The Tale of Jenny and Claire

Note: This story contains Female Desperation, and Accidental & Deliberate Wetting, Exhibitionism, Foreplay, and Sex.
God, it was hot! In fact, it was one of the hottest days I can ever remember, at least in the UK. It was so hot, you didn’t want to do anything; even breathing was an effort. My friend Claire and I were sprawled on a park bench, shaded from the direct sunlight by a large tree. Neither of us had any energy at all – we’d just used up what little we had drinking cold lagers in a nearby pub!
‘Oh, Christ, Jen! This heat really is just too much,’ Claire wailed, ‘I’m absolutely busting for a piss, but I can’t be bothered to move!’
She could almost have been reading my mind. My own bladder was sending increasingly frantic signals to my brain that it needed emptying, and as a matter of some not inconsiderable urgency. The problem was that my brain, along with the rest of my body, just wasn’t interested. There was a toilet block away across the playing fields, but I had neither the energy nor the inclination to walk over and use it. Obviously, Claire was in the same predicament. However, from one point of view at least, there the similarity of our situations ended.
‘Mmmm… I know exactly what you mean,’ I murmured. ‘Me too – I’m gonna do it in my knickers in a minute!’
Claire giggled, obviously thinking that I was only joking, and that I didn’t mean it literally. But then, although we had known each other for some years, and were pretty good friends, she wasn’t aware just what a thoroughly lazy bitch I can be when the mood takes me. And she certainly didn’t know that, whatever my mood happened to be at any given moment, I absolutely adore wetting myself. She was, however, about to be enlightened. The hot weather, the alcohol, lethargy (and a bladder that was filling by the minute, if not indeed the second!) all combined to put me in the mood for a good soaking.
We sat there for a while, neither of us speaking. I closed my eyes, enjoying the build up of pressure in my bladder, fed by the several glasses of lager I’d drunk. A few minutes later, I relaxed my sphincter, and pee began to trickle out, slowly at first, then turning into a full flood as I let go completely. I relished, as always, the feeling of the warm wetness soaking my clothes, spreading around my crotch and down under my bum. A moment or two later, a torrent of pee found its way between the slats of the bench, and splashed noisily on the ground beneath.
Claire must have thought I’d fallen asleep, as I heard her suddenly mutter, ‘Oh, my God!’ She began to shake my shoulder. ‘Hey, Jenny – wake up! You’re wetting yourself!’
I opened my eyes and grinned mischievously at her. ‘I know,’ I said, brightly. ‘Told you I was going to do it in my knickers, didn’t I?’
Her jaw dropped comically as she gaped at me in utter disbelief. An elderly couple shuffled past, the woman looking at me with disgust when she saw the still spreading puddle beneath me, and realised what I was doing. The old boy didn’t appear to notice, but then I doubt if he would have even if I’d been stood right in front of him, the poor old guy seemed to be on another planet. I’ve always been fascinated by the different ways people react when I wet myself.
Claire, for example, was obviously totally gob smacked. ‘What? You mean – you did it on purpose?’ she asked. ‘I – well, I thought you’d fallen asleep and had an accident,’ she added, confirming my earlier suspicion.
‘No, it wasn’t an accident,’ I answered, ‘I knew exactly what I was doing. Like you, I couldn’t be bothered to move, and besides, there isn’t much point in going to the loo when you’d rather do it in your knickers, is there?’
Claire just stared at me in amazement, obviously not knowing quite what to say.
‘Yeah, I know,’ I said. ‘I think I can guess exactly what you’re thinking – you probably think I’m completely nuts, utterly and totally barmy. Who knows? You’re probably right, but I just love wetting myself – have done for years, in fact.’
‘Oh,’ she said lamely. After a moment or two, she seemed to recover a little from the shock and then continued, ‘Mmm. Well that’s as may be, but you’ve just made me want to go all the more!’
I chuckled. ‘Well, you’d better go over to the loo then, or you’ll be wetting your knickers as well!’
Claire gazed thoughtfully across the playing field to the toilet block, and then looked up and down the path. The elderly couple had passed from sight, and no one else was approaching.
‘Oh, bugger it,’ she said. ‘I can’t be bothered. I reckon I’d probably piss myself before I got halfway there, anyway. I might just as well do it here. Anyway,’ she added, with a giggle, ‘It’s not as though it would be the first time.’
My stomach did several somersaults, almost ending up in my throat. I’d never seen another girl wet herself (at least, not one over the age of about 12 anyway). It was, however, something I had long fantasized about. With a final glance around to see that no one was near enough to realise what was going on, she pulled the back of her skirt out of the way so that she wasn’t sitting on it. I thought that was cheating a bit – after all, I was wearing jeans, and I knew that it would be patently obvious to anyone that I’d pissed myself big time. Not that I cared what anyone else thought. But I didn’t say anything – I didn’t want to put her off by saying or doing anything that would give her any cause for second thoughts. And anyway, I wasn’t yet totally convinced that she would actually do it.
But I was wrong. She closed her eyes, and visibly relaxed. Moments later, an absolute torrent of piss cascaded on to the ground beneath her, adding to the puddle I’d already made. She made a funny little sound as it poured out of her, something I can only describe as a cross between a groan and a sigh. ‘Mmmmmmaaaaaahh!’ I’d never witnessed anything so exciting or, I have to confess, so utterly, downright sexy in my entire life.
Just for the record, in case anyone has not yet cottoned on to the fact, I’m a lesbian. And although I’d never screwed up the courage to make any sexual approach to her, I’d actually fancied Claire for a long time. The sight and sound of her emptying an overloaded bladder into her knickers was almost too much to bear. I damned near came on the spot – in fact, had I so much as touched myself, I’m sure I would have done. As the flow slowed and finally ceased, she shuddered visibly. ‘Jesus!’ she said, with feeling. ‘Oh, God, that’s better!’ Was that shudder simply down to sheer relief, or was it one of pleasure, I wondered?
She giggled briefly, but then became suddenly serious. ‘Problem is,’ she said, ‘I’m not sure that doing that was such a good idea after all – my mother went berserk last time I wet myself. She’s probably gonna kill me!’
That’s the odd thing about Claire. She’s obviously not stupid; quite the opposite, in fact; she’s highly intelligent – she’s even got a degree in something or other. One would think that a young woman of twenty–three would have some degree of independence, but it has to be said that she’d often struck me as a bit of a “Mummy’s girl”, at times rather immature, and somewhat childlike in her ways. Mind you, having met her mother, I could understand to a certain extent why Claire was like that – her mother came across as a very domineering person. There were just the two of them – her father had died when she was a child. Even so, one would have thought that it would have been easy enough for Claire to hide her “accident”, despite the fact that she still lived at home.
However, I didn’t voice these thoughts, as it occurred to me that her naivety was something that I might just be able to turn to my advantage. ‘So don’t let her know then,’ I said. ‘Come back to my place. Your knickers can be easily washed out. They won’t take long to dry this weather, and she’ll be none the wiser.’
She appeared to think about this for a few moments. I didn’t want to give her the chance to say no, so before she replied, I decided to give her a little more encouragement. ‘We can make an evening of it,’ I said. ‘We’ll get a take away; maybe hire a video or something, if you like. I’ve got nothing planned, so if you haven’t either, I would certainly enjoy the company.’
This seemed to be enough to persuade her. ‘Yeah, OK then. Why not?’ She smiled at me brightly. ‘I’d like that, too. It’ll make a nice change from sitting at home.’
‘Right! Come on, then.’ I stood up to leave.
‘OK,’ she said. Then, ‘Oh, my God, Jen – you’re absolutely soaked! I reckon I can get away with it, ‘cause I don’t think my skirt’s wet, but everyone’s gonna know what you did!’
I glanced down at myself. She was right, of course. There was a large wet stain around my crotch and down the insides of my thighs – the blue denim made it very obvious. I couldn’t see behind me of course, but I knew that from the back, my predicament would be even more apparent. Wonderful!
‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ I replied. ‘I don’t care. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest – believe me, it’s by no means the first time that I’ve pissed myself in public. They’re my knickers, my jeans, and it’s my body. If I want to piss all over myself and my clothes, then it’s my business and no one else’s.’
‘True enough, I suppose’ said Claire. ‘OK, then, let’s go!’
We wandered out of the park and into the street, not talking at first. Eventually though, Claire’s curiosity obviously got the better of her.
‘So tell me, was it really true what you said earlier,’ she asked. ‘That you actually like wetting yourself?’
‘Is the Pope a Catholic? Does night follow day? Does your friend Jenny like pissing in her pants? Same answer to all three questions, girl. Yes! Yes! And abso–bloody–lutely!’
‘But why? How come?’
‘Ah, well. That’s the sixty–four thousand dollar question, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘I don’t think I could give you or anyone else for that matter, a definitive answer to that; in fact, I’m not really sure that I know myself. It’s just something that gives me a great deal of pleasure, and has done for a long time.’ It was the first time that I’d ever admitted this to anyone. I decided that I might as well tell her the whole story. I didn’t really think that I’d lose her friendship over it, but I thought that if that were to happen, then maybe she wasn’t a real friend after all. But of course, I didn’t put these thoughts into words.
‘Although I was obviously too young to remember very much about it,’ I told her, ‘it seems that when I was a toddler, accidents were an almost daily occurrence with me. Apparently, I would often become so engrossed in something that I wouldn’t realise that I needed to pee and I’d end up wetting myself. Sometimes it was only a dribble, but quite often I would completely soak myself. My mum says that she suspects that sometimes I knew that I needed to go, but I was just too bone idle to go to the toilet. Given my natural laziness, I think she may well have been right about that! I was also a persistent bed wetter – I was well into my teens before I even started to become dry at night. It wasn’t deliberate – at least not back then – I just didn’t wake up when I needed a pee, my bladder would simply empty itself while I slept. And to tell the truth, even when I started to wake up when I needed to, sometimes I couldn’t be bothered to get up to the loo, and I would just wet myself and go back to sleep in the puddle. And actually, I’ve never completely grown out of that – even now I still wet in my sleep occasionally, although I think that nowadays it’s because I’m so used to wetting myself that my bladder sometimes just lets go of its own accord.
‘I was taken to the doctor’s more than once, but they always told my mum not to worry about it, as I would grow out of it. And I suppose I did; up to a point, anyway. Although I still tended to wet myself occasionally, I had fewer accidents as I got older. But I think that my becoming “dry” had more to do with the fact that I got a little bit pissed off, if you’ll excuse the pun, with my mum nagging at me than anything else.’
We walked slowly as I talked; we were in no hurry, and it was too damned hot for that anyway. Not surprisingly, I was getting a few odd looks from people who noticed the state of my jeans. A couple of adolescent boys grinned as they passed, and then started giggling and nudging each other. I ignored them, (or at least pretended to), not caring what they thought. I continued my story. Just telling it was increasing my sexual excitement.
‘Anyway, as I say, I don’t really remember very much about all that – mostly it’s what my mother has told me since. But by the time I was about 12, I was more or less dry, apart from the bedwetting and the occasional accident, neither of which I have to admit, ever really bothered me. I can’t say that I ever recall being embarrassed or upset about it. I rather suspect now that even then, I may have been prone to wetting myself because I liked it, but at that age I simply didn’t realise it. It wasn’t until I was in my teens that I discovered that I actually enjoyed it.
‘One day, I was at home alone, sitting in the back garden, reading. It was hot, and I’d drunk quite a lot of coke. Naturally, I soon needed to pee, but as usual, I couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it, and eventually I just let go and soaked myself. I can’t even claim that I’d been so engrossed in my book that I didn’t realise that I needed to go. It was no accident; I did it deliberately. Later, I told my mother that I had dozed off and done it while I slept, and given that she thought that wetting while I was asleep was not exactly unusual, she believed it.’
‘But for me this was a little different – it was the first time that I can clearly remember doing it both consciously and deliberately, and I found it extremely exciting, and from that day on I’ve really enjoyed wetting myself. I would often do it, and it would frequently go unnoticed, but if anyone did, I would just dismiss it as an accident. I started wetting the bed more often again too, except that now I was more likely to do it intentionally than while I slept, although of course I always let everyone think that I had been asleep and didn’t know that I’d done it. The more I wet myself, the more I enjoyed it, and I’ve never stopped.’
‘My mother sometimes moaned about it, but eventually, she seemed to become resigned to it, and in the end she more or less gave up complaining, although I’m convinced that sometimes she didn’t even notice! I’m sure that she just assumes that I simply have a weak bladder, and of course, it suits me to let her think that. But I have to admit that it’s not true, really; now I can normally hold my wee as well as anyone else. Obviously, there are times when I have to stay dry, like when I’m at work, for instance. And I don’t usually do it if I think it would embarrass or upset anyone, either. But the plain and simple fact is that I just love soaking myself, and I have to confess that I do it as often as I can.’
‘But if you pressed me for a reason, I couldn’t really tell you why I enjoy it so much, except that I just love the feeling of piss soaking my clothes and running down my legs, or making a puddle on a chair or in my bed. I love the feel of wet clothes afterwards, like they are now, and also the smell of my pissy clothes and bedding. It all gets me really excited and worked up, and turns me on like nothing else.’
Claire hadn’t said a word while I talked, although she did seem to be listening intently.
‘Sorry if you find all this disgusting,’ I said, ‘but that’s my story.’
‘Oh, no, please don’t think that,’ she now hastened to assure me. ‘I must admit that, to put it mildly, it’s quite a shock to find out that someone you’ve known for so long (what, 10 years is it?), wets herself on purpose, and that you didn’t have a clue about it! But I don’t have a problem with it. If it gives you pleasure then good luck to you. It’s fine with me.’ She paused for a moment, then added; ‘I remember reading an article in some magazine or other once which talked about people and couples who get sexual pleasure from wetting themselves and each other. I didn’t believe it at the time, but maybe it was true, after all.’
‘I’ve read that sort of thing too,’ I said. ‘I suspect that a lot more people get enjoyment from it than we realise, probably because most people would never dare to admit it, at least not publicly.’
‘You’re probably right,’ she agreed.
By now I was getting curious too– I just couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said earlier, that today wasn’t the first time she’d ever wet herself. Was it just once, an isolated occasion, or did it happen often?
I was dying to hear about it, so after a few moments I asked her, hoping that she wouldn’t get upset.
‘When we were in the park you implied that you’ve wet yourself in the past. If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear about that, unless you find it too embarrassing, that is.’
‘Oh, my story’s nothing like yours,’ she replied; I was somewhat relieved to note that her tone was quite candid. ‘I’ve never wet myself deliberately before; today was the first time I’ve ever done that. But I’ve certainly had a few accidents in the past, although it’s not something that happens regularly. Usually, it’s just nerves, or excitement. I’ll never forget one time it happened; I reckon I must have been about 14 at the time. I was in a school play, and I hadn’t been to the loo before I went on, although I can’t actually remember whether I needed to go or not. Anyway, the moment I set foot on stage, I was suddenly quite desperate for a pee, and I was so nervous that I lost control completely. Fortunately, my costume consisted of a long, dark–coloured dress, and I don’t think anybody noticed, though I expect somebody wondered later where the puddle had come from! I’ve also wet myself a few times simply because I’ve tried to wait too long for one reason or another.’
‘I can remember wetting the bed on two occasions; once when I was in my teens and still at school. It was exam time, and I suppose it was probably due to nerves. The other time was after I’d got very drunk at a party – it was only a few weeks ago, as a matter of fact.’ Now it was my turn to be surprised. I have to say that I couldn’t imagine Claire drunk; I’d certainly never seen her in that state, but I made no comment. ‘That was the last time, when my mother went absolutely fucking mental. She actually said that she would put me back in nappies if I ever wet the bed again! Can you believe that?’ (Oh, Claire, my love, I thought to myself – you can wet my bed any time you like!) ‘I can’t say that it ever excited me before, though,’ she continued. ‘And I’ve certainly never found it sexy in any way like you do. Until today, I’ve really only ever been embarrassed by it, especially if anyone else knew what I’d done.’
“Never excited me before?” “Until today?” What did she mean by that, I wondered? Did she mean that now she was enjoying it too, or was that just wishful thinking on my part? But I didn’t yet feel confident enough to ask her outright.
‘I find people’s reactions fascinating and varied,’ I told her then. ‘They range from laughter and ridicule, like those teenage boys back there – did you notice them giggling? – To shock and disbelief, like your reaction in the park earlier when I told you I’d done it on purpose, and everything in between. It doesn’t bother me in the least – if anything, it merely adds to my excitement. But also, I always find it quite amazing just how often I can wet myself quite openly without anyone at all noticing. Some people are so unobservant, it’s unbelievable!’
Claire grinned. ‘It’s funny you should say that,’ she said, after lowering her voice to ensure that anyone nearby couldn’t have overheard what she was saying. ‘While I’m not sure that I could walk around like you, with soaking wet jeans for everyone to see, I must confess that I’m not the least bit bothered by the fact that my knickers are wet, and I am getting quite a buzz from knowing that no one else knows, other than you, that is. More than once this afternoon, I’ve found myself wondering what this person or that person would think if they knew that I’m wet.’
My stomach did another little somersault as I smiled at her. ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ I said. ‘It is exciting, isn’t it?’ Again, I wondered whether she was actually enjoying being wet too – from what she was saying it certainly didn’t seem totally beyond the bounds of possibility. Could she perhaps be persuaded to do it again? Had I found myself a soul mate, or maybe something more than that, perhaps?
Or was I reading more into it than in fact there was?
Maybe I was. Probably! Almost certainly!! Of course, I was just getting carried away with my own fantasies, wasn’t I? Ah, well – but it’s nice to dream, isn’t it?
By this time we had reached my place. It’s nothing special, just a little two–up, two–down terraced house on the corner of the street, but it’s mine, and I like it. I opened the front door, and went straight through into the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. Claire followed me, commenting that I had a nice home. I hadn’t lived there all that long, but I was slightly surprised when I suddenly realised that this was the first time she’d ever been in my house.
‘Thanks’, I said, switching the kettle on. ‘OK, while that boils, let’s find you something to wear while we take care of those wet knickers of yours.’ She smiled shyly, but didn’t reply. She just stood there, apparently unable to move, so I gently took her by the hand, and she followed meekly as I led her up the stairs to my bedroom.
I went over to the dresser and pulled open my underwear drawer. ‘Help yourself,’ I told her, undoing my sodden jeans. I kicked off my shoes, stepped out of my jeans and tossed them into the laundry basket. I kept my knickers on – I saw no point in changing them, since they were only going to get wet again before very much longer, anyway. I was now dressed in my usual attire for slumming it around the house, namely a tee shirt, wet knickers (nothing new there then!), and not a lot else. Claire stood there, apparently rooted to the spot. Her childlike nature seemed to have suddenly and completely taken her over. It appeared that she needed some assistance.
‘Come on,’ I said, ‘there’s no need to be shy. Here, let me help.’
I unzipped her skirt, and she stepped out of it, seemingly completely submissive to whatever I did or said. I folded it and laid it on the bed. I turned back to her and gazed at her for a moment. Claire is a very pretty girl, quite small, about 5 feet tall, and slightly built, which merely enhanced her childlike personality. Somehow, she managed to look at once both totally innocent and extremely sexy. My eyes were drawn, like a compass needle to a magnet, to her crotch. Her white cotton knickers had a pink floral design, with lace trim around the waist and legs. The yellow tinged wet stain around her crotch was highly visible. To say that none of this was doing anything to quell my mounting sexual excitement would be putting it mildly. Claire, however, I am sure, was utterly oblivious to the effect she was having upon me. She simply stood there looking at me uncertainly – it seemed as though she didn’t have the slightest idea what to do next.
I placed my hands on her hips, as much to try and stop them shaking as anything else. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of her knickers and pushed them slowly down to her feet. She stepped out of them, and I removed her shoes as she did so.
I then took one of my favourite pairs of knickers out of the drawer – baby blue satin, a little bow in the middle of the waistband, and lace trim on the hips. I knelt down in front of her, and held them open as she stepped into them. I pulled them up into place. She was now clad in a similar fashion to me – tee shirt, knickers and not a lot else.
‘Unless you particularly want to, we don’t need to get dressed completely. I’m not going to, anyway. It’s very secluded here – It’s one of the main reasons I bought the place; we’re not overlooked from anywhere – no one can see us, not even the neighbours.’ Once again, she said nothing – she seemed to be completely tongue–tied. I picked her wet knickers up off the floor. ‘Let’s go and have that coffee, and we’ll decide what we’re going to do for the evening.’ She just nodded, that strange, uncertain look on her face still. I took her hand once again, and led her from the bedroom.
‘Hang on a minute,’ she said, finally finding her voice as we left the bedroom. ‘I have to wee again. Where’s your loo?’
This was just the opportunity I’d been waiting for. My own bladder was also quite full again by this time – it was getting on for two hours since we’d wet ourselves in the park. Normally when I’m at home, I only wet in certain places; in the garden, of course, in the kitchen with its plastic chairs and tiled floor, and in the living room on certain protected chairs, and the settee, also protected. And of course, in my bed, with its permanently fitted waterproof mattress cover. But today, I was more than prepared to make exceptions. So I relaxed my sphincter muscles again, and with some difficulty, I kept the excitement out of my voice.
‘It’s there.’ I replied. I indicated the door across the landing, as I felt pee begin to trickle down the insides of my thighs. I tried to make my voice casual as I could. ‘Although there’s no need to go in there if you don’t want to – I rather suspect that you enjoyed it earlier, so if you want to do it again, feel free to wet your knickers.’
By the time I had uttered the words– I was in full flow. Claire looked down, watching in fascination as my bladder emptied itself noisily into a growing puddle on the carpet around my bare feet. Then she looked at me, a mischievous little grin on her face.
‘But they’re not my knickers,’ she giggled. ‘They’re yours!’
‘So what? That’s no reason not to wet them if you want to,’ I laughed. ‘I doubt very much if I possess even a single pair of knickers that I haven’t pissed in at some time or other, so don’t worry about it!’
She looked at me a moment longer, doubt still lingering in her eyes. Then she closed them, and gripped my hand tightly (we were still holding hands from when we’d left the bedroom). Once more she made that funny little ‘Mmmmmmaaaaah!’ sound, and let go. For the second time in a couple of hours, her pee mingled with mine, making an even bigger puddle. It was going to take a lot of disinfectant to clean it up, but I was past caring. I was also past the point of no return. Almost without my realising it, my free hand, in which I still clutched Claire’s wet knickers, had found its way between my legs. The merest touch sent me over the top, and I came violently. I don’t think Claire noticed – she appeared to be far more interested in giving my knickers a thorough soaking!
She opened her eyes and grinned sheepishly at me. ‘Do you know, I never realised wetting your knickers could actually feel good,’ she said. She paused, and then added accusingly, ‘You never told me!’
I laughed. ‘You never asked!’
When she had finished weeing, she looked at me and smiled. ‘Thanks, Jenny,’ she said, simply.
‘God, love, you don’t need to thank me!’ I answered, rather breathlessly. ‘Believe you me, girl, I got as much pleasure from it as I think you did.’ She didn’t reply, but looked at me with an unfathomable expression. I really couldn’t tell what she was thinking – but my burning curiosity got the better of me, and I had to ask her: ‘Please, Claire, I’m dying to know – did you enjoy wetting yourself? Did it give you pleasure, too?’
She nodded. ‘If I said no, I’d be lying. I just can’t believe how good if feels just to deliberately let go in my knickers – or yours, come to that!’
I laughed again. ‘So you think you might do it again, then?’
‘Let’s just say that it’s rather more than a distinct possibility – I’m afraid that you may well have already got me hooked, Jenny.’ She paused thoughtfully, then said: ‘But I’ll have to make sure my Mum doesn’t find out – unlike yours, she’d never understand.’
I put my arms around her and held her close to me. God knows how, but somehow, I managed to resist the temptation to kiss her, which was something I wanted to do very, very much, but I still wasn’t at all sure quite how she would react if I did. ‘Well, you’ll be more than welcome here any time you feel like wetting.’ I said. ‘It would be wonderful to have someone to share my passion with. If you want, you can borrow my clothes, or perhaps bring some of your own to leave here. Then, if you want, you can wet like a baby without your Mum being any the wiser.’
‘OK.’ She put her arms round me, and hugged me in return. ‘Sounds like it could be fun – if you really mean it, I’m more than willing to give it a try, at least.’
‘Right then,’ I said, taking her hand once more and leading her downstairs. ‘Coffee. Then we’ll order a take away. Whatever you like – it’s my treat. What do you prefer – pizza, Chinese, Indian, or what?’ I got mugs out of the cupboard, and made the coffee.
‘Chinese is my favourite,’ Claire said. ‘But if you’re going to buy the food, I insist on getting a bottle of something. Where’s the nearest off licence?’
‘There’s one just down the road, on the corner of the next street,’ I told her. Before I had time to say more, she ran back up the stairs. She came down a few moments later with her skirt and shoes on. I supposed (and hoped) that underneath the skirt, she was still wearing my wet knickers. She’d been so quick; she’d hardly have had time to change them.
‘Back in a few minutes’, she said, and hurried out of the door.
While she was gone, I went to the kitchen sink and put some warm water in it with a little washing powder. I picked up Claire’s knickers off the chair where I’d left them while I made the coffee. I gazed once more at the wet stain, and holding the crotch to my face, smelled the aroma of her pee. Despite the fact that I’d come only a short time before, my crotch began to throb with longing once again. This time, though, I managed to resist the temptation to masturbate. I put the knickers in the water and washed them gently, but thoroughly. I rinsed them out, wrung the excess water out and pegged them on the line outside the back door. The sun was still very warm, and I thought they would dry quite quickly.
The doorbell rang. I glanced through the lace curtain to see Claire at the door. I opened it and let her in. She handed me two large bottles of wine, one red and one white. ‘There you go,’ she said. ‘Put these in the fridge to chill and we’ll have them with our meal.’
‘Great,’ I said. Then a naughty idea occurred to me. ‘But there’s just one small problem though.’ I tried to sound as casual as I could. ‘We can’t use the toilet. For some strange reason, the door seems to have got stuck.’
Claire looked at me, genuinely puzzled for a moment. Then she caught on, and grinned. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘Whatever are we going to do? Unless it comes unstuck, we might wet our knickers!’ We both dissolved into fits of laughter.
When we calmed down, Claire asked if I’d mind if she took off her skirt again. ‘I don’t want it to get wet – I’ll have to wear it home later.’
‘Of course not – just hang it over the back of the chair. I’ve washed your knickers, by the way. They’re on the line drying.’
‘Oh! Thanks, Jen.’ She stepped out of her skirt, kicking off her shoes as well. ‘That’s so sweet of you – you didn’t have to do that, you know.’
‘Hey, it’s no problem,’ I answered. ‘It was a pleasure.’ As I watched her fold her skirt over a chair, I wondered if she would ever understand just how much of a pleasure it was. Although I knew that she must have still been wearing my knickers, I was still very gratified to see them, and the dark, wet patch between her legs.
I telephoned the Chinese and ordered our food to be delivered. As it was Saturday, I wasn’t surprised when they said it would be at least an hour, and quite possibly considerably longer. It didn’t matter – we weren’t going anywhere. After I’d set up the garden table and chairs so that we could eat outside, I got some cards out and we played while waiting. Claire made us another cup of coffee, and then we proceeded to make short work of one of the bottles of wine, and I was very pleasantly surprised when, without any warning, or indeed any prompting from me, Claire wet herself again. I looked up at her and smiled as I heard the unmistakable sound of pee splashing onto the ground beneath her chair.
She grinned wickedly at me and said, ‘Whoops!’
It has to be said that it wasn’t the most convincing “whoops” I’d ever heard, and I told her so. ‘You’re getting as bad as me.’
‘I know. It’s terrible.’ She was, I think, trying to sound innocent, but this time it somehow didn’t work. ‘I’m such a bad girl, aren’t I?’
‘You are indeed,’ I answered, ‘so that makes two of us, doesn’t it? Well, I’d better go and get us some more drinks. Got to keep up the fluid intake – we can’t risk dehydrating in this weather now, can we?’
‘Absolutely not,’ she agreed. Then she added, giggling, ‘But there’s not much chance of our knickers dehydrating, is there?’
‘I rather doubt it somehow.’ I smiled, letting go once more as I stood up. As the contents of my bladder ran down my legs, I asked Claire whether she wanted wine or beer, or she could have something even stronger if she wanted. ‘I’ve got whisky or vodka, and I think there’s also some sherry.’
‘I’d love vodka, with lemonade, if you’ve got any’, she answered. ‘But I’d better watch what I drink though, much as I’m in the mood to get thoroughly pissed. I’m already feeling quite tiddly, though God knows why; we haven’t really had that much to drink yet, have we?’ She paused and then added, ‘But Mummy definitely wouldn’t appreciate it if I wet the bed again.’ She giggled as she said it.
I smiled at her, and went inside. I wasn’t absolutely sure whether her remark about wetting her bed was a joke or not, but the idea of trying to get Claire to stay the night had already occurred to me, and what she’d said had given me the perfect opening.
I went back outside with the drinks. ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘It’s entirely up to you, of course, but if you really would like to have a few drinks, why don’t you stay here the night? Call your Mum and let her know you won’t be home, and then we can have our own little private party, just the two of us. You can get as pissed as you like, and I really wouldn’t give a monkey’s if you did wet the bed.’
She looked at me, that uncertain expression on her face once more. I’d love to have known exactly what she was thinking. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I was only kidding about wetting the bed – when I did it the other week, I’m pretty sure it was only a one off; I don’t think it’s all that likely to happen again. I really was totally wasted that night!’ My heart sank as she spoke, taking her words to mean that she did not want to stay the night. Happily, I was mistaken.
‘But if you meant what you said, I would love to stay.’ More acrobatics from my stomach – brilliant! Now all I had to do was get her into my bed instead of the one in the spare room, and hopefully, I’d be home and dry. Or perhaps more accurately, (and, to my twisted mind, infinitely more preferable,) home and wet!
‘Great!’ I said. I pointed to her glass. ‘Do you want to call her while I make that a double then?’
‘OK, thanks,’ she said. She fished around in her handbag and pulled out her mobile. ‘Shit! Battery’s flat. Not surprising really – I can’t remember the last time I charged it. Can I use your phone please?’
‘Yeah, course you can – it’s in the living room.’ I went into the kitchen and emptied the contents of her glass into a larger one. Then going into the living room, I added a liberal quantity of vodka to it, and only a little more lemonade. I poured myself a drink, too, smiling at Claire as she listened, waiting for her mother to pick up the phone. She smiled back at me, and turned away as the call was answered. With her back to me, I could see clearly the now large wet patch on the backside of her knickers. As I watched, she ran her fingers lightly over it, feeling the wetness. It appeared to be an almost unconscious gesture on Claire’s part, but I found it extremely sexy. I felt that familiar heat in my crotch as it began to throb again.
‘Hi, it’s me. Listen, I won’t be home tonight, so don’t wait up, and don’t worry.’ Claire paused a moment, obviously listening to her mother’s reply. Then she continued, ‘No, no, I’m round at Jenny’s at the moment – we’re going to a party and then we’ll crash out here afterwards, because it probably won’t finish till late.’
Perhaps I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did. Considering what I’ve already said about Claire’s usual naivety, I was a little surprised at how easily she lied to her mother. After another pause she said, ‘Oh, mum! Give me some credit, please. I’m not that stupid – you know I’m not into that sort of thing.’ She listened again, and then said, rather testily, it seemed to me, ‘Ok, ok, I’ll be careful – yes – yes, see you tomorrow then. Bye.’
‘Oh, she can be such a fucking stupid old cow sometimes!’ Claire replaced the receiver. She turned to me and began to laugh. ‘You’re not gonna believe what she just said to me!’
‘Go on, then, tell me.’
‘Well, first of all she told me not to go taking any drugs, and then she said,’ She was now laughing so much that for a moment or two was unable to speak. Between giggles, she went on, ‘Then she told me to be careful and not drink too much. “You know what happened last time,” she said!’
‘Quite right, too!’ I said with mock seriousness. ‘Can’t allow that sort of thing now, can we?
‘God knows what would have happened if she could have seen me at this moment, having wet myself three times – I reckon she’d have had a heart attack!’
We both fell about once more. As we did so, the doorbell rang. I went and opened the front window, rather than answer the door. Even I am not so brazen as to answer the door to anyone wearing little more that a pair of soaking wet knickers!
Claire took our drinks and some cutlery out to the table in the garden, while I busied myself getting plates and putting the food out. Before we began to eat, I picked up my glass. ‘OK, then, girl,’ I said. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get totally sloshed!’
‘Absolutely!’ Claire raised her glass and clinked it against mine. ‘Cheers!’ In one gulp, she poured its entire contents down her throat.
‘Through the teeth and over the gums; look out knickers, here it comes!’ I downed mine in one, too, as Claire creased up once more.
We tucked into the food, thoroughly enjoying it. We talked about everything and nothing, getting to know each other better than we ever had before, the alcohol loosening our tongues, and our inhibitions, not to mention our bladders. My little patio was flooded with urine by the time it grew dark.
I got a bin liner and began to fill it with the remains of the meal and the containers. Then I gathered up the plates and put them in the kitchen. Claire gazed somewhat drunkenly at me as I did so. ‘I’ll do the washing up,’ she said.
‘You’re in no state to do the washing up.’ I grinned at her. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d like some plates left in one piece! Anyway, I have no intention of doing it now – it can wait till morning.’ I paused, and then said, ‘I haven’t had such an enjoyable evening for absolutely ages. The food was good, and the drink, and the company was great. Thank you.’
‘Thank you, too,’ said Claire. ‘I’m having a great time, too.’ More splashing indicated the fact that she was peeing again. ‘Best party I’ve ever been to!’
I smiled at her. ‘Don’t know about you, but I couldn’t eat another thing, and I think I’ve had more than enough to drink. I’m just about ready for bed.’
‘Mmmm… me too, I think. Lead me to it!’
Hopefully, that’s exactly what I’m going to do, I thought. Claire stood up, and began to sway rather dangerously. ‘Whoops!’ she muttered.
I caught her arm to stop her falling. ‘Hey, steady on! Let’s get you up those stairs before you fall flat on your face!’
I led her inside, kicking the back door shut and turning the key, as I did so. I guided her through the living room, put the latch on the front door as I passed, and then helped her up the stairs. I paused on the landing, gripping her arm firmly; I was terrified that she would topple back down the stairs otherwise. She grinned drunkenly at me. ‘I think I’m pissed!’ she said.
‘Oh, you are indeed, young lady! Makes two of us, then, doesn’t it? And in more ways than one!’ I giggled drunkenly. ‘Now, where would you like to sleep? You can come and share my bed if you want, or you can sleep in the spare room, whichever you prefer?’
She didn’t answer for a few moments. I was on tenterhooks, not having a clue what she would decide. Gazing at me uncertainly, she then said, ‘I don’t know. I don’t really mind – you choose.’
I couldn’t believe my luck. Mentally punching the air, I breathed a silent ‘Yes!’ and pushed open my door before she could change her mind. ‘Come on, then. This way.’
Not letting go of her arm, since I wasn’t at all sure that she could stand unaided, I pulled back the sheet. I hadn’t put the duvet on – it was totally unnecessary in the present heat wave. I then proceeded to remove her tee shirt and bra. She had beautifully formed, firm breasts, and I gazed at them for a moment. Then, leaving her clad only in sodden knickers, I laid her down gently on the bed. I quickly brought myself to the same state, and lay down beside her. She smiled at me as I pulled the sheet over us.
‘You know, Jen,’ she said, closing her eyes as she spoke, ‘I’ve never shared a bed with another woman before.’
‘Well, there’s a first time for everything,’ I answered, ‘and I believe that in life you should try everything once. You’ll never know what you’re missing otherwise.’
She didn’t reply, just looked at me and smiled again. I decided that it was now or never. If I didn’t go for it now, the opportunity would be lost, and I might never have another. Besides, I don’t think I could have stopped myself, anyway. I pulled her gently towards me, and kissed her lightly on the lips. She offered no resistance at all; feeling a little more confident, I began to probe with my tongue. The parting of her lips, and her tongue darting out briefly to meet mine rewarded me. Our kisses quickly became passionate, our tongues eagerly exploring each other’s mouths. Growing bolder by the second, I began to caress her breasts, and I was gratified to feel her nipples stiffen at my touch. She moaned with what I hoped was pleasure, and after a few more moments, I felt her hand on my own breast.
We kissed and caressed each other freely then, not speaking, just touching, and enjoying the intimacy. My hands moved gradually down her body, gently caressing her stomach and abdomen. I worked my fingers under the waistband of her knickers, and slowly moved down, down into the mass of her pubic hair, and between her legs. The warm wetness enhanced the pleasure, almost causing me to explode with sheer delight. Still she offered no resistance, her legs parting as I began to gently massage her sex.
‘Ooooohhhhh!!!!!! Jenny!’ she whispered. ‘I’m really not at all sure that you should be doing that, you know.’ I felt a great pang of disappointment at her words, and my hand froze. ‘But if you stop now, I’m afraid I will have to kill you!’
Chuckling, I kissed her again. It was returned passionately, as she began to writhe with pleasure from the attention of my fingers. And I thought I would die from sheer joy when a hand that was not my own pushed it’s way into my knickers, and began to work on me. Despite the fact that I had orgasmed earlier, I came first, Claire’s fingers sending me over the top very, very quickly. But she was not far behind – a few seconds later, her body shook violently as she reached her own climax.
We lay in each other’s arms recovering for a few minutes before either of us spoke.
Claire broke the silence. ‘Wow! I really needed that!’ she said fervently. ‘I didn’t know it till it happened, but I really, really needed it. Thank you.’
I glowed with happiness. ‘Don’t mention it! It was my pleasure. And thank you too, my love!’
‘That’s quite all right.’ Claire snuggled closer to me, not that it made a lot of difference.
We lay in each other’s arms, basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking, once more not speaking. Words simply did not seem to be necessary. I was amazed, when, less than five minutes later, I realised that Claire was sound asleep. I couldn’t reach the switch for the bedside light without disturbing her, so I left it on. Closing my eyes contentedly, I soon fell asleep myself.
When I awoke, the sun was streaming through the window. Claire still seemed to be fast asleep. I watched for a few moments as her breasts gently rose and fell with her breathing. Then I noticed the strong, pungent smell of urine, which at first I thought nothing of – we’d both wet ourselves so much the previous evening that it wasn’t in the least bit surprising. But then I realised that beneath me, the sheet was soaked. I lifted the top sheet and looked down. A large wet patch spread over almost the entire area of the bed. It appeared highly likely that one (or both) of us had wet whilst we slept. Given the quantity of alcohol that the two of us had put away, it perhaps wasn’t so remarkable.
Claire stirred, and opened her eyes. She looked at me, and for a moment seemed quite shocked.
I smiled at her. ‘Good morning.’
She returned the smile, albeit a little shyly, it seemed to me. ‘Hi. I wondered where I was for a moment.’
‘Sleep well?’ I asked.
‘Mmmmm! You could say that.’ She stretched, and obviously came to the same realisation that I had a few moments before. ‘Oh, my God! Did I wet the bed again?’
I grinned. ‘I’m not sure who did it, my love, but it would seem that one or even both of us most certainly did!’
Her expression changed, and she suddenly seemed to be rather distressed. My heart went out to her.
‘Hey, don’t worry about it. Like I said yesterday, it doesn’t matter in the least.’ A thought suddenly struck me. ‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘do you need to pee now?’
‘Yes, I do,’ she replied. ‘Quite badly, as it happens.’
‘Well, I don’t. My bladder seems to be empty, which I reckon means that it was probably me that did it. And like I told you yesterday, it’s certainly not the first time!’ I pulled her to me and kissed her. ‘And like I also said, it doesn’t matter anyway – I don’t give a damn! So stop worrying!’
‘OK,’ she smiled. She paused, looking deep into my eyes. ‘Jenny,’ she said then, ‘did we do what I think we did last night, or was I dreaming?’
‘I sincerely hope you were not dreaming, my darling. And if you mean, “Did we make love?” then the answer is most certainly yes. I think it was the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me.’
She smiled and squeezed my hand. But when she didn’t say anything, I wondered if she were having regrets.
‘Hey, what’s up? Have I upset you, love? Do you regret what we did?’
‘Oh, my God, no! Please don’t think that! It was wonderful for me, too. It’s just a bit of a shock, that’s all – I’ve never made love with a woman before.’
Overcome with emotion then, I was unable to reply. Tears filled my eyes.
Then she said, ‘Actually, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that I’ve never made love before, period. I’ve been shagged by a few blokes who simply wanted a fuck for their own gratification, but I certainly wouldn’t call it making love. It certainly never did anything for me, anyway.’ She paused. ‘Do you know that last night I had the first orgasm I’ve ever had in my whole life that I didn’t give myself?’
This, to me, was a huge compliment, and it brought a lump to my throat. My tears flowed freely now.
‘Well, I’m glad I was able to do that for you,’ I said, (or more accurately, croaked). ‘You did a pretty good job on me, too, you know!’
She kissed me then, full–on–the–lips, open–mouthed, a very sexy kiss – it was the first time she’d taken the initiative. We cuddled and caressed each other. Again, talking was unnecessary. It wasn’t long before my hand was once more in Claire’s knickers, massaging her gently.
‘Oh! Jenny!’ she moaned. ‘That may not be such a good idea right now. If you carry on doing that, you’re liable to end up getting a thorough soaking!’
‘Oh, my God, feel free!’ I said fervently, as I took her hand and shoved it down the front of my knickers. ‘We’ve already established that I probably pissed on you during the night, so you just go right ahead and return the compliment!’
‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you!’
This time it was Claire who climaxed first. She screamed with pleasure, and her body shook as her orgasm hit. A hot wetness gushed over my hand, and spread rapidly around us both as her bladder emptied. Whether this was because she’d lost control of her bladder, or her orgasm triggered it, or whether she’d simply let go, I’m not sure, and anyway I didn’t care. All I know is that this, along with the action of her fingers between my legs precipitated my own orgasm, my entire body shuddering from it. Again, I thought I was going to explode with pleasure.
Afterward, now totally relaxed each with each other, we lay in each other’s arms, saying nothing, as our racing heartbeats slowed, and our pulses returned to normal. Claire was the first to break the silence.
‘Well, that’s it, as far as I’m concerned– definitely no more men for me. It’s women all the way from now on!’ I thought her tone sounded tongue–in–cheek. I hoped so, anyway.
‘Women!?’ I almost screeched, crossly. ‘Women! Plural?’
She grinned very cheekily at me. ‘Oh, all right, then – woman. Seeing as it’s you, you can have me all to yourself.’ ‘Please?’ she added after a pause.
‘It had damned well better be,’ I said, smacking her playfully on the backside. ‘Oooohh!! Soggy!’
Her hand caressed my bum. ‘Soggy yourself! You’ve no room to talk, you evil woman!’
‘Evil? Me? I’m sure I simply don’t know what you mean!’
‘Well, this time yesterday, I was a good girl– sweet, and innocent. Overnight, you’ve turned me into an incontinent lesbian!’
‘Well, that’s a result then! I’m glad to have been of service. The last few hours haven’t been entirely wasted.’
‘No, but we were!’
We laughed happily together once more. ‘You’re sure you’ve no regrets, then?’ I asked her, once we had calmed down again.
‘Absolutely not!’ she replied, kissing me again. ‘It’s been the happiest night of my life.’
I simply could not disagree.
By: Debbie and Jason