Concert Washout - a Story

Note: This story contains Female Desperation, and Accidental & Deliberate Wetting. A recent forum post asked about early experiences so perhaps I should tell about mine. I never had any problems when I was younger; as far as I can remember I never wet my knickers or my bed until my late teens, although I can recall several incidents involving friends. In most cases they wet themselves laughing, probably the main cause of accidents for teenage girls. In my case I was a poised and confident student of 19 when I first experienced the thrill and embarassment of weeing myself, though as two of my friends also soaked their pants at the same time we had a good laugh about it. The three of us had gone to an open air pop concert in the country on a gloriously hot summer day. Of course, there were the usual chemical toilets, which we risked using during the morning but which were increasingly foul later in the day. Anway, we found ourselves a pleasant place on the hillside with a good view of the stage but away from the main crush. We danced a lot and drank large bottles of Pepsi or water as we rested, sprawled out on the grass. By mid–afternoon we all needed to wee but as girls do, kept putting it off. As we sat down to rest after a particularly wild dance I noticed Carrie holding herself between her legs as we lay panting for breath on the grass. She saw me looking, announcing to us all that she had almost peed her knickers during the last dance and was so desperate she wasn’t sure she could reach the loo even if there wasn’t a queue. There was, as we could see from where we sat. We would also have to pick up all our gear and push through a crowd to get there.Rosie admitted that she too badly needed to wee as did I, suddenly becoming nervous about what might happen if I didn’t go off to the toilets very soon. I belatedly realised that I was in some danger of a rather embarassing accident, but then grown women didn’t wet themselves, did they? Apparently they did, and sometimes deliberately as well. Carrie looked at the queues then looked at us, saying, “I’ll never make it through that lot. I’ll pee myself before I’m halfway there anyway so I’m just going to sit here and do it in my knickers – its warm and they’ll soon dry! I looked at Rosie who was picking up her things ready to head for the toilets. We both looked at Carrie who had pulled her skirt back and was sitting with her knees up and legs slightly apart. We could clearly see her blue knickers which suddenly darkened as she just sat there and wet them, a stream of wee running down the slope in front of her. We were speechless but the sight of Carrie just letting go made us both more aware of our own need. “God, that feels better,“she announced. “ Well come on, surely you two have wet your knickers before – it’s easier than the trek to those smelly old porta–loos. “I have not,“I growled, “I haven’t wet myself as far back as I can remember and I don’t intend to do it now,“though with an increasing suspicion that I was in a situation where it might just happen. Rosie just grinned and said it wouldn’t be her first accident and at least this time she was wearing a skirt. Apparently she had wet herself some weeks earlier when walking home rather drunk from a friends party. The need to pee had just crept up on her and before she realised what was happening she had soaked her pants and jeans, much to the amusement of her mother who had been waiting up for her.We sat there giggling like kids at the story. Even Rosie was laughing about it till she stopped suddenly and clasped herself between her legs. “Don’t make me laugh anymore or I’ll wet myself again.” she spluttered. To which Carrie responded that if it was that bad it would be running down her legs long before she reached a toilet, reminding her of the long queues. Rosie looked across to the nearest lines and then looked back at Carrie. “You’re right” she grinned with a resigned sigh, “If I’m going to wet my pants I might as well do it here as there. At least it will only be you two who know about it, and Carrie’s pants are wet anyway!” With that she sat down on the slope, skirt pulled clear as Carrie had done, legs drawn up and apart with her knickers clearly visible. She sat there for a while, staring across to the stage. “I can’t do it,” she moaned, “I’m bursting but I can’t let go.” Carrie looked at her. “That happens to me sometimes. Just relax and think about sitting on the loo, then just let it flow.” I began to wonder at that point just how often Carrie wet herself rather than use a toilet.Rosie sat there, eyes closed. Then she stiffened and I watched fascinated as a jet of pee spurted through her pants. She relaxed a moment and then the flood came. A torrent soaked her pink cotton knickers and trickled down the slope away from her before soaking into the ground. She seemed to wee for ages and I watched, intrigued by the sight of my friend sitting there wetting her knickers. “Oh God that feels better,” murmered Rosie, “What a relief. Oh its hot and it tickles. Its running up my bum!” The flow died away and she pulled some tissues from her bag and mopped her thighs. “You’re right, “ she said, “I would never have hung on till I reached the loo. That’s so much better, even if I have got a wet bum.“They both looked at me. Despite the pain in my bladder I backed off doing what the others had done – I was just too embarrassed. Before we could talk any longer a new group began to play. My bursting bladder had me dancing anyway so I jumped up, hoping the movement would help me hold it. Well it did for a while. As the music died away I suddenly felt a warm spreading wetness between my legs. Instinctively I tried to stem the leak but to no avail. The trickle down my thighs turned into a flood. All I could do was stand there looking foolish, wetting my knickers like a silly child. In my surprise at what was happening I cried out, “Oh, Oh, Oh! I’ve wet myself. I’m weeing in my knickers. Oooh! Its running down my legs!” I seemed to wee for ages, standing there legs spread, staring in embarrassed surprise at the growing puddle around my feet and the wet streaks down my legs. A warm damp feeling tickled my bottom as the wetness spread through my cotton pants.“Well, if you want everybody to know what you’ve done that’s the way to do it,” laughed Carrie, stopping to put her arm around me as I started to cry. “Don’t worry,” she said, “Its happened to all of us but it’s much better to quietly wet your pants before you lose control. That way no–one need know you’ve had a little acccident.” Embarrassed as I was I had to admit that I been rather silly. After drying my legs with tissues and a spare tee–shirt I began to feel better. I didn’t even find the feel of my wet knickers uncomfortable, in fact as I danced the feeling of the wet material rubbing my clit made me feel quite randy, though at the time I thought it was more to do with the music!An hour or so later we needed to wee again and as we were all still damp simply sat on the grass and wet our pants again. This time I found the feelings of naughtiness at doing something so forbidden quite exciting and paid more attention to the exquisite feeling of hot pee washing over my crotch. I began to appreciate why Carrie seemed to find pleasure in wetting herself. It was late when we left and before walking the couple of miles home wet ourselves again. I enjoyed that walk.My parents were away so I had the house to myself for the weekend. I needed to wee again by the time I reached home, but instead of using the loo thought “so what, I haven’t used a loo most of the day.” Standing in the back garden I just let go again, loving the feeling as the hot wee filled by knickers and ran down my legs. As the flow died away I rubbed myself to a wonderful orgasm. As a new source of pleasure this was exquisite.Since then I often wet my knickers when the opportunities for such private pleasures present themselves. I have managed to avoid public accidents, though there have been times when I have wet myself on a country walk or on a beach. I’ve only wet the bed once and don’t think I could hide this from Mum if it happened too often (I do my own washing so she has never come across wet underwear). It happened one morning when I again had the house to myself. I woke up desperate but was too lazy to get up and go to the loo, so lay there, rubbing myself to help me hold it. Then I came, and promply lost control and wet my pants as I lay there. No–one knew about this accident except me, but one day Mum is going to notice the large stain on my matress. I think I will tell her I was drunk and had an accident when I didn’t wake up in time.
By: Poseidon