a visible bladder of wee, swelling out between her legs, bright in the light and perfectly transparent. 

She guides my hand to cup it - so hot, it startles me - and I lift it a little, twice, knowing that wee will swirl on her skin, and on her labia, and in her ruff of hair. 

Another droplet, caught and smoothed into a slick caress drawn by a fingertip; a tap on the carpet as another gets away. 

Up again, to kiss again; and I am just, just at the cliff-edge of coming, and coming, and coming: judging by her breathing, so is she. 

I lead her by the hand, out toward the balcony, where canapés, glasses, and a bottle of champagne await us: she steps in front of me, waddling around the bulge between her legs, and I follow behind, watching the light from outside catching her pool of wee, lit like the moon under her skirt, and glimpsing the glistening trails in the shadows on the back of her legs. 

To the balcony, where the world can see us from the waist up, a romantic couple chattering and sipping champagne, kissing occasionally. 

But our hands out of sight; and her wicked little fingers have unzipped me, bring me to the brink with her fingertips as I push gently up into the latex, sometimes caressing her with flows and lazy tides of heavy liquid, sometimes teasing her *there* with a fingertip as she softens again, loses herself: twice in the pleasure of relieving herself again, and once in the murmuring bliss of an orgasm brought by slow caresses and swirls of liquid sin. 

And finally, we have drunk the very last drop of champagne.

A steady trickle has been running down her ankle all evening, disappearing in a thin black line into the balcony drain, as the swelling pool between her legs has grown, and grown, and become ever-more obvious beneath the skirts of her cocktail dress: and so she turns, gracefully and carefully, to stand with her back against the balcony, legs wide-apart, shoes kicked-off, lips half-open and her head thrown back. 

For anybody watching a romantic couple, it couldn't be a more obvious  "Fuck me right here dammit!"  and her hand slips into my trousers, again, deftly drawing out a painfully-sensitive and eager weapon, sticky at the tip and trembling. 

She lifts the front of her skirt, and I can see light on the surface of a pool of wee, a bright crescent below the waistband of her latex. A ripple, a dazzle of reflected light, as she stands on tiptoe and lifts her pelvis towards me in the final invitation of a woman abandoning herself to the urge. 

A sodden stillness and a moment of clarity, and I can see everything, softly-lit in yellow light, plump lips - slick, even underwater - maidenshair floating free, an eager cltoris and... 

She is breathing raggedly, and gasps. 

...Hidden, suddenly, by a swirl in the surface, then perfectly clear: she is pissing, hard, hard, and harder.  I reach in, fingers forcing into the soft swelling of piss in latex. I touch her, a fingertip on her clitoris - too much!  - then cup the stream onto her, hot and rushing in the palm of my hand as she squeals, throws her had forward and back, and starts to come, and come, and come. 

I do not care about the overflow, flooding over her waistband and into my pants: I dig into the latex, two-handed, tear  it and thrust into her, hot piss flooding into me and fucking, and fucking, and fucking, mouth-to-mouth on silent screams and utterly abandoned, both of us bucking and thrusting onto each other, until we no longer know who we are or care if we're even still breathing. 

It's over, and we come-to, showering with our clothes on and unsure of how we got here, in the bathroom of our suite. 

I pat her dry with the fluffy towel, and she tries to rub me down with the rough one, but she's too spent to do it: I hold it up between us and she hugs me, squirming and shimmying against me, cheerfully obscene and thoroughly enjoying herself. 

We pretend to be be surprised by my erection, and the fact that she is wet - slick, even - when I am now thoroughly, thoroughly dry. 

We do something about that, slowly. 

I hang up her dress, carefully, smoothing it out and hooking it over the towel rail to dry: she looks at me, enquiringly:

"I have a change of clothes here, for me, but I don't want to send you home in such a state" 

She nods. I show her what I've brought, to protect the mattress on the bed - I know that she's incontinent, but it's difficult for her to talk about it directly - and she sets to work, while I roll-up a wetted towel and kick it along the trail of drips inside the suite, finally using it to mop the balcony, returning with her sandals. 

She rinses them under the tap, patting them dry while I repeat the towel-rolling, this time with a dry one, stamping it into the wet patches: leave the balcony door open, and it'll all be fine in the morning. 

She hadn't intended to stay the night, or thought she didn't, but now she realises she can: she doesn't have a protective garment to sleep in but - for joy! - she doesn't need it. We sit in our bathrobes and natter: and she drinks, and drinks, and drinks: green tea, water, sports drinks, more water and more tea, and I wonder if she wants more champagne: but no... 

I have got it across, gently, that she has nothing to worry about, and no need for embarrassment if she wets the bed, it's protected and I don't mind; and if she pisses on me, then I will fuck her. 

And as she wraps her lithe little body around me in the night... 


 - And no, she didn't piss when we both brushed our teeth, and she *watched* me piss, and I felt her wince with the urge to go when I did it, I was sure that she would piss onto the floor, and not a damn' thing she could do about it - 

...I realise that she has wholeheartedly consented and committed to this, and consider taking the Viagra. But, right now, there is no need whatsoever to resort to that: for she is murmuring sleepily, with a delicious warmth and lassitude, and the tip of me is sliding over and along - but not yet into - slick and plump and happy little labia. 

And if I fall asleep and dream of an eager little body drawing herself onto me, and find myself in a wet dream that doesn't cut off at the climax, and awaken to the scalding flood of piss upon a watered oak, so be it. 

I stroke her hair and nuzzle her ear, feeling her relax, and relax, and relax. 

To sleep, perchance to dream. 
 

Edited by betanumeric
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On 8/10/2020 at 9:18 PM, betanumeric said:

Another fantasy? 

She knocks on the door of the hotel room:

"It's open" 

I did a bit of editing, tidying-up, and a bit of extra material because, sometimes, you just *know* that it wasn't filthy enough. 

However, there's a time limit to editing replies on this site, so that work can't be posted here.

It's on my writing blog, over there:

https://hidden-stream.dreamwidth.org/23755.html

 

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Hmmm... I seem to have killed this topic stone-dead. 

Surprising, really: I am not the best writer here, by a long way, and there is surely someone, here, with an even filthier mind. 

Maybe I should repost 'Pee in your bikini', the one about the beach bar on a Caribbean island that serves a peculiar herbal cocktail. 

Edited by betanumeric (see edit history)
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7 hours ago, betanumeric said:

Hmmm... I seem to have killed this topic stone-dead. 

Surprising, really: I am not the best writer here, by a long way, and there is surely someone, here, with an even filthier mind. 

Maybe I should repost 'Pee in your bikini', the one about the beach bar on a Caribbean island that serves a peculiar herbal cocktail. 

I'll read your story in a bit. 😁 It looks long though so it might have been better in the fiction section of the website. 😁 This thread has mostly been short little fantasy ideas I think. 

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I have a few various fantasies, so I'll just briefly list each one:

First one is the concept of always peeing. One day I wake up, and need to pee, and have no chance of holding it. I begin to wet myself, and after a few minutes, I come to realize it hasn't stopped. I try to fo about my day, expecting my bladder will run out eventually, but never does. I'm just constantly peeing, and have no way to hold it.

My second ideal is the concept of a inflatable diaper. It wears like a normal diaper, but is made of latex or rubber or something like that. All pee that goes in makes it grow, like a giant water balloon, except full of pee. You could take it off without pee coming out, though it could be emptied somehow. It never pops, and could get as big as you'd want as long as you put in the pee.

The last idea is one that was a fantasy for a long time, but I actually live in now. Me and my boyfriend live together, and we're both into omo, and haven't peed in any of the toilets in our house in years. There's no rule that stops us from doing so, we just choose not too. We live in a house that's always got pee somewhere.

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I've got a great fantasy here, although I don't like to call it my ultimate fantasy.

Being close to a beautiful ballerina, and having her whisper to me before a show that she wishes it weren't too late to visit the ladies' room.  I get to watch her exquisite bodily displays with the knowledge that her bladder is uncomfortably full.  Now and then I see subtle signs of desperation, and even a hint of a bladder bulge when her body is bent just the right way, but she performs excellently.  After the final curtain I greet her backstage and tell her how great she was.  With the relief of being out of public sight she's now openly desperate.  For some reason I get to see into the bathroom as she sprints to the toilet and struggles with her costume while making impatient and pained noises.  Finally her naked bottom makes contact with the porcelain seat and she unleashes a powerful torrent while making lovely relieved noises.

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