Game, Set, and Wet

No resemblance to any living characters is intended or implied.
Kristine had two fingers pressing on the track’s hard surface, her other arm cocked at her left side. Her Nike track shoes were pressed against the starting blocks, white socks barely showing above the edge of the shoe line, her calve muscles taut, her perfectly shaped, sleek yet athletic thighs tensed as she awaited the starting gunshot. A slight sheen of perspiration shone on her legs and arms. A single drop of perspiration fell from her nose, falling to the tracks surface, a small dark circle where it fell. Crouched in starting stance, her face stared down the straightaway of the track, her butt sticking up in the air, her short green nylon running shorts barely covering her Hanes her–way bikini panties underneath, the thin fabric slightly transparent as the shorts were somewhat worn from use. The panty line of her underwear was clearly visible through the clingy micro thin fabric, and the edges of her shorts curled slightly up and away from her tanned skin. A slight hint of her white panties could be seen as she waited in this position; her shorts slightly out of place, exposing a tiny slice of underwear. The tufts of her young, taut rear could be seen from behind. She reached up for a moment to adjust the side of her shorts, tugging at the slightly curled edge on her left thigh, but it had the opposite effect and a little more of her panties could be seen as they escaped the slightly too short running shorts. Her light blue cotton tank top had her number stapled to it, and the number fluttered in the breeze from the light wind. She had worn no bra today, she hated the things, and someone looking across the track under her armpits could see her small but perfectly shaped 34A breasts, her nipples rather visible as the tank top hung too loosely, exposing the teenager to whomever might be looking. Her mother in the stands noticed in horror– shocked that her own precious 18 year old daughter was exposed, her breast and nipple showing to the world if they looked and were seated in the right section in the stands. Kristine felt the light breeze as it blew into her tank top; her nipples grew erect, firm like buds, taut like the rest of the runner’s body. Kristine’s shoulder length brown hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, tied with two small rubber bands. She waited, tensed. She reached up with her left hand and brushed away the tears from her eyes. Sniffling, she tried to concentrate, waiting for the starting gun. She had drunk two quarts of water that morning before the track meet and her bladder was dying, demanding relief. Finding the bathrooms busy when she changed, she had no choice but to hold her pee and head to the track. She hadn’t ever had to use the bathroom this badly in her teenage life, and her coach had denied her a bathroom break just a few minutes ago, telling her she’d have to hold it until after she ran the race. There was no way she could make the long walk back to the locker room where the bathrooms were and not miss the start, so he refused her request. Not using the bathroom all morning was murder on her bladder; it pulsed in agony as she crouched. “Come ON, come ON,” she thought as her bladder screamed inside of her tensed body. She needed to pee so badly she almost started spraying pee onto the track as she crouched, the position was uncomfortable, her bladder was being tortured, she needed to go pee and could barely hold it within her. She breathed deeply, awaiting the gun, trying at the same time not to start urinating into her clothes in front of everyone. She tried not to think about the crowd of people at the state meet. It was her senior year and her family and friends were all there. Even her grandparents from across the country had flown in. Her bladder screamed violently again, and she tensed hard, squeezing together, trying to contain her completely desperate bladder. Every second, it was getting harder, she didn’t know how much longer before she’d involuntarily have an accident in her running shorts. The starter raised his pistol, and a split second before the gun went off, the girl at the starting position two over from her right committed a false start. “Shit,” the girl next to her said as she stood up. All the girls stood up. A false start was called. Kristine stood up and looked. The sunny blue–sky overhead was gorgeous, white puffy clouds forming a picture postcard view today. The stands of the high school track were full. She grimaced from the pain. Standing up having to pee this badly was so much worse. She started to pace, trying to hold her pee within her. She looked over at her coach, and looked off across the field at the field house where the locker rooms and bathrooms were, wishing she could just go off and pee. Her body pulsated violently and her bladder spasmed inside of her. She clenched her legs together in a panic, her body demanding immediate relief. She felt her pee pressure increase to the very edge of her urethra, on the edge of escaping from her taut pee hole, and she tried to hold it back. Her breathing grew rapid, and she stood there waiting for the reset, unable to stand still. She tried to calm herself down, and told herself to stand still and relax. She breathed deep, trying to put aside the stinging constant pressure of her overstretched bladder, and stood still for a few seconds. Immediately she felt her pee hole relax and she felt a slight slip as a very tiny spurt of pee escaped into her panties. The droplets of pee that escaped her screaming body formed a small wet spot in her panties, the cotton fabric absorbing the hot pee. A small stain appeared in the crotch of her shorts, the thin fabric dampening for about an inch from her little leak. She clenched her legs together and grimaced, the pain was so intense; her bladder was forcing the issue. Looking up at her coach, a pleading look on her face, she looked like a lost puppy, her face showing how ashamed she was of her agony, knowing she was not going to be able to control herself. She half bent over when the next pulsating torturing wave of pressure overcame her, and she tried to stand up. The reset was called, and she walked slowly over to the starting blocks. Looking up, she gasped as the most intense pee pressure spasm overtook her body. She screamed silently, her knees shaking in pain and desperation as her bladder unrelentingly tortured her body. Trying to stand straight to take a deep breath before assuming the starting position, tears welled in her eyes. The pressure was intense. Another small leak, a small dribble of pee, further expanding the wet spot in her panties, the damp spot in her shorts, darker than the rest of the fabric, grew as she peed into it slowly. She could barely hold on. Each second or two, another droplet escaped, testing her will, making her clench even harder, but to no avail. With a few seconds the wet spot was nearly six inches in diameter, her panties getting slowly wet as she could barely contain her pee. She tried to breathe deeply to catch her breath, but couldn’t. She was in a panic from the immense pressure and stinging pain. Her bladder screamed again, pulsating hard inside of her, its walls stretched beyond their limit, and unable to control the immense ocean inside of her any longer, Kristine started to involuntarily pee into her running shorts. The ensuing small stream embarrassed her. She felt her urethra leak and the warm pee start to dampen her panties; she wasn’t fully hissing yet, more of a slow pee, one she couldn’t hold in. She tried one last valiant effort to quench the leak, to tense her muscles as hard as she could, but to no avail. Another slow leak escaped, her body burning, needing to go to the bathroom SO badly. Then it happened, she couldn’t control herself. The first stream started slow, but she felt the stream slowly dampen her panties and the crotch of her shorts even more. A very obvious wet spot was now spreading in the micro thin green fabric of her shorts, the wetness glistening in the sunlight as pee escaped her tortured, distended bladder. Her control weakening, she froze in panic, the other girls already in their stance. She started to cry, and although she tried to clench her muscles shut, they wouldn’t. A stronger pee stream started to flow, her body weakening. Trickles of pee dotted her legs and then trickled down her legs, as her thin shorts couldn’t hold the pee. Her panties were warm as she started to wet herself, the clinging cotton/lycra fabric clinging to her engorged girlhood as she lost all bladder control. Within the next three seconds, the pee stream gained rapidly in strength and she started to totally wet herself in her running shorts. Unable to even slow down the flow, she panicked and screamed. She could not slow it down– she had no more control. Her dam burst, the pressure and pain too much. Pee started jetting violently out of her tortured pee hole and flooded her shorts and panties. What had begun as a slow trickle of pee running down her left thigh quickly became a torrential waterfall of hot sizzling urine as she lost all control. She screamed again, louder this time, in total anguish, and everyone looked. Pee flooded the poor girls crotch, her legs were quickly shiny wet as stream after stream of pee gushed down her tanned skin, she was obviously completely peeing in her pants at 18 years old, and there was nothing she could do about it. Tears welled in her eyes as she cried harder. She continued to pee violently, urine hissing out her young body. The coaches, the other runners, the officials all watched as Kristine stood there, sobbing uncontrollably, gasping for air, she was crying so hard. There she stood, peeing into her clothes, pee still hissing and sizzling down her toned and tanned thighs, her crotch completely wet, her panties soaked, her socks and Nikes saturated with her own pee, and a huge puddle between her feet, pee splashing noisily out of the mortified teenager onto the ground. As she started to feel near empty, she moved slightly and her pee jetted out of the gap between her running shorts and her thighs and splashed over the starting blocks, the blocks now glistening with her hot pee. The other runners looked over in shock and started giggling, watching this gorgeous teenager have a huge pee accident right in front of them. A day after her 18th birthday, Kristine, the best track athlete her school had ever had was standing there in complete humiliation, having totally peed into her running shorts in front of the entire stadium (which now was in shock, having watched their girl’s track star wet herself). Tears streamed down her face as she left the starting area in shame, and she forfeited the race. She quit track the next day.
One and a half years later:
Outside, the sun shone down through the open roof of the newly constructed tennis stadium. The day: perfect, not very hot, low humidity, clear skies, no rain in the forecast. A light breeze blew in from the west as the crowds casually strolled into their seats; play wasn’t scheduled to start for another thirty minutes. Inside, the din of air conditioning and ventilation hummed softly through the halls, the commotion outside isolated by the concrete walls as well as the noises of machinery. Along the main corridor a small group of officials, dressed in tan slacks and white dress shirts, and a pair of security guards waited patiently. Two sets of news cameramen stood with their assistants, their heavy video cameras growing weary on their shoulders. A smaller dark haired woman, 30 years old and very attractive held a black two–way radio in her left hand. She wore a gray blouse with a nametag that said “Elise Smith: Tournament Director” pinned on it along with tight navy blue slacks and she checked her watch. Twenty–eight minutes to go. Further down the hallway, inside the temporary women’s locker room that had been set up, two teenagers sat on the polished wooden benches, each on one side of the room, about as far away from each other as the rooms geometry could manage. The building was almost complete, but problems during construction delayed the project and the main locker rooms for the players were not yet finished. Contractual obligations to the networks and the tournament sponsors meant, however, that the matches would go on regardless of the delays.
Inside the makeshift locker room, the two girls were looking down, concentrating, breathing, and meditating on their upcoming match. Against all odds and a very tough draw, both girls were in the finals of a newly created and heavily promoted major championship, both for the first time in their young careers. The blonde, an up and comer from the junior ranks with her tall physique (she stood 5’11) and looping powerful ground–strokes was the more experienced of the two. She was seeded 5th, but had gotten lucky by beating the current #2 player in the world in a long and hard fought 3 set match in the semis. Many thought the blonde was the next up and coming player, destined soon to be #1, they said. As she sat and stared at the tile on the floor, she looked across at her opponent, a shorter but very attractive brown haired girl who had just joined the tour last year, and then looked back down at her bag, wondering who this girl really is, she hadn’t seen much of her. The blonde stretched, and then looking around, she found what she had dropped earlier: amongst her brace of Yonex rackets lay a white band, which she picked up and put through her long blonde hair, creating a single sloppy long ponytail that flopped around midway down her long elegant back. She crouched down and looked for a bottle of water in her bag, then took out the two empty ones she had drank earlier. Twisting the lid, she opened the water and took a sip, then she stood up and paced, loosening up her leg muscles, anxious to go out and start. On the other bench, Kristine sat silent, meditating. Around her feet a few bottles of water lay empty, circling her tennis bag. She breathed silently and deeply, her focus not on the locker room, not on the slight smell of disinfectant nor on the distinctive smell of the new building. Coming out of her meditation, she looked up, breathed strongly, and then she retied her tennis shoes, her only “lucky habit” as her coach said. She looked around at the cramped room and then looked at the blonde girl, who was pacing around, silent, sipping her water as she walked. “She looks pretty confident,” Kristine thought to herself silently as she rose from the bench. Her patted down the smooth white fabric of her short tennis skirt and then reached under her skirt and adjusted her tennis panties. Her clothing was a new design, a prototype actually, that she was wearing for her clothing sponsors, a company specializing in sexier yet functional designs for the more attractive younger tennis players. The company had already caused somewhat of an uproar at Wimbledon that year when a young teen player from Finland, who was the companies only other player on their athlete roster, got a reprimand from the conservative press for the fact that her tennis skirt was so much shorter than anyone else’s on tour. It became the marketing event the company was hoping for: the sexier new line of their tennis clothing that showed far more body than the competitor’s more outdated look of the other makers. Kristine, being both new on the circuit and easily one of the most incredible looking teens with her track star sculpted thighs and a gorgeous face, was the perfect candidate for showcasing their new clothing line. The executives who were present that day when they photographed her for their catalog all thought they might have secretly discovered the next rising tennis star. While many of them had hoped to be able to sign Felicia, the up and coming teen from Finland (Kristine’s opponent for the day), they weren’t able to, and more than one coach had suggested that the relatively inexperienced Kristine was quite possibly the better player. Obviously they were pretty happy when their prot’g’ was appearing in the finals against the girl from Finland in the newly created major tournament.
Kristine looked at her outfit, and wondered how it would do in tournament conditions. She wasn’t as concerned with the fact that her skirt was short, at 18,” or that her tennis panties were bikini cut– a first for tennis panties, but she was worried about the construction of the fabric. A much thinner blend of a patented lycra like fabric, with some nylon and a little cotton, it felt incredible, smooth and contouring, but she wondered if the material would hold up after repeated use, it just seemed a little lightweight to handle repeated use. Her sports bra was made from a double thickness of the same fabric as her underwear, also white. She stood up; stretching, and the airflow from the air conditioning vent flowed across her bare, tanned, and taut arms, chilling her. Her abs rippled and taut, her tanned six pack obvious even in the interior lights. Her nipples grew erect in her white sports bra, protruding through the fabric easily. Thin but promising to wick away moisture, the sports bra was the debate amongst the girls; some swore by it for the comfort, others hated it since the material was thinner and it would tend to show a bit more nipple than some of the girls wanted. One thing that was also known: when the sports bra got wet, nipples were definitely seen. The company was busy making a modification to the fabric design, but Kristine hadn’t yet gotten the new fabric yet. Luckily no rain was in the forecast today. As for the bra’s popularity, mostly the smaller busted girls wore it, which certainly fit Kristine’s dimensions, since she was only a 34A cup. She smiled, thinking about the uproar over the clothing line earlier in the year, but she really didn’t care. Already before her first major tournament victory earlier in the year, one of the men’s magazines had proclaimed her as the hottest “new” tennis player, second only to the blonde who she was playing this afternoon. A few fan websites had already sprung up, with pictures of her competing in the juniors a few years ago, and the usual fuzzy snapshots of candid pictures taken when she was out in public. Luckily her popularity wasn’t so much that she couldn’t function, and inside, being a shy girl, she really didn’t know how to react; she certainly wasn’t the sexually experienced teenager many a boy had dreamed she was. But she didn’t mind the occasional attention. For the most part, she knew, it was her opponent, tall and with incredible legs that most of the photographers and news media hounded. Kristine was somewhat of an unknown, having come onto the tour late after she had quit track a year and a half ago to pursue her second sport during high school, tennis.
Reaching down to her bag, she pulled out a small band and tied her long brown hair back behind her head. She looked at the other girl again. “Well, I guess this is it,” she thought, “time to see what you’re made of, Felicia,” referring to the blonde silently as she continued to talk herself through the game plan she had devised. She thought back to the conversation with her coach the previous night:
“Kris, you’ve got to understand that Felicia is the real deal. She’s tall, she hits hard as hell, she’s pretty fast, she’s good looking with those killer long legs and that helps get some calls her way, and if she gets to the net, she’s really tough to pass. But she’s got a weakness or two. She gets sloppy sometimes, and she tends to fold when things don’t go her way. Keep the pressure on and don’t give up on anything. If she thinks you’re going to fold under the barrage of shots she puts out, she’ll beat you clean. Remember that she’ll come out trying to knock you out, so be careful, there’s nothing I can teach you that will prepare you for her first few shots – she wins a lot of games by punishing her opponents during the first game and then watching them self destruct from there on. But I promise you, if you move like you can, place your shots like you’ve been doing this past year, and keep with your game plan, she’ll get frustrated and you’ll win this match. It’s your time to shine, your time to win. Besides, remember, you just kicked the shit out of the #3 girl in the world in the semis, by following this same plan. Stay focused, and keep moving, always keep moving.”
A knock on the door came from Elise, the dark haired tournament director. “Ladies, we’re ready now. So let’s go.” The girls looked up at Elise. The woman was very attractive, long dark hair and big brown eyes, with a decent chest and what seemed to be nicely toned legs, though it was hard to tell in a business uniform. The girls rose. Felicia walked out in front, her blue lycra tights covering her long legs tightly, her perfect ass showing a hint of panty line, and her blue sports bra really making her look sexy. Her flat, toned abs shone in the afternoon sun. Foregoing her skirt because of the moderate weather, Felicia had just worn the tight lycra/nylon tights as she often did, knowing it made her look more imposing. An aspiring model from Finland, she had recently hit a stretch of good playing and had been winning more and more of her games. The photographers went crazy when Felicia arrived; her body was among the best, many a movie star, musician, and everyday male dreamed of her. As she walked out, Kristine analyzed her once again, but not about her killer looks. She knew Felicia had a killer serve, one of the fastest at nearly 130mph, and thus hardest on the women’s tour. She knew a lot of the other players hated her, but it was probably because of her looks more than anything else. No, that wasn’t it. Her attitude, a little bit of a society girl, Kristine thought, that was it. The two girls were as different as night and day. Felicia was outgoing and flirty and her mouth often got her into trouble. Her height and her extreme sexiness commanded attention. Kristine was much shyer, almost meek, but equally good–looking, perhaps more so. Her 5’ 6” body was tanned and taut. Stories abounded on the woman’s tour about her workout regimen and the level of fitness she had attained, and her body was perfectly proportioned with the exception of her slightly small but still rounded and perky breasts. Her thighs were considered “perfect” by one of the latest writers of a men’s magazine on an article about “the best legs in sports,” and her gorgeous brown hair shone in the light, framing the perfect face. She had deep brown eyes that would melt anyone who stood in front of her, her perfect complexion making almost all the other girls jealous on the tour that had heard of her. And that’s what it was, some had just heard of her. Spending the past year at a famous ex–pros boot camp style tennis camp, she had moved from a skilled junior player to, at age 19, one with a skill set so strong a few tennis writers predicted she might be #1 very soon.
Sunlight hit the two girls as they entered the court. The crowds had filled the stadium, and cat calls and cheers emanated from the rafters. Photographers clicked like crazy, their motorized cameras recording every step, every gesture. The attention was about evenly split between the two girls; Felicia was more well known, but the stunning physical beauty of the shy 19 year old was also alluring, her shorter than usual tennis skirt showing off her toned legs, her taut and toned upper body glistening with a fine layer of nervous perspiration. Nobody seemed to know much about Kristine either, and that ultimately played to her advantage; the unknown beauty, as some called her. The two girls moved over to their chairs on respective sides of the umpire. Two technicians were busy adjusting a broken grommet on the net; something had happened that nobody had caught earlier. The chair umpire noted this in her log and sat on her chair. A retired player herself, now 28 years old, she had retired from the tour due to injury, she didn’t have much patience for delays, and as she sat there, she glared at the workers, wondering whose fault this was that the net hadn’t even been inspected the night before. So there would be a slight delay. Felicia stretched out in her chair, her long legs encased in her blue tights, her breasts poking through the tight sports bra. She smiled. Photographers clicked, with more than one of them zooming in on her perky nipples. Kristine sat there, partially open legged on the chair as she finished another bottle of water, not realizing at least four photographers had turned her way. Her first match not already even started, and already some web site was going to have the typical legs spread in tennis skirt picture, her white panties clinging to her tightly between her lovely, supremely toned legs. If Kristine had been more aware of things, she might have noticed that the new type of tennis panty she was wearing was incredibly defining and the shape of her pubic mound and vulva were clearly visible through the thin stretched fabric. The photographers quickly noticed, and zoomed in with their big lenses. Kristine’s thoughts, however, weren’t on her sexiness or her clothing, they were on her match as she looked over at Felicia, and wondered how the game would go. The sun was still kind of high, which might be a problem for both of their serves. Ultimately she knew it would come down to quickness and keeping the pressure on. As Kristine waited, she daydreamed back to last year. She vividly remembered her first day at the tennis camp. That was the day some eagle eyed onlookers realized that there might be a new star on the horizon in women’s tennis.
“Okay, Girls,” he barked. “Time to get busy. I don’t run this tennis camp for you to ENJOY your time here, I run this camp to MAKE you a better player. And it’s gonna HURT, and you’re gonna CRY, and you’re going to wish you could GO HOME TO YOUR MOMMY.” He continued bellowing. “In fact, you’re gonna FORGET your BOYFRIEND and you’ll be DREAMING of easier times when I’m working with you. Make NO mistake about it. LIFE GETS HARD, and NOW!” Kristine looked over at him; he was definitely serious, all right. She’d heard about him, he was the best, supposedly– tough, but the best. We’ll see, she thought. “OKAY, girls, some RULES. FIRST, you do WHAT I tell you WHEN I tell you and you DON’T question me ever. SECOND, I am absolutely GOING to hurt you, make NO mistake about it, my job is to TOUGHEN you up and get you fit. You aren’t going to become professional tennis players by listening to your MP3 player and reading Cosmopolitan magazine, you know!! THIRD, you don’t take a break until I say it’s break time. Tennis is about discipline. You’ll get breaks, but not until I say so. If you have to go pee, learn to hold it. If you have to go puke, go puke in the grass. If you’re thirsty, grab water, but other than that, you DON’T STOP UNTIL I TELL YOU TO, CLEAR??!!!” He was screaming now, his voice loud. A small slightly stocky legged girl named Andrea with muscular thighs cringed as she realized she needed to use the bathroom and it didn’t look like she’d get the chance to do so very soon. “OKAY, TIME TO SEE WHAT YOU’RE MADE OF. Fitness drills start NOW. Time to SEE who’s gonna puke TODAY! Ok, FIRST up. Okay, what’s your name dear?” “Kristine,” she replied meekly. “Kristine, oh yea, you’re the one who used to be the hot shot in track or something, right?” “I guess,” she replied shyly. Dressed in just a blue tank top and a pair of royal blue nylon running shorts that were so thin they clung to every curve of her perfectly shaped ass, covering a pair of tight white bikini panties, she stood there, ready to do as asked. The man glanced up and down her body, analyzing it, as a bulge grew in his pants. He liked the fact that she wore such tight thin shorts; he was enjoying this girl’s body. All the more to really torture her and see how tough she was. “Well, you ARE first. Let’s see how you do. Girls, get ready, she’s probably gonna pass out and puke, because I don’t make it easy on day number one.”
“Are you ready to PUKE your GUTS out Kristine? Do YOU have what it TAKES, Kristine? Are you ready to feel the true meaning of WORK and PAIN, Kristine?” The man was insane, crazy, yelling at the top of his lungs, the girls thought. The line of girls stretched along the edge of the track they were near, the girls dressed in workout attire, most in workout or running shorts, a few in tennis skirts. A few girls almost started crying when the coach started screaming. Most couldn’t handle the pressure of his tennis camp, but those who could, often improved. “OK, Kristine,” he yelled.
Kristine looked ready. A child of an Olympic sprinter and a competitive gymnast, she was blessed with aerobic and anaerobic endurance uncommon for her gender or her age. She had won every race she ever entered in high school, and only took up tennis in high school as a second sport next to track because she loved it. After that humiliating day where she wet herself in front of the stadium at the track meet during her senior year in school, she switched totally to tennis, hoping to escape the incredible embarrassment of that horrendous pee accident she tried so hard to forget.
“OK, Kristine, let’s see what you’re made of. First up, I want ten 200–meter sprints. Fast, with 30 seconds of rest in between, and then you do another. It’s gonna hurt and you ain’t gonna quit unless you’re puking on the ground, I don’t care. And even if you are PUKING I still want your ass RUNNING, –DO– –YOU– –UNDERSTAND– –ME– MISS?” he screamed. “Yes, SIR,” she replied sharply, taking her place at the edge of the track. “On your mark, get set, GO,” he commanded, a smirk on his face. He had to see what this hotshot teenage track star really was made of.
What happened next would go down in the folklore of the camp. Kristine dashed off, sprinting full out one hundred meters out, then one hundred meters back. After ten sprints, she decided to show everyone a little extra. Without even a pause, she did ten more, finishing with a set of 20 × 200 meter springs, doubling what she was told to do. After she got finished, she was breathing heavily, but walked calmly over to the instructor and asked him if that was okay. The only discomfort she felt was a filling bladder from drinking too much water that day, she knew she’d need to go pee soon. The instructor looked at her in amazement and shook his head in disbelief. This one was in shape, he thought, really in shape. “OK, not BAD, not bad at all. Whose next?” he barked. The other girls looked on in amazement; unable to comprehend how this young brunette had just aced the very tough endurance test they were about to perform. The next girl came up, a 5’8” black haired teenager who ran the first few runs full out, and promptly threw up after the seventh full out sprint, and then collapsed on the ground, dry heaving into the grass after her eighth. The next four girls finished the series, but looked like they were going to have stomach problems for weeks judging from their faces when they finished. The last girl went out and made it to nine sprints before collapsing; throwing up into the grass by the side of the track, looking horrified at the way her first day of camp had gone. Two things were pretty obvious now: this was going to be hardcore training and also, this Kristine girl was something else fitness wise.
The repair on the net was complete, and the chair umpire motioned to the two girls. Felicia bounded up, her long legs galloping as she strode to the near baseline. Kristine finished the bottle of water she was drinking, grabbed one of the new Volkl rackets she had been trying out lately and headed to the far baseline. Both girls started serving. Kristine quickly noticed Felicia’s massive, booming serve, thanks to the blonde girl’s 5’11” height. Kristine’s more efficient and compact stroke, however, allowed her to generate almost as much power. Many an opponent had marveled at how hard Kristine’s serves were even though she was not a tall girl. What many didn’t realize until it was too late was her placement was excellent too. As Kristine stood there, serving, her mind briefly played back her first serving clinic with the instructor last year at the camp.
“What you need to understand, Kristine, is that your height IS going to be a disadvantage compared to the taller girls when it comes to serving. I’ll train you how to hit the ball efficiently, and that will get you a pretty solid serve, but you’re not going to be winning serving speed contests. So we’re going to work on placement. My goal is simple. You’re going to have the BEST PLACED serves of any girl in this camp.” Kristine remembered wondering what was going on when he laid out six tennis balls at strategic spots in the service court. Kristine remembered standing there, serving until her arms were sore, and needing to go pee by the end of it so badly that she almost wet her clingy nylon shorts as she rushed to the bathroom in desperation when he finally gave her a break. When she got into the bathroom, she quickly pulled down her shorts and panties and urinated for almost a minute and a half, her pee thrashing violently out of her pee hole as she relieved the horrible pressure within her. She had come far too close to having a pee accident during practice and it frightened her, bringing back memories of that day on the track, pee trickling down her legs in front of all of her family and friends. She worried that she might ever have a pee accident here in camp. But the end result was that Kristine’s serve, while not the fastest, rapidly became a weapon as her placement soon became deadly.
The two traded ground strokes and Felicia thought that Kristine wasn’t all that. She had heard from a friend of hers who had been badly beaten by Kristine in the early rounds that Kristine was insanely fast, but Felicia didn’t see it. Kristine would lazily run over to a ball, kind of half running, not expending much energy. Felicia, ever the proud one, figured this match would be a piece of cake and she’d win easily in straight sets. Kristine, on the far side, was analyzing Felicia’s game now. She had timed the manner in which Felicia stroked and had begun to figure out the ways she could disrupt the taller girl’s rhythm. With an IQ of 141 and a 4.0 average in high school, Kristine was easily one of the smarter players in the game. Maybe her lack of social life, even with all her innate beauty, had helped that. If she wasn’t practicing, she was working out, and if she wasn’t working out, she was studying. And study other players she did. Within minutes the practice session was over and Kristine had already collected vital information that she would mentally add to her game plan that afternoon. As the two finished their warm up, Kristine kept playing slowly, not giving her opponent any clues as to her style.
It was time to start; Felicia won the toss and elected to serve. Kristine headed over to the baseline and thought briefly that she wished she could have used the bathroom before starting. She brushed her short tennis skirt out of habit, crouched slightly, and got ready. She noticed that her bladder was filling rapidly from the water she had drunk before the match. The nervous energy of her first major tournament final added to her need to urinate. Before the first point was even played, Kristine had to go to the bathroom.
Standing in the deuce court, Kristine rocked back and forth. History had shown that Felicia tended to want to pull an ace on you within the first few serves to try and intimidate you. Kristine thought of her strategy. Felicia served, and at 122 mph her booming serve rapidly crossed the net, landing right in the corner of Kristine’s backhand. Kristine rushed over, but muffed the shot, the serve skittering off the rim of her racket. Felicia smiled. “15–love,” the umpire called. A ball girl tossed a ball to Felicia. Ad court. Kristine analyzed the last shot and saw her error– she had timed it wrong. Felicia smiled, and tried the same serve, this time aiming for the forehand side, right in the corner. She hit it, and the radar gun clocked it at 118mph, blasting in. Within a fraction of a second, Kristine bounded right and with a compact sharp forehand rocketed the serve back, landing the return within the last square foot of the court, deep in the backcourt on Felicia’s backhand side. Felicia didn’t have a chance– she wasn’t even close. She looked over at Kristine, thinking ‘lucky shot’ to herself. “15–All,” was called. Back to the deuce side, Kristine noticed her bladder a bit more– the day’s water seemed to be having more of an effect than usual. “Must be the nerves,” she thought. Now she really did wish she had stopped for a pee break before heading out on the court. She concentrated on the game, ignoring her bladder’s demands. Felicia’s serve, another rocketing one, this time to Kristine’s forehand side, came screaming across the net. Once again Kristine leapt to the right and pounded the return, this time aiming the serve directly at Felicia’s body. Felicia managed to jump away and put up a defensive lob, and Kristine rushed forward and pounded the ball, but unfortunately it went long. “30–15” was called. Kristine looked up, disgusted. She had opened the face of her racket just slightly and she knew it. Felicia served, straight into Kristine’s body. Kristine jumped quickly and with a single handed backhand, a rarity amongst the women, returned with a precise drop shot that barely cleared the net. Felicia almost made it but overran it, and missed. “30–all.” The next two serves were all it took. Each time Felicia tried to power the serves in, hitting the first one at 115mph, but Kristine’s quickness prevailed, and she returned both serves for winners that were never even touched by the taller, slower player. Felicia stood there astounded. Kristine had returned her last serve, at 112 mph, with a flat backhand right to Felicia’s far corner; no way the taller girl could reach it. Suddenly, up one service break, Kristine had a 1–0 lead, and as they headed to the opposing side to change sides, they sat down for their quick break as the TV stations went to commercial. Kristine grabbed a bottle of water, and not thinking of her filling bladder, gulped half of it down. Felicia sat there and looked over, amazed that this relative newcomer had just cleanly broken her serve, and without much effort at that. “Hmm,” Felicia thought to herself silently, “I bet she’s one of those return specialists. I’ll just eat her serve up and we’ll see how she likes being broken. She’s not that tall, I bet her serve sucks.” The break over, the two girls got up, and Kristine reached up to serve, taking a pair of balls from the ball girl. Reaching up, she stuffed her first serve into the net. Trying again, she double faulted. “Crap,” Kristine yelled at herself. Felicia smiled inside, thinking she was right, this girls serve wasn’t all that. Kristine paused, and looking up, she adjusted her release point mentally, and then nailed the next serve, a hard line drive directly at Felicia. Felicia had barely begun to return it when Kristine was already at the net, pounding a forehand volley for a winner. Felicia swore, unable to comprehend the girls astounding agility on the court. Her friend was obviously right– this girl was FAST. Quite fast, Felicia thought. “How the hell did she get to the net so quickly?” Felicia thought silently. Kristine smiled as she walked back. As she stood there preparing to serve, she again noticed that she now needed to pee worse than she would have liked. The pressure was getting serious and it was only the second game of the set. Brushing her skirt smooth with her hand, her hands grazing her tanned, muscular, and gorgeous thighs, she reached back and delivered an ace, her serve placed perfectly out of reach of Felicia’s forehand. 30–love was the score. She crouched down to retie her shoe, her old nervous habit, and she didn’t crouch very ladylike, her legs wide open. A sports photographer from across the court zoomed in with his big lens. Looking through his viewfinder, he could see the tightness of her tennis panties pressed against her pubic mound, and as he clicked a few frames, a bulge grew in his jeans. This girl WAS really something else, he thought, she really did have about the perfect body. The thin clingy fabric of these new tennis trunks were definitely revealing too, he thought, showing clearly the shape and form of her vulva as the fabric clung tightly to Kristine’s most personal and private area. This shot would definitely go to that guy’s website he had heard about, for sure, he thought. Kristine got up and finished the game. It was Felicia’s turn to serve. Felicia was quickly down 2–0 now, and getting frustrated. Whatever she hit, this girl seemed to return. It didn’t matter how hard or where she put it, she’d get to the damned ball. Kristine strolled back to the baseline and waited. Her bladder pulsated, and she really wanted to go pee. “Damn, I’m having to pee all of a sudden, what the hell,” she swore silently at herself. This gave her all the more urgency to finish up the set and then use a break to go to the bathroom. She remembered back to the dreaded track meet where she had wet herself and felt a brief moment of panic. She wasn’t in an emergency, but she needed to pee quite badly just the same. Then her mind replayed an embarrassing event back at tennis camp and she started to worry. Kristine realized she needed to use the bathroom kind of badly now and thought she should do something about it very soon before something horrible might happen– very soon. Her bladder tingled in urgency as she thought back.
The first time Kristine wet herself at the tennis camp was during the first week. The camp had a hard curfew of 10:30pm. One had to be inside their dorm room and in bed at 10:30, that was it. Nobody was allowed in the hallways, and that meant nobody was allowed in the bathrooms either. Kristine had just met her roommate (who had arrived late due to travel issues), an incredibly fun and vibrant good–looking blonde girl named Stacey. Stacey was pretty popular with everyone; she had that outgoing personality with always a smile and a laugh, as well as being very, very pretty at 5’7 and a hundred fifteen pounds. A history of knee problems had limited her on the tour, but she was attending the camp to try and make one last run at her young career. That night the two of them had snuck out to a pizza place a mile east of the camp –– it was a rare night off for the girls, and they had walked back (no vehicles were allowed). Both girls arrived at the dorm at exactly 10:29 and signing in with the dorm monitor, they immediately rushed upstairs to their rooms. Within half an hour, the staggering amount of cokes both girls had drunk at the pizza place had taken their effect and both girls were extremely desperate to go pee. Kristine was already in bed, having changed into a light pink panties and a white camisole and was trying to go to sleep when she suddenly realized how incredibly badly she needed to use the bathroom. About the same time Stacey was walking around and mentioned out loud “I really need to go pee or I’m going to wet myself!!” Kristine kind of mumbled something, but was shy and didn’t want to admit she needed to use the bathroom badly herself. “But we can’t leave, remember,” she told her roommate. “Shit,” Stacey said. Stacey started to pace around the room, obviously very desperate. “Damn, Damn, jeez, I gotta go peeeee,” Stacey cried. Hearing her roommate cry out in desperation didn’t make it any easier for Kristine. She turned in bed and realized she too had a totally full bladder. She lay in the bed in agony as her bladder stretched, membranes tightening, with the familiar and very scary feelings of total pee desperation taking over the girl’s body. Kristine wondered how she was going to make it through the night without using the bathroom, and she clenched her legs together under the bed sheets as her bladder pulsed. Stacey looked around and then announced “Oh GOD, I’m about to pee myself!!” as she looked around in panic. Kristine opened her eyes and saw Stacey hop around the room in a panic before quickly grabbing the empty garbage can and putting it between her legs. As Stacey started to take off her shorts pee jetted out of the pretty blonde. Stacey trembled and stood there, her shorts around her legs and pee flooding out of her panties into the garbage can. Kristine looked in shock as her roommate peed into her underwear right in front of her, the pee then streaming loudly into the garbage can. Stacey didn’t even bother removing her panties, they were too soaked anyway, and she just crouched over the can and urinated noisily into it. Finishing up, she took off her panties, grabbed a towel and wiped herself dry and then put on a pair of boxer shorts and laughed. Giggling, she asked Kristine if she wanted to use the garbage container as well to pee into. “Um, no, I can’t,” Kristine replied, far too embarrassed to be able to pee into a garbage can, especially in front of somebody else! “Ok, whatever,” Stacey replied, headed to bed and turned off the light on her little desk. Kristine tried to go to sleep in the darkness, but the pressure inside of her was too much. “Oh GOD!! I need to pee again,” Stacey replied after fifteen minutes, and Kristine, struggling with her own desperation, did not know what to do. Stacey jumped up, pulled off her boxer shorts, and standing there with nothing on but her T–shirt urinated again noisily into the garbage can. Kristine watched as she sprayed pee from her neatly trimmed pubic mound into the can, the strong forceful stream jetting out of her. Kristine was transfixed by the sight– she had never seen another girl pee before. Her own desperation beyond control, she didn’t know what to do. Seeing Stacey pee again was too much, and without any warning Kristine suddenly began to lose control and urinate into her own bed. She gasped– while lying there under her sheets, as she watched Stacey pee into the garbage can, pee stream after pee stream gushed out into her pink panties. She peed uncontrollably into her sheets, her bed now soaking wet with her own hot urine. Kristine started to cry as her body relentlessly emptied her bladder, pee stream after pee stream flooding her panties and sheets, to the point where she was lying in a huge puddle of her own pee, having soaked her bed. Kristine was mortified and didn’t tell Stacey she had wet the bed. As Stacey crawled back into bed, Kristine finished peeing in her bed and crying softly, before somehow going to sleep. She woke up once a few hours later, her bladder full again, and repeated the process, peeing again into her sheets, where she lay in a wet puddle until the next morning, embarrassed and ashamed that she had once again, as a young adult, wet herself.
The score was 5–1, Felicia had just pulled two aces, both serves traveling 128 mph. Kristine’s incredible need to use the bathroom had slowed her speed down a little, the screaming within her bladder, 40 minutes since they entered the court, was now ruining her concentration. Kristine was dying inside, desperately waiting for the set break, anything to run off and use the bathroom before she peed herself in her tennis skirt. Her panties clung to her tightly, with her bulging tummy pressing against the waistband of her very short tennis skirt, and her swollen crotch making itself more obvious now to the photographers, this girl was sexy… many a lens snapped when she moved, many aware now of how tightly defined Kristine’s pubic mound was by her thin panties. She managed to pull out the set, winning 6–1, and almost peed into her skirt as she approached the chair umpire, asking for a bathroom break. The woman in the chair complied, and Kristine dashed off the courts, walking quickly through the hallways, heading back to the dressing room, her bladder screaming inside of her, the need to pee so incredible that she was genuinely worried that she was about to wet her tennis outfit. “Jesus, I need to go pee,” she cried to nobody, her voice echoing down the hallways, the need to pee torturing her young body, the stinging pain growing inside of her. Each step she took was torture as her bladder pounded inside of her. One time she stopped and tensed her muscles before continuing, almost peeing down her legs as she stood there, trembling. “Ooh God,” she cried to herself, walking faster as her bladder pulsed inside of her, the pressure mounting again.
When she reached the dressing room, her heart sank. A maintenance crew was working inside, and a yellow “CLOSED” sign sat on the floor outside. She looked up in panic, not believing her eyes. She had to use the bathroom SO badly in her first major tournament final and she couldn’t believe they weren’t going to let her go pee!!! Looking around, Kristine scanned the rest of the hallway. Her eyes darted in a panic, first to the left, then to the right. There had to be another restroom! There HAD to be another. She clenched her legs together as the pressure grew, her bladder DEMANDED relief, she needed to pee! She knew the new lockers rooms weren’t done, so that wouldn’t work. The spectator area, they’d have to have some! She hobbled, her bladder screaming, to where the corridor veered off, but the door to the other section was locked, to keep the spectators out of the locker room area. Looking down the hallway past the locked glass door, she could see a ladies’ room with people entering and exiting it freely. A girl ran into the bathroom with a desperate look on her face, she had been about to pee herself during the last set, but she got her wish and managed to get to the bathroom before wetting into her clothes in the stadium. The sight of the girl so desperate only magnified Kristine’s pain. She wanted SO badly to break the doors down and urinate, her filling bladder was affecting her game, the stinging pressure building, the pain fierce, it was getting harder to concentrate on the game with her insides tormenting her, with the waves of pee pressure beginning to build strongly inside the athletic girl’s desperate body. She looked around, and momentarily wondered if she could just crouch down and pee on the floor, anything, just ANYTHING to relieve the pressure inside, but then she remembered the security cameras in the hallway. No way, not on camera. She paused, her legs trembling, held together to stem back the flow. She looked. Dashing back to the locker room, she looked again and saw the maintenance crew. “HEY,” she cried out, her bladder screaming inside of her. “Sorry miss, the bathroom is closed, we should be opened back up in fifteen minutes though,” the man yelled back. “But this is an EMERGENCY,” she cried out, half bent over, her bladder almost about to burst within her tortured young body. “I’m sorry ma’am, water leak. Fifteen minutes.” Fifteen minutes. There was NO way she could take a fifteen–minute break– it was against the rules. Her bladder screamed– she needed to PEE so BADLY. She didn’t know what to do, but realized she had no choice now. She looked around in absolute desperation, her knees pressed together, her thighs trembling from the pressure, her body demanding a pee break. THERE WAS ONLY ONE BATHROOM, she realized in panic!!! She’d simply have to go back on the court and request a bathroom break later, if they’d let her go again. “DAMN!!” Kristine thought. There were no options. She’d have to win the next set as quickly as she could and then rush off to the ladies’ room before she wet herself. No other options.
Struggling, Kristine returned to the court, walking back out into the sunshine, her face scrunched up with pain, her bladder tormenting her inside. She walked over to Elise, the tournament director, who was standing guarding the entrance to the tunnel. “Hey, like, the bathrooms are closed,” she said while clutching her crotch under her short tennis skirt, trying to hold the pee back. Elise nodded and mentioned something into her two–way radio. “You have to go back now,” Elise said firmly. Kristine looked at her with pleading eyes, hoping a resolution would come out of her call on the two–way radio, but the woman stood firm. Kristine almost broke down and tears and almost started peeing, but she held on. Kristine hoped that something could be hurried up; she REALLY needed to go pee, and didn’t want to play the rest of the game desperate for a bathroom break. But she had no choice. She had to return to the game.
The next set started. Kristine reached up, and served an off–pace spin serve, the ball spinning wildly out of reach of Felicia’s racket. 15–love. “Damn,” Felicia cried out. She was getting her butt kicked by this unknown 19 year old. Ad court. Kristine missed her first serve wide, but her second serve curved in nicely and jammed Felicia’s backhand side. Felicia managed to get a decent return, sending the shot deep into Kristine’s backhand corner. Kristine ran over and pounded the ball back, and Felicia got there in time and rocketed the ball to Kristine’s forehand side. “I’m going to run you to death now, girl,” Felicia thought, smiling. But Kristine just bounded over to the shot and got there early– set up, and rocketed a winner down the line, catching Felicia flatfooted. “Jesus! She is fast,” Felicia thought, brushing her hair out of her eyes and then adjusting her socks. Kristine headed back to serve, her bladder unrelenting, the screaming pressure almost demanding full concentration. She knew in order to get to the bathroom before she’d have an accident meant winning this set as quickly as possible. She didn’t want to pee herself in front of the stadium, and knew she’d just have to hold it. Somehow. Her bladder sent a trembling spasm through her abdomen, and Kristine had to clench her muscles tightly to keep her swollen bladder from releasing hot pee into her clothes right in front of everyone. She momentarily panicked, needing to pee so badly, and double faulted the next serve. Swearing at herself, wishing she could clutch her crotch and hold back the ocean of pee inside her, she walked over and managed to get the next serve into play, almost pulling another ace out of her hat, but Felicia managed to return it. Kristine trembled as another spasm of pee pressure overtook her, she was seriously desperate now, unbelievably desperate, with such an incredible need to go to the bathroom she didn’t know if she could finish the game without having an accident in her tennis skirt. Somehow she managed to finish the game. Sitting down on the break, thirsty, she grabbed her water bottle. Sitting in the canvas chair, her legs slightly spread, she could only think about how insanely badly she needed to go to the bathroom. Her bladder stung, the pressure building with every minute –– she just wanted to be able to PEE, to relieve the pain, to relax, just to let it out!! Squirming in the chair, her short skirt barely covering a few inches of her gorgeous thighs, she sat, waiting, while thinking about asking the chair umpire for another bathroom break, but she had just taken one. How long had it been anyway? She changed position in the chair, the pain increasing, and placed her legs tightly together, her hands between her thighs, trying to press against her pee hole to hold in the pee she so incredibly needed to let go. The desperation she felt brought back more embarrassing memories, including the one perhaps the most embarrassing of all from her summer at tennis camp. She cringed when the memory came back, her bladder throbbed and she realized how absolutely desperate she was as she replayed the event from the past in her head. She just needed to concentrate, to put the pain out of her mind, to hold back the pee or risk having the most embarrassing accident ever during the match. She just needed to hold it!
The second time Kristine wet herself at tennis camp happened midway through the season. It was a hot summer day and thunderstorms had been threatening all afternoon. The girls had just finished their mobility drills and their endurance drills and because of the stifling heat and humidity, they had all drank a lot of water. By the end of the three–hour session, all the girls were thinking of the bathroom, some more than others. Kristine in particular was incredibly desperate. As the last drill concluded she sighed in relief as usually that meant they could take a break before doing the skill drills later. The rain started to fall, and the instructor called out and instructed them to meet in the gymnasium of the facility. “Thank GOD we’re done, I have to pee SOOO bad I’m about to bust!” Kristine mentioned to her roommate Stacey as they started to walk quickly back to the gym before the rain got much harder. “Yea, I’m like dying inside too, I almost wet myself on that last drill on the courts!” Stacey replied. “God, I have to go, go, go,” Kristine giggled, holding herself momentarily as they walked. “Hold it,” Stacey giggled in return “You don’t want to be like Danielle, do you?” “Oh GOD, no,” Kristine replied. Danielle was this really shy girl from Russia who didn’t speak very much English. Having grown up watching the Russian onslaught of tennis stars in the early 2000’s she had saved up her money and moved to the US when she turned 17 and lived with her grandmother. This was her second tennis camp. One day in the past week the girls had finished doing running drills and Danielle suddenly yelled, making everybody turn and look. It had been at the end of the session and everybody’s bladders were really full and when everybody turned around they saw Danielle start to cry, her body shook and the Russian girl started peeing into her Lycra workout shorts. The pink Lycra fabric was clinging to her enlarged girlhood, staining as she peed through her shorts; the pee running down her legs, the wetness in her crotch making the fabric slightly see through. Everybody could tell that she wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath the lycra shorts when they saw the poor girl pee uncontrollably down her long legs and onto the surface of the track, pee streaming out of her for almost a minute, flooding her socks and shoes as she wept in embarrassment. “GODDDD, I have to go,” Kristine replied again, hurrying. The two girls caught up with the rest of the girls in the gym. They headed over to the bathrooms, both in desperate need of relief, until they saw that the rest of the girls were standing in one line in front of the coach, some of them looking very uncomfortable. They stopped. One of the girls motioned to them and whispered, “Over here, no break yet, hurry.” Kristine panicked. She needed to pee so badly she was almost wetting herself while they walked; Stacey had to pee quite badly too, and here it seemed that the coach had something else in mind. They sheepishly walked over to the end of the line. Kristine longingly looked over at the locker room she could see out of the corner of her eye, dying, wishing she could just escape to let go of the ocean inside of her. “Shit,” Stacey replied, grimacing as she clenched her legs together, obviously needing to go to the bathroom very badly. “OK, LADIES,” he screamed. “RIGHT NOW, YOU PROBABLY ALL THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO GET A BREAK. Well…” he continued, “YOU’RE NOT GOING TO. IT’S TIME TO GET TOUGH– TO WORK THROUGH PAIN. TO KEEP GOING WHEN YOU’RE TIRED. NOBODY LEAVES THIS LINE. NOBODY!” Kristine looked up at him in terror. Her bladder was throbbing violently as wave after wave of pressure was overtaking the poor girls body. Her urethra was burning and her pee was about to explode out of her clenched pee hole. “ALRIGHT. Relay Races. Team up with a partner, and we’re doing relay sprints first. Time to see WHAT YOU GIRLS ARE MADE OF!” A dark haired girl nobody really knew on the end squirmed, she needed to pee badly too, and it was entirely obvious that nobody was going to get a bathroom break. But Kristine needed to pee so badly, she knew she couldn’t hold it. She had to go, and while she was usually shy, she just had to ask. “Um, coach,” she said meekly. “WHAT?” he screamed. Kristine almost peed into her shorts right there. “Uh, I really need to use the bathroom. It’s an emergency,” she replied a little louder, embarrassed to be asking for a bathroom break. “Oh, so you have to go PEE? WELL, WELL, WELL, Kristine. WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?” he yelled. Kristine looked like a scolded child, standing there, embarrassed. She was wearing a blue T–shirt and a pair of extremely short and slightly loose white boxer shorts made from very thin fabric, that she sometimes slept in. Her other shorts and stuff had all been in the laundry which she was going to do later that day. The shorts barely covered her butt, the white panties with light blue filigree designs of flowers on them that she was wearing were clearly visible from her backside, and the thin cotton fabric of the shorts was extremely revealing. From the front one could see bits of the design on her panties including their waistband through the thin shorts. The shorts were so short that when she stood with her legs slightly apart, there was only a half of an inch of inseam between the bottom of the shorts and her crotch. People had actually gasped when she had worn them outside, because anytime she moved, bent over, or did anything she flashed everybody around with her panties. Kristine herself, a very shy girl, suddenly realized halfway through the drills, to her great embarrassment, that the shorts were entirely too short to work out in. Now she stood in front of the class in them, begging her instructor for a bathroom break and her face turned red with shame. “Pl, um, please, it’s really an emergency,” Kristine pleaded. Her bladder screamed inside of her, she placed her knees together and clenched herself, trying to hold back the urine burning inside that wanted to escape so badly. “NO,” he yelled back. Kristine couldn’t believe her ears. She needed to pee!! Badly!! “But please, I mean, why, I need to pee,” she pleaded with her voice in a panic. “SO YOU HAVE TO PEE. OK. SO WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO IN THE MIDDLE OF A MATCH WHEN YOU HAVE TO GO? YOU ONLY GET SO MANY BATHROOM BREAKS. YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO LEARN TO HOLD IT. AND THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE GONNA DO– RIGHT NOW!” “Bu–bbuutt I can’t, please, I really can’t,” Kristine pleaded. Tears formed in her eyes. Her bladder throbbed violently as she felt her pee rush to the very edge of her urethra where somehow she managed to clamp off the flow before soaking her panties and shorts. “COME UP FRONT THEN, STAND HERE,” he commanded. Kristine sheepishly stood up in front of the class. She was trembling, she couldn’t keep her self still, her foot was tapping on the ground and her knees knocked together, her legs tensed as she tried to hold her pee in. “SEE, GIRLS, THIS IS WHAT S GOING TO HAPPEN TO YOU IF YOU CAN’T HOLD IT. SHE’S ABOUT TO PEE IN HER PANTS, ISN’T SHE?” The other girls gasped. They couldn’t believe he wouldn’t let Kristine use the bathroom when it was so obvious that she needed to go so badly. Stacey looked at her and saw that her face was in pain. Kristine looked back– barely able to control her pee. “KRISTINE, GIVE ME 50 SQUAT THRUSTS, AND THEN YOU CAN GO PEE!” Kristine looked at him in terror. She could barely move. She tried to do one, and her bladder violently screamed. She stood up and begged again. “Please, I’m really serious, I can’t hold it.” “49 MORE AND YOU CAN GO,” he screamed. “YOU MUST LEARN TO DEAL WITH PAIN, TO DEAL WITH ADVERSITY. HOLD YOUR PEE AND DO IT NOW!!” His voice bellowed as he screamed louder. Kristine somehow willed herself to attempt to do the rest; each one torture as she knelt down, did a squat thrust, then stood up. Each time she stood up she thought she was going to start peeing violently. After the last one she stood there, totally in panic, her body shivering with pain. She started to feel nervous; her breathing was short and quick, and her body was screaming at her. “NOW HOLD IT FOR FIVE MINUTES AND THEN YOU CAN GO,” he yelled. “No, I can’t, please, oh God, I can’t… Ooh Goddd,” she screamed. Her body tensed as an intensely forceful and painful wave of pressure overtook her. She clenched herself as hard as she could, her pee dying to escape. She looked over at Stacey. Stacey looked at her and started crying. Kristine looked and realized that Stacey was shaking with her legs together, her feet tapping violently. Stacey was wearing a pair of faded green nylon running shorts similar to the pair Kristine had, and suddenly Kristine saw a dark stain spreading from Stacey’s crotch! Stacey turned red and tried to hold her pee in but she couldn’t and started peeing silently into her shorts, the pee rushing down the gorgeous blonde girl’s legs onto the gym floor. Nobody else but Kristine saw it since the attention was on her. Stacey totally soaked herself for nearly a minute, peeing hard and strong into her panties and shorts, both of which were quickly made sopping wet with her hot pee. Kristine looked over at her coach right as she felt a huge wave of pressure. “TWO MINUTES,” he yelled. Kristine clenched, the pressure too much this time, and a quick jet of pee escaped her tortured pee hole. She screamed, tried to hold it in. Another jet, this one lasting two seconds. Her panties were wet now, and she felt a pee droplet or two trickling down her toned and gorgeous thighs. “Oh God, nooo,” she pleaded. She tried to hold on but she couldn’t. Suddenly her bladder control completely gave way as the next jet of pee she was totally unable to control. Kristine was standing there, in front of the coach and the entire class, in her ultra short white boxer shorts that were so thin that they were almost see–through, and she was peeing violently into her panties. The girls gasped and giggled as they watched Kristine pee her pants, the wet stain quickly spreading, the pee streaming down between her legs and the edge of her loose shorts. Her panties became flooded with her warm urine, stream after stream coming out of the poor girl as she lost all control. Kristine stood there, her legs slightly apart, pee streams both running down the insides of her thighs as well as a stream pouring straight out from her tortured girlhood onto the wooden gym floor. The gym was silent as the peed, the sizzling hissing noise as the pressurized pee exploded out of her pee hole and through her skimpy clothes; loud in the silence, the splashing and splattering noise crisp as it flooded onto the gym floor. For the second time in her life, Kristine had completely wet herself in front of a large group of people. She started to cry. She didn’t know what to do, so she just stood there. The coach finally let the girls have a break and Kristine and Stacey went to shower and change outfits; both embarrassed that they had peed themselves in public. The shy dark haired girl was also seen quickly running to the locker room with her bladder exploding and her blue workout shorts quickly staining as she wet herself too, failing to make it to the bathroom in time.
Kristine struggled in the second set. Her incredible need to relieve her tortured bladder affected her game, and she was down 3–5 in the second set. Somehow she had managed not to pee herself, but she knew she couldn’t hold out much longer. Felicia had been killing her with her serve and Kristine hadn’t been able to continue moving as quickly, each step torture as her bladder continued desperately screaming for immediate relief. As she stood there catching a ball from the ball girl, she was forced to pause, her bladder throbbing violently, causing Kristine to almost wet her skirt right then and there. Clenching under her skirt, she didn’t care if people saw her; she NEEDED to stop herself from peeing, NEEDED to clamp on her pee hole. The photographers clicked, they knew now she was horribly desperate, her young bladder tortured. She knew she couldn’t hold it any longer– she HAD to use the bathroom. Approaching the chair umpire, she was half doubled over with her body sending spasms of pain from her throbbing bladder, to request a bathroom break. The umpire looked down at her. The 28 year old had played in hundreds of matches and never needed TWO bathroom breaks, but the rules gave the players two, so she granted Kristine a break. Kristine dashed off, not running but walking slightly stiff legged. Her bladder was screaming inside of her as she tried to get to the locker room as quickly as possible. Each step was torture– this was beyond anything she had ever had to hold in before. She had to pee SO badly it was even worse than when she had wet herself at the track meet a year and a half ago. Kristine’s face was in pain as she rounded the corner.
Approaching the women’s locker room, she reached the door and it was locked. “Oh NO. Shit. Oh God. NOO!” she cried. She tried again. Locked. She looked around. The temporary men’s locker room door was down the hall. She knew there was no way she could hold it. Why was the locker room door locked? She panicked. She ran down to the men’s locker room, knowing she’d just have to run in and pee, she didn’t care, she was about to totally burst and couldn’t hold her pee any longer. Somehow her bladder must have known how close she was to a bathroom because it started throbbing even harder, the pressure unbelievably intense. Kristine reached for the men’s door and it was locked! She looked around. She HAD TO PEE. “Ooh noo– God, no, she cried out. She ran down to the women’s locker room again and pulled. Nothing. She started banging on the door, screaming out. Nothing. “Ooh God. PLEASE SOMEBODY OPEN IT UP, I NEED TO GOOOO,” she was screaming, her voice hoarse. She clutched her legs together, the short skirt pressing tightly against her totally swollen tummy, her bladder violently twitching inside of her with the pee burning inside, her pee hole about to explode as it could barely stay closed with the torrential river of pee ready to burst out. “Ooh God, Oh God, OH GODDDD PLEASE OPEN UP, OH GODDD!!!” She screamed, holding herself with one hand and banging on the door with the other. Her fingers were jammed into her tennis panties, pressing the thin tight fabric against her pee hole and holding the pee in. Her pulse raced, she was so desperate to pee that she couldn’t even breathe properly. Nothing. She reached out to bang on the door again, but gave up in despair, her bladder SCREAMING inside, while her only thoughts were HOW BADLY SHE NEEDED TO GO PEEEEEE!!!
She looked around. There were no options. She’d have to return. She’d ask the umpire if she could use the spectators’ bathroom. That was it. She’d have to let her. I mean– it wasn’t HER fault the women’s locker room was locked by mistake. She struggled out to courtside, looking for Elise the tournament director but not seeing her. Each step was torture with her bladder stretched, every membrane within it tense and stretched to the limit, her body at the very edge. She sheepishly walked to the umpires’ chair and talked to the woman. “Um, Look, I really need to go pee, and the bathroom was locked. Is there any way I can use the spectators’ one, I really need to go!” Kristine pleaded her case. “I’m sorry, but for security reasons we can’t let you leave the court and protected area. You’ll just have to hold it until the match is over.” Kristine looked at the woman in shock. “Ooh no, but I really need to pee. Honest, it’s an emergency!” “Miss, you just went about 45 minutes ago. Hold it until the match is over. You know the rules.” “Oh God, but I really need to go,” Kristine begged. “You know the rules!” The umpire stood firm. Tears welled up in Kristine’s eyes and she started to cry. “But PLEASE, I’m serious, I’m about to wet myself! Oh God, PLEASE, Oh God– PLEASE, please, please,” she begged. The umpire shook her head. Kristine looked over at Elise, the tournament director, begging for an overruling of the stupid rules. She was about to pee herself, damn it; and she NEEDED to use the bathroom! Elise stood there motionless and shook her head, and then walked back to where she was standing and watched Kristine. Tears flowed from Kristine’s eyes, her bladder pains intense and her body about to uncontrollably release what was inside. The constant pressure was torture; the stinging pain was too much. She started to cry softly as she walked back to the baseline. She stood there and tried to compose herself but began to tremble violently when the next wave of pressure came over her. She tried to serve, but double faulted. She turned to the ball girl for a set of balls and then the largest wave of pressure she had ever felt overtook her young body. Trembling there on the center court, her knees started to uncontrollably twitch, her foot tapping while her body shook. She struggled to focus, her eyes going hazy for a second as the most singularly incredible pressure overtook her body. Her pee strained inside of her, her forehead broke out into a cold sweat, and her breathing became rapid. She turned to the umpire, all the way from the baseline and held her racket down while looking pleadingly at him, as if to beg for one last chance to go to the bathroom. “Oh God, oh NOOO,” she screamed and dropped her racket. She clenched herself. Her short white skirt barely covered her ass, and her tennis panties clung to her tortured girlhood, as her bladder throbbed even harder. Her nipples had grown erect from the tension and clearly showed through the thin synthetic fabric of her sports bra. Unable to stand still, she looked around and hoped for an answer to her most immediate problem. She stared at the ball girl in the corner, a cute brunette in a green tennis skirt and green uniform top. Kristine mouthed the words “I have to go!” to her, and the ball girl didn’t say anything. Kristine looked into the stands, which were silent. The entire stadium knew what was happening now, it was obvious that this tennis player, one of the best looking on the circuit, had to REALLY use the bathroom and wasn’t likely going to make it. The broadcasters of the match were aghast– they had never seen anything like this before. It was completely obvious that Kristine wasn’t going to be able to hold it and they didn’t know what to say. They had no script prepared to go to in the case of one of the key players appeared to be having a public pee accident during the match!! Kristine looked back down on the court, trying hard to hold her pee in, trying hard to forget the agony and humiliation of peeing at the track, her wet accident at the tennis camp, and the time she peed in her bed after curfew. She stared over at the ball girl again, wishing that the girl could be of some help: offer some advice, anything, just anything to stop the pain– when suddenly she noticed that the girl was crying and shaking. She couldn’t figure out why, what was her freaking problem? And then she saw the stream of pee as the ball girl wet herself in the corner of the court!! Pee streamed from between her legs and skirt, splashing onto the court! The ball girl had just peed her pants ON THE COURT!! The poor girl hadn’t been able to use the bathroom before the match. Being very shy, she had tried to hold it in but ended up peeing herself in front of the famous tennis players, her legs getting shiny as she peed, crying, her green skirt damp in the back, a puddle between her legs in the corner where she had stood, tennis balls in hand. The girl dropped the balls and they rolled through the pee puddle as she screamed in embarrassment, pee still streaming from her 18 year old body, right in front of the players and the stadium!
Kristine couldn’t believe what she was seeing, watching the other girl pee herself was just too much, it only reminded her of how close she was to urinating herself. The pressure and the pain and her water intake combined were too much! She clenched her body tight, looking away, with her body thrashing now. She turned around, looking again. Felicia stood at the end of the court, waiting, while Kristine tried to walk but found that she couldn’t. She clutched her skirt, one hand holding the edge, wanting to press against her pee hole, the other hand between her legs, up against the skirt fabric, her legs bent, when she lost control. She started to shake, her knees trembling, and a small spurt of pee slipped out from her pain racked pee hole. The warm wetness quickly spread through her tennis panties and she could feel how thin the fabric was as a short, one second burst of pee started to soak the fabric. She tried to hold back, taking half of a tortured shaky step, with the pain increasing. Another burst escaped, lasting two seconds. She gasped and felt the warm pee spread in the tight fabric clinging to her taut girlhood and pressing tightly against her vulva. She clenched her legs tighter. Another burst lasted a few seconds, while Kristine tried again to hold it back, but felt the trickle of pee drops rolling down the inside of her left thigh. The pain magnified in intensity, making her vision grow fuzzy, her breathing rapid, and her bladder throb violently. The next stream started small but quickly grew in strength, starting as a small leak and ending as a strong stream. Pee flooded out of her pee hole, flowing through the micro fiber of her panties, her legs getting shiny in places as she peed into her tennis skirt. Unable to stem even the moderate flow, Kristine lost control. The pressure exploded within her, she almost passed out from the pain. Screaming, she grabbed her crotch in desperation, feeling how obviously wet her tennis panties were. It was too late. A huge jet of pee burst from her clenched pee hole and quickly soaked the rest of her tennis panties. She tried to hold it back but could only manage to contain it for a few seconds. Another long burst jetted out right afterwards. She felt her synthetic fabric tennis panties soaking and dripping with the hot pee. She stood with her legs together, trying not to go any further but she couldn’t hold it. The next jet exploded, unable to be stopped, so she opened her legs about a foot apart and peed violently into her tennis skirt. The hot exploding pee thrashed out of her pee hole, streaming down both of her legs and directly down onto the court surface. Kristine yelled. “Oh GOD. NO NOOO NOOOOO. Oh shit NOOO, please not again, NOOOOOO!” She was crying uncontrollably. The peeing lasted for 25 seconds, hissing and sizzling as it burst from her young tortured body before coming to a stop. Then it exploded out of her again. This time her stream didn’t stop, and she went ahead peeing right through her tennis panties, socks and shoes, and adding to the huge puddle forming on the court under her. Pee streamed out of her as she emptied her bladder right there on the court. Stream after stream cascaded down her thighs, streams dripping from the edge of her panties and the center of her crotch, everywhere– gushing uncontrollably. Both legs were shiny from it, her shoes completely saturated with urine, yet pee still flooded out of her, waterfall after waterfall flooding her lower body and streaming everywhere. She just stood there in shock with the whole stadium watching– aware that she was wetting herself in front of fans, tournament staff, and the media!! Wetting herself– PEEING, right there, in public, for the world to see! The TV cameras and the magazine photographers were all recording her massive accident as she continued to wet herself for two minutes before finally finishing. Still crying, she walked over the umpire. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t hold it anymore!!! Oh my God, I peed my pants,” she cried to the umpire.
“I’m sorry that happened. You can either forfeit the game or continue to play. I’m sorry, but those are the rules,” he told her. She looked up. She had only one choice. Her family had been hard on her for giving up her track career when she had peed herself at that event; she was had been on the track to go to the Olympics but gave up that dream. She knew this time she’d have to finish the match. Walking back, her tennis shoes making marks in the court and squishing with each step, her socks soaked, her legs still shiny with pee, she had no choice. She had to continue. She walked past the huge puddle; her pee pooled on the hard court surface and shining in the sunlight.
She served out the set. Mortified and totally ashamed, she could not concentrate and she lost the set. Both players had won a set each. It would go to three. Break time. Kristine sat there in her chair during set change and cried, trying to pull herself together and to focus. She knew there was nothing she could do about her accident. She’d needed to continue. The umpire had told her that maintenance was still working on the locker room and that she’d have to continue play as she was– in pee soaked clothes and shoes. Her feet were sore and started to blister from being in the pee soaked shoes. As she sat there, she felt a cramp in her thigh coming on, but forgot about it and concentrated on playing out the rest of her game. She was so embarrassed, yet knew she’d have to finish the match. As she sat there open legged in her courtside chair, the photographers were clicking away with their big cameras, zooming in between her legs. She was oblivious to the fact that now that her panties were soaked that they were almost totally see–through. The photographers could all see her neatly trimmed pubic mound– the dark pubic hair fairly visible under the pee soaked wet panty fabric, her vulva and private parts very easily seen by anyone looking. The designers of her tennis panties would have to go to the engineering team and rethink the fabric, as it was almost purely transparent when wet. Of course, they never would have guessed that the new tennis player they were sponsoring would pee herself during a match! Kristine grabbed water and started drinking, thirsty from all of her screaming, her voice hoarse. She quickly downed another quart of water, again starting to fill her bladder.
A replacement ball girl showed up and the third set started. Nobody really saw the ball girl pee herself as the entire stadium was focused on Kristine’s huge public accident. Felicia served, thinking she had the match in hand, and after witnessing her opponents huge pee accident, she realized she had to go to the bathroom kind of badly too. She stood tall with her blonde hair reflecting the bright sun, her blue Lycra tights fitting snug against her killer body, and served the fastest serve any woman ever had. It clocked at 134 mph. Across the court, Kristine crouched there, her shoes starting to dry off in the warmer afternoon sun but her panties still damp and clinging to her soaking wet pubic mound. Kristine read the fast serve perfectly and returned the ball directly at Felicia, hitting her in the midsection. Felicia fell down, got up, swore, and recovered, feeling an amazing amount of pain from where the ball had struck her. She almost started to pee in her tights after being hit just above the bladder, the shock of the ball sending spasms through the tall blonde girl’s desperate body. She served another rocketing serve to Kristine’s backhand. Once again, Kristine returned it with zeal and sent a down the line winner. Felicia was serving the very best she could and Kristine was destroying her with these returns. Felicia quickly lost the game, never winning a point.
Kristine was focused now. She was angry at having been humiliated by peeing herself in front of the entire stadium, and wanted to win as quickly as she could and then disappear. Even worse, as the first few games went easily Kristine’s way, she felt her bladder fill rapidly again. As always, after the first big pee the second pee was harder to hold, and Kristine had continued drinking water the entire match even when her bladder was completely at full capacity. Soon she was up 5–0 in the third set, the last game potentially was next, and she was close to winning her first major tournament. Winning this would somewhat make up for the horrendous pee accident she had, she thought. She HAD to win it, HAD to. As she sat on her break, she realized suddenly how incredibly badly she needed to go pee again. She couldn’t believe THIS! She could barely hold it, it seemed that somehow her weakened and tortured bladder had filled up within the past fifteen minutes and she was having problems holding her pee in. The pressure and the desperation was much more immediate, it came quickly with the second need instead of the slow building desperation, and she started to panic. She knew she’d have to finish the game or likely wet her pants AGAIN!! As she got up and headed to resume play, she suddenly cramped. Unable to walk, she fell to the court and screamed in pain, a cramp in her thigh totally overtaking her! She almost started urinating right then, the combination of the cramp and her tortured bladder full yet again was too much for the 19 year old. She cried out. She managed to stand up and hobbled to the umpire, who called the women’s trainer. Kristine hobbled in pain over to the side, and then sat in her chair, needing to pee so incredibly badly this time and in pain from her cramp too. She held her left thigh, high near her crotch, trying to massage the cramp out. Tears formed in Kristine’s eyes, the pain from the cramp was incredible and her bladder, having been so badly tortured, couldn’t hold back the impending flood as well this time, the muscles weakened from her prior pee ordeal. She stood there and tried to massage her legs. The photographers kept clicking, she was exposed, and her damp panties from her pee accident were still transparent. The trainer came out and walked over– a stunningly attractive and very fit blonde in a pair of blue shorts and a uniform shirt. As she got close, Kristine recognized her: it was her ex–roommate from the tennis camp, Stacey! “Oh my GOD, what are you doing here?” she exclaimed. “HEY, wow, I heard you were playing. What’s up?” “Oh WOW, oh my God, today has NOT been my day,” Kristine went on. “I strained my leg somehow, it hurts like crazy. Like a cramp– I don’t know why.” She spread her legs apart so Stacey could examine it. She had heard that after Stacey finished the tennis camp that she played in a tournament and re–injured her knee and had to give up tennis, instead returning to school and getting the physical therapist degree she had been studying for when she entered the camp. Stacey looked up Kristine’s short skirt, the edge of the skirt barely covering her crotch and giggled. “Uh, did you have a pee accident or something?” she asked. “Oh GOD, yes, didn’t you hear?” Kristine replied, turning red. “No, I was paged. The other trainer had to leave for an emergency and I took her place. What happened?” “I had to go pee SOOOO badly, like worse than when I peed myself in front of coach last summer, and the stupid bathroom was locked and I couldn’t hold it and the umpire wouldn’t let me use the spectator one and I ended up peeing in my skirt. I mean, I couldn’t hold it, it wasn’t my fault!!” “Wow, that’s pretty amazing,” Stacey replied, giggling. “But let’s look at your leg.” Moving her hands up Kristine’s thigh she opened up Kristine’s legs even wider. A few photographers got out their biggest lenses and zoomed in. They could clearly see the pee soaked panties and how incredibly see through they were. Kristine’s dark pubic hair was obvious. She had a strip of neatly trimmed pubic hair up and the rest was shaved neatly, exposing her engorged and reddened lips. The tennis panties clung tightly and transparently to her girlhood and Stacey looked in shock. She didn’t know how to tell the player that her panties were soaking wet and totally see through, so she didn’t. “Um, I’ve got another problem too” Kristine said, starting to squirm in the seat. “What?” Stacey asked as she massaged Kristine’s thigh, relaxing the cramp. “I really need to pee again, like I can’t hold it any longer, what can I do?” Kristine asked in a panic, looking into Stacey’s eyes. “Wow, you already used your breaks up?” “Yea, I can’t get another one. Plus she’s not going to give me a break with only a few games to go.” Stacey looked and moved her hands up Kristine’s thigh, the pinky finger of her left hand rubbing against Kristine’s mound where it connected to her leg, and Stacey felt the dampness of Kristine’s tennis panties. “Oh God, I really need to pee,” Kristine begged, looking at Stacey for a solution. “God,” she exclaimed again, squirming badly in the seat. Kristine’s short white tennis skirt had already moved higher on her thigh, totally exposing her crotch now, only the bottom of the skirt stayed in place under Kristine’s legs. Everybody could see her tennis panties, soaked and transparent for the world to view. Stacey giggled. “Just do it in your skirt right here, I won’t say anything!” “WHAT?” Kristine asked in a panic. She felt her bladder throb violently again. She was on the verge of peeing again, and the pressure kept coming, building, increasing, the stinging pain gaining with each passing breath. Kristine was in panic. She placed her hand over her pee hole and pressed. Stacey giggled. “Here, let me help.” Stacey moved Kristine’s hand away and using her body to block the view of Kristine’s crotch from most of the stadium, she took her left hand off of Kristine’s cramping thigh and massaged Kristine’s mound, touching her privates, feeling the dampness of her soaked tennis panties! Kristine looked into Stacey’s eyes in shock, not knowing what to do, and Stacey smiled. “Just go pee, nobody will ever know, I promise!” she said softly so nobody else could hear. The two girls felt like they were in their own world. “I have to go pee so badly.” Kristine wailed, and Stacey placed her two fingers against Kristine’s pee hole and pressed, and then massaged her mound again. Kristine’s nipples grew immediately erect, as much as she didn’t know it, her body was responding to the touch of the trainer on her most private area. Stacey massaged her mound, stroking her fingers across the slick wet fabric of her tennis panties, and Kristine suddenly gasped, her weakened bladder spasmed, and for the second time in the match, the 19 year old involuntarily started peeing. Stacey felt the pee jet out of Kristine’s tortured bladder and moved her fingers to where the pee was flooding out from the already soaked fabric. Then she moved her hand and covered Kristine’s entire mound and felt Kristine totally let go and pee uncontrollably into her pants, Kristine’s hot pee sizzling and flooding out of her, running onto Stacey’s hands. Stacey felt Kristine’s hot pee escape as the player struggled and continued to wet herself in her chair. Kristine moaned, embarrassed but unable to know what to do. Pee flooded her skirt, and Stacey moved her hand away with a smile. Kristine’s cramp was better and she sat there ashamed, her legs apart, and pee gushed out of her crotch and her short tennis skirt was quickly soaked, pee dripping from the edges of the skirt, running off onto the chair and streaming down off the edge of the chair onto the court surface. While most of the stadium did not know what was happening, Felicia turned and looked and saw her opponent peeing herself for the second time in the match. She giggled, but she was still mad at losing so badly to this point. What Kristine didn’t know was that when Stacey moved herself out of the way that her open legs were totally visible to the TV camera and photographers. One of the networks would receive a fine as they accidentally showed, on live network TV, a four second clip of Kristine peeing into her skirt. Everybody watching it on TV could see her urine–soaked see–through tennis panties with her obvious mound showing and a stream of pee exploding out of it, flooding her little tennis skirt and making a puddle on the ground. The photographers took hundreds of pictures, a lot of them very close, the shiny reflections of Kristine’s pee stream crystal clear in their big cameras as they watched this incredible looking dark haired unknown tennis star peeing in her chair. The stream of pee escaping from her clenched girlhood was totally obvious to anyone who looked, and Kristine sat there in shock, peeing uncontrollably into her skirt on the chair, unable to move! Stacey stood there and smiled, her own nipples erect, a flash of heat in her brow. She looked at the struggling, shamed, peeing teenager and then walked away back to the tunnel leading to the still–locked locker rooms. Kristine wet herself for another minute and then stopped. She thought maybe nobody would have noticed, and she got up. Pee dripped off the back of her wet skirt when she stood, and she gasped in embarrassment. The back of her skirt was totally soaked, and of course this time the entire stadium again realized the poor girl had wet on herself for a second time!!
Kristine stood there, humiliated, embarrassed, but wanting to finish out the set. Waiting for the TV time out to finish as she stood there at the baseline, she wondered about Stacey. Stacey had touched her in her most private of places. A virgin who had never had a boyfriend, Kristine had never been touched like that. Embarrassed about having not one but TWO accidents during the match, she started to cry again for a moment, the rush of feelings hard for her to interpret. But her body felt different. Something excited her. In the middle of all the shame, she felt light, something she hadn’t experienced before. She wondered about Stacey. Was she a lesbian? She reminisced back to a brief moment last summer:
The two girls were eating lunch a few days after Kristine’s big pee accident at camp. Stacey was silent that day but then asked, “so, are you going to pee your shorts again this afternoon?” Kristine giggled and then replied. “Uh, NOO, I don’t THINK so.” “OK.” “Have you ever peed your pants before like that?” Stacey asked her, laughing as she asked the embarrassing question. “Yea, I wet myself at high school, at a track meet. I couldn’t hold it in and I peed like forever into my shorts, it was really bad!” Kristine replied. “Oh my God, that must have been embarrassing!” “Yea, it was the worst day of my entire life!” Kristine answered. “How about YOU, did you ever pee your pants?” Kristine asked, giggling, wondering if it had ever happened to Stacey before. “I peed myself once at work, at this Target store when I was in high school.” “Are you serious?” Kristine asked, amazed that Stacey would admit to wetting herself like that. “Yea, I had just like started and I hadn’t gone to the bathroom all afternoon. I didn’t know when I’d get a break so I kept on holding it, and then it got really busy and they weren’t giving out breaks and I had to pee SO bad it hurt like crazy. I was taking this customer’s money and suddenly I couldn’t hold my pee and I TOTALLY peed into my pants, like peed right in front of this mom and her daughter, and like my slacks were soaking wet in like seconds, pee running down my legs and everything, big stains and all. So they had to send me home and my mom had to come pick me up and saw me totally soaked, I had to like stand out front waiting for her and people walked by looking at my wet pants, laughing at me!” Kristine couldn’t believe it; she thought she was the only one with a bad pee accident story. “Wow, that must have been embarrassing!!” “Yea, but I had to pee so bad I didn’t even care you know? I mean, I just couldn’t hold it and had to go, and it felt so good just to let go.”
What had seemed strange, now that Kristine replayed that lunch scene in her head, was that Stacey had seemed excited about talking about pee. That seemed unusual. Kristine secretly felt very excited when Stacey had touched her while she was peeing, but wasn’t sure it was normal. She would think about it later, right now she had to finish the match. She’d go research sexual behavior on the Internet later.
Kristine jumped up and down lightly to loosen her muscles up after the break. A few drops of pee flew off her soaked tennis skirt as she did so, splattering on the court surface below. She was humiliated, confused, but also angry, and she used those emotions to play the best tennis she could. Remembering everything she had learned at the tennis camp, putting into place all of the mental techniques she had rehearsed, Kristine attacked Felicia, going for her shots. Up quickly 3–1, Kristine was demolishing Felicia easily. She was trying to concentrate on her game, trying her best to avoid thinking about the horrible humiliation of wetting her self on court and then on the chair. Her damp panties and skirt constantly reminded of her traumatizing public wetting accident. Kristine would serve and then every once in a while start to cry when she thought about the humiliation of peeing herself in front of a stadium of people. But then she’d get her resolve back. Even as she played, she would continue to get flashbacks, the horrible feeling of pee running down her legs as she stood there on the court, tens of thousands watching her wet herself, pee thrashing out of her. She HAD to win– she HAD to redeem herself. Kristine played harder, with a ferocity and anger, anything to overcome her embarrassment. As she sat in the chair, still wet from when she peed in it, she focused her anger on her bad luck, avoiding the glances of the stadium or her opponent. Drinking her water, she stood up and played even stronger, forcing points and shots right as Felicia started to weaken. Kristine was amazing, her serves were both accurate, and powerful, her return game flawless. Just as her coach had predicted, once Felicia felt defeated, she’d fold. In the end, after all the humiliation and the embarrassment of peeing down her legs in public, Kristine won the third set 6–1, losing only one point in the final game and thus won the match against a shocked and devastated opponent. The crowd cheered wildly as Kristine fell to her knees, forgetting for a moment the humiliation she had felt earlier.
Thirty minutes had passed since she had started the set and she felt elation, she had finally won, her first major event. She looked around the stadium, hoping the win would offset the embarrassment of peeing in her pants not once but twice in front of everyone in the stadium. The crowds stood in their seats and cheered. She turned around and faced each of the sections, hoping they’d forget her accidents and remember her victory. She bit her lip as she thought about those episodes that now seemed so far in the past, but really weren’t. As Elise came up to give her instructions and the sponsors of the tournament prepared the trophy, Kristine had a horrible thought amidst the excitement: She had to go to the bathroom again, very badly. The constant water drinking added to a completely spent and tortured bladder that had been stretched and pulled beyond its limits made her incredibly desperate, her pee filling rapidly, the urges so much stronger now. As she turned to face Elise to receive her trophy, she trembled as she felt her bladder surge, her need to pee growing rapidly with each passing minute. She thought ahead to the locker room, thinking how nice it would feel to sit on the toilet and pee, to relieve the pressure without humiliating herself. Thankfully, the trophy presentation was short. As she took the microphone and thanked the crowd and her coaches, she felt a huge wave of pressure overtake her, and she almost started peeing in her skirt again, the water forcing against the incredibly weak bladder walls. She almost wet her pants, but held on. The bathrooms were so close, so close. Ending her speech, Kristine walked away, heading to the locker rooms, her bladder now pounding and the pressure unyielding. She tried to walk quicker, but the pain was too much. In just forty–five minutes she had gone from an empty bladder to one that was torture, each step racking her young body with pain. She needed to pee SO urgently– her breathing once again became rapid. Opening the door into the hallway that led to the locker rooms, she stopped. She felt her urethra throb as she almost uncontrollably peed into her skirt while she stood there. Walking down the hall she saw the bathroom in the distance, salvation at last. One more hurdle, she found out: The TV interview. Looking at the mass of people in the hallway, she had to stop. The TV Cameras were on her as she struggled walking, her bladder dying inside. Leaning against the wall were people from the tour, including Stacey, the trainer, who had changed into a pair of low–rise jeans and a tank top. Her nipples protruded through the thin fabric and Kristine saw her and smiled, only to be interrupted by the commentator who was about to interview her. Dying from sheer desperation, her need to pee as great as anytime during the match, she turned, looking for Elise, trying to find a way to do the interview after she could take a bathroom break. She didn’t see her. The commentator approached. TV lights blared. Her bladder pulsated violently inside her 19 year old body, her urine boiling inside, and a thrashing Tsunami of pee demanded release, her bladder weakened from the earlier events.
The worst part was standing still. Kristine stood there, her legs starting to tremble, her feet slightly apart, her body tense, taut, her bladder unyielding, the pressure building to insane levels. Waves of pee pressure shrieked through her body, searing nerve endings with intense pain as she struggled to contain her pee. The interview was pure torture, she needed so badly to use the bathroom, but they wouldn’t let her until she was done! The stupid questions, the torture, the humiliation. Kristine stood there, in panic, as the interview continued. “So, did you have any particular goals in mind in terms of how you played your opponent?” he asked. Kristine paused, her body tensing, fighting another wave of pressure. She looked around and saw that the hallway was packed. Stacey was in clear view, smiling. Her coach and the tournament director stood behind the cameraman, smiling. Crowds of VIP onlookers lined the walls. Even if she wanted to run off and escape, she’d have to fight through the crowd to get to the bathroom. “Well, I thought that if I kept playing hard and making her run, I could win,” she answered, pausing mid sentence as she stemmed a terrible spasm that shook her body. She stood there, her tennis skirt finally dry, her panties only slightly damp from her earlier accidents, her legs clenched together, and she started to tap her left foot in desperation, trying to keep from peeing down her legs while being interviewed. The TV camera zoomed back, and the entire television audience could clearly see the girl was desperate again, dying for a bathroom break, her body language giving her away, the clenched knees, the taut facial expression, her uncontrollable biting of her lip, the tapping of her feet. Her right hand clutched the edge of her short tennis skirt, her gorgeous thighs quite exposed for all to see. Kristine stood there in a panic, about to pee, trying to hold back, wishing the stupid interview would just end! “Now one thing that surprised everybody was your conditioning. Did you think that played a part in your victory today?” Kristine paused as a huge pressure spasm racked her body. Her pee was on the very edge of her pee hole, about to burst through her clenched muscles, her tennis skirt pressing hard against her distended belly, the water pushing it out, the pain intense as she stood there, trapped, needing to pee SO badly she almost started wetting right there. She pulled herself together, only able to summon the energy to hold back her pee because of the excitement of winning her match. Her legs were tighter together now, her left foot subconsciously tapping faster as her bladder throbbed. It HAD to be over soon, the interview was taking MUCH too long!
“Yea, I trained really hard last summer – THANKS COACH, it was hardcore training, and I think it uh (she paused mid statement as she almost peed into her pants, her bladder screaming at her), uh, made a difference for sure. I don’t think anyone can keep up with me on the court.” She clenched hard, the last wave of pee pressure was almost too much to hold back. Her nipples grew taut in her skintight sports bra, the cold air conditioning making them firmly erect. Dark circles were somewhat visible through the thin fabric, a fact many viewers in the television audience noted. She stood there, awaiting the next question, and she slightly bent over, trying to hold in her pee. “Ok, one more question, Kristine,” he said. She was half bent over now, her body in the last seconds before losing total control. She looked over at Stacey, her eyes pleading, wanting a solution. She HAD to maintain her dignity, HAD to keep her composure, but the pain was SO intense. She needed to go PEE!!!! “Uh, sure,” she mumbled. The TV cameras caught her, partially bent over, her feet tapping quickly, in obvious and total bathroom denial desperation. The control room crew gasped, it appeared the tennis star was about to have ANOTHER pee accident!
“Kristine, what happened out there, you know, with the bathroom thing?” The dreaded question– the one she knew might come. “Well,” she started. She had to stop; her bladder was torturing her insides. Trying to control herself, she stood up straight. The stinging pain was intense. Standing still, she controlled herself, to answer professionally, with poise. “Well, I kind of had a problem because I drank too much water and I guess I just couldn’t hold it,” she said, her voice starting to tremble as her body violently thrashed as her bladder expanded, its membranes once again tortured. She looked around; her body was starting to shake involuntarily. She KNEW she was going to wet her pants if she didn’t use the bathroom RIGHT NOW.
“So, has anything like that happened to you before?” How DARE he ask that question, she thought. She stood there tense, still, her feet slightly apart. She tried to hold back. She had to clench her legs together, the pain increased amazingly. “Well,” she started again. The wave of pressure overtook her 19–year–old body, her pee so incredibly desperate to escape. “Well,” she tried again. She couldn’t stand still. She started moving around. “Are you ok?” he asked. “Um,” she tried to concentrate. Stand still. She stood up straight, sweat appearing on her forehead, her breathing rapid, and her heart racing. Her bladder throbbed violently, she tried to hold it back, every ounce of energy was being put into keeping her pee in. “Well, I had a problem in high school once,” she continued. Suddenly, a huge wave overtook her. The heat from the TV lights made her feel faint, and a the pressure kept building, it wasn’t going away, the pounding of her pee torturing her ravished pee hole, and she stood up, trying to hold it back. The stinging pain increased again, and as she smiled at the TV camera, her bladder went into a spasm. “What happened in high school, dear?” he asked. Obviously he was interested in her pee accidents! She tried to hold it back, but a stream let loose. Standing there, the glare of the TV lights in her eyes, Kristine started peeing into her tennis panties, slowly, for about two seconds. Pee slowly escaped past her partially clamped pee hole, and a trickle of warm pee ran down her thigh. She unclenched her legs, and felt the pee trickle down her thigh again. She tried to hold it back. She had to answer. “Um, I had a problem at a track meet,” and she had to stop. Another burst. This time she peed for four seconds, the stream flooding the thin fabric of her clinging tennis panties, and a stream appeared between her legs, splashing for a brief second onto the concrete floor of the hallway. “Um, I’m really sorry, I need to go,” she looked up. Another burst, two seconds, and her right thigh became quickly soaked with hot pee that gushed from her tortured pee hole. “Oh my, are you ok, are you having another accident??” the commentator asked, looking down at her legs which were now wet with trickle marks and a shining stream of pee trickling down them slowly as she started to lose control. Kristine looked over at Elise and she nodded her head that it was over soon. Looking over to her right, Kristine saw Stacey standing just a few feet away, her back leaning against the concrete wall, her tight light blue denim jeans riding low on her hips. She looked into Stacey’s eyes, begging, wanting some understanding. Stacey looked back, and moved herself just a few inches on the wall. Kristine stood, pee starting to leak out of her bladder and she stared at Stacey, like she was asking forgiveness for a grievous sin. Stacey giggled, and as Kristine watched, angered that Stacey was laughing at her obvious desperation, Kristine’s face turned from anger to shock as she suddenly saw Stacey wet her jeans violently, right there, leaning against the wall, in front of everybody!!! Stacey’s pee was hissing out of her body uncontrollably as Stacey could not contain her excitement of seeing Kristine start to have an accident again in front of her. Kristine couldn’t believe her eyes, and even with the noise of the crowd, she heard the hissing as Stacey wet her pants right in front of her. Kristine looked up, in total agony, her bladder screaming at her, the sight of her friend wetting herself in her tight jeans too much, and her own bladder exploded, unable to be held any longer. Looking at her interviewer, she tried to move, but was trapped, the TV cameras focused on her. Unable to control herself, Kristine started to pee harder, the next few streams increasing in intensity as she sprayed pee into her tennis panties, flooding her thighs. She screamed, doubled over, then stood up, her hands holding the edges of her tennis skirt, the short skirt barely covering her crotch. She stood there, humiliated, the TV cameras still tracking her every movement, and lost all control. In the next second, she burst and her bladder emptied violently into her panties. The pee came exploding out, streams jetting out of her pee hole, long hard sizzling hot pee streams spraying through the now see through fabric, and splashing against the tanned skin of her legs. It was flooding down, sheet after sheet of hot pee, her legs glistening in the glare of the TV lights, and a huge puddle was forming beneath her. As she stood in shock, she parted her legs and a huge stream came directly down from the middle of her tennis panties and jetted noisily onto the concrete floor. The crowd shrieked as they moved back in the hallway to avoid stepping in the rapidly growing pee puddle underneath Kristine, pee splashing out of her like an uncapped fire hydrant on a hot NY summer day. Sobbing uncontrollably, she ran to Stacey, who hugged her. The TV crew turned off their lights, but it was already too late. All of the television audience had clearly seen Kristine pee into her tennis skirt right there on the TV, from the first signs of desperation through the jetting hot bursts of pee as she began to lose control, to the final continuous streams of pee cascading out of her soaked tennis panties onto her legs and all over the ground. This accident was the worst, the throng of people were SO close, only a few feet away when Kristine’s dam had burst, pee jetting out of her tennis clothing in front of them, the explosive force of her urine even shocking her with how hard and fast it came out, unable to be held any longer. Photographers clicked like crazy, the wetting sites would be full of explicit close up pictures of the new tennis champion wetting herself after the match within hours. Struggling to escape, her tennis skirt soaked, the pleats dripping pee as she walked, Kristine and Stacey hugged and the two made it through the crowd into the locker room. Stacey’s jeans shone in the TV lights, the huge shining wet spots totally visible to the crowd now, amazed that this other girl they did not know had just also had a huge pee accident in her pants right there! Inside the locker room, Kristine was crying uncontrollably, having just totally wet herself while being interviewed on national TV!! Stacey tried to console her as Kristine went into a nervous breakdown, Stacey hugging her tight as Kristine burst into continued tears, streams of tears running down her gorgeous young face in shame. They stood huddled. Inside the bathroom, one of the other ball girls who had been incredibly desperate had just barely made it to the bathroom in time, her pee leaking out of her struggling pee hole as she closed the stall door behind her, her panties getting warm as she started to pee into them uncontrollably, just barely holding back the flood inside. The ball girl pulled down her uniform skirt but her bladder exploded into her panties and she had no choice but to pee as hard as she could through her underwear. They quickly became saturated as she peed forcefully into the toilet, the loud splashing and sizzling noise echoing in the empty locker room as the two girls hugged. The ball girl started crying, unwilling to believe that she hadn’t been able to take her panties off before letting go. She sat there and emptied her bladder through her panties into the bowl while the two girls outside were embracing, both soaking wet.
Stacey held Kristine tight, and then emptied the rest of her bladder into her jeans as she felt Kristine’s wetness. Stacey felt her pulse race as she wet again, and moving her hand under Kristine’s skirt, she felt the wetness of Kristine’s freshly soaked tennis panties and pushed, feeling Kristine’s muscular butt under the slippery soaked fabric. Stacey massaged the fabric, taking in the lovely feeling of the pee soaked tight fabric, the way it was warm and the way it hugged Kristine’s incredible body. Kristine sobbed but felt a warm feeling overtake her. Stacey hugged tighter, pressing Kristine’s body against hers as she finished urinating into her jeans, loving the feeling of her friend as she pressed against her body, her jeans soaking wet with her own pee, her own panties drenched from her own on–purpose wetting. Kristine felt Stacey’s butt and moved her hands down, not knowing what she was really doing, but instinctively moving her hand to the front of Stacey’s soaked jeans, feeling the girls warm pee soaked denim in her fingers, stroking the rough fabric near her crotch. Stacey managed another short burst of pee that flooded out, soaking Kristine’s fingers, and Stacey moaned loudly, feeling the rush approach her. Stacey replied in the same by moving her hand to Kristine’s exposed belly, now back to it’s normal size after her bladder had emptied into her tennis skirt right in front of everybody. Moving her hand along the waistband of Kristine’s skirt, she felt Kristine press tighter with her hand against her jeans, probing the wetness. Stacey slipped her fingers inside the top edge of Kristine’s skirt, and then moved her hands downward, reaching the top edge of her tennis panties. Stroking the wet fabric, she then moved her fingers into the folds of her labia through the micro thin pee soaked fabric as Kristine responded by peeing the last burst inside of her, the pee running over Stacey’s delicate fingers, the warmth flowing over her smooth skin. Stacey massaged Kristine as she peed for the last few seconds and then entered her tennis panties, probing deeper, exploring, and feeling Kristine’s wet pubic hair, stroking her folds, massaging, exploring, probing, eventually bringing Kristine to her first orgasm in her life, shuddering, pee soaking wet in Stacey’s arms. Kristine cried out, moaning as she climaxed to Stacey’s probing, exploring touch. The two girls headed for the shower and stripped down, leaving Kristine’s pee soaked tennis skirt and panties aside, Stacey’s soaked jeans on the floor. The two girls continued in the shower, hugging and probing, exploring each other’s young firm bodies. 19 years old and Kristine had just won her first tournament, experienced her first orgasm, and had peed her pants three times on national TV in her biggest tennis match, but at the moment she didn’t care, soaking wet under the shower as the two girls stood there, breathless, wet, exhausted. After a few minutes, they saw the ball girl come around the corner, her skirt off and her soaked panties still on, tears running down her cheeks, horrified at her own partial accident. Kristine and Stacey both giggled as they saw the girl’s wet panties; it was obvious she only somewhat made it to the bathroom in time before starting to pee. After a few more minutes, the two exhausted girls changed and headed, smiling, out to the parking lot. As partners.
The day before, a few minutes after the trophy presentation had been over and Kristine and the rest had headed to the locker rooms, the cleaning crew noticed something peculiar. One crew was cleaning one the pee puddle under Kristine’s chair, using a mop and a brush, and another maintenance worker was about to move the umpire’s chair into storage. As he got closer he noticed a huge puddle in the umpire’s chair. The puddle glistened in the fading sunlight of the early evening. Laughing, he looked where the umpire was just walking quickly off the court, and he easily noticed that the long skirt she was wearing, a light transparent cream colored skirt, was totally soaking wet and very transparent in the late afternoon light as the sunlight shone through the thin (and soaked) material. He could clearly see the outline of her great legs as the skirt was backlit by the sun and the shape of her thighs was quite visible through the now transparent pee soaked skirt. He smiled when he realized that the chair umpire had completely peed in her skirt during the match. He wondered when it happened. Of course he would not know that it happened right about the same time that Kristine had wet her self on the court. The umpire was embarrassed and quickly left the locker rooms, heading to the parking lot, to drive home. 28 years old, she had been secretly dreaming about wetting, and seeing this new dark haired girl play and then pee herself was too exciting, finally giving her the nerve to pee herself in a very public place, on purpose. She hoped she wouldn’t be fired for wetting her skirt on duty. She had loved the sensation as she emptied her struggling, full bladder right into her skirt there on the umpires chair, pee exploding out of her own tortured bladder while she watched one of the players have a huge public pee accident. She relished the daring, the danger as pee pooled under her and soaked the back of her skirt as she sat and watched. The thrill was worth the risk, she thought, remembering the glory of peeing herself while watching it happen to another girl. As she reached the parking lot and got into her new car, she stood next to her car and peed again. She loved the feeling as her urine flowed through her clinging, wet panties, soaking her legs and her skirt as she made a puddle next to the driver’s door of her car. Getting in her car, she felt her wet skirt with her hands, massaging the pee soaked fabric between her fingers, raising it to her lips and tasting her own salty pee for a brief moment, and then pressed it against her pee soaked legs and quickly masturbated before leaving the stadium property. She dreamed of what it would be like to have a lover who would let her pee herself for pleasure. When she got home after an hour drive and two stops at the drive through for large drinks, she had to pee again urgently and as she stood there fiddling with her keys, her legs shaking in total desperation, she decided to try it again. As she stood there, in the evening light, the streetlamps illuminating the quiet subdivision where she lived, the umpire let go of a warm stream of pee down her legs again, soaking the stairs leading to her house. She stood there for almost two minutes in bliss, pee hissing out, her cotton panties soaked again with her hot wetness, pee flooding down between and over her legs in sheets, waterfalls of pleasure as she wet herself on purpose again. Finishing, dripping, she went into the house, leaving pee drops on the hard wood floors as she headed to her bedroom. The wetness of her panties and the clinging transparent light colored skirt, soaked and sticking to her legs excited her. Her nipples grew taut under her blouse, her head felt dizzy and excited as she started breathing fast. She emptied the last of her bladder into her panties as she stood there and then collapsed on her bed. She violently masturbated again before taking a shower and turning in for the night, dreaming of the events she saw that day, wondering if Kristine had ever had wetting problems in other tournaments. She surely would like to be in the umpire’s chair watching that happen again. She dreamed about having a partner who she could share her deepest wet fantasies with. Very shy, she sighed in despair and went to bed, visions of the stunning teenager wetting herself on the court still in the umpire’s head as she drifted off to sleep.
Two days later:
Kristine had never seen anything like it. The commotion and activity in the TV studio was beyond anything she had ever witnessed in her nineteen young years. Assistants, makeup artists, stylists, engineers all swarmed the room. The air was stifling as the air conditioning could barely keep up. She sat on a folding tan chair propped up in a dressing room in front of a large mirror. 25–watt globe bulbs lined all four sides, and a makeup artist was putting the finishing touches on her stage makeup before she was to go out. Her gorgeous silky brown hair fell slightly longer than her shoulders; the new conditioner she was using really was working, she was glad to be a spokesperson for it now, for sure. The director looked over at her as she clutched her water bottle and took one last sip and he counted down from ten. Nine seconds later and Kristine was walking out on stage of the highest rated night talk show that one of the networks had just started. She used to watch it all the time at night and never thought one day she’d actually be a guest here!
As she walked out Kristine smiled and looked into the crowd. Wow, the stage lights were bright, but she could make out some faces. Her partner Stacey was supposed to be there in the third row in the center section. Yea, there she was, sitting in the audience in her white jeans and a black camisole. Kristine looked over at her and smiled. The audience was cheering madly, the chorus of hollering and applause was deafening. Kristine had no idea she was this popular. Her whole life up to this point had been either working out or studying, the attention and the fact she actually had a relationship starting with someone now (albeit another girl, much to the dismay of many of the men who wished to pursue her) was just all too new. Striding the many steps over to the chair next to the host and his little desk, she paused and shook hands with the host, gave him a peck on the cheek, and then sat down in the chair. She tried to adjust her skirt as she sat, but it was entirely too short. She giggled. She had worn a simple but powerfully sexy outfit: a thin white cotton micro mini skirt that barely covered her butt when she walked and a simple white camisole. She even dared to go on national television without a bra, and when the cooler air of the studio hit her, her nipples grew erect, poking through the thin fabric of the white camisole. She turned to the host who she could see was checking out her skirt. Or rather, looking up her skirt. The skirt was way too short to be sitting in, but it was too late now. Kristine was shy and nervous and not always aware, and she sat there with her legs just slightly apart, a clear view of her panties visible to anyone who was close enough to see. She didn’t bother to cross her legs. Her suntan was set off by the white of her top and the white skirt and perfectly complemented her incredibly toned, athletic legs. She wore a simple pair of sandals and a small red belt that matched her earrings. The audience took a few minutes to quiet down. She was just beginning to be aware that she was considered the next sports sex symbol for young women. Giggling again at the host, he laughed, aware of how popular she was just by the length of time it took the audience to settle down. Finally, the conversation started.
“So, Kristine, welcome, welcome, how are you?”
“Pretty good, pretty good.” (She fidgets in the seat, trying to pull her skirt lower to cover her exposed panties)
“You know, that’s a very interesting skirt!” (The host looks right between her legs, noticing clearly she is wearing a pair of a medium light blue mesh panties that clung tightly to her girlhood.)
“Yea, I guess I didn’t really think about having to sit down when I picked this outfit. So all you guys out there, I guess you’re going to be watching my underwear tonight!” (She giggles. The crowd cheers)
“Well, pardon my saying this, but you DO have nice legs, so I guess you might as well show them off!” (He looks closely, and being only a few feet away, he sees that her panties are so clingy, and tight that her lips are clearly defined, outlining the very shape of her most private parts. Even the texture of her pubic hair could be seen through the panties at this close of a distance. He grew excited as he spoke. She was beautiful, possibly the most gorgeous girl he had ever interviewed, and she was showing more than anyone in his talk show ever had– Ever!)
“Thank you! You know, I won “best athlete legs” in a competition last month, right?” (She giggles again)
“Wow, you did. I would never have guessed!” (He says with a sarcastic voice, making a face)
“Yea, wanna see?” (Kristine turns towards him in the chair and places her right leg up on his desk, the sole of her foot resting on the surface, bent at the knee, exposing all of her leg and crotch to him and all of the outside of her right leg to the audience and the cameras)
“Go ahead, touch it, see how strong I am,” she continues.
“Ok, this is a tough job, but somebody has to do it, right folks?” (The audience cheers, and he feels her calve muscle, it’s solid. The way she sits, he now clearly can see directly up her crotch, her panties are for him to see in almost their entirety. They are the slightest bit too small, the triangle of mesh fabric almost covers all of her mound, but a few stray pubic hairs escape the edges. A damp spot of perspiration is easily noticeable right where her pee hole would be. Or maybe she was nervous. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her)
“Now feel my quads.” (She moves her leg closer to him and then straightens it out, pointing her right foot in the air like a dancer. Her skirt is pulled up so high now that the audience can see the entire curve of her panty as her skirt is almost totally behind her. The cheers grow stronger.)
“WOW, you are really in shape!” (He touches her quad; again, it’s rock solid. She relaxes her left leg a little, opening up even further, now both sides of her panty triangle are easily seen, he clearly realizes how tight and clingy her underwear are as they completely outline her slightly bulging pubic mound, her lips almost visible through the thin fabric.)
Kristine takes her legs down. Giggling, she reaches and pulls down her skirt.
“Wow, I guess I just gave the audience a show!” (She giggles, while the host nearly passes out thinking he just spent the last minute or so looking up the skirt of a hottest nineteen–year–old athlete he’s ever seen.)
“I’m sure they appreciated it!”
“Anyway, enough talking about your skirt–” (the audience cheers) “Oh, BE QUIET!” he jokingly yells to the audience. “You’re known for your fitness regimen, right? How did all of that start?”
“Well, my parents were both athletes so it was natural that I was going to be involved in sports all the time in school. The coaches found out I was really fast, so I actually was in track for a long time before I switched to tennis.” (Of course, she giggles again, remembering very clearly the day she quit track)
“I didn’t know that. So why did you give up track?”
“I guess I was just tired of it. Plus I had a really bad day once at a meet and after that I just wanted to focus myself elsewhere.”
“So you really haven’t been playing tennis that long then?”
“No, I have always played. I was pretty good too, but track always came first. So, when I quit track it was pretty easy to just focus on tennis.”
Kristine was relaxing now, talking about her game. Unknowingly, she also relaxed her legs, which were now a foot apart, her short skirt giving the television audience a clear view of her blue mesh panties when the cameraman moved his dolly back to get a full shot of her in the frame. Her mother sat at home in shock, not believing her own precious daughter was exposing herself on national TV in front of the entire country!
“So, Kristine, what aspect of your game do you think makes you the player that you are?”
“Oh, definitely my fitness. I think I can outrun any girl out there and move faster than even some of the men. I went to a summer tennis camp where they did nothing but work on our fitness every day, and I learned a lot and got even quicker by the time that I was done with that.”
“So you’re not afraid of anyone else on the court then, you’re the toughest?”
Kristine giggles. “Yea, I guess. I mean, I don’t think any other girl can hang with me. I know that sounds really arrogant, but you know, I work hard for this body, really hard, lots of training, and it has paid off.”
“You definitely have an incredible body. I heard someone say that you could do one hundred pushups in two minutes. Is that true?”
“Oh WOW, I guess you just believe everything you hear, don’t you?”
“Well…”
“Yes. Wanna see?”
“You’re going to do 100 pushups right here on the set?”
“Yup” Kristine giggled. Standing up, adjusting her skirt, she smiles to the audience, which cheers her on. Moving down the floor, she faces diagonally to the hosts bench. Not thinking, she also didn’t realize that this meant the people on the left side of the house could clearly see up the back of her skirt, her blue mesh bikini panties clearly hugging her perfect butt as she prepared to start.
“Are you going to time me?”
“OK, do we have a timer? Yes, Okay, on your mark, get set, GO!”
Kristine starts and knocks out the one hundred pushups in just over a minute, her legs mostly exposed to the audience, a little sweat forming on her brow as she completes them. On the last pushup, she stands up and then does a squat thrust with a pushup in the middle and then another squat thrust to show off. The crowd cheers wildly. She looks at all sides of the house and then sits down. Her legs are still apart in the chair as she reaches for the bottle of water behind her chair.
“OK, a little thirsty now!”
“Wow. You are definitely in shape. I’m impressed!” The host secretly wonders if HE could do one hundred pushups period, never mind in a little more than a minute.
“Thanks. Wow, still thirsty.” She giggled as she downed the rest of the water.
“So, anybody special in your life right now?”
“Ha, ha, I knew you’d ask that. There’s someone I just met, but I’m not really like getting married or anything real soon. So let’s just keep it at that.”
“So, is he somebody you met on the tour, somebody famous?” He obviously had no idea.
“No, no more about that sort of stuff. That’s private!” She giggles again, but gives him a serious look, letting him know to drop it. He gets the hint.
“OK. But while we’re talking about things you don’t want to talk about, what happened out there during your match. You know, when you had that little ‘problem–’ I mean, that doesn’t happen often.” He had to know. When a hot 19 year old tennis player that’s surely going to be the next #1 pees herself on court, he had to hear about it.
“Oh, you mean when I wet myself on the court?” Kristine giggled, over it now, enjoying her secret wetting life with her partner Stacey.
“Well, yes, that’s pretty direct. What happened?” He got excited, thinking she would actually give details. The more he thought about it, the more the whole event turned him on. Just the thought of somebody so attractive wetting themselves in public excited him. He never really even had considered that as a turn–on before, but with this girl, wow!
“Well, there’s nothing really to tell.” (She giggles) “I had to pee REALLY bad and when I got my bathroom break the locker rooms were closed because of a water leak or something so I couldn’t go pee and had to try and hold it the rest of the match.”
“And you couldn’t?”
“Obviously.” (She giggles) “I mean, I had to pee SOOOOOO bad it was hurting like crazy, and I really tried to hold it, but it got worse and worse and I just couldn’t hold it any longer so I wet my skirt right there– right in front of everyone. Oh, well!” She giggles again, giving an “Oh well” shrug with her face as she finished the sentence. Off in the third row, Stacey fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat, needing to use the bathroom incredibly badly, the two quarts of water she drank before the studios doors opened to the guests taking their toll. Her white jeans were tight on her legs, pressed together, her one hand in between her legs, pressing against her crotch, needing to pee so very badly as she sat there, struggling to maintain her bladder control in the audience.
“So does that happen to you a lot?”
“Well, I do have kind of a weak bladder, I guess.” She giggles. She still sits with her legs slightly apart. She fidgets in her chair.
“So, do you have to go now?” He can’t believe he just asked that question. He had to. He knows it wasn’t right, but he had to. Kristine had started to fidget over fifteen minutes ago, looking like maybe she did have to use the bathroom. Maybe that’s why there was that little tiny damp spot in her panties when he looked earlier.
“Well, actually,” Kristine giggles loudly. “Yea, I really need to go pee pretty bad actually.” She giggles again, sounding like a desperate school child being denied a bathroom break.
“Are you going to wet your pants right here?”
“I might, I’m not sure how much longer I can hold it. I mean, I really, REALLY have to pee!!” She giggles again. Inside, her bladder is screaming. She drank two quarts of water as a dare before she went into the studios, and her bladder is tormenting her, the pressure overcoming her concentration. After she did the 100 pushups she really started to feel her need to relieve herself increase. She had to pee extremely badly; the pressure and the waves of pee surges inside of her body were rapidly growing. Kristine was very desperate now.
“Wow. You know if you ended up peeing in your pants the audience would probably go crazy?”
The studio audience exploded in cheers, making the most noise of the evening so far. Kristine looked at them in amazement, not believing what she was hearing. Did they really want to see her have an accident right there??
She looks out in the audience and asks: “You really don’t want me to wet myself up here, do you?” She giggles, and then looks back at the host as the audience screams loudly in approval. From the back corner of the hall a loud voice yelling “DO IT” is heard. Everyone laughs.
“I think you’ve got one fan who wants you to have an accident there, Kristine!”
“Yea, I guess. I DO need to go, though!” She squirms in her chair, truly desperate for a bathroom break now, her bladder throbbing incessantly inside of her, her blue mesh panties hugging her tightly, her pee hole clenched shut, holding back the flow within. She giggles again.
“Don’t worry. And forget about him. We’re almost done and then you can go to the bathroom after that.” The audience boos loudly, Kristine and the host both look out in shock, not believing the audience’s strange desire to see her urinate on herself!
“Ok guys, you can’t be serious. You REALLY want me to pee myself right here?” Kristine feels a hot rush. She needs to pee so bad she can barely sit still; she’s starting to have to constantly move to keep her bladder contained. She feels excited in a strange way– that so many people want to see her have an accident. She looks out in the audience. They cheer loudly, screaming “DO IT, DO IT.” Stacey sits in her seat, dying inside, her own pee about to explode out of her clenched pee hole. She sits there, pressing hard up and into the crotch of her white jeans, her body trembling; she’s totally desperate, almost unable to contain her own bladder.
“Never mind them Kristine, they’re just kidding!”
“I’m not so sure about that, you’ve got a strange audience!” She giggles. The audience yells again. Chants of “DO IT,” “DO IT!!” echo through the studio. Kristine’s bladder screams at her, sending a surging pressure through her that she can barely control. The stinging pain increases, she needs to pee immediately.
“OK guys, all this is NOT HELPING, I really need to go pee, okay? If you don’t stop this, I’m going to have an accident right here!” Kristine giggled, yelling at the audience. Her bladder screamed. The audience cheered loudly. “DO IT! DO IT!!! DO IT!!!” again echo throughout the studio.
“OK, I’m sorry about our audience tonight. I guess they just want to see you have an accident! So, one last question and then we’re done, okay?”
“Oh, it’s okay now.” Kristine giggled.
“What do you mean?”
“I just can’t hold it any longer! Honest, I’m bursting. I really need to PEE!! I’m sorry!” She giggled. Just then her bladder exploded, and pee streamed out of her panties, jetting out of her tortured pee hole and she quickly flooded her miniskirt and the bottom of the chair, soaking the fabric with her hot pee. She couldn’t stop peeing and sitting there, facing the host, her legs facing the audience, her legs spread a foot apart, she was wetting her skirt as hard as she could, peeing violently into her mesh panties, pee streaming out of her and running in streams off the front edge of the chair onto the stage.
“OK guys,” she looks out to the audience, “I’m peeing my pants right now, and are you happy?” She giggles again, and turns towards them and opens her legs a bit wider, the entire television audience and everybody watching at home clearly seeing her soaked panties, the mesh fabric becoming transparent as she urinates violently through them. The pee flood is huge, covering the entire chair; her skirt is soaking wet, pee streams off the chair onto the floor as she publicly wets her skirt on TV, showing off how bad she is peeing herself. Stacey looks at her partner from the third row seat and unable to contain her excitement lets loose her own torrential river of pee into her white jeans. Her white panties began quickly flooding as she wet her pants in the audience, her jeans’ crotch hot and soaking wet with her streaming urine while she emptied her bladder into her audience seat as Kristine peed into the chair. Stacey leaned back and touched her soaking wet crotch, felt the pee flooding out of her into the seat, the pee soaking the fabric of the seat and also dropping in trickle streams to the ground. The people sitting next to her don’t realize what is happening as their eyes are riveted to the girl peeing herself on the stage.
“Wow, you are wetting yourself!!” The audience is screaming, standing, cheering loudly. Everyone is intently watching Kristine pee into her clothes as she sits in the chair, her legs moderately spread, pee running everywhere. A huge puddle has now formed on the stage under her chair. She stops peeing and the host has been stunned into silence.
“There, are you happy now? I’ve completely peed in my skirt!” Kristine giggled. She stands up, and turns around to the audience. The back of her skirt is completely soaked and transparent, her blue panties totally obvious through the soaked fabric, pee still dripping down off the edges of her micro mini skirt. Her nipples are firm and erect in her camisole, pointing straight out. Kristine was feeling a huge high, a massive head rush. She sat back down.
“Wow. This is like totally uncomfortable sitting in my wet skirt now!” she giggles, looking over at the host, who is fighting a huge erection in his slacks as he sits in shock behind the desk.
“Uh, oh boy,” he replies. He didn’t know what to say. He just watched this incredibly hot young tennis player pee herself in the shortest miniskirt he’s ever seen and has been rendered speechless by her accident.
“OK, this skirt isn’t going to work!” she giggles. She stands up, and unbuttons her skirt and drops it to the floor, and she stands there just in her blue panties, soaking wet, and kicks the skirt away from her sandals with her left foot. She looks around. “Are you happy now, you can see me in my wet panties?” Then, she walks over to the host and turns to him, smiling, and then back to the audience. Standing there, her legs about a foot and a half apart, she empties the rest of her bladder into her panties right there on the stage, pee streaming out of her pee hole, flooding her panties again, streaming directly between her legs onto the floor. She moves her legs together, and then finishes peeing, the rest of the pee now streaming down her gorgeous tanned thighs, rolling down her smooth skin, making shiny marks where it streamed out of her.
She giggles, waves at the audience, picks up her pee soaked miniskirt and walks off backstage, leaving both the host and the audience shocked. The back of her panties is dark with pee wetness and pee drips down her legs as she strides offstage. The audience can’t stop cheering and yelling. The television audience got to see most of it, even a brief bit where she stood with her panties on, but the network cut the picture just a few seconds into her pee stream when she started to wet herself standing there on the stage in nothing but her top and her blue mesh panties.
“Okay, wow. Ok, we’ll be right back after this word from our sponsors!” The host sighs, and a maintenance man replaces the pee soaked chair while another quickly mops up Kristine’s pee puddle off the stage before the television time out is over. Stacey gets up during the time out and quickly walks in front of the people in her row who now clearly see that she too has peed in her jeans, and she rushes up the aisle to the back to the studio and leaves, heading to the stage door to meet Kristine. As Stacey walks, people stare at her wet jeans, the panties clearly seen through the pee soaked denim fabric. She likes the attention and smiles as people look at the girl who had just obviously wet herself in her clothes. Twenty minutes later Kristine emerges from the dressing room, a huge smile on her face, her pee soaked skirt back on. She sees Stacey’s wet jeans and runs to hug her, pressing her fingers into the wet denim fabric as she does so. Stacey touches Kristine’s wet panties, and probes, feeling through the wet mesh fabric, and Kristine tries to pee a few more seconds onto Stacey’s fingers. Very much in public, the two girls giggle loudly and hail a taxi to head back to their hotel. As they drove past the front of the studio, they saw a slightly older woman who they thought they recognized dash from the studio building, her long dark hair flowing behind her. About 28, they thought, they knew her from somewhere.
Getting into a cab of her own, the chair umpire rushed into the backseat and instructed her driver to turn on the radio and take her to the hotel that she was staying at. Sitting in the back seat of the cab, wearing the same long light fabric dress she wore the other day, she took a deep breath and began to violently pee in her skirt as the cab rolled through the streets. The driver was totally unaware that his passenger was completely wetting herself back there, pee streaming from her desperate bladder as she urinated into her skirt on purpose, loving the feeling as her panties flooded with her warm pee while it rushed out of her desperate body. She tipped him well as she left the cab, pee dripping down her legs, back into the lobby of the hotel to return to her room. A smile was on her face; she had just witnessed another huge pee accident from her fantasy pee partner, and had responded by wetting herself daringly in a taxi on the way back. Her heart raced as she took the elevator up to her floor, hoping nobody else would walk on and catch her, standing there in her pee soaked skirt, the pee still dripping down from the wet fabric, droplets of pee still trickling down her legs as she stood waiting as the floors went by.
— ––––
The network was fined half a million dollars for indecency for showing this incident on national television and Kristine received a reprimand from the women’s tennis tour for her behavior.
Within the next two years, Kristine would rapidly climb to #1 on the tennis ranking charts as well as become the most popular female athlete of modern time. While she never wet herself on court during a tennis match again, she and her partner Stacey often planned public wettings, always under the guise of having an accident. The many calendar photo shoots that Kristine attended for her calendar promotion were often wet. It was not uncommon to see Kristine squirming and fidgeting during the shoot and ending up peeing in her bikini or her sexy outfit in front of the photographers, stylists, and people from the ad agency. Stacey always tagged along to any event her partner was at, immensely enjoying watching Kristine wet herself in clothes, always in public.
By: Gillian