Pee is for Party

Note: This story contains Female Desperation, and Accidental & Deliberate Wetting.
Ellen tried to remove her work shoes while she talked on the office phone, meanwhile ignoring her cell phone. It blared her alma mater’s fight song and made her realize how annoying her ring tone could be. She knew the cell phone call was Stephen and that he was mad at her. She continued to ignore it and it finally stopped ringing, and then beeped that there was voice mail.
“No use looking at that,” she said to herself. She walked over to the window and looked down. Ten stories below she could see Stephen’s red Mercedes idling at the curb in front of the building. She knew he was inside the car, fuming at her lateness.
She focused her attention back on the client she was talking to on the office phone. It was 5:30 on a Friday afternoon in June and she was certain she was the only person still in the building, except perhaps for the security and custodial staffs. She wanted to hang up on the client, who had an annoying habit of calling her just as she was about leave for the day. Still, she dared not, since he was one of firm’s best clients and brought in millions in revenue. She put the client on speakerphone and continued to undress, letting her business skirt and blouse fall to the floor along with her bra. Then Ellen slipped into a black lacy bra with lots of uplift, wriggled into a sexy black and red cocktail dress and pulled on a pair of black panty hose, all the while continuing her conversation with the client on the speakerphone.
She was desperately trying to think of some way to get rid of him when he abruptly said he had to go, thanked her and hung up. Ellen slipped on a pair of red high heels and put on a tasteful white gold necklace. The cell phone began its fight song again.
“I’m on my way,” she yelled as she pressed talk. She knew it was Stephen without looking. She heard Stephen start to say something, but cut him off with an “I’m on my way” and closed the phone. She threw a few essentials to a small black Coach purse and headed for the elevators. As she passed the women’s restroom, she thought to herself, “I really should take a quick pee,” but then remembered Stephen waiting in the car and hurried onto the elevator.
“We’re going to be late for the party,” Stephen said in an annoyed tone as she approached the car. “It’s an hour drive at least, maybe more this time of day.” “We’ll be fine,” she said. “Just drive.”
They were headed for a party at the estate of one of her firms’ partners. It was a beautiful setting in the rolling hills some 40 miles outside the city. The night was warm and she was looking forward to it – if only Stephen would relax. The party started at 7 and he had the idea – crazy, she thought– that one should arrive at a party when it started. She preferred arriving at least a half hour after it started. But she knew Stephen was anxious to meet some important potential investors in a project he was promoting.
They had been driving for about 30 minutes when Ellen realized she had made a mistake by skipping the restroom stop as she had left the office. Her bladder was full and she was becomingly increasingly uncomfortable.
“Stephen, can we get off at an exit and find a restroom? I gotta pee,” she said. He glared at her for a moment, and then replied, “Jesus, you just left your office. Just hold it. We’ll be there in no time. You can go when you get there.”
Ellen said nothing more. Clearly he was not going to stop. She crossed her legs, squeezed her thighs together tightly and tried to think about work.
Unfortunately, her desperation made that impossible and all she could think about was relieving herself. She started to plan how she would handle it when they got to the party. She certainly did not want to wet herself just as they reached the estate.
The plan was simple. She had been to the house several times and knew the layout. They would drive up to the front steps, where a valet would take their car. They would go inside and be greeted by staff. The hosts would be in the large entertainment area to the right of the front hall. Fortunately, thought Ellen, there was a bathroom behind the main stairs off the front hall and she could dash in there. Or if that was in use, there was another smaller lavatory farther back towards the kitchen. A slight spasm of her bladder muscle reminded her how close she was to disaster. But she could do it. She could hold it.
“Oh, no! What’s going on?” she said as they drove through the gates and entered the estate. Safety vest–clad workers were directing cars to a driveway that went toward the gardens on the east side of the house. Ellen realized her bathroom plan was about to fall apart. They came to halt and a valet approached to open the doors, help them out and take the car. He directed them to brightly decorated gateway into the gardens, which were lit with hundreds of Japanese lanterns, and filled with brightly colored tents and tables filled with food and drink. The party was in the large well–kept gardens and surrounding lawns. They were almost a 100 yards from the house.
“Did you know it was going to be outdoors?” she asked Stephen. “Yea, I guess they mentioned it,” he replied. “What difference does it make?” “I gotta go to the bathroom,” she reminded him.
“Well, just walk up to the house. There’s path lit by lanterns,” he said, pointing. Another spasm hit Ellen and she felt a spurt of hot pee flood her crotch. She regained control, but now she was starting to panic. They walked through the gateway and were greeted by the hosts. Ellen pressed her thighs together as she greeted them. The reception line was blessedly short and Ellen quickly headed for the house, leaving Stephen happily talking to his friends. Ellen had walked around a high hedge and had gone about 10 steps when she saw him.
“Oh, lordy, it’s Uncle Freddie,” she said softly. Freddie was not really her uncle, but her late father’s business partner. She had known him all her life. He was long retired and now in his mid–80s, but still good looking at 6 feet 4 inches, although he had become increasingly deaf.
“Maybe her won’t see me,” she thought to herself. She heard him call her name as he started towards her.
“Shit! Too late,” she said under her breath.
Freddie hugged her, kissed the top of her head and began talking while holding her left hand tightly. She was trapped. She stepped back and he pressed forward, so that now her back was against a 7–foot tall hedge. She tried to tell him she had to go to the bathroom, but he heard nothing and continued to talk. It was then she felt the surge from her overfull bladder, and was helpless to stop it. The hot pee poured from her, soaking her panties, spreading through her panty hose, then heading downward, warming her thighs and legs and finally her feet as it poured toward the lawn. Ellen stood there silent and petrified, afraid to move, as her weary bladder emptied itself.
Freddie droned on about something, looking right over her and never sensing her wet accident. She felt a wave of relief, almost euphoria as the pain subsided and the hot pee engulfed her lower body. She looked around, fearing she might be making a scene, but no one noticed. With her back to the hedge, Freddie in front of her and the generally dim light, especially at ground level, Ellen realized no one knew what she had just done. A smile spread across her face.
“I’ve just totally peed myself in the midst of the most important garden party of the season and no one knows,” she thought to herself.
Freddie seemed to wind down and she said some pleasantries to him, and then headed for the house and the bathroom. There she would ditch the pantyhose, clean herself up, dry her panties with a hair dryer and head back to the party. The accident made Ellen even angrier with Stephen. She would get totally drunk and do whatever she damn well pleased. She grabbed a glass of wine from a tray as she headed back into the garden. The night was young and anything was possible.
Within minutes Ellen hooked up with her friend Sandy. In next the hour, the two women talked and laughed and consumed numerous glasses of wine. Both were soon intoxicated, dizzy and desperate for a pee. Ellen had told Sandy about her wet accident.
“I don’t think I can make it all the way to the house again,” Ellen said, looking at the brightly lit house several hundred feet away. Sandy started to stand, wobbled, and then grabbed the chair for support.
“Jeez, I don’t know if I can stand,” Sandy replied. “And I really gotta go bad,” she added.
“Let’s go behind the hedges at the edge of garden,” Ellen suggested. They helped each other up and wobbled toward the darkness at the edge of the garden, both trying to keep their thighs together against the relentless pressure from their bladders. Both women were leaking into their panties by the time they squatted on the dark side of a hedge, peeing on the lawn and listening to two men talking on the other side of the hedge.
Both women grabbed still another glass of wine on their way back from their pee break. They found another bench in a corner of the garden and were happily – and quite drunkenly –– loudly laughing and gossiping when Sandy’s husband appeared and hustled her off. As she sat there alone, Ellen realized two things: One, she was hopelessly inebriated and could not possibly stand up and, two, she really had to pee again.
Walking up to the house was out of the question. She was having trouble focusing on what to do when nature took over. In fact, at first Ellen didn’t even comprehend that was she was peeing, soaking her panties and flooding her cocktail dress. It was the sound of the liquid splattering on the paving stones beneath the bench that alerted her to what she was doing. But it didn’t matter, since she had totally lost control.
She relaxed, unable to do more, when she noticed Stephen had approached and was standing in front of her. He saw the growing puddle beneath her and reacted. “For Christ sake, Ellen, you’re wetting yourself!” he said. When she didn’t respond, he angrily added, “And you’re drunk!”
Stephen yanked her up and mostly carried her to the valet station, where he recovered the car. Before he dropped her into the passenger seat, he carefully spread a towel retrieved from the back of the car on it.
Ellen passed out immediately and remembered nothing of the drive home until they were about 20 minutes from their house. She awoke suddenly, her brain still in a daze, and it took her a few seconds to comprehend where she was. She looked at Stephen, who was focused on his driving and was obviously still upset. Even in her groggy state, Ellen knew that asking him to stop to let her pee was out of the question.
So she relaxed, letting the warm pee flow out of her and again soak her crotch, her dress and, now, the towel beneath her ass. It felt damn good and she smiled as she thought about it.
By: R.D. Winston