0 comments/ 63009 views/ 9 favorites Wetting Ch. 01 By: Rosebramble We were in bed, this time in my room, reading, not yet feeling the need for breakfast. Having just had sex, the covers were pulled up around our naked, tangent bodies. Life was snug and warm under the covers. I ran out of story before long and went to the bookcase to pick out something else. As I emerged from the covers, the cold air hit me and I put on the white pinafore nightgown that lay on the the nightstand. I then walked to the left end of the bookcases that lined one wall of my room, ignoring a warning sensation of increasing discomfort and fullness in my lower abdomen. I took some time selecting a book, and I continued to ignore the messages my bladder was sending, even though they grew stronger. I paid no heed until after you got out of bed and sneaked up on me to hug me from behind. I think what happened was that the shock of your touch startled certain muscles of mine into relaxing. You told me the end result was pleasantly warm liquid drops hitting your foot in a quick staccato. I could feel you doing something involving my nightgown between my legs, but I just smiled and let you, politely spreading my feet for you. I felt you turn me to face you. You were at my waist level, and holding some part of my dress behind my back. "Finish up," you invited me, and you followed my glance at the virgin carpeting beneath my feet. Fluidly, the decision to surprise you, and me, by accepting your invite, left my brain and ran down into the muscles that usually keep me from wetting, whispering a message to them to relax, to let go. As badly as I needed to, that was all it took. Urine flowed down into the fabric pressing against my pussy, where you were holding it fed through my legs and held behind me. I felt it spread through the fabric a little bit, pooling around my lips and thoroughly soaking the thin, white cotton before it penetrated and streamed into the carpeting. As I continued to relax into the euphoria of a desperately needed release, I felt the warmth travel down one leg, the widening trail of wetness. The carpet underfoot felt damp. I was almost finished and feeling so good. I looked down at your eyes, which were glued to my crotch. It occurred to me that the fabric there must be transparent from being soaked. You caressed me with one hand and with the other released my gown, sending wetness down my other leg and into the carpet. For several moments, you continued to stroke the sodden gown onto my equally sodden pussy. I squirmed under your touch. You were still touching me, but I helped you to your feet. Your hand felt good, but I knew lying against you, arms and legs wrapped around you, you in me, would feel better. We got back into bed and you lay on me. I hugged you with my legs so that you could feel that they were still wet to the knees. My arms went around your shoulders, squeezing tightly so that you'd know I loved you. And our hips moved, letting you slide slickly past me – I was still wet there, too – a few times before you went in a bit. You let me move my hands to your hips so that I could control your entry into me, so that it wouldn't hurt. I lifted my legs so that my knees were by my nipples. With each motion of yours, we put you deeper into me, until you were flat against me. And at some point you had just the right angle, or I had just the right realization of how close we were, because I got very slippery indeed, inside. You noticed, and kissed me, and told me how sexy you thought I was. We moved against each other, and I was pretty far gone in loving you and what I was doing with you, so I only have snapshots of it in my brain: your penis, rigid, sliding almost all the way out of me and then smoothly back in again; my awareness of what each motion might feel like to you, aided by the look on your face, the way the rest of you was moving; your breathing quickening and the little sounds you made just before you came; the way you froze and then shuddered and the pulsing within me just after you told me, "I'm going to come inside you, my lover." I always love the way your body spasms just after – or is it part of? – orgasm. I love your face. I love you, sweetheart. You slipped out of me, you kissed me, and you turned away from me. I pressed my front against your back and held you. I thought of you sleeping in my arms on a certain bus trip, cried a little without knowing why, and fell into sleep with you. Wetting Ch. 02 Tonight before class I forgot to grab a caffeine- and sugar-free drink from my car so I had to buy a coke from the machines. I was typing to a friend during class, when you surprised me by talking to me through Yahoo!, which I didn't know I could use from on campus. We had a sweet exchange, working out problems and phrasing caresses at each other. I paid attention and participated in class, too, and all was well. Then class ended, I packed up my things, and I got up to leave when I realized something. The caffeine in the Coke had done its usual thing and I had a warmly full bladder. It distracted me from worrying about kidnappers and rapists as I walked to the parking lot I'd put my car in. I didn't plan anything specific, just had certain thoughts percolating in my brain as my feet crushed the frozen ground. When I reached my car, my thoughts came to a head. I wished you could be there, but wasn't going to let your absense stop me from doing it – which I hope you don't mind. I opened my car door and put my things into the passenger seat. I bent into the car over them as if making sure that everything was there and spread my legs perhaps as far apart as my shoulders were wide. I had to go pretty badly by then. I released something inside me and a few moments later gripped it tight again. It was quite cold out and the stream felt hot as it hit my thigh. I think I jerked away from it, and next felt it at my other knee. I could feel it running down both legs, still hot but no longer shocking. More pleasant. I looked down, but because I was bent forward the front of my skirt was touching the pavement, so I couldn't see until I straightened and backed up a bit. On the parking lot below me were four wet little amoebas, each about the size of the ring I can make with thumb and forefinger. Two were separate, with their frilly little edges, and the other two looked like they were finishing fissioning off from each other: tangent, but not the same body. I moved to get into the driver's seat and felt my wet self make contact with the car seat through my thin skirt. I wondered if I got it wet. My right leg was wet from the thigh to just above my knee. My left was wet from the knee down. But it was my pussy that I thought would be most likely to make the car seat damp. I thought about telling you all the way home, wondering how best to please you with a description of what had happened. I parked my car three spaces from the stairs and thought about when I would wet this parking lot, when I would wet my jeans walking up the stairs. I went inside, my thoughts racing, thinking about the wetting I could do for you, and maybe this part will seem dumb, but I went to my room and rooted through my closet for the perfect, slightly tight pair of jeans. I slipped off my skirt and noticed a cold spot on my leg from where the hem had gotten slightly wet. I hadn't realized that I'd gotten the skirt. I put on the jeans and my clit pulsed happily at what I was going to do in them. I buttoned the jeans and then took my bra off, just because I was feeling sexy, and wasn't going very far. I could feel the weight of my breasts, now that they weren't being supported, and it felt good. I really had to pee by now, since what I'd done in the school parking lot had hardly taken the edge off, and it was some fifteen minutes later now. I walked out the door into the cold and almost skipped down my wooden steps. I counted; there were thirteen of them. Then I turned around and thought about letting go for a moment. When I could feel the burn near my vaginal lips I knew I was ready. I started up the stairs, willing the liquid out of my pussy and into the denim that cupped them. Another step and I felt it start, running warmly into the crotch of my jeans. As I kept slowly climbing, I kept peeing, and I felt the warm fluid start running down my legs and (unfortunately) into my shoes. At that point I hurried up and went for my door, telling my body to hold what was left. I walked down my hallway to the big mirror in my office before I even dealt with my soggy shoes, and turned around to see my backside. It was lovely, a triangle extending from halfway down my ass almost to the bottoms of the legs, clear in darkened denim against the dry parts of my pants. I had a lot to tell you about tonight. I looked forward to it. Wetting Ch. 03 I had a new idea for your arousal: I would have my very own Wet T-Shirt Contest, in which I would be all three contestants. I dug through my older clothes, looking for three thin, tight, plain white T-shirts. I only found one white shirt, but I found two others that would do. One had the name of a university on the front, and the other the name of an accounting software firm, but I'd just wear them backwards. Then I got out underwear. It goes without saying that, being your girlfriend, I have a significant number of white cotton panties. For this, I wanted three pairs of plain white to show up best while being readily distinguished from the other "contestants". I thought I was going to have to tie different colors of ribbon on my left thigh instead and just wear identical panties when I found them. There were three pairs of white underwear in the back of the drawer: one with little green bows at the top, one with larger red bows, and one with a cluster of blue flowers. They'd be perfect. The next thing to prepare was the camera. With you living in another state and us mostly getting together online, it made sense for me to have a webcam and tripod so I could record our games for you, allowing me to send them electronically. I set it up in the kitchen where it could capture the far white wall and a few squares of linoleum tile. I put my laptop where I'd be able to see it while lying on the floor against the wall. The final item to make ready was myself. I started pouring water into me. I wanted to get this done tonight, so I'd need to have to pee, and badly, three different times. Every time I thought about it, I would gulp many swallows of water, and, as excited as I was about this idea, I thought about it often. I did this until I felt like my insides were swimming and it didn't feel good to drink more. Then I felt a certain stimulating pressure, and I put on the university shirt, backwards, over the panties with the green bows. All dressed, I walked quickly to the kitchen. I had to pee! As Contestant One, I sat as close as I could to the wall, lay back, and squirmed from cheek to cheek to get my bottom flush against it. I was ready, and I hit record on the laptop. On my first try I braced my feet against the wall and pushed, but I pushed myself back towards the camera. My second try got me upended properly, upside-down and with my weight on my neck and shoulders, so I took a moment and thought about relaxing and letting go. On the laptop I could see the first dark, wet spot in the center of the panties, shining and elongating into a bulging line. That got fatter for moments, and then the wet triangle above, in my crotch, split into an inverted V around it. This became a fat M, which quickly expanded over the whole surface of the panties and sent lines of wet down to the sides of the shirt. The lines in the shirt thickened and multiplied, but they never left the sides, never put my tits on liquid display, although the sopping panties showed my wet pubic hair clearly. I hit stop and rose. I needed a towel to clean my pretty mess. I walked, dripping, toward the hall closet. In a moment, I had more than drips on my legs, I had thin rivulets. It seemed there was urine left in me, that I hadn't quite sent it all streaming down my torso. I involuntarily leaked my way to the closet and back to the kitchen, my feet leaving wet spots on the carpet. On reaching the kitchen, I released the rest of it. What's a little more to mop up? In bed, I saved the video I'd just captured and then ran it on a loop while I masturbated. I thought of you and how you'd react to my Contest. I thought of a way to get more wetness to my breasts, and thought of how you'd like that. I smiled and rubbed my pussy, slick with urine and slippery with my own slimy lubricant. And I came, half sitting, making loud, surprised-sounding Oh's of delight, still thinking of Contestants Two and Three to come and how lucky they were to benefit from Contestant One's learning curve. There would be soaking T-shirts to match sopping panties yet, with excited nipples so visible through the clear, clinging cotton. I drank and waited, impatient. Soon, I could feel a compelling hum near my G-spot telling me I'd have to pee soon. That meant it was time to get my Wet T-Shirt Contest back on track. Since Contestant One had just turned upside-down and wet herself down toward her T-shirt, it was time to be Contestant Two and try something different. I dressed myself in the panties with the red bows and the plain white T-shirt and hurried to the kitchen to set up the laptop and the camera, which I aimed high enough to capture a standing contestant. I wasn't going to be upside-down this time. I spread my legs wide and hit the record button on the laptop. In a moment, I was peeing. I put a cupped hand into the stream to fill it and dumped the pool of moisture onto my right breast. I cupped it again, more tightly, and dumped more hot fluid onto the other. It felt so warm, so nice. I kept it up, trying not to pee too much when there wasn't a hand to catch it in, and happily soaked the T-shirt and my tits. I was having such fun that I wasn't even looking at what the camera was seeing, shown on the laptop. I just went until I was empty, then walked forward to show each soggy-shirted tit to the camera's lens and reached back to hit stop on the laptop. As I went to get another towel, I noticed that I wasn't leaking this time. Having been in the easiest position for me to pee from, I had completely emptied myself, so there wasn't anything left to leak. I thought about this when I got the first slight shock of having a foot land on wet and cold carpet. It happened several times as I followed the trail of wetness I'd left last time. (I knew you'd like it that I'd wet the carpet.) I returned, following my damp path to the kitchen and mopped up the floor with the towel, removed my wet clothes and wrapped them in it . Then I folded the tripod and laptop and brought everything back to my room to see how I'd looked, playing in my pee, wetting my panties and T-shirt. This video looked good. Contestant Two's urine stream came out clearly, and watching her get her shirt wet, handful by handful, was absolutely enticing. By the end, her panties showed her sodden pussy, and her shirt was beautiful. Everything was exposed from the upper slopes of her breasts to an inch or two beneath the nipples. The saturated cotton stuck to her skin, showing flesh color freckled with tiny white bubbles where it didn't stick perfectly. Her nipples looked rosy and happy, and every bump that formed their peaks was visible. The rest of the shirt showed evidence of her splashing. I watched the video and drank water until it was time to be Contestant Three. For this contestant, I thought I could go upside-down and solve Contestant One's difficulty with getting her pee into the T-shirt by tucking the shirt slightly into the waistband of the panties. I put on the T-shirt with the accounting software logo and the panties with the blue flowers. I gathered the laptop and camera and returned to the kitchen. I set things up for the last time and lay down against the wall next to my laptop. Once I hit record and pushed myself back into the upside-down position, I started to pee. I could feel it running down the front of my pussy at first, but then, too soon, I felt it running mostly down my bottom and back. I pushed with my feet and thrust my pussy forward to steepen the slope, but it didn't work and I still wasn't feeling warmth running toward my abdomen. I stopped peeing and restarted in hopes that that would help and I tried squeezing the inside of my pussy to redirect the flow, but nothing worked. I ran out of pee trying to wet my front. I hit stop and went for a towel, feeling a little down. I cleaned everything and packed up to return to my room, still more depressed. I'd had such high hopes for having gravity help me wet my tits. I'd thought I could defeat Contestant Two and pull out a win. Then I got back to my room and put my laptop and my camera back the way I usually keep them. It was time to watch the three videos and declare an official winner. First I watched Contestant One with the pretty patterns of pee in her increasingly wet panties and her glistening midriff with little trickles of liquid beading up. Next I watched Contestant Two, who was simply stunning. Her shiny nipples, delicately ringed in air, and the shapes of her breasts pushing through the wet fabric fascinated me. Last was the video of Contestant Three, who looked good inverted with her wet panties being repeatedly thrust at the camera. But of course the decision had to be for Contestant Two's ingenuity in conveying wetness to her tits. I sent off the videos to you and lay back for a minute, idly playing with myself. The phone rang then, and when I answered I heard your voice. You had a most interesting project you wanted me to undertake for you. Of course I was willing, as I told you when you described what you wanted. I would get started on it right away. Wetting Ch. 04 I thought about it while I was peeing quite properly into the toilet. As the rush of fluid left me to be replaced by that good feeling you get when you go, I though that I should go next time, next few times even, in the bed. I finished wiping and flushed, then went back into the bedroom, where I got out the reusable pad you got me and put it on the bed. I moved a few things around so that phones and laptops wouldn't get wet, then climbed into bed and started typing this for you, since you like it when things are described. So I'd start by telling you the answer to what is always your first question: "What are you wearing?" I was wearing a transparent, white cotton nightgown through which you could clearly see the plaid of my red flannel underwear and over which hung the gold beads you gave me. I relaxed and told my body that when it needed to go again, it should, right here in the clothes, in bed. Then I got into (sigh, another) altercation online and decided to start on purpose. I swallowed and pushed enough to feel the urine in my pussy, than relaxed so it came back into me. I pushed again, noticing my right foot shaking, and let some out into the panties. The warm spot near my urethra expanded circularly, past my vaginal opening and the insides of my outer lips. It cooled as I paused to type. The next push brought more out and this time spilled from the underwear into the nightgown, into the bed. Then a slow push that made me feel turned on and full of pee before it slowly seeped into my clothing. Enough of the slow leakage; I now wanted to go and go, so I did, thinking of you pushing into me, thinking with surprise of the stream that came over my thigh instead of behind my legs. I thought of the mess it would make if it ran off the pad and didn't care. I kept going and thinking of sex again and how wet I was, tho' not in the conventional sense. I was running out of urine. I pushed the last available drips out and just settled into my puddle, surrounding me before and behind, warm but cooling. I typed these words to you and thought about how grand my gown would look when I stood and also how long I would lie here, surrounded by self-made water. I wondered after a while if I really went hard later, would I be able to get my breast wet. It seemed to me a sexy thing to do, something that would feel really good, especially in light of the varying temperature. Then I started feeling for the ability to spill some more out, and I could so I did. This time almost all of the warmth went behind me, very little in front. I'd have to be more patient, wait until there was more there to pee. But I liked this being able to go whenever I liked, no walking needed. I'd probably be a natural for diapers. I started wanting to go. I thought I would. And it came... I made little humming noises as it was about to come out, then on a lower note as it came out. It just flowed and flowed, front and back, not to my breast, but still, damn it felt good, coming out of my underwear and over my skin. I thought my puddle might have gotten a little deeper. Ah, there was a little more, mmmmm. I wanted you, my honey, to call me and talk to me, hear about this and want me. But I kept peeing instead, into the same clothes and the same puddle, here and there over time. Once I felt it run right up my butt crack, once more over the front of my left leg. Now my breasts are cold, my underwear's cold against what lies beneath, and I start to wonder where you are. You should have left work an hour....oooh, more fluid warmth crosses over tender bits of me, surprising me, distracting me. It's just a little, but it's nice. And there's more, front and back, as before. Very nice. Oh, there was your call. After you called, I got up, caught off guard by the mess I had made. I looked at myself in the mirror through the drenched cotton plastered to my left side. Then I saw that I'd soaked my pillow and part of the bed. I went happily downstairs to do laundry. Wetting Ch. 05 Yellow Brick Road "Come on!" Rosie urged urgently. "Follow me. And watch my back!" I watched her back eagerly, curious what she would do in this somewhat populated area. We were in an old-timey district with narrow streets lined closely with buildings on either side, the streets themselves made of bricks or cobblestones, but I paid little mind to our surroundings as I was indeed watching Rosie's back, or, more properly, her backside. She was dressed in bright green overalls with her mid-length hair bobbing over the straps, loose and shiny golden in the sunlight, darker in the shade which frequently obscured us both but didn't deter me from carefully eying Rosie's green bottom, looking for any darkening there, and down her verdant pantlegs for a change in color bleeding through. I was anticipating most hopefully signs that there was more in those trousers than just blithe Rosie – sensible, since she'd promised me more that morning when the two of us had set out from our house to go picnicking – and I was determined to watch her back carefully, to pick out the very beginnings of her delivery and not miss a second of the fulfillment of her promise. I watched my Rosie so carefully that I almost lost my footing over uneven bricks in the road. It occured to me that nothing would happen until we reached the privacy of the picnic site, but with Rosie you never knew. Sometimes she would let loose in shopping malls, in parking lots, and during band practice in the basement, signalling me by instant message. She had gone while walking up the stairs outside the house and sitting on a towel in her car, and had passed me her underwear as proof that the sweet girl had done it during a flight we were both on. I felt something tighten under my belt as I reflected on where and how that woman could go, sometimes even catching -me- off-guard. Rosie smiled guilelessly over one shoulder at me and then skipped a little as she ran ahead and took a quick right. I didn't speed up, letting her have her fun, but when I rounded the corner I was still in time to catch her standing stock still, gazing up at the windows of the buildings above her and shamelessly wetting her pants, darkening the green of her overalls and sending it gleaming down both legs of her wide-spread stance. My eyes ate up the sight of the wetness creeping down towards the street, shiny and sexy, growing and widening and finally streaming out the now-greener cuffs and onto the bricks on which she stood. That lovely liquid ran quickly, filling the gaps between the bricks and with dirt floating on top. The streams ran to meet each other in a pool in the depression over which my dearest Rosie had chosen to stand. Orchestrated? You couldn't be sure. I just stared, slowly moving to see her closer. She, meanwhile, must have decided that it was enough, because she stretched her arms slowly over her head, and as she lowered them she started walking again, pants dripping a bit, away from that puddle of hers. I tore myself away as well, without too much difficulty, since my mission was more to follow those wet pants, and the girl, -my- girl, in them. As we both walked, the shine went out of them and the dark triangle seemed even darker when it did. And I swear to you, all the way to the picnic site, Rosie -wiggled- as she walked, bounced and wriggled in a self-satisfied way, right up to the point where we spread out our sky-blue tarp and sat down for more than just sandwiches. And they and she were delicious. * Wet Blanket "I'm willing. Are you?" she asked. "You've been saying you wanted to wrap me up in that pink blanket since forever. Don't you want to see the stain spread through it?" I did. I did want to do just that, to fold the blanket around her, like a partial cocoon, like a... No, not that, I wasn't into that. But for her to let out that hot fluid into that blanket, and to see it come out the bottom. Something about it was intriguing, delicious, somehow embarrassing yet still hot. She'd been getting clothes wet for me for months, and ever since I mentioned wanting to put her in a blanket and have her pee for me, she hadn't been able to let the idea go, wanting to know if it was like a diaper, wanting to know when I wanted to do it, after I'd assured her it was -not- like a diaper. Because it wasn't like a diaper, was it? And was that why I'd been putting it off, because maybe it was? "Okay, yes, I want to see it. Do you know where the blanket is?" She helped me spread the folded blanket out on the bed and climbed on it, ready to be folded into it. She smiled and told me she was ready three times as I asked her, while folding the pink blanket around my pink girlfriend. I sat back and watched for any sign of wetting, staring and waiting and waiting... "Are you ready to start?" I asked again, at length. And, "Start? I'm finished," she answered. Oh, no. There was nothing to see. As I unfolded her, I found wetness, but I didn't get to see it happen, didn't get to see it move through the material. Still, what do you expect to get out of a wet blanket? * The Leaky Cauldron It was almost Halloween, and props abounded. There was a cute and dapper ghostly gauze-on-frame haunting the bushes. By the door was a frog who croaked when you passed him and in the front window was a cardboard ghoul. My girlfriend was a funny-seductive witch with tall hat, great pot o' frogs' eyes and newts' breath, and a skimpy little dress which made her red clown's nose (worn on her nose, not cooking with the frogs' eye) a bit jarring. I, for reasons of convenience, was an unspecified eighties rockstar with torn jeans and a long, black wig. Decorating for the holidays was fun, but it only became memorable when I walked out of the bathroom and in on a scene with my witch and her props. To be fair, there was only the one bathroom. And to be more fair, I had been in there for a long time, plunging a clog that was more stubborn than most. I had finally gotten it to yield and had opened the door, when a fine stream met me, about to find its way under the door and into the room I'd just left. I looked up and saw my witch-clown girlfriend looking as red as her nose. Her fake plastic cauldron had sprung a leak, it seemed, and when I pressed her, I got the whole tale: "You were in there so long, and I tried to hold it, was sure I could hold it. Then I suddenly couldn't, and I looked around, and all I could find to go in was my cauldron. I felt so warm and full and urgently pressed, and there wasn't even time to take down my tights. I went in the cauldron, squatting over it, right through them. Oh, and I got the hem of my dress wet, too. I could have died when I realized, and that's when I noticed the cauldron was leaky." I convinced her that she was wonderful and had done nothing bad, but rather something very good indeed. I convinced her at length and in bed. She was still wet under her tights and altogether desirable. That year, our Halloween was spectacular and spectral and sometimes sopping, thanks to that leaky cauldron.