Carlene's Boots

It was a sunny but not too hot day in autumn. Carlene and I had agreed to meet after work to do a bit shopping and to enjoy the sun in a street cafe. It was already fairly cold in the morning, so that I had decided for an ankle length skirt and slightly thicker pantyhose. Carlene was wearing black leather pants that I had never seen on her before. They were skin–tight, reaching down to her lower legs, with zippers on the outside. Under those pants she was wearing black pantyhose and dark red ballerinas. Typically for her, her hose had runs at both heels one of which reached up to her pants. Although the ballerinas hid her toes, a huge run on her right forefoot allowed for the assumption that not too many of her right toes were encased in nylon any more.
I was wearing a less–than–knee–long jeans skirt and a pair of ankle strap ballerinas. I had changed into them after work, to avoid hours of painful walking in the high–heels I had been wearing during work time.
We had to walk less than a mile from work to reach the first of our favourite shops. Carlene decided to enter a shoe shop where she had seen wonderful black boots a few days ago. It was a pleasure to watch her trying them on, exposing her toes and accidentally tearing another hole by pulling up the left boot’s zipper. Finally, she had the choice between two sizes, one of which was slightly too big the other rather narrow. Carlene took the bigger ones, telling me that she had intended to make them fit anyway. I asked her, how she would do that, and she smiled, and said, “The traditional way, you know?” First, I did not know, and then I started to understand. Carlene told me that, in ancient times, boots were made to adapt to a leg’s shape by peeing in them.
Carlene kept the boots on, paid for them, and we left. I asked her where she intended to fill her boots. She bowed over to me and whispered, “I have just started!” Then I understood. She had chosen a pair of watertight leather pants that reached down into her boots, because she knew in advance that this would allow her to fill her boots directly, without anybody around being able to notice.
I asked her whether she was sure that her leather pants would be waterproof, and she said, “Well, do you see anything? I started to dribble in my pants directly after we had left work.” Actually, I couldn’t see anything, except maybe for the seams that looked a bit darker around her crotch than the rest of her pants.
After we had reached the main street, Carlene stopped, turned towards me and parted her legs slightly. “Now I am making my boots fit,” she told me without lowering her voice. But what happened, and I am sure Carlene did not expect that, was that there was a considerable bulge appearing between her crotch and her stomach. The pants were so tight that her pee could not flow down her legs at the speed of her peering. Carlene was so surprised that she stopped a bit too late, so that, after she took a step, some pee made it over her belt, soaking the hem of her shirt and pouring down her pants from the outside. I found this very exciting, and, while pushing on the bulge to make more pee come out and soak her top, I suddenly let go myself.
A torrent of pee ran down my legs and into my ankle strap ballerinas. “Ohh,” said C, “You are making your shoes fit as well!”
Meanwhile, Carlene had found the right speed of peeing, as the bulge had disappeared. She stopped peeing when the pee came out of the openings of her boots – there was not too much space in there for both her feet and pee. However, Carlene said, “Let’s go shopping – my boots will adjust to my legs soon!” We went on, ignoring the squelching sound coming with every step, and enjoying our warm wetness.
So, actually, we moved on, went into some shops where we bought handbags, nice scarves, and a few other things. After about one hour, we went into a fashion store where both of us found a nice skirt. Mine was a drab–brown skirt of linen–like cloth, reaching down to the ankles. Carlene had picked a white jeans skirt which was, I’d say, daringly short.
As usual, we entered the fitting room together. After taking off my skirt and Carlene’s pants, we inspected the condition of our underwear. My white panties had dried meanwhile, leaving a huge yellow patch around the crotch. Carlene’s underpants were completely soaked. They were still dripping wet, and so were her pantyhose.
Our skirts were perfect fits, so we kept them on, put our other clothes into bags, paid, and left.
If I counted correctly, Carlene had not less than four runs and one hole visible between the top of her boots and the hem of her skirt. We headed for a street–side cafe, where it was getting dark already. As we saw that the cafe had heaters outside, we decided to take a table outside. Just after we had sat down, Carlene said, “Oh, my bum’s gotten wet!” She had forgotten that her underpants were still wet, so that they had quickly drenched the back of her skirt. She stood up and showed me two egg–shaped patches at her bum.
“Even better,” she said, while she sat down again, and soon I saw a steady flow of pee appearing between her legs and falling down on the ground. Carlene said “Hey, the skirt was wet anyway, wasn’t it? And do you know a better way to inaugurate a new skirt?” Although this was meant to be a joke, I had to admit that I didn’t know any better way. This was enough justification for me to wet my underpants a second time today, and it took a while until the pee had made it the whole way down my long skirt, We both laughed when finally our puddled unified.
By: Anni