Underground Disaster

Note: This story contains Female Desperation, Accidental & Deliberate Wetting, and Masturbation.
Rachel threw the last of her papers and other items into her briefcase and muttered “Thank fuck for that!” This was swiftly followed by “Ow! Shit!” as, slamming the lid shut, she trapped the fleshy part of the heel of her hand between the lid and the base. She sucked the wound ruefully; although she hadn’t drawn blood, she expected that there would be a blood blister there later. God, what a day it had been; what a week, in fact. It had been all about stress, pressure, with a liberal helping of frustration thrown in for good measure; she was glad it was finally over, for the weekend, at least. But who knew what Monday would bring?
She glanced at her watch – 7:32 pm. So much for finishing on time tonight, she thought to herself. She’d finished late every day that week, and had been determined to leave promptly at 5 o’clock. Hah! Rachel hurried down the corridor, intending to use the ladies toilet on the way, but the cleaners were in there, so she decided to wait till she got home. A short walk brought her to the tube station, where she could get on a train and be home in about half an hour or so, and she would finally be able to relax. She looked forward to the bottle of red wine that was waiting for her along with her dinner. Rachel silently promised herself that there wouldn’t be much left in that bottle, if anything, by the time she went to bed.
It wasn’t till she’d been standing on the platform for a few minutes that Rachel realised just how badly she needed to pee, and she began to regret not having used the loo before leaving work. In common with the majority of London Underground stations, there were no toilets, and tube trains did not boast the facility either. She briefly considered going back outside to find a loo, but could not recall ever seeing one in that area. The only other option was to go back to the office, which was something she really didn’t want to do. Then the familiar rumble and rush of air through the station heralded the arrival of the train. Oh well, she thought, I’ll just have to cork it up till I get home; the thought that she may not be able to do so never even entered her head. And indeed, had it not been for the vagaries of the London Underground system, she may well have been correct in that assumption.
Things began to go a somewhat awry when she’d got on the train and found a seat, because instead of the doors closing and the train moving off within the usual minute or so, nothing of the sort happened. Ten minutes later the train still showed no sign of getting going, and there was no indication as to why. Rachel’s bladder seemed to be getting fuller by the minute, and was sending increasingly urgent signals to her brain that it wanted emptying, and soon. In an attempt to take her mind off of it, Rachel began to think over the events of the past week.
It had all kicked off on the previous Sunday evening, when after a blazing row, she’d finished with her boyfriend of some six months– although, if the truth were told, it had been in the cards for sometime. She was of two minds about it ending; while she’d liked him a lot, she wasn’t prepared to put up with the fact that he’d been messing around with a couple of other women, one of them her so called friend.
Then just before lunch on Monday, her boss, a Regional Sales Manager, was suddenly taken ill, and whisked off to hospital with a heart attack. It was fairly serious by all accounts, because they’d kept him in, and Rachel suddenly found herself deputising for him. Being thrown in at the deep end like that at the age of 23, she’d found the rest of the week extremely harrowing and very stressful. Although, had she been one to blow her own trumpet, she would have realised that she had in fact done a pretty good job of things, considering that she had at a stroke became the youngest “manager” in the company, and the only female one to boot.
But the worst thing of all had happened earlier that day, when she had to take on the rather distasteful task of sacking a colleague (one she’d known since she joined the company, and had got on quite well with) when he’d been found to have been seriously fiddling the books, and his expenses. To make matters worse, the police had been involved as well.
Suddenly, there was a hiss, and the doors closed, and the train finally began to move, although not at any great speed. Several minutes later, it stopped at the next station, and Rachel’s bladder renewed its protestations. She was really beginning to struggle to keep it under control by this time, and all the time the pressure was increasing. It was only then that, thinking it over, she realised that she had not peed since after her lunch break at about 2:30, five hours before – and she did not like to think how many cups of coffee she’d downed in that time. She’d just drunk each one that had been placed in front of her by a secretary.
Once more, it was several minutes before it got under way again, but at least there had been an announcement on the station tannoy that the delay was due to a breakdown of some sort ahead. As previously, the train crawled its way to the next station.
Disaster almost struck as it ground to a halt, when Rachel actually lost control briefly and felt a warm wetness around her crotch as a trickle of pee escaped. With a supreme effort she managed to stem the flow, but she knew now that she was in big trouble, and was beginning to have very serious doubts as to whether she was going to get home without wetting herself completely. To make matters worse, she was now in even more discomfort; the effort of stopping that brief leak seemed to have caused actual physical pain, or so it felt at least. Had she strained something, she wondered– done some sort of physical damage to her waterworks?
This time the train did not stop at the station any longer than normal, and Rachel hoped that was the end of it, and that now it would get going properly. Her hopes were however dashed a couple of minutes later, when it stopped once more, this time in the tunnel between stations.
As the train shuddered to a standstill, she felt another leak; once again she managed to stem the flow, although she did not know quite how she’d done so. But this was the final straw as far as Rachel was concerned. She was convinced that before very much longer she was going to wet herself no matter how hard she tried to avoid doing so. She wasn’t looking forward to standing up when this bloody train finally got to her stop, or to trying to walk up the stairs out of the station. She was certain that she would in all likelihood lose what little control she had left.
By now Rachel was so desperate to pee that she was in absolute agony. She decided that she simply couldn’t bear it any longer.
Sod this! She thought to herself. If I’m going to wet myself anyway, why prolong the agony? I just don’t care any more – I’m just going to do it right here. After all, she decided, no one will notice until I get up, as it will soak into the seat. And if anyone says anything I’ll simply insist that it was an accident; nobody will be able to prove otherwise. These thoughts flashed through her brain in an instant – if she’d given it any more consideration, she probably would have bottled it. But she didn’t. She parted her tightly clenched thighs slightly and simply gave in to the inevitable.
Instantly, the pent up pee gushed from her, and she felt an incredibly sweet, satisfying relief. Oh, Jeee–sus, she thought, that is sheer, heavenly bliss! Even so, she knew that once she stood up, everyone would see what had happened (especially from the back), because the mid–grey skirt she was wearing was going to reveal everything. But the relief far outweighed any qualms she had on that score – it felt so good to finally let go, that she just didn’t care. Actually, she soon became aware that people were probably going to know what had happened long before she got up off the seat anyway, because she could feel a hot wetness flowing down the backs of her calves and into her shoes, and she could imagine the puddle that must have been forming around her feet. Obviously, the pee was pouring from her faster than the seat could absorb it. What the hell, she thought; it’s just a little bit too late to be worrying about that now. So she just sat there and let it happen. And strangely, she found that she was thoroughly enjoying the experience; naturally, it was an incredible relief, but it also seemed that all the tension, stress and hassle that had built up over the past week flowed out of her along with a couple of litres of hot wee – and, though she couldn’t quite believe it, it also felt rather sexy. Stupid cow, she told herself. How can wetting your knickers in public feel sexy? Of course it couldn’t. Could it? Naah, course not – but then, it did feel somewhat akin to an orgasm after a long, slow wank…
As the flow gradually ceased, the train re–started, and she looked surreptitiously around. No one gave any indication of having noticed, at least not that she could see. And for the rest of the journey (which, ironically, then went at normal speed without further unscheduled or prolonged stops), she gazed out of the window at the tunnel walls, surprised to note that wet knickers, tights and skirt didn’t really feel as uncomfortable as she’d expected they would.
When the train finally screeched to a stop at her station, she got up with as much dignity as she could muster, and made her way out of the station. Again, no one seemed interested in her predicament, or said anything, though she thought she heard a couple of girls giggling behind her as she walked up the steps. She thought that they were probably laughing at what must have been a huge, highly visible wet patch on the back of her skirt. She ignored them.
The walk to her flat took about ten minutes; she couldn’t believe it when about halfway there she became aware that she needed to pee – again! It occurred to her that possibly her bladder hadn’t completely emptied when she’d stopped peeing on the train – it had probably only seemed that way because she’d been so desperate beforehand. This time however, she certainly wasn’t anywhere near desperate. She could have easily held on till she got home, but that seemed rather pointless in the circumstances. She was soaked from the waist down, and her shoes were probably ruined; why wait, she thought. She just relaxed her muscles and allowed her bladder to finish emptying itself. A gentle breeze blew the front of her skirt between her legs as she walked, so she was now wet front and back. She still didn’t care. And then she knew it was true – wetting herself did feel sexy, no matter how much she tried to tell herself otherwise. She was becoming incredibly turned on, walking along the street pissing herself like a three–year–old!
She reached her building, and was glad that she met no one she knew on the way, or any of the occupants of the other flats. She opened her door, kicked it shut behind her, and threw her briefcase into the corner of the living room. Going into her bedroom, she stood in front of the full–length mirror and gazed at her reflection. A large part of the front of her skirt was wet, and turning as much as she could, she could see that almost the entire back of her skirt was soaked. Rachel unzipped it and let it fall to the floor. There didn’t seem to be much of her tights that had escaped, either. She peeled them down, kicking off her sodden shoes at the same time, hurriedly removed her blouse and bra, and then looked at herself in the mirror again, now clad only in her wet panties. The plain, snow–white “sensible” knickers were pretty well thoroughly soaked, and the wet areas were already beginning to turn that brownish yellow colour that pee stains take on when they are on white cotton! Now thoroughly aroused, Rachel’s hand, almost of its own volition it seemed, found its way under the waistband and down into the wet depths and she began to masturbate. She was so utterly horny by this time that she very quickly reached one of the most shattering and satisfying orgasms she had ever experienced.
As Rachel collapsed into a quivering heap on her pee–soaked clothes, she had the distinct feeling that this would, most definitely, not be the last time that she would ever wet herself.
By: Debbie and Jason