Samantha's Dream

Samantha stood at the supermarket checkout regretting her decision to do her shopping before going to the toilet. She found herself hopping uncomfortably from foot to foot as her goods were scanned and she packed the shopping into bags. And it didn’t help that the scanner wouldn’t read one of the items, and so the checkout girl had to call the supervisor to sort it out. It was all adding to the time spent waiting, time Samantha was rapidly realising she didn’t have. As she paid and loaded the last of the bags into her trolley she felt a small dribble of pee escape into her knickers. She thought to herself how lucky it was she was wearing a skirt and not jeans. She rushed to her car trying desperately to hold on, threw her shopping in and took the trolley to the trolley park. She thought her knickers were a bit wet, but she wasn’t sure how wet. Straining not to lose control she walked as quickly as she could to the toilets, which luckily were nearby. She was horrified to find all three cubicles in use. As she waited she felt another spurt escape. By now her hand was up her skirt holding herself to try to prevent any more pee escaping. She could tell now that her knickers were very definitely wet. After what seemed like ages one of the cubicle doors opened and a lady who looked like her old headmistress came out. Samantha was in no mood to stop and chat and got in as quickly as possible and locked the door. By this stage Samantha knew it was too late as she was now uncontrollably wetting herself. It was as much as she could do to pull up her skirt and sit down on the toilet and pee through her knickers. Having to take home a pair of wet knickers would be inconvenient, but the relief of at last being able to empty her bladder was far more important.
Suddenly Samantha became aware of something else. She had awoken with a start with the stark realisation that she wasn’t at the supermarket at all, but in her bed. And she was wetting it. Her lacy French knickers were soaked, and so was the bed beneath her. Memories came flooding back of all her childhood bedwetting, which had continued well into her teens. Sleepovers with friends had been out of the question as she was 14 before she grew out of it, and she’d continued to have the odd accident for two or three years after that, especially during her school exams. And yet here she was, aged 21, having just wet her bed again. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath. And then her heart missed a beat with the sudden realisation that she was sharing the bed with Mike, her boyfriend of the last few months. And this was only the fourth or fifth time they’d spent the night together. She felt the wet patch under her. There was going to be no way of hiding it. What on earth would he think?
She heard Mike stir. “Good morning,” he said. “No it isn’t,” she replied, and started to cry. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “I’ve … I’ve … just had an accident … I’ve … I’ve wet my bed,” she blurted out, “I can’t believe I’m such a baby, Oh my god, I’m really sorry.” “Don’t get upset over a little accident,” said Mike, “it’s not the end of the world.” “It is for me, and it’s hardly a little accident, the bed’s soaked. Look,” she said.
Samantha pushed back the quilt and got out of bed. She stood there in her pink knickers, light–coloured on the right side and rather darker on the left. She looked at the wet patch on the sheet. It wasn’t as large as she’d expected it to be, but the reason for that became clear when she pulled back the sheet and realised that it had gone straight down into the mattress. She’d been used to the wet patches being big because the plastic sheet she’d had on her bed had made the wetness spread sideways rather than down. It was two years ago, when she was aged 19 that she had at last plucked up the courage to sleep without the protection. She’d had one accident when she was 18, just after her 18th birthday, and once she had gone a whole year of being dry she felt brave enough. But now she was faced with a soaking wet mattress. She lifted the edge of it up, and realised that the bottom of the mattress was wet as well; and then she realised that she had wet the floor under the bed as well. This was worse than anything she could imagine, and she began to cry again.
Mike came round to her side of the bed and put his arms around her to comfort her. He put his hands down to her wet knickers. “I think these need to come off,” he said, and he pulled them down, revealing her slender bottom and neatly trimmed light brown bush, leaving her standing naked and vulnerable. “I need a shower,” said Samantha, and she headed to the bathroom, turned on the shower and climbed into the bath. Seconds later Mike joined her, his penis standing erect in front of him. He took hold of the soap and began to wash Samantha. He started at her tummy, then worked his way up to her small firm breasts, and then down to the area which she had made wet during her “little” accident. Samantha felt reassured by Mike caring for her like this, although she still felt really embarrassed by the whole thing. But the feeling of Mike gently washing her most private areas made her feel loved. Samantha began to wash Mike, starting with his chest and back, moving down to his buttocks and legs before coming up to his very stiff penis. She took it in her hand and began to stroke it gently back and forth. “Is he hard because of me wetting my bed?” she asked. “He’s hard because I love you and we are naked together,” he answered. She continued to stroke him. “But we’re only naked in the shower together because I wet my bed, and anyway, I saw you were stiff when we got out of bed.” Mike involuntarily answered her question as he shot white fluid all over Samantha’s freshly washed tummy and legs. “So you don’t mind my accident?” she asked. He smiled and kissed her.
Samantha knelt down and kissed his penis, something she had never done before. There was a strange taste, a sort of sweet salty taste. She decided that she would have to try it again later in bed. But that would have to wait until they could actually make the bed and use it again. By that evening the mattress wasn’t yet dry, and so they took the shower curtain down, and put it between the mattress and a clean sheet. “This is what my bed used to feel like,” Samantha confided in Mike. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I used to have a lot of accidents like last night, but it’s three years since my last one.” “With this on the bed it won’t matter if you have another one tonight, will it?” Samantha smiled, and began to kiss the front of Mike’s boxer shorts.
By: Wet Theresa