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Victoria Super Pisser



Maybe I have lived a charmed life despite my tiny bladder, or maybe is has been a combination of experience, skill, planning and sheer will-power that has enabled me to get through life without a really serious, public wetting incident, the sort of thing that nobody could possibly mistake for anything except me having lost control and totally pissed my knickers. I have had enough close shaves, but until this year I have always managed to more or less cover up any indiscretions from my bladder. Eventually, however I suppose, circumstances had to conspire against me, as you will read below.

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The Carnival Procession (or when I finally ran out of luck.

This year, as part of a plan to become more involved in the local community, my school had a float in the local carnival procession.
The Parents Association provided the truck, and various classes in our school contributed to the display. The display theme was chosen to have as many children involved as possible without spending too much money.
Two teachers were also on the float to keep control of the kids, but I had done my bit. The Parents Association provided the truck, and various classes in our school contributed to the display. The display theme was chosen to have as many children involved as possible without spending too much money.
Two teachers were also on the float to keep control of the kids, but I had done my best not to get involved, only reluctantly agreeing to assist in getting the float ready. The procession was on a Saturday afternoon, forming up in an industrial estate car park outside the town, going all round the town centre for about an hour and a half and ending in the public park and fair ground the other side of town. Marion and I had lunch in a nearby pub and then walked to the starting point. In theory there should not have been much for us to do; all the children had been told to come wearing their costumes, so it should have been a few last minute repairs and see them on their way. Instead, when we arrived there was a minor panic going on. Firstly, nobody had realised there were no loos at the start, (maybe they should have had me on the organising committee, because I would certainly have checked this in advance,) so the girls that needed a wee had to be packed into two cars and driven to the nearest public loo, while the boys had to manage against a wall. Then, far worse, one of the teachers riding on the float had not turned up because one of her children had had an accident. We had to have two teachers on the float and to my dismay, I had been nominated as the replacement, because I was the only one there who could fit into her mermaid costume. This was a flesh coloured body top and a tail that was laced up round my waist, and because I was a bit smaller than Linda, I could wear this over my clothes. I suggested I should take my jeans and shirt off, meaning I would have find somewhere private, like a loo, to change in, but there wasn't time to do this, nor would I be able to walk anywhere when I had the tail on. Of course, my real intention in suggesting this was to get in a loo for a wee, because after two glasses of lager in the pub, I wasn't going to risk getting on the float unless my bladder was completely empty. Marion was helping me change, and even though she knew all about my bladder capacity, she was a bit surprised when I told her I had to have a wee before I dressed up.
"Where Niccy?" she asked, "there's nowhere near here and you only went in the pub about ten minutes ago."
I know that Marion loves to see people, particularly women, desperate and while she might not deliberately get me, her closest friend, really desperate, there are times when she does not seem to be very helpful finding me a loo. "Marion, surely you know what I'm like by now. I've got to have a wee before I get on that float. I've just had two lagers and I dare not get on that float without being completely empty. There's nowhere else, I'll just have to go at the back of the car park."
With a shrug of mock exasperation, Marion followed me and then stood guard while I crouched behind some parked cars and squeezed every drop of wee out of my bladder. It was obvious what I was doing, but rather that than end up desperate on the float. I got over being shy about anyone seeing me either going to a loo or behind a bush years ago. When I started getting into my costume, I found that the tail part was so tight that I could not walk anywhere. I had to get up on the float, take my seat, and then pull on the tail, and Marion lace me up from behind. My feet were tucked into the fins, and I really did feel like a fish out of water. Marion wished me good luck and said she would get the car and drive round to meet me at the finish.

Our float was ready on schedule, but we were well back in the procession so there was some delay before we were on the road, then it wasn't too long before our steady progress was interrupted, first with a series of short stops, then the procession ground to a complete halt. Rumour was that one of the floats near the front had broken down and was blocking the road.
By chance we had stopped almost outside one of the few proper public loos left in our town. (By proper, I mean a solid brick building with free facilities for both genders, not one of the modern unisex monstrosities that are usually broken.) Seeing the loo immediately prompted some of our kids to decide they needed a wee, so Janet ,the other teacher, not immobilised by her costume, supervised this, and we were not the only float to take advantage of this unplanned break, letting people make up for the lack of loos at the start. This was fine for all of them, but no good for me, completely stuck in my mermaid costume, and as you might have guessed, suddenly feeling the need for a wee. With at least an hour more of the procession, it was almost essential that I get into this loo, and I was going to ask Janet to unlace me as soon as she had all the kids back on the float. I ought to have known better than to put this off, because as soon as the first wave of kids were back, another group had decided they wanted to go, and by the time all of these had finished the procession was starting to move again, and I had lost my chance of a wee.

Well, I didn't want to go too badly, and I thought (hoped) that if I crossed my legs hard for a bit, it might go away. Then I found out how restricting my costume really was. I couldn't cross my legs! The tail part had been designed to be worn with just shorts under it, and I was wearing jeans, which made it so tight, right to my ankles, that there wasn't enough room to be able to move my legs at all, particularly with my feet jammed in the tail fins. This was very, very worrying, because when I need a loo, I need all the help I can get holding my wee back. What was worse, as soon as I realised what a problem I had, I wanted a loo much more urgently. I really was in a jam. The procession was moving again, no chance of getting to the loo now, and no way that I could use any of my normal techniques for easing the strain on my bladder. All I could do was to clench myself shut inside and hope that the urge did not get any worse.

There are two things I try to do when I want a loo; one, do everything possible to force my wee back, such as knot my legs, sit on my foot, even holding myself if no-one is looking, and two, find some diversion to take my mind off my bladder and make time pass quicker. On that carnival float, in that dreadful mermaid's costume, I could not do any of these. The best I could manage was to press my knees together and tense my wee holding muscles, and there was nothing to take my mind off the rising urgency between my legs. The loudspeakers on the float were playing pop music loud enough to prevent normal conversation, and there were only children near me, all far too excited to want a conversation with their teacher. I tried to convince myself that we would stop again, and there would be another chance of a loo, but that was really wistful thinking, because I knew there were no more public loos close to the route.
I sat there, trying to divert my attention from my wee as best I could, clenching myself shut, moving about on my seat, trying to find a position that took some of the strain off my bladder, trying to make enough slack in the costume that I could cross my legs, and not being very successful at either. Half an hour later, as our part of the procession was entering the town centre, I was really struggling to holding back my wee. Imperceptibly my need to go had been increasing until it had reached the point when it was becoming really difficult to holding it back any longer. I was squeezing my bladder outlet t I did something more positive to holding it back. The problem was, what could I do?
Despite all my struggles and squirming, I could not get enough room in my costume tail to cross my legs, certainly not to get the tight twist that I needed to control my wee. There was no hope of being able to sit on my foot, and it wasn't even possible to holding between my legs. Again the wretched costume was so tight that there wasn't enough slack to get my fingers where I needed them, all I was doing was making it tighter across my bladder and making me want to go even more.
Because things were getting really desperate, I even tried to slide my hand down inside the costume from the waist, but it was laced up so tightly that this was impossible. All I did was apply more pressure to my bladder, which was already very fragile, and came within an ace of wetting my panties. Fighting to holding on, I wrapped my arms across my poor, bursting bladder, and leaned right forward, tensing my whole body in a desperate attempt to regain control. I just about made it; it felt as if I stopped my wee about a millimetre from my panties, and I dared not relax very much after that, because I was only just in control.
I was absolutely desperate for a wee, and I would have been prepared to go just about anywhere if I had been able to. If it hadn't been for my costume, I would have jumped off the float to find a loo, either asking in a shop, or knocking on someone's front door, or, if the worst came to the worst, just squatting behind the hedge in somebody's garden. I was willing to go literally anywhere, however public, so long as I didn't do it in my panties. The trouble was, of course, if I had been able to get off the float I would have been able to sit on my foot or holding between my legs, and I would not have been in such a panic. As it was, I estimated I had about another half hour to somehow holding back my wee with no way of helping my poor overworked bladder muscles.
'You will just have to hold on a bit longer, then you can go to the loo'.

How many times had I heard that since I had started teaching, and how many times had I told one of my children exactly that, and, somehow, they had always managed to wait. Well, now I just had to tell myself exactly the same thing, and being an adult, I had absolutely no excuse for not being able to holding on, except that I had probably the smallest bladder on the planet, and I was stuck in a stupid fancy dress so I could not even cross my legs. No excuses! I told myself firmly, Niccy, you have just go to wait! Do you really want half the school and their parents to see you in wet jeans? The implications of not being able to wait were awful, so somehow I just had to holding it. As if to compound my misery, the procession, that had been moving steadily, slowed right down, and then kept stopping. Never long enough to contemplate getting off, and nowhere near a loo anyway. I was going almost frantic trying to holding back my wee, tensing all my holding muscles as hard as I could, hands clasped under my legs, pressing them harder together, I was doing my absolute best to holding on. I don't think I have ever had to try so hard for so long to wait, literally using every ounce of my strength, and I managed to hold out for what seemed like half a life-time. The trouble was, I was wanting to go more and more, and gradually I could feel I was coming to the point when I was going to lose control. I felt so helpless I was almost crying with frustration. I was absolutely desperate for a wee, fighting with all my strength to holding on, and I knew that if only I could do something like cross my legs or holding myself, I would be able to wait. Instead I was trapped in this dreadful costume that could have been designed to make me wet myself. For about five minutes (it seemed more like five hours!) I managed to hang on, right on the brink of letting go, thinking every second I was going to wet my panties and them, somehow, just holding it back. By then I was sitting on my hands, tightly gripping my bum, as this seemed to do something to help me holding back my wee, and I was willing to try anything if it could stop me wetting my pants. But eventually something gave way inside me, and despite trying so hard I groaned with the effort, I felt a trickle of wee escape into my panties, then seconds later, a much more serious leak, and I could feel the warm wetness between my legs and round my bum. I gasped out an involuntary "No!" and the shock of what I had done helped me clamp myself shut again. I had my eyes shut, my whole body tensed and quivering with the effort I was making to contain my wee. I have never, never, tried so hard to wait, I was trying so hard it hurt, but nothing mattered except keeping my wee back. I was willing to suffer anything except the indignity of wetting myself in public.
I managed to hold out a bit longer, and we were actually in sight of the park entrance where the procession ended before I lost control again. Maybe my bladder was exhausted, but this time it was a much more serious series of dribbles with at least one fairly major leak. My jeans were really wet between my legs, my bum was soaked and I could feel a wet patch on the back of my costume. Another huge effort, and I got myself under control again, and held on until we were in the park and it was nearly over, then more wee trickled out, and I could feel it soaking through my costume.
As soon as our float stopped I was frantically signaling to Marion to get onboard and rescue me, but she didn't realise how urgently I needed her help, and stopped to help some of the children climb down. At last she was on the float, but not before I had leaked some more wee, and I was so wet that it was flooding the seat. "Quick Marion! Please get me out of this costume. I'm absolutely desperate, I must get to a loo quickly. It's so bad I'm wetting myself, I cant wait, I'm doing it in my panties!"
I was almost in tears, so desperate and so ashamed of what had happened, and so completely helpless to do anything until she unlaced the costume. I'm not sure if Marion realised quite how desperate I was, because she didn't seem to be undoing the costume with the frantic urgency that I wanted her to, and I could not stop more dribbles of wee leaking into my jeans, though I was trying with every ounce of my strength to holding on somehow. As soon as I felt the lacing loosen, I was pushing my hand inside the costume and pressing between my legs, at last able to get control of my bladder. Marion was trying to pull the costume off me, but all I was concerned about was keeping my hand between my legs and managing to holding back the rest of my wee. It was only as she finally dragged the costume down to my knees that she felt how wet it was, and then saw the huge wee stain on my jeans. "Niccy, you really have pissed yourself! I didn't realise you were this bad!"
At last she pulled that wretched mermaid's tail off me, and I could cross my legs as well as holding myself, and I was regaining some semblance of control over my bladder. "Oh Marion, I've been desperate for ages, and I couldn't do anything to holding it back, I couldn't sit on my foot, holding myself, or even cross my legs. I just could not hold it back, I really couldn't avoid wetting myself. Quickly, I must get to a loo before I completely break down and wee everywhere."
Now I was holding myself, I had stopped weeing, but I was still desperate, and I wasn't going to be able to last very long. Marion had already located the loos, guessing that I would need one as soon as I arrived, and I was going to have to walk through the carnival crowds to get there, with the back of my jeans soaked almost to the knees, and I was having to holding between my legs to prevent wetting myself any more. The thought of how many children, parents, teachers, whoever, would see me in that state was horrifying, and there was almost certainly going to be a queue as well. I seriously considered simply squatting by the wheel of the float and going there, but there really was no shelter at all for that. Marion, far more capable of logical thought that I was, had the answer, get to the car as quickly as possible and drive to my flat, where I could wee and clean up in private.
I behaved like a desperate child, holding between my legs and running all the way to the car, Marion following as closely as she could to try to cover my wet behind. I was virtually doubled up in the passenger seat, legs twisted in a knot, both hands pressing between my legs, frantically trying to holding back my wee, sobbing with desperation, while Marion drove like a lunatic to get me home. Luckily there was a parking spot right outside, and, not bothering to lock the car, Marion ran to open the door while I staggered after, holding myself with both hands but still not able to prevent more wee trickling down my legs. In the loo at last, I struggled to peel down my wet jeans and panties, unable to avoid another, minor, leak of wee as I anticipated the relief to come. Then, oh how wonderful it felt! I was sitting on the loo and relaxing, at long last letting my wee pour out. I was squirting my wee out as fast as I could, and of course my bladder was not very big anyway, so in less that half a minute it was all over. I was left with an aching bladder, soaking jeans and panties, and the shame of wetting myself in public. All I wanted to do was to clean up and hide away, but Marion insisted that as soon as I was cleaned up, I put on another, similar, pair of jeans, and go back to the carnival. She was right of course, as she usually is, because being seen walking round in dry jeans would mean that anyone who had only caught a glance of me in my wet ones would hopefully begin to doubt what they saw. I got some odd looks from both children and teachers, but no-one ever actually said anything, perhaps because they could not believe that a school teacher would have actually wet herself in public?
Poor Marion was in a turmoil all the afternoon, because she could imagine how awful I must feel about wetting myself so publicly, yet he couldn't help being incredibly turned on by me having been so desperate, and wanting to hear every detail on my agony on the float. We resolved our problems, and deadened my shame, by drinking two bottles of Chardonnay that evening, when I made Marion drink several glasses of water as well and then wait the whole time without even crossing her legs, so she would know what I had suffered. The wine soon helped me overcome my inhibitions and I gave her a minute by minute account of the afternoon, with demonstrations, as my bladder filled up.

Nicola Steel.

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