Going Home

Remember my trip out to Indiana? Well, it takes just as long to drive back home again.
After we got off the bikes we decided to stay the night in town, getting up early the next morning to start the drive home, though we were still gonna split the drive into 2 days. We were in no rush to return to the real world. We were much more interested in playing. We’re good at that.
So the next morning we hit the road. First stop – breakfast.
We’d ridden our bikes over hundreds of miles of hills and eaten our way across an entire state and back again… but we were hungry. We pull into a Cracker Barrel (shoving aside several cars in an effort to find a parking place) and I headed for the door.
Mind you, it’s early in the morning. I’m still half asleep and thinking only of orange juice and eggs. So I have to confess the look on my face was probably pretty blank when OSO called me back and asked me if I wasn’t forgetting something. I hadn’t thought of that package of panties all week and it didn’t occur to me to think of them now. Until he pulled one out and handed it to me.
I was told to march myself into the ladies’ room and pull one on now– before breakfast. Before I was even awake.
So I did, though I didn’t have any clue what he had in mind. He didn’t say anything when I came out. Just ran his hand over my ass to feel for himself that I’d done as he asked.
He didn’t mention it at breakfast. Though he did make sure the waitress kept my water glass topped off. And he didn’t say anything when we got back in the car and headed up the road.
In fact, he didn’t say anything much at all except for our usual chatter and chitchat. No mention of my panties. No mention of wetting or play or being naughty. Nothing.
For a while I was deeply aware of the thick, dry pad pressing against me, high between my legs. But as the miles pushed past it eventually slipped from my awareness and I forgot I had it on. We were on the far side of Dayton, Ohio when we decided to break up the trip with an excursion. The US Air Force has a Flight Museum there, and regardless of one’s opinion of war or the armed forces, this museum is splendid.
OSO had never been to an IMAX theater, so the first thing we did when we walked in the door was getting tickets to the movie on the history of flight. The film was starting right away so we got in line to be seated. That’s when OSO leaned in very close to my ear with his hand on the nape of my neck and told me that I was going to pee myself in this museum. The signal he was going to use to tell me when to pee was going to be to squeeze my neck – very gently, very affectionately. Whenever I felt his hand beneath my hair, gently squeezing my neck, I was to relax and pee my panty.
We walked into the theater. (Mind you, it is after lunch and I haven’t peed since I got up that morning.)
I hardly remember that film at all. Even now, all I can recall of it was his hand draped around my shoulder. I remember every single motion his hand made. I can tell you how many times he squeezed my shoulder. How often he stroked my neck. I can tell you about his playing in my hair. I remember how he pulled me to him to cradle my head in his shoulder.
And I can tell you precisely when the credits started to roll and he squeezed my neck.
At first I was caught off guard. I was so hypnotized by the caring and affection of his hands that I forgot the signal.
Then he squeezed again.
There were people all around me– families sitting to my left, a couple of elderly folk right in front. The row behind was a scout troop.
The house lights came on and everyone stood up.
And still we sat, my head cradled in his shoulder with his hand at the nape of my neck, gently squeezing.
And I was totally freaking out.
My spine was rigid; my hands locked together like white knuckled claws. This was not happening. Oh no. This was NOT happening. Not here. Not with all these people around. Good lord. What would they think if they knew?
I turned to look at him and he asked if I’d peed for him yet. I know my face was beet red and chagrined when I shook my head no. I think the problem was my posture. Leaning as I was into his shoulder had me clamped pretty tight between my thighs. I’m sure the nerves had nothing to do with it.
He tut–tutted me, shook his head and we stood to walk out with the crowds.
On the stairs, in the thick of all those people, he squeezed my neck again.
This time I was trying. Honest, I was. But I was walking. I don’t know if you can pee and walk, but I now know that I can’t. That may be a skill I have to develop, but it sure wasn’t gonna happen on the IMAX theater steps in the Air Force Flight Museum in Dayton, Ohio.
We went to the Information desk to get some guidance, and then took off to see the exhibits. We hadn’t walked very far when he sat me down on a bench, looked me in the eye and said he wanted me to Pee. Now. And I wasn’t to get up until I’d wet my panties.
People surrounded us. They were everywhere. All ages. All sizes. All flavors. Lots of ‘em. And though none of them were paying any attention to me, you could bet a billion dollars if this thin little panty failed me, SOMEBODY was gonna notice. I was as tense as a drum skin. I really did have to go. Bad. It was kinda to that throbbing stage. Not unbearable, but getting close. I was afraid if I did relax that I would lose all control and totally flood myself, soaking the bench, the floor, my skirt, (short denim) and everything.
Then he squeezed my neck and it started.
I was startled. I really hadn’t expected to be able to go, but I did.
Not a lot. I was too nervous. But I did wet my panty. Just a bit.
He asked me how it felt, peeing in the museum. I told him I was so nervous that I hadn’t really been able to pay much attention. I was too focused on whether or not the panty was gonna fail me. On whether or not anyone would know what I was doing. On whether my death by humiliation was imminent.
He got me up, walked me over to one of the exhibits, stood behind me, wrapped his arms around me, and pressed his MASSIVE erection against my ass. While we were standing there learning about the early history of the Wright Brothers, he told me to pee more– now– in my barely wet panty.
I did.
This time I could really feel it. I felt it flow forward and back, tickling and warming everything that was already hypersensitive. I felt the flow continue to move over my labia even after I knew I had shut it off. That was scary. It felt like I was still peeing when I knew I shouldn’t be. I was afraid I’d lost control. And then it all soaked in to the magic desert between my thighs and I relaxed again.
He asked me how it felt and I told him.
He took me to another exhibit, one with huge wooden wind tunnels and people near by, and told me to pee again.
I did.
It was easier this time. Must easier to pee. But much harder to stem the flow. It felt too good. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to pee more. A lot more.
Slowly we moved through the museum, reading the plaques, staring at the exhibits, holding hands, touching each other in those tender ways reserved for lovers, and peeing. My brief was getting heavier and heavier and I was getting more and more aroused. So was he.
Then he leaned into my ear, caressed me gently, and told me to go over and stand beside an elderly gentleman who was reading a plaque. I was to stand there, directly beside this man I’d never seen, close enough to casually brush against him, and I was to pee until I was in danger of flooding my brief.
Of course I thought he was mad. Who on earth would stand directly beside a stranger and piss themselves sopping wet? What if it started running down my legs? What if I lost total control and simply flooded the floor? Oh god. What if, what if, what if…
I was so aroused at this point that I could feel the oozing cream making my warm, wet panty slick. My clit was throbbing with a pounding tattoo. My panty felt heavy, pulling down on my hips, and it was squishy when I walked – or (I suspect) waddled.
OSO pulled me to him, gave me a sweet kiss on the lips, patted my bum, and told me to get on with it. Go pee. Now.
I tried to read the plaque too. I dunno. I guess I thought I should, just to be sociable, you know? But it was a useless effort. I couldn’t focus my eyes. Half of my thoughts were inward, memorizing what was happening below my waist and the other half were on red alert, zooming around the room like it was an air raid drill, halfway to panic that I was going to totally humiliate myself at any moment.
I peed. As slowly as I could, I peed. The flow was heavy and consistent. It moved like liquid fingers forward, up and over my mound, teasing my throbbing clit, licking me like a tongue. And it flowed back, spreading out over my ass. I could feel the flow reach higher and higher up my rear, threatening to spill out, not from the creases in my legs, but over the top of the pad.
And still I peed.
I wanted for all the world to simply squat down where I stood and let loose the gates. But I didn’t. I stood next to that man, with his sports coat and open collared shirt, and I peed until the pad in my brief was bulky and sloppy. I peed slowly so as much as possible would soak in. I peed until I felt the first trickles at the tops of my thighs.
And then I stopped.
The man left and I turned to look at OSO, afraid to move for fear of the silver ribbons I knew would snake down my legs if I squished the pad too much. He came over, gave me a huge hug and a kiss, put his arm around me, and walked me to the Ladies’ room where I slipped off my sloppy plaything and tossed it in the trash.
The tops of my thighs were glistening. I thought of drying them, but didn’t. I wanted to feel my thighs slip across the wet when I walked. I wanted to wear the scent like a new perfume. And I wanted the slicker wet that always follows to keep my thighs wet long into the night.
It was a very good night.
By: Sweet T ( email welcome, just click on the name )