Sam & Jenny - Part 1

Jenny said “goodbye” to her last client of the day, and hitched her bag up onto her shoulder as old Mrs. Finch closed the front door behind her. The sun beat down on her, and a heat haze rose from the pavement. A gentle breeze took the edge off the heat, but it was still easily the hottest day of the year so far. She felt thirsty, and wished she could take a long, refreshing swig from the bottle of water at the bottom of her bag; but she dared not. She was already feeling the first faint urges of the need for a pee, and there was nowhere that she could stop to use the toilet on the long walk across town to her old friend Samantha’s house. Sure she’d be able to use the toilet when she got to Sam’s; but she didn’t want to arrive so desperate that she had to rush to the toilet as soon as Sam opened the door to let her in. After all, Sam had invited her to come and see their new swimming pool, and it was only polite to go and admire it first.
Sam and Jenny had been roommates at university. They also became best friends, although it was difficult to imagine two more different personalities. Sam was elegant, vivacious, frivolous, and fun. She read law but she never worked very hard at it. She was always on the party circuit, graduated with third class honours, and promptly married a high–flying city financier. He didn’t expect his wife to work, and she’d enjoyed the life of a lady of leisure ever since. Jenny, on the other hand, was plain and dumpy with an everyday sort of face, large round glasses, and long mousy hair that just never behaved. In the end, in frustration, she’d had it cut to shoulder length, but it remained as difficult to control as ever. She’d read psychology and sociology, worked hard for her upper second–class honours, and got a fulfilling if poorly paid job as a social worker. Both girls loved the life they led, and neither regretted their life choices.
The walk to Sam’s house took her through the town centre, where some teenage boys hanging around on the street corner cheered when a little gust of wind took her by surprise and lifted the hem of her light cotton dress to show her jade green knickers. Blushing furiously, she beat down the dress with both hands and hurried on. Apart from that the walk passed without incident and, fifteen minutes later, she was knocking on Sam’s door and squeezing her thighs together to ease the slight discomfort she was now feeling in her bladder. But it was nothing to worry about, she assured herself. It wouldn’t take long to admire the swimming pool, and then she could excuse herself and go for a much–needed pee.
“Jenny! Over here!” Sam’s familiar voice greeted her from the far end of the house. She turned to see her old friend in an elegant turquoise one–piece swimsuit. “Perfect timing. I’ve just laid afternoon tea on the back patio. Come on round and we can sit and have a good chinwag. Catch up on old times. It must be what … two years since we’ve seen one another?”
“Two and a half,” Jenny corrected.
“Oh yes, that’s right. It was Christmas, wasn’t it?”
So Jenny followed Sam round the side of the house and onto the back patio, beyond which the water of the new swimming pool glinted and glistened in the afternoon sun. There was a table on the patio, with a parasol giving it shade, and the table was set with a bone china tea service and a plate of scones thick–spread with cream and jam. Sam ushered Jenny to a seat and poured two cups of tea. At the sound of the tea gurgling and tinkling its way down the spout of the teapot and splashing into the cups, Jenny felt an unwelcome twinge in her bladder. But she didn’t think it would be polite to make a dash for the loo just yet; so she crossed her legs tightly and said nothing.
Afternoon tea passed slowly. They talked about old times, and filled one another in on developments in their lives over the past two and a half years. And try as she may, Jenny couldn’t find a suitable moment to ask Sam where the toilet was (for, she suddenly realised, although she had been to the house twice before, she had only ever come in the summer and had only ever been received in the garden; never in the house itself). So she crossed her legs ever more tightly, and looked for the opportunity which never came.
Jenny finished her second cup of tea, and Sam went to pour some more but found the teapot empty.
“Oh dear. Shall I make some more?” she asked brightly.
“No, I’m fine as I am” said Jenny. She was about to add that she’d really appreciate a trip to the toilet, when the cheery jangling tune of an ice–cream van struck up on the road outside.
“Oh now there’s an idea!” cried Sam, in delight. “Tea’s all very well for quenching your thirst, but it doesn’t do an awful lot to cool you down, does it? You’d like an ice cream I take it? Why don’t you change into your swimmers while I run and get a couple of ice creams, then we can both try the new pool for size.”
Without waiting for an answer, Sam disappeared round the front of the house, leaving Jenny in her discomfort with no idea where to go to find a toilet. Left to herself, however, she was free to try various ways of easing her bladder that she’d never have tried in front of Sam. She lifted the hem of her skirt and gripped herself tightly with her hand, and that helped a lot. Then she tried sitting on her foot, and that helped too. But she couldn’t be found like that, so she put her foot back down again and adjusted her dress, and scissored her legs apart – together – apart – together – apart – together. Each time they came together she clenched her thighs, and it eased the urgency to go to the toilet, so she relaxed a little and stopped worrying. After all, her friend would be back soon.
Sam reappeared with two huge ice cream cones in her hands, licking vigorously at one of them. She passed the other to Jenny, who accepted it a little apprehensively and took a careful lick. It was cooling to the tongue, and that was welcome. But it was also going to add to the pressure on her bladder before long, and that was less welcome. Still, now Sam was back she could always ask about toilets as soon as she had finished the ice cream.
“You’ve not changed into your swimmers, Jenny. Don’t you want to try the pool?”
“I’m afraid I don’t even possess a swimming costume these days,” Jenny admitted, blushing slightly.
“Oh,” said Sam. “I’d offer to lend you one of mine, but I guess it probably wouldn’t fit.”
“No,” said Jenny.
“Well never mind that,” said Sam. “We were roomies, weren’t we? We’ve undressed in front of one another often enough in the past. Why don’t you just come skinny–dipping? I’ll not mind.”
Jenny thought about this for a moment or two. She’d never been skinny–dipping before, but she certainly wasn’t shy about undressing in front of Sam and it might be rather fun. It would also solve her bladder worries, as she could just pee in the pool. The only thing was … well, she had to ask.
“What time does Marcus normally get back from work?”
“He’s normally back about six o’clock,” said Sam.
“And it’s well past five thirty now! It’s a nice idea, Sam, and I don’t mind YOU seeing me in the nod, but I’m not risking Marcus finding me skinny dipping in his pool, or worse still climbing out of it without a stitch on.”
Sam sat back and pondered this for a while, licking her ice cream as she did so. Then she said: “You always used to be fastidious about wearing matching pants and bra, didn’t you? Are you still the same?”
“Oh yes,” said Jenny. “Always matching.”
“Well then,” said Sam, “as long as you’re wearing a colour that could pass for a bikini, you could always come swimming in your pants and bra.”
“And walk home in wet underwear?”
“With a knee length dress, you could get away without underwear for the walk home, surely?”
Jenny thought about it. She dearly wanted to go for a swim to cool off. And when she was little, she always used to pee through her swimsuit whenever she went swimming. She could do the same thing today if she went swimming in her underwear. She blushed a little at that thought as it would still, technically, mean that she was wetting her knickers – something she hadn’t done since she was very much younger than she was today. But it would certainly solve the problem of her aching bladder in a way that caused no embarrassment whatever. But there was a problem.
“Great idea,” said Jenny. “But there is a problem.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t mind walking back home without a bra; but I’m just a little nervous about going without knickers,” she said. “The wind has already lifted this skirt once today, showing my knickers to anyone who wanted to look. That’s embarrassing enough; but I REALLY don’t want to show my bare butt to anyone who happens to be passing.”
“In that case,” said Sam, “I think we must find a way to keep your knickers dry while you swim.”
“How?” asked Jenny.
“I think I have something that should do the trick,” said Sam. “Take your dress off, and I’ll be back in a mo!”
Sam disappeared off into the house. Jenny finished her ice cream, and realised that she really was getting pretty desperate for the toilet now. She scissored her legs again and it helped, but the relief was less than last time and the urgency remained, if slightly diminished. She put her hand up her dress and gave herself a quick squeeze, and promised herself that whatever Sam’s method of keeping her knickers dry might be, she’d only go for a very short swim and then ask about the toilet. Then she’d have to get off home and think about what she was going to cook herself for supper.
Jenny took off her dress and stood, slightly self–consciously, in her jade green knickers and bra. It was more difficult holding back her pee now she was standing, so she crossed one leg in front of the other and squeezed her thighs tightly. It would have to be a VERY quick swim, she promised herself.
Then Sam reappeared from the house, and tossed a pair of see–through plastic knickers to Jenny.
“Here!” she said. “Slip these on over your pants and you should be fine. They’re designed to stop leaks from getting out; but they should be just as good at stopping pool water from getting in. So you can swim to your heart’s content and not get your pants wet.”
Jenny looked dubiously at the plastic knickers. They looked as though they ought to be big enough to fit over the jade green cotton knickers she was wearing, but something nevertheless felt a little odd.
“Er, Sam?” she asked. “This may seem an odd question, but why exactly do you have these plastic knickers?”
Now it was Sam who blushed.
“Marcus sometimes likes us to play certain games when we go to bed.”
“Certain games? What do you mean?”
“Well,” said Sam, hesitating and blushing even more furiously. “He, er, likes to dress me as a baby.”
“What – you mean you wear nappies and things?”
“Yes,” said Sam, hurriedly adding, “only sometimes, mind. I don’t do it every night. But when I do, I have to wear plastic pants over the nappy.”
“I see,” said Jenny, realising that perhaps she shouldn’t pry any further but at the same time unable to suppress her curiosity. “What’s the point of that?”
“What’s the point of what? The plastic pants, or dressing as a baby?”
“Well, both I suppose.”
“Dressing as a baby makes Marcus SOOOOO sexually aroused it’s untrue,” said Sam, smiling to herself at the memory of some of the sex they had enjoyed on their Baby Sam nights. “And the plastic pants are to ensure that the bed stays dry if I wet my nappy during the night.”
“If you WHAT?” asked Jenny, unable to believe what she was hearing.
But Sam had obviously decided that she didn’t want to discuss this any further, as she turned and ran to the pool, calling over her shoulder as she did so “Come on! You’ve got all you need now: let’s swim.”
Sam dived into the pool and started swimming, leaving Jenny standing in her underwear, with a painfully full bladder, holding a pair of plastic knickers in her hand. It was all faintly surreal. But Sam obviously wanted her to come for a swim, and she needed the plastic knickers to keep her own cotton knickers from getting wet, so she decided that perhaps she ought to put them on. Self–consciously, she stepped into the plastic knickers and pulled them up. They were a remarkably good fit. Sam must be about the same size, when wearing a nappy, as Jenny was when not wearing a nappy.
Jenny felt round the waist and leg bands to make sure that no part of her own knickers was poking out beyond the elastic bands of the plastic knickers. Once she was satisfied that her knickers were fully protected and would stay dry if she went for a quick swim, she walked over to the pool and lowered herself into the water. And then… DISASTER! It all happened so quickly that, by the time she realised what was happening, it was too late to do anything about it. The moment the warm water rose above her waist and closed around her tummy, her bladder took this as a signal to relax and release the pent–up pee. She felt the warmth in her crotch, flowing back around her bottom, unable to escape through the plastic knickers, wetting the cotton knickers she wore underneath. She scrambled back out of the pool in alarm and stood on the patio, still peeing hard into her jade green cotton knickers and the plastic protective knickers outside them, and began to cry, huge shuddering sobs of shame and embarrassment.
Finally, she finished peeing. Her cotton knickers were wet right up to the waistband from the captive pee, which had had nowhere to escape to. She pulled down the plastic knickers and kicked them off, releasing a gush of pee that puddled at her feet. Then she just stood there, still crying in bewildered, frustrated shame.
Sam, realising that her friend hadn’t joined her in the pool after all, swam over and looked up at her.
“Jenny!” she exclaimed. “What’s happened? You said it was all right if your bra got wet but you wanted to keep your pants dry. It looks to me as though your bra is still dry but your pants are wet.”
“I’m sorry,” sobbed Jenny. “But I’ve… I’ve… I’m afraid I’ve…” she just couldn’t bring herself to say it! Yet the evidence was all there. Her friend must have realised. And eventually, summoning what little willpower she had remaining, she blurted out “I’ve wet my knickers!”
Sam scrambled out of the pool and came and hugged her friend.
“You poor thing,” she soothed. “You poor, poor thing. Don’t cry. It’ll be all right. Accidents happen, you know. It’s not the end of the world. Come on, let’s get you inside, and clean you up.”
Sam took Jenny by the hand and led her into the house, and Jenny meekly followed. Her cheeks burned with shame, her warm, wet bottom squelched with every step she took, and her mind just refused to comprehend the dreadful enormity of what she had just done. But Sam was there. Sam was looking after her. Sam had assured her that everything was going to be all right. So everything WAS going to be all right; she felt sure of it.
To be continued…
By: Indigo