Chapter 1: The Five Sigma Event
Anastasia’s eyebrows furled as she erased the last word written on her paper. She corrected the error and resumed scratching down the notes from the dry erase board up front. She crossed her legs.
This is worse than usual. She thought, her crossed leg beginning to bob. Brought it on myself, though. Shouldn’t have peed so early. Or better yet, shouldn’t have drank so much.
Ana put the pencil down and listened to the teacher of the final class of the day begin to drone on with his closing ‘summarization lecture.’ Today was, for the most part, the picture of normalcy for her: boring notes, boring lecture, and a bladder fuller than she would willingly admit in conversation. But she had to admit that today was worse. Every few moments her body squirmed as if her desk were a lumpy couch with busted springs, yet each twitch and nervous gyration further agitated the throbbing balloon pressed tight against her jean’s waistband.
I know better than to drink that much in the morning. She stifled a sigh. But I was thirsty. My mouth was dry, and I barely even had to rush when I got up. It even took me a few seconds to get the stream started. Normally I’m waddling to the toilet like a 5 year old, piss clipping the edges of my underwear as I yank’em down. She stifled the bobbing of her foot and crossed her legs a bit tighter. Damn it. I guess it’s better this way. Gotta piss like a racehorse, but at least I’m not dehydrated.
She almost laughed. Definitely not dehydrated.
She’d only drank one additional glass of water more than usual, but that had been more than enough to disrupt her routine. She always peed right before lunch and then held it the rest of the day, because she hated having to use the bathroom at school and wasn’t willing to do it twice in one day if there was any possible way to avoid it.
Doesn’t help I drank so much at lunch. She said, mildly chastising herself. Had to ask to go to the toilet fifteen minutes into fourth period and still barely managed to get my panties out of the way in time. So it looks like I’ve got an extra forty-five minutes of holding tacked on to my schedule --and I’m practically dribbling by the time I get home as it is. She uncrossed her legs and pressed them tightly together, one beginning to bob rapidly a moment later. …And what’s the first thing I do when I get to lunch? Drink a bunch of water. She had to stop herself from smiling. The strange thrill that ran through her at the conclusion of that thought was a guilty one.
I’m not gonna have an accident, though. She went on, thinking these words almost as if they were a command to herself. And if I have a little trouble keeping it all in, my panties are cotton -the faded purple briefs, I think; the ones with the bright blue waistband and those little cartoonish cat heads sprinkled all over the them, like large dots. A bit… childish, but they’ve got an extra thick gusset, so unless I have a really major leak, I’ll be fine. Blue jeans, too. They’ll definitely show, her cheeks darkened the slightest bit at the thought, but it’ll take a pretty good amount of pee to be noticeable. And it would have to burst out too, and maybe run down my leg. It’d take twice as much with dribbles, cause the denim would slowly fill up and the mark would spread between my legs first. Unlike other fabrics, like… corduroy. She shuddered from an old memory. Gotta remember to be extra careful in corduroy.
A few minutes of lecturing passed when Ana suddenly stopped kicking her leg. Wave…. She thought, her thighs tightening and air filtering into her tense lungs. Oooooh…. She moaned internally. I feel like it’s gonna start spraying out.
Her dimples twisted inward and her toes curled. Maybe I should go. I can definitely hold it until the end of class –there’s only like five minutes left— but home is… a long walk.
She stole a glance downward. Her nubile, squarish hips squirmed in her seat and her thighs, pushed up fat and flat from the unyielding polypropylene desk chair beneath, rubbed against each other with a steady monotony, like one of those drinking duck desk toys that bobs in and out of a container of water. Really gotta pee~ She partially sang the last word in her thoughts. Gotta go, gotta go….
When the class finally came to an end, Ana collected her dull #2 pencil, the grinded down pink eraser opposite it, and the notes she’d meticulously forced into existence despite the big, yellow elephant in the room. She bent down to grab her backpack: her eyes widened and she paused for an imperceptibly small moment, barely longer than a blink. Almost leaked….
For Ana, ‘almost leaking’ when this full meant one, or two, or three droplets slipping out from her lips and dappling the colored fabric covering her crotch. This was opposed to ‘actually leaking,’ which meant something like a stifled gasp and a spreading warmth as that crotch-covering fabric grew a bit heavier with saturation.
Walking out of the classroom and through the hordes of other students left her again conflicted. Despite her doubts during class, she’d never actually planned on stopping to use the girl’s restroom. At this time in the day, it always smelled of cheap perfume applied like bath water by future harlots and of stale urine from where droplets of pee had splattered and dribbled on the floor and on the sides of the toilets and sometimes, somehow even on the walls or the toilet paper, and been left to stew in the congealed, isolated air. But now, on her feet, the full weight of a full bladder pressing down on long belabored muscles, she found herself questioning her original plan.
…It’s a long walk home, and every step makes my bladder feel like it’s gonna pop.
Ana looked longingly at the bathroom as she passed it. It was one of her least favorite things, needing to abandon her plans and use the little girl’s room, all because she couldn’t hold it long enough to make the final stretch home. There’s always a ton of people and sometimes even a wait to get into the stall. The seats are dirty and everyone can hear me peeing –and I usually start peeing immediately, which is kind of embarrassing, and I already know I’m going to pee a lot.
She bit her bottom lip and pressed on past the bathroom. I have to pee bad. Like, really bad. But… I can make it home. Panties might get a little messed up, but that’s what panties are for, right? I can just change into clean ones when I get home. As long as it doesn’t get on my pants enough to show, I got nothing to worry about.
She adjusted her backpack in a motion to signify that her resolve was steeled and the debate was settled. The motion made her bladder throb, sending a pleasant feeling radiating through her body. God, I gotta piss so bad. She repressed a smile. I wonder how bad the micro-leaks have been. I’ll probably have a few on the walk, just hope I don’t have any major ones.
Leaks could be anywhere from drips, to dribbles, to major leaks, and could lead to some so-called ‘leaks’ which were catastrophic. Micro-leaks, however, were those tiny bits of urine which slipped out without her noticing, without feeling and typically without leaving a wet spot she could feel when she moved. They usually only appeared when she was holding her piss in for a long period, and they were decidedly worse when she was up and moving around.
I’d bet money there is a wet spot down there. Maybe not as big as the one from fourth period, but, I did drip a little before I asked to go, so that’s to be expected. She couldn’t feel any moisture, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Usually when she got back from school, provided she didn’t have any larger leaks or an ‘almost moment’ that obscured it, there would be a small wet patch on her panties nearly the length of her index finger and about double the width, entirely from micro-leaks.
Her natural juices played a part in this, but they left a different, uniquely textured wet spot, and it usually wasn’t as large. There were, however, days where her mind seamlessly weaved in and out of private fantasies involving her crush, Alex. On these days, she’d grind her legs and restlessly rub her butt against the deep blue polypropylene below, not satisfied until she felt the faint sensation of cooled, moist cotton or nylon adhering to her genitals like glue.
Wow, this is… bad. Each step jostled her bladder and sent a jolt through her tiny frame. As usual, it was a conflicting feeling: both maddeningly frustrating and orgasmically pleasant. Really wish I would have worn a liner or something. At least I took the cotton panties today. Her eyes widened a bit as she stole a glance down at her own tight blue jeans. Lace probably would have been… a problem.
Ana sighed anxiously after another minute of walking. Despite already hustling, she forced herself to go faster. Why is it getting worse~? I haven’t drank anything since lunch… but….
I feel like I could end up bursting on the sidewalk.
She didn’t even have a chance to blush at the thought. Her lips curled into a tight frown immediately after thinking it.
Crap, wave….
It took every fiber of her being to keep her already slipping muscles from giving out under the pressure of the sloshing piss in her bladder as she maintained quick, sharp steps on the unbending, concrete sidewalk. Her frown intensified with each resolve-testing step, and her outlook grew dimmer every time the urine in her bladder pounded at the compressed tube that led to her panties directly.
Dribble…
She flinched and her walking slowed down for a moment, while she reasserted ‘control.’ Oh my God. Crap! That… wasn’t just a drop or something. I just, like, pissed a little. My panties are wet. Like for-real wet.
She bit down anxiously on her lower lip and her blond, furry ears started to flatten out against her head. Crap, crap, crap… I don’t think it’ll show. I highly doubt that was a big enough leak. Not through the cotton; not through these cotton panties. They’re thick. They can hold a lot… right?
I really hope they didn’t overflow.
But, like, either way, I need to get home. I need to get home now or…. Her frown reached Norwegian depths. Doesn’t matter. Just… need to hurry up. Her trembling lungs emitted a quick, shallow sigh as she took stock of where she was. She cursed under her breath when she realized it --she’d not even gotten halfway home.
The urge softened a bit after the leak. It allowed her to get another quarter of the walk out of the way before the waves became major again. She pushed through them until she could see the intersection that marked the final quarter, but right as it came into view, she had another severe wave, which forced an additional droplet of urine through her tense, fluttering muscles and into her light purple cat panties with the growing dark spot in the center.
Don’t pee your panties. Don’t pee your panties. Don’t pee your panties…!
She was frantic by the time she arrived at the intersection. The light had just turned from green to red, meaning that she had to wait the entire cycle to cross. Standing still would have made her lower muscles open up like a hose faucet: a slow stream would burst out and rapidly accelerate as the knob unwound, until she heard the water surging through her lips and into her clothes and heard the splatter of it on the sidewalk. It meant a full-blown accident in an extremely conspicuous place, so she paced back and forth, and, when that stopped helping, she danced around. The pacing hadn’t been too bad; it was subtle, steady, almost charming in a way. The dancing around, however, was a boorish, childish prance, like a young deer circling its mother in excitement. The quick, feminine little hops from foot to foot, and the aggrieved leaning of her torso forward to keep the pressure of her light body off her pulsating bladder, and the rubbing of her thighs in fervent, stuttering desperation --together, it all screamed ‘I’m about to have an accident.’ Her cheeks burned with humiliation and she audibly whimpered prayers that nobody sounded off their horn, cause the shock of such a sudden noise might make her burst.
I screwed up. I’m about to have a freakin’ accident in front of like, a hundred people…. All I gotta do is make it home. Even if I don’t get to the toilet in time, I’ve at least gotta get inside. I don’t want Vikkie or mom to know, but… I’ll die if a neighbor sees me!
She was impressed with herself when she managed to hold it until the light turned green. She’d lost only one or two droplets, and even those she’d been too frantic to care about. She’d also, much to her own astonishment, managed to do all this without holding herself. Her hands were near her privates in case of an emergency, and the positioning of them on her thighs –which they grabbed and pawed at incessantly—didn’t leave much doubt to any onlookers as to where she really wanted them, but it was at least a bit less shameful than holding her crotch and dancing around like a child.
I’d rather I didn’t have to do either, but I will not do both.
By the time Ana got to her block, she’d dribbled a few more times, but there came a point in her desperation where dribbles essentially became like frequent micro-leaks –no sensation when coming out, and only detectable by sudden sensations of warmth and by a growing, damp perimeter. When she became numb to dribbles, she knew she was on the verge of a major accident, and, because of the numbness, it was impossible for her to know just how many times she’d dribbled. All she knew was that all the thick cotton by her genitals was sodden, because every step made the weighted fabric rub against her.
Oh crap, crap, crap, I gotta pee. I really gotta pee. I think I’m gonna piss myself. I’m seriously gonna do this. It’s seriously gonna happen. I’m just… it’s so close. It’s right there. I can’t relax at all. If I relax even a little I’m gonna-
Pst
She came to a dead stop and shamelessly grabbed herself between the legs, no longer caring if she looked like a child. Her mouth was agape in a painfully brash way, and had there been any onlookers watching through their windows, they’d have been able to tell immediately what had happened.
Shit!
With a herculean effort, she stopped the stream. And Ana knew that’s precisely what it had been: a stream. Pressing down on her pussy and locking her legs together had been enough to stop the bulk of the pressure immediately, but there were two issues: the first was how much piss had managed to escape with that initial release. She hadn’t heard the hiss like she usually did when it happened, but she felt it. It had felt like a vibration, and then a shockingly stark warmth against her damp crotch. The second problem was that her muscles were numb. So numb that she couldn’t completely tell when the stream stopped. Having stopped the bulk of it hadn’t meant it’d completely been cut off, like someone crimping a hose. Sometimes there’d be a little secondary trickle that lingered on.
Ana took it on experience and intuition that a slow stream had continued to saturate her panties for at least a second longer, if not two. This wouldn’t cause nearly as much damage as the initial blast, but because it followed up enough urine to overflow her panties, it had likely overflowed too, to some extent.
I… pissed. I pissed a lot. It has to be…
She pulled her hands away, and in an extremely conspicuous motion, looked down at her own crotch. One of her hands had damp fingertips, and to her horror, having peeked just barely into view was a wet spot to the left of her crotch, against her thigh. She’d been trying to stand as straight as possible, in hopes the leak would have spread against the denim evenly, but she’d been leaned the tiniest bit forward, which she knew must have had directed some of the pee back. To be seeing a mark on the front of her meant that, at the very least, there was a prominent wet spot between her legs, and possibly even some dapples visible from behind.
Anastasia took a deep breath and forced herself forward. The urge had subsided a bit, at least the immediate, gotta-go-right-now urgency did, but she knew from experience this would be short lived. For most people, this would have essentially been an accident, but for Ana, it was a final warning. It was a final chance to avoid complete embarrassment.
Each step was a reminder of what happened. Each reminder renewed the redness of her cheeks and the zeal in her step once again. Within a few moments, she felt another wave mounting. Unlike the previous ones, it didn’t get as intense, but it also didn’t let up. It just kept growing and growing.
This is it. I gotta get home. I can… I can still salvage this. A little. At least a little…!
Dribble…
She flinched. She hadn’t been expecting it. She hadn’t lost it from a momentary flux in her control. It had just come out on its own accord without any say from her muscles.
When Ana finally saw her house in the distance, she felt an instant of relief, and immediately after, a jolt from her bladder that led directly into an insurmountable pressure that forced her to let out a large dribble to keep herself from losing complete control. She cursed and hurried forward.
I’m so close, I’m so close, oh my God, it’s right there…!
Dribble…
Come on, come on, don’t come out! Don’t come out yet! Ana put a shameless hand between her legs and started to fervently jog.
Drip… drip… drip… … drip… drip…. Drip… … dribble … drip… drip
Almost every step forced a little more out. Droplet after droplet, interspersed with the rare dribble. By the time she got to her porch, she’d dripped enough so that the urine had likely been bypassing the soaked and dripping cotton of her cat briefs and been going straight to her jeans. She climbed the steps of her porch –shockingly only letting out a couple of droplets in the process—and practically sprinted to her front door.
She danced fervently on the spot and rasped rapidly on the door. It would take too long to find her key, and, as she knew from past experiences, stopping long enough to get the key into the lock would be enough to set an unstoppable wall of pee into motion. At this point, it didn’t matter much, as her porch was screened in, and she was literal seconds from losing complete control anyway. She doubted anyone would see much from a distance through the filter of the screen, but she still preferred to be inside.
Even if it’s a little more to clean, I don’t care! I don’t wanna pee out here!
She went from foot to foot, using one hand to hold her crotch and the other to knock on the door to convey as much urgency as possible.
Drip... Dribble… Dribbllllle
Crap, crap, crap, hurry, hurry, hurry! Come on! Come ooooon!
Dribble…
“Mom! Hurry, please!” She begged. She thought she heard something from the other side, but she wasn’t sure.
Mom, Vikkie, anybody! I don’t care, just get me insiiiiide!
Dribble… … … Pst…
She gasped and felt fresh warmth, this time on her hand.
No, no, no…! Not yet! I’m so friggin’ close, come on!
Pst... Psst…
That’s it. I can’t hold it anymore. It’s going to compl- Ana’s eyes sprang wide when she heard the door unlock. Wait, wait…! A little longer, just don’t burst. My jeans can hold more. I can still get to a toilet, I can still-
Ana’s thoughts were interrupted again. This time by the opening of the door. Or more particularly, by the person who opened it.
It was a sinewy red fox. The last person in the world she wanted to open that door. The last person she wanted to see with dark wet stripes running down the taut denim clinging to her thighs. It was her crush, Alexander.
No…. Not him…. Not… now….
…. …. Psshhhhhrrrrrrrrr….
Ana stared at him, her eyes teary and her mouth quivering with shock and vulnerability. Alexander looked back at her, first with a mixture of mild amusement and concern, likely from what Vikkie or her mom had said to him when and if they’d asked him to open the door. But that faded, and shock took over.
Ana squinted and bit down on her lower lip as warmth exploded out from her crotch. Suddenly, thick cotton panties made no difference. They could have just as well been lacy. She could have just as well been going commando. She watched her legs with astonishment just as Alexander did. She watched as piss surged forward and soaked her blue jeans, and how an accompanying dark spot grew down the insides of her legs.
She knew he could hear it just as she heard it. The hiss hadn’t been present before, but now it was a cacophony that combined with the pitter-patter of the piss that fell directly from her crotch and thighs for want of unoccupied denim to traverse. It seemed to last forever. Several times in the ordeal, with tears in her eyes, she’d flexed her body to try and stop the flow, to try and stop it just long enough to run inside. But she couldn’t. She didn’t know how long she stood there, or for how long she pissed, but when she released enough to stop the stream, the smell of urine hung in the air, and her jeans were drenched, front and back –especially bad on the front, where Alex could see. The porch was soaked with piss that ran and dripped down through the cracks of the old wood. The whole area looked liked someone put an actual hose into Ana’s jeans and turned it on full blast.
The resulting silence felt uncanny.
“Ana… you… Are you-“
She moved past him and ran to the bathroom, crying.
