A Wee Fairy

You may have read a couple of our experiences already. Basically I have always had a thing about girls wetting themselves. I cross dress myself and when young, would often pretend to have accidents when dressed as a girl. I became my own ideal woman. All this was hidden well out of everyday sight as I grew up.
Eventually I met one or two girls who I was able to be more open with and began to have fun both sharing their clothes and with pee games. As I was not outwardly very masculine, girls used to assume I was gay and would confide all sorts of things to me. Strangely this gave me a great advantage and I certainly exploited these situations.
I met Val when I was a student. She is stunningly attractive and as I discovered very liberal. She is also very intelligent and assertive which suits me very well. We have started running a business together which means she has to travel. I get to look after the house and work from home. This gives me ample opportunity to live as a woman for several days at a time as our house is reasonably secluded. She has my blessing to stay with her girl friends when she is abroad and is very open about it. To some extent she treats me as a girlfriend as well!
She returned from a trip to Milan with some of her old ballet things last summer. Sam, a friend of hers in London, needed some help running ballet classes in September as some of her staff would not be returning before the term started. Val had trained from a very small girl and went to a dance school but became too tall to pursue a career.
Knowing my penchant for women who wet themselves she told me something that rocked my world. She insists that it is not at all uncommon for ballerinas to wet themselves. I love ballet and of course have my own outfit. What we see on stage is beauty and grace but this is only one side of the real world of ballet. It is also brutally hard and physically hugely demanding. Val insists what she told me was absolutely true and it all makes perfect sense.
The girls are sometimes stitched into their costumes for hours at a time as they may be giving a couple of performances a day. As it is such physical hard work they need to drink plenty of water. Most of this is sweated out. Val says that costumes may look pretty but can be quite smelly. All this physical exertion could lead to control problems, which you would certainly not want on stage. She said it was really quite common for the girls to go downstairs to the toilets in the theatre and relieve themselves in their costumes.
One prima ballerina was so renowned for it that the male dancers, who of course had to perform lifts, called her by a name suggesting was always ready for sex, as she was constantly wet. Val used the Italian name and this is my best translation. It was less of an issue for the corps de ballet and was just generally accepted as part of the job. The smells of sweat and wee are not really so different from each other. The material of most costumes is made to not show sweat anyway so any, so girls knew it would not show too badly and would dry very quickly. Leotards used in training sessions were easy to get in and out of so this was never a problem. The only issue was during performances.
Getting back to the beginning of this experience, for three weeks I dropped Val off at Sam’s and would pick her up in the evening. On Fridays I had to drive into London and pick Val up, as Sam was off to run an adult class. On the third Friday I arrived quite early and caught the tail end of a performance the group were preparing. Val was wearing her pink costume and tutu over white tights. She also had on a pair of wings, which she had taken in as she was leading a line of ‘fairies’.
When the session had finished Val had to help Sam sort all the girls out as their parents came to pick them up. Sam paid Val and had to shoot off so closed up the school quickly. I had parked in the school’s small car park so there was no walk. Val put a wrap on and did not bother to change.
No sooner were we in the car when Val lamented she should have gone to the loo before we left but Sam needed to close everything up pronto. I looked at her and smiled knowing where this could lead, and felt a little stirring below. Those of you who know London’s legendary traffic problems will realise that Friday evening is not the best time for a fast journey.
There were several hold ups all the way out to Hampton Wick. It probably did not help that I pointed out how fast the Thames was flowing as we crossed the bridge. Val said she was frantic and there was no way she was going to make it home. She pleaded with me to stop the car and let her go. I immediately turned down a lane behind The Old King’s Head on the Hampton Court Road. A little way down the lane I found a car park where I stopped and got out.
This was not much use to Val as it was still light and there was no way she could remove her clothes. It was quite funny to see her standing there dressed as a fairy, pigeon toed and squeezing her knees tightly together. She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me towards some trees. “Sit here,” she hissed though clenched teeth. I sat down expecting to be keeping watch as she struggled to divest herself. There was very little cover and quite a few people were at the end of the lane enjoying an early evening drink. I was wondering how she was going to cope.
As I mentioned earlier she is very assertive and found an admirable way to cope. As she dropped on top of me I swear she was already peeing like a racehorse. I had half a pint of hot liquid dropped directly onto my lap. There was no point in moving. I was wearing khaki shorts everything was going to show in abundance. The rest of her tank emptied as she closed her eyes and let out a long, long breath.
She leant forward and thanked me, giving me a long, deep kiss, with her hair flowing all around my face. Then she sat back and stood up. Examining the gusset of her leotard and top of her tights it was obvious what she had just done, but her skirts fell about her hips and quickly covering her shame, accept from the angle at which I was. “You look as though you have had an accident,” she said nonchalantly. “You might as well go yourself.” I had not really felt the urge but knowing I did not have much time and with absolutely nothing now to lose sat there and wet myself. It was warm and very satisfying.
I asked Val to get two plastic sheets that we keep on hand out of the boot to cover the seats. She declined and told me to do it myself. This put me at much greater risk as I had to go around to the back of the car, but knowing that someone might intrude very soon as there were other cars already parked here, I realised that I had better be quick, as wet khaki cotton is very unforgiving.
The rest of our journey was uneventful apart from the sensations I was receiving from my wet nylon panties. I warned Val I was not going to take this episode lying down, and she said that she certainly hoped not. About forty minutes later we were getting out of the car at home. Val suddenly said “Oh no”, as though she had forgotten something. Then she giggled as she stood peeing down her legs again.
I picked up her bag and ordered her inside. Once in the conservatory she turned towards me, I had already dropped her bag and pushed her off balance directly into our pool. I did not let the fact that it had not been heated for a couple of days get in the way. The wee fairy became a very wet fairy indeed. With her hair plastered to her face, mouth in a large round o, thoroughly saturated she struggled to get out of the cool water. Her clothes came off very quickly and we hurried to get her nice and warm again. I certainly used the ‘big stick’ on her but I am not sure how long she will remain a good fairy.
By: Janaval