After the anticipation, the knock at the door, and Alice is standing there as usual with an impish grin spreading itself all over her face. I sometimes wonder to myself what it is she has to grin about. It is as if she carries some secret knowledge with her; something that says ‘I know something you could never even dream of…’ It is a candle flame that draws the whirring moth thoughts from me to circle around her, totally focused, nearer and nearer to the secret centre of her, until in a flash and sizzle of ecstasy, I am all consumed by the single point of light that is my sole object.
I place my arms about her to give a warm hug. It is a struggle sometimes not to anticipate, not to want. It’s a damn long Zen story this one, where the streams and floods of pee wash me clean of the desires and dreams of the self, until only the essence is left. She hugs me back really tightly, and I can feel all the long length of her pressed up against me; searching for the maximum contact, the perfect connection with which to transmit her mystery. My groin teeters on the edge of filling with warm pulsing blood at the feel Alice’s abdomen, covered in the light cotton of her dress so gently yet definitely in contact with mine. No matter how hard I try, I cannot help thinking of the bladder contained within the cradle of muscle and bone, trying to detect the subliminal signals that will tell me if this time it is fuller than usual.
She knows. Well of course she knows. We’ve discussed it often enough. I in my half-despairing, half-desiring, frenzy of guilt and lust; she with a cool amused detachment that I find maddening. I would almost rather she hated the whole idea than had this vague disengaged interest in my obsessional world. I can’t give her up though. For the sake of those few occasions when she decides to play the game, I put up with all the agonised hours of wanting and waiting, hoping and pleading inside for just one more, for just one perfect golden urolagnic moment.
Today she leans close and whispers into my ear. “I need the loo.”
Just as she knows they will, for they were chosen for just such an effect, her words harden me reflexively. My prick confined within my briefs, does not exactly get any bigger, but instead develops a denser solidity. Oh she is clever. She knows how the words and the images that they imply are goads, spurring me on without ever letting me free from the reins she holds. The everyday phrase is calculated to pique my interest without letting on whether this signals her joining the game, or is just the prelude for a solitary visit to the lavatory. I know she can feel my arousal.
I continue to hold her, repositioning my hands so they fall naturally from around her upper back to the incipient curve just above her buttocks. I am only inches away from feeling the ridge of material that gives away the position of the waistband of her underwear. There is a tremor, that I cannot make out whether it comes from me or from her. A shifting by one of us so that I can feel the length of her thigh pressed against mine. She sways slightly from side to side, so that the knicker and dress covered mount of venus very lightly brushes my hardening penis. Oh thank you thank you God, I pray inwardly to a deity I am not even sure exists. Detached she may be but she is no tease, and her motion indicates a blissful willingness.
Sometimes I think I should be ashamed to accept her advances. I know that this is my thing and not hers, but I don’t really care. Let’s face it I would do practically anything short of force to feel what I am feeling now on a regular basis.
I let my hands fall further brushing the curve of her bottom. Oh my! How the thin dress slides over the material of her knickers. I find myself beginning to wonder what sort of underpants she is wearing today. Not for the first time I realise that there is a fair deal of knicker fetishism in my obsession. The thought of Alice with a rapidly filling bladder is far less erotic when I consider her naked than if she is clothed at least partially; a pair of panties if nothing else. I love to think about what the cut of them reveals and conceals, how the material moves against the skin and fur underneath, how the various colours set off her skin tone, the feel of the cloth and what it contains under my hand or against my leg, and of course most of all how the colour will change when they are wet.
I have still said nothing in response to her announced need.
“I really do need to spend a penny,” she says, as though I am holding her in this hug against her will.
“How much?” I finally manage to ask.
“I started needing to wee while I was waiting for the bus.”
Jesus! I know it is a half-hour bus ride from her house to mine. Half an hour in which her bladder has been getting fuller.
“I’m absolutely dying to go toilet,” she continues. “First the bus was late, and then it got stuck in traffic. If I don’t go soon I’m going to have an accident.”
I knead at her buttocks and slide my hands up and down the backs of her thighs. The swaying motion of her hips is more pronounced now, and the friction of her body moving against my prick is almost indescribable. I am starting to become afraid that I will peak before her bladder has a chance to reach its capacity, but almost as if she senses this she pulls away and moves on past me into the living room. For a second I worry that she might be about to just walk into the toilet and lock the door behind her, but thank all the heathen deities she does not. She simply stands there in the middle of the living room floor, with her legs crossed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and biting her bottom lip like a desperate school-girl. As I watch she begins very slowly to lift the hem of her dress. The muscles in her thighs that are gradually revealed are rhythmically tensing and relaxing, squeezing tighter together and then parting very slightly.
I am breathing so hard now, thinking all the time about the fullness inside her, and knowing that any second her panties will be revealed. I am not disappointed. Right at the top of her thighs, black cotton cloth comes into view. Nothing too skimpy or filmy I’m relieved to note. Just ordinary bikini briefs, clinging to her bottom, hips, and vulva. Dear sweet Mother of God, look at the white thighs squirming and twisting, working against each other to hold her pee back.
She gives a little moan. “Oh god I’m so desperate to pee.”
She goes into a little bobbing crouch and then back up again. Then places her hand between her slightly parted legs and presses them together. I long to leap across the room and touch her all over, but the rules are clear. In this time and place I can look but have to keep my hands to myself. Actually even that is not quite true. I have the distinct impression that I am supposed not even to rub myself here. It’s one hell of a show all right but audience participation is not encouraged. My hands are twitching by my side with the effort of restraining my urge to wank. There is a slight smile on her face as if she knows about my struggle. Somehow that seems just fine, a if our struggles, mine not to touch myself and hers not to wet herself are mirroring each other.
"Think of it as Tantric Sex," she tells me one time. "Your deepest desires in the service of the highest ecstasy."
Right now though, “I’m absolutely bursting to spend a penny,” is all she says, “I really am going to wet my pants in a minute.”
Her legs are trembling, and damned if I can hardly believe what I am seeing here, but her hand, the one in between her spasming thighs appears to be moving slightly. Abruptly she sits in an upright chair and parts her legs to reveal the whole glorious cotton gusset, dry now but for how long I wonder?
There is no surreptitiousness about her masturbation now. Her fingers are rapidly rubbing all around her vulva, occasionally focusing on the outlined lips of her labia and pressing firmly at the top of them where I know her pee-hole is situated.
Her eyes are closed now, and she keeps bringing her knees together and spreading them apart over and over again. I move closer, and she opens her eyes, looking directly into mine. I kneel between her feet and she reaches over to unzip my fly. The hard pillar of flesh springs free almost of its own volition it seems. She is careful not to touch it though, and although I long to touch her or touch myself, or do anything to release the pressure inside, I do not. Her breath is a gasp now, and she repeats detached phrases, as if they are some sacred litany.
“Pee...my wee-wee...bursting...god……bursting to go toilet...oh my knickers...oh I don’t know...I want to come...I want to wet...don’t know which I want more...going to wet my pants...”
She give a sharp cry and thrusts her pelvis off the seat of the chair. There is a smell that reminds me of ozone laden sea-side air, and there is the tiniest hint of a darkness that is even darker than the black of her panties spreading over the material in between her legs. She slams her knees together and apart as far as they will go once, twice, three times, and the dark batch of dampness begins to glisten and spread.
“Ahhh! I’m leaking in my briefs! I just had a little wet and now I can’t stop it.”
She thrusts herself forward until she is half crouched astride my legs and my upward reaching hard-on.
“I’m wetting my knickers,” she moans helplessly as a spurt of light golden liquid runs through the cloth of her pants and splashes against one thigh. A few warm drops fall onto my penis which strains and impossibly grows even harder.
“I’m wetting my pants.” Her voice is almost incredulous as she looks down just in time to see the warm stream pour out of her, through her panties, on down both legs and gushes fountain like over the end of my prick. The sensation appears to be too much and she cries out rhythmically, her groin pumping in orgasm as wee gushes through her knickers. Too much for me too, and it matters not a damn that I haven’t touched myself from beginning to end. My whole body jerks in time with hers and I explode upwards almost losing consciousness in a shower of viscous sperm that seems to dance in the air with the waterfall that sprays down to meet it..
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