Demi clutched her purse to her side as she ran as fast as she could in heels for the bus, watching the last person climb on. The arctic fox got there just as the doors closed, but mercifully, the driver opened them for her and she got inside, panting as she fumbled in her purse for her transit pass. "Thank you," she said between panting breaths, swiping her pass over the reader before heading for a seat.

The bus lurched forward, forcing Demi to grab onto a railing until she could flop into a seat. It had been a long day at the office, and she had gotten held up by her boss just as she was leaving, and had only just barely made it to the bus stop in time. But at least she had made it, and wouldn't have to wait; it was cold and windy outside, and was almost certainly going to rain. Taking a hand mirror from her purse, she straightened the bun her black hair was tied into and smoothed out the gray jacket she wore over her white blouse, brushing some dust off her matching gray skirt that the wind had blown onto it.

With that taken care of, she stashed the mirror and looked out the window, crossing her legs to try and distract herself from the fact that, in her haste to get out of the office in time to catch the bus, she had foregone a trip to the bathroom before she left – a decision she now heavily regretted. She would be able to make it home in time, despite her bladder's protests otherwise, but it would be an uncomfortable bus ride. Her stop was almost at the end of the line, and every time the bus stopped instead of continuing on, she shifted and squirmed in her seat, keeping her legs crossed. Halfway home, someone took the seat next to her, and she fought to make her struggle less obvious, squeezing her legs tightly together each time she felt a pang of desperation.

But at last, she heard the automated system call for her stop, and she rang the bell, scooting out past the person in the seat next to her. As soon as the back doors of the bus opened she dashed out and began rushing home, once again silently cursing the heeled shoes that made it so hard for her to walk. The sky was getting darker and gloomier, but she got back home to the duplex she was renting just as dark spots began appearing on the sidewalk and she felt a single drop of rain land on her. Almost dropping her keys, she unlocked the door and rushed inside, all but slamming the door shut behind her.

"Everything okay?" someone called out, and Demi spun around. In the living room on the sofa was a coyote woman in a t-shirt and jeans; not her roommate, but one of his friends.

"Oh, uh," Demi began, surprised by the visitor. She did her best to act nonchalant and not press her legs together too obviously in front of an acquaintance. "I just wanted to get home before it rained."

A well-timed patter of rain against the window lent credence to her story, and the coyote – Jane? Jade? Janice? Jasmine? Jasper? Demi couldn't remember – gave a chuckle. "Seems like you barely made it," she mused.

'You have no idea,' Demi thought to herself, shuffling a little in-place. "Where's Ethan?" she asked, referring to her roommate. She'd seen his car in the driveway, but it was odd for him not to be with his friend.

"In the shower," the coyote answered, and Demi's heart sank. The duplex wasn't particularly large, and only had the one bathroom. "He got oil spilled all over himself at work today. We're heading out once he's cleaned up."

"Ah, I see," Demi murmured. She felt another sharp urge from her bladder and covered it up by turning away and setting her purse down on a side table as she squeezed her legs together. "I-I need to get changed, hope you two have a good time!" she said as politely as she could manage to extricate herself from any further conversation.

"Thanks!" the coyote called out, going back to watching TV, and allowing Demi to make her exit.

Hoping that she might be able to reach the bathroom before Ethan actually started his shower, her hopes were immediately dashed as she approached the bathroom door and heard the water already running. She bit her lip and considered her options: she could knock and ask him, but the thought of trying to use the toilet with only a shower curtain between them was humiliating all by itself. If not for what's-her-name in the living room, she could have tried going to the kitchen and using the sink...

She let out a quiet whine as she felt her bladder protest far more strongly, and she slipped a hand under her skirt, pressing it against her silk panties and holding herself. Her tail drooped as she felt hopelessness starting to overcome her. What could she do? Would she have to try and wait? Ethan didn't normally take long in the showers, but if he was cleaning up after a spill at work, it would take longer. And it was pouring rain now – she couldn't simply go outside and try to find somewhere concealed in the backyard.

Demi trembled outside of the bathroom door. The sound of the running shower water was not helping her predicament, and she winced and squeezed at her loins as her bladder made its needs clear to her once again. She, a grown woman, was on the verge of having an accident, and she gritted her teeth. No, she had to find somewhere – anywhere – else that she could go. The garage? No, the coyote would notice her going in there, and it was dark and she was sure there were spiders. But... what about the basement?

She didn't even consider any other options. She slipped back towards the front of the house, peeking around the corner, but Ethan's friend was still watching TV, and was facing away. Without removing her hand from between her legs, Demi slipped over to the stairs and hurried down them as fast as she could go, her free hand on the railing to steady herself. If nothing else, at least she would be out of sight if she ended up having an accident...

She paused to look around, then gasped and squirmed in place. Standing still was not a good idea; awkwardly walking in a circle with her hand pressed firmly between her loins, she looked around the basement to try and find something – anything – that might help her...

Her eyes were drawn to the laundry machines. The washer! It had a drain inside it, right? It wasn't ideal, but it would be better than the alternative of making a mess of herself. She hurried over as much as she could with her hand between her legs, reaching out and lifting up the lid-

-only to see Ethan's work clothes inside: shirts, overalls, and everything else her mechanic roommate wore to work. She let out a groan and slumped against the front of the washer; she couldn't use it to get her relief now. Her legs trembled. Was she really going to have an accident? She could wait until they left to go clean up, but what if Ethan came down to move his clothes over?

She raised her head a bit, ears perking up. What if she moved them? Reaching into the washer, she stuck her arm in, but winced as the edge of the machine ended up getting pressed against her belly, only adding to the pressure of her bladder. She pulled back and whined, a little too late; even though she avoided a full-on leak with a determined squeeze of her hand and thighs, she still felt a bit of dampness against her fingers.

No, she didn't have time. Any moment now, she would lose it and end up pissing all over herself. Ethan would find out when he came down to move his clothes over, or what's-her-name would find out if Demi tried to go back upstairs, or...

Her legs trembled and she gritted her teeth, fingers clutching at the rim of the washing machine. With the lid up it looked so much like a toilet. If only Ethan's clothes weren't in there...!

Demi shook her head. No, she couldn't! But what other choice did she have? She didn't want to make a mess of his clothes, but it was his or hers at this point. And they were already wet...

Impulse took over as she made up her mind, turning away from the washing machine and climbing up onto it, squatting over the opening with her legs spread wide, her free hand resting on the back of the machine to steady herself. She tugged her panties out of the way and not a moment too soon: without her hand pressed against her slit or her legs squeezed together, nothing could stop her bladder from forcibly emptying itself.

Her pee gushed out powerfully, starting as a thin vertical sheet that then became a stream with a spray of droplets raining down from it on all sides, pouring into the washing machine. It pattered loudly against the wet overalls, partly masking the moan of relief she let out for a brief moment – and then closed her mouth shut tightly. Looking down as her almost-clear urine gushed into the washing machine and all over her roommate's clothes, forming puddles on the wet denim, the relief she felt was immediately drowned out by the regret of what she was doing.

But when she tried to clench her muscles, it accomplished almost nothing, barely even weakening her stream for a moment. She began to panic; she wanted to stop now that she'd relieved some of the pressure, and release the rest in the toilet where it belonged, but her body wouldn't listen. And she couldn't move from her squatting position without making an even bigger mess – she'd end up spraying the washing machine, and possibly herself as well. What could she do? She tried to clench again to no avail: now that her bladder had finally gotten its relief, it wasn't going to let her deny it any longer.

She let out another whine, her tail hanging down behind her rump over the edge of the washing machine. "Sorry, Ethan..." she mumbled quietly and apologetically, glancing away from the mess she was making in a vain attempt to assuage her conscience a bit, her free hand curling into a fist that she held close to her chest. Her ears swiveled as she tried to listen out for any other sounds, but she could barely hear anything else over the splashing of her piss on wet fabric. If anything, the hollow chamber of the machine was making it echo louder. She just hoped the coyote upstairs couldn't hear it.

Her legs trembled a bit from squatting for so long. How much had she been holding in? She glanced back down into the washing machine, seeing her pale pee spraying off from the point of impact on the overalls, adding more droplets to the edges of the inner walls. She swore silently to herself that this would be the last time she skipped a bathroom break at work. At least it had been Ethan's work clothes; they got dirty regularly. But the knowledge was little consolation to her...

At long last, she felt herself emptying out, her stream losing strength and mercifully growing quieter. Demi's ears pointed back towards the stairs, trying to listen out behind her, but she heard nothing. As her flow waned to a series of drops, she bit her lip; should she try to get all of it out? It wasn't as if it would make the situation any worse, but she felt bad about it. On the other hand, she might end up leaking it later if she didn't fully empty now, and then she would have soaked Ethan's clothes for nothing. So, with another muttered apology, nervously fiddling with the front of her blouse, Demi clenched and forced out the last couple of spurts of pee into the washing machine and its contents.

She was still wet between the legs though on account of her spray, even in her squatting position, not to mention the little leak from before. She waited a few seconds, hoping an air dry would be sufficient, but it quickly became clear that that would not be enough.

With her legs cramping, she climbed down from the washing machine, tugging her wet panties down and off of her legs and feet entirely. Once Ethan left she could do her own laundry, so she quickly stuffed her wet panties underneath the big detergent container on the nearby shelf – she could recover them later, and get a fresh pair when she returned to her room. But her loins were still damp, and she had to stand with her legs apart. What could she do about that?

Looking over the shelf, she picked up a dryer sheet from the box, then quickly shook her head and put it back. It was rough to the touch, and whatever it was coated with would probably end up irritating her nether regions. But he was always forgetting a stray sock in his laundry, maybe there was something in the dryer...?

Opening the front door of the dryer, she saw there was another whole load of laundry in there. Ethan must have started it before work and then moved it over when he got home. She bit her lip, but she didn't have any other options: she'd left her purse upstairs, and she couldn't go up in the state she was in. She reached in, felt guilty and withdrew her hand, felt a chill between her legs and reached in again, hesitated, and then finally grabbed the first piece of clothing her hand touched and pulled it out. It was a white t-shirt, still warm, and she brought it under her skirt, dabbing it against her slit and inner thighs to dry them off. "Sorry... I'll think of some way to make up for this, okay...?" she murmured apologetically.

She was dry now, but to her dismay, as she looked at the shirt she noticed it had several visible wet spots and streaks on it. She bit her lip again, but there was no going back, short of running the dryer again, and that would give her away. It would dry quickly though, right? He wouldn't notice once it did. With a regretful sigh, she tossed the shirt back into the dryer and closed the door again.

But at least she hadn't wet herself. Standing up, she leaned over the washing machine, fearing the worst. His work clothes were all visibly wet, but would he be able to tell it wasn't just water? The strength of her stream had caused a little foam to form on some parts of the denim, but it was already disappearing. There wasn't much she could do either way, so she simply closed the lid of the washing machine and took a quick glance around to make sure there was nothing out of place before heading back towards the stairs, smoothing out her skirt and adjusting her jacket.

Demi crept upstairs, but went unnoticed, as the coyote whose name continued to elude her was still watching TV. The bathroom door was still closed, and Demi could hear shuffling inside instead of the water running, so Ethan must have been nearly done. She felt guilty, and only the thought of how crushingly embarrassing it would have been to wet herself helped to ease her conscience. She headed back to her room to quickly get changed into some more casual clothes, as well as to get a fresh pair of panties.

Just as she finished and came back out, Ethan emerged from the bathroom. A tall wolf, he had a simple button-up shirt and some jeans on now. He started to head for his room and spotted Demi, giving her friendly smile. "Hey, Demi," he greeted her cordially.

"H-Hi, Ethan!" she replied, glancing away from him. The knowledge of what she had done continued to plague her, and she couldn't look him in the eyes, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I'm going to be heading out with Jackie-" Jackie! That was it, that was her name! "-tonight, but I picked up some ice cream on the way home from work. I know we were out of the strawberry one you like so much."

Demi let out a little "Oh!" of surprise, but her guilt only multiplied; he'd gotten her her favorite flavor of ice cream, and how had she repaid him? "Thank you," she murmured, still looking away. "I'll get dinner for us on Friday to repay you."

"Don't worry about it, it's my treat," he said dismissively.

"No, no, I insist," Demi replied firmly.

"Well, all right, but don't feel like you have to," Ethan told her. "Anyway, I'd love to stay and chat, but we've got some other friends waiting for us."

Demi was relieved to get out of the conversation. "Of course, don't let me hold you up," she said, pressing her back against the wall of the corridor to let him get past.

"Thanks, talk to you later," he said and made his way past her to his room. She watched him go and let out a quiet sigh, holding her fist against her chest again, glancing downward. He was too nice to her. But really, what other choice had she had? Making a puddle on the floor was out of the question. She would never do something like that normally – and would never do it again.