Concert Washout - a Story

 

Note: This story contains Female Desperation, and Accidental & Deliberate Wetting. A recent forum post asked about early experiences so perhaps I should tell about mine. I never had any problems when I was younger; as far as I can remember I never wet my knickers or my bed until my late teens, although I can recall several incidents involving friends. In most cases they wet themselves laughing, probably the main cause of accidents for teenage girls. In my case I was a poised and confident student of 19 when I first experienced the thrill and embarassment of weeing myself, though as two of my friends also soaked their pants at the same time we had a good laugh about it. The three of us had gone to an open air pop concert in the country on a gloriously hot summer day. Of course, there were the usual chemical toilets, which we risked using during the morning but which were increasingly foul later in the day. Anway, we found ourselves a pleasant place on the hillside with a good view of the stage but away from the main crush. We danced a lot and drank large bottles of Pepsi or water as we rested, sprawled out on the grass. By mid–afternoon we all needed to wee but as girls do, kept putting it off. As we sat down to rest after a particularly wild dance I noticed Carrie holding herself between her legs as we lay panting for breath on the grass. She saw me looking, announcing to us all that she had almost peed her knickers during the last dance and was so desperate she wasn’t sure she could reach the loo even if there wasn’t a queue. There was, as we could see from where we sat. We would also have to pick up all our gear and push through a crowd to get there.Rosie admitted that she too badly needed to wee as did I, suddenly becoming nervous about what might happen if I didn’t go off to the toilets very soon. I belatedly realised that I was in some danger of a rather embarassing accident, but then grown women didn’t wet themselves, did they? Apparently they did, and sometimes deliberately as well. Carrie looked at the queues then looked at us, saying, “I’ll never make it through that lot. I’ll pee myself before I’m halfway there anyway so I’m just going to sit here and do it in my knickers – its warm and they’ll soon dry! I looked at Rosie who was picking up her things ready to head for the toilets. We both looked at Carrie who had pulled her skirt back and was sitting with her knees up and legs slightly apart. We could clearly see her blue knickers which suddenly darkened as she just sat there and wet them, a stream of wee running down the slope in front of her. We were speechless but the sight of Carrie just letting go made us both more aware of our own need. “God, that feels better,“she announced. “ Well come on, surely you two have wet your knickers before – it’s easier than the trek to those smelly old porta–loos. “I have not,“I growled, “I haven’t wet myself as far back as I can remember and I don’t intend to do it now,“though with an increasing suspicion that I was in a situation where it might just happen. Rosie just grinned and said it wouldn’t be her first accident and at least this time she was wearing a skirt. Apparently she had wet herself some weeks earlier when walking home rather drunk from a friends party. The need to pee had just crept up on her and before she realised what was happening she had soaked her pants and jeans, much to the amusement of her mother who had been waiting up for her.We sat there giggling like kids at the story. Even Rosie was laughing about it till she stopped suddenly and clasped herself between her legs. “Don’t make me laugh anymore or I’ll wet myself again.” she spluttered. To which Carrie responded that if it was that bad it would be running down her legs long before she reached a toilet, reminding her of the long queues. Rosie looked across to the nearest lines and then looked back at Carrie. “You’re right” she grinned with a resigned sigh, “If I’m going to wet my pants I might as well do it here as there. At least it will only be you two who know about it, and Carrie’s pants are wet anyway!” With that she sat down on the slope, skirt pulled clear as Carrie had done, legs drawn up and apart with her knickers clearly visible. She sat there for a while, staring across to the stage. “I can’t do it,” she moaned, “I’m bursting but I can’t let go.” Carrie looked at her. “That happens to me sometimes. Just relax and think about sitting on the loo, then just let it flow.” I began to wonder at that point just how often Carrie wet herself rather than use a toilet.Rosie sat there, eyes closed. Then she stiffened and I watched fascinated as a jet of pee spurted through her pants. She relaxed a moment and then the flood came. A torrent soaked her pink cotton knickers and trickled down the slope away from her before soaking into the ground. She seemed to wee for ages and I watched, intrigued by the sight of my friend sitting there wetting her knickers. “Oh God that feels better,” murmered Rosie, “What a relief. Oh its hot and it tickles. Its running up my bum!” The flow died away and she pulled some tissues from her bag and mopped her thighs. “You’re right, “ she said, “I would never have hung on till I reached the loo. That’s so much better, even if I have got a wet bum.“They both looked at me. Despite the pain in my bladder I backed off doing what the others had done – I was just too embarrassed. Before we could talk any longer a new group began to play. My bursting bladder had me dancing anyway so I jumped up, hoping the movement would help me hold it. Well it did for a while. As the music died away I suddenly felt a warm spreading wetness between my legs. Instinctively I tried to stem the leak but to no avail. The trickle down my thighs turned into a flood. All I could do was stand there looking foolish, wetting my knickers like a silly child. In my surprise at what was happening I cried out, “Oh, Oh, Oh! I’ve wet myself. I’m weeing in my knickers. Oooh! Its running down my legs!” I seemed to wee for ages, standing there legs spread, staring in embarrassed surprise at the growing puddle around my feet and the wet streaks down my legs. A warm damp feeling tickled my bottom as the wetness spread through my cotton pants.“Well, if you want everybody to know what you’ve done that’s the way to do it,” laughed Carrie, stopping to put her arm around me as I started to cry. “Don’t worry,” she said, “Its happened to all of us but it’s much better to quietly wet your pants before you lose control. That way no–one need know you’ve had a little acccident.” Embarrassed as I was I had to admit that I been rather silly. After drying my legs with tissues and a spare tee–shirt I began to feel better. I didn’t even find the feel of my wet knickers uncomfortable, in fact as I danced the feeling of the wet material rubbing my clit made me feel quite randy, though at the time I thought it was more to do with the music!An hour or so later we needed to wee again and as we were all still damp simply sat on the grass and wet our pants again. This time I found the feelings of naughtiness at doing something so forbidden quite exciting and paid more attention to the exquisite feeling of hot pee washing over my crotch. I began to appreciate why Carrie seemed to find pleasure in wetting herself. It was late when we left and before walking the couple of miles home wet ourselves again. I enjoyed that walk.My parents were away so I had the house to myself for the weekend. I needed to wee again by the time I reached home, but instead of using the loo thought “so what, I haven’t used a loo most of the day.” Standing in the back garden I just let go again, loving the feeling as the hot wee filled by knickers and ran down my legs. As the flow died away I rubbed myself to a wonderful orgasm. As a new source of pleasure this was exquisite.Since then I often wet my knickers when the opportunities for such private pleasures present themselves. I have managed to avoid public accidents, though there have been times when I have wet myself on a country walk or on a beach. I’ve only wet the bed once and don’t think I could hide this from Mum if it happened too often (I do my own washing so she has never come across wet underwear). It happened one morning when I again had the house to myself. I woke up desperate but was too lazy to get up and go to the loo, so lay there, rubbing myself to help me hold it. Then I came, and promply lost control and wet my pants as I lay there. No–one knew about this accident except me, but one day Mum is going to notice the large stain on my matress. I think I will tell her I was drunk and had an accident when I didn’t wake up in time.
By: Poseidon

Willow Wets

 

Willow had long been a fan of wetting herself -- in fact, she couldn't even remember how it had started. When she lived with her parents, and then in a college dorm, the opportunities for enjoying that activity had been few and far between, but now that she had her own apartment, she could partake in that particular pleasure as often as she wanted. And she almost always wanted to.

It was a lazy Sunday, which Willow thought were the best days for having "accidents." The night before, she hadn't gone to the toilet before bed, and woke up fairly desperate that morning. (Willow frequently went to sleep with a rather full bladder, but it was less common for her to wake up still desperate, as she often woke up to wet sheets instead.) She lazed around in bed for a while, and contemplated relieving herself right there, but instead got up and went though her usual morning routine, which of course did not involve using the toilet -- in fact, her toilet was rarely used at all. By the time she was making her usual breakfast of toast with jam and a large mug of tea, she was fidgeting quite a lot, and had even resorted to even grabbing her crotch a bit to postpone the inevitable. She made it though breakfast without leaking, but an hour later she had progressed from fidgeting to squirming to flat-out bouncing, was holding herself constantly, and even moaning occasionally. Still, she held on. She loved it when she made a choice to wet herself, and the feeling of deliberately releasing her bladder and letting her pee escape into her clothing, but there was something even better about having a real accident -- at least, as real as an accident could be when she had done nothing to prevent it.

Despite her determination, it was only a few more minutes before the pressure became too much. She spurted, and felt the panties against her crotch grow hot and wet. She gripped herself even harder, but less than a minute later another, longer stream escaped, and she could feel her jeans growing damp under her hands. Willow crossed her legs even tighter and clenched her muscles, but only managed to halt the leaking for a few seconds before her bladder gave up entirely, and urine came flooding out. Her already wet crotch became soaked, and almost immediately after that pee began rushing down the insides of her legs, leaving dark, glistening streaks that widened as her bladder continued emptying. She could feel the wetness seeping up and around her butt, and spreading around her legs. Her formerly white socks turned yellow, and an impressively large puddle formed on the floor. Finally, she finished relieving herself, although excess pee still dripped from her pants to the floor. She looked at the mess she had made, and took a strange sort of pride in how much of her jeans were dark with liquid, and the size of her puddle. Although Willow kept these kinds of activities private, she did enjoy how visible wetting her pants was -- it would have been immediately obvious to anyone who saw her that she had peed, not into a toilet, but directly into her pants! With this thought, she began to rub her crotch and inner thighs through her still-dripping pants, moaning softly with pleasure as she did so.

Only when her pee grew cold and sticky did she stop and clean up. She spent the next several hours being satisfyingly unproductive and waiting for her bladder to refill. However, when she started squirming again, it wasn't because of her bladder. This time, it was her bowels that were becoming more and more insistent on voiding their contents. In order to increase how desperate she felt, Willow walked around her house.

After a few minutes, she felt her load turtling, but she managed to avoid messing her pants for the moment. Once she had regained a reasonable amount of control, she pulled down her pants and underwear, and was satisfied to see skid marks on the otherwise white panty lining. She pulled her pants back up and continued to walk around, occasionally stretching and even squatting. The moments when she almost lost control came closer and closer together, and increased in severity. After a particularly intense cramp, Willow knew she would have no choice but to fill her panties soon. She made her way outside to her backyard, which was surrounded by tall, thick hedges. Once outside, she decided to examine the inside of her panties again, and was rewarded by the sight of numerous new brown streaks.

With her pants still down, however, another wave of desperation hit, and Willow knew that her bowels were seconds away from emptying, whether she wanted them to or not. She only just managed to get her panties back up around her hips (her pants were left dropped around her knees) before she felt her load turtling again. This time, however, she was unable to avoid soiling herself. Her poop started to come out, and tented the seat of her panties before smushing a bit. Willow then gave up on trying to maintain any semblance of continence, and relaxed. Immediately and without any effort, a second, longer log slid out. She could feel the warm mass of poop pressing against her butt, and her panties were now distinctly heavy and sagging. She lightly ran her hand over the back of her panties, and discovered that the bulge was already quite obvious. However, Willow wasn't done yet. She squatted slightly and pushed, so the last of her load was also deposited into her underwear. She also felt a familiar hot wetness running down her legs for the second time that day, and realized that in voiding her bowels, she had also, quite unintentionally and without even realizing she was doing so, voided her mostly-refilled bladder.

Although she had completely relieved herself, Willow continued to stand in her yard for a few moments, taking a strange sort of pride in the mess she had created. She then pulled her pee-streaked pants back up -- further squashing her sizable load as she did so -- and walked inside, causing her poop to shift further into the base of her panties, and her gait became a sort of waddle. She made her way to the bathroom, where she positioned herself in front of the full-length mirror. Although the wet patches were a dead giveaway that she had peed herself, there was minimal visual evidence that she had also soiled herself, since her pants were loose enough that most of the bulge was hidden (she could just barely see it, but she knew what to look for), and a brown color hadn't yet seeped though to the outside of her pants. She then dropped her pants again, and examined how the back of her panties looked.

Now, it was clear that she'd had two "accidents." Her panties were made of thick white cotton, and not only was the front of her crotch wet, but also decidedly yellow. She twisted a bit so she could see her rear in the mirror, and observed that her load was causing her panties to sag quite a lot between her legs -- she even bounced on the balls of her feet a few times so she could feel the weight jiggle. Furthermore, the seat of her panties already had a noticeable brown stain on them. She grinned, appreciating the irony of standing with pee-soaked, poop-filled panties only a few feet away from a toilet. Willow wasn't quite done enjoying her "accident," so she pulled her pants back up again and wandered around her house for a while, before finally cleaning up, showering, and changing.