Posted by Carol A. on August 05, 1998 at 07:33
I'm a twenty-four year old woman and wetting my pants is my thing. I've been into this for about a year now and my husband loves it, too. For the past year or so, its been a wonderful addition to our sex play. When I want to get into it, sometimes I'll just surprise him by suddenly wetting my pants. Other times, I'll warn him that "I've got a bladderful of pleasure and its all for you." This way he'll have a front row seat and can just state at me and watch the whole "accident" as my pants get soaked with my "bladderjuice." Other times, he'll initiate a "wet session" by asking me, "Do you have to go potty?" or telling me, "Be a big girl and go pee-pee in the toilet for me." I guess my toilet training was just about like everyone else's.
My mother tells me that I was pretty reliable by age 3 and rarely even wet the bed past age 4. I can remember the occasional accidents into my pre-teens -- in particular, I'll never forget one in sixth grade when I wet my pants in class to my utter humiliation. But after that, I never thought much about using the toilet. I mean, it was just something you went and did when you had to and that was that.
Then one fateful day about a year ago, my husband and I were attending a rock concert at Giants Stadium in the
Meadowlands. As per most people, the pre-concert festivities included a tailgate party with a considerable amount of beer. I wasn't really drunk but I was feeling pretty good at the time. I was feelling pretty good except for the fact that I had to pee -- I had to pee really bad. I was trying to hold it in until we got into the stadium and with two solid hours of drinking and not a single potty break, I was really pushing my luck. By the time we folded up the tailgate party, I had to take such a wicked piss
that all I wanted in the world was a toilet to sit on. The pressure on my bladder was so great that I almost did use one of the portable toilets in the parking lot. I got as far as opening the door on one of them and inside was a big dump of poop all over the seat. I didn't care how bad I had to do it, I wasn't going to piss in one of those. Since I had already tortured myself this long, I figured I might as well fight it all the and wait until I got inside the stadium to a regular ladies' room.
The walk to the stadium was excrutiating -- my bladder felt like it was going to burst any minute. My husband watched in amusement as I twisted my legs and danced around contorting myself trying to hold it in. When we got to the gate there was a line to get in and I must have been quite a sight dancing around in line as I was never so desperate for a toilet in my life. Once inside the stadium gate, I still had a long walk up a spiral stone ramp before I would get to the lobby area where the ladies' rooms were. Normally, its really just a short walk, but every step seemed like a mile as I was trying to hold back the raging river in my
bladder. At one point the pressure was so great that I was stopped in my tracks. As I stood there on the ramp with one hand gripping the stone wall, the other hand into my crotch, and doubled over in agony, the portable bathrooms didn't seem all that bad.
My husband seemed no longer so amused by the whole situation as he became very sympathetic as he saw me doubled
over in agony. "Honey, if it hurts that bad, just do it," he told me, "Just let it go, who cares what anybody thinks." The thought was certainly tempting, but I thought my- self much to old to be wetting my pants. "I just can't do it here, not in front of everybody," I cried, "I haven't wet since sixth grade, its just so shameful to be doing it now." "Honey, its just not worth all this too hold it in, not if it hurts this bad," he reasoned, "Just let it go, no one is going to care if you wet your pants this once." At that point, I realized that I might not have any choice. I still I had to walk up the ramp some more and then find a ladies' room and at a concert there always is a line to get in there once you did find it. I needed to get at least a little relief right now. At first, I was going to pee only a little bit -- just enough to take the edge off of my bladder so I could make it to the ladies' room to do the rest in the toilet. But just as soon as I let up a little and let a little out, it just felt too good to stop. The feeling of relief was so great that I just peed on and on. Forget about letting up a little, I just totally relxed my bladder and just let the river run its course. I felt it running down both legs -- it was really warm and a little like a bug down my leg. Peeing never felt so good as it was soon going full force gushing through the crotch of my jeans as well as freely streaming down my legs, In one sense, this was extremely embarrassing as everyone was staring at me. Here I was, a woman in her twenties standing there on the stadium
ramp as the pee poured into and out of my pants and onto the sloping concrete. To make the spectacle even worse was that it was flowing steadily down the ramp as well.
In another sense, I was really turning myself on in a big way. The nice feeling of relief I got from peeing turned into a real hot in the pussy feeling as the pee soaked up in my jeans and my warm, pee-soaked panties started clinging against my crotch. I peed on and on until my whole bladder was empty (which was more pee than I ever peed in my life) and by that time I was about ready to come on the spot. My husband just stood there in amazement. He had first suggested that I just pee in my pants but I could tell by the exprerssion on his face that he was totally shocked by the volume of my accident. I think he had in mind, like I did origionally, that I would pee just a little bit to take some of the pressure off and then go and do the rest in the ladies' room. But I let it all out (even pushing at the end to finish the job) right there in my pants. After regaining my composure, we walked up the ramp to the lobby area. I could tell that people were staring at me and that just turned me on some more. My husband went to go find our seats and I went to the ladies' room, saying that I wanted to "dry up some." By trying to dry up would have been hopeless -- my jeans were just totally drenched and my crotch and ass were swimming in my panties. The real reason I was going to the ladies' room was to masturbate. I was so hot from my shameful wetting accident that the masturbation was just effortless -- I got off in no time at all but I came with a
thunderous orgasm. While in the stall I heard numerous references like "this woman just let go and peed all over herself" and "the girl in the stall right there just pissed her pants but good." That only served to heighten the effects of my masturbation as I could feel a distinctive tingle in my crotch each time I heard such a comment. I had just gotten off in the ladies' room but that wasn't enough. I wanted to feel a cock in me and I wanted to feel it now. By the time I got back to my seat, with even more people staring with open mouths at my soaked jeans, I was more horny than I ever felt before in my life. My husbad and I
didn't stay for much of the concert. We went back to the car but neither of us were willing to wait until we got home. We
found a deserted little road amongst the swamp grass and we went at it right there in the car. Boy, was he hard and he stayed hard as he took me from intense arousal to multiple thunderous orgasms and finally to totally exhaustion. We finally made it home sometime around 5:00 AM and we spent most of the next day in bed as well.
"I don't know how to tell you this, honey,"he told me, "But the sight of you standing there wetting your pants was the most erotic thing that I've ever seen." "I was masturbating in the ladies' room," I confessed to him, "It really turned me on, too." Many times since then, I've had "accidents" to turn myself and my husband on. It has never failed to turned both of us on and it has added some wonderful spice to our sex life. Though I've never gotten up the courage to wet myself in public again like that day in the stadium, even a "private pee" -- as long as it is in my pants -- is enough to ge the sexual excitement "flowing." These days, I'm a WET, WET WOMAN.
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My mother tells me that I was pretty reliable by age 3 and rarely even wet the bed past age 4. I can remember the occasional accidents into my pre-teens -- in particular, I'll never forget one in sixth grade when I wet my pants in class to my utter humiliation. But after that, I never thought much about using the toilet. I mean, it was just something you went and did when you had to and that was that.
Then one fateful day about a year ago, my husband and I were attending a rock concert at Giants Stadium in the
Meadowlands. As per most people, the pre-concert festivities included a tailgate party with a considerable amount of beer. I wasn't really drunk but I was feeling pretty good at the time. I was feelling pretty good except for the fact that I had to pee -- I had to pee really bad. I was trying to hold it in until we got into the stadium and with two solid hours of drinking and not a single potty break, I was really pushing my luck. By the time we folded up the tailgate party, I had to take such a wicked piss
that all I wanted in the world was a toilet to sit on. The pressure on my bladder was so great that I almost did use one of the portable toilets in the parking lot. I got as far as opening the door on one of them and inside was a big dump of poop all over the seat. I didn't care how bad I had to do it, I wasn't going to piss in one of those. Since I had already tortured myself this long, I figured I might as well fight it all the and wait until I got inside the stadium to a regular ladies' room.
The walk to the stadium was excrutiating -- my bladder felt like it was going to burst any minute. My husband watched in amusement as I twisted my legs and danced around contorting myself trying to hold it in. When we got to the gate there was a line to get in and I must have been quite a sight dancing around in line as I was never so desperate for a toilet in my life. Once inside the stadium gate, I still had a long walk up a spiral stone ramp before I would get to the lobby area where the ladies' rooms were. Normally, its really just a short walk, but every step seemed like a mile as I was trying to hold back the raging river in my
bladder. At one point the pressure was so great that I was stopped in my tracks. As I stood there on the ramp with one hand gripping the stone wall, the other hand into my crotch, and doubled over in agony, the portable bathrooms didn't seem all that bad.
My husband seemed no longer so amused by the whole situation as he became very sympathetic as he saw me doubled
over in agony. "Honey, if it hurts that bad, just do it," he told me, "Just let it go, who cares what anybody thinks." The thought was certainly tempting, but I thought my- self much to old to be wetting my pants. "I just can't do it here, not in front of everybody," I cried, "I haven't wet since sixth grade, its just so shameful to be doing it now." "Honey, its just not worth all this too hold it in, not if it hurts this bad," he reasoned, "Just let it go, no one is going to care if you wet your pants this once." At that point, I realized that I might not have any choice. I still I had to walk up the ramp some more and then find a ladies' room and at a concert there always is a line to get in there once you did find it. I needed to get at least a little relief right now. At first, I was going to pee only a little bit -- just enough to take the edge off of my bladder so I could make it to the ladies' room to do the rest in the toilet. But just as soon as I let up a little and let a little out, it just felt too good to stop. The feeling of relief was so great that I just peed on and on. Forget about letting up a little, I just totally relxed my bladder and just let the river run its course. I felt it running down both legs -- it was really warm and a little like a bug down my leg. Peeing never felt so good as it was soon going full force gushing through the crotch of my jeans as well as freely streaming down my legs, In one sense, this was extremely embarrassing as everyone was staring at me. Here I was, a woman in her twenties standing there on the stadium
ramp as the pee poured into and out of my pants and onto the sloping concrete. To make the spectacle even worse was that it was flowing steadily down the ramp as well.
In another sense, I was really turning myself on in a big way. The nice feeling of relief I got from peeing turned into a real hot in the pussy feeling as the pee soaked up in my jeans and my warm, pee-soaked panties started clinging against my crotch. I peed on and on until my whole bladder was empty (which was more pee than I ever peed in my life) and by that time I was about ready to come on the spot. My husband just stood there in amazement. He had first suggested that I just pee in my pants but I could tell by the exprerssion on his face that he was totally shocked by the volume of my accident. I think he had in mind, like I did origionally, that I would pee just a little bit to take some of the pressure off and then go and do the rest in the ladies' room. But I let it all out (even pushing at the end to finish the job) right there in my pants. After regaining my composure, we walked up the ramp to the lobby area. I could tell that people were staring at me and that just turned me on some more. My husband went to go find our seats and I went to the ladies' room, saying that I wanted to "dry up some." By trying to dry up would have been hopeless -- my jeans were just totally drenched and my crotch and ass were swimming in my panties. The real reason I was going to the ladies' room was to masturbate. I was so hot from my shameful wetting accident that the masturbation was just effortless -- I got off in no time at all but I came with a
thunderous orgasm. While in the stall I heard numerous references like "this woman just let go and peed all over herself" and "the girl in the stall right there just pissed her pants but good." That only served to heighten the effects of my masturbation as I could feel a distinctive tingle in my crotch each time I heard such a comment. I had just gotten off in the ladies' room but that wasn't enough. I wanted to feel a cock in me and I wanted to feel it now. By the time I got back to my seat, with even more people staring with open mouths at my soaked jeans, I was more horny than I ever felt before in my life. My husbad and I
didn't stay for much of the concert. We went back to the car but neither of us were willing to wait until we got home. We
found a deserted little road amongst the swamp grass and we went at it right there in the car. Boy, was he hard and he stayed hard as he took me from intense arousal to multiple thunderous orgasms and finally to totally exhaustion. We finally made it home sometime around 5:00 AM and we spent most of the next day in bed as well.
"I don't know how to tell you this, honey,"he told me, "But the sight of you standing there wetting your pants was the most erotic thing that I've ever seen." "I was masturbating in the ladies' room," I confessed to him, "It really turned me on, too." Many times since then, I've had "accidents" to turn myself and my husband on. It has never failed to turned both of us on and it has added some wonderful spice to our sex life. Though I've never gotten up the courage to wet myself in public again like that day in the stadium, even a "private pee" -- as long as it is in my pants -- is enough to ge the sexual excitement "flowing." These days, I'm a WET, WET WOMAN.
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