Julie Stories by Rikki Bare #6 London

[Rikki Bare 120]

Julie 6 London

After the weird experience of wetting myself in broad daylight in the centre of my home town and being seen by literally hundreds of people I was on the one hand very fearful and shaken and on the other so turned on that I had to have another fix, and soon.  (See Julie 3 our public hold it contest) One day a few months later the opportunity presented itself and this is how it happened.

Julie had to make a presentation to a posh client in London and I took a day off and arranged to meet her afterwards so that we could see some sights. We were to travel up on different trains, as she had to be at the offices in Mayfair by 9.30. She was having lunch with the client and we were to meet at 3.00pm, outside the serpentine gallery in Hyde Park.

As I lay in bed at 6.30 in the morning watching Julie dress a dastardly plan began to form in my devious fevered brain. As usual she made up first, sitting nude in front of the mirror for what seemed hours as she transformed herself from super casual, slightly punk academic researcher into a high powered executive type woman. Her short dark hair had been done especially the previous day and she made up in a much more discreet style than usual except that she worked a little tan make up around her nipples.

Dressing she donned her most alluring lingerie; a cream silk lace trimmed bra with semi-sheer front panels, French knickers, also with lace trim and a minimal crotch, a short half slip and suspenders, all to match, sheer fine stockings were attached to the suspenders. A soft cream blouse with a discreet bow followed. The lace of her bra showed slightly through he blouse. The purpose of the nipple make up now became clear; the slightly darkened outline of her aureole and nipples was just visible through the two layers of silk. Her suit was new. It was a strong plain dusky peach with the skirt, at mid thigh, short but not outrageous. We had bought the suit together the previous week and I had remarked at the time that it was machine washable. Julie had shrugged; “of course” and winked. Two-inch pumps with sensibly solid heels and small gold earrings of an original hand made design completed her outfit. The whole effect was the perfect combination of power, professionalism and creative originality.

I loved her when she looked like that; a love which turned to lust as I imagined a great piss stain emerging through the front of her skirt and her blouse going transparent as I pissed down her cleavage. My erection tent poled the duvet as I savoured these thoughts.

Her cab tooted outside and, preparing to leave, Julie came and sat on the edge of the bed and fondled my shaft through the covers. “I know what you’re thinking you naughty boy,” she winked, “not a chance sunshine!” she kissed me gently so as not to spoil her make up, “till 3 O’clock then,” and slipped out of the room leaving me to my evil plans.

This planning, the results of which will be revealed soon, turned into a wank and a big sticky damp patch on the duvet cover. I then turned over and drifted off to sleep with the damp cotton cool on my hip and more cum dripping onto my thigh.

The alarm woke me around 9.30 and I got up and showered, peeing in the shower as usual. I shaved carefully and put on some good supportive stretch trunks; with fly buttons, as I wanted to be able to get it out later. I dressed in smart casual style: pale khaki trousers, smart green button down shirt and tie, and a fairly formal brown leather jacket. I had corn flakes, toast, orange juice and a large pot of coffee for breakfast. Walking to the station I caught the 11 O’clock train to London and arrived at Victoria at about 12.30. I had two and a half hours before I met Julie and, as I was already feeling the effects of the coffee on my bladder, I decided to visit the gallery first and have lunch and a pint afterwards; just before meeting her.

I don’t usually go too much for trendy destructive art but had to admit that this exhibition was rather special. They were about to re-build the Serpentine Gallery in Hyde Park and for their last show they had allowed an artist to do what he liked to it. The result was holes cut through walls and floors, even through bookcases complete with books, which showed the buildings guts in a powerful way.

I was totally absorbed, and only occasionally thought about my filling bladder, until just after two when I got to the stage when I couldn’t stand still and the adrenaline started to flow. As you will all know as the pressure builds the whole body sometimes goes into hyperdrive; well this is what happened then, so I forced myself to go inside a pub and order lunch, a sandwich and a pint. This of course added to my bladder pressure considerably and by the time I got back to the Serpentine to meet Julie I was dancing from foot to foot and squeezing my dick every few minutes. She was late, of course, and my pressure became real pain as I waited for her to appear. Eventually she came trotting along in some agitation with her heels clacking and tits jiggling. With great effort I composed my self as she drew close and managed to present a calm facade.

Julie was not so calm and continued to jig around as we greeted one another.

“You playing hold it,” I whispered into her ear as we kissed hello.

She nodded and grinned sheepishly.

“How long?”

“Since this morning.”

“Since 6?”

“Yes; it gave me a great buzz during that rather scary meeting and really got me going. The presentation went just great.”

“Good; I knew it would.” I kissed her again.

“What shall we do now?” I asked, thinking of releasing my flood all over her there and then in the street outside the gallery.

“I am going to piss in true Sophie Rickett style over a monument, that’s what I am going to do. I’ll have to be a bit careful ‘though as I’ve got us theatre tickets for tonight and no change of clothes.

I decided to put my own plans on hold for a while; fortunately the idea was arousing enough to help me get control of my bladder pressure. So she handed me her small camera from her presentation size hold-all briefcase and I followed her over to the statue of some oppressive looking Victorian gentleman.

Julie stood before him, lifted her skirt and slip, puled her loose French knickers aside and, directing the flow with her two forefingers, leaned back and forcefully sprayed his plinth. I danced around taking pictures as the piss gushed and splattered; it seemed to go on forever. Several passers by stared in amazement, and a few made disapproving noises. However a bunch of lads were highly amused and burst into applause when she finally finished. As the stream lessened it sagged down to the ground and she quickly let everything go and straightened up.

The last trickle must have soaked her kickers as it splashed onto the ground between her feet. A small run appeared down her stocking but stopped before it reached her knee. Her skirt however was unmarked and the rest would dry and disappear in a very short time. At least it would without my intervention.

“That’s better. I like hold it but it’s good to feel empty too, especially with just the right amount of damp.”

“You know who that is?” she pointed to the bronze Victorian gentleman standing tall and proud despite the wet patch on his lichen covered granite plinth and the large puddle at the base turning into a river across the pavement.

“No idea.”

“That’s Lord *******; he was responsible for my Great Great Grandfather getting deported to Botany Bay for the sake of a lousy poached rabbit. As a result Granny was brought up in dire poverty without a father. It really fucked her up and this she spread on to her own daughter, my mother who blamed all her problems on this ‘fine gentleman’.” Julie glared up at his stern side‑whiskered face.

“Did it really cause your mother’s problems?”

“Dunno; but I enjoyed pissing on the old bastard anyway. Now Let’s get out of here before somebody causes trouble.” We linked arms and proceeded to leave the park and head into the streets of Kensington. I of course was feeling far from empty; the distraction was no longer helping and meltdown was imminent. I decided to hold on for as long as I could and let chance dictate the spot.

We wandered along looking in shop windows, mostly antiques and antiquarian books. I couldn’t help bouncing around a bit and Julie looked at me knowingly. I then started squeezing myself. The pressure eased and we continued. Another spasm came and this time I couldn’t quite squeeze hard enough and felt a spurt in my trunks. I squeezed again and stopped it. My trousers felt damp to the touch and I looked down. Sure enough a small wet patch showed. Julie laughed and touched it lovingly.

“Better unzip and let it out boyo use that lamp post and give them a show. Remember our tickets for the Barbican.” The street was quite crowded but fortunately there were no police in sight.

“Bugger the Barbican,” I replied, “Give us a kiss.” I pulled her towards me and, as I pressed my crotch into her skirt, let go my flood. My trunks, thick though they were offered little resistance merely serving to spread it around a bit as it was forced through my fly to run evenly down my legs and Julie’s smart suit skirt.

She thrust me off. “Hey you stupid bugger I said I didn’t want to get wet as we have theatre tickets.”

I hardly registered her; I was lost in my own world of gushing piss as I flooded my pants faster and more heavily than ever before. It poured out of me bursting through my underwear and pouring down the insides of both legs quickly soaking my socks and filling my shoes. The surplus flowed across the pavement in a virtual river and drained into the gutter. Oh the blessed heat of it in the cool air. Oh the blessed relief as the pressure eased.

Only when it had reduced to a trickle did I become aware of my surroundings. The circle of people staring. Some horrified, some uncomprehending and sympathetic, most amused with half concealed grins or laughing aloud and mocking. Foremost was the group of lads who had so enjoyed Julie’s exhibition in the park that they had followed us unnoticed into the street.

Overshadowing all of this was Julie. The violence of her reaction surprised me as she yelled at me. “Now what are we going to do? Those tickets cost a lot of money and they won’t let us in like this. Just look at me.” She stood legs apart and brushed her hands ineffectually over the wet patch on the front of her skirt. Her face was really flushed with anger. “I’ll get you for this you bastard; just see if I don’t,” she screamed.

“Yes that’s right you’re out of order mate,” an older guy shouted.

Julie turned on him, “and you can mind your own fucking business and all.” She yelled. “Bugger off all of you, go on get out of it.” She shouted at the crowd in general.

I decided I had better make peace and knew just the way to achieve it. “I’ll buy you a whole new outfit for the theatre; I had planned to all along,” I told her.

Her anger subsided as quickly as it had arisen. “OK but it’s going to cost you. And I’m still going to get you, and get you proper, when you least expect it!” She stood back and admired my pants. The piss stain had formed itself into a perfect A pattern the inside halves of both legs were dark and saturated. The outsides still pale and dry. She came forward and whispered into my ear. “God that makes me horny, and I need to piss again.”

Julie reached into her bag and found a cloth. She squatted in front of me and started wiping at the piss stain as if to try and dry it. Then with a hiss she pissed into the back of her skirt. It dripped through the fabric and then funnelled forward and splashed onto the ground between here feet adding its self to my puddle. Still pissing she stood up and the rest poured down her stockings, filling her shoes so that they squelched as she walked

The ‘lads’ went wild with applause and the others, especially those who had been sympathetic to me because of my ‘accident’, looked really disgusted and started to walk away.

We embraced and I released some more just for the hell of it and to make a more obvious stain on the front of her skirt. “Come on lets go back to the park and find a private place where we can sort ourselves out.” I winked at her and lead the way through the busy streets; shoes squelching with every step.

Every few hundred yards I stopped and pissed a little more; pressing my legs together and watching my crotch glisten and rivulets pour down towards my knees. Julie stopped and pissed just once more; she held her hand tight into her groin and allowed the piss to burst through her fingers and run down the front of her skirt to drip off the hem.

Back in the park we found a really secluded spot where we could lie on the grass and make out. We worked each other to orgasm without being spotted or arrested for indecent exposure and then lay back in each others arms to plan our recovery strategy. How were we going to go shopping in piss-wet clothes and what were we going to do with them afterwards.

“I know, Camden Market. They are very informal and laid back there. We can find a plausible reason for wet clothes, fall in the canal or a fountain or something. Meantime lets walk as we are until we are nearly there and drain the rest of the piss out of us as we go.” We got up and sort of tidied our clothes. My jacket was only slightly stained and would dry OK. Julie’s however was soaked as I had pissed on her breasts whilst we were ‘dry humping’ (sic) on the grass. So she was going to need a sweater or another jacket of some kind as well as a dress. My trousers made up for the presentable state of my jacket. Grass and mud stuck to the wet patches, especially around the knees. I wet them down again and Julie used my piss to remove some of the mud. Her suit was in the same state and any attempt at tidying was pointless. However her hair and make up were still immaculate; a weird contrast.

Crossing Hyde Park presented few problems as there were not many people about and none seemed to notice us. We left the park at Hyde Park Corner. From there we had to walk along Oxford Street and then the length of Baker Street through dense crowds of smart shoppers. We received a vast assortment of stares of puzzlement and censure. By the time we reached Regent’s Park I felt a cool calm sense of relief that we were less in the public gaze; and an adrenaline rush from the humiliating stares. Feeling Julie’s heart showed that she was having similar feelings; it was pounding fit to burst.

She insisted we found a quiet corner and sat down and then promptly frigged herself to Orgasm pissing again as she did so. I contented myself with draining my bladder once more and re-wetting my rapidly cooling trousers. I was weak at the knees and dying to cum again but my prick had shrunk from being damp and cold for so long and I gave up after a while.

Now to put the recovery plan into operation. We got up and wandered towards the boating lake which runs a long way up the west side of the park. A few boats were out but the bank where walked was deserted. Julie wandered out onto a small jetty. She put down her bag and bent as if to feed the ducks. Of course she promptly fell in and I had to wade in hurriedly to pull her out. I did take the time to slip my jacket off but everything else got wet.

Now we were legitimately soaked with lake water rather than piss, we stayed in long enough to rinse thoroughly and emerged squeezing water out of our clothes as we went. Wrapping my jacket in a plastic carrier to keep it dry, we then ran across the park and walked briskly along the canal to Camden Lock and the market stalls.

One stall-holder is an old acquaintance of Julie’s and she accepted our story of falling into the lake with little more than a slightly sceptical glance and a wink, which hinted she probably knew of Julie’s old tricks.

I picked out some soft velvety jeans in a dusky red colour and deep pink shirt. Julie went for a full-length blue velvet dress. It was hand embroidered with gold braid and little fake pearls and cost over fifty quid, fair penance for the shock I suppose, all I did was check that it was washable. She picked out matching evening shoes and a heavy lace shawl which cost more than the dress. A string of fake, but still expensive, pearls completed the outfit. I bought a pair of shiny black moccasins and some maroon socks. We both decided to go without underwear.

Julie’s friend, offered us the use of the shower in her apartment which was just around the corner. Half an hour later we were showered, dressed in clean dry clothes and ready for a quick Pizza before heading for the concert.

Pizza goes well with red wine so we shared a litre bottle; and we just had time for coffee afterwards.

By the time we got to the Barbican Centre Theatre I was already beginning to feel some discomfort in my bladder but the play were just starting so we ignored the toilets and went straight in and took our seats. Once the performance got under way however all was forgotten; the production was terrific and we were both totally absorbed.

The interval came and I queued for beers while Julie headed for the ‘Ladies’ she came back rather late saying the line was too long and she would hold it. We downed our drinks in a hurry and just as I was about to go for a piss the final bell rang for the second half. Well if Julie could hold it so could I, despite a system softened up by the afternoon’s happenings. So we both returned to our seats.

The second half surpassed the first and I was easily able to hold it; although the pressure was pretty great by the end of the last curtain call.

Julie led the way in a rush out of the centre. We paused just long enough to retrieve our bags, smart new carriers containing our carefully wrapped and packed wet clothes, from the cloakroom; and headed for the underground.

We raced down the escalator and just caught a train. It was packed and we were squeezed in with a crush of others from the theatres which were turning out all over London.

“God I need a piss.”

“So do I Julie. So do I.”

“How Long to Victoria?”

“Bout 10 minutes.”

“I can last that long.”

“We’ll have to hurry when we get there; our train goes at 11.”

The underground train lurched to a halt at that point.

We stood facing one another in the crowded train.

“ If this train doesn’t move soon I’ll have a real accident,” Julie grinned nervously quite intrigued by the idea.

“It’s all right for you; you can just piss straight down and nobody will notice except the train cleaner. Mine will show all over my jeans.” I whispered with a worried frown.

“Serves you right for earlier.”

“Pig.”

The train started moving again and we survived; determined that any accident we had would be real this time.

Victoria main line station was chaos; all the trains were disrupted by some breakdown or other and we both danced around as we looked at the destination board for our train to the coast.

“There! Platform sixteen and it’s leaving now.” The train was ancient, filthy dirty and with peeling paint in the livery of an operator long since superseded. We ran down the platform and jumped into the first carriage. The train was even worse on the inside; it smelt of stale piss and quite a bit else besides.

We found an empty double seat where we could sit side by side. It was very stained and seemed a bit damp, which was probably why it was empty as most of the seats were already taken. Julie sat down without seeming to care and I did likewise feeling the worn velour covering distinctly chilly under my bum. The train didn’t move for several minutes during which more and more people got in until every seat was occupied and there were several standing in our compartment. Finally it pulled out with a shudder and creaking of springs.

“Me first, OK?” Julie didn’t reply so I got up and headed down the car to look for a toilet. No toilet! Just a blank bulkhead where the corridor to the next carriage and the toilet should have been. This was an old suburban train and did not have connections between the carriages or toilets.

I strolled nonchalantly back to Julie and sat down beside her. “There isn’t a toilet.”

“I noticed that as we got on,” she said calmly and passed me a section of the newspaper she was reading.

I spread the paper over my lap and opened the business section. Julie moved closer and leant against me. I slid my hand under her paper and rested it in her crotch feeling its warm dampness turn to hot wetness as she peed through her velvet dress. Soon my own piss was flowing silently into my new jeans, deliciously hot around my balls as I read my paper. Julie’s delicate fingers tunnelled under it and played gently in the soggy wetness as she rested her head on my shoulder.

It would be another wet walk home across town when we got to the other end, but we were well used to that.

The end.