Splash Back

Note: This story contains Female Desperation, Accidental & Deliberate Wetting, and Humiliation.
Val was fashion modelling, and now helps run an agency. When she first came over here from Italy, she worked in an antiques shop in between assignments. I met her there when I was a student and we got on pretty well. As she was new in England I helped her out with quite a few things. After six months she even had to move in with me, as she had got herself involved with a really dodgy landlord and didn’t feel safe.
We were just friends at this stage, but any bloke would have wanted more, and I was happy to work my way slowly into her affections. Then as luck would have it, two bombshells landed in quick succession. Firstly, one day she discovered that I am a cross dresser. She found some of my ‘femme’ clothes in the cupboard where I kept the cleaning stuff. At first she thought I had been covering up for a girlfriend but I could not hide my embarrassment.
She read the situation very quickly as I was never very good at lying. I was devastated. I had always thought I would be able to blag it somehow but she was way too sensitive. For me that was the end of any hope I had of pulling her.
She realised how bad I felt and really tried to make me feel better, saying how alone she had felt and life was difficult for her too. However, for me it was the end of all possibilities. She kept on saying she understood and it was not all as bad as I thought. My confidence was shattered I felt I had nowhere to go with the relationship. Then she dropped the second bombshell.
The reason she said she felt so isolated, like me, was not just that she was a foreigner in England away from her family, but that she did not see men in the same way as most women. She had been very confused growing up but little by little realised that she was attracted to certain of her female school friends. It had been one of her motivations to be involved n the fashion industry.
Well that just about did it for me. Clearly I was too stupid to see why she had never mentioned a boyfriend, kept herself to herself so much and why the landlord had been such a massive problem. I was barking up the wrong tree. Late she gradually she sort of let it come out that like many other gay people was not exclusively gay, and eventually that the thought of a cross dresser quite amused her.
She moved in on a more permanent basis and we got a lot closer. She said wanted to see me dressed. Then she tried on some of my things and lent me her underwear. She was a much smaller size than me, so most of her things were not really going to fit.
Gradually I rebuilt my confidence and enjoyed our sisterly ways. One day I had to pick her up as she was out drinking and was quite pissed. We ended up sleeping together. It felt slightly unusual, as she was most affectionate when I was dressed as a woman and she had been drinking. It was like being sisters and part time lovers.
One day I dropped in at the antiques shop, as had arranged to meet for a meal. She had been on her own most of the day as the owner was out buying. It had been busy with a constant stream of visitors and by the time I got there she was busting for a wee. It was almost six so she closed up and asked me to go to the toilet with her, as she wanted to talk.
Since we were doing something special after work, I had persuaded her to wear stockings, suspenders and French knickers. She had not felt really confident so had worn another pair of panties underneath. She settled on the loo seat and pulled the knicker gusset to one side. Reaching underneath she pulled the gusset of the other panties away with her other hand and relaxed. Soon she was exhaling with relief and in full flow, when suddenly I had an intriguing idea.
Quickly I pulled her elbows apart. The panties pinged back into position and the knickers too, swung into the stream. She looked at me with a gasp, but could not prevent herself from continuing. For a good ten seconds she sat there with a torrent gushing through her underwear, a darkening beige patch on her silky French knickers betraying her. There was nothing she could do but laugh.
There was no way she could stop until she was empty, and I stood there smirking, but then events took a different turn. For me it was wicked trick but surprisingly erotic too, but I did have a smidgen of guilt. After looking down for a while, she slowly stood with a pained expression. Quickly recovering from her shock, she looked me straight in the eyes and said in her sexy accent, “Take your panties off, I want your panties”.
Suddenly the tables were turned. I was stunned by what she was implying. “You made me wee myself, I want your dry panties”, she ordered. Before I could even react, she was undoing my jeans. As always, I had women’s undies on and she quickly whipped them down my legs. Soon I was naked from the waist down, and beginning to show interest in what I saw before me.
She undid the suspenders and slipped of both pairs of her underwear. She made herself comfortable in my appropriated panties, whilst I stood giggling nervously. But this was only the half of it.
Retrieving her own panties she said “Right you can slip these on.” The full horror hit me. In spite of my very fulsome protests, she made me step into her pink satin panties and looking into my eyes, slowly began to pull them up. Although I stood on tiptoe to delay the inevitable for as long as possible, the cold wet material eventually contacted my genitals. Despite their being reasonably roomy, she had some difficulty fitting in my swollen member in. Ignoring my predicament she added, “And these”. The beige French knickers were slid damply into place.
She smoothed her skirt down and pointing to my jeans on the floor, she said, “You may want those.” I was still rooted to the spot. Each tiny movement I made was a soggy reminder. “Come on,” she continued. “Quick, quick, I want to catch the shops.”
She grabbed her coat, handbag and the takings. Suddenly I was trotting along behind her, trying to make sense but apparently having no effect on her. As she started the car I jumped in. Despite my protests she parked a little way from the bank, and told me to get out of the car. Grabbing my arm she marched down the street to drop off the takings.
Now for me watching Val wet herself is a massive turn on, doing it myself is fun, especially in my femme role. We have dared each other to do it when we are out and it is fine in dark clothing particularly at night. We have even done more risky things during the day, in more isolated places or Val doing it under her skirt. There is a particular frisson between one’s guilty hedonistic pleasure and the fear of public ridicule.
Nothing compared to my feeling of angst waiting for Val to finish in the bank foyer. I anxiously scanned the immediate horizons watching for people who may be looking and trying pathetically to hide behind Val as best I could. I was praying my jeans were not too wet in the wrong place, not daring to look, yet on the inside, secretly enjoying the pleasure of her underwear, their wetness, and my excitement. She still insisted on going to a bar for our meal too.
Most poignant of all was that I knew that should be caught, absolutely no one would ever believe that it was not me that had wet myself. It was all Val’s responsibility but she had so deftly discarded it on to me. I had to admit I got what I deserved.
When we got home she made me hand wash what I was wearing at the kitchen sink, whilst totally naked, before showing me any affection. One of the great things about her is that she is my equal in every way.
By: Janaval