Louise's Story

My job was assistant personal secretary to a senior manager. Actually I was a glorified messenger for much of the time. The manager liked to have an attractive girl to take his messages to clients or other departments in our bank. He insisted I was always smartly dressed, and I was happy to oblige him in this.
My chief attraction is my neat figure. Otherwise I am average in almost all areas. I have shoulder length brown to mousy hair. I am about average height, and would never win a beauty contest. I have always played a lot of tennis, squash and badminton, so I am slim and have what I think is a sexy little bottom. I also have a tiny bladder, which is more of an embarrassment than an asset, but I have learned to live with it.
I found that smart, business clothes really suited me. Tight skirts, not too short, worn with stocking and high heels, were almost a uniform for me. My manager was so pleased with my turn–out that he allowed me to put in fake expense claims to pay for my clothes.
After I had been there a few months Jim, from another department, invited me to an after–work birthday drink. I had fancied him like mad for ages, so this was a real thrill. Luckily I had bought a new pair of jeans that day, so I wore them to the pub. They were so tight that my panty line showed really badly, but there was nothing I could do about that. I had been wearing stockings at work, so I did not have any tights, which I usually wore under tight jeans to avoid the VPL. Since my panties were no more than two triangles joined at the sides, I was not too upset that their outline showed. I believed that some men found that sexy as well.
The party had a kitty for drinks, and to make it fair we agreed that we would all drink either beer or wine. I had thought of keeping to soft drinks, but Jim made it clear that he was not going to be seen in the company of a girl who drank orange juice. I drank wine, but because I had had a lot of coffee in the afternoon, I needed to go to the loo pretty often. After my third visit, someone made a comment about it. I pretended that I had only been to wash some spilt drink off my hands, but it did not sound very convincing. To avoid drawing any more attention to myself, I had to cut down on my loo visits as much as possible. Before each visit, I held out until I was absolutely desperate, to the point when I could not bear to wait any longer. Once, when I got to the loo, both cubicles were full. I had to hold my crutch to last out until one was free. I was pushing to get in before the other girl was out. It was an emergency, and I was right on the brink of wetting myself.
By the end of the evening I was fairly drunk. Because of this, I drank about a glass and a half of wine straight down to finish up the kitty. After a final visit to the loo, I set off home with Jim. I went home by tube, and Jim said he would come with me. He could stay on after my station until the end of the line, and then catch his normal train on from there. I was thrilled, as this was my first opportunity to be alone with him. We had a leisurely walk from pub to station. We stopped to look in several shops. Jim had his arm round me, and it was not long before he was feeling my bum. This was exactly what I had wanted to happen.
We arrived at the station virtually draped round each other. I wanted the loo a lot by then, and I was horrified to find the ladies’ on the station was closed. I asked the porter if there was another loo I could use, but he said there was not. I then asked Jim to see if there was a cubicle in the men’s I could go in. He was disgusted that I should even think of such a thing, so I had to pretend I had been joking. The only way I could retain credibility with Jim was to wait until I got home. Jim clearly did not approve of girls with small bladders any more than he did of girls who did not drink.
Waiting for our train, I let Jim indulge in some hugging and groping my bum. It would please him, and take my mind of my need for a loo. It was great to start with. My full bladder was not so uncomfortable that it stopped me feeling sexy. Then Jim pulled me tight against him and started grinding his erection against my stomach. The sudden extra pressure on my bladder was almost enough to make me wet myself. I stood it for about ten seconds, and then had to pull away. I had to twist my legs in a knot to keep control. I told Jim that there were too many people watching for that sort of behaviour, and he accepted that. For the rest of the time we were waiting for the train, he kept his arms round me and I kept my legs tightly crossed. I prayed the train would hurry up, as I was desperate for the loo. I could not cross my legs any tighter without making an exhibition of myself, and I knew that Jim would neither understand nor approve of such behaviour. If I wanted to have another date with Jim, I was going to have to give the impression that I had no real need of a loo.
Thankfully the train soon arrived. It was not full, so I was able to sit on my foot right away. This was far more comfortable than standing with my legs crossed. I felt in control again, and no longer on the brink of wetting my pants. Jim tried to convince me that he should escort me right home, but I refused this offer. If he did that, then he would almost have to stay the night, and I did not intend to sleep with him on the first date. Nor would I be able to go to the loo as soon as I got to my station. I knew I would have to use the pub by the station, as I would be frantic by then. I did not want Jim to know how badly I wanted a loo.
Despite sitting on my foot, I was becoming more and more desperate. My bladder was filling up at an alarming rate. I began to wonder if I was going to be able to last until my station. The train seemed to be going especially slowly. I tried all the tricks I knew to ease my urge. I was wriggling about in my seat, trying to get more pressure from my foot between my legs. Jim asked me what was the matter, as I simply could not sit still. I joked that my jeans were too tight, but I had to try and keep still after that. I was frantic for a loo, and yet we were still at least 15 minutes from my station. I told myself that I had to wait, no matter how desperate I was.
Somehow I did manage to wait until my station. It took every ounce of my strength and will power to do it. The last 5 minutes were the longest in my life. I felt I was right on the brink of letting go and wetting my pants in the train. I was pushing my foot between my legs as hard as I possibly could, and clenching myself shut inside as well. In fact I was clenching my fists as well as my bladder, and virtually gritting my teeth as well. I tried to keep a conversation going with Jim, but I was too desperate to make much sense. I kept repeating to myself that I just had to wait, had to wait, must be able to wait, only another minute or so and I would be there.
When we got to my station, I was almost the last off the train. I had to stop Jim from coming home with me, but also I did not want to get off my foot until the last moment. Once off my foot, the urge to go got even worse. By some miracle I walked off the train and along the platform without letting go. I waved good–bye to Jim as the doors shut and the train pulled out. A lot of people had got out, and I was in the middle of the crowd as I walked along the platform. I was absolutely frantic for a loo, but I managed to hold out most of the way. They had just put new lights in the station, and both platform and entrance were really brightly lit. I had forgotten this. I had thought that once the train left, there would only be a few people on a dim platform. I had banked on being able to hold between my legs as I walked, and nobody noticing what I was doing. Now it was too bright and too crowded to do that. I had to hold out without any such help.
The stairs were the last straw. I could not keep my legs squeezed together, as they had been, and get up the stairs. Not only did I have to open my legs, but the action of climbing stairs made my jeans tighter across my bladder. The result was that I started leaking in my pants. I was still managing to keep partly in control, and was only letting out little spurts of pee, but I knew that there was a wet patch starting to show on my jeans. I still thought I could make it to the pub, but I saw they had a doorman. He seemed to be keeping a group of boys out. Whether or not he would let me in, I would still have to pass through this group. There was no way that they would not see that I had wet my jeans a bit.
I was in complete despair. I was not going to get into the loo I had been banking on since I got on the train. Somehow I had to find somewhere to go quickly, because I was on the brink of wetting myself. I was walking blindly towards home, trying to hurry, but so desperate that I could hardly walk. I lasted about another 50 yds. and then I could not hold he pressure any longer. This time there was no regaining control. I completely broke down and started peeing in my jeans. What was so awful was that I was not just letting little leaks go, I was going like I had got to a loo. Once this happened there was no point in making any effort to hold back any longer. I was so desperate I was beyond caring then. I just relaxed and let it all come pouring out into my knickers. My jeans were soaked from above the crotch, all down both legs, and I was leaving a trail of wet footprints. There was nobody near me, so I really did not care. The relief of finally going, even if it was in my jeans, was so fantastic that nothing else really mattered.
When I got home my flat–mate was out, so I was able to change and wash, and put the jeans in the washing machine without anyone else knowing what I had done. I had a stomachache for an hour or so, because I had held out so long, but otherwise I was fine.
The next day, coming home from work, I thought about what had happened. I kept remembering what a fantastic feeling it had been when I finally let go. It was not only the relief. I had been frantic and made it to a loo before, and not experienced the same feeling. It really had been because I was wetting my jeans that it had been so exciting.
A week or so later I had a chance to test this theory. I had been out with Jim again, only the two of us this time. To conform to his image of a girl friend, I had drunk several beers quickly after a movie. Then I was going home on the last bus, and I was bursting. I was wearing tight, tight, jeans again, and the pressure across my bladder was making me want to go all the more. I was sitting in the 3–seats, the most conspicuous place on the bus. At least 2 men kept looking at tight crotch of my jeans. I was sitting on my foot as usual, and this position kept my crotch quite visible. I knew from the tube incident that I could last out as long as I could sit on my foot, but this journey ended up worse that the train. I had drunk more, and not passed so much through me before leaving the pub. Now I had to try and hold almost 2 pints of beer in my bladder.
Eventually I could not contain it any longer. Despite all my efforts I leaked a bit. It did not show immediately, but I knew the next leak certainly would. In a panic, I got off at the next stop, a couple of miles from home. This road was not too well lit, and only one couple got off with me. I held between my legs as I walked away from the bus. I was hoping I would be able to find some bushes or somewhere where I could have a pee. Then I saw I was in a long street of terraced houses. There was absolutely nowhere to go. Since I had reached the point when I could not wait any longer, I pulled my hand from between my legs and started to wet myself. I got the same glorious feeling I had before. The relief of going when I was absolutely bursting combined with the naughtiness of wetting my pants to give me something close to an orgasm as I walked. To savour it better, I leaned against a parked car and really let myself go. I am sure I came as I stood there wetting myself. I was shuddering with delight and relief as the pee streamed down my legs. Someone parking his or her car opposite spoilt this wonderful moment, so I had to walk away quickly.
Now I was sure that it was wetting my pants that was giving me such a thrill, I wanted to try it again. It took me so long to walk home from where I had got off the bus that I was bursting again when I got in. Luckily, Sally was out again. Instead of hurrying to the bathroom and changing my wet jeans I made myself wait longer. I made a coffee while holding between my legs, and then made myself wait until I had drunk it. Then I was almost leaking past my fingers when I tried walking round the room holding myself. I stood in the bath and allowed myself to go. This time there was no need to try and contain myself to little leaks. I could relax and let go as soon as I was in the bath. I could hardly believe what a fantastic feeling it was. As the pee poured out and down my legs, so I orgasmed continuously until my bladder was empty. When I had finished I brought on another orgasm just by rubbing the wet crotch of my jeans. By the time I had taken off my wet clothes and showered, I felt more satisfied that I had ever been with a boy friend.
I finished with Jim soon afterwards, and I am still looking for a regular boy friend. Instead I have to get my thrills alone by wetting myself regularly. When I go out for a drink with friends, I always try to time it so that I get home with my bladder close to its limit, so I can have a really good wet. Because I still have not grown out of my small bladder problem, I can normally manage this quite easily. I so enjoy wetting myself that I am starting to take every opportunity I can to do it. This can be risky, if I drink too much and then cannot get to a suitable place in time. I have had some really close shaves, when I have been right on the brink of wetting myself in really public places.
By: Louise