Walk Home

[Alpian 687]

Note:  This story contains Female Desperation / Omorashi. First post doesn't include actual wetting, peeing or other action - look further below for that.

Since the demise of Shara & Ger's female desperation site, this story hasn't been only anymore (the omorashi forum hides a copy of the full set of stories that used to be published there). It has been a while that I wanted to upload it to literotica, but I feel it needs some editing first. Well, having found this forum, I thought I'd test the story with you guys - I'd really appreciate your feedback. Don't hesitate to comment on anything you can think of: choice of words (not my native language!), grammar, style, storyline, whatever...

So here goes the very first couple pages of introduction:

The Walk - Prologue

As she was turning right on to the parking lot at the largest supermarket in town, she felt her bladder tingle. Part of her now wished she had used the toilet before embarking on the weekly grocery shopping.

But how urgent would her need to pee become? This morning, she had had quite some milk in her cereal, drank two glasses of fresh garden fruit smoothie – there were so many fruits in her garden – and later she had slowly sipped through the contents of two bottles of mineral water whilst going about the normal house work. Too late she realized now that this comprised quite a quantity of liquid which had been slowly filtering through her system since.

One last speed bump – the movement vibrated through her bladder, making her feel the amount of urine which had been increasing quickly. Maybe she shouldn’t have gone to the hair dresser? She had had to wait quite a while until it was her turn. And the elaborate hair style she had been sold had taken an hour to do… But she knew her husband would like it, so it had been the right thing to do.

She parked the car and got a shopping cart. Somehow, the tingle in her bladder didn’t feel uncomfortable, she thought. Actually, it was rather pleasant how her filling bladder pushed against her panties. She had never before noticed this. With her thoughts revolving around this discovery, she forgot to look for a customer’s restroom as she entered the store.

Only two items to go and she would have worked through her shopping list! At the thought of this, she remembered her full bladder. She had been completely oblivious to her growing need to pee as she busily roamed the aisles, scanning shelf after shelf for special offers. In the meantime, her kidneys had continuously processed and sent freshly filtered urine to her bladder, slowly but constantly increasing the pressure. Could she have postponed the stop at the post office? But no, her mom was urgently waiting for the family pictures. She remembered how in the morning she had spent half an hour in the queue just to mail them – why didn’t they ever open more tills at this branch?

The tingle in her abdomen was getting more intense by the minute: ‘Quickly to the till and then home!’ She was looking forward to the relief of emptying her bladder – the pleasantness she had felt earlier was slowly fading even as she tried to focus on it. Why did the queue have to be so long? It appeared as if it wasn’t moving at all. She was getting frustrated: why couldn’t the service be better?

Waiting in line, she had time to concentrate on her growing need. It was quite urgent now. But somehow, it still felt oddly good. Clenching her sphincter muscle tighter, she realized how this not only helped her stem the flow but also moved her clitoris relative to her labia. Somehow, she liked the feeling of it.

Growing up in a rather restrictive, conservative environment, she had never really explored her body. Only by accident – or because her husband had requested it – she had little by little discovered how pleasant the occupation with her body could be. But this had always happened in the safe privacy of home and in the context of sexual intercourse. Her new discovery didn’t belong to this set of experiences.

‘This cannot be true!’ she thought. ‘I can’t be turned on by trying to hold in my pee? Certainly, nature wouldn’t mingled disparate functions as this!’ She tried again, clenching the muscles in her pelvic region and releasing again: Yes, she felt the stimulation again. Was she supposed to like this? What did this reaction of her body tell her? What was it good for? A sudden urge to pee interrupted her thoughts. She bent over and clenched her muscles tighter; trying to retain an appearance of dignity and nonchalance by rummaging about the groceries in her cart.

Had there been this excitingly sexual, pleasant feeling again? She wasn’t sure: she had been concentrating too much on preserving her appearance. Her bladder started to actually ache rather than just tingle, distracting her attention. Nevertheless, her curiosity had been aroused and she tried again, focusing on the pleasant feeling the clenching and relaxing of her pelvic muscles caused in her vulva.

By the time it was her turn at the till, she had stimulated herself to quite a level of sexual arousal without being aware of it. Automatically, she put her shop on the checkout belt, her mind still analyzing the newfound function of her body.

“Eighty-three twenty-five, please” she was interrupted by the young cashier.

Blushing, she realized how her nipples were poking through her bra and visibly stood out on her dress. How embarrassing! She had never indulged in sexual feelings in public, ever. She knew how hard her nipples would get and how their shape would be visible through almost any kind of fabric. How could she let herself go like this! Quickly, she threw a glance around. Did anyone notice? Apparently not – no-one was looking at her as she took her groceries from the till and got out her wallet. As was her habit, she paid in cash and pocketed the change, then removed the last items from the checkout, placing them in her cart. She was acutely aware that her nipples still poked through her clothes, and how every movement she made stimulated them more.

Quickly, she left the store. She wanted to avoid anyone seeing her hard nipples through her clothing. Only when she sat in the car, she felt safe again. And only now she realized she had spent an hour in the store. Was it four hours now since she last used the loo? This brought her attention back on her full bladder, aching to release the flood of pee collected inside. How could she forget about that! But now she was sitting in the car and would be home soon. No need to humiliate herself hurrying back into the store and asking for a customer’s toilet!

Briskly driving out of her parking spot, she felt a jolt of pain in her bladder as she took the first speed bump. She clenched her sphincter muscle to avoid her urethra giving way to any liquid pressing to leave her bladder. Immediately, she had to think about the pleasure she had experienced with this trick and got horny again. A pang of conscience reminded her of her good upbringing – she should not indulge in this kind of feelings, especially not in public! A twinge of pain shook her body as she was taking the next speed bump. This was the real reason she was clenching tight! Her bad conscience relaxed. She was desperate to pee: there was nothing unseemly about that, as long as she didn’t show it. She really needed to take a piss soon! The pressure in her bladder was reaching critical levels, constantly bringing her to the verge of wetting her panties as she drove along. Fortunately, her severe upbringing had trained her bladder. She had developed a good capacity and could hold on longer than most her friends. She blushed at the thought of this observation: This was not something you were supposed to know! Fighting her urgent need to pee, she tried to hold her muscles contracted as long as possible before she relaxed them for a short break. Her pubic muscles were almost vibrating from the effort she asked off them. But she couldn’t help it: every time she contracted and relaxed, she felt the stimulation in her vulva, renewing the lust she had felt earlier as her body shuddered with pain and pleasure alike.

It didn’t take long, and these newly found sensations had taken control of her inexperienced mind. She forgot about her desperation, and as she was driving past a discount store, mechanically she turned to stop and see if they had any interesting offers. She always did on Thursdays, when they got the week’s delivery of specials, providing was a chance for real – and limited supply – bargains.

Pushing the cart through the door she was greeted by the chill of air-conditioning. She felt how she got goose bumps, how her nipples firmed up and pushed against the fabric, drawing a boy’s eyes on her large well-rounded natural breasts as he was leaving the store.

Now the full blast of the AC-outlet hit her and her bladder contracted. Taken by surprise, she almost lost control. She shouldn’t have stopped! Clenching her pelvic muscles as tight as she could she stemmed the flow starting to emerge from her urethra. There was no escape now: she had to follow the flow of customers, people pushing behind her to enter the store. In the twinkling of an eye, she found herself inside the store – there would be no way out but past the shelves and through the checkouts. Should she just do the tour and leave as quickly as possible? She turned round to check the situation. From the corner of her eye, she saw the boy still standing in front of the shop. Was he looking at her? She wasn’t sure – somehow she felt so vulnerable by her need to pee and her hard nipples visible to everyone. She had the impression everyone was staring at her. ‘Surely, the boy was just reading next week’s offers hanging in the window!’ she reprimanded herself. A sudden urge forced her to bend over to avoid an accident. Her bladder was really filled to the brim with fresh urine! She couldn’t remember when she had been this desperate in public before. How could she let this happen?

‘Don’t give yourself away!’ an inner voice admonished her, as she was holding herself.

She took her hands off her crotch and bent down further. She pretended to fiddle with her shoe laces, using her crossed thighs to press against her vulva. As she straightened up again, she caught the boy’s look again. Was he blushing as he quickly turned away? She remembered how her décolleté must have been exposed as she had bent down. She blushed, too: had boy really watched her? Had he noticed her distress? Her stiff nipples?

Suddenly, the meaning of a senior schoolboy watching her hit her. Was he sexually interested in her? Had he been staring at her breasts? ‘Impossible’, she thought. ‘I am probably twenty years older than he!’ But still, somehow, the idea turned her on. Her mind was too prepared for this kind of thoughts after the experiments she had performed with her pelvic muscles. It felt good to be someone’s sexual fantasy, she realized. Was it just imagination? Probably, she was just misinterpreting the situation! How could she be so focused on sexuality at the moment? This wasn’t her normal self! She was confused. Probing, she glanced back –the boy was still standing at the window, closer now, definitely staring into the shop. A hot wave shook her body – yes, he was staring at her! She had never felt so sexy and desirable before.

The pressure on her bladder had not ceased; and now a violent spasm brought her back to reality. She had to find a bathroom soon! She turned towards the aisle and directed her cart to the area with the temporary offers. Sure enough, there was a small TV on sale. It was a real bargain. Her niece would be visiting in two months’ time – she might as well get the TV for the guestroom now. She couldn’t offer a room without a decent TV to her niece, she thought.

Approaching the checkout area she heard an announcement:

“Dear customers. We are sorry to inform you about a breakdown of our register scanning system. Our staff will have to enter the codes of the products manually for the next half hour. We can only open half the checkouts at a time to fix the software. Please excuse the inconvenience caused!”

It didn’t mean much to her until she realized she was last in a line of five customers with fully loaded carts. It took the cashier seemingly forever typing all the bar code numbers by hand as she felt her desperation grow to almost unbearable levels.

She tried to focus on something else. But always her bladder managed to present its message in the forefront of her mind. The pleasant tingling was long gone, replaced by a rather disagreeable twinge. She really needed to pee! She was desperate for a piss now – she realized she would not last much longer and started to look for a customer’s toilet. She could stare as much as she would; there was none to be found. These small discount shops were not obliged to provide public facilities and their low cost concept didn’t allow them to do it out of altruistic reasons.

Anxiously, she clung to her cart and watched the queue in front of her. It didn’t seem to move at all. A spasm pushed her urethra forward, only at the last moment she managed to clench it shut and avoid an accident. She felt the urge to touch herself, to put a hand in her crotch to force her bladder to contain its load of urine. The people in front of her moved a bit – the first customer had paid. Taking small steps, progressing as slowly as possible, she tried to prolong the time of distraction to forget about her humiliating desperation to pee. The next customer’s shopping had been processed quicker and she found herself progressing another meter or two.

The draught of an AC-outlet blew past her now. The chill stimulated her in all the wrong ways: she felt the urge to just let go and wet her panties. ‘Wouldn’t it feel wonderful to just let go – like when bathing in the cold sea? When the slowly released urine would warm a growing spot around you?’ She blushed at her thought. You weren’t supposed to urinate into the sea, either! Had she really just admitted having enjoyed such a vicious act? She held on. She had to hold on; she was not going to humiliate herself in public, wetting herself. No, she was going to hold on, however desperate she might be. It was her own fault, after all! Never should she have gotten herself in this situation – was it the arousal she had felt earlier that let her forget to go to the toilet at the supermarket? She felt her nipples stiffen, her breasts gently pulling up, as her skin formed goose bumps once again. She focused her concentration on these reactions of her body to the draught, trying to get her mind off the desperate need to empty her bladder, the urge to release the urine flood that was hiding inside her.

It helped – she was entirely focused on her shivering body now, felt her nipples rubbing the fabric of her bra, felt her dress softly caressing her skin. Instinctively, her pelvic muscles had assumed a rhythm of clenching and relaxing, helping to contain the flood but also stimulating her clitoris oh so wonderfully! How long ago was it, since her husband had touched her like this? It seemed like an eternity since they had had intense sex. Suddenly, the image of the boy of maybe eighteen years watching her flashed through her mind. She imagined him standing outside now, gazing straight at her through the window and seeing her nipples erect in the cold, the light fabric of her dress blown against her body by the conditioned air, revealing her voluptuous body. Would he know it wasn’t only the cold that was keeping her nipples erect now? She felt a wave of pleasure shake her body as she remembered his stare. His desire for her turned her on, made her aware of her stunningly well formed, large natural breasts, of her wide hips, how her light summer dress pronounced her hourglass figure. Warmth spread through her body, heat emanating from her vulva. She didn’t sense the cold draught anymore, she didn’t feel the desperation – it was just a pleasurable tingle, an excited horniness, a lustful desire that filled her now. She started to work out her vulvar muscles again, concentrating on the arousal the minute movements of her labia, her clitoris, of all parts of her vulva caused in combination with the fantasy of being desired by a young boy. How innocent had she been at his age, how easily had she been attracted by a smart guy!

Finally, she had paid the TV and loaded it into her car. As she sat on the driver’s seat, she felt wetness in her panties. She was shocked: Had she unconsciously lost control? Where did the wetness come from? Was she peeing herself? Had it been the spasm when she had entered the store? Immediately, the need to pee took control of her mind again. She had to fight hard not to lose control. A hand in her crotch, she was pressing against her vulva now to ease the pain of her full bladder. She felt urine pushing into her urethra and firmly clenched all muscles to keep it inside. She got nervous. She must not wet the car! What would her family say! But she couldn’t pee anywhere near where she was, either. She had never liked peeing anywhere but into a toilet and here she was in the middle of the town an early afternoon. There was no way she could find a place to release her pent-up urine in a decent way which she would reach faster than home. She just had to pull herself together and master her body’s needs for a couple more minutes. But this wetness in her panties was distracting her: She had to make sure she had not really peed herself already!

Glancing around, she made sure no-one was taking attention of her sitting in the car. Then she pulled up her dress and carefully touched her panties. Yes, they were moist! It came to her like a shock, even if she had felt it all along. She pulled her dress up further – she had to take a look. This couldn’t be true! Little was she aware that she already knew perfectly what had happened and that unconsciously she was seeking for an excuse to truly examine the situation. She opened her legs as far as possible in the limited space of the driver’s seat. Then she bent forward to look at her now uncovered white panties. Yes, they showed a small wet stain. Hesitatingly, she touched the panties with her hand, slightly rubbing up and down her slit. ‘Feels good!’ – the thought briefly shot through her conscience and vanished again. Still, she didn’t know the damage fully, yet. She would have to put her hand into her panties, she reasoned. Her dress was now pulled up to her bellybutton and tentatively, she put her hand into the seam of her panties. A quick glance outside: no-one was looking. She pulled down her panties a bit and lowered her hand into them further. Yes, her slit was definitely wet, she found as she gently rubbed along it. She probed a bit further. Where did the wetness come from? Was it pee? Her finger found its way between her labia.. Her vulvar vestibule was wet – a slimy kind of wetness, she found. Probing further, her finger slipped into her vagina. A sudden insight was forced on her: it was cum; she was wet with sexual arousal, and she was masturbating in public! It had nothing to do with pee, after all.

Hastily, she withdrew her hand and put her dress back in place. She was shocked at her own daringness. She was pleasuring herself in public! She wasn’t even used to masturbating at home, and sex had always been more of a means to please her husband than to create wonderful feelings for herself. And now she was caught in a spiral of arousal and craving for more she had not experienced in her life before. She was confused, as she started the car and pulled out of the parking. Her mind was spinning, she couldn’t hold on to any single thought. On the way home, she briefly had the impression to see the boy who had looked at her at the store – she was hallucinating in the middle of the day!

The confusion which had overcome her held on as she pulled into her property. She had forgotten her bladder again and decided to unload the car immediately – the frozen stuff had already been in the trunk for too long. And oddly, she didn’t once think about her predicament at the store nor her current need to pee. She was so occupied with her task – her mind still swirling with newfound, unaccounted for feelings – that she felt quite okay until she had finished unloading. She had just parked the car in the garage when her neighbor appeared at the fence and called her. Inwardly cursing, she turned towards her –good neighborhood relations were vital, after all.

Walking to the fence, she felt with anxiety how her bladder cramped and called for immediate release. So close to her toilet and still being denied relief was absolute torture to her. But she had always been proud about her strong bladder and she would never have admitted to anyone how badly she had to go to the bathroom. So she put on a smile and started a chat with her neighbor, unconsciously hopping from one leg to the other, bending over every once in a while and vividly showcasing her desperation in her facial expression. Whilst she was convinced to appear rather inconspicuous, it was obvious to any casual onlooker that she was desperate to pee.

This went on for a long time, and the stronger her signs of desperation grew, the more she became aware of it. Only politeness kept her at the fence, hoping for her neighbor to let her go. How could she be so rude to ignore her desperation and just keep chatting? She couldn’t be blind to the obvious desperation, she thought, blushing at the humiliation she was going through. Courtesy would require her neighbor to end the chat and let her go!

But it was not until her neighbor’s phone rang that she would – apparently reluctantly – say goodbye.

Edited November 19, 2021 by Alpian
Updated Tags

[Alpian 687]

I just realize I have shortchanged you on the promise of the tags - the introduction only contains female desperation, the remaining action only comes in the first part (I'll copy that in below).

The "Walk Home" series is my longest work so far, the introduction is but 3% of the total wordcount, and there are so many more parts in my head... So this is not for the friends of short stories or quickies. Having said that, did anyone read through the introduction and what are your thoughts? Is this interesting to fans of omorashi and desperation? Is there any interest in it or is it just simply plain boring?

 

The next portion of the first part contains a little more action. But reading through it just now, I realize it is somewhat chaotic and the narrators point of view changes all the time. What are your impressions, and what could be done to improve it? As I said, I'm open to all kind of critique, including an honest "Just start over again..."

[Alpian 687]

Tags: Female Desperation, Humiliation, Accidental Wetting, and Female Peeing

Walk Home

I was just walking home from school, when the following story developed in my mind. You need to know that it was quite a long way home and quite lonesome in its second half – time enough to make up an exciting story. For the avoidance of doubt: I was old enough to be legally entitled to this kind of fantasies…

 

Walking a street of small semidetached houses – almost deserted at this time of day – I had just pulled out some sweets from my pocket when someone shouted:

“Hey you!”

I turned my head.

“Yes, you!”

I saw a lady in her late thirties standing at the door of the house I had just passed. Her look told me that she was talking to me – so I turned round:

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Come here for a second, please!”

The “Please” was barely audible. She sounded rather commanding – it was more like an order. At the same time she was walking towards the fence. She wore a summer dress, slightly more than knee long, with a large floral print pattern as they were en vogue those days. It was a light type of fabric adapted to the warm weather. Instinctively, I walked towards her.

She appeared intimidating to me, a head taller than I and definitely very well rounded. Her demeanor made me feel weak and inferior in a certain way. Yet her large breasts definitely caught my attention and her hips left room for fantasies. Her waist was well defined, giving her a very female appearance. Despite my awe, I felt attracted to this voluptuous body. My desire of her body and the obvious inaccessibility of it made her appear even more powerful and aloof to me.

“Did you lose anything?” she asked in an almost friendly voice.

I was startled. I had not expected such a kind voice – it made me feel closer to her than I had felt I could ever be. I looked around but couldn’t find anything.

Suddenly, I realized it was the lady I had watched in the store. She had been like a passing dream to me. Had she noticed me there? I had tried to behave inconspicuously and diverted my stare when she turned towards me. What did she want from me? Why was she stopping me in the road and talking to me? Was she angry at me? Had she found my gaze obtrusive? Had I misbehaved by staring at her? I blushed at the thought that she might have noticed my interest in her wonderful body – my upbringing did not allow me to openly desire woman, it was considered to be rude. Bad conscience took control of me.

“Look here!” she said less friendly, pointing at the edge of her hedge, two meters in front of us.

I was disappointed. Her chilling voice and her posture destroyed all my hope. I had definitely lost her sympathy!

“You’d better pick that up and throw it in the bin!”

My look followed her pointing gesture: A used paper tissue and a sweet wrapper lay in the dirt. I must have lost the wrapper when pulling out the sweets as I passed the house. I blushed even more: I felt caught. I didn’t throw away my garbage like that, I’d been taught environmental awareness at school. Now it happened accidentally, and promptly I had been seen and was being told off. Caught in the act! Told off by the woman I had imagined so vividly during the last half hour that I felt close to her. Now she was standing in front of me like a punishing nemesis. Probably believing I always disposed of my refuse without consideration for others. On her property, in this case. What an embarrassing situation!

Hesitantly, I walked towards the candy wrapper and bent down to pick it up. The lady came closer and bent over:

“Take this, too, and follow me!” she ordered, pointing at the used tissue.

She was so close to me, I could feel her breath on my neck. Fantasies started spinning in my head. I was not used to standing this close to a woman! A sexy, desirable woman I had been daydreaming about! Barely able to concentrate, I did as I had been told. Was she aware that the tissue was not mine? Did she make me take it as an additional punishment? I felt so humbled! As she had indicated, I followed her to the front door. She stepped to the side and ushered me in, bending over a bit. I felt uncomfortable, standing in a stranger’s entrance hall, having been caught in a naughty act, awaiting retribution. My secret longing did not make things better. The psychological gap between my object of desire and me was growing as I had proven unworthy of her. On the other hand, I was excited to be close to this overwhelming lady, her dominant air impressed me and made her body even more desirable. The chastisement I was going through brought her body so close to me, so I was happy to accept the punishment.

 

I didn’t know the lady but from a glance at the discount store. I had neither seen her before, nor after. I didn’t know what had happened in the last half hour since I had seen her for the first time. I wasn’t aware of the ordeal she had gone through. How she had been standing at her fence, chatting with her neighbor. I had no idea of the prior events: How, when she came home from the supermarket, she was desperate to have a pee, how she had already been holding it all the way through the shop, hurrying from aisle to aisle at speed. How she had almost lost control when she had learned that half the checkouts were closed due to software problems and the queues seemed endless to her. Reaching her car, she had sighed in anticipation of getting home quickly and running to the bathroom first of all. The pressure on her bladder had eased a bit as she sat down and the mental confusion from the emotions she had gone through occupied her mind as she rolled home. Arriving, instead of rushing to the toilet, she had unpacked the car first as was her habit. To her dismal, her neighbor had seen her as she parked the car – and called her for a chat at the fence. Her bladder had hurt; the pressure had been getting unsupportable. But she couldn’t refuse a quick neighborly chat and so they had spent at least the last quarter of an hour conversing about latest neighborhood gossip. She had been fighting her rising pain through all of this.

Nor did I know her secret discoveries during the shopping trip, the craving slowly taking hold of her subconscious mind, the desires she wasn’t even fully aware of herself. I did not know how her desperation had grown steadily as she was forced to chat with her neighbor; and how in the end she had kept hopping from one leg to the other – yet her neighbor wouldn’t cease talking. How she had wondered if her neighbor would never notice her predicament and let her go. How to her relief, finally the neighbor’s phone rang and they said goodbye.

 

She had been running for her toilet when she saw me drop my wrapper.

Completely desperate and almost wetting her panties, she had considered ignoring me and continuing her dash for the loo. But she remembered discussing the problem of littering with her neighbor earlier and cursed: she had to deal with me first – her neighbor would be watching from her window. She would reproach her with letting me go if she didn’t act.

A convulsion let her bladder contract. She bent over and fought the spasm, successfully. Her sphincter was still holding tight, she silently rejoiced. But immediately the pain from her overstretched bladder took control of her brain again. She had not recognized me yet, too strong was her desperation. She needed to get over with this quick! In no mood to argue, she summoned me to her and had me pick up the refuse. She was not going to touch it! Too late she realized that now I was standing in her entrance hall waiting to be shown to the bins. The proximity of the toilet almost made her lose control. It was torment she went through as she walked past the closed toilet door. Again a delay – she cursed inaudibly and, bending over, briefly put one hand in her crotch to ease the pain. Together with exasperation, irate rage took hold of her: It all was this little brat’s fault!

She showed me into her kitchen and opened a cabinet under the sink, drawing out the waste bins. I did not hesitate and got rid of the rubbish in my hand.

“Not like that, little lad!” the lady scolded, stepping closer. “Never heard of recycling? Can‘t you see there are several compartments for different kinds of refuse?”

She was standing behind me, and as she now bent over to show me the different containers, I was forced to bend down until my nose almost hit the bins to avoid getting in her way, infuriating her even more. I felt her dress brush my neck as she pointed her finger at the bin destined for non-recyclables where I had disposed of my litter. My heart started to throb harder.

Towering over me, her breasts almost touched my back. Somewhere in the back of her head, memories of the scene at the discount shop flashed through her mind, mixing her desperation with the pleasure of being desired. Some part of her deplored that I had bent too far, not allowing her breasts to touch my back. But the excitement of exerting power and enforcing her will added a thrilling third dimension to her adversary emotions of desperation and wrath on one hand and a craving lust on the other hand. Yet underneath the piercing pain of her overstretched bladder, none of these emotions was able to work its way to her consciousness.

“Take the candy wrapper and put it in the plastic bin!” she ordered.

Suddenly something fell into the bin as she was indicating the correct container.

“Damn you! Now my earring fell into the bin, too. You’d better get that out quickly!” she cursed. Unwittingly, she had been playing with it to distract herself from the immeasurable pain and desperate need to pee.

Her need had grown insurmountable by now. She felt her bladder twinge. A short spurt pressed through her urethra, pushing past her clenched sphincter muscles. She felt warm wetness spreading between her labia. Pee was soaking all along her slit, she had started wetting herself! She felt urine soaking into her panties.

At the realization, ire flooded her. She was angry at her neighbor, at herself and of course at me. Why did this have to take so long? She could have been at the toilet twenty minutes ago. Her anger at me rose. Why did this pupil litter in her front yard? Even now it would have been time for her to reach the toilet in time. Why was he too stupid to use the right bins? Was he mocking her? She felt a strange desire to punish me for everything she felt at the moment as her emotions mixed into a toxic cocktail. If only this lad could feel her pain, she thought! If only he suffered the embarrassment and humiliation she experienced as she was starting to wet herself again! Yes, she felt another dribble of urine escape her bladder, followed by another and again another.

I was so intimidated; I didn’t even consider objecting to her order. I felt her anger. A strange mixture of excitement and fear made my heart race. I wanted to please her, to calm her. And yet I wanted to feel her anger, hoping for her to get even closer to me, to feel the heat emanating from her voluptuous body. I was aware that only her wrath brought her this close to me, that otherwise she would remain unattainable for me.

Taking off my backpack and kneeling in front of the bins-drawer was done in the twinkling of an eye. I searched the bins to place the candy wrapper in the right container first and then look out for the lost earring. My vision was blurred by commotion. What did the earring look like? What was I actually looking for? My mind reeled, I couldn’t concentrate.

A brush of fabric made me look up – the lady’s dress had briefly swished past my head as she was repositioning herself at the right corner of the bins. Now she could observe what I was doing from an angle. She pulled up the front of her dress to avoid it touching the bins. From my vantage point, I realized, I could see her panties if I looked up at her. Enough light passed through the thin fabric of her dress to clearly show her white cotton panties. I was so eagerly staring at them; I didn’t realize the lady was looking right in my face. Instead, I tried to figure out if the darker spot between her legs was due to simple shadow or if her pubic hair was shining through. Maybe it was a wet spot?

Her anger was growing as she saw how I continued staring at her crotch. Couldn’t that boy get his work done and go? Did he have to interrupt his sorting through the trash to stare at her? Was he enjoying her desperation? Had he detected the wet spot? Was he even gloating at her humiliation? She got furious.

This was when she recognized me: It was the boy from the discount shop! A wave of unwarranted pleasure shot through her veins – yes, he definitely desired her body. This was why he was staring at her crotch! At the same time she realized her vulnerability. He was staring at her panties as she had begun wetting herself – not only in front of a stranger, no, in front of a boy who had cast an eye on her before. The thought of humiliating herself in front of him infuriated her even more. Was he dawdling to enjoy her weakness? Was he making fun of her? No, she wouldn’t let him get the better of her! She would show him his master. He would not get away with this! Again, a spasm made her cringe. She felt her body give in to nature’s call. She would soon be peeing all over the place, and it was this little brat’s fault!

“Have you found the earring yet?” I heard her commanding voice, quiet but vibrating with ire.

I gave a jerk and started rummaging through the rubbish again. But I couldn’t get her panties off my mind. As I was absentmindedly picking through the bins, a shadow told me the lady was bending down again. I didn’t realize she was fighting off another violent spasm of her bladder aching to release its content. Why didn’t she say anything? I wondered, and as I looked up, she was standing straight again. Suddenly, she took a side step forwards with her right leg such that the corner of the bins-drawer was straddled by her. What was she up to? Why didn’t she comment on my work anymore as she had done before?

I turned my head and to my delight I saw that she was gathering her dress higher. Enough so that I got an unobstructed view at her panties from just half a meter’s distance. I completely forgot I had only wanted to check if she approved of my work. Instead, I stared at her crotch again. And yes, these panties had a wet spot; I could clearly see it now. Intrigued, I continued to stare: the spot seemed to grow. What was going on? She couldn’t possibly be wetting herself? I was flabbergasted!

The next seconds were some of the most exciting in my life. The lady pulled up the dress almost to her hips and bent her knees until I felt her left knee pushing firmly into my right ribs. The wet spot in her panties had become quite large by now, covering almost the full length and width of her gusset. I spotted a few drops of pee running down her inner thigh. Seconds later, she had secured her dress in one hand and moved her other hand to pull her panties aside. I shall never forget how I looked in awe at her black pubic hair, splitting in the middle between her legs – my first ever glance at a woman’s inner labia.

Probably less than a second later, a strong gush of pee started to spray from her vulva, her stream slightly arching forward. I didn’t realize it hit the bins only a few centimeters from my face as she was forcefully emptying her bladder: I was fully immersed in what I saw, focusing at her crotch.

It must have been true desperation that made her do it. Had she just arrived at home and been on her way to the toilet when she saw me littering her front yard, I wondered? I had not understood her frequently bending over as a sign of desperation – she had disguised it as gestures to point out the litter and later the bins to me. But now it dawned on me that these might have been signs of desperation. As I had taken off my backpack to be able to search the bins for the wrapper and earring, she had taken a few steps away from me – had she intended to go to the toilet then? Apparently, she had decided it was not safe to have someone she didn’t know at all without supervision in her kitchen. At least, she had returned to watch me, fighting her desperation in vain. Had I felt humiliated until this moment, I sympathetically felt how humiliated she must be now, peeing herself in front of me. I felt sorry for her and somehow I was ashamed of my arousal as I watched her. At the same time, the dominating distance shrank and I felt closer to her than ever before.

As soon as she felt she wasn’t going to make it, she had positioned herself over the bins and pulled up her dress. She didn’t care now what I would think. There was no time for worries. Just in time, she managed to pull her panties aside before the full gush of her urine started. She was pissing all over the place. What a mess, had she not reacted so quickly! It would have soaked into her panties and found its way through the fabrics’ meshes, she imagined. Pee would have run down her legs and pushed up her bottom, run into her shoes, and splashed all over the floor, springing from her panties as from a sieve.

She felt alleviation as the pressure on her bladder eased. She did not mind now how she was spraying the garbage bins with her pee, how she was exposing herself in front of me; she just enjoyed the feeling of easing desperation and regaining control of her body. Oddly enough, she felt somehow dominant and in control as she saw her urine shooting out of her crotch in a neatly bundled stream of clear golden fluid, slightly changing direction as her hips swayed a bit. Fascinated, she watched its origin. She didn’t look where it went, just how it sprang from her crotch and formed a nice arch, obediently following each of her movements. It was freely flowing from her urethra: by pulling her panties aside, she had unintentionally parted her inner labia, too. She was thrilled in a strange way. She had never done anything like this before. She was peeing standing up, actively directing her stream. Her urine was going where she wanted it to go, she was in control! The feelings of the day whirled through her mind in a spiral of conflicting emotions, creating a rainbow of bliss as she felt the pain go away. Pleasure, excitement, shame, domination, and control formed a potpourri of emotions, swirling together, mixing and fading away as quickly as they appeared.

Her stream was diminishing as her bladder pressure decreased and she started to see clearly again. She looked down at the damage she had done and saw me kneeling in front of her, staring at her crotch, oblivious to the world around me. My arms on the bins were sprinkled with her pee, and my t-shirt was not exactly dry anymore. Strangely, she wasn’t shocked or embarrassed as she would have expected. Instead she felt satisfaction that her ordeal was over and that she had made me feel the consequences of my laggard execution of her orders. Apparently, her mind had gone to lengths to make her humiliation feel as an act of controlled and justified punishment for me.

As the last drops were leaving her crotch and dripping onto the bins, I saw her pubic hair wet with stray pee drops. I did not want to take my eyes off her until I had to. I had never seen a vulva before and I wanted to savor every moment. I winced as she suddenly started to move. I felt caught. I didn’t want her to know that I had spied on her when instead I should have been looking for her lost earring. I blushed. And I diverted my gaze to concentrate on my task again.

The trash was drenched with pee now and I had to dig through it to find the small earring that might have slid right to the bottom. Surprised, I realized I didn’t really care about rummaging through the stuff she had urinated on – it was so closely related to the memory of her pussy that I actually felt some kind of arousal as I was picking through the refuse, the bitter-sweet odor of her fresh pee filling the air around me. What would have happened if I had carried on searching whilst the lady was peeing all over the place? I felt a strange tingle in my nerves as I imagined how her pee would have gone all over my arms. It might even have hit my head, as I would have been bending over the bins, I wondered. Would she really have peed on me? Would she even have noticed? What would she have done if she had? I’d never know…

Remembering these seconds of pleasure of when I saw her vulva gushing jets of warm golden pee towards me, my mind was spinning in fantasies. This fluid had directly come out of this lady’s wonderful pussy, wild fantasies evolving in my mind. It did not even take half a minute until I could no longer concentrate on my task. Instead, I looked up to see if I could steal another glance. I couldn’t resist the temptation. And I was lucky…

The lady had watched me as she was finishing her pee. She saw how I stared at her in disbelief and astonishment, how I blushed as I felt caught. Again, she felt strangely elated as she saw my blush – wasn’t it a sign of how I desired her? But no, this must be a mirage of her duping fantasy. No one would desire a woman who was wetting herself in front of them! Her mind was aching to find a way to get out of the embarrassing situation. How could she avoid being the humiliated one? She could not risk losing her commanding position relative to me; she had to keep in control. She had seen how I blushed and then diverted my glance down, digging into the bins – and she wondered what was going on in my mind. She saw the refuse drenched in her pee and how I was picking through it. This appeared strangely satisfying to her, it made her feel in charge and control. With her pee she had made this task even more humiliating to him, augmenting the punishment for his misbehavior, she thought. Or was that boy tricking her? Would he suddenly run away, she wondered? She moved closer to block my immediate escape, still holding her dress up to keep it clean. She put one leg behind my back, a little towards the left side, and the other leg right next to me on the right. I was trapped between her legs.

Therefore, as I lifted my head for another glance at her vulva, I almost banged it into her crotch: she was this close. I turned my head to the right and I got a close-up view of her wet pubic hair. Her panties remained pulled to the side. This was my lucky day! I made out her inner labia hidden behind a curtain of black curly hair, dripping wet with pee. Her fleshy labia shone in a beautiful tone of red, still slightly parted. The scent of her urine mixed with the flavor of female arousal this close to her most intimate region. At this moment, I didn’t care for anything but to keep looking, smelling; drawing in her secrets with all my senses. I would have loved to touch, but with my hands soiled in the bins below this was definitely impossible.

Meanwhile, she was coming to a conclusion how to proceed:

“I am very angry at you!” she scolded. “If you had not littered in my front yard, this mess would not have happened. You could have continued your way and I would have gone to the toilet straight away as I intended before you bust into my life with your outrageous behavior. I hope you are aware that this is all your fault and responsibility!”

As I didn’t know what to reply, I remained silent. I lowered my head.

“You’d better take of your wet t-shirt now and clean up this mess!” she ordered, angry at herself for getting into this situation. She felt she had to dominate me to control the situation.

To get out of my t-shirt, I had to bend forward again, pulling it from behind and over my head. Holding it in my hands, I sat there, not knowing how to continue.

Getting over her initial shock, she began to find the situation rather arousing. There was this longing stare, the shy blushing, the desire radiating from my face as well as the submissiveness of me kneeling in front of her and obeying to her orders. It turned her on to be the object of my longing and devotion. She had never before in her life been in a position where she dominated other people and this situation was strangely elating to her.

She had been watching for a while. My t-shirt was quite clean and dry and as she saw how I sat there, almost underneath her, looking up at her (into her crotch rather than her face), she had an inspiration:

“What are you staring at, huh?” she blustered. “Take your shirt and wipe my legs!”

I blushed at the notion that I had been caught gazing at her again. But her second sentence was absolutely to my taste: I would have to look at her when I was drying her legs, wouldn’t I? I took the t-shirt, made sure my peed on hands were fully covered with it and used the dry parts of it to gently rub her legs from the knees upwards. When I got close to her crotch, I hesitated. She hadn’t said anything about drying her pubic hair and I didn’t know how sensitive this area was. Would she want me to clean it, too? I got excited at the thought of it: I had never touched a woman’s private parts before. Carefully, I moved closer and closer, touching her pubic hair ever so little as I was drying the upper inner side of her thighs.

“Pull down my panties so you can finish your work!” she commanded. “But make sure they don’t touch my legs – they are wet!”

So I dropped the t-shirt on my lap and carefully took hold of her panties, using one hand to take the wet crotch of the panties out of her hand to avoid it touching her thighs and pulling down the seam with the other hand. I didn’t care at all that I was touching her pee – I was so aroused by seeing her crotch and being actually allowed to look at it that nothing else mattered. She had stepped back a bit and closed her legs slightly so I could move her wet panties all the way down. After she had stepped out of them she said:

“Now, take your shirt and dry my crotch!”

My heart was throbbing in my mouth. I was so elated. I chose another clean spot on the shirt and carefully dabbed the topmost part of her thighs, moving on to dry her wet pubic hair almost one by one, making sure not to touch her labia. I just didn’t dare to touch them, I didn’t know how she would react and I definitely wanted to make this moment last as long as possible. As I was doing this, I didn’t notice that I was leaning against the wet bins, soaking my pants in her urine. My concentration was totally focused at diligently drying her pubic hair. My body was pulsing in excitement.

“Use this to gently clean my labia now.” She said, handing me a fresh paper towel.

This was even better, I thought! I put down the shirt and very cautiously dabbed her inner labia, making sure to soak every remaining drop of pee into the tissue. Believe me, it took a long time!

Unfortunately, everything ends and I had to realize that there simply was no more visible pee on her pussy. And I would not have dared to spread her labia and search the inside. So I finally stopped dabbing around and she reacted by saying:

“Very good! Now find my earring and clean the bins.”

Her dress fell down to her knees as she released her hold and stood next to me, watching. I dived back into the garbage and only after digging for quite a while I found the earring at the bottom of the paper recycling container. It lay in a centimeter deep puddle of pee. I fished it out and handed it to her after dabbing it with my t-shirt.

Whilst she was washing her earring, I did not know how to clean the bins, so I took my t-shirt and swiped the pee off the outsides, handles, and upper borders of each bin just to be doing something.

Together, we carried the refuse outdoors where I had to empty it into the main bins, using my hands to separate the clean recyclables from the drenched remainder. Finally, we hosed down the bins in the garden and again I had to dry them with my t-shirt.

As everything was done, only my clothes remained soiled. The lady (I still didn’t know her name and she probably did not intend to tell me) made me undress and put my clothes into the washer. It was an embarrassing situation, being naked in front of a lady for more than an hour, waiting for the washing/drying cycle to finish. And she didn’t do anything to ease my situation – instead she had me stand in the room whilst she sat on a chair, drinking tea and watching me. Somehow, I had the impression, she enjoyed it. Did she take it as compensation for her humiliation? At least she didn’t do anything to ease my discomfort. Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice how excited I had been…

 

Walking home, I dreamt on about this wonderful experience and wondered if she had noticed that I actually had liked it.

[Alpian 687]

Note:  This story contains Humiliation, Female Wetting, and Female Peeing.

 

 

Walking Home Again

 

Normally, I preferred to ride my bike to school. But since that memorable day, I chose to walk home more often, benefitting from the fact that I could get a lift in the morning by a neighbor working close to my school. I knew my parents didn’t expect me home at any certain time and I kept wandering along, immersed in memories of “Lady Birch”. In my dreams I needed a name for her, so I had christened her after the tree standing in her front yard.

 

At the same time, Lady Birch had started to feel qualms about that memorable afternoon. She realized that she had made me do things that I might not have wanted to do and that she had felt a certain kind of pleasure which she felt was not appropriate in connection with the situation. On the other hand, she couldn’t deny that I had not objected to anything and that there had been this pleasurable feeling not only of relief but also of power and dominance that had made her remember the afternoon as one of the best in a long time. As her neighbor was visiting for tea one afternoon, she decided to carefully hint at what had happened to consult a second opinion.

“The teenagers these days often are so misbehaved.” Lady Birch told her neighbor. “Remember how we talked about littering everywhere? Guess what: as soon as you went to answer the phone, I caught one, dumping rubbish right in front of our house!”

“Well, I don’t know if it’s only the kids, to be honest.” Her neighbor replied. “Did you speak to the student who littered in your yard? What reaction did you get?”

“I don’t know… The pupil I caught seemed to be quite embarrassed. He blushed – you wouldn’t believe how red his face was. He clearly knew he was caught red-handed.” Lady Birch answered.

“And then he ran away, I bet?” the neighbor inquired.

“No, he picked up the rubbish as I told him. I was quite surprised.”

She did not dare to mention how desperate to pee she had been and that she had been pretty distracted by her need to use the toilet. Consequently, her observations might not have been very accurate, she thought.

“Just to drop it at the next corner once you were out of sight!” the neighbor exclaimed. “Shy and timid in your face, but probably enjoys being naughty when no-one sees him.”

“That’s what I feared. So I told him to follow me into the house and dispose of it properly.”

“So you invited a strange teenager into your house? That is brave – these kids can be quite violent.”

“I wish I hadn’t!”

“See! There you go! What did he do?” she was taken aback. Lady Birch didn’t look as though something awful had happened.

“It’s not what you fear.” Lady Birch saw that she needed to ease her neighbor’s worries. “Do you remember how I had just gotten home and we chatted along? I really needed to have a pee. Instead I ended up having a teenager in the house that needed to be shown everything. I was so angry at him!”

“Ah, I see. But why didn’t you go for a bathroom break before showing him the bins?” she wanted to know.

She could have mentioned that she had noticed her neighbor’s predicament long before – she had been wondering how long they could chat along at the fence before her neighbor would have to admit her desperation. It had really fascinated her to watch her hobbling and twisting. Unfortunately, she had been interrupted by her husband’s call.

“Would you have left some stranger standing alone in your hallway whilst taking a pee? I mean, I didn’t know him at all. No, I held on desperately and led him to the kitchen.” Lady Birch described the situation.

“That’s true.” Her neighbor admitted. “I don’t know what I would have done. But throwing away some wrappers and showing him the door should not have taken too long?”

“If it were only that! I had to go so badly and got really angry when I saw him litter. But no, I ended up with this boy helplessly standing in my hall. My rising desperation… I felt I was going insane! I was totally tensed-up. As he threw his wrapper and a tissue in the same bin instead of keeping to the recycling rules of the council, I got mad in earnest.”

“Oh yes, I would have made him pick up the stuff from within the bins and put everything in the right place, that is what I would have done!” the neighbor agreed.

“Now imagine what happened: As I explained how to sort the refuse I felt a sudden surge in my bladder and I had to bend over. I managed to conceal my desperation, but by bending over I dropped one of the earrings I had been taking off. It fell right into the bins!”

“Damned brat! If he had not misbehaved, none of this would have happened!” the neighbor interjected.

She was secretly enjoying the story as she had relished watching her desperate neighbor’s pee dance when they were chatting at the fence last week. She was surprised to see a different side of her – last week, she had wondered if her polite neighbor would ever admit to her need and leave her standing at the fence. Today she heard a fascinating story of her neighbor as a resolute woman telling off a misbehaving teenage brat and openly admitting to the effects of her full bladder on the course of action. She discovered wholly new facets of her neighbor’s personality!

“That’s it! And in the shock of my jewelry falling into the bins, I briefly lost control over my bladder: a spurt escaped into my panties. Imagine the shame and anger I felt!”

“Poor girl! I understand your misery! I would have made him retrieve the earring from the bins, and if he had to turn every single bit of rubbish upside down! I’d have been so mad…”

The story was taking an interesting turn – and she knew how it must have upset her uptight neighbor to lose control of her body in front of someone. Feigning commiseration, she longed to hear more.

“Yeah, but with my desperation? I could have peed my pants any second!” Finally, Lady Birch was at the point that upset her most.

“True, awkward situation. But let him get away? No way! I’d rather have peed my pants in front of him than let him off the hook. And then I might have slapped my wet panties in his face – just so he knows!” her neighbor was getting angry. “I hope you didn’t let him run?”

The neighbor was getting excited at the pure thought of doing what she said. She knew she was kinky, and she enjoyed it. But she couldn’t let her friend know.

“Be assured, no! No, I had him search for my earring whilst I was desperately trying to hold on. It was a crazy situation – I liked how he humbly took off his backpack and knelt down to scrutinize the garbage, his nose almost dug into the bins. But on the other hand, I felt losing control of my bladder and I had to fight hard to remain in control.”

“Don’t say you actually humiliated yourself in front of that brat?” the neighbor asked. Of course, she was hoping for the opposite. What an exciting incident! She couldn’t wait to hear the story…

“Well, it took him quite long to go through all the bins – it was that small gold and ruby earring, you know?”

“No! No, you didn’t do it? If you only peed on him, at least!” her neighbor was getting excited.

She was quite interested in the story; that much was apparent now.

“At one moment, I felt I wouldn’t be able to hold it anymore.” Lady Birch confessed. “I even pulled up my skirt and stepped over the bins to avoid wetting the floor. But I managed to hold on, fortunately.”

“Whew, that was close! I thought you had given in to the call of nature. So he didn’t get the satisfaction of making you pee yourself, then?”

Lady Birch seemed to detect a hint of disappointment in her neighbor’s voice. But why? Her neighbor did not yet know how she had wet herself in front of that little boy, she thought.

“No, but he looked up as I moved close and I believe he saw my panties. I’m not sure if he noticed the wet spot from my previous accident. But he definitely looked very unseemly right at my crotch.”

Lady Birch blushed as she recounted her embarrassing situation.

“Instead of being punished he got a show – let’s hope he doesn’t tell anyone about that spot: people might believe you were aroused from making him dig in the rubbish.” her neighbor commented – her interest in the story had been rekindled and she was aching to learn more. Was there a hint of arousal glinting in her eyes? “A young boy, you know… Probably, he had never seen a woman’s panties before.”

“That’s what I thought, and I told him harshly to continue searching for the earring. Unfortunately, I was so desperate now, I just couldn’t focus anymore.”

“You know what I would have done? Pull my panties aside and pee into the bins!” her neighbor teased, lurking for a hint that something similar had happened.

“You won’t believe me: I started to wet my panties. In front of him. Right there. I didn’t have time to do so much as to gather my dress and pull my panties aside before my bladder started to violently empty itself. I literally peed into the bins within centimeters of his face!” Lady Birch admitted.

“Whew, you must have been desperate! I hope you had him find your valuable earring in the mess rather than searching yourself?” her neighbor was enthused. “I would have loved to see his face!”

“He was staring at my crotch the full length of my wetting. He was flabbergasted and didn’t move an inch. I doubt that he would even have noticed had my pee actually sprayed all over him…” Lady Birch described the situation, blushing at the memory of it. “My urine was gushing out of my bladder, I had absolutely lost control, I couldn’t do anything about it.”

She was surprised she could even tell the events – she felt she should have run away to hide for shame. Yet somewhere inside, she didn’t feel as much shame as she was supposed to, and her neighbor listening so eagerly made her feel better than she should.

“And, did he have to clean up the mess? It’s the least he could do!” the neighbor inquired, rather too interested. She felt her bladder filling fast by now – or was it just the excitement? The tingle in her belly felt so good!

“Yes, he had to take off his t-shirt and use it to clean my legs and later the bins. It was a strange feeling to see him subdued and docile like this, debasing himself in this humiliating task. Seeing how he was mopping away splashes of my pee, fully concentrated on the task – I had never experienced anything like it before and to be honest, sometimes I have pangs of conscience about it.” Lady Birch admitted. “I mean, I feel as if I enjoyed doing something wrong. I shouldn’t rejoice in someone’s humiliation.”

“Wow! That sounds like a memorable afternoon. I understand your doubts, but don’t you think that he would have spoken up if he didn’t believe it was justified? I wouldn’t worry too much about it. He definitely deserved it!” the neighbor consoled, brushing Ms. Birches qualms away.

“I don’t know; he was such a shy guy. He seemed completely embarrassed as I caught him and would just obey to anything I said. Maybe I caught the wrong person and he didn’t really intend to litter? I shouldn’t have abused his obedience so much, right? After all it wasn’t his fault that I ended up peeing myself?” Lady Birch tried to argue.

She felt guilty as she remembered how she had enjoyed her relief, the feeling of power and domination as that boy had followed her orders and searched through the pissed bins to find her earring. It gnawed on her conscience that she was still enjoying the memory of that afternoon. She realized that the light pressure on her bladder was adding to the pleasant feeling: Her mind had made a connection between the sensation of a stretched bladder and this event.

“I’d love to see that boy!” her neighbor admitted. “From what you tell me he would have licked your legs dry, if you had asked him. But don’t let yourself be fooled by his obedience – I bet he was turned on by what he saw!”

“Maybe? But it would mean pushing things too far, don’t you think?” Lady Birch wondered, feeling a strange, welcome yet totally inappropriate tingling in her womb. “By the way: I still have his socks lying around – he forgot to put them on when he left the house.”

“I wish he walked by just now so you could call him in to give the socks back. I would love to see his reaction.” the neighbor mused. “I wonder if he would admit to what happened last week!”

She had observed Lady Birch’s mixed feelings and felt quite aroused by it. It turned her on to imagine how Lady Birch was standing in her kitchen, a teenager kneeling in front of her and gently cleaning her pee away. She loved how Lady Birch was fighting her bad conscience for secretly enjoying such a deed. There was a hidden vicious side in her neighbor she wanted to discover more about, she realized.

She felt her full bladder pulse in her lower body, reminding her of the need to take a leak soon. She had consciously let her bladder pressure rise; she found it increased her arousal as she listened to her neighbor’s desperation story. But now the need to pee was getting uncomfortably urgent. And she felt she would soon have to release the tension that was arousing her, too. On the other hand, she longed to hear more details, to suck in every bit of information she could get.

 

This conversation had taken place a few minutes before I came along the street where Lady Birch lived. I walked deliberately slowly and hoped to get a glance at her or at least refresh my memory by sucking in the picture of her house.

 

“I need to go to the toilet – your tea has made it through my system.” The neighbor said and got up from the table. The desire to touch herself was getting too strong and she would not be able to hold on much longer, either. She would have to leave soon.

“Ok, I’ll put our dishes in the dishwasher in the meantime.” Lady Birch said and got up, too.

This was the exact moment I was passing in front of her house.

“That’s him!” she almost shouted at her neighbor as she had seen me through the window.

It didn’t take ten seconds and her neighbor had opened the window and called at me:

“Hey boy, wait a second!”

I had noticed the movement behind the window and stopped in my steps, but still, I was taken by surprise as the window opened and a stranger told me to stop. What was going on?

“Quick, come here, tell him about the socks!” the neighbor whispered to Lady Birch. Shortly thereafter, Lady Birch appeared at the window.

“You forgot something – can you come to the door?” she asked me.

I wondered what I had forgotten, since I couldn’t think of anything I was missing. But of course I took the chance and shyly walked to the door. I have never been brave, and walking through a stranger’s front yard appeared quite daring to me at the time. I was quivering with excitement – what was going to happen next?

The door opened and Lady Birch asked me to come in.

“You forgot your socks at your last visit, I heard?” the neighbor said. “Serves you right – throwing rubbish in other people’s front yards must be punished!”

I had barely set a foot into the house and I found myself accused of my accidental littering last week. I didn’t know how to reply. Consequently, and as it has always been my strategy, I remained silent whilst blushing on the accusation. Maybe also for excitement from the memories arising in my head? Often, I wonder if the bulge in my pants was visible back then…

“I’ll get the socks!” Lady Birch exclaimed and started descending the stairs to the basement.

“Why get them – he can pick them up himself!” the neighbor said with the hint of a vicious smile. She ushered me towards the stairs. She left the impression of a stern lady not to be messed with. I obeyed immediately.

We were walking down – Lady Birch in front of me, the neighbor behind. I heard a question:

“I heard you didn’t even say sorry when Ms. Birch caught you disposing of your refuse in her front yard?” the neighbor – later introduced as Ms. Kryokova – interrogated me.

It was true. I hadn’t thought of saying sorry, I had been taken by surprise and then events had developed in a way that didn’t leave space for an apology. And now I felt way too embarrassed to say sorry a week later – that would mean admitting that I had not thought about it for a week. I was furious at myself, because by saying sorry I would have had an excuse to ring at Lady Birch’s door and maybe get a second glance at her... But I was daydreaming and probably she would just have accepted my excuse and sent me off again.

“I see; you are the kind of insolent brat that doesn’t think it is necessary to apologize!” Ms. Kryokova went on as I remained silent.

We arrived at the basement and went into the laundry room. There were clothes, a wooden chair, the washing machine and not a lot more.

“Sit down, it may take a while until I find the socks!” Lady Birch said.

Of course, I went straight for the chair and – after taking off my backpack – sat on it.

“Here again you show what an impertinent brat you are!” Ms. Kryokova said. “There is only one chair in the room and who takes it? The person who should be standing in the corner, ashamed of his conduct!”

Ms. Birch turned round to check the situation. I was sitting on the chair almost in the middle of the room – the ironing board had been put to the wall – and Ms. Kryokova stood in front of me, scolding.

Ms. Birch knew that Ms. Kryokova could be quite a bitch when upset, but she did not step in. Firstly, there wasn’t much to be said against her arguing and secondly, why should she defend me? Instead, she suddenly felt that tingle in her belly that had accompanied her memories of last week’s incident. There was that boy sitting timidly on a chair, blushing because he realized his mistake and Ms. Kryokova was telling him how to behave. Did she enjoy this feeling of dominance, of exerting power over someone? It somehow pleasantly mixed with the pressure her filling bladder caused and the memory of a teenager staring, clearly exited, at her wet private parts whilst kneeling in front of her.

“Why don’t you sit on his lap?” Ms. Birch suggested with a cheeky grin as she had watched the scene for a while. “Our gentleman certainly won’t mind to share with you?”

Ms. Kryokova seemed to hesitate for a second before she straddled the chair facing me and sat herself such that her breasts were almost strangling me. Like Ms. Birch she was a tall woman in her mid- to late-thirties. Maybe she was a little plumper than Ms. Birch, and her breasts might have been even bigger. I had the impression that she was rather heavy, sitting on my lap in her wide, light summer dress. I imagined spying under her dress as it had slid up when she straddled me – in reality, I couldn’t see anything but her décolleté centimeters from my face. This was interesting enough, even though her breasts were well covered. Feeling her body so close to mine excited me – I’d never been as close to such a voluptuous female body. Despite the situation, I was turned on.

We had been sitting like this for a minute or so, when, suddenly, I felt something warm on my lap. I couldn’t make anything of it, feeling the pleasant warmth spreading over my lap.

Suddenly, I heard Ms. Kryokova shout:

“What the heck! This brat is peeing his pants whilst I am sitting on his lap. Did you ever hear of such a rude behavior?”

I knew this was a lie, but I could not believe she would pee on my lap, either. Ms. Birch turned round when she heard the shout and looked at us, incredulous.

“Really?” she asked.

I shook my head, not able to say anything. I still felt wet warmth spreading over my lap, finding its way between my legs and down my crotch, but also up my belly and around my waist.

Ms. Kryokova hesitated, then she got up, carefully holding up her dress and pointing to my crotch – which sure enough was soaking wet.

“Not true? Do you think I am a liar? What are you thinking!” she barked at me. “Look at your pants and tell me what‘s drenched them. Are you stupid enough to deny such obvious evidence! Can’t you smell it’s pee?”

“You shouldn’t have done THAT!” said Ms. Birch with authority. “Whatever happened last week, it does not give you the right to behave like this. And look at your clothes – who is going to wash them for you, huh?”

Sure enough, my trousers were dripping wet with barely a dry spot. I was sitting in a wet puddle, the moisture slowly soaking up my butt and down my legs. A few drops were already soaking into my socks, wetting my shoes.

“He’d better take off his clothes now, so we can put them in the washer. And look at my panties – they are completely soaked, too.” Ms. Kryokova exclaimed, her face blushing red with anger. She lifted her dress and turned around like a model presenting the newest fashion. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The front of her panties had become see-through and showed her dark pubic hair, the back clung tightly to her shapely ass – I ached to see more.

Ms. Birch was looking at the couple of us and started wondering what had happened.

Somehow she had an inkling that her neighbor had something to do with the peeing. Was it because she remembered that Ms. Kryokova had expressed her need to go to the toilet? Or did her own bladder filling relentlessly provoke this thought? The idea of Ms. Kryokova boldly peeing on my lap and then accusing me struck her as incredible, yet nevertheless, she felt more and more excited. What next? Would he accept the blame? What was Ms. Kryokova aiming at?

Stop – this could not be true: Her fantasies were running amok.

She blushed at the idea that she could suspect her neighbor of such an act just because of their innocent conversation before. No, obviously it must have been the boy! Maybe out of shyness rather than mischief. But it must have been him!

“I’m not touching your wet pants, better take them off alone.” Ms. Kryokova told me as I kept staring at her, not moving. “And better do so quickly, since I want to sit down again. It’s not my fault that I am standing at the moment!”

I didn’t know what to do. Ms. Birch had started to rummage for my socks again. She tried to hide her blush – she felt pangs of conscience for her dirty fantasies as well as for projecting them on her neighbor. And she felt bad because she experienced jolts of excitement, her body convulsing with arousal every time she thought about the situation. It somehow reminded her of the wonderful experience she had had the week before.

Obediently, I opened the button of my trousers, opened the zipper and pulled them down.

“What about your panties – they are soaking wet, too!” I was told. “And take off your shoes and socks, too. Or how are you going to pull your pants off? Put it all into the washer!”

Hesitantly, I started to take off my shoes, socks, trousers. I waited even longer before pulling down my panties – I didn’t want to show my small penis, especially since it had gotten rather hard. Fortunately, it was covered at least partly by my long t-shirt, which even though wet in the lower area, I had kept on.

“That’s good!” Ms. Kryokova said. “Now clean yourself and the chair.”

I looked at her, wondering what she meant. How did she expect me to realize this without a towel?

“Just take the dry outer legs of your pants and get moving, or do you prefer using your t-shirt?” she snapped as nothing happened.

I had no choice but to take my pants at their soiled end, wrap them around my wrists and wipe my legs with the dry parts of them. The chair was almost dry since my pants had soaked in most of her pee, but I wiped it as I was told. Finally, I went to the washing machine and put all my clothes in it, wearing only a t-shirt now.

“Have you heard any word of regret or excuse?” Ms. Kryokova asked Ms. Birch, apparently exasperated. “I don’t think this little brat will ever learn how to behave!”

“Don’t you think he might just be too shy to say anything?” Ms. Birch suggested timidly.

“Come on, you don’t believe your own words!” Ms. Kryokova replied. “Isn’t he already sitting on the chair again? Did he ask if I would want to sit there? Alone, without risking to be peed on? And what about that smirk on his face?”

I felt really embarrassed at their accusations. Again, I hadn’t thought of the obvious, hadn’t said sorry or offered the chair to the lady. And at least Ms. Birch must believe that I really had peed my pants and wet her friend’s panties in the process. Humiliated and embarrassed, the grin on my face widened. I just couldn’t help it, sitting there in front of the ladies and listening to their accusations.

“Looking at him – I think you are right. He doesn’t seem to have a bad conscience for wetting himself.” Lady Birch was relieved. This made her fantasies look less abominable to her.

“And look at my panties: they are all wet and he didn’t even offer to clean them or help me take them off or anything.” Ms. Kryokova complained, lifting her dress again, showing her wet cotton panties. She then stepped closer to me and continued:

“Visibly, he expects me to touch his pee and pull them off myself!”

With this, she stood right in front of me, holding her dress up with one hand and taking the other hand to grab my hair. With a firm hold, she pulled my face towards her: I ended up with my nose being driven right between her legs, her wet panties all over my face. For a second, I had the impression they were getting even wetter in this very moment. Was she starting to pee herself again? But already she pushed me back and released her grip.

Ms. Kryokova was excited: This was exactly how she would act, she had told her friend during tea. She couldn’t believe her fantasy had come true so quickly – yes, she had not slapped her panties in my face. But instead she had put my face into her wet panties, making sure they were soaking wet by releasing another spurt of pee at exactly the right moment. She was positively thrilled. This was absolutely arousing, and her innocent neighbor would even buy her story that she had been pissed on. She looked at Ms. Birch. Was she enjoying the situation as well? Maybe she wanted her story to be true, thus calming her bad conscience? Ms. Kryokova decided to take advantage of it!

“Are you finally going to help me get out of these panties?” she asked threateningly.

And as I didn’t move immediately, she ordered:

“Come on, take your hands and pull them down. But gently and make sure the wet parts don’t touch my legs! Don’t be afraid of your own piss!”

Surprisingly gently she took hold of my left hand and put it to the hem of her panties. Then she took my right hand and placed it in her crotch, telling me:

“As you pull the left hem down with your left hand make sure you hold the crotch of my panties tight with your right hand to keep it away from my thighs. Then you change hands and do the same on the other side – but make sure not to touch my dress or my skin with your wet fingers!”

I did as I was told and little by little moved her panties down. I could barely concentrate, as more and more of her pubic mount was exposed. I saw her curly black hair appear, as I – slowly, carefully – pulled the panties down, until it was fully exposed. I glanced at her crotch, trying to make out her labia. She had less dense hair than Ms. Birch, I noticed, her inner labia were less pronounced than the latter’s and of a lighter color. All the time I smelled her sweet, fresh pee covering my face, mixed with that distinctive scent of pussy emanating from her. It was hard to concentrate. Twice, I almost touched her legs with the soiled crotch of her panties until I managed to pull them down to her knees. Being sat on the chair, I couldn’t move them deeper without bending forward. Carefully, I tried to slide forward on the chair, but my naked butt stuck to the damp wood like glued. I couldn’t move without lifting myself up a bit. But that would have been obvious and I didn’t want to be scolded again. So instead, I bent forward a little bit and moved the panties past her knees. I had to bend more and more for the next centimeters – my arms just weren’t long enough. I had moved another ten centimeters below her knees when my head suddenly hit something. I had bent too far! My forehead had touched Ms. Kryokova’s body – right in her crotch. I moved my head back and felt pubic hair brush my eyelids. A drop of pee shimmered in them. I blushed. I was touching a woman’s bare crotch! I felt a tingle down my spine – this was an exciting situation. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice how I felt. Surely, she would get quite angry!

“What’s up – get it moving!” I was interrupted. “You’re not done yet!”

Unfortunately, moving her panties further down meant bending further and so my head lost contact with her crotch and moved down in front of her legs. I was careful not to touch her legs, since my forehead had been in contact with her wet pubic hair and she would not approve the pee touching her legs. Finally, I had managed to get the panties down to the floor and she stepped out of them. I picked them up and brought them to the washer.

“Take off your t-shirt and put it in there, too.” Ms. Birch said. “Then I can turn it on.”

Turned towards the washing machine, I removed my last bit of clothing. I did not dare to turn round and face the ladies with my bare penis pocking straight to the sky.

“Don’t dream! Come here, you’re not done yet – there’s more cleaning waiting for you!” I heard Ms. Kryokova say.

Turning round, I realized she was still holding her dress up, exposing her private parts to everyone’s sight (true, that were just her neighbor and I). She signaled me to come closer and pointed to the floor immediately in front of her:

“Did you really think you would be spared to clean my skin?” she asked. “It is still sticky with your pee; you’d better hurry to dry that up!”

I stood a few small steps in front of her, not knowing what to do next or how to proceed. But she would help me out soon:

“Unfortunately, your t-shirt is in the washer now, so you have nothing left to dry me up with. But at least you can remove the pee – kneel down here!” she said, still pointing on the floor immediately before her.

As soon as I had moved forward and knelt down, she stepped forward and virtually covered my face with her pubic hair.

“Tough luck, little boy!” she observed. “Since there is nothing else, I fear you have to lick me dry.”

With that, she grabbed my hair and pulled my head back a bit. Then she directed:

“Gently lick all the areas that were in contact with your pee. Start here.”

She pushed my head to her right groin and, obediently, I started to lick. It tasted salty, a bit like sweat but somehow different. I found, I somehow liked the flavor – and being that close to her vulva was simply arousing.

Gently, I licked her groin, moved down to lick the inner area of her upper thigh, changed sides and did the same on the left side. I avoided the hairy area; I just didn’t know how to proceed. As I had finished with these two parts, I hesitated.

Instead of saying anything, Ms. Kryokova just grabbed my hair again and pushed my face right into her vulva. Was there something wet dripping down my chin? Her pubic hair got in my mouth – I found that quite disturbing. How could it be so wet? I didn’t realize Ms. Kryokova had taken the chance to once again spurt a little pee right onto my face. After a while, I figured out how to lick small portions of hair to remove that salty taste; and little by little I moved further between her legs and deeper into her fur, licking the skin underneath and progressing to her labia.

Ms. Kryokova spread her legs a little further, moving forward a bit. Now, she stood directly towering over me, my body leaning back, my arms behind my back on the floor to hold myself. My head was bent all the way back to my neck and I was licking her from below. The odor got more intense; I smelled that distinctive hue of vulva and took in the sight as much as I could every time I retreated to take a breath. As she spread her legs more, her pubic hair parted, clearing a free access to her smallish inner labia. By licking them, I noticed how they softly followed my tongue’s movements; and when I got to their center, they opened up a bit. My tongue found its way between them and as I moved forward, I felt her clitoris underneath a thin clitoral hood. Ms. Kryokova trembled as I did this and pushed herself against my head. Her hips moved forward and my tongue ended up between her lips, tasting a new flavor of female juices, feeling a different viscosity. At the same time, my nose was being tickled by pubic hair, its tip rubbing against her clitoral hood. She had almost pushed me over by now, I was more lying on my back than kneeling and she was almost on her knees over me, grinding her vulva at my face.

I don’t remember how long this continued, but certainly I didn’t mind doing it. To be honest, I was elated to be confided this task and permitted this intimate contact. And since somehow the moisture didn’t get less, I continued to lick until Ms. Kryokova suddenly shivered violently and then straightened up, removing herself from my tongue’s reach.

 

In the meantime, Ms. Birch had felt her bladder pressure rise to unsustainable levels. She needed to go to the loo very soon. She had been so distracted by her neighbor’s actions that she had rummaged through the piles of laundry rather randomly and not taken any attention. If she were honest, she thought, she had probably watched us most of the time instead of doing anything useful. She was thrilled by her neighbor’s relentless pursuit of retribution and punishment.

With her mounting need to pee, she was even more distracted and now she realized she had absolutely no idea where she had put my socks. To clear her mind and focus on the relevant things she decided she would need a bathroom break first of all:

“Ms. Kryokova, I’ll have a quick run to the toilet – I’ll be back in a second!” she said.

“You need to pee?” Ms. Kryokova asked. “Why don’t you show this brat what it feels like to be peed on to teach him a lesson? I am sure you won’t leave me alone with this brat, will you?”

Ms. Birch was intrigued by the idea but she didn’t feel she could admit it just like that. And would it be fair to the boy? Well, after all he had started it and wet her neighbor without asking or thinking about the consequences. It would only be to show him how it felt to be peed on!

“How do you think I should do that? I can’t just walk up and pee on him – imagine the mess it would be.” She replied.

“Uh, come on. You’re not that simpleminded, are you?” her neighbor teased. “Just sit on his lap and let go. I’m sure he will volunteer to clean up the mess afterwards.”

“But then I would be sitting in my pee as well. I don’t think I like that thought.” Ms. Birch objected, still hesitating. But a shiver in her lower body told her that she would give in soon, that she wanted to do it in her deepest, secret, desires.

“It will only last for a moment and it will be your pee. I have been sitting in his pee and it took him until now to clean it away.” Ms. Kryokova argued. “I’ll remain standing here holding his body back, so he can’t move.”

Ms. Birch was finally convinced. Her desperate need to pee, the excitement of experiencing the control they were exerting over me and the sexual arousal from watching me lick her neighbor’s pussy were enough to overcome education and conscience telling her not to do it.

She moved over and sat on my lap – just to jump up again. In her confusion she had forgotten to take off her panties… Ms. Birch stripped off her panties, lifted her skirt and squatted over my lap again. I could only just see the lower part of her panties as she lifted her skirt to take them off; my view was limited by Ms. Kryokova’s crotch and legs as she was standing about a foot in front of my face.

Now I felt pubic hair tingle my prick as Ms. Birch got close. She hesitated, then stopped to move closer. For almost a minute, nothing happened. Then suddenly, I felt something hot hit my penis and saw a strong stream of light golden pee emanate from her pubic bush. As the pee hit my body it sprayed everywhere and covered my lower body with splashes of warm liquid. It felt wonderful, I realized. But fifteen seconds later, everything was over. Ms. Birch got up, took her panties from the chair, dried her pussy with them, then threw them on the appropriate laundry pile and ran upstairs.

Ms. Kryokova only realized what had happened when she heard the door slam closed – she had been facing the opposite direction. Now, Ms. Kryokova and I were left alone in the basement and silence settled upon us.

My mind was completely gone – I just sat there, dreaming on, staring at Ms. Kryokova’s private parts and experiencing new levels of peace, joy, and happiness; sitting naked in a puddle of Ms. Birch’s pee on a cold tile floor.

Ms. Kryokova’s voice disrupted the silence:

“Ok! Get up and clean yourself in the shower over there. Then take the mop and bucket and clean the floor.”

After I had showered very quickly, Ms. Kryokova locked the door, took off her clothes and stepped in the shower – taking the keys with her to make sure I couldn’t escape. As she was finished, I had cleaned the floor and put the dirty mop onto the heap with laundry waiting to be washed.

“Now listen: Here are your sports clothes which were lying next to your backpack. Put them on and go home. You can pick up your other clothes later – but make sure you don’t tell anyone what happened here tonight or you will be in big trouble!” Ms. Kryokova told me.

How could she suspect I would ever tell anyone that I had been peed on! And even worse: that I had liked it? No, I wasn’t gonna tell!

[Alpian 687]

Dear Readers,

I decided to open a new thread per chapter, as old posts cannot be edited for update of the content tags. The next chapter, Still Walking Strong, is already online, I'm still editing the remaining stuff.

Enjoy!
Alpian.