Sam and Jenny - Part 4

It was still dark when Jenny woke a few hours later with a vague sense that something was wrong– very wrong. But she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was that was wrong. It was a sensation – a feeling – that was at once familiar and unfamiliar, but which she was sure she oughtn’t to be feeling. Not here. Not now. But what was it?
She took a moment to consider her surroundings. What was the anomaly? She was in bed. Not her bed; a double bed. That was as it should be: she remembered Sam offering to let her stay for the night and showing her up to the large, inviting double bed.
There was a body asleep beside her in the bed. Jenny peeped under the bedclothes and saw the outline of two well proportioned breasts standing firm and proud. It was a female body, then. That was also as it should be: she remembered Sam climbing into bed with her and, flushing ever so slightly at the memory, she also recalled what had happened next. And how good it had felt. And as she recalled the incident, she felt a light fluttering of butterflies in her tummy, and smiled ever so slightly to herself.
So far so good. But something still felt wrong. What was it? She tried to narrow it down by a process of elimination. Was it something inside the bed, or outside? Hmmm – definitely inside. Something to do with her, or not to do with her? That was easy. It was definitely something to do with her. So what was it? The nightdress? She never wore a nightdress at home, but she remembered mummy dressing Baby Jenny in her pink teddy bear nightdress, so that was as it should be. Could it be her knickers, then? She didn’t wear knickers in bed at home, either. But again she could remember mummy giving Baby Jenny the nice soft floral print knickers to change into after she’d had her second accident; so they were as they should be, too.
But it was certainly something to do with her nightdress and knickers. She felt sure of that. So, ever so carefully, she placed her hands on her nightdress where it covered her breasts and (after giving her nipples a quick tweak and enjoying the sensations and the memories that it stirred) she ran her hands slowly down the nightdress, feeling all the way, trying to work out what was not right about it. The hem of the nightdress had ridden up a bit while she was asleep, and her fingers encountered it half way up her tummy. She continued her exploration, past the hem, over the bare expanse of her tummy and past the waistband of her flannelette knickers. The front of her knickers felt ever so slightly warm. And wet. And the further down between her legs she felt, the wetter it felt. She raised her hips a little and slipped a hand down under her bottom. The back of her knickers was absolutely sodden; as was the sheet beneath her.
She sat up in horror. She had wet the bed! Despite everything: despite promising Sam that she wouldn’t wet the bed; despite realising half way through their love–making that she had a full bladder and ought to go for a wee before she went back to sleep (it now dawned on her that she hadn’t actually done so, however: SILLY girl!); despite all of this, she had gone and capped the total abject humiliation of wetting her knickers twice the day before by wetting Sam’s bed in the night as well.
She was mortified. How could she have done this?
Well, she realised when she came to think it through, it was actually pretty clear how she had come to do it. A big bowl of ice cream before bed; a jumbo–sized mug of cocoa; and then letting herself drift off to sleep when she already knew her bladder was getting full. And not just her ordinary light sleep, but a lavender, cocoa and orgasm–induced sleep, which was all but guaranteed to be a deep, deep slumber– the sort of slumber from which even a screaming–fit–to–burst bladder would have difficulty rousing her. There was scarcely anything more she could have done to ensure that she ended up wetting the bed as well as her knickers, even if she’d tried.
Next to her, Sam was becoming dozily aware that Jenny was sitting up in bed. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
Jenny tried to answer her friend, but found she couldn’t as tears of frustration, shame, and humiliation began to roll down her burning cheeks. She couldn’t bring herself to confess to Sam that, in spite of her promise, she actually had wet the bed as well. She just couldn’t. Or rather, grown–up Jenny couldn’t. But what, she wondered, about Baby Jenny?
She sniffed back a tear, and tried once again to answer her friend.
“I’m sowwy, mummy,” she said. “Is mummy cross with Jenny?”
“No darling,” Sam cooed back. “Of course mummy isn’t cross with Jenny.”
“Jenny didn’t mean to do it.”
“What didn’t you mean to do, sweetheart?”
“Jenny’s wearing wet knickers, mummy.”
“Oh Jenny,” soothed Sam. “Have you wet the bed?”
“Yes, mummy” sniffed Jenny, dissolving into tears once more. “Jenny’s wet the bed.”
“But you promised mummy you wouldn’t wet the bed, didn’t you?”
“Yes mummy,” said Jenny, feeling utterly miserable.
“You should have let me give you a nappy to wear, shouldn’t you?”
“Yes mummy.”
“You’ll let me give you a nappy next time, won’t you?”
“Yes, mummy.”
“Good,” said Sam, brightly. “I’m glad that’s agreed. There will be a next time, and you’ll wear a nappy too.”
“Did I just agree to that?” gasped Jenny in wide–eyed surprise. “Oh God, I suppose I did, didn’t I?”
“You did indeed,” confirmed Sam. “Now, to practical matters. I only have two pairs of Baby Sam training pants and one Baby Sam nightie; and you seem to have managed to wet all of them now. I’m afraid I’ve nothing else dry that will fit you.”
“Not to worry,” said Jenny, her mind now preoccupied with the practicalities of the situation she had got them into with her uncharacteristic lack of bladder control. “I don’t normally wear anything to bed. We can strip and change the bed, and throw the wet things I’m wearing in the laundry, and I’ll be quite happy spending the rest of the night naked.”
“We’ll do no such thing!” protested Sam. “And you, my dear sweet darling Jenny, are going to keep those wet pants on!”
“Why?” asked Jenny, feeling more than a little bemused.
“Because,” replied Sam, “I want to show you how much better your orgasm will be if you’re wearing wet pants.”
And she did.
When they were done, Jenny felt physically drained, completely all–in. She had never in her life felt so completely, totally and utterly exhausted; and she just lay back in her wet knickers, in the middle of the puddle she’d made in Sam’s bed (the mattress, she wearily noticed, was obviously protected by a plastic sheet, and her pee had puddled rather than soaking in the way it did the one time that she’d wet the bed as a child), and fell fast asleep as she was. She slept the deep, contented sleep of a girl who has just had the most spectacular orgasm of her entire life, and she slumbered peacefully until her alarm clock rudely pulled her into the world of the awake once again.
She sat up in bed and looked around. For the second time that night, she had a keen sensation that something wasn’t as it ought to be. She was in a single bed. Her bed. Not Sam’s bed. And Sam wasn’t in bed beside her. She was alone. She wasn’t wearing Baby Jenny’s nightdress and knickers, either. She was naked under the covers, as she always was at home. And she definitely was at home. Not at Sam’s house. The room was her room, not Sam’s room. The clock, which had just woken her, was her alarm clock, not Sam’s alarm clock.
Slowly, realisation began to force its way through the muddled confusion inside her brain. She must have been dreaming. That’s what it was. Everything that she could remember happening “yesterday” and “last night” had been a dream. None of it had really happened. She hadn’t been to visit Sam. Sam hadn’t confessed to playing “certain games” in bed with Marcus. She hadn’t gone swimming wearing a pair of plastic knickers to keep her own jade green cotton knickers dry. She hadn’t wet her knickers twice, or even once. There had been no sex romps with Sam. And she hadn’t wet the bed. She found this hard to accept. It had all seemed so real. So vivid– so…believable.
Yet none of it had really happened. None of it, that is, except … oh gosh! OH NO! With a growing sense of horror, she realised that her bottom and thighs felt warm and wet. She slid a hand down under the covers and felt her under sheet. It was wet! Absolutely soaked! She couldn’t believe it: she actually HAD wet the bed! That whole weird, incredible dream had obviously been her sleeping brain’s way of rationalising the feeling of her bladder giving up the struggle to hold on and of her peeing in her sleep. Her cheeks burned with shame. She hadn’t wet the bed since she was seven years old! How could it have happened to her now? Her unprotected mattress would be ruined, of course. She’d have to see about a replacement.
Jenny heaved a great, sorrowful sigh and climbed out of bed. She stripped the bed and put her wet sheets into the laundry basket for future attention. Not wanting to smell of pee all day, she took a quick shower before dressing herself. Her underwear drawer was almost empty. Correction: it WAS empty, except for her jade green cotton knickers and bra. She put them on, and made a mental note to put a load of underwear through the washing machine as soon as she got home from work, before attending to her sodden bed linen. She peeped out through the curtains. The sky was clear, and it looked as though it would turn into a scorching hot August Friday; so she dragged her light cotton knee–length dress over her head, grabbed a quick breakfast, then picked up her shoulder bag and headed off to work. She reviewed her diary during the long, slow bus ride into the town centre. Five home visits, ending up with old Mrs Finch at 3 o’clock. Finish slightly early, and visit Sam to admire her new swimming pool. It was rather too long since she had last seen Sam, so they’d have a lot of catching up to do. If she could bear to admit to her embarrassing bed–wetting accident, she might even tell Sam about the peculiar dream she’d had last night.
A few hours later Jenny said “goodbye” to her last client of the day, and hitched her shoulder 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 by far the hottest day of the year so far. She felt thirsty, and longed to 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 Sam’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.
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 them her knickers. Blushing furiously, she beat down the dress with her 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 chin–wag. 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.
Jenny drained the last of the tea from her cup, and Sam offered to refill it for her.
“No thanks, Sam,” Jenny smiled, recalling what a disaster that second cup of tea had led up to in her dream the night before. “My bladder’s nearly bursting as it is. I’ll need to use your loo before I head off home, and I’ve a hundred and one things to do this evening. So let’s just have a quick look at your pool, and then I’ll be on my way.”
Sam looked a little disappointed, although Jenny noticed that her ears did seem to prick a bit at the mention of her bursting bladder. That set Jenny to wondering and, prompted by the memory of her strange dream, she had a deliciously wicked idea about how to deal with her uncomfortably full bladder. But she couldn’t, could she– supposing she were wrong? It could be dreadfully embarrassing. But then again, supposing she was right …
She began to smile in dreamy anticipation of ecstasy to come.
“Do you want to change into your swimmers, then?” asked Sam brightly.
“I’m afraid I don’t even possess a swimming costume these days,” Jenny confessed.
“I’d lend you one of mine,” said Sam, “if I thought it might fit you. But … “
“I know,” said Jenny. “I’ll tell you what, though: I’m wearing matching underwear which could easily pass as a bikini. You won’t let on, will you, if I come swimming in my undies?”
“Excellent!” cried Sam, clapping her hands excitedly. “Get that dress off, then, and let’s go swimming!”
Jenny hesitated, and tried to look thoughtful.
“There’s only one slight problem,” she continued.
“Oh?”
“I don’t really want to walk home in wet underwear,” she explained. “I can take my wet bra off, of course, if I really need to; but I don’t want to go without knickers. Not in this dress. The wind has already lifted the hem once today. It was embarrassing enough showing my knickers to the whole world. But I really don’t want to be showing off my bare butt.”
“That is a problem, then,” agreed Sam.
“It is, isn’t it,” said Jenny, thoughtfully. “Unless … “
“Yes?” said Sam.
“Well,” concluded Jenny. “It’s a strange thing to ask, I know, but I don’t suppose you’d happen to have a pair of plastic knickers? I could put them on over my knickers so they’d stay dry while I was swimming.”
Sam blushed a bright crimson. “As it happens,” she said, “I do have a pair of plastic pants you can borrow. Whatever made you suspect that I might?”
“Oh,” said Jenny nonchalantly, “it was just an inspired guess.”
“I’ll go and fetch them for you” said Sam, and disappeared off into the house.
While Sam was gone, Jenny fought a desperate battle to control her bladder. Even without the second cup of tea and the huge ice cream of her dream, she was pretty desperate now. The last thing she wanted was to wet her knickers before Sam returned. So she scissored her legs apart – together – apart – together, squeezing her thighs tight every time her legs came together, and that eased it a bit. Then she took off her dress and waited for Sam’s return.
“Here you are,” said Sam, holding a pair of plastic knickers out to Jenny. She hesitated a moment, and then continued, “I, er, usually wear them over a nappy, so with a bit of luck they’ll fit you just fine.”
Jenny took the plastic knickers, stepped into them, and pulled them up. They were a snug fit. Not too tight, but hopefully tight enough to keep the water away from her jade green cotton knickers. Feeling a little self–conscious, she ran a finger around the waist and leg bands to make sure that her own knickers weren’t sticking out anywhere.
“The fit’s just about perfect,” she said.
“Let’s swim, then!” cried Sam. She turned and ran across the patio, and dived into the swimming pool. Jenny followed more carefully, taking mincing little steps as she struggled to contain the mounting pressure in her bladder. When she reached the pool, she lowered herself carefully into the warm water. It was just as it had been in her dream. As the water rose above her waist and closed around her tummy, her straining bladder took that as a signal to release its contents and she found herself peeing uncontrollably into her jade green cotton knickers. Only this time, instead of leaping out of the water sobbing with shame and embarrassment, she allowed herself to relax and enjoy the sensation as the warm pee, held captive by her plastic knickers, flowed round her bottom and gently caressed her sexual parts, stimulating, arousing. She recalled the second, wet orgasm of her dream. She reflected on how much more intense it had been than the first. And she desperately hoped that Sam would be willing to help her achieve another.
Jenny waited until she had finished peeing, and then swam across to the other side of the pool where Sam was waiting for her, treading water.
“Sam,” she said. “You’ll never guess what I’ve just done.”
“What have you just done, Jenny?”
She smiled a wicked little conspiratorial grin, and hoped that Sam would notice and respond to the lustful gleam in her eye.
“I’ve just wet my knickers.”
By: Indigo