Big Accident on Campus

Note: This story contains Female Desperation, and Accidental & Deliberate Wetting.
My name is Daisy and I wet my pants last Sunday.
I have no idea when my fetish with wetting began, but ever since I was little, there’s always been something magical about the desperate struggle with nature. My earliest memories of feeling attracted to someone were memories of helping a struggling friend make it to the restroom and watching her fail en route. With such a fetish for watching, I’ve always been a careful soul in regards to my own bladder. I’ve wet myself a couple of times as a little girl, but that’s to be expected. In my middle school and high school years, I’d never let myself get even remotely near the “danger zone” of wetting my pants… until last Sunday.
I was first really depressed and confused by my own accident. I felt kind of terrible, but now the time is passing and I’m able to see my tale as what it is: extremely hot as long as I pretend that it wasn’t me. So I will recount it to the best of my ability for you, my friends and my sisters and brothers who share my interests. For aesthetics, I’m 19 and about 5’3 with the frame of a rugby player. I have a little extra weight on me, but I’ve never been considered fat by non–Asian categories. I keep my brown hair short, layered down with the longest at neck length. My hair often hangs in my face over my brown eyes unless I push it behind my ears. On the day of the accident, I was wearing tight tan cargo Capri pants and my first small blood donor t–shirt I had earned not a few weeks beforehand.
The full story of my accident really started on the way back from a family skiing trip. To avoid traffic, we left our cheap motel room way too early in the morning to come back down the hill to our town. Thank goodness I had time to relieve myself after waking up in the morning because I really had to go, but as soon as we got in the car I drowsily downed a chilled bottle of water mom handed me for the trip and fell back into a deep sleep.
A bump in the road jolted me awake. My bladder ached a bit as I found my bearings, but nothing even close to being a serious threat. I looked around to see where we were. Shit.
“Mom!” I complained. “Why didn’t we stop?”
“You were sleeping, honey,” she said, instinctively trying to calm me down. She was busy doing makeup in the side view mirror, “We thought you would rather rest.”
I struggled against her out of sheer principle, “Mom, I said I wanted to stop back there so I wouldn’t have to waste another 15 minutes in the car after such a long drive, so why didn’t we stop there?”
“We aren’t turning around, Daisy, your father has driven long enough for one–OOF,” she was interrupted by a large pothole. The bump caught me by surprise as well, causing some serious discomfort on my bladder. At this point I had to pee. Still no danger, but priority one would be getting to a toilet.
Sarah’s house was only three miles away at this point. “Dad, can you stop the car? I want to walk.”
My dad gave a quick glance to my mother. She glared at him, but he smiled a little bit and pulled off to the side of the road, “Be safe, sweetie, call me when you get there.”
I grabbed my duffel bag without delay and spoke as I jumped out of the car, “Thank you, pops. I’ll see you at home, mom.”
Holy cow, it’s really cold! The crisp mountain air bit right through my thin layers, causing the gambit of usual symptoms. Now my need was getting much worse. I started to think of the walk ahead of me, and how long it was going to take. 3 miles at a brisk walk would be about 40–45 minutes. Yeah, I thought to myself, I can definitely make that. I was always one to refuse peeing myself against all odds. I even once squatted down and peed on the floor of the janitor’s closet at school to avoid the lines and impending accident at school once. I always thought to myself, I’d never be that girl.
The thought of peeing myself rarely crossed my mind. I simply refused to think of it as an option. However, the further I got into my walk, the more of a reality it started to become. A mile in, I knew I wouldn’t make it to Sarah’s. I’d have to stop at our school on the way. My bladder continued to fill as I walked, the cold air and heavy bag over my shoulder preventing any attempts at slowing the progression. My thoughts began to wander.
What if the bathrooms are closed? I mean– they often aren’t open on weekends to prevent vandalism. If they are, I thought, I have always wanted to pee on school property. I began to walk with a smile and a new bit of determination. If I make it there in time, perhaps I’ll even find an extra special place.
I don’t know how or why, but I was quickly losing a battle I didn’t even think I could lose. I had to pee. NOW. I had been walking on relatively deserted roads, but now I was on the main stretch towards the high school. Half a mile and I could relieve myself, but there was no chance of anything sooner. The cars passing by were far too frequent.
I was almost there when my bladder started to fall on its face. I had to pee worse than ever. Getting closer just made my need worse. Every step was painful and every thought was on just making it to the back of the gym. Finally, I went up the last hill before the campus.
Soon as I saw the gym, my heart skipped a beat. My euphoria was so close that my body lost control! I spurt a little pee into my pants. I dropped my bag and slammed my hands into my crotch.
Shit! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. I had never felt this close to peeing myself and been so far away from a bathroom. I grabbed my bag with one hand and left my other hand in my crotch and started dragging my bag as fast I could toward the gym.
150 feet. Shit, I can make it. It is right there. My bladder screamed with every step. What felt like gallons of pee were pushing down upon my muscles, just barely holding the floodgates closed.
100 feet. Oh my god, I’m gonna pee my pants! NO NO NO! I won’t, please, please don’t let me pee my pants. The gym bathrooms had those ridiculous cement arcs protecting the doorways. I WILL MAKE IT.
50 feet. I threw the bag off to the bushes and made a mad dash with both hands firmly in my crotch. OOOooooo, god, almost theeeere!!!
KCHUNK! The ladies’ was dead bolted. The pants were coming off. With inhuman speed, I tore my belt open and began unbuttoning my jeans when–– SLAM!
With a hideously girly scream, I jumped back to the wall and spurted again into my pants. No doubt there was some visibility, but this was no time to check. The men’s soccer team had come herding out of the locker room out to the field. I don’t know how many of them took note of me because they were being lead by their coach. Toilet– Men’s room. Pants stay on.
I could only think in single phrase thoughts at this point, every fabric of my being was hell–bent on not becoming the fantasy of every person on this site. I ran. My pants began to slip around my hips as I turned the corner into the locker room door. I was on the home stretch, until the unthinkable happened…
My sandal caught the ledge below the door. I tripped face–long into the locker room and began to pee in midair. I caught myself on my hands and knees and the waterfall began. It was as if someone turned on a faucet in my pants and I sat there on my hands and knees in a state of simultaneous pain, relief, rage, and complete euphoria watching the wetness spread outwards and downwards on the front of my legs.
Nooo, no no no.
I’d like to say halfway through the flood, I stopped the flow and tried to get back to my feet and to the stall. The pressure had alleviated a bit, but my legs were shaking and I could hardly gather myself to my feet. When I did, I came face to face with that skinny–boy with the curly hair, Jeff.
“Are–– are you alright?” He stuttered staring at my pants.
I put my face down immediately and hobbled past him. I got to the stall and needed to make a decision. I should leave my pants on. First, I wasn’t alone in this bathroom. But second, I actually wanted to. I was amazed with myself as I sat down and resumed peeing just how much pleasure I was deriving from it. Certainly not orgasmic in the context, but the thoughts, the feelings, and the sensations were all spot–on.
For an eternity, the only sounds in the locker room were the sounding and resounding of my pee pouring into the toilet bowl. And then silence.
“Jeff?” I whimpered.
“…” No reply until a faint, “Yes?”
“Don’t tell anyone about this?”
“I––” he began to stutter.
In as much menace as I could muster through my tearing eyes, I warned, “I will kill you if you do.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t tell,” he completed.
“Ok, good …Wait, won’t tell about what?”
“Ah–– Umm, nothing. I won’t tell. I promise.” Jeff stumbled. “… Umm, bye.”
The locker room door was pushed open again and I heard his flat feet carry him trotting out to the field.
Won’t tell about what? I thought.
Looking back on the tale from my current prospective alone in front of the computer, I might have a better idea what he may have been hiding.
I hope you enjoyed my story. This whole experience has been a real eye opener for me. Writing this has given me motivation to write some of my fantasy wettings (watching them specifically) and post them here as well. But also, this experience has made me consider trying my own “contrived accidents” I’ve read a few great stories about them, but never felt like trying before. Who knows, I may even write a story about it!
If you have any comments, please e–mail me!
Daisypfranklin (remove this) {at} live {dot} com
By: Daisy