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female Peafowl's Omo Shorts


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College Interview

with Parkha Naeem

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

Before Parkha stood a large, clouded glass door to the admissions office of the New Amsterdam School of Arts and Sciences. This was her dream college for next year, and today was her interview with the admissions officer. Dressed up for the occasion she wore her blouse medium length skirt, black hose, loafers, a flowered headscarf, and a nervous smile.

"I'll meet you at the Basileus diner for lunch after, sweety!" her mother wished her luck before leaving. "You'll do great!"

Parkha wasn't sure about that, but now was not the time to have negative thoughts. She opened the door and entered the office. There was a large desk, and behind it sat a very well-dressed gentleman smoking a cigar. This guy looked a little too well-paid to be an admissions officer, and clearly he was being distracted, yelling at someone over the phone who sounded like a surveyer.

The man turned his attention back to Parkha. "Sorry about that," he said in a fast and bold tone, "we're trying to get the next building torn down. Now, you're here for the interview, yes?"

"Yeah...I MEAN yes, sir," Parkha responded.

"Nah, call me Glenn. Lets's walk and talk!" the man boomed, grabbing a coffee and leading Parkha out to the campus. "Where do you come from, and what brings you here?"

"I'm from Mohota, West Dakota," Parkha responded. "I want to get into history."

"Damn! That's far away! You're a girl with ambition!" he replied. Parkha talked about her activities in school, following her mother's advice to exaggerate her accomplishments and mention strengths mistaken for weaknesses. Occasionally her self doubts crept in, but this guy didn't seem to care.

"Now, have you seen the library? Biggest one in the city, I'll show it to you," invited the man. They walked across the street to a towering library. Parkha was getting an exclusive visit to the top floor, which excited her. "Now, all we need to do is take the elevator up." The man called the elevator, and they entered.

They continued talking in the elevator until they were interrupted by an abrupt lurch. "Damn it!" cursed the man, "the elevator is stuck. I will fire the guy who maintains this junk."

"Wait, you manage mechanics?" Parkha asked.

"I do a lot here," the man replied, trying to ring up assistance. There was no phone service in the elevator, and there was no intercom, instead relying on a direct signal alerting the mechanics a broken elevator.

"Well, looks like we're stuck for a while," said the man. Parkha agreed.

 

They continued the interview as best they could, running out of questions and going off on tangents. It was about an hour since the elevator got stuck. Parkha was starting to feel a pressure in her abdomen when she realized she was starting to need to pee, causing her to step side to side.

The man started asking personal questions. "So, what hobbies you got?"

For some reason, this was a hard question for Parkha. She was reluctant to expose her interests in what she assumed was strictly an "all work no play" environment. She liked to write fanfictions, watch cartoons, and play video games, but they all seemed like things that would make her look bad and childish. Needing to pee also lowered her confidence.

"Oh, you know, things....like...um..." she tried to answer, "uhh...things...um, I like to read and study literature!"

"No no no, I mean FUN things," the man explained, "what gets you up on four-day weekends?"

Parkha continued to step side to aide, forward and back, keeping her thighs squeezed more and more. "I like to draw."

"What do you draw?"

"Birds...?" Parkha was not going to admit to her more compromising drawings.

The man continued to keep the conversation interestimg while Parkha was getting more and more distracted by the stuck elevator and her urgevto pee. She was starting to occasionally press at her crotch and cross her legs with a slight bob. Thankfully, the man did not notice anything.

Parkha bit her lip and crossed her legs tight, "how much longer do you think it will take to fix the elevator?" she asked.

The man replied, "God knows how long, and I'm going to fire all of them! I have to rock a monster piss, pardon my French!" To Parkha, she could not recognize any indication that he needed to pee too, and that made her more self conscious.

Time continued to pass, and there was no progress with the elevator. The man seemed to have run out of questions, and the car got quiet, left only with the sounds of Parkha pacing and crossing legs. She was starting to get much more desperate, tempted to hold her crotch but not in front of the man. She was to embarassed to mention her need to pee too.

She felt behind her the hand railing, and subtly scooted towards the end to sit on it, trying to massage her crotch from behind without him noticing. But it wasn't enough. Her legs began to double twist, squirming and squeezing her thighs.

"Please hurry up," she thought to herself silently, "I have to go so bad!" She did not want to unleash a flood on her interview! She tried scratching her leg, standing on her toes, biting her lip, but the urge to pee was getting too strong. She started grabbing her crotch.

The man, playing on his phone the whole time, only now noticed the excessive movement in the car. "Hey, is there something wrong?"

Parkha blushed. There was no point hiding it now. "I...kinda need to pee...really bad...and I don't think I can hold it for much longer," she whimpered.

The man patted around his coat, as if to look for something. "Sorry," he said, "I threw out the coffee cup. But hey! At least you're wearing a skirt!"

That did not make Parkha feel better. With the secret out, she turned around and pressed the front of her crotch on the hand rail to apply more pressure. She was feeling utterly humiliated now, sure that she'd never get into this college.

More time passed, and she hit her breaming point. She was bouncing, dancing, twisting, grabbing, whining, doing anything to hold it longer. "I'm not sure what's taking these guys so long," the man said. Parkha couldn't help but cry.

The car then errupted in the sound of pee squeezing through fabric. A waterfall fell from under Parkha, lining her skirt and down her legs, creating a large puddle on the tile floor of the car. The man stepped to the side to avoid getting his nice shoes dirty. She began to cry. "I'm so sorry! I couldn't hold it anymore!"

"Don't worry about it, kid," the man said, "this part of the interview never happened. I got some spare clothes for my mother I could lend to you in the office. I think you got good stuff!" Parkha felt a little better, but still humiliated.

Just then, the car moved. "Are you kidding me?!" the man exclaimed. The car returned to the lobby, and opened. Parkha hid behind the man as the door opened, revealing a team of mechanics.

They stepped out of the car and the man began to yell at them when the door of the elevator quickly shut...on Parkha's skirt! It car started rolling up, with Parkha, the man, and mechanics shocked in terror. "NONONO!" screamed Parkha as her skirt slowly got pulled up by the elevator car. Her buttons popped, the stitching tore, and the skirt got ripped off, revealing her full semi-see-through hose and panties just visible, all soaked. She pulled her shirt down.

The man hastely wrapped her in his jacket, and brashly fired the mechanics who were just as terrified. Then the two quickly returned to the office, where she changed into the loaned cloths that fit her just well enough.

"I'm so sorry," cried Parkha. The man retorted, "No! This was our fault, don't worry about it. We'll talk again some other time, we'll be excited to see you here after we review all the other records!"

Parkha left the room to go meet with her mother. She was glad the interview itself went well, but she couldn't start to think of an explanation for her new clothes and wet dress.

 

 

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How to Hold a Spy

with Cebile Wielen

-----------------‐---------------

"Dump her on the floor here."

Out of a brown potato sack fell a woman bound by her wrists and ankles, a suspected corporate spy from the megacorp Kingston General Utility. In reality she was a low-paid intern told to record shipping schedules from rival corporation Wallis Works. She was a dark British-African named Cebile Wielen in her early twenties, dressed in a black jacket, buttoned blouse, and semiformal khaki trousers.

Cebile looked at her surroundings in horror. It was a dark concrete room, lit by a single hanging fixture with bleach white light. With her stood a tall East Asian-looking woman in a formal suite holding a rider's whip, and an undescribable masked person standing motionless with the potato sack. Not only did Cebile not expect to be caught, she didn't expect her mission to even be that valuable.

"Trying to find trade secrets, hmm?" Taunted the well-dressed lady, probably an executive. She removed Cebile's gag.

Cebile pleaded, "I'm so sorry! I didn't know that was a restricted road! I just got lo-"

"Lost with detailed time stamps of our ship departures and arrivals?" the lady interrupted. "Tsk tsk. You know, they say even the smallest pieces of information can crumble empires, right?"

Cebile was not interested in monologues on philosophy. The woman had a whip in a concrete bunker, and that was all that concerned her. Her wrists were stinging from the ropes, muscles aching from being bound, and her bladder was tingling for a little tea break after being couped up in a car boot for two hours.

"Look, I'm sorry about all this, can you just let me go? You can keep my journal and I won't tell anyone what I found!" Cebile begged.

"Yeah, not happening," the lady retorted. "Not until I get information from you as payment. Then, I'll think about letting you go."

Cebile replied, "I swear, I don't know anything! I'm just an intern!"

"I have ways to find out," the lady chuckled, brandishing the rider's whip. Cebile swallowed, and leaked a drop in her knickers in nervousness. "No", added the lady, "I'll make this...fun."

The lady ordered the masked person to lift Cebile onto a steel table. Luckily there was no blood, comforting Cebile a little. "Don't worry," said the lady maintaining a sinister voice, "I won't actually hurt you. At least, not too bad." After that word she took her riding whip and gave a firm spank on Cebile's bottom, causing her to flinch.

Cebile lay on the table begining to squirm. One foot pressed down on the other, and her thighs squeezed tight, shaking slightly. Her hands were tied behind her back, so she couldn't press her crotch.

"Uh oh," said the lady, "I think our little spy might be....needing something." Cebile stayed silent. "Do you need to visit the loo?"

"A-a little," Cebile responded.

"The loo is just out the door to the right. I'll let you use it...if you tell me what I need to know."

Cebile sincerely did not know any secrets to give up, and she was not a confident liar. "I really don't know, ma'am. Please!"

"I'm sure you don't," the lady responded, giving Cebile another spank on her bottom. Cebile's trousers were starting to ride down her waist to the point where the lady could observe a peak of knicker's waistband. "Fan of blue, I see?" said the lady. Cebile took a moment to think what was going on until she felt the back of her trousers get pulled down slightly. "Blue with pink hearts is a pretty colour pattern," added the lady.

"No! Please don't peak!" cried Cebile, blushing bright enough red to show on her black cheeks. She continued to squirm and squeeze, twist and turn, trying hard to hold.

"If you didn't want me to peak, you shouldn't have worn such amazing knickers!" the lady taunted. She set down her whip and pulled out some scissors out of a drawer.

"W-what are you going to do to me!? Please!" begged Cebile. The lady took the blade to the waist of Cebil's trousers and began to snip, snip, snip, all the way down her leg to her ankle, until her trouser side could be peeled open, to reveal bare black legs. She flipped her over and did the otherside too, and yanked her trousers off completely. Cebile cried the whole time, desperate to hold still to avoid getting hurt. She had squirted a little more in her knickers, and a wet spot became visible. She tried her best to cross legs to hide her knickers to no avail.

"Do you know anything now?" the lady scolded.

Cebile sobbed, "I don't! I'm not lying, I don't know anything!"

The lady then procerded to snip open her jacket and blouse, removing them. "Aww, no matching bra?" the lady asked disappointedly. Cebile wore a plain white bra. She continued to cry, blush, and squirm. The lady noted, "Your bottoms are getting a little damp I see."

Cebile's legs were shaking intensly. It is hard to hold when your hands are bound and legs can't fully cross. The wet spot continued to slowly grow.

"Lets make this interesting," said the lady, pulling a revolver out of another drawer, "if you make a mess on my table before I get some information, I'll shoot you!"

Cebile bauled, "NO! PLEASE! I'M ABOUT TO BURST! I SWEAR I KNOW NOTHING!"

The lady grabbed the waistband of Cebile's knickers and pulled them down to reveal bare bottom. She grabbed the rider's whip to begin spanking.

"Oouuch!" Cebile cried, "That hurts! Please!". The lady spanked again, and Cebile's entire legs winced to squeeze against her overloaded bladder. "It's hard to hold if you keep hitting me!"

"I'd better hear you sing soon!" the lady threatened.

"I-ack-CAN'T! I TOLD YOU I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!" Her entire bottom part of her knickers were already getting soaked, but Cebile still held on, squeezing and squirming like a fish caught on a hook.

The lady took the handle of the whip and pressed it firmly against Cebile's crotch. "Does that help?"

Cebil responded, "a little..." She felt so mortified that someone else was holding her pee for her, but she took advantage and kept the pressure on her crotch. Her legs were shivering so bad even her butt was shivering to hold her pee.

"Last chance," the lady warned. Cebile continued to deny any information, for she had none.

"....please don't kill me..." Cebile whimpered, "I can't.....hold it..."

Cebile's muscles suddenly loosened. Pee began to trickle through her knickers, around her thigh towards the table. Just as the first drops touched the table, Cebile let out a big grunt, big enough to cause her to fart, and her body jerked, suddenly stopping the flow of pee. She then went back to shaking like an earthquake.

"Close call," snickered the lady. Cebile was whimpering and murmering, squirming like a dying eel. But one moment of victory was not to last. Her muscles fatigued, and her knickers flooded once again, covering the table and even spilling onto the floor. Cebile peed for a good thirty second. "DAMN that was a lot!" the lady exclaimed.

Cebile was in full tears. "Please don't shoot me! I don't know anything, I swear! I couldn't hold it any more!" she cried.

The lady pulled the revolver, pointed at Cebile's head as she begged for her life, and pulled the trigger. "Click". Nothing happened.

The lady burst laughing. "I can't believe you fell for that! You were so scared! You pissed yourself!" The lady threw the gun away. "It wasn't loaded. I know, you're stupid and don't know anything, you can go."

Cebile dropped her head on the table in relief. She was so relieved she only just realized that she peed a little more in response. She blushed harder.

"Let her go," ordered the lady. The figure lifted Cebile onto their shoulder, and took her through the hallway, out the door, to the yard, somewhere just outside York. They dropped her on the ground and undid her binds. She stood up, corrected her soaked knickers, and covered them with one hand and her bra with the other.

"C-can I have some spare clothes please? I'm n-naked," Cebile asked as the figure left and slammed the door shut. Cebile cringed, blushed, whimpred, and ran off, darting between trees trying to find a way home while naked in public.

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We Have Guests

with Nisha Sujaanthan 

(messing warning)

‐---------------------------------

Knock knock knock! "Hurry up in there! You still need to help me prepare tonight for guests, and I don't want any excuses!"

"I said I'm coming!"

Flush!

Nisha walked out of the washroom feeling her aching stomach. Perhaps it was some sort of bug, or something she ate earlier, because this was her third trip to the toilet in four hours. She was supposed to help her parents get ready for a big dinner for their relatives, something she has not been too enthusiadtic about. After all, what fun is there in cooking food for unfamiliar faces supposedly related to you who would just berate you for everything.

Downstairs, her mother, her Amma, was greeted by her sleepy-looking 19 year old daughter. "You look like a pig," bemoaned Amma. "Fix up your hair, and your aunts and uncles won't see you in bed shorts and a wrinkly t-shirt!"

Nisha shrugged and began to help. Right now they were prepairing sambaar and dosa. She got to chopping vegetables and washing metal dishes to be reused, expressing no satisfaction but still at least trying to put a front up for Amma and Appa, her father.

After only a few minutes, Nisha's stomach began to ache again, subtely growling and bubbling. "Hhhnng, not again," she thought. She grabbed her stomach and clenched her glutes, and ran fast for upstairs.

"Hey, where are you going?" asked Amma, sternly.

Nisha replied, "I'll be right back, sorry!" and ran to the bathroom. She shut the door, hastely undid her shorts, and fell on the toilet seat, emptying her bowels. She could hear Amma in the background protesting. "Amma!" she yelled, "I don't feel good!"

"Excuses!" she yelled from downstairs, "If you weren't on your damned games all the time, this wouldn't happen!"

Nisha had learned to not question assertions like this, but her stomach sickness was quite annoying. She hasn't gotten time for herself all day because of it. After 15 minutes of waiting for her stomach to settle, she cleaned up and returned to the kichen.

"Are you playing on your phone?" Amma asked. "Are you talking to a boyfriend!?" Appa popped his head into the kitchen with a stern look.

"No Amma!" Nisha protested, "and I don't have a boyfriend!" She felt annoyed and a little hurt that her mother thought she was lying about a genuine sickness, or that she had a boyfriend when she was both gay and too shy to ask anyone. She was too embarassed to talk about her diarrhea though. Her stomach eased, and she got back to helping.

Time passed, and her relatives were about to arrive. Amma and Appa were hurridly finalizing preparations. "Nisha, go wear something nice!" ordered her parents, hinting at the uncomfortably itchy red sari in her closet that got used maybe once every two years. She ran up, changed, and ran down as the bell rang.

Her parents let in a gaggle of loud aunts and uncles, mostly old. Nisha was the youngest person in the house, and thus the lowest on the totem. At least screaming kids didn't make fun of her, but there were non to distract everyone.

They went through the introductions. Nisha bowed to all her elders, and took them to the living room. Over her shoulder she heard one aunt comment to Amma on Nisha's hair. Nisha's hair was still messy, covering parts of her face, but the comment did not feel good.

The families chattered over annoying things. Airline tickets, adult children in IV league schools, disparaging comments about black and poor people, until music was talked about. "Nisha, can you play on the piano for us?" asked Amma, more like an order.

Nisha shrunk in her seat and blushed. Not only was she rusty, she really did not like playing publically. "Please, Amma? I'm not a kid..."

Amma responded, "Play the piano, don't embarass your parents." Nisha stepped over to the keyboard, and began playing, not very well. She really did not remember after years of not practicing. Then, it happened. Her stomach began to ach and moan, and she began to feel queezy. She felt like releasing a fart, but she was afraid it wouldn't be dry, so she subtly squirmed on her seat to hold it in. This feeling only made her play worse.

She finished, and everyone clapped out of respect, but she knew nobody was impressed. She looked back and saw her parents scowl at her. She got up to use the toilet before her mother grabbed her, the crowd distracted by chatter.

"You are disrespecting them, Nisha," scorned Amma as quietly yet sternly as possible.

Nisha pleaded, "But I have to-"

"No!" Amma interrupted. "You will show our guests respect and sit down for dinner.

Nisha whimpered. She was still slightly squirming to hold in her fart, walking awkwardly to the table to sit down. Sitting down somehow made it harder to hold, and pressure was building before her sphincter. The rest of the family followed suit and sat down. Amma served the food, and everyone began to eat, except Nisha. A sore stomach can make you lose your appetite.

Nisha poked her food with her finger, swirling a bowl of sambar with an idli. She squirmed down below, sitting on one cheek at a time to hold an ever-filling bowel. She thought to herself silently, "I need to poop. I need to poop. I need to poop," angry that her mother wouldn't let her.

The families chitchatted, and sometimes talked to Nisha, sometimes about Nisha. All seemed negative, and some were homophobic. They all wanted to gloat how their kids were better than her. Nisha only felt small, despite being probably the tallest person in the room.

After a while she finally caught a break, finding a moment she could release a dry fart silently. Ok, maybe not totally dry, but too insignificant to mess her panties. But a stench quickly filled the air, and it was visibly apparent some of the guests caught a whiff of it. Nisha slumped down and blushed, trying to keep herself small so nobody suspected her. She then felt a sharp pain under her arm, turning to see Amma pinching her.

"Don't ever do that again!" she scorned quietly. Nisha began to tear up and whimper, both because she still desperately needed to poop, and because her mother was starting to really become angry. She may be a lazy teen, but she still felt bad and little when her parents got angry.

Her bowel situation continued to get critical until a bladder situation appeared. Her bowels were so bloated she didn't notice her  bladder was full until it got really full. Her right hand had food, so she needed to use her left hand to hold her crotch. But her bowels were so full she needed to clench her butt too to hold that in. She had to alternate between crotch and butt dvery few seconds, both feeling like they were about to burst. It was a battle between bowels and bladder because she could only squeeze muscles to hold one.

Nisha's knees began to shake from desperation. She was more afraid of pooping herself than peeing, so her bowels kept getting holding priority. As a result, her panties were slowly getting wet from leaking pee. Nobody had noticed her predicament, but she was still getting mortified.

Her aches transitioned to stings. She couldn't hold for much longer. She abruptly got up, shaking the table in the process and tipping her drink over. "I have to go!" she said quickly, turning to run to the bathroom with one hand firmly clenching her butt, and the other holding her crotch.

Amma grabbed her by the arm and scolded, "you can't leave in the middle of dinner!"

Nisha tried to reply, "B-but I c-can't h-ho-hold...."

Her voice was interrupted by a groan as the room went silent, all attention on her. She released a big, long, bubbly-sounding fart, as liquified poop filled her panties and seep out, dripping to the floor. She tried so hard to hold but she was too weak and exhausted. Her panicking movements disrupted her sari, causing it to come undone and fall around her legs onto the dirty floor, revealing white panties soiled brown. Then, when her bowels emptied, her bladder did too, peeing through her hands as she tried to grab her crotch to hold.

Nisha bauled, full of tears. Furious, Amma slapped her across the face, causing Nisha to flee upstairs to the bathroom to wash, crying. She had never felt so humiliated in her life, pooping herself in front of 20 guests. She was already prepared to clean her mess after cleaning herself, but her mother slammed on the door for her to hurry up and do so.

By the time she'd finished, the guests had left early for the evening, most certainly her fault. Except it wasn't her fault for being sick when she could have been allowed to stay in bed. She left the bathroom to find some clothes when she was greeted by furious parents just opposite the door. "Go clean up NOW!" they ordered, as Nisha stood before them shivering, not wearing anything yet. She got dressed in her nightshorts and teeshirt, filled up a mop and bucket, and proceeded to clean the dining room floor. She had the floor, and every dish to clean, a several hour task ahead of her to do as punishment.

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Rest Stop

with Parkha Naeem

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

"Exit 40 in 15 miles" read big green sign as the car zoomed past. The back of the car was stuffed with luggage of all sorts, and in the front passenger seat sat Parkha, and her mother driving. They had been on the road for a few hours in Alaska to meet a work friend in the mountains, and it was about time to pull over at a gas station to refuel and use the toilet.

"We really burned through that case of water, didn't we," chuckled Mom, holding one hand between her legs. "You need to use a toilet too, sweety?"

Parkha nodded, smiling, and blushing slightly. She felt a little awkward showing desperation in front of her parent, and witnessing desperation from the same. She had been fidgeting in her seat for about half an hour, so she was grateful for a break.

The car pulled up to the gas station parking lot. "Do you have to go really bad, or can I go first quickly?" asked Mom, shaking her legs while grabbing the empty water bottles to throw away.

Parkha politely allowed Mom to go first, who looked more desperate, and started to peruse the station for snacks and candy for the road. Sour gummy worms were a necessity. She grabbed some packs just in time for Mom to return fully relieved.

"I'll hold onto these worms, you can use the bathroom," said Mom.

"Is it clean?" Parkha asked. Parkha was pretty squeemish about public toilets, afraid to go anywhere near a dirty toilet or even stand on sticky floors.

Mom waggled her hand in response, "Eh. You'll be fine, you just need to just get used to it here." Parkha did not like that answer, but she needed to pee so she just needed to suck it up for a minute. She entered the bathroom to see a single toilet and sink, with dirty paper towels on the ground next to an overfilled trash can. She covered her nose with her headscarf, and prepared to drop her pants when she looked behind the toilet.

Out crept an giant eight-legged horror, bouncing on its invisible web. A spider as big as a teacup was wandering around the base of the toilet. "EEEEK!" Parkha squeeled, jumping back. The spider crawled onto the seat of the toilet and stayed. Parkha just stood shaking, unsure what to do. She rebuttoned her pants, thought hard about whether she really needed to pee, and left. There was no way she was peeing around a giant spider.

Parkha returned to the car, pretending to look relieved when she really wasn't. If she admitted she didn't pee because of a spider, Mom would insist she toughen up and either kill or ignore the spider. "Feeling good, sweety?" asked Mom, "because I feel great!"

Parkha replied, "Yeah Mom...I'm good." Mom cracked open the gummy worms, and stuffed the bag between the seats to be shared while cranking up some tunes. The GPS said about 200 miles remained, and they were headed deep into Alaska.

Not even five minutes later did Parkha start to look anxiously for exit signs. She bit her lip, and subtly fidgeted while keeping her hands between her legs to press into her crotch without making it obvious. She really needed to pee, but she didn't want to ask so soon after her previous chance. She decided she needed to wait at least an hour so she could just pretend she needed to go again.

An agonizing hour passed, and Parkha began to notice not a single green exit sign was passed. Mother said, "It's a good thing we gassed up and used those toilets when we did, I don't think there's anything out here."

Parkha slightly whimpered, crossing her legs. "Um, Mom? I kinda need to pee...uh-again."

"But we just went an hour ago," Mom replied.

Parkha replied, "Yeah, but I just need to go again."

"Well I don't think anything will crop up," said Mom. "It's only a couple more hours to go, can you hold it?"

Parkha hesistated, switching her legs and pressing harder onto her crotch. "....no..."

"We could pull onto the shoulder," Mom suggested.

Not keen on pulling her pants down outside, Parkha refused, "Nevermind, I'll hold it."

"But it would be easy. I won't look," Mom replied.

"But someone else will see me," Parkha protested. "I can hold it."

The road seemed endless. As the miles passed she was holding as hard as possible. She had even leaked a little in her panties. Mom reached one arm behind her seat to grab a big bottle of water she promptly emptied out the window. The sound and sight of it made Parkha cringe, holding tighter.

"Go in this," said Mom, handing her the empty bottle. Parkha shook her head, adamant against peeing in a bottle. After all, what if they hit a bump and she dropped the bottle? Or what if the car filled with the scent of pee, her own pee? Or what of Mom caught a glimpse of her panties and immodesty? Mom added in a more parental voice, "Sweety you can't be so picky about toilets. Sometimes you have to go outside or in a cup."

"But Mom," Parkha replied, "I just get to queezy or shy. I couldn't go last time because there was a huge spider!"

"Honey, you're twisting like a pretzel in that seat," said Mom. Parkha almost had her legs in a double twist, with hands stuck between them. "I'm pulling over, go pee in the woods. Nobody else will see."

Parkha was at her limit so she had no choice. The car pulled onto the shoulder, and Parkha got out to go 50 metres deep into the woods where nobody would see her. She looked around anxiously, making sure nobody was creeping, and she undid her pants. Just as her stream came out however, a growl came from deeper in the trees, her direction. A long nose appeared oit of the darkness. A bear.

She closed her stream, stinging a little, pulled her pants up, and ran back to the car as fast as she could. "Mom!" she cried, "there's a b-b-bear!" Each step leaked a little pee. Mom made sure the door was open, and collected Parkha back to the passenger seat.

"Are you ok?!" cried Mom, stepping on the gas. Parkha covered her face with her hands as her pants began to form a rapidly growing wet spot. She cried. "That's ok, sweety, we can clean the car later. Reach for a towel in the back," said Mom. Parkha covered her seat, and sat in her soaked bottoms, mortified for the rest of the trip.

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

Freezer Trouble
with Parkha Naeem
-------------------------
"Come again soon!" Parkha bid farewell to the last customer of the day. It was 9 PM, and the sound of the door chiming closed was music to her ears as she approached to turn the greeting sign to Closed. She had found a part-time job at a local ice cream parlour, with surprisingly little difficulty after she was fired from her last job at the cinema. The job was decent, better than at the cinema, but she was alone for the shift, and was expected to close up for the night before she could go home.

Parkha brought out the cloths, mop, bucket, and other supplies to scrub down the workplace before heading out. She also pulled out some earpods from her backpack, and slipped them under her headscarf into her ears to enjoy some tunes to clean to. In no time the counter was completely wiped down, and most of the floors were quickly mopped. On a table sat a small bowl of strawberry and mint chocalate chip ice-cream she had scooped up for herself to enjoy after work, as management had allowed workers to do so. All she had left to do was to clean the freezer surfaces and she could head home.

The freezer was a winter wonderland of tastey treats. Every flavour of ice-cream imaginable was behind glass doors that were frosted over, and icicles hung from under shelves. She drew her wash cloth, and began wiping down the shelves first before she would mop the floor. After a few wipes however, her cloth had lost all its soap, forcing Parkha to turn back towards the kitchen to rewet it. But then she was caught by surprise when she grabbed the latch of the freezer door.

It was stuck!

"C'mon", grunted Parkha, trying to apply what little muscle she had to opening the door to no avail. It was closed tight, completely locked. "Crap, I'm stuck in the freezer!" she panicked shortly. Parlha pulled out her phone, and tried to call her boss. No tone came through, and she looked and noticed that she had no service inside the freezer. She tried to call again, but no lucked. Then she began to pound on the door, calling out, "Help! Is there anyone out there!? I'm stuck in here!" Obviously, nobody was outside to hear her.

Parkha turned away from the door, and slid down along the door to the ground to sit, accepting that she wasn't getting out until someone turned up. Luckily, the freezer itself wasn't really a freezer, it was more like an insulated vault containing multiple smaller freezers. The main chamber was thankfully just warm enough to not be dangerous, but still uncomfortably cold. She hugged herself, brought her knees to her chest, and shivered, waiting for something to happen.

With no service she got bored pretty quickly. All she could do was listen to her downloaded playlist of songs, and draw tic-tac-to games and memes on the wall with her finger. She was still uncomfortably chilly however, wearing nothing but a light long-sleeve shirt and thin tight khakis as part of her summer uniform with her silk headscarf, nothing substantial for warmth. It had only been about an hour, and even though she had resigned herself to waiting until morning, she still couldn't help but ask to herself what was taking the management so long to open the freezer.

After some time waiting bored in the cold, she began to feel an unusually warm sensation in her abdomen, which caused her to instinctively pull her legs together and tighten her thighs. It took Parkha a moment for her to realize that she was beginning to need to use the toilet, and the cold had distracted her until now. "Oh no, not now," she thought to herself, with nothing she could do besides hold.

And hold she did. Time passed slowly as Parkha sat on the freezer floor with her hands between her legs holding her crotch, her thighs tight around her hands, and her whole body closed in to stay warm. She rubbed her knees together, and her feet played with eachother, trying to distract herself from her bladder, and all while shivering to the cold. But with nothing to do, all she could do was think about her toilet at home, how she would take off all her clothes while dancing to pee before plopping down onto the seat to relieve herself, and then immediately taking a hot shower afterwards. She longed for massage of high-pressure hot water on her back, flowing down and around her arms.

Then Parkha began to think new thoughts. She remembered how embarrassed she was when she peed herself at the concessions stand, and now she was worried that her manager would open the freezer to see a big dark spot on the front of her pants. Or worse, she thought, if the manager caught her in the middle of peeing herself. Parkha had to hold it until she got out, then she could use the building toilet. 

But the feeling of the cold brought to her new thought. The thought of warm pee surrounding her legs, warming her up for just a little bit before becoming cold again. She was feeling tempted to just let go and feel warm. She began to loosen her hold unconsciously, feeling warmth move slowly down from her abdomen closer to her crotch. In an instant, Parkha realized what she was doing and tightened her hold back, grasping and rubbing her crotch harder and tightening her legs. She was thankful nobody else was around to see her, but she was starting to battle her own instincts. Her body wanted to feel warm, but her mind wanted to avoid embarrassment. Not to mention she'd only feel warm for a second before her pee froze up and made her more cold than she currently was.

Parkha's boredom was replaced with an internal game of tug-of-war, or in this case "push"-of-war. Her knees began to rub fast, her feet patting the ground, her hands pushing hard into her crotch to hold. Her lips pursed and her eyes squeezed shut as she fought her desperation, but her body wanted warmth, trying to push her pee out. A drop squeezed into her panties, warming her crotch for just a second before quickly turning into a biting cold spot. She groaned, holding harder. Then another drop leaked through, bringing warmth and leaving with a cold bite. Then a spritz came through before she was able to control her bladder again with one hard squeeze.

By now her panties were at least entirely damp around the crotch. As Parkha held tighter she fell over to her side, now on the ground int he fetal position. She whimpered with a barrage of mixed feelings hitting her. The satisfying warmth and pleasure of just releasing herself in her pants, combatting the blushing embarassment of peeing herself in public. If she peed herself in the freezer, a wet spot would never dry out before being seen by someone.

"Maybe I could just pee, right over there," Parkha thought to herself, looking at the corner of the room farthest from any merchandise. It would be as easy as her unbuttoning and dropping her pants, pulling down her panties, and relieving herself on the floor. Nobody would notice, but she hesitated over the possibility of someone just showing up walking in on her, even a small one. She also wasn't sure if she wouldn't leave any trace of her relief afterwards to freeze up and be seen by the manager. She continued to hold and wait.

Parkha felt a vibration next to her thigh. Her phone was ringing! She carefully pulled it out of her pocket, trying to maintain pressure on her crotch, and saw that one bar managed to sneak onto her service, and her manager was calling. She answered.

"Hey, Parkha!" the manager called, "Just calling to check in! I didn't get a text from you about closing up, and I've been trying to call several times! There's no way you kids are asleep by now, so are you alright? At home?"

Parkha tried to contain her excitement and pee. "Help! I'm stuck in the freezer!" she cried, stuttering with a shiver.

"Oh no! I'll come over right away!", the manager replied.

"Could you come fast!?" shivered Parkha, "I really need to go! Bad!"

"I'll be there shortly," the manager responded, with concern in her voice, before hanging up.

Parkha put her phone back in her pocket and began to moan as she tried to hold with all her strength. She could feel more and more pee leaking through, forming a tiny wet spot on her pants. Her knees shuddered, and her legs shook rapidly in desperation.

After 15 minutes of agonizing desperation, she could hear the store door open, and the freezer door unlock. The manager opened the door quickly and saw Parkha huddled on the ground, grimacing as she held her crotch. "I'm so sorry! The door lock must have broken!" cried the manager, hovering her hands around Parkha but unsure how she could actually help her. If Parkha moved at all, she would burst. "D-do you need me to carry you to the bathroom?"

Parkha blushed bright red, "No-no-no, I'm fine! It's not bad, I just need to get up." She knew she wasn't fooling anyway, and she tried to roll back over to stand on her feet. The manager held arm out to provide support, and Parkha tried to pull herself back up without leaking. As she stood up, a surge of pee shot out into her panties before she quickly pinched herself shut and grabbed her crotch again. A visible spot grew on the crotch of her pants that the manager noticed, and Parkha began to cry as she danced to desperately hold the rest of her pee. She took slow steps towards the bathroom but her bladder was too full to move her legs. Her legs crossed like a pretzel, and she felt like she was losing balance.

Parkha made it out of the freezer before she lost all control, as a waterfall came down her pants onto the floor. She let go of her crotch, and watch mortified as a yellow pool grew under her feet. She then sheepishly untucked her shirt, and pulled the front down over her crotch to try and hide her wet pants. Tears began to run down her face.

The manager was equally horrified. "I'm SOOO sorry," she cried, giving Parkha a hug to warm her up. "Don't worry about the mess here, I'll clean up, and you take tomorrow off, ok?"

Parkha nodded and softly replied, "Thanks", and she grabbed her things and head out the door to her car. She drove out of the parking lot, thinking about the warm shower she could take now.

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Disclaimed: Even though this thread is marked "female", this is a male omo, and is a joke omo, deliberately written to be stupid. It's based on a hilarious dream I had and I had to write about it. There's a politics disclaimer only because of the character.

 

The Self Own

with Ben Shapiro

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

Beep, beep, beep!

The sharp siren off an alarm clock interrupted the peaceful chirps and warm California breeze of yet another Monday morning in America. In the bed next to the clock stirred a jumbled mess of limbs crawling from under the covers to try and silence this ear splitting noise with a swift pound on the top of the alarm clock, returning the mass to a blissful slumber of happy dreams of a bygone age. From outside the bedroom however bustled the sounds of pots and pans, faucets, jangling keys, all the sounds of a busy women off to work but impatient to wait for his husband to see her off.

"Hey Benji!" she yelled, "Get your ass downstairs and eat your damn toast! You have a campus meeting at 10 today!"

With that the mass erupted from the sheets, forming itself into into the form of a very groggy Ben Shapiro. As painful as Monday mornings were, this campus meeting was of dire importance for the fate of the United States, and sitting on his bed in nothing but his Aquaman boxers briefs, he spurred up to get ready. A quick brush and a shave, business casual attire, and he was off downstairs to meet his doctor wife, who was a doctor. She had already left, but on the counter sat a plate with a burnt slice of toast, an overfilled cup of orange juice, and a bowl sitting next to an open box of his favorite Frosted Flakes. He snaffled down his food grabbed his keys, and ran to the car with only 20 minutes left to spare, zipping up his fly that he had forgotten.

A short drive and he was already at the local college campus. Surrounding him were the chaotic hustle and bustle of a thousand figure painters, hip hop artists, and café baristas, all shifting to their assigned courses of Munich studies and poetry analysis. These were America's future, Ben thought in fear, looking back behind him to assure that he had everything for this upcoming duel of fates: a copy of Ayn Rand, a flow chart of property values in Beverly Hills, and a dirty napkin with the autograph of Ronald Reagan himself. Normally, Ben was not afraid of battling the academic intelligencia, but today just seemed off, like he wasn't in his game. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath, grabbed his things, and stepped out of the car to walk to the debate hall.

It was about half way through the parking lot that Ben realized why he was so anxious that day. In his rush to get ready for work, he had forgotten to use the toilet. He looked at his watch, seeing he had only three minutes before the debate, he resigned to waiting until after the debate to visit the bathroom. Though his debates were usually lenient enough to allow for great delays, that leniency was reserved for the opposition, whom he felt was fair to offer time for their inevitable Argentine tradition of fashionable tardiness. Such a shameful leniency was not acceptable for a proud American, and he couldn't afford to spend the last few minutes behind a urinal when he needed to do a last minute brush up on his facts.

Ben entered an eerily quiet lecture hall. This wasn't abnormal because no class was scheduled for that room on Mondays, but the silence just seemed more noticeable. He set up his debate tools on the table, spilling from his bag a jumbled pile of statistics and graphs of various economic topics he could get from his colleagues. After tidying the mess, and organizing everything into a neat display, he walked to the podium, and awaited the opposition. After a few minutes the doors erupted, spewing forth a battalion of 20-year-olds he was set to vanquish. As the crowd entered they all silenced for a moment and stopped in their tracks, looking down at the podium, as if they had forgotten a debate was to take place, or even did not know at all. Murmurs flooded the crowd as students took their seats, but nobody came up to represent the student body. Ben tapped on his microphone and announced, "At this time we will begin our free press debate on topics of American economics and society, I urge you that you show respect to the debating team in honor of our First Amendment, and present forth your representative for this intellectual exchange."

In the back stood a lanky pale young lady, dyed in blue hair with a red streak, and a rockstar's garbs. "I'll debate you!" she yelled from across the room, making her way down to the stage. Ben straightened his back and prepared his wonderful voice when was suddenly dumbfounded as the lady produced a rather large laptop bag full of documents. She spilled the contents of the bag onto the table, and the contents almost magically maintained a form of organized cohesion without her interference. Data charts, historical records, peer reviews, an arsenal Ben was not used to facing. Ben tugged at the neck of his tie and gulped, and felt a pressure quickly build up in his abdomen. He tightened his thighs together, brought his elbows closer to his body, and cleared his throat to begin the debate.

"Our first topic will be on the climate change hoax and property values", announced Ben on the microphone. He could see immediately the opposing lady snicker under her breath. Ben began in his characteristically high voice, "So, let's just say, hypothetically, that we create a hypothetical hypothesis that the theory of climate change is true, and hypothetically the sea levels were to rise due to carbon emissions, purely hypothetical by the way, wouldn't people on the coast just, I dunno, sell their property and move inland?" The lady was silent, and she looked in disbelief towards the crowd. However it wasn't a reassuring look of fear in the eyes of the enemy. Instead, Ben saw a more patronizing tone to her expression. She seemed in disbelief that Ben might be dumber than she had initially expected. Ben began to sweat, anxious about what retort the lady had to counter him with.

The lady took almost a good minute, looking back and forth between Ben and the audience, still trying to process if this were really even a debate, or an April fools prank. Then she uttered in continued disbelief, "Um, Ben, to whom do you think people will sell their flooded property to? Fucking Aquaman? Who, Ben?" And immediately after that slight the overhead screen began to descend behind the contestants, already illuminated with a wall-sized chart about the rise of carbon emissions since the start of the industrial revolution. Ben was in crisis, and now he became more concerned about survival than owning this lady at the podium. Suddenly in the stress his abdomen shot a trending urge from his bladder through his john, causing it to erect, and forcing Ben to squeeze his thighs tighter and start grabbing with one hand. He pressed on his john towards his crotch, punching the stream right before the tip, saving him from the initial dampness that would not last long. Despite this, his briefs started dampening from sweat. Ben was met with a dilemma. He, hypothetically, could just go to the toilet right then and there. The restroom was merely a 30 second walk away, and never crowded, but this would mean he would have to forfeit his debate, an unacceptable proposition.

Ben gulped and started squirming harder when he began his retort. "Um, uh, well, you see, let's just say, hypothetically, that Aquaman exists, and he has a bank account. Since he's a superhero, he would have incredibly high credit, and he could buy off all the waterfront property and sell it to the undersea animals." The room was silent. Ben was able to muster enough strength to subdue his squirming and let go of his crotch so that the silence wouldn't bring attention to his predicament. The lady stared smugly at Ben, seemingly with a retort ready to go. "Ben, how much money do you think dolphins have? Sharks? Octopods?" asked the blue haired student, "Marine animals don't have money, Ben."

The room bellowed in ooohs, recognizing the blow the lady's retort was to Ben. A surge of pee shot through Ben's john, breaking through to his briefs. He spurted once, and twice, squirming desperately and holding as hard as possible with his hands to stop it. But he couldn't stop now, not without victory. He was starting to bounce in place, on one leg and then the other, twisting his legs around to try and catch and squeeze his john between them. By now, tiny spots of pee were visible on his trousers, seeping through from his wet briefs. Ben began his final stand, "Obviously all of this was hypothetical. Like yes, duh, marine animals don't have money and Aquaman won't buy seafront property, but the entire idea of industry-induced global warming is completely hypothetical, and hypothetically if climate change wasn't hypothetical, then just other members of the Avengers would help deal with the economic crisis."

The lady suddenly grew bigger, bolder, like a tiger sizing itself up to its prey. "Ben," she said ominously, "the Avengers are from Marvel. Aquaman is a DC superhero." It was over. Ben was trembling as he slumped down, grabbing his crotch with both hands and grinding his palms on his john to attempt the stem the spurts of pee that now completely soaked his briefs. His legs were double knotted, and he was sweating as he saw the crowd cheer at this lady. His mission to own, was lost. Ben moved his face closer to the microphone, and uttered, "so...let's just say, hypothetically, I really had to go potty, purely hypothetical, and I had already kinda gone a little bit in my briefs but I still had way more coming, would you, just for arguments sake, let me win this time so that I can run to the potty and go pee pee while still owning you?"

The lady dismissively stepped off the podium and headed back to her seat to get ready for class, not even paying Ben so much as a glance, "hell no, go take a piss". But Ben had reached his limit. Like a hose, his bladder erupted, a jet of pee enclosed in briefs and trousers trying to find its way out through the fabric. Streams flowed down his trousers, leaving branch-shaped marks. Ben tried to grab with both his hands, but it was too late. The crowd began to laugh, as phones were whipped out of pockets and camera flashes went off. Ben opened his Ayn Rand book to hide his face as he stepped off the podium to run back to his car, crying, "this accident was purely hypothetical, please don't laugh at me! My wife's a doctor!"

Ben rushed to his car, and caught his breath back from his humiliation. He opened his phone, and found his social media page exploding harder than his bladder did, with titles like "Ben Shapiro OWNS his Trousers with Piss", and "Toilet OWNS Ben ShaPEEro". Looking for comfort, the only person he could turn to now was the immortalized name of his hero, Ronald Reagan, on the dirty napkin, as he dabbed down his tears while starting the engine to return home after a hard 30 minute day of work.

Edited by Peafowl (see edit history)
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