December 2007

Another Story I Have Come Across Enjoy The Female Desperation And Wetting

It happened while I was walking through the city center with a girlfriend during a nice, but not too hot summer day in August. We had been visiting some friends and decided to walk back to her place where I had left my car (we had gone to our friends by bus, since parking is just next to impossible in the city center). On the way home, we had got something to drink at a nice terrace at the market square (too expensive for the service, of course) and now we crossed a beautiful park area, with the usual lawns, pools, ducks and children running around. It was then that she turned to me and said: “Shit, I should have gone to the bathroom at that place on the market”. Of course I casually remarked: “Well, this place isn’t exactly fitted for a pee, is it?” while looking around and seeing everybody running around with no sheltered spot anywhere near. She nodded and added: “Still, I’ve to go *bad*. Where is the nearest pub?” Unfortunately for her, the closest place where we could possibly find a public bathroom was the market place, fifteen minutes behind us. Stupid cities with all action concentrated in one place and the rest being only offices and houses. And parks of course.

We decided to go on and try to reach her house, which was still ten minutes or so to go. After one more minute of walking, she suddenly went off the path and crossed the lawn towards a few bushes. “Sorry, I’ll try it here. I *really* need to pee”, she said. Looking for a spot where she could successfully squat down without being noticed, she almost ran around the bushes only to find a children’s playground at the other side. Rather angry she came back to me. “Grrr who has designed this park. They should force him to wet his pants,” she mumbled, and I could notice that she crossed her thighs under her wide skirt.

I wanted to try something. “Well, maybe this park was designed by a woman, you know. Back in the fifties or so, when almost every woman still wore skirts. Like you do now.” She lifted her eyebrows and looked at me. “What’s that to do with the absence of public toilets where they should be?”, she asked. Then the suddenly understood and frowned. “Oh yeah, well, you mean…”. I shrugged. “Yes. Nobody will notice. I will, but I don’t mind at all. Just go ahead, there’s nobody close and no one approaching right now.”

She sighed and looked down to her white summer skirt that reached down to just below her knees. She couldn’t help still crossing her thighs and now even pressing her hands in her crotch. “I don’t have much choice, do I? Jesus, if I don’t do it myself, I will be wet within a minute anyway. Shit. What a stupid move of me.” That said, she left the path and walked onto the grass. She looked aside, to me again, and slightly pulled up her skirt. “Do you think I can squat without people noticing?” Before I could answer, a bunch of yelling children came in from the opposite corner of the park and my friend shook her head herself. “Nope. Forget about that. Damned, I’ll look like a three-year-old girl.”

Then she stepped out of her slippers, walked for a meter on bare feet through the grass, stopped, and parted her legs a little. Her wide skirt effectively hid this pose and from a distance of more than ten meters nobody would see anything strange. To cover her up even more, I decided to go down on one knee and started to re-tie my shoelace. It appeared that she now was waiting for me to finish with my unwilling shoe lace. “Go ahead”, I said. “Just enjoy it.” She looked at me with a mix of embarassment and a smile. “Please, don’t tell anybody, okay?” I nodded. She cleared her throat. “Alright then. Shit. Shit. Shit.” Her hands grabbed her skirt, shook it loosely over her legs, and I noticed that she casually reached through her skirt to the waistband of her panties to pull them up firmly. Looking around to the people, she pulled the skirt away from the front of her panties, let it carefully fall down again, reached behind her to check that her skirt was not hanging between her legs, and then spread her legs a little more. “Okay. There we go, for god’s sake.”

She looked to her crotch and breathed deeply. Then she slowly released her muscles. I saw her pull her belly a bit inward and bite her lip when her pee flowed into her panties. She let her breath escape through her teeth and obviously felt foolish. But the relief was so big that it took over within seconds. Together with a quite satisfied expression on her face, the pee started to drip down between her legs. It became a stream, and then an even bigger stream. When she was in full swing, she giggled and looked foolishly at me. “Now, how do I look like? Wrong! Eighteen years older!” Still peeing, she casually looked around and saw nobody nearer than fifty meters. Casually she put a hand in her skirt’s left pocket. “Well, after all, this isn’t so bad. It is only my panties. And it is a warm day, anyway.” She looked to the sky. “Besides, it is not an unpleasant feeling.” Rapidly correcting herself, se added: “That is, now my panties are wet, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” I rose to my two feet again and told her I thought it indeed didn’t matter at all. I also told her that I really liked seeing her standing with her legs a bit apart, wearing a skirt, and thoroughly wetting her panties. She looked away and blushed. “Really? Well, at least that will keep you from making fun out of me.”

Then the stream died away and she quickly bend her knees, crossed her thighs and in this half-squatting position she squeezed her panties as well as she could. A last gush of pee trickled onto the ground. She straightened her back again, turned around, picked up her slippers and continued her walk on the path with me. On the way back, we didn’t talk anymore about what happened, and she only three times grabbed her skirt to make sure it didn’t touch her panties.

Within ten minutes we reached her home. While I sat down and picked up a hifi magazine, she went upstairs and I expected to hear her rumbling about in the bathroom. To my amazement I heard her coming back down within half a minute. When I looked up from the magazine, she stood right in front of me, legs slightly apart, wearing a very short white sports skirt instead of her long one. She said nothing, just looked at me. I stared to her in disbelief. We were friends, but had no relation. I had seen her in short skirts before, but never so clearly challenging. “Still wearing the same panties?”, I asked, knowing that she just had not had the time to change them and dry herself. In answer she came closer and just said: “Look for yourself.” Putting down my magazine, I reached for the hem of her skirt and slowly I lifted it with both hands. It reveiled light-blue plain panties, just below her waist, sporting a dark stain centered in her crotch and spreading around for about fifteen centimeters, While she still stood there, I got out of the chair and lifted up her skirt from behind. Same story. I just said “Wow!”.

Then she turned around and told me to follow while she entered the garden. Arrived there, she squatted down and clearly made preparations to pee her panties again. Now I couldn’t hold myself any longer. “Please, stop it for a moment. Can I join you?” Playing she was shocked, she looked up to me. “Just join me? Right as you stand there? C’me on, you won’t get away with a soaked pair of jeans.” But she rose to her feet and directed me into the house again. “Wait here. I’ll get you what you need.” Hurrying up the stairs, she clearly showed her wet panties under her skirt. Almost as if I knew what was coming, I started to take off my shoes, socks, and jeans. Just as I put them on a chair, now only being dressed in a shirt and my underwear, reveiling an undeniable bulge in my pants, she dashed down again and gigglingly handed me one of her tiny skirts. It was a very simple model, just a band of fabric of about thirty centimeters with an elastic waistband. I slipped it on. The skirt covered my underwear enough to be useful, and since it was all but tight, my bulge dissapeared completely. My girlfriend circled me and giggled again. “It does not fit you. You have no hips, and those furry legs really seem silly. Still, it will do.” She entered the garden again and I followed her like in a dream.

Arrived where she wanted to be, she turned and took my hands in hers. Standing about a meter from eachother, we spread our legs, wider this time, and waited. I felt a great urge to pee, but wanted to see her reaction. After ten seconds, she said: “Well, now you know how it feels, standing in the open and knowing that someone watches you while you are going to pee your panties.” I smiled. “Are you ready? I am.” She nodded. “Yes, I am.” She winked with her left eye. “Now?” As an answer I looked down towards my skirt, held my breath, and carefully let go some pee. I felt my underwear eagerly absorb it as it touched the fabric. I peed some more. Then I looked my friend straight into her eyes and told her I’d wet myself. Quickly she lifted my skirt with her right hand and checked. When she saw the stained front of my pants, she smiled and let the skirt fall down again. Then she put both her arms in her sides and threw her long hair over her shoulder with a rapid head movement. She looked down to her own skirt and I heard a soft, hissing sound. While she carefully peed her panties again, I lifted her skirt for the second time and watched the pee as it surged through the fabric, making the blue panties seem like interwoven with silver threads in the bright sunlight. The stream soon soaked the panties again, and finding no way out, gradually trickled down onto the ground.

With a groan, I let myself go, and soon my whole crotch felt warm and moist, while a steady stream flowed from under my skirt between my legs onto the grass. Now my girlfriend suddenly reached under my arms forward to my skirt, lifted it above my waist, and thereby pushing my arms higher, so that I lifted her skirt altogether as well. For one second, she gazed at my underwear, showing a completely stained front and a big bulge with pee flowing around it. Then, she came closer, and pushed her crotch against mine. Her hands let go of my skirt and grabbed my ass, pulling my wet underwear tightly against her wet panties. I still peed, and she must have felt that. She peed as well, and I sure as hell felt that. While still peeing, she started to move rhythmically with her hips, and I could nothing but follow her lambada. We stood there for thirty seconds, peeing our panties and firmly pushing our crotches together. We didn’t kiss. Then I felt another function taking over in my abdomen. I started to push back harder, and she immediately reacted. It took us five more seconds to reach the point of no return. She closed her eyes and groaned. I slipped my hands under her skirt and firmly squeezed her wet buttocks. Then I came. My friend let out a high-pitched squeek and shuddered over all her body. She
took fifteen seconds to complete the orgasm.

We held each other for quite a time. Then, we stepped back a little, so that our skirts fell down properly. We both did not feel at all like taking them off or changing our underwear. Instead, she entered the house to make some tea and I sat down on a garden chair, careful to pull up my skirt first. Amazingly, the front of my skirt still was still completely unstained. We sat there, drinking tea and casually letting something find its way out, for the rest of the day, until sunset forced us inside to prevent our bladders from catching cold. Because, as she said, it was nice to wet yourself when you could get away with it so easily, but sadly that was not always the case. I could nothing but agree.