Yoga Class

I guess I’m just too much of a yoga natural for my own good! One moment I was in the classical lotus position, emptying my mind of all worldly distractions – the next I was sitting in a pool of wetness, my all too frail bladder having emptied itself in my knickers as I approached nirvana. Which ordinarily would not have mattered – I was completely relaxed (which is why I hadn’t noticed I was having an accident until it was too late) and the warmth around my nether regions was simply lovely – except that I was in a public class and had the growing suspicion that if I didn’t move soon the puddle spreading from under my bottom would become a major ‘worldly distraction’ and source of public disgrace!
Leaving the scene of the crime was not such a problem – I had been late for class as usual and had taken a mat at the rear of the gym near to the double doors, which were kept propped open on account of the warm evening. Cautiously I rose to my knees and waited while my knickers softly burst and deposited a small reservoir down the inside and back of my thighs, saturating my cotton joggers. There was a slight splosh as the residue added itself to the puddle already on the floor, but I guessed this was inaudible over the sound of the ambient music. I stood up gingerly, not wishing to draw attention to myself, and luxuriated momentarily in the warm wetness around my feet (don’t get me wrong, I was aroused and under ‘normal’ circumstances would have had no problem pulling down my trousers and pants and bringing myself off there and then, but there are social conventions that even the most liberal minded girl must observe when out in public in Hampstead!) Softly I padded out of the gym, hoping that my bare feet would not slip on the smooth, hard floor.
I headed for the ladies’ to survey the damage to my clothing. Although I was not overly concerned at running into other people – you could only see the wetness on my black joggers if you were really up close – I was mindful that my knickers were completely soaked and that I would have to dry off a bit if I were to make a drip–free and reasonably dignified exit from the sports centre. Heading for the nearest cubicle, I locked myself in and proceeded to peel off my wet things. My bottom half was sopping and I dried myself as best as I could with tissue, resisting the temptation to touch myself as I knew class would soon be over and I needed to make myself scarce before anyone connected the puddle on the gym floor with my absence. Anyway, the initial pleasure was wearing off now as I felt a chilly draught around my privates and I reflected glumly on not having any dry clothes to change into. I decided that my (formerly) white M&S knickers were beyond salvation and struggled back into my damp joggers: they clung damply, but I knew that was the best I could expect unless I was to make a dash for the car in nothing but my T–shirt! I exited sheepishly from the cubicle, the cold tiles beneath my feet reminding me that I had left my shoes and socks in the gym: I decided they’d have to stay there as there was no way I was going to risk going back in to collect them. Reluctantly I deposited my spoilt undies in the bin and washed my hands at the sink. I looked in the mirror and decided I didn’t look to bad, apart from a slight flush in my cheeks, which only those who know me well would take as a sign of guilt!
Briskly I made my way out of the washroom, through the public foyer and outside to where my car was parked. I did notice the girl on the desk stopping to look at me, but I think she was looking at my bare feet rather than my wet bottoms. I had already resolved to take off my pants before getting in the car, as it is my Daddy’s and I was scared of pee getting into the fabric of the driver’s seat. I unlocked the door and crouching, pulled them down to my knees so that I could put my bare bottom on the seat. Then I kicked them off completely and swung my legs into the car before anyone noticed.
Driving naked from the waist down is a peculiar experience, and I had some difficulty managing the pedals with my bare feet, but fortunately I made it back home without further incident. It was then that I discovered that in my haste I had left my joggers in the car park (lucky attendant who found them!) and that I now had nothing but a T–shirt to preserve my modesty as I dashed from driveway to front door! Gritting my teeth I reasoned that the neighbours would probably understand (it’s the sort of thing that is expected of twenty year old students anyway!) and pulling the T–shirt down in front to cover my bits (inevitably it was too short and it rode up to expose my bottom entirely) I made headlong for the door. Don’t know or care if anyone saw me – I was minded only to run a warm bath and play with myself belatedly.
Happily my parents were away on holiday and I was able to spend the rest of the day wearing only a T–shirt (a self–imposed punishment for my ‘naughtiness’ – if I couldn’t keep my clothes dry, then I could go without!) The downside – I lost a decent pair of trainers and haven’t dared return to my yoga class since (I can’t be sure I won’t wet myself accidentally again), but I think I’ve learnt a valuable moral to pass on to readers: acting out these fantasies is great, but always be prepared to deal with the consequences, which can be rather embarrassing and inconvenient!
By: Lucy