Emma

Note: This story contains Female Desperation, Accidental & Deliberate Wetting, and Foreplay.
“Shall I top that up for you, Em?” Dave nodded towards Emma’s half full pint glass, and held up a nearly full three–litre bottle of cider.
“No, I’m fine,” Emma replied. “I’ve got to think about going soon or I’ll miss the last train. But it’s been a great party, Dave: really it has.”
“Last train’s not for quarter of an hour yet,” said Dave, checking his watch. “It’ll only take me a couple of minutes to run you down to the station in the car.”
“But you’ve been drinking,” Emma protested. “I can walk it in ten minutes, so I’ll be fine as long as I glug this down and make a start right away.”
Dave looked a little disappointed. “You sure?”
“I’ll be fine,” Emma insisted.
“Well, let me fetch your coat then, while you say goodbye to Stacey. It’s the red duffel coat, I presume?”
“That’s right,” Emma smiled. Ah! That coat: Dave had bought it for her when they were students. They were courting, and everybody said what a delightful couple they made. But – well, it just didn’t work out in the end. They’d gone their separate ways, and Dave had ended up marrying her college roommate Stacey. Emma was happy for them, naturally, because she was very fond of both of them and – well – if she was brutally honest, Stacey had always been much more Dave’s type than she was. So she downed the remains of her cider, and went to find Stacey to give her a farewell hug. Two minutes later she was standing by the front door, putting on the coat, which Dave gallantly held up for her.
“I’ve slipped a can of cider in each pocket,” he grinned, giving her a gentle slap on the bum as she turned to put her second arm into the coat sleeve. “I know how much you like your cider, and we’ve got masses to get rid of.”
Emma couldn’t help smiling, despite herself. “You’ll be the ruin of me, you will,” she said. “You know what cider does to my bladder, too.”
“Ah, no worries,” said Dave. “There’ll be a toilet for you on the train, won’t there? Give us a kiss, then, and off you go.”
Emma threw her arms around Dave’s neck. “All right, then,” she said. “Here you go. Just for old time’s sake.” And she kissed him, hungrily, exploring his teeth with her tongue. He hugged her close to him, and she could feel his cock, firm and erect, straining against the front of his jeans. She could also feel his hand behind her back, running down across her bum, fumbling with the hem of her little grey mini–skirt, then running sensuously up the back of her leg, feeling up between her warm inner thighs, and coming to rest on her bottom. He caressed the leg band of her knickers, then slipped a finger inside and withdrew it, allowing the elastic to snap back into place.
“Just for old time’s sake,” he murmured in her ear, “what colour?”
She thought for a moment or two. “Yellow,” she eventually replied. “Canary yellow. Sorry. You’d like them to be red, wouldn’t you?”
“Ideally,” he said. “Or black.”
“Well,” she smiled, “maybe you’ll get lucky with Stacey. And now I really must be off.”
Dave patted her bum one last time before opening the door for her, and Emma stepped out into the cold night air. It really was cold, even with her heavy duffel coat on, and she began to wish she’d had the sense to wear tights. But then again, her little clinch with Dave would have been nowhere near as satisfying if she’d been wearing tights. She smiled as she replayed it in her mind, and felt a warm sensation spreading through her lower abdomen as she recalled the stiffness of his cock straining against her through the denim of his jeans, and his hands exploring her erogenous zones as he’d used to do when they had been lovers. She sighed to think what she had lost when she and Dave split up, and thrust her cold hands deep into the warm pockets of the red duffel coat with a painful clunk.
There was something hard and cold in her pockets, which grazed her knuckles; and she recalled that Dave had said he’d put a can of cider in each of them. He shouldn’t have. Really he shouldn’t. Because he knew – and she knew – that she’d just end up drinking them. Even though she shouldn’t really, because she’d already had three pints. And much as she loved cider, it did tend to make its way straight to her bladder, which had made for one or two decidedly uncomfortable experiences in the past. Still, she reflected, Dave had been right about one thing. There would be toilets on the train. So she’d be fine so long as she waited to open the first can until she got to the station; although that meant she couldn’t put her hands in her coat pockets as she walked, and boy was it cold! Walking briskly helped to keep her warm, however, and she had no choice but to walk briskly as she didn’t have that much time to spare.
Ten minutes later, Emma was standing on the platform with half a dozen other late night travellers. She looked up at the train indicator screen. Her train was on time, would be arriving in three minutes, and would consist of eight carriages. Good. She took the can of cider from her left–hand pocket, opened it, and took a generous slurp. There was no waiting room at this station – or rather, there might have been, but the station buildings were all locked up at this time of night – so she walked to and fro on the platform, alternately hugging her arms across her body for warmth and taking slurps of cider from the can.
Five minutes later the can was empty, and Emma realised with a start that she was actually rather more in need of the toilet than she had first thought. Perhaps it was the cold– or the cider. Or the fact that she hadn’t actually bothered to visit the toilet during the whole of the time she was at Dave and Stacey’s party. She’d been having too good a time and had just put it to the back of her mind, as she had so often when she was a little girl and was enjoying playing with her friends. When she was a little girl, of course, it had usually ended in tears, with her being taken home early in disgrace and wet knickers. But now she was a grown up, and that wasn’t going to happen, was it? After all, she’d not had an accident since she was twelve – and that was over ten years ago now. Nearly half a lifetime away! All the same, though, perhaps she ought to have thought to go for a quick wee before leaving the party. But never mind: the train should arrive any time now, and she could certainly hold on for the few more minutes until it did.
She wandered back to the train indicator screen to check how much longer it would actually be. To her dismay, the screen had been updated to show that the train was running fifteen minutes late, and wasn’t now expected for another twelve minutes. Twelve minutes! It didn’t sound much, but when her bladder was full of cider and she was already in need of a toilet; that was a lot to ask of her– especially on a cold night like this. Subconsciously, she crossed one leg in front of the other and pressed her thighs together. It helped, but with all the cider she’d drunk she was feeling a little light headed and nearly overbalanced, so she resumed pacing the platform instead.
Twelve minutes! She reached down with her right hand into the pocket of her duffel coat, and drew out the other can of cider.
“This is so not a good idea,” she told herself. But it was cider. And she never could resist cider. Especially when she’d already had a few. The can opened with a loud PFFFT! Which made her jump; and she thought for a moment that she was about to wet herself from the shock, but she managed to control it. Then she took a good long slurp from the can and continued her pacing. Ten minutes later she was still dry, if uncomfortable. Not long now, she told herself, and just as well: she was starting to feel more than a little desperate. She could scarcely stand still, so she kept pacing to and fro, up and down, leaning forward slightly from the waist, and pausing every so often to do a little curtsey. It must be obvious to anyone who was looking that she needed to go to the toilet; but fortunately there was only one other person at this end of the platform, a girl in jeans and a bomber jacket who looked to be a couple of years younger than Emma, and who appeared if anything to be even more desperate than she was. She was standing with her toes turned in, knock–kneed, shifting her weight awkwardly from foot to foot. Both her hands clutched frantically at her crotch, and as she looked up at the train indicator screen her face registered something like a cross between anguish, dismay and panic. “Oh no,” she yelped, and Emma wandered over and asked “Are you alright?” realising just that little bit too late than it was hardly going to help her own predicament if the girl said “No, I’m wetting my knicks.” Fortunately, however, that was not what the girl said, although her actual reply was nearly as bad.
“They’ve just added another ten minutes,” she sobbed. “And I’m absolutely bursting.”
“Ten minutes?” said Emma. “Will you be able to hold on that long?”
“I don’t know,” the girl sobbed. “I hope so, but – ooh – I don’t think I’ve ever been this desperate before in my life. So, really, I just don’t know if I can make it.”
“I’m pretty desperate too,” Emma admitted.
“I thought you were. What shall we do?”
“We shall just try to hold on as best we can,” said Emma. “Perhaps if we talk about something else to take our minds off it the time will pass quicker. I’m Emma.”
“Sonia.”
“Nice to meet you, Sonia. I’m going to Brighton. How about you?”
“I’m going to Brighton too.” Sonia looked at Emma thoughtfully.“Say, weren’t you in my brother’s class at school?”
“I might’ve been,” said Emma. “What’s his name?”
“Mark,” said Sonia. “Mark Watson.”
“There was a Mark Watson in my class,” said Emma. “I even went round to his house for tea a couple of times, and I do seem to remember a little sister.”
“Yes,” said Sonia excitedly. “That’s right. I thought I remembered you. You were the one who had to go home early once because you’d – oh! Oops, I shouldn’t have mentioned that, should I?”
“Yes,” Emma sighed. “That was I. I did indeed have an accident one time when I came to tea– but only the once, now, a new subject. What do you do now?”
“I’m training to be a hydro therapist,” Sonia replied. Aargh! More water! Emma couldn’t stand to hear about it. Time to change the subject again.
“And Mark? What about him?”
“Would you believe it? He’s just finished training as a primary school teacher.”
“No!” said Emma. “Who’d ever have thought it?”
And so they passed the time together, pacing round in little circles, or standing awkwardly shifting their weight from foot to foot, chatting about inconsequential things for the ten minutes or so it took their train to arrive.
“Oh my,” said Emma, as the train ground to a halt. “It’s packed with people. There were seats in the front carriage, but I don’t think we’ll manage to sit down anywhere else.”
“Wait!” Sonia wailed, as Emma headed towards the front carriage. “Let’s find the carriage with the toilets.”
“What, and end up standing all the way to Brighton?” Emma replied over her shoulder. “No thanks. You can’t use the toilet until the train leaves the station anyway, so let’s find ourselves some seats first. You can go to the toilet as soon as the train pulls out, and I’ll go when you come back.” Emma felt bold to make this magnanimous gesture because the walking and talking had actually helped, and she felt her need easing a little. Plus, she still had some cider in the can, which she had slipped back into her pocket while they chatted, and she could finish that off while Sonia went to the toilet.
“Okay,” said Sonia, following her. “But it’s pretty touch and go for me, you know. I’m only just holding on here.”
“No worries,” said Emma. “You’ll be fine. One minute, two at most, and we’ll be in the train and on our way.”
They found two vacant window seats facing one another in the front carriage, and they eased themselves in and sat down. Sonia sat on the very edge of her seat, leaning forward and biting her lip. She pressed her knees tightly against one another and thrust both hands surreptitiously but firmly into her crotch. Emma, by contrast, sat well back in her seat, crossed her legs tightly, and placed her hands casually in her lap where she could use them to help her hold it if it became absolutely necessary that she should. The carriage doors bleeped and closed, and Emma could almost feel the wave of relief which passed through Sonia as she realised that now the doors had closed the train was about to depart, and she was going to make it. Any moment now the train would start, she would be able to rise from her seat, and make her way along the train through one carriage – two at the most – to the toilet compartment where, at last, her desperation would end.
Only, the train didn’t start. It just sat at the station, and Sonia began muttering “Come on, come on! Hurry up!” repeatedly under her breath. Emma guessed that she was still holding on, but only just. Then the doors bleeped again, and still the train stood motionless at the platform. The doors bleeped a third time, and suddenly Sonia gaped and her face flushed a deep, deep red.
“You’ve not?” said Emma, softly.
“A little,” Sonia replied in a hushed voice. “But it’s alright now. I should be okay, provided this blasted train starts moving.”
And then there was a crackling noise, and the driver addressed them over the intercom. “This is a customer announcement,” he said. “We seem to have a door failure on the back unit. I’ve just spoken with my control room, and they’ve told me to split the train and leave the back set here to receive fitters’ attention, and to continue with just the front unit. So will all customers in the back four carriages please make their way forward into the front four carriages? Thank you.”
Emma looked anxiously across at Sonia. She reckoned that she could hold on for another five, maybe ten more minutes if she really had to, so although this further delay might add a little extra to her discomfort it wasn’t exactly a disaster. But Sonia? She looked frantic now. Her eyes looked watery, and she had bitten so hard into her lower lip that she had actually drawn a small drop of blood. She was muttering something under her breath. Emma couldn’t quite make it out, but it sounded as though it might be “Oh no. Please no,” repeated over and over again.
And then the passengers from the back four carriages began to arrive. The first few found seats, but most of them had to stand. They filled the vestibule by the doors first; and then, as more and more tried to push their way into the carriage, one or two began to move grudgingly down the central aisle. Somebody braced himself against a seat back, leaning back with his legs well apart. An elderly Asian lady struggled along the aisle with two heavy suitcases. Nobody helped her, and nobody offered her a seat. And still they came, crowding in until there was nowhere left to stand. The carriage was crammed with bodies packed tightly against one another. There was no way anyone could move; and no way, Emma realised with horror, that either she or Sonia would be able to make their way along the train to the toilet until they had made two or three stops and a considerable number of these passengers had alighted – and even then, it required that there shouldn’t be other passengers waiting at the station to replace them! She gritted her teeth and resigned herself to a long, hard struggle to hold on. But Sonia? Could she hold on until the crowd of passengers thinned out? Somehow Emma doubted it.
The doors bleeped and closed once more. “Hold on tight please,” came the driver’s voice over the speaker. “There might be a bit of a jerk as I separate the units, and then we’ll be on our way.”
A moment later the train jolted and finally started to move. Sonia groaned, and Emma looked up to see that she was now sitting bolt upright and completely still, staring intently at the darkened world beyond the carriage window. Her face was beetroot red, and she now had tears rolling down her cheeks. Emma could just about make out a faint hissing sound, and she lowered her eyes to watch Sonia’s lap. Sonia still had both hands jammed into her crotch, so it was a moment or two before Emma could see anything; but sure enough after a few seconds the dark blue denim of Sonia’s jeans began to darken yet further along the inside of her thighs, and then to glisten in the harsh gleam of the carriage’s overhead lighting. The wet patch spread along the seams of Sonia’s jeans, and then outwards, quickly reaching all the way to her knees. The fabric seat cover began to darken between her thighs, and then a little pool began to form which spread steadily forwards towards Emma before running off the edge of the seat and dripping onto the floor. Slowly but inexorably a little puddle grew on the carriage floor behind Sonia’s feet– yet nobody apart from Emma appeared so much as to have noticed.
If Sonia’s situation was terrible, Emma’s was now little better. Desperate as she was, the sight and sound of Sonia wetting herself right in front of her proved just a little too much; and she realised with a start that she, too, had started to pee and was now growing warm and wet between her legs. She yelped and jammed her hand hard against her crotch to try to stop it, feeling her cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment as she did so. Fortunately she was quickly able to regain control, but there was no escaping the fact that her knickers were now most definitely wet. And then she realised that pressing her hand into her crotch might not have been such a good idea, either. Very gingerly, she moved her hand aside a little and looked down at her lap. There was a huge dark stain on the front of her little grey mini skirt where she had been pressing it against her knickers as she tried to stop herself peeing. She groaned, and covered it up again with both hands, then looked up again. Sonia met her eye.
“You too?” she mouthed.
“Yes,” Emma mouthed in reply, choking on the tears that pricked at her eyes. Then she leaned forward and whispered “but I’ve regained control. For the moment.”
“How much longer do you think you can hold on?” Sonia murmured back.
“Not long.”
Sonia looked thoughtful for a moment or two. “It’s about ten minutes to the next station,” she whispered, “and another five or six to the one after that. I doubt enough people will get off until then. Can you manage another quarter of an hour?”
“Probably not,” Emma sobbed, feeling another trickle escape her tightly clenched muscles and dribble down the inside of her damp thighs. “In fact, almost certainly not.”
“Then don’t do what I did and leave it too long,” replied Sonia. “Just surrender to the inevitable and let it out in little spurts over a prolonged period. With any luck the seat will soak it all up.”
Emma thought about the proposition. She absolutely hated the thought that she was going to wet her knickers. But then again, strictly speaking, she already had wet her knickers. So she’d lost that one. She reckoned she might just about be able to hang on for another fifteen minutes without a major leak; but the odds seemed to be stacked against it. And even if she could, she’d then have to stand up and make her way along the swaying train to the toilets, past scores of gawping strangers who would be sure to see the big wet patch on the front of her little grey skirt and realise that she must have wet herself. She moved her hand surreptitiously aside. Yup! It was still there, and would be very obvious once she stood up. So – she was already wet, and if she tried to go to the toilets everyone would know it. What had she to gain by putting herself through the torture of another fifteen minutes’ excruciating discomfort? That seemed to be a decision, then – although she hated having to take it.
She pushed her bum right back in the seat and, with her hand nearest the window, she quietly tugged her skirt back underneath her until she was sure she was sitting with the fabric of her knickers in direct contact with the fabric of the seat cover. Then she put both hands into her lap and carefully lifted the front of her skirt a fraction so it was no longer in contact with her knickers. It may be wet already, she told herself, but there was no need to make it any wetter. Then she closed her eyes, relaxed, and immediately the warm pee began to flow into her yellow knickers. After a couple of seconds she tried to stem the flow, but to her horror she couldn’t. It just kept coming, and now she could hear a hissing sound too as the flow became stronger. Her bottom was soaking, she was definitely sitting in a little puddle, and the backs of her thighs felt wet all the way to her knees. And then, thankfully, she managed to regain control. Blushing furiously, she looked around at her fellow passengers, but none of them showed any sign of having noticed. Finally, she looked back across at Sonia. Then she looked down between her knees and, to her relief, she hadn’t made a visible puddle.
“Have you?” Sonia mouthed.
“A bit,” she mouthed back.
As the puddle underneath her slowly soaked down into the train seat, Emma clenched her muscles and scissored her legs to try to hold on a little longer, but it was no good. She still needed to pee so badly, and there was nothing for it but to close her eyes and relax again. This time she was ready, however, and the moment her pee started to flow she tried to stem it, so that after about five seconds she had it under control again. She checked between her knees and congratulated herself that there was still no visible puddle. But then, quite suddenly and without warning, as the train began to slow for the next station, her pee started to flow once more and this time there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. She just sat there, helpless, as it came hissing out into her sodden knickers, pooled under her bottom and her legs, and ran off the front of her seat to splash into Sonia’s puddle on the carriage floor. And yet, amazingly, still nobody else in the carriage appeared to have noticed that the two young women sitting by the window had both wet their knickers.
When she had finished Emma just sat there, stock still, her heart pounding and her face flushed with the embarrassment of it all. Her bottom, her thighs and her pussy all felt decidedly warm and wet; but as the journey progressed they began to cool off until she felt rather chilly. Chilly, she realised, and unbelievably horny. Would anybody notice, she wondered, if she were to slip a hand under her skirt and frig herself silly while fantasising about Dave’s cock, which she could still remember pressing against her as she kissed him goodbye? She looked around the carriage, and suddenly realised that she and Sonia were now all alone. All the standing passengers had alighted, and all the seated passengers too. All that remained were the two wet girls and the puddle on the floor.
“Sonia?” she asked. “Are we far from Brighton?”
“Next stop,” said Sonia. “Gosh, I need to go for another wee. Do you think there’s anyone else on the train who’ll notice my jeans are all wet if I walk past them?”
“Even if there aren’t,” Emma said, “do you really want to have to pull up your cold, clammy knicks and jeans after you’ve been to the loo?”
“Not really,” Sonia admitted, “But I really don’t think I can hold on until I get home and can change my clothes.”
“Then don’t,” Emma said. “You’re wet already; the seat’s wet already; the floor’s wet already; and there’s nobody here but the two of us. So just piss yourself again and be done with it.”
“Well … alright,” said Sonia, “but on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“That you do as well.”
Emma thought about it for a moment or two. Actually, she had to admit, she was getting quite desperate again. Indeed, she probably wouldn’t make it all the way home again before she needed another wee, and the last thing she wanted to do was wet herself in the back of a taxi.
“Okay then,” she said; and immediately she heard a hissing sound. Looking across she saw that Sonia had spread her legs wide and closed her eyes, and had a look close to ecstasy on her face as the warm yellow pee welled up between her legs and puddled underneath her before running off and dripping down onto the floor again. Once again, the sight was too much for Emma, who immediately began to wet herself. Only this time, she made no attempt to stop it. Instead, she leaped to her feet and lifted the hem of her skirt up to her chest to keep it dry; and Sonia, opening her eyes as she finished peeing, was greeted by the sight of Emma standing in front of her, feet apart, with her skirt lifted to reveal her canary yellow knickers with a steady stream of pee pouring out and running down her legs, while another rivulet fell straight to the floor where it splashed into the puddle which they both had made. She reached forward and cupped Emma’s pussy with her hand, then gently ran her finger up and down between Emma’s legs, searching for her clitoris through the soaking wet cotton of her knickers. Emma moaned and shuddered, and came to an almost immediate climax even as she was peeing.
“Emma?” said Sonia, when Emma had finally finished and collapsed back into her seat, realising just too late that she had sat back down on her grey mini skirt which must now, surely, show a large wet patch at the back as well as the front.
“Mmm?”
“I told my boyfriend that I might stay overnight with a friend, so he’s not necessarily expecting me home tonight. I can’t possibly go back looking like this; so can I come and stay at your place tonight, and put my wet things through the wash before I go home?”
“You can if you like,” said Emma, “but it’s only a one bed flat. So you’ll have to not mind sharing.”
“Mind?” replied Sonia. “It’s what I’d been hoping for.”
The train pulled into Brighton station, and Emma and Sonia headed for the taxi–rank, hand in hand, plotting as they did how they’d make a dash from the shadows and scramble into the back of a cab before its driver could notice that they were both wet up to their armpits.
By: Indigo