Crop Spraying

Another major accident that I’ve had more recently took place whilst backpacking in Australia a couple of years ago. Traveling sometimes gets you into some pretty desperate situations, but this one probably takes the prize for idiot wetting.
I had been working and traveling for about 7 months when a group of us headed up from our hostel in Brisbane to Bundaberg. This bit of Queensland is a major fruit and vegetable growing area and there is always a ton of work on the farms for skint travelers. There’s a whole industry based on providing hostels for farm workers and getting them to and from jobs. But it’s REALLY hard and shitty work and some of the farmers and supervisors are total mentalists. Want to experience slave labor? Get on the wrong farm and you’re there!
Anyway, I was lucky enough that I didn’t need to do this work. But one of the guys, Darren, traveling with me had already been to Bundaberg and there was so much work going they really needed people. It was actually easier to take a job than turn it down and every penny counts! But because we weren’t after longer–term work 3 of us decided to camp in the town rather than try for a workers hostel.
So we’d been out drinking the night before the first shift and getting back to the tents I just couldn’t be bothered to go for a pee. I’d been at the pub just minutes before and, well, camping just makes you lazy!
Waking up at 5.30am was crappy and I quickly threw a little vest top and grimy t–shirt over my head and grabbed my beige cargo pants. Standing next to the tent I just put them on over the black bikini thong I’d worn whilst sleeping. I groped around the tent for a long–sleeved top – Queensland is just as cold as anywhere else before dawn! I shivered and headed for the toilet block for a pee. But it was shut for cleaning! I could hear the cheerful whistling of the campsite owner inside the ladies’ and cursed under my breath. I saw Darren lurking around the corner and said in a loud whisper, “Crap! Is this the only block?”
“Yeah, I’ve just pissed against the wall. We need to get on if we’re getting that bus.”
“Can I go at the hostel?” I said. “I really need a wee.”
“I bet you do! Where do you put all that beer, Jen?”
“Straight to here!” I replied, rubbing my midriff. But I quickly pulled my hand away as I pressed against my bladder which sent out a warning protest.
We walked down to the hostel where the bus was loading. One of the guys was checking names on a list and just ushered us inside. “Hang on, I just need to…” I started to say, but he was already moving the line on and I was sat in my seat. Darren whispered, “How bad?”
“Well, I haven’t been since the pub so it’s pretty urgent.” I replied.
The driver jumped in and we were off, out through the sleeping town and into the farmlands. The last few miles took us along an un–made dirt road and the bumps and vibrations sent little tingles through my expanding bladder and I could feel my nipples tighten against my top. Thank Christ I’d put that long sleeve top on! I pressed a hand against the top of my crotch and discreetly undid the button at my waist.
We finally pulled off the road, bumping over a rut, which made me sigh under my breath and get a quick hold in, cupping my crotch and pressing against my labia. We climbed out and stood, bleary–eyed in the half–light and looking out across rows and rows of thigh–height leafy plants. “What are these?” I said to one guy, who looked like the classic traveling farm worker. Scraggy beard, long hair that looked like shampoo had been cut out of the budget a fair while ago – somewhere between a student and a tramp. “Zukes.” He said, “Zucchinis. Little bastards. Crouching in the mud all day and make your hands itch like buggery. And the supervisor’s a total bitch queen. But it pays well.” He smiled.
“Are there any facilities? Like, er, toilets and stuff.” I asked. I was starting to get a bit uncomfortable and pressed my legs together.
“There’s a couple of portaloos somewhere, but I just pee in the field when no–one’s got their eye on me.”
“Oh. Great.” I mumbled and headed over towards the group where Darren was stood.
He looked at me as I came over, legs pressed together and fidgeting slightly, wringing my hands together just in front of my crotch. “Just go over there behind some of the bushes,” He suggested, “no one cares.”
“Good plan.” I said and turned towards the rows.
But I’d taken a couple of steps when the supervisor came out and started straight into her routine of what we had to do and how hard we were going to work and basically “put up and shut up.” We were quickly split into those who had picked before and the fresh fish, our group being walked down a row and shown how to cut the zucchinis off the bushes by squatting down by them and kind of sidling down the row in a crab–like scuttle. I shivered at the thought of trying to do this with a dangerously full bladder and squeezed my hand between my thighs.
We were one–by–one given gloves, a large bucket, and a curved knife, and then walked along to an empty row. When she gestured at me I started to say something about where the toilets were but she just cut me down with, “Your time is my time. Get to it.”
So just as the sun was rising, holding onto a whole night’s worth of pee, I picked zucchinis. Squatting down sent a sharp twinge through my bladder, but working along the row wasn’t so bad and as it quickly warmed up I tied my top around my waist and noticed how much my erect nipples were showing through my t–shirt. A dull aching sensation started to make my abdomen tingle and I felt the swollen lips of my labia rub against the edges of my thong and cargo pants. “Most of us have been up since 5 this morning,” I said to myself. “We’re bound to get a break at some point, and then I can pee. Oh man, I need to pee!”
I carried on shifting up and down the rows. I was getting hotter but by this time didn’t much care. Squatting down was putting more and more pressure on my swollen bladder and I had to rock on the balls of my feet and occasionally grab myself to keep control. By 9am I really couldn’t hold it for much longer so when I’d filled my next bucket with zucchinis I stood up and staggered along the row. Walking with the bucket thumping on my legs I had to stop and do a full crossed–legs curtsy to keep my pee contained. Whimpering slightly I hauled it out onto the access path and started to move towards the supervisor, but another surge made it feel like my bladder had dropped lower towards my throbbing urethra and I just turned away, ramming my fist into my crotch. “It’s going to happen.” I quietly stammered. “I’m going to go in my knickers!”
Tears wet the corner of my eyes and as I bent down to start the next row I squeaked (bad little girly habit of mine) as the pain shot through my body. I flicked my hand through my hair and then tightly grabbed myself and tried to cut the green vegetable away with one hand. I waddled along for the next few bushes and then, as I squatted further to reach a zucchini practically at ground level a sudden long spurt of pee shot straight into my pants without warning. “Oh, fuck, it’s coming out!” I moaned and another stronger gush came out and soaked around the gusset of my thong and trickled around the base of my bum. I carried on trying to shift along the plants, leaking and crying silently to myself. Pee began pooling across the front of my thighs as I desperately squeezed them tightly together. I could feel it gathering in my cargo pants under my bum like a small lake, which was definitely what I was going to make any second. Little trickles started to run down the back of my legs and I was really crying as I looked down at my feet and felt the whole flood go. I was still trying to sidle along the plants which made the roaring, hissing noise of my peeing change as my thong moved around. A steady line of drips and little puddles was appearing on the ground as I moved along it. Hot, strong–smelling piss that I’d tried and tried to hold back just kept flowing around my crotch and legs and started to hit the ground with a loud splattering noise as the fabric of my skimpy knickers and trousers reached capacity. It was dribbling down my legs in steady streams by now and slowly seeped into my trainers. I was really freaking–out that someone would walk close by and see and hear what I was doing but everyone was busy in their rows so at least I was shaming myself in private! I couldn’t believe how strongly potent my pee smelled, even being outdoors.
I started to stand up and an extra gush of hot urine, which must have been gathering around my lap, shot down my legs and washed into and over the tops of my trainers. I noticed with total horror that on top of the slightly yellowing stains all down my beige pants the flood of piss that was still steadily flowing into my thong had turned my trouser crotch sort of see–through. I could clearly make out the black triangle of my knickers and even a few stray pubes from my sopping bush poking around the seams at the edges. I could feel from the wetness all over my bum that it wasn’t going to look any more flattering from behind. I had also made a pretty large patch of pee on my long–sleeved top still dangling down from my waist. The flow started to slow and I actually squeezed the last few spurts out. Wiping my eyes and squatting back down I tried to get on with cutting zucchinis – totally relieved but still in a state of shock at what I’d just done.
The heat of the day quite quickly started to dry my cargo pants and trainers out, but my thong felt soggy and slippery against my tingling pee–hole. I could smell a strong, musky scent of piss as I worked. Finally, past mid–day the supervisor called us in from the rows, nearly 7 hours without a break! I asked about toilets and ran in the direction she was pointing to, let myself into the cabin, and sat over the seat crying with my hands over my face. I felt another strong urge to go again and just pulled my trousers around my calves and let another long pee empty through my knickers into the dark hole below me. A tapping at the door made me look up with a start. “Who… Who is it?”
“It’s me, Jen.” Said Darren. “How are you doing in there?”
“Um, OK I think. It hurts a bit but I’ll be OK.”
I could sense a bit of worry in his voice when he said, “I can’t believe you’ve held it so long. You’re like a camel, you are!”
I laughed and tried to wipe my pants with a bit of loo roll, then just gave up and took my trousers and knickers off and threw the thong down into the toilet. “Maybe that’ll block it!” I thought with a smile. I pulled my cargo pants back on, washed my hands, and stepped back out – smiling at Darren. “Good piss?” he asked.
“Oh yeah, definitely makes it into the all–time top 5!” I giggled.
The supervisor bitch actually broke with her so far perfect record of nastiness and let us finish up at lunch. My day of humiliation, pain, and misery was done. (If you don’t count the paycheck – 40 Aussie dollars for 8 hours work) Within an hour a group of us were sitting in the pub – enjoying beer in the afternoon sun. No one guessed that my grimy trousers had a whole bladder full of my desperate pee dried into them and I brought myself off to a earth–shattering climax in the showers later just thinking about it.
By: Jen