French Maid

Sophie’s Indiscretion
Sophie’s bladder throbbed insistently. She ignored it and took another pull on her glass of Chablis. Sophie had other, more pressing matters on her mind, such as her hard earned career crashing to the ground. All her efforts destroyed in an instant, and all because of one damn picture. The image flashed back into her mind again as she squirmed slightly in her chair. All those frills, all that lace, and those two shiny stilettos with that huge … Sophie again tilted the glass, but the image in her head could not be banished.
Sophie Cl’risseau had flown to England four years ago to study English and Business Studies at South Bank University. With finances running low, Sophie had advertised herself as a cleaner in shop windows around the desirable South Bank area. Her first client was Mr.. Humble, a middle–aged architect with a large apartment overlooking the Thames. Sophie had applied all the hard work and professionalism that she could in cleaning his flat, and soon James was recommending her to his friends. By the time that she graduated, Sophie had built up a healthy client base and took her business full time instead of seeking a salubrious City job. Money as a freelance cleaner was pitiful, but she was 22 and running her own business. How many 22–year–old girls could claim that?
‘I was even thinking of expanding, taking on staff, doubling my assets’ thought Sophie ruefully as she squirmed even more urgently in her living room easy chair. Filling her glass again Sophie thought back to the events of the morning. James was working from home again. She was cleaning his study, running a conscientious duster across his keyboard and mouse when the screen saver flicked off. Revealed were architectural plans of some description. Sophie thought nothing about them. Then she noticed the image peeking out from behind the plans. More wine, more wriggling, and Sophie crossed her legs in a half–hearted acknowledgement that yes; she really did need to visit the loo.
Back to the image, it wouldn’t leave Sophie’s head anyway. All Sophie could see was the bottom of a short black dress hemmed by frilly white lace. The dress covered the tops of two sexily stockinged legs. The legs were slightly parted, and between them … Sophie had at first stared in disbelief. It looked like a solid stream of water was falling from under the frilly hemline. Sophie had reached for the mouse. The sensible half of her mind had tried to drag her hand away, to tell her that prying into the personal affairs of her clients was not something that professional businesswomen did. Sophie clicked on the image. It sprang fully into view and she gave a soft gasp of surprise.
More wine glugged into her glass and Sophie pushed a restraining hand between her crossed legs. She again visualised the full image. Just hours earlier she had deliberately bent over Mr.. Humble’s desk and gazed in total astonishment and disbelief at the photo of a young model. The model was dressed in the sexy and revealing lace and cotton of a French maid. A single thick stream of urine was cascading from between her legs. Sophie maximised the image and her gaze followed the stream of urine down from frilly lace, to where it splashed in a great puddle onto the polished laminate floor of a mock Georgian style kitchen. The girl was wetting herself. Sophie had never seen anything like it. A fully grown woman just standing there and wetting herself. Sophie had felt her cheeks burning as she gazed at the image. Then she had heard the study door creak open behind her.
The Chablis danced on her tongue in all its joyful young fruitiness. ‘What an inappropriate choice of wine,’ thought Sophie as she sat alone in her flat. In her hour of despair, Sophie had needed something to take her back to the warm childhood comfort of her native France. The Chablis was the only thing on hand, but its cheerful country bouquet of summer picnics and young lovers seemed so inappropriate right then. A better choice would have been a stiff bourbon. Sophie could still see the expression on Mr.. Humble’s face as she span around from the screen with a gasp and gazed guiltily at him. Sophie could never quite decide what was under James’s stern fa’ade, but the look of embarrassment and anger on his face left Sophie with little doubt that she would not be welcome back. It got worse than that. All of Sophie’s business had originated from James’s recommendations. Word of her prying and lack of professionalism would spread like plague. None of her clients would welcome her back.
Sophie drained her glass and set it unsteadily down on the coffee table next to her mobile phone. She had been sat brooding ever since she had got back from James’s place. She had not even changed out of her working clothes, loose blue trousers and an old shirt. Now her swollen bladder was causing her to sway in desperation. Her melancholy mood could hold her in place no longer. With the bathroom firmly in mind Sophie uncrossed her legs and started to rise.
A loud buzzing caused Sophie to hurriedly sit back down. ‘I really must change that ring tone,’ she thought as she grabbed her mobile from the table. It had been a month since she had made a recording of Thumper for her mobile. After a heavy night out with the girls – in which the only topic, as usual, was boys – Sophie had headed straight for her ‘toys’ drawer and grabbed her favourite – Thumper the Rampant Rabbit. ‘Yes, I really must change that ring tone.’
‘Sophie Cl’risseau Cleaning Services’ sang Sophie.
‘Oh hello Mr. Humble.’ Sophie’s voice betrayed none of her inner turmoil, but suddenly her bladder complained urgently. Running to the toilet now was not an option.
‘Yes?’ prompted Sophie. James sounded nervous. It suddenly occurred to her that telling someone that their services were no longer required might be more difficult for the one doing the firing rather than the dismissee.
‘That would not be a problem at all Mr.. Humble’ Sophie’s desperation scale had just tripled.
‘Yes I totally understand’ Her legs were now so tightly crossed they were like braided rope.
‘Yes, I would be delighted.’ Concluded Sophie as James ended the call. Sophie set the mobile down somewhere. She had no idea where, she was so shocked by what had happened that all she could do was stare into nothingness and gasp in her soft French accent ‘Oh mon dieu!’
Sophie refilled her glass to the brim. It did not stay full for long as Sophie pondered what James had just said. He had not fired her. He had offered her more money if she would return with her cleaning bag and feather duster next Friday, but this time, dressed as a French maid! It was then that Sophie’s bladder complained more loudly than ever and a short sharp spurt of hotness warmed her crotch. Jumping to her feet Sophie dashed for the toilet.
‘Oh Mr. Humble Sir’
The girl was exquisite. She had totally wet herself and was proud of it. The back of her short blue skirt was soaked in her own urine, and her tights were streaked with tiny trickles by her accident. Standing with her back to the camera now the girl had sensuously rolled down her tights to just below her soaking panty crotch, and had raised her skirt to reveal a pair of pale blue cotton panties clinging to two oh so pert and oh so spankable buttocks. Her panties were of course totally soaked at the back. James wanted to reach out and touch the girl in the picture. Run his fingers across the warm wetness of her cotton. Trace a line with his fingers up to the– ‘Ding dong!’ The doorbell bought James back to reality. By the time he had unlatched and opened the door his trousers had been straightened and his face showed no sign of the visual pleasure that he had just enjoyed.
‘Hi’ greeted Sophie pleasantly as she stepped through the doorway. James stepped aside to let her pass.
Disappointment. That was his one and only reaction as his eyes cast her up and down. Where was the French maid? Sophie was shrouded in a long brown raincoat that reached down to … then Sophie slipped out of the raincoat and smiled. James managed a stiff ‘oh’ and gazed at her in astonishment.
Wherever she had got that outfit it was perfect. There were white lace frills at every opportunity. Her black shiny dress flared out to just below her crotch, and showed her daring fishnet tights in almost their entirety. Her top barely held her pert breasts, and her silky white French maids pouch tied around her waist with a bow completed her outfit perfectly. From jet–black choker down to shiny black stilettos, Sophie was everything that James had dreamed of. Then Sophie purred ‘how do I look’ in her sensuous French accent, and James nearly came in his pants.
‘Er fine’ he managed. ‘Yes. Yes very good. When you are ready you can start in the bedroom, girl.’
So it was to be ‘girl’ was it. ‘Fine,’ thought Sophie. ‘Yes Mr. Humble Sir’ she replied curtly and made her way down the hallway with her bottom swaying seductively under her skirt. James was forced to adjust his trousers again.
Soon the bedroom filled with the loud electric hum of the vacuum cleaner and the smell of dust and beeswax polish. Familiar sounds and smells that had a calming effect on Sophie. She might have looked relaxed as she stepped through the door, but inside her stomach was a knot of apprehension. What did James have in mind? Was she forgiven for her indiscretion last week? ‘Keep it together girl, you will be all right’ Sophie kept telling herself.
She liked James. If she was honest with herself, she fancied him. His being about ten years older than her strangely added to his appeal. After a string of fuckwit boyfriends who though they knew it all, Sophie had often toyed with the idea of finding an older man. A man of experience who could make her feel like a real woman, and maybe put her across his knee. Maybe a man like James; whose strict schoolmaster countenance she sometimes daydreamed hid a soft and romantic centre. He was watching her from the doorway now. Often when he was working from home and Sophie was cleaning he would ogle her breasts or her bottom thinking that she never noticed. She always did, and she could rarely resist some subconscious flirting– a quick bum wiggle or a cleavage flash maybe, whilst always wondering how someone could find her attractive in her loose blue cleaning trousers and boring white shirt. Today’s attire was different though. The low cut top and the short dress were made for flirting.
Sweet silence poured into the room as Sophie pressed the power button on the vacuum with the point of her left stiletto. Pretending that she had no idea of James’s presence she bent to pull the plug from the wall. It was deliberate. Her posture pulled her dress up at the back revealing her firm buttocks pressing through a pair of white lacy French knickers. ‘Behave yourself girl. Just get through today without doing something stupid’ Sophie berated herself.
Sophie winced. Bending so far over had put a sudden pressure on her bladder. It was getting pretty full now. Sophie in her morning nerves had downed three coffees over breakfast, and had followed that with a couple of pints of tap water to try to drown the overpowering caffeine buzz. The first urges she had felt as she climbed the stairs to James’s flat. Now as she knelt on the bedroom carpet with the vacuum plug in her hand she was suddenly at the ‘I need to go soon’ stage and completely forgetting for a moment that James was watching her she pushed a hand between her legs and did a small bum wiggle until the bladder pang had passed. Then she remembered that she was being watched.
‘I was wondering if you would like a glass of water, girl,’ quickly asked James as Sophie twisted around to look at him. ‘You look thirsty.’ Sophie accepted and thanked him. Getting to her feet one of Sophie’s heels came off. She cast both of them aside as she watched James’s bottom disappear into the kitchen. Stilettos were totally impractical for cleaning anyway.
Several more glasses of water followed, and Sophie’s bladder continued to fill. James worked at the laptop on the living room table as Sophie polished and vacuumed around him. Soon her thoughts were half on her job and half on her need. Remembering the image on James’s computer, Sophie started making exaggerated movements that suggested her desire to visit the loo. She was flirting again but just couldn’t stop herself. James was finding it hard to concentrate as well. The refurbishment plans were needed by Monday morning but Sophie was being far too distracting. He was sure that it wasn’t deliberate, but it seemed obvious to him that Sophie was trying to hide a pee–pee dance. Clicking back onto another of Skymouse’s images James tried to divide his attention between three things. Sophie, a picture of Candice having a toilet accident in a pair of pink trousers while struggling to open a toilet door, and the plans for the refurbishment of Shell’s Waterloo office. The plans lost. James glanced back at Sophie who again had one leg across the other as she polished an ornament on the mantelpiece.
‘Are you OK there, girl’?
‘Yes Mr. Humble sir’ replied Sophie setting the cast bronze Buddha back in its place. James just loved hearing Sophie’s soft French accent. If only they could be together. He immediately rebuked himself for his stupid fantasy. Why would this gorgeous young French princess have any interest in him? He was over a decade older than she for Christ sake.
Sophie was not OK. Her need for the toilet was now urgent. Again she lifted her knee and let out a sigh. She needed to think of something to take her mind from her bulging bladder, so what popped into her head? The memory of New Years Eve from two years ago– she was at the Ministry of Sound in Elephant and Castle with one of her fuckwit boyfriends. The club was packed as the countdown to 2006 began. Sophie was crammed into the middle of the dance floor with Steve and her hand was crammed up her short skirt with her legs wrapped around it. Sophie couldn’t remember being so desperate ever before in her life. Even during Madame Fouquet’s art class when she had her one and only accident at school. The countdown began.
‘Ten!’ everyone chanted.
The toilets were downstairs, miles away.
‘Nine!’
Sophie couldn’t move anyway, everyone was packed in gazing at the big screen showing the London skyline. Big Ben against the dusky black night sky, the Millennium Wheel swathed in pastel lights.
‘Eight!’
‘Oh fuck why hadn’t I joined the mile long queue for the girls room about two hours ago, I might be nearly there by now.’
‘Seven!’
Massive bladder spasm– Sophie jiggled and did a little run on the spot until the pain had passed.
‘Six!’
‘Merde, I can’t hold this.’
‘Five!’
‘Hold, hold, go to the toilet afterwards.’
‘Four!’
‘Impossible, its too far.’
‘Three!’
Eyes starting to leak in desperation, legs clenched together, panties still dry against the top of Sophie’s hand – just.
‘Two!’
‘I can’t hold this, I’m going to have an accident.’
‘One!’
‘Who the Hell will notice? Were packed in like sardines. I’m in a short skirt…’
‘Happy New Year!’ Sophie clenched her eyes shut again as she remembered the cheers going up from the dance floor, the fireworks erupting over London on the big screen, and the wet spreading warmth of humiliating failure. She had been surprised at how quickly her accident had happened. Her pee was cascading down both legs in an instant, and through the cheers she could even hear herself hissing and hear the splashing of her long held waters on the hard wooden dance floor. The relief, though! Oh the relief– it was wonderful. Her pee poured and poured as everyone around her cheered and couples and friends and complete strangers started shaking hands and hugging. Everyone was oblivious to the cute French girl in the short skirt that was having a huge toilet accident right in the middle of all of everything.
Suddenly two strong arms were wrapped around her in a breath–smothering embrace. Steve had her in a full ‘Happy New Year’ body hug as Sophie’s pee continued to cascade between her legs into a big pool around her feet. Steve’s hands went straight for her bottom, as they always did. Too surprised by the embrace, and too tipsy to react in time and pull away, Sophie only realised what was about to happen as it was happening. Steve’s idea of thoughtful intimacy and affection was always to go straight for the goal in any ‘romantic’ situation. Shoot for the goal and win the gold cup. That was Steve. His right hand slid down, and under. He knew exactly where he was going as he pushed the thin pink material of Sophie’s short skirt up between her legs with the usual schoolboy grin on his face.
The back of Sophie’s skirt soaked in an instant, and her pee sprayed forward into the front of it. Steve sprang back as warm wetness soaked his fingers, knocking an embracing couple sideways as he did so. Gasping in horror he looked down at the wee dripping off the front of his girlfriend’s skirt as she stood there guiltily wetting herself. Her urine slowed to final rivulets as Steve stared down at himself. The front of his designer blue Chinos were glistening in the glitter ball light. He pulled at the wet material in disbelief then looked back at Sophie standing in her huge puddle.
Steve as he had leapt back had made a space between himself and Sophie. Now instead of being concealed on a crowded dance floor, Sophie was surrounded by a ring of staring eyes and gaping mouths. Everyone could see what she had done. Humiliating for most girls, but something inside Sophie clicked. Maybe it was the naughtiness of having an accent in such a public place. Maybe it was her pee gushing over her clitoris, or maybe it was just because of the alcohol. Sophie wasn’t sure, but her feelings where suddenly not of shame and embarrassment, but of a sexual energy like she was about to have a huge orgasm. Sophie couldn’t be sure why she did what she did next. It was as if she was being carried on a wave of sexy, saucy sassiness. Well she certainly felt wet anyway.
‘Sorry, I seem to have wet your trousers’ purred Sophie ‘I’ll just clean you up.’ The sound system had kicked in again and her words were mostly drowned out by the banging techno. That didn’t matter to Sophie. Pulling Steve back towards her she knelt down in front of him, and as her own puddle rewetted her knees she unzipped his wet trousers. Before Steve knew what was happening his cock was in her mouth and she was sucking hard. More gaping onlookers turned to gaze in her direction, and then the bouncer arrived.
He was probably jealous, reasoned Sophie as she ran her feather duster along the top of a picture frame. Their exit from the club had been swift and immediate and Sophie never saw Steve again. He was a fuckwit anyway.
Again the flat filled with electric buzz and urgent sucking as Sophie ran the nozzle attachment of the vacuum cleaner around the cushion edges of James’s black leather sofa. Desperate? The word could hardly begin to describe what Sophie was feeling. Hiding her need was now impossible, even if she had wanted to, and James from behind his laptop screen was enjoying every second of it. He had moved onto a picture of Claire desperately struggling with a door in Skymouse’s studio. Pictures of girls struggling with toilet doors had a special significance for James, but now Claire and her door were totally forgotten as he watched Sophie again bend her left leg and let out another soft gasp. Sofa done, Sophie straightened and gave a little run on the spot before killing the noise of the vacuum with her stockinged toe. James was till staring at her like an enchanted schoolboy, and Sophie gave him a quick smile. ‘I think I’m done in here now Sir’ purred Sophie, with each vowel slipping from her lips in a sprinkle of silky Frenchness.
‘Yes, very good girl.’ James stared unashamedly at Sophie’s bottom as she bent again to pull the vacuum plug from the wall. Secretly he was begging for another glimpse of that tight white clutch of cotton and lace between her legs. Maybe this time if he looked hard enough he could catch sight of the gap between Sophie’s lips. James was not disappointed.
Sophie again exaggerated the bend as she reached for the plug. It was a mistake. Her bladder twinged in protest, and horror of horrors, Sophie felt a hot jet of pee escape into her knickers.
‘Oh’ she cried as she stood up quickly.
‘Are you OK girl?’ enquired James in honest concern.
‘Oh yes Sir,’ lied Sophie. The game had gone too far. Her knickers were now damp with her own weewee. Sophie abandoned the vacuum and hurried into the corridor. James was left staring at an empty doorway. Did he just see what he thought he had just seen? In an instant, just one moment, he had enjoyed the quick flash of white lacy pussy mound. Then Sophie had given that little gasp and her thighs had clenched together as that clean, brilliant white mound had seemed to darken slightly. In an instant he was on his feet.
The bathroom sparkled like a jewel. White porcelain shone in the late morning sun that streamed through the sparkling bathroom window. The bathroom’s delicate frosting diffusing the morning rays across the gleaming chrome and freshly swept wooden floor. There was just one thing that occupied Sophie’s attention as she stepped through the door. The toilet stood there opposite, gleaming from Sophie’s attentions just an hour before. It looked so welcoming, as if it had been waiting for her. In her mind Sophie was half way through opening her sphincter as she pushed the door behind her and reached under her dress for the elastic of her knickers. Feeling a resistance against the door she turned in surprise.
‘Could you mop the floor now please girl?’
‘Sir?’
‘The bathroom floor, it needs mopping girl.’
‘Oh, er, yes of course Mr. Humble Sir.’
Sophie hurried off to the utilities cupboard in the kitchen, and when there she forced a clenched hand between her thighs and curtsied. For a moment she concentrated very hard on not letting it all go where she stood. James didn’t see her face as he stood watching her from the doorway. Creased with desperation and eyes clenched shut she looked every inch like a girl that was on the verge of a major embarrassment. Then the waves of desperation subsided and Sophie reached for the mop.
The mop head was disgusting. Sophie hurriedly unscrewed it and delivered it to the bin before ripping open the packet of a fresh one and hastily screwed it on to the mop handle. She fumbled it in her haste, and managed to cross the threads. It would have to do.
Filling the mop bucket did nothing to ease her need, and sweeping a wet mop around so close to the toilet was psychological torture. James supervised. Leaning against the toilet doorframe with his hand gently brushing against the front of his trousers. Sophie’s bottom sweeping back and forward in time to the mop was mesmerising. Every so often she would lift a stocking clad knee and let out a little French gasp. The bulge in James’s trousers grew bigger. Soon the laminate wood floor was totally wet and gleaming as Sophie swept the mop with urgency, bouncing off the walls, bath, and the toilet pan. Bang. The mop hit the side of the bath with a force that cracked the mop head clean off its handle.
‘Oh’ cried Sophie in surprise, and looked up at James apologetically. James looked at the broken mop head on the floor. It was nothing. They were two for a pound at Wilkinson’s.
‘I should put you over my knee for that girl,’ admonished James. He couldn’t go that far of course, but to have this girl that he had adored and admired for so long stretched across his lap in that outfit and that state of desperation… James almost salivated as he imagined the smacks and the little French gasps of pain until she lost control and disgraced herself all over his lap. James’ manhood was now at full stretch.
‘Now, don’t go in there again until the floor has completely dried, girl. I don’t want wet footprints all over my flat.’ Sophie gasped in anguish at this denial of the use of the bathroom that she needed so much right then. ‘Wet footprints! Very soon there would be more than just wet footprints’ thought Sophie in horror. The denial, the extreme desperation, and the sight of James’s obvious excitement flicked switches inside Sophie’s head. Before she could stop herself she had knelt down and grabbed one of James’s hands between hers and had, gazing up at him pleadingly, hardly noticing the wet of the floor through her stockinged knees.
‘But Mr. Humble, Sir, I really, really need to go to the toilet Sir. If I don’t I think I might have a little accident Sir.’ Then her pleading gaze lowered in shame from his eyes and rested on the bulge just inches from her face. She started to reach out for it. A fingertip brushed the tight fabric, and then she came to her senses and stood hurriedly.
The situation had leapt into another dimension in just a few seconds. They stared at each other uncertainly. Something had to happen next, but only silence and the smell of lavender Shake’n Vac filled the void.
‘Its nearly lunchtime, can I make you something to eat, err Mr. Humble Sir?’ Stammered Sophie.
‘Yes. Yes that would be lovely, girl.’ Replied James eagerly, thankful that Sophie had ended the awkwardness.
The classic French omelette is prepared using only the whites of the eggs. Separating the white from the yoke by tipping between the two broken halves of eggshell is a difficult balancing act in itself. Especially if your legs are wound around themselves and you are bouncing up and down frantically. Sophie loved cooking and after a perfect separation of three eggs, she had the kitchen filled with the smell of chopped parsley, grated cheddar, and egg sizzling to mouth watering perfection. James settled himself at the kitchen table and looked on with admiration. As the sounds and smells filled his senses with apprehension, James wanted to marry her right there and then.
Soon one lovingly rolled and gently steaming example of French culinary perfection sat in front of him. He watched a knob of butter gently melt and caress its way down his omelette, and then glanced back up at Sophie. She was gone.
Preparing the meal had given Sophie, between curtseys and knee raises; time to reflect and to think. It all seemed to be going well and James had seemed very happy with her ‘Until I went and did something stupid in the bathroom doorway.’ Thought Sophie, angry with herself. Horniness– that was the problem. Sophie had started to feel a sexual excitement at her predicament, and it was that strange sexual excitement that was interfering with her self–control. ‘I need to relieve myself – sexually,’ thought Sophie. ‘I just need some satisfaction, then I will be able to control myself and get out of here with my career intact.’ On placing the omelette lovingly in front of James, she had hurried from the room.
‘Where …’ James began as Sophie was almost through the kitchen doorway.
‘Just finishing some bits in the study,’ Sophie lied. ‘I’m not going to the bathroom.’ James wanted to savour every flavour that was serenading his taste buds, but he hurried his meal nonetheless.
Sophie grabbed her cleaning bag and hurried into the study. The computer was off. Sophie ignored it, but dropped the bag onto the end of the executive oak desk and dug through its contents. Thumper. Where was Thumper when she needed him? She visualised the bottom drawer in her bedroom where all her toys were kept. Oh well. Instead she pulled out a can of Aristowax Wood Silk furniture polish and inspected it appraisingly. It had a yellow–ridged domed top like a beehive. ‘Hmmm perfect shape, if only it buzzed,’ pondered Sophie. It would have to do.
Sophie was a clever girl. Upper second in English and Business Studies, own business at the age of twenty–two, but this she had not thought fully through. As she leaned back in the executive leather chair, lifted her knees and spread them wide, James was mopping up the last smear of butter on the plate with the remains of the omelette.
Sophie reached up her skirt and hooked a finger behind the damp material of her knicker crotch. With the can in her other hand it was obvious what she had in mind, but not once did she think that an orgasm might trigger a complete bladder failure. In the kitchen James had risen to his feet, and had thoughtfully placed the dirty plate and fork by the sink before heading for the door. Sophie tilted her head back, and let out a little French gasp as she started to slide the can into herself. It felt beautiful.
Where was Sophie? James had half expected to hear the sound of tinkling as he approached the bathroom door, but the bathroom was empty, she had kept her promise. James turned and headed for the study. Sophie withdrew, and thrust again. Her excitement levels were through the roof, and then she heard footsteps approaching the door. James grabbed the study door handle and pulled. He was just in time to see Sophie drop something into her cleaning bag as she straightened and smiled at him. ‘Can I ‘elp you?’ She looked flushed. James glanced down at the floor and the chair, and at her. Not one sign of a drop of wetness anywhere.
‘If you have finished your omelette I will clean the dishes for you, Sir’ helpfully offered Sophie and made her way back to the kitchen as James nodded. He watched her go, staring at the back of her skirt and her legs as she went– all completely dry.
Once back in the kitchen and briefly out of sight, Sophie’s forced calm composure collapsed and she bent double with her hand against her pussy, pressing hard. Its attention of only a few moments ago had only multiplied her desperation, and she was horny as hell. Sophie was running hot water into a pool of bubbles in the sink by the time that James had caught up with her. Listening to the running water was agony, but Sophie had a knee wedged behind a unit door and was trying to press the edge of it into her crotch as she twisted the tap. It didn’t help. James noted with interest her posture– a posture that seemed to disintegrate in front of him as he sat back down at the table to enjoy the show.
Sophie’s bladder was screaming in protest. It was even more urgent than in Madame Fouquet’s class– more urgent than in The Ministry at New Year. ‘I’m going to wet myself. I’m going to have a little girl accident,’ were the only thoughts running through Sophie’s mind now. Her desperation was making her clumsy. She nearly knocked the sponge onto the floor as she went to grab it, and the fork slipped form the plate as she plunged it into the sink. It clattered noisily onto the floor as her hands entered the hot foaming water. The sudden warmth and wetness on her skin triggered another huge spasm in her bladder. ‘Oooh’ she cried as she raised a knee and thrust her wet hands into her crotch.
‘Are you OK girl?’ inquired James in a concerned voice that masked his immense enjoyment of the spectacle.
‘Oui’ gasped Sophie.
‘Are you sure girl? You look like you need to go to the toilet.’ Asked James getting bolder.
‘Yes, yes Sir.’ Answered Sophie in complete honesty. Need to go to the toilet was a complete understatement.
The visual display was awesome. This gorgeous young French girl in a sexy, revealing French maids outfit was desperately trying not to wet herself. James was also a bit of an aural man and he just adored to the point of orgasm Sophie’s sexy French accent. Every soft gasp that she gave was like sexual nectar to his ears. He wanted to hear more, to hear her describe in beautiful detail what she was feeling. Hear the words pour from her lips saying all those sexy phrases like the ones on Sky’s web cams. He got bolder still.
‘Girl, why are you fidgeting so much?’
‘I’m desperate. I’m desperate to go to the toilet, Sir.’ There was absolutely no point in denying it.
‘Well you can’t go girl, the floor is still wet.’
‘Ahhh’ gasped Sophie as she straightened and started making quick little running steps on the spot.
James stared down at her stockinged feet as they pounded up and down in extreme urgency next to the fallen fork.
‘You will just have to hold on. You can hold it can’t you girl?’
‘No!’ cried Sophie in exasperation.
‘No girl, what do you mean, No?’
‘I’m going to wet myself any second nowww.’ She cried with her head tilted back and her eyes clenched shut as little tears of desperation started to trickle down her cheeks. That was it. The admission. The admission that this gorgeous girl that he had fancied and admired and fantasized about was about to wet herself, and it sounded so sweet slipping from her lips.
‘Did you ever wet yourself at school, girl?’ James immediately knew that he had gone too far. Sophie stopped paddling on the spot in surprise as she considered the question. Madam Fouquet’s class was not a good memory right now. Madam Fouquet had led her from the class by the hand, with everyone staring at the big wet stain on her bottom and her skirt flapping wetly against the back of her legs. ‘Sophie D’tremp’‘ was what the boys had called her afterwards ‘Soggy Sophie.’ No, that was not a good memory right now.
‘You dropped a fork,’ James reminded her, quickly trying to change the subject.
‘Oh sorry Sir.’ Replied Sophie glancing down at the dirty fork laying discarded and forgotten on the floor. Quickly she bent down to pick it up. The sudden compression on her bladder was the last straw for her sphincter. It opened. It opened wide and would not be closing for some time.
James watched in amazement. He had never expected this. Never dared to dream. Sophie’s demeanour changed instantly. She went from tense and agitated to suddenly still as she bent down holding the fork. Could this mean…? It all happened so fast after that. Sophie was still bending when the sound started. A high pressure hiss and a soft French ‘oh no’ followed very quickly by a single thick twisting stream of clear hot urine pissing from under her short black dress.
Sophie clamped her thighs together hard and pushed a balled fist into her groin as she slowly straightened. Her wee merely soaked down her stockinged legs and hissed even louder. James watched bug eyed at the final attempts of this gorgeous French girl to regain control and preserve her honour. Her efforts only lasted for a few moments. It was all coming out and nothing was going to stop it.
‘Oh aucun je suis mouillage moi–m’me’ Sophie cried in her native tongue as she parted her legs slightly and stood with knees slightly bent. James watched her let the thing happen as she stared down in horror at her own puddle rapidly spreading from between her feet. He couldn’t believe it. He was witnessing a full–grown gorgeous girl having a real toilet accident right in front of him and in his own kitchen. He had only ever seen girls wetting themselves in pictures and videos. This was real, this was live, and this was perfect.
Sophie seemed completely resigned to what was happening now. Her delicate French knickers were little barrier to her endless stream. James watched the flow continue on and on as Sophie tilted her head back with a soft moan and instead stared blankly at the ceiling. James had to pull his feet back from the spreading puddle. Sophie lowered her eyes from the ceiling and instead looked directly at James. Rosy redness was spreading through Sophie’s cheeks and she sucked on her bottom lip in embarrassment. She could not have looked more embarrassed if she had been standing there in front of him totally naked.
As Sophie’s stream finally started to slow James noticed the faint aroma. It teased his nostrils like a pleasant perfume. It was like the final pink bow on the whole package. James stared from the massive puddle of wee on his floor to Sophie’s wide, wet, apologetic eyes. She looked so cute in her embarrassment. Looked so totally ravishingly naughty as she stood in front if him with the last droplets of wee dripping from between her legs.
With the sound of splattering pee gone, silence filled the kitchen. Traffic noise could faintly be heard through the window and somewhere on the Thames a boat horn sounded. James started to rise to his feet, his unblinking eyes rooted on the French maid standing in front of him having just had a massive toilet accident.
‘Oh Sophie’ he gasped. The bulge in his trousers was back, and it was bigger than ever. Sophie gazed from him to her puddle then back again.
‘Oh Mr. Humble Sir, I think that I have just wet myself,’ confessed Sophie in a soft French, embarrassed little girl voice.
‘Yes. Yes I think you just have, girl’ agreed James in awed amazement. Sophie looked down in shame, and caught sight of his tented trousers. Her knickers were wet with her own wee and again the switch flicked, just like on the dance floor.
‘I have just had a big, big weewee accident on your floor Sir. I will just clean it up Sir’ purred Sophie. ‘But, I forget. Oooh la la! I have broken your mop Sir. But… I think that I can see an even bigger, stronger mop handle sir. I’ll just get it out.’ With that Sophie knelt in her puddle before him. With his bulging trousers in front of her face and her knees sending ripples across the pool of her own wee she reached for his fly.
Soggy Sophie
Sophie had abandoned her wine glass sometime into the rusty depths of her last burgundy. The sights, sounds, feelings and smells of her morning at James’s flat filled her head as she took another heavy pull on the bottle. Two hours earlier she had clomped up the stairs to her flat, angrily cast her stilettos aside, and slumped dejectedly into her favourite easy chair. There she remained in her wet French maids outfit with wineglass, bottle, and Elisa Tovati wailing endlessly out of the stereo.
‘Stupid, stupid, stupid’ Sophie again cursed herself under her breath. Her soaked knickers, skirt and tights were cold against her skin, and the delicate aroma of pee soaked material was a constant reminder of what she had done. She had wet herself. She had totally pissed herself in front of her most important client. Her bladder was bulging again now, its pleas for relief yet another reminder of the events of the morning. Again the memory returned. She had to admit, it was her own fault, and she had been trying to cheekily flash her panties as she had bent down to pick up the fork. Then it had happened– the first hot spurt. Only this spurt didn’t stop. Sophie closed here eyes, almost hearing again the obvious hiss and feeling the deluge of warmth gush down her legs. Then there was the splattering like an open tap onto the floor. She remembered looking down helplessly as her puddle spread rapidly outwards from her feet. James had to pull his feet back so they wouldn’t get wet! Sophie could visualise oh so vividly the look on his face. His eyes were wide with astonishment, his jaw slack and his mouth gaping. The aroma was the worst thing. With the aroma came the shame. It reminded her of the smell of the wet nappies of her baby sister when they were young. She had wet herself like a silly little girl. Only silly little girls had accidents and she deserved to be wearing a nappy.
Then Sophie had flipped, like that time in The Ministry of Sound. How she had stopped herself from unzipping James’s fly and slipping her hand inside she would never know.
‘Don’t worry about the mess girl; I can deal with that. You have done quite enough for one day.’ Sophie remembered his words vividly. ‘You have done quite enough for one day.’ That was it– she was no longer required. Her business was over. Then he had offered her to use of his bathroom to ‘clean herself up.’ She had declined. She just wanted to get out of that flat as fast as possible, even if that meant heading home in pee soaked knickers. Her knee length raincoat had hidden her disgrace, and as she sat on the Jubilee line she preyed that none of the other passengers noticed the aroma of a freshly peed panties from under it. Now all that she had to do was wait for James’s phone call as her head swam and her bladder pounded.
Sophie’s mobile buzzed in alarm on the coffee table. The call that she had been expecting made Sophie jump in surprise and a fresh spurt warmed her cold damp bottom.
‘Sophie Cl’risseau Cleaning Services’ sang Sophie.
‘Oh hello Mr. Humble.’
‘Yes, yes about today.’
‘Oui!?’ Sophie exclaimed in surprise.
‘You enjoyed my visit today?’
‘But … the puddle…’
‘You enjoyed cleaning it up? But there was so much of it!’
‘Yes, yes…’
‘Errr yes I would be delighted to come back next week…’
‘.. a similar service? Well yes.’
‘Yes I would be very happy for you to recommend me to a friend.’
‘Oui.’
‘So, would you both be wanting the … er Golden option?’
‘Yes I would be delighted. See you next Friday Mr. Humble … Sir.’
Sophie sat stunned, staring blankly at a far corner of her living room. Her throat had gone dry, and she upended the bottle until it was empty.
‘He wants me to … but … wow!’ thought Sophie. The reality slowly sank in. She was going to start wetting herself for a living, and her bladder pounded with enthusiasm. ‘Ooh la la.’ A whole new vista of possibilities opened before her, and Sophie switched from drunken dejection to alcoholic arousal in an instant. Another long spurt rewetted her soaking French knickers. It reminded her that she needed the loo immediately. Rising unsteadily to her feet she turned and looked back at the where she had just been sitting. She had made a sizable damp patch on the chair, and the sight of it aroused her even further. She never made it to the toilet. If she was going to start wetting herself for a living then she reasoned that she had better start practicing, and for the second time that day she did her toilet in her knickers.
For one long minute the golden warmth caressed her legs and soaked around her stockinged feet on the polished wood of her living room. It was bliss. It had felt so arousingly naughty, so deliciously erotic, just standing there and wetting herself with complete abandon. With the pounding in her bladder gone, Sophie started to experience a new desire in her nether regions. Quickly she hurried into her bedroom leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her. ‘Thumper, oh Mon Dieu where is Thumper?’
A few months later selected special interest magazines in the London area ran the following advertisement:
“Soggy Sophie, French Maid.”
By: Aaron