My Wife and I

Note: This story contains Female Desperation, Male Desperation, Accidental Wetting, Deliberate Wetting and Sex I have been a bed–wetter all my life. While my mom had really tried to get me dry, and eventually forbade me to use diapers, I had hardly moved to my first own apartment when I ran out to purchase large amounts of diapers and everything that was needed besides them. Since the day had been exhausting, I had gone to bed early and happily in diapers. My subconscious seemed to have grasped the fact, for that night I wasn’t plagued by bad dreams of searching desperately for a toilet, while the pressure in my bladder grew worse and worse – but I guess you know this type of nightmares. No, I slept like a log and awoke sopping wet, but very refreshed, without a trace of my usual abdominal pains, and decided never to go again to sleep without nappies. I worked for a chemical company engaged in the production of super absorbents. It was lab work; I measured the exact quantity of saline water a certain polymer would take up. I had long since changed my fabric diapers for the super absorbing type, and so, when one day we had to test a sample that did take up the incredible amount of three pints of liquid, I at once decided to test it at home. I filled the stuff into a textile filter bag, which, with the help of some cotton nappies, would fit nicely into a pair of plastic panties. Settling to my desk after dinner, and employing myself with my private finances, I started with a huge can of green tea. You know how this stuff works. But you cannot drink tea forever. When my bookkeeping was done, I settled for a large bottle of that special Bavarian beer, the sort with the brewers yeast left in it. Makes you pee twice the amount that you drank, and that was why I mostly avoided it in the evening. Not so today. I swear that when I got up to go to bed, I heard a faint gurgle out of my stomach. Capacity three pints? We would see. Normally I do not wake up when I pee during the night but that night the stream from my bladder was nearly half an inch in diameter and felt as if it stretched my urethra. My legs were almost paralyzed from the intensity of my pissing, and if the new super absorbent was no good, then there was nothing I could do about it. In fact, the pad was getting dangerously warm, so it wasn’t maybe the ideal absorbent stuff at all. I sincerely hoped it would not get so hot as to burn me, but I was absolutely helpless, unable to move, until my bladder had relieved itself to the very last drop. Should I now get up and change diapers? I was rather drowsy and thought that, though this last wetting had felt like a one–gallon–accident, it was very likely only one and a half pint (I never have been able to hold large quantities), so, enough capacity was still left. Anyway, it felt miraculously dry against my skin. I dozed off again. In the morning, when the alarm clock woke me, my bladder was dangerously full again, almost hurting, but I was able to hold it. Yet I decided not to go to the toilet, no, I would test the new material. I didn’t know if I would make it to the bathroom, anyway. So I stretched out comfortably on my back and let it go. I knew the same instant I started that it had been a mistake. Somehow, after the first wetting the material had – who knows? – jellied up or solidified – it did not soak up one more tiny drop. Incredible amounts of hot liquid rushed from my half–erect cock, over my belly, all over the bed, gathering under me, and I could not stop it. Whenever my bladder gets this full, and I finally release it (or it releases itself), I fall under some sort of paralysis, my legs get totally weak, while the pleasure in my bladder and my cock spreads throughout my body. It took more than a minute before I finally could get up. Dripping wet, of course, pajamas and everything. Don’t believe what they tell you – being a bed–wetter does impair your sex life. At least, I never could bring myself to spend a whole night with a girl because I expected them to throw me out when they noticed I needed diapers for the night. And then another problem occurred, especially after I met my wife Claire, and went absolutely mad about her. I started to wet myself during the daytime, too, but only after I had been with her. Since I insisted not to sleep at her place, I came in early in the morning (I had my own keys to her flat), left the rolls I had bought on my way in the kitchen, undressed and joined her under her quilt. From her petite looks, her style, with her jet–black bob–cut hair, her French underwear, her lavish nightgowns, the fact that she never took off her pearl necklace, that she tinted her nipples with dark–red rouge, plucked the hair from her body, polished her toe–nails, you would have taken her for a very physical person, the most sensuous woman alive. Well, she wasn’t. Oh, don’t get me wrong; she was hot enough. She had a way to take possession of my body, to satisfy herself using me, riding me, but she concentrated fully on achieving her orgasm, which she unfailingly did, in a prissy, tensed up way. I was not very experienced, and it took me quite a while to see through her fa’ade. As for enjoying other things, the feel of her satin underwear against her skin, the taste of my body, or her own, of playing pleasurable games without the goal of orgasmic satisfaction, that wasn’t for her. She never understood – or didn’t want to understand – that I enjoyed peeing, the relaxed feeling, the sensation itself, although it caused me some trouble. For her, these things did not exist. It caused some discontent, although mostly we got along fabulously well. So, when I joined her under her covers, I took a lot of time stimulating her. She liked all these vibrating devices, and we had many. She loved it when I fingered her while I was in her, and we had several positions for that. She rode herself to orgasm, leaving me behind, and then mostly threw herself on her back, pulling me into her, and really making me enjoy the last few minutes, while she touched, rubbed, pressed and penetrated me virtually everywhere. I emptied myself amply and thoroughly, but for me, the emptying process could go on. Try it! Skip breakfast, just have a cup of coffee, ride a bus for half an hour, and make love for one more hour, and see if your bladder will not be rather full by then! Mine was very full every time, and to make it worse, my control was rather low after all this stimulation, and with every nerve ending sensitized. I was always in dire straits, and hardly managed to get to the bathroom in time without displaying a most unromantic haste. Sometimes I had to wipe up a puddle from the floor. Sometimes when I was still inside her I felt the oncoming loss of control, and then had to pull back and pee secretly on the quadruple layers of towels that Claire spread under her buttocks every time. Did I tell you that she was slightly compulsive in nature? She never told me whether she noticed my doings between her thighs. After breakfast, after visiting the bathroom one last time, and riding the bus towards the laboratory, sometimes I could not help thinking about my morning. And that was dangerous. Occasionally, during especially pleasurable reminiscences, my cock would stand up, making my trousers bulge, and this bulge would then get thoroughly wet, leaving me as hot for an orgasm as one can imagine, and a need for a change of clothes. That was really bad! I could accept it that I was a bed–wetter and had to wear nappies in the night, but during daytime – no! It seemed that fucking was not good for me. I started to skip the morning coffee, and did everything I could think of to prevent my bladder filling at a. m. hours, but it was no use. Things got worse. [How can it be?] That was the title that I gave the letter that I wrote in a forum. “Besides having an uncontrollable urge to pee after orgasm I wet myself DURING DAYTIME when I think of sex.” [Re: How can it be?] Somebody answered, I never found out whether it was a man or a woman. “After all, this is not so unusual. Most people enjoy pissing in a sexual way, and you’ll find it even in the classic literature. Who says he doesn’t enjoy it mostly lies. Your troubles might come from your wish to suppress the erotic feelings you have with urination. But your body does not want to be denied its pleasure.” ‘What a bogus,’ I thought. “Once you have found the best ways for you to enjoy what is a very natural and pleasurable thing, your control will be a 100%, as it is with all who do not deny themselves their pleasure. Especially, you should pee directly after you have come, or as soon as your body will allow it. As for me, my partner knows I have to and I want to.” ‘Are you man or woman?’ I thought curiously while reading on. “My partner feels it and enjoys it. I never experience trouble with this. And besides, it feels great. Feels as if your orgasm goes on and on, and gets you in marvelous shape for the next go at it. You will be sensitized and enjoy every aspect of sex more.” HTH, Sunny Hey, he–Sunny or she–Sunny, what about practical aspects? Your partner is not by chance made of vinyl? Where does all this liquid go? Who changes the linen? Though I instantly warmed up at the idea of emptying my bladder directly after fucking – if possible, without withdrawing – Claire would get mad if I did so, there was no chance she wouldn’t. She was very clean, you couldn’t tell her worn underwear from the newly washed. And for me, to pee inside of her, it would be yummy. I managed to get my half–erect cock out of my shorts just in time, so I just had to wipe away a puddle under my desk. So I don’t enjoy it enough, Sunny? We’ll see. I couldn’t bring myself to try it out with Claire in bed. I didn’t know how she would react if she found her sheets soaking. But one night, as we took a walk outside in the dark, I carried my nylon anorak over my arm since it was too warm for it, I thought, now or never. Besides, we had never done it anywhere else but in bed. Claire took a worried look around, but when she saw that the countryside was virtually deserted, she laid down on my anorak willingly enough. She even seemed to like it, as she was very quick to achieve orgasm (always one, never more). This was all right for me, because I was only looking forward to my pee. Hardly noticing my orgasm, I tried to relax directly after I had come. It took me only two seconds before I had the familiar feeling in my bladder and cock, and it got very hot and wet down there. Claire tried to wriggle free, but I held her. My legs, of course, were absolutely weak, but not so my arms. I was having the most gorgeous feeling down there that I had ever experienced. “What are you doing there?” Claire demanded, “Let me go!” “I’m not ready yet”, I answered, feeling as if I was still coming. Finally, I withdrew. Rock–hard. “It really seems as if you are not ready. Yuk! What’s that?” screamed Claire and jumped up, hot liquid flowing down her legs. Realization dawned in her eyes, she glared at me, and this evening she would not let me get near her again. Fortunately – if one could call it so – my cock was so hard that even thinking of what had happened did not make me wet – I couldn’t, even though I can pee with an almost full erection. I was sent home. A shower was needed, I soaped my body and my stiff member, but the erection would not go away. I hadn’t masturbated much since I was with Claire, the idea didn’t seem very exciting to me, but I would burst if I didn’t do something. So I lay down on the bed and started to rub myself, and very soon I couldn’t hold back any longer. I had brought only a rather small towel, and too late I remembered what would happen as soon as my orgasm was over. Two seconds and the flood started. Soon the towel was drenched and I grabbed and collected my bathrobe on my belly. I finished up with two additional washing programs to be run. But, as I filled the washer with my dripping stuff (there was my anorak to be thought of, too), I decided the pleasure was worth it. It was not worth the trouble with Claire, though. Occasionally she made me stay at her place overnight, and this involved a lot of concealment and maneuvering. I didn’t dare to fall asleep before she did, and had to wake up before she did, to undo my dripping nappies; which, of course, I had to stuff somewhere into my luggage and carry away. One morning, maybe inevitably, she found out. Secret bed–wetters shouldn’t drink beer in the evening; it is the best stuff imaginable if you want a flood, and the worst if you don’t. I awoke, and to my horror, Claire had gotten up already. I could get up now myself, stuff the diaper away, and make a run on the bathroom, but I had to hurry. Just as I had taken off my pajama bottom and torn open the Velcro, I couldn’t hold back any longer, pressed the diaper to my belly and sunk back helplessly to the edge of the bed, hoping that Claire wouldn’t come in during the minute it would take me to relieve my overfilled bladder. As I sat on the bed and let it flow, the familiar pleasure and paralysis spread through me and I guess a sheepish grin appeared on my face. It was that which made Claire so angry as she came back and caught me there. “What are you doing there? Stop it, that’s gross!” Quick as lightning she stretched out her hand and tore away the diaper, before she knew what was going on. Two seconds she stared at my almost erect cock, from which an impressive arch of yellow liquid rose and splattered at the wall. Before I could react and get back the diaper, I had soaked the expensive striped wallpaper plus the carpeting. I fumbled to get it at my body again, and the rest went into it cleanly. Taking a deep breath I regained control over my legs, and secretly I was very pleased at having pissed her carpet, feeling somehow that she deserved it. Claire sobbed. “Would you care to give me an explanation?” “If I could! The fact is that I am never to be trusted at night outside diapers, and I do wear them, and while I manage it sometimes to the bathroom in the morning, sometimes I don’t. This was simply one of the other days.” “But you looked as if you… as if it’s something… you liked it!” she accused me. I didn’t answer and took another deep breath. “Claire, I don’t feel that I can talk about it. Look, I’ll help you clean up this mess, and then we’ll have our shopping day, as we planned it, okay?” She nodded, and then wiped away her tears. Thoroughly shaken, at breakfast she drank more coffee than usual. And in a slightly improved mood we started on our shopping expedition. Claire had been promoted and wanted to choose several costumes suitable for middle management. I never know why she wants me with her, for I don’t know much about fashion, being a chemist, a profession whose members are notorious for dressing badly. Later we went to one of the larger stores to stock her up on tights and the like. Nervously she looked around. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I never use the facilities in these stores, but I’ll have to, now. Maybe it was all this coffee and sex. Do, please hold these bags.” She returned in a short time, rather pale. “You wouldn’t believe the queue!” she stated, then pressed together her thighs and contorted her face. I had never seen her like this. “Shall we go somewhere else?” I offered. “No, I wouldn’t make it. Oh, dear!” And a second time she crossed her legs, even bent over. “Johnny, do you carry these– these things around with you?” “Yes, always – one or two of them.” “Into the cubicle – but quick!” There was no vacant cubicle, so we had to hide in a much less suitable place. Pulling down her panties, she pressed the diapers I had unfolded for her between her legs. Then she started, but only to dribble. Her face contorted even more. “Ouch, it really hurts.” “Why, it shouldn’t – what are you doing, girl?” I pushed her hands away and held the diaper for her. “Don’t press it so close to your body, so, that’s better, now you can let it go!” “No, I won’t.” “Why not? This stuff takes up everything – you saw me this morning!” “Because, if you lose control you might not regain it, so I never.” “You mean to say you never really let it go, right away?” I looked into the diaper, and saw that there were only little drops and squirts coming from her, more like a leaky faucet, not like a healthy human being. “No”, she said, “just enough to relieve the pressure. See what comes of urinating freely – see it in yourself! I want to keep control over it!” “Now you mix up things”, I said, and soothingly I stroked her lower back with the palm of my hand. I slightly pressed the lower regions, massaging them in the same way I did with myself when the abdominal cramps were plaguing me. I must have come upon the right points, because suddenly Claire wailed softly: “Nooo.” and then the Niagara Falls broke free. I felt the diaper getting hot against my hand, while she put her head on my shoulder, sobbed and pissed like nobody I had seen before. “Come on”, I tried to soothe her, “you will feel better when you are finished.” “You don’t understand me! I’ve lost control! I couldn’t stop now, and this hasn’t happened to me before.” When she had finished, she grabbed my wrist. “No!” she said, “there’s more!” And she bent over slightly, releasing yet more of the golden fluid. The weight came down upon my hand that was still holding the diaper. A shop assistant came to see what was up. Because my body covered Claire, as she was standing in a niche, the saleslady only saw her tear–streaked face, and me, waving her away angrily. She fled, probably thinking Claire had had an accident. The diaper would be difficult to fold, it was so saturated with piss, and Claire was having yet another pee. She managed to clean herself with the hankies I gave her, and I, of course, had plastic bags. The saleslady kept staring at the bag in my hand as we left the shop in unceremonious hurry, almost forgetting our shopping bags. Having dumped that other bag into a rubbish bin, we crossed the park on the way to my car. Suddenly, Claire grabbed my sleeve. “Come on in here”, she said, pulling me into a rhododendron of impressive size. “I think I…” and quickly she pulled her silk slip aside, and for the first time in my life I saw a woman pee standing up. Luckily my eyes stayed in their sockets. “Would you mind giving me another of these– these.” “Certainly.” I took out another one and unfolded it. “Here you are – another of these.” “What did you say?” – And then she laughed for the first time this day. “My skirt is sagging – why is it sagging?” she asked as she readjusted her clothes over the neatly fitting, thin diapers. In fact, the slight bulge of her tummy that she never lost, despite so many visits to the gym, was completely gone. In the car, after one hour of driving, she suddenly sat up very stiffly, and then giggled. “Oh–ho–ho, I’m wetting. I didn’t even feel it coming!” Of course, she regained control after a few days. It was maybe only her bladder’s revenge if she had lost it temporarily. And now I could explain to her what I wanted, and she even expected it (she just ordered some waterproof sheets from the catalogue). For me, I have stopped bedwetting altogether, I even do not need the diapers any more. Provided I can piss after ejaculating. If I can’t, it starts all over again after a few days. One day, I’ll hope, I will bring Claire to pee after climaxing herself. I know that she needs to. Then, I think, I will be completely happy sexually. But I’m not in a hurry.
Aleysha