It was a warm Saturday afternoon and I had been enjoying lunch at a riverside restaurant with three girlfriends. Marcus,(made up name) my boyfriend, had promised to pick me up on his way back from work at 2:30pm but was late, so at 2:50pm I was standing alone in the car park waiting for him. I had drunk three glasses of wine at lunch and was feeling pleasantly merry, but also in desperate need of a wee. I had declined to use the facilities in the restaurant as we were only a five minute drive from home and I knew how much Marcus hated to be kept waiting; but now I was the one being kept waiting, and to make matters worse the restaurant and its toilet were now closed for the afternoon!

Cursing Marcus under my breath, I moved from foot to foot and tried to distract myself from my predicament. When I thought no one was looking I grabbed my pussy and pushed as much pressure as my hand could muster on my aching pee hole. I looked around for a convenient spot where I might relieve myself, but although there was plenty of vegetation in which to shelter at the bottom of the restaurant garden it afforded little coverage on the riverside, and I was reluctant to take down my knickers for the entertainment of the weekend boating crowd!

I knew I was losing control of the situation as I felt a small amount of pee dribble into my underpants and dampen slightly my pubic fringe. I knew now if I went back to the restaurant and asked special permission to use the toilet, as I should have done twenty minutes earlier, I was likely to have an accident in my khaki pants and completely humiliate myself in front of the waiting staff. It wasn't the accident that bothered me so much - I had wet myself on a number of occasions as a girl, like any other child, but my parents or teacher had never made that much fuss about it, reasoning that it was just a regular part of childhood - but the fact that the clothing I was wearing on that day would do nothing to hide the evidence and spare my blushes!

I think the combination of the wine and the afternoon heat had muddled my mind, because I decided that if I was to pee a little in my panties it wouldn't show from the outside and I would relieve sufficient pressure from my bladder to allow me to get home without completely wetting myself. I soon discovered the fallacy of this thinking as I looked down to check the state of my pants after what I thought was only a brief sprinkle, and was horrified to find a teacup-sized damp patch clearly marked on my crotch, and slowly spreading outwards! Worse still, my urge to pee had intensified rather than diminished so that now my pee hole was on fire and screaming for a total release.

Panicking, I tried to hide the wetness with my handbag, but I knew I was rapidly losing control over my swollen bladder and I began to cry a little out of frustration at the ridiculousness of my situation. As I lost control of my emotions, so I lost control of my bodily functions and the floodgates were released. I felt my cotton knickers swell gently like an inflating balloon - a sensation that I would have welcomed as curiously pleasant had I not been conscious of the fact that I was about to humiliate myself in public - before softly exploding and depositing their watery contents down my legs and into my shoes. I stood frozen to the spot for half a minute, peeing steadily into my own clothing and crying softly to myself as I did so.

I had no time to think about my predicament because Marcus' car came into view in the car park and he drew up alongside me. Despite the look of astonishment on his face, he clearly didn't need to ask what had happened, but in a flustered and slightly bemused manner apologized for being late. All I could manage to do was to nod miserably through my tears. This pretty little girl was standing here in a pool of her own wee, the crotch, bottom and inner thighs of my pants completely saturated and glistening in the July sun. As I shifted my feet gingerly, I could feel my toes squelching about in the soft fabric of my socks. My trouser were clinging awkwardly to my pee-drenched skin, but the warm feeling in my knickers, around my bottom and private parts, was oddly comforting and prevented me from breaking down completely.

Marcus opened the passenger door but then told me to wait while he found something to put on the seat to protect the suede leather. I just stood there meekly, my face burning red with embarrassment, and wished the earth would swallow me up. A minute later, he came round to my side of the car and announced gently that he could not find a covering for the seat: "You'll just have to take those wet things off and dry yourself as best as you can".

"But I've got nothing else to change into," I replied in a small voice.

"Come on, it's only a short ride home, don't make a fuss."

Seeing no alternative, I undid the laces of my trainers and kicked them off. Then I bent down to peel off my soaking wet socks. Standing barefooted on the grass verge of the car park, I once again became conscious of where I was and panicked. "Please Marcus, don't make me do this."

"Becky, don't be silly now," he retorted in an altogether more irritable tone of voice. "You've wet your trousers in public, goodness knows how, now don't embarrass yourself any further by making a scene. You're not ruining my car. Or perhaps you'd rather walk home in your present condition?" he added maliciously.

Taken aback by his sharp tone, I undid the belt of my trousers and with some difficulty peeled the clammy garment down off my legs. Now all I had to hide my modesty were my little pink knickers, and these weren't doing that job too successfully as I could feel the damp fabric had rode up into my bottom and was clinging tightly to my private parts. I could not see through my tears if anyone had witnessed my accident or was observing me now, I was just determined to get into the car as soon as possible. I slid down my knickers and stepped out of them quickly and, without daring to stand up, hurried to retrieve my wet things, my plump white bottom, that Marcus had so often enjoyed in private, now bared and on display for all to see; not because anyone wanted to see it, but because I had disgraced myself and was now being treated like a little girl.

Half crouching, I turned to face the car to hide from public view my equally naked genitals. Not wishing to irritate Marcus any further, and thereby prolong my ordeal, I made some attempt to wipe my bottom and privates with the one remaining dry part of my slacks. I could feel a gentle breeze ruffle through the sparse ginger hair of my pubic bush, and as I passed the fabric over my crotch, I could feel my inner lips pout ever so slightly; "Great," I thought to myself, "Here I am half-naked in a public car park and all I can think about doing is touching myself!"

Holding my wet clothes, I stepped gingerly into the safety of the car; faintly aware that by doing so I was exposing more of myself to Marcus than I would normally chose. The cold leather seat felt strange and unfamiliar against the skin of my bare bottom, but at least now I was away from prying eyes. I put my clothes on the rubber mat in the foot well and, keeping my legs closed as tightly as possible, used my hands to cover my privates as best as possible. Yet the feel of the rubber matting against my bare feet reminded me of what I had done and made me feel very small indeed; like when I was twelve and had forgotten my PE kit and the teacher made me do the lesson in underwear and bare feet - only what would I have given now for some dry underpants!

We drove home in embarrassed silence, yet I could detect by his facial expressions that Marcus was by now more amused than angry. By the time we got home, there was a positively mischievous glint in his eye and a bulge in his pants. Adopting the tone of a stern headmaster, he refused to let me in through the front door but instructed me to wait by the gate to the garden for him to let me in. Reluctantly prizing my sticky bottom off the leather seat, I hurried to the gate and waited there anxiously, hands in front of me, hoping that none of the neighbors would drive past.

After what seemed an unnecessarily long time, Marcus let me in and guided me to the outdoor tap where he proceeded to hose down my bottom half with cold water. Extraordinarily, even though I had peed something like two pints I found myself desperate to go again. Deciding that any pretence at modesty was futile in view of what had happened, I just stood there in front of Marcus, opened my legs so that my private parts were completely exposed, and weed all down my legs, feeling the hot fluid splash over my bare feet. The sight sent Marcus wild, and he hosed me down again, 'accidentally' soaking my blouse, so I was obliged at his command to take off my only remaining garment and run around the garden in my birthday suit to dry off. Now completely in the spirit of things, Marcus attempted to get me to wear a makeshift 'nappy', but I drew the line at that, so in a fit of mock rage he locked me in the garden without a stitch of clothing! He later relented, but would only allow me to wear a T-shirt, which did not cover my naked bottom-half, on account of my "extreme naughtiness."

As you might imagine, I went to bed that night feeling a very naughty girl indeed!

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