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Wet Stories
For some reason unknown to the Webmaster or many other people in this wide, wonderful world, confessions, or stories, about pee - poo, urine, golden showers, squirting, water sports, and other wet fetishes - have become popular. This is the place to "shower us" with such confessions and wet stories.
  • — Wet Stories —
    Posted by Anonymous

    I was about to post this under Dreams but changed my mind at the last moment, so for those bitching about pee stories, you've got no case any longer, matter of fact, why would you even be here in Wet Stories?
    ======================== ============================== =====

    I imagine two women, best friends. Call them the Margarets, Maggie and Meg, and say they work together-maybe one does accounts payable and the other accounts receivable, or maybe they run the front office, one of them handling the phones and the other taking walk-in orders. Whatever. They'll be universally regarded as the two cutest women in the company. Meg, we'll say, is pretty enough in the winter months, but in summer (when she often goes around in a tank top) she'll be nothing short of breathtaking. Her breasts are large and round and firm and her bra will hold them up to make a cleavage you could lose yourself in-a valley that could engulf your whole face, or take your penis and surround it like a second vagina. Maggie will be tall and lanky. We'll make her a little too skinny for my usual taste and not quite as pretty as Meg, but with a nice friendly smile and a vivacious energy.

    Both of them are desperate to pee. I dress them in bathing suits for this: Maggie in a bikini-turquoise or royal blue, skimpy but not outlandish- acres of exposed skin. The bottom is low-cut across the front-a quarter inch lower and it would start to show wisps of pubic hair-and it rides high over the hips, not a thong, but still showing some good buttock. Meg is in a one-piece suit, scarlet, with a scoop neck that's as low-cut as her tank tops to show the deep, hypnotic cleavage between her generous breasts. She's tanned to a rich amber, as far down as you can see.

    The whole office is at a weeklong management seminar on the Cape. With an afternoon off, they've gone to the beach, riding out in two carloads; Meg and Maggie are using a rental car that they just picked up that day, and everyone else is riding in the company van. The van served as a changing room, and all the clothes and shoes were stowed there. When they all left to go back to the hotel, the folks in the van didn't realize that they still had the Margarets' clothes with them, so Meg and Maggie are forced to drive back in nothing but their bathing suits. Meg has a little belt pouch with the car keys, drivers' license, glasses, and a key card to their hotel room, and they each have towels-not great big beach towels, though, just little ones barely long enough to tie around the waist.

    The drive back to the hotel would normally take about a half-hour. They buy large sodas at a drive-through (feeling dehydrated after the day spent in the sun) and as they sit with the car idling waiting for their order, they talk about the fact that they could each use a bathroom, but without shirts or shoes they won't be allowed inside to use the ladies' room. So they go ahead and get on the highway, where (of course) there is some sort of massive delay. For over an hour they sit in traffic, waiting to get past the scene of a flatbed tractor-trailer that has spilled its cargo. Let's have it be creep-stop-creep driving, because if cars were completely stopped, there would be much more temptation to get out of the car and look for bushes to squat behind. Maggie may even fantasize about concealing herself in the open wedge of the car door, facing away from traffic-not normally something she'd want to do, but she super-sized that soda. So they stay in the car, and stay in the car, and stay in the car some more, hoping that traffic will begin to move again. Meg is in the driver seat, biting her lip and keeping her legs pressed tightly together, gripping herself through the bathing suit while Maggie, in the passenger seat, has her legs crossed at the knee and again at the ankle and is bouncing up and down. They talk about nothing else but how badly they both need to pee and how they hope they can make it back to the hotel in time. Meg is scissoring her knees now, and beginning to wonder, were they to pull over, could she pull the crotch of her suit far enough to one side to pee without stripping down stark naked? Maggie is frantic, just about to plead with Meg to pull over so she can get out and squat, but right then they reach the site of the spill, pass through the bottleneck, and traffic begins to flow again.

    Five minutes later they reach their exit, but then there is another fifteen minutes in city traffic before they reach the hotel. Maggie has her left hand balled into a fist and is using her right to press it into her crotch. She's bouncing up and down in the seat. A cute guy in a car in the next lane smiles across at her, and she laughs, embarrassed. Can he tell she has to go? But she can't stop wriggling. At the next stoplight, Meg asks Maggie to hand her one of the towels. She takes it and rolls it up tight and wedges it underneath her bottom, straddling it and wriggling so that it presses into her vulva. "In case I leak," she says. Then she goes back to doing that thing with her knees. Maggie looks across at the cute guy again, who has now pulled up right next to them. Now he's the one embarrassed to be caught looking. Maggie smiles back at him and shrugs, a pained smile on her face. As the car behind him honks, he looks up at the green light and wipes the drool off his chin.

    Maggie unfastens her seatbelt now to spread her own towel over the seat. When she buckles up again, she threads the belt is behind her and leaves just the shoulder strap in front. Then she slips her hand inside her bikini bottom to press directly onto her urethra, her fingers digging into the moist slit of her labia. She is writhing in the seat, and when they slow to a stop on a street crowded with taxis and pedestrians, she lets out a squeal of frustration. Meg's knees knock to a steady beat, her teeth are gritted.

    They reach the hotel at last. Pulling up to the parking garage, they talk about peeing on the pavement as soon as they get out of the car. "I don't know if I can make it up to the room," Maggie says.

    Meg says, "I'll try and park where there's nobody around." She is thinking she might just pee in her suit, standing right by the car-never mind if the suit will pull to the side-and probably no one will notice before they get back to their room. Maggie will try to wriggle herself down into a hidden space between two cars, or between the car and a wall, where she can squat down low enough to be out of sight and let her desperation pour out upon the ground. Meg remembers the hotel had a parking garage, but she hadn't noticed until now that it's valet parking. Car keys are surrendered for a claim ticket, the car is gone, and Meg and Maggie are left standing on the curb by the entrance to the lobby, feeling half-naked and ready to burst. Maggie has her towel wrapped around her waist, but the bikini top still shows lots and lots of bare belly and shoulders and back, and though her breasts are small, the little triangles of blue spandex are smaller still, and nothing is left to the imagination. Meg unrolls her towel to wrap it around her own waist, and there is a dark wet spot on the terrycloth that repeats at regular intervals where it had been rolled in tight layers. They both laugh to see it, but Meg is also blushing almost as red as her suit. She wraps it around her waist anyway, though there's barely an inch of overlap to tuck in.

    They run inside, giggling together at their graceless dance in the confines of a single wedge of the revolving door. Their bodies bump and collide while their four feet, without room to run, move in a comical quick-time march. As they come bursting out into the lobby, the air conditioning hits them like a cold blast. Four nipples harden, poking out erectly under thin cloth that might as well be body paint, and bladders already stretched almost past endurance squeeze even tighter. No squirming now; they run. Meg bounces as she runs, and someone watching might imagine her bouncing right out of her suit, the low scoop neck of red spandex sliding down off of one nipple and catching there, then working its way even lower on the next bounce until the great swell of one breast spills completely out and the other one is half exposed and ready to join its sister. This does not happen, though. Meg runs with a hobbled, mincing gate to minimize bounce, not so much to ease the strain on her breasts as on her bladder. Maggie, beside her, hops and scampers, almost dancing. There is a ladies' room all the way on the far side of the lobby-or at least a sign pointing in that direction indicates there's supposed to be one-but the bank of elevators is right here, just a few yards ahead, with one standing open and empty. By unspoken agreement they dash into it.

    This is one of those hotels with a huge lobby extending up the whole seven stories of the building. Rooms all open out onto tiers of long balconies overlooking the fountains and potted palms below. The elevator cars are triangular; one side is the gleaming brass doors, the other two are panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows so that riders can admire the spectacular view.

    Meg's towel slips off of her waist as she reaches the elevator. She's still covered by the suit, but the slipping off of the towel draws the eye to her bottom, and it's definitely a touchable, kissable, rub-up-against-able bottom. She bends over to pick up the towel as Maggie rushes in next to her, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. Though she's much smaller than Meg, it is Maggie who's beginning to fall out of her suit as she jiggles. Her bikini top has slid up her left breast almost to the nipple.

    Meg hits the "5" button and the doors close. I could say that someone else caught the doors before they closed and slipped in with them, pressing a button for an intermediate floor, thus slowing them down and keeping them from moving freely, but I won't. That would just be too cruel. And besides, it's more fun if they talk and squirm freely.

    Maggie squirms a lot. She crosses her legs, wriggles, and hops. She loosens the towel around her waist (tries to catch it before it falls to the floor, but misses) and reaches inside her bikini again, even sliding it down a couple of inches, to hold back her pee with the pressure of her fingers. Meg tells her "You're falling out," and Maggie laughs, her face scrunched up with embarrassment, and readjusts her breasts. She's a spectacle to anyone on the second or third floor balconies looking across at her, but if she notices, she's beyond caring at the moment. She hops again, both feet off the ground for a moment, and she lets loose a high, keening whine and says something like, "Oh oh oh oh oh! I have to pee so bad!!! I can't hold it!"

    Meg, all the while, stands almost perfectly still with her legs pressed together. She rolls up her towel again and wedges it between her thighs. Then she cups her crotch using both hands, rocking back and forth and quietly muttering, "Please, please, come on, come on, come on! Oh God, faster! Come on! Please, please."

    "Can I go first when we get there?" Maggie asks.

    Meg looks at her, horror stricken. She lets go a whimper that says more clearly than words, Are you kidding?

    Maggie elaborates, "I don't know if I'll even make it inside. I have to piss SO BAD!!!" She's pacing now, marching the width of the elevator back and forth. She has taken a fistful of her bikini bottom, wadding up the cloth and twisting it to dig into her vulva. Unruly pubic hair spills out on either side.

    "You can have the toilet, I'll go in the tub," says Meg. Maggie pictures this, and again her face scrunches up with embarrassment. She raises a hand to cover a nervous laugh. The elevator begins to slow for the fifth floor. Meg unrolls the towel to wrap it around her waist like a skirt again, and Maggie bends over (nearly naked buttocks close up against the glass) to pick up her own towel.

    The doors open and they bolt from the elevator, sprinting down the length of the balcony. Their own room is around a corner, on a short cul-de-sac at the very end of the balcony. They round the corner and Meg frantically unzips her little pouch looking for the key card. The lobby is still a wide-open expanse behind them, but they are far enough back from the railing to be at least a little hidden. Maggie is standing right behind Meg, looking over her shoulder, close enough that her hair and her breasts brush against Meg's back as she jumps up and down. Maggie has hooked her thumbs under the elastic and is already sliding her bikini bottom down off her hips, but Meg is taking longer than she should and Maggie suddenly realizes she's uncovering her bare behind while still out in the hall. She pulls it up again. "Hurry!!" she pleads.

    "I am!" Meg says, exasperated. She finds the card, pulls it loose from the pouch. "Oh God," she moans, "I'm peeing!" With one hand, Meg presses the towel against her crotch, feeling it suddenly warm. It comes loose from around her waist again, and now it's hanging from her hand in front of her legs, a little dark trail of wet forming down its length. With the other hand she swipes the key card through the lock.

    Maggie, behind her, instantly slides the bikini right down around her thighs as she runs around Meg to get through the door. The sudden nakedness triggers a conditioned response in her body; as she runs through the bedroom to the bathroom at the other end, she feels herself lose a spurt before she's even two steps in. She leaves a drop-and another drop-on the carpet as she runs. She catches the bathroom doorframe with her hand to swing herself around the 90-degree turn. Her crotch squirts like a squeezed lemon-half, and centrifugal force flings a few drops onto the doorframe. She's left the door wide open; she doesn't bother with the lights.

    The unexpected sight of her friend's bare bottom startles Meg, standing out in the hall with the towel pressed into her crotch. She's trying desperately to stem the heat spreading down her inner thighs. With a monumental effort of will, she gets it under control again-at least for a second-and then dashes inside after Maggie. She kicks the door closed behind her, but not hard enough. It only sways on its hinges and gradually swings open again, but she doesn't care enough to give it a second try. She drops the key card on the floor along with her pouch (keys and glasses tumbling out of it). She can feel herself starting to pee again and she tries to catch as much of it as she can with the towel while she runs. Rivulets meander down her thighs, and she adds more droplets to the trail that Maggie left on the carpet. Just a tiny sprinkling at first, then more and larger drops fall as it becomes a rushing river down her legs and at the threshold of the bathroom there's an unmistakable wet footprint.

    Maggie is on the toilet, bikini around her ankles, peeing loudly into the watery darkness, her face a picture of pure bliss. The tile floor is puddle and the side of the toilet is wet. The seat must be as well, but Maggie's happy anyway. Meg has to turn sideways, squeezing past her to get to the tub.

    Maggie's legs are spread wide, and even in the shadows Meg can see a little of the sparkling stream. Meg is pissing freely too, and it's impossible now to tell how much Maggie had already wet the floor. Maggie's eyes look directly into Meg's crotch for a moment. The spandex over her crotch glistens like the rounded stones in a babbling brook, and the gushing flow down her legs is clearly visible. Maggie can hear the rush of Meg's water even over the melody of her own stream, and as she steps over the edge of the tub, her pee falls like rain, pouring straight down from her crotch and splashing in the tub with a sound like a summer's cloudburst on a patio.

    They go like that for a long time, for they were very full. Maggie with her bikini around her ankles doesn't realize she's staring at Meg, but it's hard to look away. Meg has her eyes fixed on a spot on the wall over Maggie's head. She thinks about turning away, or standing with her legs closer together, or squatting down in the tub, but nothing would make this any less of a spectacle. Maggie finishes first, easing off to a trickle and then silence. Then Meg's flow tapers off as well, but as Maggie stands to wipe herself, Meg closes her eyes, letting her face go slack, and then she pees again for another twenty or thirty seconds.

    I can see them afterwards, Meg peeling the red bathing suit down off of those full round breasts and then slithering it down over her waist, revealing the lush dark of her pubic triangle, then stepping out of the suit to stand again with her feet apart but nude, maybe squirting just a little more from the slit between her naked labia.

    Maggie will see this too, in the mirror, as she drops her bikini bottom into the sink to soak. She feels silly wearing just the top, so she'll shrug out of that too and drop it on the counter. As Meg starts the shower running, Maggie will pick up Meg's towel and use an edge that's still dry to wipe down the seat and the side of the toilet, and then lay it over the puddles on the tile floor. I can see Maggie stepping out into the bedroom to get something- conditioner or maybe a razor-and then looking up to see that the room door is still open, with her stripped bare ass naked without a stitch. She laughs and runs up to the door to close it, feeling mischievous and wicked in her nudity.

    I see them showering together then, washing each other's hair under the blast of hot water, and scrubbing themselves squeaky clean. I smell the scent of lavender shampoo and feel in my mouth the taste of warm wet skin.

    #7279 — Comments (7) — Jan 18, 2004 at 6:46 AM — That's Juicy! (4) Remove This.
  • — Wet Stories —
    Posted by Anonymous

    My husband and I have been married for twenty years, but he still likes to see my floppy tits with their big nipples and my thick dark bush, while I like to watch his long cock as he gets aroused and see the foreskin slowly draws back to reveal his big knob.
    We always swim naked and sometimes I get out of the pool and squat on the edge. When he swims over, I open my thighs wide and let him see my hairy pussy and prominent clit. The pool is just deep enough for him to stand with his face in line with my pussy, and he likes to reach up and squeeze my tits as he buries his head betwen my legs and lick and suck my clit.
    The other day I wanted to pee as he was doing this to me, so I let it go and started pissing onto his face. He didn't seem to mind and opened his mouth to drink it.
    When I had finished he got out of the pool, and I knelt on the grass by the edge, with my head in my arms and my bum in the air,thinking he would take me from behind as usual; However, he rolled me over and kneeling across me started to cover my nipples with his forski, until his wrinkled cock and my nipples became hard.
    Then he started to masturbated himself , and soon after he had spurted his cum onto my face and tits, he stood up over me and started to piss on me.
    I hadn't really minded this, until I stood up, dripping with cum and wet with pee, and noticed what he had known all along - my neighbour with her pants down covering her shaven pussy with her hands, which she had been rubbing as she watched us; I had never seen it before, but was to se a lot of later as she joined us in the pool.

    #7862 — Comments (0) — Jan 18, 2004 at 1:33 AM — That's Juicy! (2) Remove This.
  • — Wet Stories —
    Posted by Anonymous

    I guess I was driving a little faster than I meant to coming home the other night. I had to go and I mean bad! I was just nearing my exit when I noticed cop lights in my rear view mirror. I gritted my teeth and willed that he was after someone else. But he followed me off my exit, so I pulled over.

    I was maybe six blocks from home. There was certainly no place around open with a restroom, but I glanced frantically around anyhow. I dug in my purse for my license and insurance card. I squeezed my legs tighter and tried to fight off the feelings of panic. It dawned on me that I might be in pretty big trouble here in other ways. I'd been drinking and was probably over the legal limit. The nervousness that realization brought certainly didn't help.

    I waited for him to approach my car. I half crossed my legs and shifted in my seat. What was taking him so long? I tried not think about the piercing ache above my pubic bone.

    The irony stuck me-- usually I was the one laughing at my girlfriends in this circumstance. I don't think I have any great capacity, but I can hold out for a long time normally, and I'm usually the one ribbing my girlfriends when they're jiggling and frantic needing a rest stop.

    Now we go out to the bars quite a bit, and I'm well acquainted with the feeling of being a bit drunk and suffering a very full bladder. Us girls just can't go anywhere we'd like like guys can. But I'm accustomed to it, and am always able to just cross my legs to squeeze my little pussy tight, ignore it, put it out of my mind. My two best girlfriends don't seem to have that ability. Now I sat remembering all the times I'd teased them about their predicaments, and told them to just not think about it. But here I was, myself well past the point of just putting it out of my mind. Even though I told my self to relax, my body remained tense.

    Finally the policeman approached the car. He asked for my license and I gave it to him. He looked it over, and then swept his flashlight over the interior of my car. I have quite nice legs, and I was wearing a short skirt and dark hose. I know how guys are, and I figured he'd try to stretch this little stop out as long as he could, having gotten lucky enough to stop a drunk girl in come-hither bar attire. Just what I didn't need!

    He told me to wait in the car while he called in my info and he returned to his car. I hoped he hadn't been able to smell the alcohol through the open window. I shifted again trying to find a position that would ease my discomfort. All I could think of was how sweet it would feel to slip my hose and panties down, and feel a cool porcelain seat on my thighs, and then let go.

    Many a night I've driven home with a very full feeling down there, but I can always make myself think about something else, and the next thing I know it, I'm home. But I'd crossed the line tonight. We'd been bought a round of beers at closing time. The image of me guzzling the last whole beer kept flashing through my mind. Here I was already frantic, and I was sure that last beer was still on its way. Again, I felt panic as one part of my mind tried to tell me that this was it, that this time I'd never make it.

    My body went involuntarily rigid again, and I clenched and squeezed for all I was worth. I dug my fingernails into my palms and tried to focus on that pain. I hadn't wet my pants since girl scout camp in 7th grade. I'd tried to hold it for a whole 2 day camping trip. I'd made it through the entire first night and next day. I was feverish to pee by bedtime that night and I lay there awake, afraid to let myself fall asleep for fear I'd wet in my sleeping bag. I remember holding onto the zipper of the sleeping bag and telling myself that as long as I held on to that I'd be OK. Finally exhaustion had overcome me and I dozed off, only to awake to the feeling of heavenly relief as I soaked my sleeping bad. I'd tried to stop but the feeling was just too sweet and I went ahead and let it all flood out of me.

    My thoughts were interrupted. He was approaching my car again. He asked the dreaded question. "Ma'am, have you been drinking?"

    & quot;I had a couple of beers officer," I answered as evenly as I could. "I think I'm fine though, really," I added, very convincingly I'm sure.

    "If I could just have to step out of the car for a moment, please." His tone of voice was stern and curt.

    I opened the door and slid gingerly off the seat. I gasped quietly as I stood up, and tugged my skirt back down into the realm of at least semi-decency. He had to be enjoying stopping a young lady thusly attired I thought grimly. My bladder felt like a heavy rock, and it felt like it was ripping and tearing under the strain.

    He asked me to close my eyes and hold my arms out to either side. I stood knees squeezed and complied. A long pause.

    "Touch your nose with the index finger of your right hand, please," he said. I did that. Then the left. I complied. He repeated this a number of times. I could hardly concentrate on what he was saying. His words sounded like they were coming from somewhere very far away. He switched the order a couple of times and messed me up, I just couldn't seem to make my mind focus.

    Next he had me do the dreaded "walk a straight line" routine. I walked gingerly, my heels clicking on the concrete, and every vibration seemed to go straight to the nerve endings in my tortured lower abdomen. As I went to spin around and walk the other way, I felt another intense wave and bent slightly forward. I paused and teetered, helplessly realizing that this didn't look good at all. Then he had me do all that again. He stood there haughty, detached, observing me, and I'm sure drinking in my helplessness, a slim, attractive young female dressed to attract male attention skittering on high heels under the street lights.

    He asked me to wait in the car again. I slid back into the driver's seat, thankful for what small comfort that provided. I found myself shifting my hips regularly, feeling like if I just moved a little this way or that I could find a way to stay outside the still growing reservoir in my body. Another interminable wait. I wasn't even thinking about a DUI now. I just wanted to go somewhere where I could pee, oh to be able to just pee.

    My body tensed again, and I pushed my fist into the car seat on either side of me. Suddenly an unfamiliar feeling. Every nerve in my body felt suddenly on fire as I felt a few drops actually push out in into my urethra. I clenched my teeth and held on tight. A few drops had leaked out, I wasn't even sure if they'd made it far enough to moisten my panties, but they'd made it out of my bladder in spite of my most concentrated efforts.

    Now panic struck. And the police officer was back at my window. He told me slowly and evenly that he'd considered bringing me back to his car for a breathalyzer test, but he said he was fairly certain I would fail. He said that since I was only a few blocks from my home, he would cite me only for speeding and having a tail light out, and he would let me park the car and go home. He said he would call for a cab for me if I desired, or he would run me the few blocks.

    My mind raced, thankful to not be in trouble, but weighing the relative speed of each alternative. I thanked him, and indicated I'd accept the ride. He suggested I lock up the car, and come back while he finished filling out the paper work. Maybe he was going to make a pass at me, I didn't know or care. I had no choice. I got out and walked to his car trying to assume a normal stride. Every time my legs stretched, my mind registered the agonizing need from my bursting bladder.

    He motioned me into the front seat beside him. He made some incomprehensible call on his radio. Unable to shift and wiggle as freely, I settled for biting my lip. He began scribbling on his clipboard. I felt another wave of total body tenseness and bit my lip harder. Again, that unfamiliar feeling, like someone suddenly flipped on all the lights in my alcohol-dulled mind. And a few more drops of my pee escaped my bladder, enough for me to this time notice a little warm, dampness in my panties. I may have even made a quiet sound when this happened, I'm not sure.

    More seemingly endless writing, and then he began lecturing me on the dangers of drinking and driving. It seemed to be a pat spiel that he'd given many times. He finally eased up on the lecture, and made another radio call. Another wave was upon me. I fought it, trying not to appear fidgety or nervous. He was writing again on a new form. I uncrossed my legs, but before I could recross them, another wave hit, stronger this time. And the dam started to burst. I felt a few droplets force their way out. I felt like I could feel every little drop as it squeezed its way to freedom. I clenched and inhaled. Another few drops. They felt more, I don't know, "connected". Frantic squeezing. Another few drops, no wait, this was a small stream, slow, a little trickle. I squeezed as hard as I could but it had absolutely no effect.

    My poor little muscles down there were not listening to my brain anymore. I started to pee uncontrollably, and was startled and embarrassed by the sudden hiss, clearly audible over the sound of the motor running. I gasped audibly a couple of times, pushing my fists into the seat and raising up off the seat, fighting to stem the tide.

    I regained control, but I was soaked. "I'm so sorry," I said. "I'm terribly sorry," I repeated a few more times, not sounding very coherent.

    "Well, ma'am, why didn't you say something," he said. With no further delay he put the car in gear and we began moving. I burst into tears. I sat there sobbing with embarrassment and shame. It only seemed like moments are we were at my apartment building.

    My shoulders shook as I continued to sob quietly. My thighs remained clamped.

    "Ma'am, can you find your key" he said.

    I dug around in my purse. I finally came up with the key, but I still couldn't move. I was sure if I moved I'd let loose again.

    He got out and came around and opened my door. "Come along, it's going to be fine," he said. And then his strong arm was around my shoulders helping me up the stairs. He took my key and opened the door for me.

    He escorted me inside. Everything was a blur from the tears, from the alcohol, from the mind numbing pressure in my bladder. I just wanted to disappear into a hole in the earth. I put down my purse and slipped off my jacket. He'd disappeared.

    Stepping out of my heels I bolted towards the bathroom. I was still in agony, the few squirts having done nothing to significantly ease my situation. I was startled to see him emerge from the bathroom holding several towels.

    "C ome here," he said. "Let's get you cleaned up."

    I was struck speechless by the moment, by his quiet tone of voice. He found the zipper of my skirt and he slid the wet garment down my legs to the floor. My hose and panties were a wet mess. He firmly tugged these down now too. I was standing there, knees together, as he began to gently pat my bottom and my thighs with the towel.

    "C'mon, it's OK," he said, gently pushing the towel between my legs to dry my pubes. Then he took my hand and led me to the couch. "But I still have to go, I still have to go," I was thinking, but his movements were hypnotic. He spread a towel on the couch and bid me lay down. I sat on the couch and he coaxed me into laying back. He gently patted me with the towel again, drying my damp inner thighs and my pubic mound. "We'll get you all dried off," he said, his voice soothing and caring.

    "Ooh, but I still have to go so bad," I found myself saying. My pelvis arched slightly as if to indicate it agreed. "I still have to go," I repeated, hesitantly, feeling almost afraid that I would disappoint him. My hips squirmed again, and I felt a wave of tension building.

    "Is this where you need something?" he asked gently running his bare hand over the flesh above my pubic bone and down lightly over my pussy lips. "Does it hurt a little?" he said.

    "Um hmm," I nodded. Pressing knees tightly and raising them slightly. The wave was building and I was afraid I was going to lose it again, right here in front of him.

    "Oh, please, oh, please," I said pushing up on one elbow. "I have to go," I said. The bathroom seemed so far away. Then that feeling again. He could see me tense up. I felt a couple of droplets push into my urethra.

    He was pushing me back down. "Just let it come," he said soothingly. "Just let it happen."

    Still I fought it, tensing, clenching, squeezing, but the drops kept coming. I felt one run down my bare pussy.

    "Just relax," he said. "It's OK."

    My hips bucked slightly, and a few drops escaped, trickling down to the towel beneath me. "Please," I said, but that was all I got out, putting every last bit of concentration into squeezing. But the drops were connecting again, a small flow, my pelvis arching. Jerky, spurting, squirts of pee emerged, me grinding my hips, refusing to let it come.

    "You have to let it out," he said. "Just relax," he said again. And the fight was out of me. I gave up, and let my stream emerge. It made a shallow arch between my slightly parted legs, landing a few feet down on the towel.

    "That's right," he coaxed, "let it come. Go ahead and finish."

    The stream arched higher and he moved his hand, holding the other towel, to where the stream fell. Sweet blessed relief flowed over me as I lay back and surrendered. Sweet blessed relief. I felt my whole body melt as I let go completely.

    Fin ally, after it seemed like an eternity, my stream subsided to just a little trickle, and then stopped. "That's a good girl," he said. He dabbed gently at my pussy with a dry towel. "Are you all better now?" he asked. But as he dabbed, I felt my flow start again. A thinner stream formed, more delicate this time. "Oh, you weren't quite done, were you?" he added.

    My body didn't seem to want to stop. Three more times I paused and started again. "My, my, my, we really had to go didn't we," he chided each time I'd start again. But then I was done. He dried me ever so tenderly, pulling the wet towel from under me. Helping me stand up, he led me to the bathroom. "Finally I'm in a bathroom," I thought to myself. It struck me funny and I giggled. He smiled and put his arm around me. I felt woozy, it all seemed so unreal. He found talcum powder in my medicine cabinet, and then he took me to my bedroom.

    He urged me to lay back on the bed, and dried me some more, patting the powder on my now quite happy little pussy. As if in a dream I floated now into a state of extreme arousal. All the attention being given to my pussy was so tender, so non-sexual, and now with the pressure gone, all my pussy could do was tingle and tell me it wanted yet another thing. He finished undressing me and was making like he was going to tuck me in. But cutting through my dazed state was a new need, a new desire.

    He patted me perfunctorily again with a towel. It was maddening, this form of non-sexual touching, when suddenly all my pussy could do was tingle with sexual need, and tingle and tingle. I moaned softly, and told him that it felt nice. I arched my bare breasts, hoping he'd begin to see me sexually.

    "Do you need a little something else," he asked again, that same tone of voice. "Does she still need something," he said gesturing to my pussy.

    "Um hmm," I nodded again, sticking my lower lip out. I wiggled my pussy to indicate it agreed.

    "She might have to wait a little bit again," he said. "She might have to wait until I finish my shift." He patted again with the towel. I was wet again, for a different reason.

    "Noooo," I said petulantly. I wiggled again. "She needs to now," I said.

    "Honey, I have to finish my work," he said, "but I'll come back." He patted me again. I squirmed. I made a silly fake crying sound. I pouted. And I wiggled my pussy again. "She really needs to right away," I said.

    He looked at me sternly, and I thought we was leaving for sure. But he began slowly undressing. He slid into bed next to me, his cock hard and bulging. "It looks like maybe he needs something now too," I said playfully. And then he mounted me, and fucked me. Our bodies melted together, grinding, forcefully and urgently, and then slower and agonizingly slower. And another wave began to build, a more familiar wave. I gave in to this wave more readily, I needed it, I needed that release now just as intensely. My body shuddered with orgasm, and as if on cue, his body answered.

    He left to return to his neglected duty. As I drifted off to sleep, a fantasy flashed through my mind. I knew I would see him again, and I knew what I wanted to do. I was already thinking about what I wanted to wear, and how much I would drink, how long I would hold it for him, and how good it would feel when I finally wet myself, and then surrendered my pussy again to his caring hands and cock. And I drifted off to sleep.

    #7248 — Comments (4) — Jan 17, 2004 at 4:04 PM — That's Juicy! (9) Remove This.
  • — Wet Stories —
    Posted by Anonymous

    HBO cable just ran a film " Kiss of the Dragon" starring Bridget Fonda and Jet Li. Bridget played a prostitute. During the movie she is staring in a window of a food establishment owned by Jet Li at him. She is wearing a red leather jacket, short skirt, black thigh high boots, black bra and panties, and blue blouse buttoned with only one lower button with her tits and bra showing. She turns her back and leans forward doing a slight pee-pee dance. Then she sticks her head in the open doorway and asks Jet if she can use the toilet, stating " I only have to pee and will be just one minute". Jet tells her no she can't use the toilet. The next scene Bridget is seen in full view squatting in the doorway with her skirt pulled up. When Jet jumps up and asks her what she is doing, Bridget replies " You treat me like a dog so I'll act like a dog and pee right here". Jet then tells her it is OK to use the bathroom for only one minute. As they walk to the bathroom Jet tells her only one minute. Bridget is then shown with her hand up her skirt and starting to pull down her panties. " Oh, I have to go so bad" and goes into the bathroom. You don't hear her peeing but all of a sudden she yells out " Oh, that feels so good". She looked so sexy and I loved the scene that I drank a lot of water, filled my bladder to capacity, turned on my vibrator, and masturbated thinking about that scene. I wonder how much Bridget's bladder can hold, how long she can hold a full bladder, and does it spray out real hard when she empties her bursting bladder? I must confess; I think she is just like me.

    #7889 — Comments (0) — Jan 16, 2004 at 10:08 PM — That's Juicy! (0) Remove This.
  • — Wet Stories —
    Posted by Anonymous

    Carla was tall, very tall. In fact, she stood nearly six feet with shoes on. This had worked both in her favor and against her as she went through school. She had been chosen for some of the best parts in the school plays and did well on the running track. On the other hand though, she had always been at the back of the class photographs and was always picked out to reach up to high shelves in the classroom.

    As she grew into her teens, she found that there were other advantages and disadvantages to being so tall. Boys shorter than her, and there were a lot, would not consider her a suitable choice for a date and shorter girls were viciously jealous of her long slender legs. On the other hand, those boys who were not height-challenged found her long legs and straight long hair irresistible and she was never short of an offer to go somewhere or other with one of them.

    Then she reached eighteen. Her newfound freedom fed the sense of power growing within her and she practiced and practiced until she could almost perfectly predict any male's response to her flirting moves. One glimpse of her long legs beneath a swirling mini-skirt was usually enough to attract the attention she sought and from then on the man was in her grasp to do with as she willed or to reject at a whim. Sometimes she played with them for weeks at a time, some times only for an hour.

    Most of her friends were wary of her and would not spend too much time with so obvious a rival and, having been bitten once or twice before, drifted away one by one until she was left with just a handful of hangers-on. Some stayed for the attention by association, some for the perverse pleasure of trying to outdo her. Outdoing Carla was usually only achieved by actually having sex with the guy, something Carla always refused to do, without exception.

    In the absence of all but the hardiest of friends, Carla threw herself into the company of men. She was driven almost to frenzy trying to outdo her own efforts at seductive flirtation and sought ever more daring ways to entice the male who happened to be her current quarry. She discovered that if the man caught a glimpse of her knickers he became turned on better and faster, particularly if he thought it was accidental, and Carla was an excellent actress. Very few of her victims had even the slightest suspicion that the whole show had been contrived for their benefit.

    She would wear the most appealing knickers, with teddy bears on them perhaps, or some other 'little girl' looks. She would wear thongs and let them believe for a time or two that she was wearing no knickers at all, she wore 'see-through' lingerie and even tried latex but found that a bit too hot and clammy so gave it up.

    In her quest to ever improve her art she tried everything she could think of to drive the men wild. Then, one night, she accidentally stumbled on what was to become her next 'weapon' in this one-sided war of man-control. It turned out to be such an immensely powerful part of her arsenal that very, very few of her rivals either would, or could match it.

    So, you want to know what Carla discovered that night? Of course you do!

    You only want to know for interest's sake? Oh yes! Pull the other one!

    You want to use this powerful trick once only, just to win over 'the only man for you?'

    Oh Yes!

    So what did Carla discover by accident that night? You won't pass this on will you? For those guys who like it, and a lot of them do, it's dynamite in the right hands!

    So what did Carla discover that night?

    She wet herself! Completely and absolutely wet herself. She was out with a date and had already got the poor chap drooling over her with her usual tricks when she realized that maybe she had had one drink too many which caused her to feel two things rather suddenly. She was a bit dizzier than she was accustomed to feeling and she was desperate to pee.

    She got up to go to the Ladies' and because she was just a little more drunk than she had realized, she fell back down again in her seat with a bump. Tim, the guy she was out with, started to laugh which in turn started Carla laughing as well. Suddenly she realized that she was peeing uncontrollably in her knickers and in her shock at doing that she started to laugh even harder. So there she was, our intrepid Carla, so accustomed to being in control yet sitting there, totally out of control, laughing hysterically and wetting her knickers at the same time.

    The back of her skirt, which was a beige denim mini, was soaked by the time she managed to stop peeing and there was a small puddle soaking into the carpet beneath the table. Tim had realized that there was something wrong and stopped laughing and looked concerned. Carla tried to look as cool as she could but she was blushing furiously and felt desperately embarrassed as she said to Tim, "I've just peed myself."

    Tim was very good to her and offered to take her home straight away. She noticed that he walked behind her out of the pub and she thought that he was trying to shield her from the view of the other customers but he kept looking at the back of her skirt as they walked across to his car and he seemed very agitated. He put a blanket on the passenger seat for her to sit on and helped her into the car but as he did so she felt his hand brush lightly against the back of her skirt where it was wet. When he got into the car he was clearly very aroused and an idea began to germinate in Carla's mind.

    Carla had an almost intuitive feeling that she had discovered, and by accident at that, yet another way to tease her men victims. Tim was obviously still quite clearly excited by the situation and kept glancing at the front of her skirt where a small wet patch showed from contact with her knickers. Carla, in order to get as objective an opinion as possible from Tim, made light of wetting herself, once over the initial embarrassment, and said that she supposed most people did the same thing occasionally. Tim then told her about another time when he had seen a girl wet herself at a party and agreed that it must happen now and then.

    By Tim's obvious excitement, Carla was now almost certain that he was turned on by her accident. She decided to investigate further and asked him if it had put him off seeing her again. He responded cautiously by saying that he understood and it could have happened to anyone. Carla was well accustomed to playing mind and word games and so she asked him if he could kiss a girl who had wet knickers on. His answer was that it made no difference to him, and that, if the girl was kissable - and he made it clear that Carla was, he would be happy to kiss her with or without knickers, wet or dry.

    When they reached Carla's house she got out of the car and thanked him for the lift. Then she reached up and kissed him full on the lips. As they were kissing she released her pee again, intentionally this time, and when Tim heard the slight splashing on the pavement Carla clearly felt his excitement raise itself again. Now she was sure! As she waved to him driving away she began to feel excited herself, partly because of her newfound power and partly because her pussy was experiencing a feeling that was new to her and not entirely unpleasant. She went to sleep that night contented with herself and planning all sorts of new conquests.

    Carla set that weekend aside for planning and perfecting her new trick. She chose two guys who had been pestering her for a date and rang each of them in turn arranging dates on the following Friday and Saturday nights. On Sunday she did not get up as early as usual but lay in bed planning her day then got up, dressed and was out of the house inside half an hour. She went to a country park nearby and, after having a drink at the café she walked around the lake there. As she walked she practiced peeing a little into her knickers until she could do it at will, either standing still or walking. Then she sat on a bench and, in full view of the people passing by out for a stroll, she completely emptied her bladder into her knickers and skirt. The skirt she had chosen to wear today was a dark color so most people would be unaware- but she knew that if she did wet herself as a flirting ploy it was almost certain that others would see. She decided that she would act as if it were an accident every time until she knew the response of her male companion.

    Frid ay night came around and Carla met Darren (her Friday date) in town as agreed. She was out of breath and hurrying when she got there, all put on as an act to give background to her story. She told Darren that she was late home from work and came out almost as she was, telling him that she had had no time even to do her make-up. Darren took her to The New Theatre near the town center and they agreed to go to a Thai restaurant after the show. During the show Carla teased Darren unmercifully by allowing him glimpses of her breasts through the opening of her jacket top. She was completely naked underneath the jacket and she was certain that Darren realized this as he became more and more distracted from watching the stage. Towards the end of the performance Carla started to fidget in her seat a little. To be truthful, she really did need to go to the loo. When Darren asked her what was wrong she admitted, a little coyly, that she had not had time to go to the loo before coming out in a rush and didn't want to keep him waiting as she felt that was the height of rudeness. He asked if she wanted to go to the Ladies' now or wait until the end of the show. She told him that she would wait. When they got up to leave the theatre the queue to the ladies was quite long. Carla told Darren that she would wait until they got to the restaurant. It was cold outside and Carla really did need to pee so she asked if they could hurry. As they walked quickly along the road she told Darren that she didn't think she could wait and with that started to release her bladder into her knickers. As the warm pee started to run down her thighs she told Darren to stop. She said, in a horrified voice, "I'm wetting myself. Look!"

    Her pee was running down the legs of the trousers she had on and the light brown corduroy material clearly showed the track of her pee as it progressed down her legs in a widening wet patch. Darren was mesmerized and stood completely still as if unable to believe his eyes. A puddle began to form at her feet and the legs of her trousers were saturated. Several people looked at her as they walked past and when she had stopped she asked Darren if he would mind taking her home. Darren seemed very keen to do that and on the way home said several things that gave Carla the impression that he had enjoyed her 'accident.' He joked about it as well in an apparent attempt to make her feel less embarrassed and Carla knew that he also was turned on by wet knickers.

    When they got back to Carla's house they kissed and she felt his excitement in full growth. She invited him in and they went into the kitchen where she took off her coat, shoes and trousers. As she walked about in wet knickers making coffee, she felt his eyes watching the wet material clinging to her bottom as Tim's had the week before and now she knew beyond doubt the power of her knew trick. Darren was dismissed as soon as he had finished his coffee and the following night a similar occurrence with her second date that weekend convinced her that she could take virtually any man off any girl by wetting herself in front of him and appealing to him for assistance.

    The acid test was the following Wednesday, Carla had been invited out with her sister and her boyfriend. Her sister should have known better, but she was her sister after all and didn't expect Carla to steal her own sister's boyfriend!

    The evening went well, they went to a show and then to a restaurant in town. After the meal Carla's sister, Corinne, went to the ladies' on her own and Carla, taking full advantage of the situation, said quietly to Paul, her sister's boyfriend, "I don't need to go to the loo, I went in the theatre." Paul replied that he didn't see her go and Carla said, "I don't suppose you did, I didn't move from my seat the whole time."

    Paul , a little confused and completely unaware of where this was going, said innocently, "How did you go to the loo without leaving your seat?"

    Carla replied teasingly, "I went to the loo in my seat, of course, I wet myself where I sat, it's so much easier you know. My knickers are still soaked, but no-one would ever know underneath this skirt would they?" Paul had to admit that he had not even noticed while she had actually been sitting right next to him and completely peed herself. The tell tale signs of Paul's interest were clear to Carla already and by the time Corinne returned Carla knew she had him hooked, he was as excited as the other men had been. When they arrived back home to Carla's house for a night-cap, she kept the same clothes on and winked at Paul a few times putting her finger to her lips to warn him not to say anything to Corinne, while at the same time absent-mindedly rubbing her bottom to remind him that her knickers were still wet. When Paul and Corinne left, Carla stood on her doorstep with her legs crossed and, if he looked closely enough Paul might just have seen the glistening on her legs as she peed again for him.

    The next day, Thursday, Paul called to see Carla on his way home from work, knowing that she would be in and that Corinne, a nurse, would be at work until 10 o'clock that evening. Carla opened the door to him wearing blue denims and a jersey jumper. She looked at him and said, "You've come for an action replay haven't you?" He smiled and nodded. As Carla reached up and kissed him she started to let go and her pee began to seep into her pants as he put his arms around her. Carla jumped up and wrapped her legs loosely around his waist then completely relaxed and wet herself for him. Her pee soaked through her knickers and jeans and wet the front of Paul's trousers so much so that he felt himself getting wet by the time Carla stopped peeing.

    In the weeks that followed Corinne never really found out why Paul cooled off with her and later ended up with Carla. She was very mature about it but at the back of her mind she always harbored lingering doubts about when it had started between Paul and Carla and whenever she visited them at their new home she always had a vague uneasiness, as if Carla were mocking her slightly.

    Carla, for her part, was quite happy with Paul and he genuinely was the first man she had sex with. She was particularly pleased with the way she had finally repaid her sister for what she had done all those years ago when Corinne's good looks had enabled her to steal Carla's boyfriend at the time. Corinne had laughed so much at Carla's impotent, angry tirade that she had wet herself and then sworn Carla to secrecy lest it get out to her friends. Carla would smile occasionally, not just at how well she had kept that secret, but at the price Corinne had unknowingly paid!

    #7873 — Comments (0) — Jan 16, 2004 at 10:00 PM — That's Juicy! (8) Remove This.
  • — Wet Stories —
    Posted by Anonymous

    Last week I had to go to a Handy shop in a big shopping mall. My drill didn't work and i had called the shop owner if it is possible to get a new. When I arrived at the shop, it was terribly busy, so I decided to go for a little shopping tour and come back later. It was a very hot day so I went into a cafe and bought an ice cream and a coke and sat out on the balcony. Afterwards, I went into some clothing shops and bought a nice short top. Before I returned to the Handy shop I bought another bottle of coke and then I slowly walked back.

    When I entered the shop, only two guys were inside looking at the shop windows. Behind the counter I saw a big very well built guy with dark brown hair and wonderful blue eyes. I think he was from Croatia. "Hello," I said. "I had called you about four hours ago because my drill doesn't work".

    He smiled at me and took my drill. "Hmm, what's wrong with it?" he wanted to know.

    I explained the problem and noticed that he seemed a little bit nervous. "I think i have to send it to the factory, I have never heard of one doing that before, I am afraid I wouldn't be able to fix that here," he said.

    "Damn," I said, "what shall I do without my drill, I use it every day at work?"

    "Don't worry," he answered, "I will give you my phone number and I can lend you my old one."

    I was totally astonished. "That's very nice of you," I said, and he wrote his number on my left arm. He was very cute!! We felt in a long conversation and after an hour I realized that I had to go to the toilet. But I was really in no hurry to leave. I also started to realize that the cute guy seemed kind of nervous. I looked at him and asked him if something was wrong. He turned a little bit red and answered that he had pee very badly but the small shop had no toilet. I couldn't believe it! "Why don't you close the shop for 5 minutes and go to the toilet at the restaurant?"

    He looked at me with sorrow in his eyes. "I can't, because if I do, and my boss finds out, I will be in big trouble." Wow, that's pretty tough! He told me that he had been working since 9:30 a.m. and had to stay working till 5:00 p.m. I looked at my watch. It was now 3:00 p.m.

    A few customers entered the shop and he had to go back to work. I didn't want to go, because it turned me on to watch this strong beautiful guy with desperation in his eyes. I walked up and down in the shop and watched him as he tried to hide his desperation. He was tapping his feet on the ground and couldn't stand still. It took a long time till the people left the shop. But when they were outside he held his penis and started to sigh. "Oh my gosh, I can't hold it longer- I will pee my pants if I can't get to the loo."

    "Shall I watch the shop and you go for a short moment?"

    "No" he answered. "My boss will come within the next hour and when he sees that I am not here, I have a huge problem."

    I laughed, "On the other hand, you will have another very big problem in a short while, now won't you," and while I was laughing I noticed my own very full bladder. He smiled a little bit, but I could see that he was concentrating all his attention on not peeing in his pants.

    We talked another 30 minutes about a lot of things but it seemed like he didn't really listen to a lot of what I said- his attention was elsewhere. Soon, I felt that I had lost a little bit of pee in my pants. I crossed my legs but tried not to show my own desperation. I like the feeling of being desperate.

    The guy seemed to panic. He was looking around and walking up and down. "I can't hold it much longer!!! What the hell shall I do?" He was holding his penis and his stomach and his eyes were full of tears. I could see a wet spot on his light brown trousers. "OH NO!!!" he shouted and ran through a small door. I could hear him peeing on the ground. It seemed like hours until he came back. On the front of his trousers i could see a big wet spot.

    "What have you done," I asked him. He answered with a calm voice that he had peed in the small storeroom. I smiled at him and then turned around to leave.

    It turned me on in a very special way. As I walked to my car, I felt my bladder calling me again. My panties were still a little bit wet and now a bit cold so it was much more difficult to hold in. I would drive quickly home, I thought, and go on the loo there. But it was a big mistake!! At the street there was a big traffic jam. "Oh my goodness!" I shouted. I crossed my legs and held my crotch while I tried to think about something beautiful. But it didn't work. The huge floods of pee caused an unbearable pressure on my bladder. Another big squirt went into my pants. I knew then that I never would make it home so I tried to think of a solution of my problem. But it was too late. I felt that I couldn't hold it any longer. I jumped out of the car and soon my pee was running down my legs. I hid behind the car and let my pee go. It was a very good feeling. Some people watched me peeing through my panties, but i didn't care about that. And thank God, I had worn a skirt, and my car didn't have to have a soaking.

    #7860 — Comments (0) — Jan 13, 2004 at 5:49 AM — That's Juicy! (2) Remove This.
  • — Wet Stories —
    Posted by Anonymous

    My BF didn't have a clue that I was turned on by peeing or having to pee until one night he told me he had to pee and I said "that's so hot". When he finally got out of the car to pee I asked if I could watch him and he let me. Then we had terrific sex. He caught on real quick, and now he never pees before we go out so that he always has to go sometime during the evening. Sometimes he gets so desperate he squirts in his pants, and he tries to wait until he can pull out his lovely dick and pee in front of me. That really turns me on! Now I want to hold it and aim it in different places. Yea I know I'm a sicki.

    #7819 — Comments (2) — Jan 8, 2004 at 7:55 PM — That's Juicy! (3) Remove This.
  • — Wet Stories —
    Posted by Anonymous

    Loretta and I had just attended a piano concert and we were waiting in the attended parking garage for an attendant to bring my car forward. Neither of us had been able to go to the bathroom for several hours and both of us had imbibed a few beers just before the concert. Now we were standing on the platform waiting for my car while there were many other patrons doing the same. While I was somewhat uncomfortable with the stress on my bladder, I couldn't help but notice that Loretta was getting desperate for a pee.

    She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and occasionally walked around in a small circle. She was wearing an off-white suit with a straight skirt and powder blue blouse. She didn't mention the cause of her discomfort, as it wasn't the sort of thing ladies did in 1963. And, I didn't mention it either for the same reason. Besides I was beginning to wonder if I would outlast her.

    Finally she told me that she needed to go and wondered if she went to the restroom in the garage if she would hold up the crowd if she were still there when my car was brought down. I must admit that I didn't like the idea of explaining to the crowd that we must wait for my date to pee before I could move my car. So, I told Loretta to hold on a little longer. We would be at Jake's Place in just a few minutes I told her.

    Jake's Place was a favorite after hours club for food, drink, and socializing. That is where we had planned to go after the concert. Loretta now wondered where the ladies' room was located at Jake's. I told her that I didn't remember but I was sure that it was prominent and accessible. The outer muscles on my bladder were contracting and I was getting pretty worried about my own condition, so I reassured her that the ladies' room at Jake's would be forthcoming if she would just put off going until we got there. She agreed to hang on at about the same moment my car was brought down.

    While seated in the car for the 3-block trip to Jake's I had an occasion to grab my member in an effort to resist wetting my pants. I couldn't help but think about Loretta's inability to grab herself as well, since she was trussed up in a tight skirt. She fidgeted the whole way to Jake's and when we parked I have to admit that I couldn't find a parking space very close to the club. When we got out of the car the first thing I did was grab my member and hold on a few seconds while the car concealed me. Loretta gave out a slight moan and sort of doubled up but in a few moments she was standing straight and ready for the block and a half walk to Jake's Place.

    After about a half block walk she moaned that she couldn't hold it any longer and she bent over and crossed her legs. But, all her preventative measures were too little and too late and she proceeded to wet herself there on the sidewalk beside Jake's Place in the dark of night. Her pee was flowing over her crossed leg and therefore wetting her skirt, which was drawn tightly over her leg. I watched as a dark stain began to cover the front of her skirt and then watched as a puddle began to form at her feet. The only reason I didn't lose control and wet myself is because my member was by now hard and erect and incapable of passing urine.

    I walked over to her and put my arm around her shoulder and asked her what she wanted to do. Take me home she demanded and I agreed to do so. She was moaning that she couldn't believe she had done this, that she peed herself like a little girl, that there was no way she could hide what she had done.

    We were back in my car where I had furnished her with a beach towel to sit on so she wouldn't get my car seat wet. My sympathetic feeling for her situation was such that I no longer had an erection and found it necessary to hold myself during the trip to her place. Loretta was silently wishing she could go somewhere besides back to her shared apartment where she would have to show her roommates her wet skirt and pants and I definitely wanted to go somewhere closer than her place as well, before I wet myself. I was definitely on the verge.

    She agreed to go to my apartment since it was closer and she would worry about her situation when we got off the road and I would also worry about my situation in the privacy of my own home.

    The dark stain on the front of her skirt no longer excited me nor did the anticipation of seeing the stain on the back of her skirt. While my date had peed all over herself, my situation was so desperate that I could no longer think of her humiliation as I was on the verge of humiliating myself.

    We pulled into the driveway of my place and I held myself as I circled around my car to open the door for Loretta. Then I let go as I opened her door and then I lost any semblance of bladder control and proceeded to pee all over myself as she exited the car. I couldn't move and she looked at me and let her gaze drop down to my pants where she saw me wetting myself. A dark stain was spreading from my crotch to my ankles. There was no hiding the fact that I was wetting myself. I looked at her and she was smiling. "Shall we slosh our way inside?" she said.

    Although I had come close to wetting myself before, while on a date, this was the only time that it had actually happened. I was totally humiliated and the only thing that kept my head up was the fact that she had humiliated herself first. She teasingly said, "My skirt isn't nearly as wet as your pants."

    #7351 — Comments (0) — Jan 3, 2004 at 6:22 AM — That's Juicy! (2) Remove This.
  • — Wet Stories —
    Posted by Anonymous

    To the tune of "hurt". not as good as the other guys, but my try:

    I peed on my girlfriend today
    to see how it would feel
    she woke up and kicked me in the nuts
    and said it WAS a big deal

    What have I become?
    obsessed with stories of pee
    My girlfriend didn't like a golden shower
    and dropped me with her knee

    You could see it all
    my piss - stained pants
    I can't feel my balls
    and she won't give me a second chance
    If I've read twenty pee stories
    I've read one
    posted by the same guy
    on "anonymous confession"

    okay...that's all I have

    #7121 — Comments (5) — Jan 1, 2004 at 12:17 PM — That's Juicy! (0) Remove This.
  • — Wet Stories —
    Posted by Anonymous

    When I was 13, I got into skinnydipping. Well, my hot girlfriend and I (I'm I lesbi.) Started doing it, in the pool. Once I really couldn't hold it, I had to go. Now, I just go in her lap. Sometimes we get one leg in one pair of pants each, ans get our vaginas in there, and just pee all over each other. Pee tip: Pee on the girl's boobs. It is soooo sexy! I pee in my pants sometimes in the pool (I go with pants on, if there's guys around) and just pee.

    #7845 — Comments (0) — Jan 1, 2004 at 10:54 AM — That's Juicy! (3) Remove This.
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