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"Is this it, then?" "Yes," Andy nodded. "This is Byron's Pool. You seem disappointed." "I am a little," said Helen. "I'd been expecting something a bit more ... well ... spectacular." She looked around once again while Andy drove the punt pole deep into the riverbed and looped the mooring chain around it. They were hove–to in the middle of a clear, shallow pool with a sand and gravel bottom. It was no more than fifty metres long, and perhaps thirty metres across at its widest point. Long strands of green weed streamed out in the current, and the occasional stickleback darted in and out between them. At the upstream end of the pool was an ugly concrete weir over which the river rushed headlong in an angry,…
Read →I'd been called in to investigate a commercial burglary. As the first detective on the scene, I walked into the second floor office. I saw a beautiful woman tied to her office chair: her arms bound to the chair arms, and her legs tied apart, also to the arms of the chair. Her skirt had ridden up to reveal some of her beautifully nylon–clad legs. She was blindfolded. There was a piece of duct tape securing her mouth. She was pulling and writhing against the restraints in an effort to get herself out of the chair. I removed the blindfold and I showed her my badge, and her eyes signaled her relief. From under the duct tape, she was trying to talk or scream to no avail. The crime scene investigators were on their…
Read →This is a story, part fact– part fiction about my mate's mum, Brenda. In the late 70s, she was in her mid 30s and had a medium build, an hourglass figure with ample round rear, small waist, and generous bust. Looking back, she was quite attractive. In those days, women of her age dressed smartly with a skirt, blouse, and 'American Tan' tights. Usually, her skirts were lined too, with the lining sometimes drooping down a half an inch or so revealing a lighter colored material under her skirt, which was a nylon type of material. When she walked you could hear the swishing sound the lining made as her nylon tights rubbed against it, often the static would cause the lining to rise up under her skirt. No one would…
Read →Sayuri shifted uncomfortably in the driver's seat of her Mercury Tracer. She had been sitting there for more than two hours: Her butt was numb; the backs of her thighs ached, and her bladder was almost bursting. She reflected ruefully that they never showed this aspect of a stakeout in the movies. Male detectives either had cast–iron bladders, or they would simply step out of the car and pee in the gutter. For a woman, that wasn't an option, especially not on a street bordered on one side by a high wall and on the other by a residential estate. She adjusted herself in her seat, flicking her long, black, slightly curly hair over her shoulders, and wondered how much longer she would have to sit there before her…
Read →The sunlight shone in from the east, filtering through the white curtains, casting patterns upon the hardwood floor of the upstairs bedroom. The window was open, the cool morning breeze wafting gently throughout the room, birds chirping as the new day began. Next to the window, to the left, stood a cabinet, filled with picture frames and mementos. On top of the cabinet sat an old alarm clock, manual wind, a worn cell phone, and a hairbrush. A few bobby pins lay next to the hairbrush, along with a torn piece of paper with a phone number on it. To the right of the window there was open space; only a faded picture of an old Elle magazine cover hung sloppily in a cheap frame. Within the wall to the right of the…
Read →Note: This story contains Female Desperation, Accidental & Deliberate Wetting, Humiliation, and Sex. I was shopping at the local supermarket and was packing the goods as they came through the checkout. It was quite a busy time and there was a long queue at each till. When the last items came through, I packed them up and turned to pay the cashier. As I handed over the money I heard someone say "Noooo" in a shrill anguished voice. I looked, and the next lady in line had her hands firmly jammed in her crotch and was doing a frantic pee–pee dance. As I collected my change she seemed to get herself under control. I turned to her and said that I sympathized with her predicament and asked her whether I could help…
Read →In all my life I had never known anyone who was remotely as androgynous as Terri. Everything about her was just totally ambiguous, and I continued to harbour some residual doubts as to her true sex right up to the moment she began to wet herself. And even then, it was only the obviously "female" pattern of the wet spot spreading across the front of her jeans from a point slightly below the bottom of her zipper which finally convinced me that she had to be a girl, even though the visible fastenings on her clothes all did up on the "boys' side." She boarded my train at Mile End. I had traveled in from Loughton, so naturally I had a seat. By Mile End, however, the train was becoming crowded and several people…
Read →Note: This story contains Female Desperation, Female Wetting, and Masturbation I take the dress off the hanger and brush my hand across the smooth, shimmering ruby–red fabric. The anticipation already sends little sparks of pleasure through my mind and body. I feel the tips of my nipples harden slightly and a warm sensation passes over my breasts and between my thighs. Stepping into the dress and slowly pulling it up and over my legs, watching in the mirror as it climbs over my thighs and hips. The sheer light tan tights and white satin high–leg briefs I've chosen are slowly covered by the sheer red body of my outfit and I finish running the dress over my bare chest, already cupping and gathering my breasts…
Read →Note: This story contains Female Desperation, Accidental & Deliberate Wetting, Foreplay, and Sex. Alexis Chambers looked with distaste into the toilet bowl as she dropped the square of pee–dampened tissue into the yellow water. How she hated it when she did that! So disgusting! She always tried not to look. The 41–year–old newly remarried widow hoped her new husband would be as proper about such matters as her previous husband had been. Odd, it was probably the only characteristic she had liked about her recently departed, unmissed, and unmourned mate. Her life had gone from merely livable to torturous over the 21 years she had been Mrs. Thadius Rushmore Monroe. She could hardly remember him now as the man…
Read →Please note that this story is based on a real event that happened, which I have posted details of on the wet set message board. This story is elaborated, with a slightly different turn of events. Hope you like it. Sally was a highly attractive 18–year–old working in a fast food restaurant in the north of England. She attracted attention from all the boys, but had a steady boyfriend, Dave, who was a manager at the restaurant. Tonight it was an awards night and about 20 people from Sally's restaurant were attending. The company was organizing a coach to take them to the nightclub and drop them off again afterwards. It was going to be great. Sally had decided not to get too drunk tonight as she was working the…
Read →Anne fought her way determinedly through the crowded supermarket aisle. Necessity, not choice, dictated that she undertake the weekly shop now rather than at a time which she knew would be much quieter. Since Brian had become mayor – and she his mayoress – the days and weeks had become so much busier and she'd felt that her life was no longer her own. Still, his mayoral year was more than half over and she looked forward to May when he would be handing over the reins to someone else. He was rather enjoying his spell as mayor and had expressed the view that he wouldn't mind standing for a second term in the absence of too much competition – and there wasn't much. Anne, however, had put her foot firmly down.…
Read →20–year–old Tiffany was late for class again. She knew that her professor was going to be very upset with her for being late again and would probably fail her on the lab that she was late for. She brushed her brunette hair that fell to her shoulders, wishing that she had a roommate to wake her up. She hated living by herself. Looking in the mirror she noticed she was standing there in nothing but a white pair of bikini panties and a white bra. She quickly slipped on a pink skirt with a matching belt and pulled on thigh high tan stockings. She threw on a white halter–top, slipped on shoes, gulped down a cup of coffee, and ran out the door. She started running to class when she realized that she had forgotten…
Read →Three months after I first dated Julia Hayward, she came over from Winchester to Canterbury to spend a weekend with me at my house. She arrived on the down train from London where she worked as a secretary for a firm of solicitors. She had a flat in the middle class area near Mayfair, two streets over from Bakers Street where she worked, and enjoyed getting out of the city to spend her weekends with me in the country. It was the country too since I didn't live right in Canterbury itself, but in the village of Wycliffe, about fifteen miles away, almost on the coast of the North Sea, the beach just a ten–minute walk away. After collecting Julia from the train station and stowing her two suitcases in the boot…
Read →"Punting on the Cam is jolly fun they say," said Helen, taking the last slice of pizza from the box. "Jolly fun," mimicked Andy. "When did you start talking like that?" "I didn't," said Helen. "I was quoting a song. Don't you know it?" "No," said Andy, popping the cork on the bottle of cheap sparkling white wine. "Garden Party. Marillion," she prompted. "Never heard of it, or them. And anyway, we're not going punting on the Cam. We're going punting on the Granta." "I thought there was only one river in Cambridge," mumbled Helen through a mouthful of dough, tomato, cheese, pepperoni, mushrooms, and peppers. "There is," said Andy, taking a swig of wine and passing the bottle to Helen. "And it changes name…
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All stories belong to their authors.
Contact: Sae.