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
