“I may as well be a nun,” I complained to Tammy. “Even the most devote of nuns must have more satisfying sex lives than I do.”
Tammy sniggered. “Somehow, I doubt that although I have seen some videos if nuns are your thing. I’ll send you a few links.”
Tammy was a connoisseur of internet porn. If she hadn’t seen it, it didn’t exist. “Something with a really nice wimple might go down well right now.”
“So… you want a nun who goes down? When’s the last time a nun went down on you?”
“March. That’s when they get released from the convent for spring.” We both laughed. The links arrived. The third one looked very promising. “How sad is a woman’s sex life when it revolves around rubbing off to some random nun porn send to her by her best friend?”
“I’d come and rub you off myself if you weren’t in Berlin.”
“Catch a plane,” I challenged.
“Tempting… but I’m not sure what my husband would think if I snuck off to Berlin to give you a good seeing to.”
“Why sneak? Just tell him.” I swallowed nervously. “Tam? Have you told him about the pee thing?”
“No! He’d be really weird with you every time you came over if he knew it was you who peed in his favourite chair.”
“He’d be really weird with you if he knew you dared me to do it,” I retorted.
“Honestly? I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” There was a pause and I knew that in one of London’s leafier suburbs, Tammy Mills had just spread her legs and touched her pussy.
“Tammy, stop that.”
“Why should I? Danny’s at five-a-side… and you’ve got me thinking about the feel of your pissy little pussy. The taste of it, Clara. Remember what it was like when I spread your legs and licked you? Mmmm, fuck; remember my fingers inside you?”
My pussy quivered with the memory.
“And you were such a good girl, Clara. Not quite a nun but not far off.”
“Hey,” I protested weakly, as my fingers dragged some of the fresh slipperiness up onto my clitoral hood and started rubbing. “It’s not my fault my parents were strict.”
“Strict? You didn’t get the keys to your chastity belt until you were eighteen, and even then you had to borrow it and put it back.”
“I’m still good.”
“We both know that’s not true. Deliberately wetting yourself in Danny’s chair like that changed you. If we were in the Star Wars universe, that was the moment you turned to the dark side of the force.” There was a significant pause. “Clara? You should do something naughty while you’re still in Berlin.”
“Like what?”
“Something piss-related. I’ll send you some links,” Tammy said dreamily. “In the meantime, why don’t you join me in a threesome with Daisy Ridley.”
*****
My session with Tammy had awoken something inside me; it reminded me that I was a sexual being with wants and desires and fantasies of my own. I decided that I’d turn one of those furtive fantasies into a wonderful reality, and in doing so make a kinky video to add to Tammy’s collection.
I was going to deliberately wet myself in public.
Nobody knew me in Berlin; I was in a city where nobody cared what I did. I was invisible on my daily train journey, and it was during that train journey where my mind had so often wandered that one wonderfully wet day, my body followed.
I just couldn’t help myself.
It was an extreme fetish which demanded to be satisfied, especially with Tammy sending me all sorts of filth. It became obsessive – all my wank fantasies featured me peeing myself; my mind filled with horrified faces, watching me as I rubbed my pissy pussy.
The fantasy translated into reality by stages; first before I showered, letting the hot pee spray down my bare thighs as I rubbed frantically at my clit. Then that wasn’t enough and I started wearing yesterday’s knickers as I peed; then it was yesterday’s trousers before I put them in the wash. I filmed myself in the mirror as I pissed myself; as those dark lobes grew around my crotch and spilled down the insides of my thighs… and I sent all the videos of me misbehaving to a thrilled Tammy.
I loved knowing that she knew what I looked like as I did those dirty deeds, and as she sent reciprocating videos, Tammy also got to know how good it felt. But I found my fantasies becoming more extreme. I wanted other people to see me when I wet myself.
To judge me as a dirty pissy whore.
The urge to actually do it grew as fast as those wet patches grew; every time I stood in the bath and pissed myself edged me closer to the point where I had to do it for real as the sexual reward rapidly diminished.
I did it in the garden, where someone could see me.
I did it in the street, in the dark where someone saw me but didn’t know what I was doing; didn’t know that I was pissing myself and didn’t know that I’d be thinking of their face as I masturbated to orgasm again and again over the next few nights.
But I was teasing myself; I knew what I was building up to… and I knew when was the perfect time to do it.
The first time I tried, I chickened-out. I was prepared – my bladder was full to bursting. “I’ll definitely do it,” I promised myself. “Wet myself so that others will be able to see what I’ve done.”
I was so aroused by the imagined feel of the pee running out while I was standing in a busy train that I found my fingers wandering. I’d just have to pee more and more; no point holding it back.
I really needed to pee a lot and began looking down at my trousers, hiding my crotch behind a newspaper. In my mind, I saw my entire pants getting wet with pee and I could feel it running down into my boots as it had done on so many previous occasions. I didn’t know if anyone was looking at me as that first spurt escaped.
Tammy would be so proud.
Then it soaked into the material. I could see it clearly. My eyes darted around the faces in the carriage. Could they see it? Suddenly, I felt so ashamed by the thought of it. I just had to get out – I had to get to the toilet.
I made urgent steps towards the loo. Pee was dripping down my legs but there was nothing I could do, except try and contain the panic. It was hard to make progress because there were so many people.
Luckily the toilet wasn’t occupied. I got in and closed the door against the sour faces belonging to the people I’d shoved out of the way. Suddenly alone, I took a deep cleansing breath and focussed. Alone, the fear and panic dropped away… leaving arousal and excitement.
I’d actually peed myself on the train. I couldn’t believe I had done it, although the evidence was indisputable. I was so horny from having done it that I couldn’t stop my fun just yet.
I had my phone with me and I decided to capture my wet crotch for Tammy. “Hey, Tam. Just thought you’d want an update from your dirty little piss whore. I just pissed myself on the train home.” There it was – pictorial evidence - and I felt proud: that strange, arousing kind of way I did when I translated the naughtiness in my head to the real world.
Suddenly, I was scrabbling my way out of my boots and trousers.
It wasn’t really a decision to pee more; I just had an instinct to go on with my sinful wetting. Standing before the mirror, I peed and peed, assuming various revealing positions for Tammy as I angled my hips to spray my urine across the little cubicle like a ruined rainbow. I was breathing heavily as I played the footage back on the phone, already thinking about how many delicious orgasms Tammy and I would share over this footage.
It was so much pee, running every which way across the rubberised floor as the train rocked. Bracing against the counter, I squatted down with my legs spread and smiled at the angled lens as I completely emptied my bladder. “That’s for you, Tam.”
I sighed happily because it felt so good and so naughty but as soon as I stopped filming, I felt a pang of guilt and began to worry about other people wanting to use the toilet. I was enjoying my own pee so much. But what if someone was already waiting outside?
The excitement faded quickly and I swam back into focus, came back to reality. There was shame and fear – thankfully, it was an enclosed space so there would be no pee running out under the door to expose me.
I cleaned-up as best I could with the newspaper and toilet tissue. It actually worked quite well, and although the floor was still wet, it wasn’t a pissy paddling pool anymore and in any case, I escaped unnoticed.
However, as I walked down the platform home, buzzing with adrenaline, I was determined that I wouldn’t go unnoticed the next time I did something wet.
*****
My heart was pounding out of my chest as I walked down onto the platform clutching an almost-empty bottle of Lucozade in my hand. There was an empty bottle of Smirnoff Ice in the recycling bank on the station’s approach… a bottle whose neck was smeared with my pussy juice, since I’d been so horny at the thought of what I was about to do that I simply had to fuck myself with something.
My pussy tingled at the memory of the hard glass shoulders of the bottle crushing my labia against my pubic bone; I’d taken that bottle as deep and as hard as I could… pushing right to the limits, and now my bladder was straining as I explored its limits.
I’d never been so desperate to pee.
Never.
And as I continued to drink, I was pushing myself beyond all limits.
The train was coming and I was committed. In fact, I wasn’t even going to make the train.
Fuck!
My bladder pulsed, and with that single pulse, I felt a surge in the hot wetness between my legs.
That isn’t pussy juice; that’s pee.
And I was in public, with a train-full of bored faces peering in my direction.
The feeling was so familiar, so comforting that I instinctively grabbed my crotch and rubbed. The sexual fire roared, as if my probing fingers provided oxygen to glowing embers of filth connecting what was going on between my legs and what was in my mind.
My mind… my mind gathered the details of being surrounded by people, hustling past me in their polite Germanic way to be first in the queue as pee ran down the insides of both my thighs.
Was anyone watching?
Could anyone see?
I hoped so.
That thought made me gasp and someone did look; an older gentleman with a white beard and half-moon glasses turned as he folded his newspaper and looked straight at me. Did he see the pervert who had deliberately pissed herself and even now was helplessly masturbating in front of him?
“See me,” I begged, wordlessly. Part of me wanted it to be over; to be in my safe place, with the memory lodged in my brain, ready to provide substance for a spectacular wank. To be on the phone to Tammy. Thoughts of Tammy meant that I held his gaze and peed, just as I had done when she had dared me to empty my bladder in Danny’s TV chair.
I was perfectly prepared, wearing tight black cigarette trousers which were shiny enough to disguise their pee-sodden state; they were tried and tested. However, I was peeing too hard and there was no hiding the golden waterfall cascading between my fingers and onto the concrete between the heels of my trusty barely-there double strapped heeled sandals.
I saw the moment he realised what I was actually doing – actually, two separate realisations - peeing and playing. That big private fantasy of mine was now a shared reality with this random stranger. My head span as my fingers bit into the soft fabric and drove the rough, wet seam into my dripping slit.
This was my chance!
Two rubs and I would actually come. Making no effort to catch the train, I focussed on the eyes watching me, the hands below were clutching the newspaper as might a Germanic warrior of old hold his shield to ward off an attack from the crazy piss-sodden woman openly masturbating in front of him.
