Friday's Wetting

[GuybrushT]

Note: For entertainment

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And now on with the story...

Friday’s Wetting: An Accident at the Office

Guybrush Threepwood

“I heard that humans can get the rabies” said old Gran in a very happy, but puzzled voice at breakfast. I was getting my tie on to go to work, when Grandpa began his morning declaration

“What is that you are wearing again? I hope you don’t have to wear diapers anytime soon. Feels like fruit compôte in your under-drawers and the damn waist-band is so scratchy in the back. I had always had sensitive skin, though. Your father didn’t. Good thing, too. I swear, if I could have passed the buck on that number, I’d have saved a thousand dollars not buying all these sensitive skin products. Special shaving cream, special moisturizer, lip balm, special shampoo, special conditioner--”

“You know, a thousand dollars can’t buy a boat or anything nowadays,” chimed in my grandmother, who probably thought she was flying to the moon by now. It’s not that they are crazy, but they are old enough to have given sanity a run for its money and now it’s mostly a random ingredient to their daily routine. Thankfully, whatever they say, it’s always the same.

“Don’t forget to water the lighthouse!” Grandma said as I passed out the door.

Diapers...sensitive skin. Funny thing is that, well, that’s what I wanted. I’ve always thought of diapers as a regular ho-hum ingredient to pleasure. Meet the world; it’s not so. Oh well, maybe I’ll get old soon. Maybe I’ll move to Hungary and wear nothing but Abena X-Pluses [the kind with the writing down the center] and Hussar Pelisses. Well, I suppose I’d need some boots. No, gaiters– I’m on a budget.

* * *

Work. My pants are kind of scratchy. I think I needed an extra dose of deodorant today. Whatever. Work is...kind of cryptic. The only constant is that it usually runs during the day, but you have to really do the work at night – reading the after-action reports, e-mailing late information, and worrying about the next day. Thankfully, my boss speaks in a sort of 17th-century english and is unusual enough that he seems [apparently] to get along with everyone, or just have a marginal enough understanding of society that he hates us equally, amounting to a sort of generous indifference, which makes our traditional antipathy easy to maintain. I’d swear he got the business handed down to him by blood – otherwise, I don’t know who would employ him. Perhaps he was a completely different person when he was interviewed; being the boss and all, the cost of retiring him might make him hard to drop. Actually, it remains to be seen that he actually thinks he is the boss. Generally, he wanders around in the morning, and then goes to the “library.” While there is a library in the building I work in, I never have seen him there. Perhaps he flies to the Bodelian Library in Oxford ever day at eleven and just hangs out. The man is one thing – rich – oh, sorry; he’s here.

“Speak, thou apparition!”

I smile, hoping he’ll come around.

“Hm...stap me, jaunty, I’ll have no word against ye, I swear– I jest.” His meaty palm grasps mine quite suddenly. I look up, instinctively – it’s moments like this that make or break an employee. He leans down near me. “Make a truce with me...on the love I bore St. Michael.”

During these sorts of intense moments it’s best not to say anything. If anything I’d probably offend him, or something.

“Ah, silent as Peter Simple. I trow you shal weather the foul winds, despight al that ruins the place. You are a loyal man, by Gum!” His hand retracts, and he walks off, mumbling. Honestly, I have no idea.

Good, I think. That went excellently. I think that’s a good sign. Man, I do need to go to the bathroom. I wanted to get out of the house quickly, before I Grandma asked me to do the crossword with her, or Grandpa would tell me I needed to take a day off to fix the dining room table. Those folks always prevail–with their feeble grasp on reality, I don’t understand how they prevail, but they do prevail.

There’s a girl that sits in the next office – well, sort of a demi-cubicle. I can always see her thighs and waist, but not much of the rest of her. It looks like she came in late. Not the traditional skirt to-day. Bike shorts. Mm. And she’s sort of shifting around a bit. Wait a moment. Ah-ha. She comes out of her office for a moment, looking a bit disturbed. Ooh! She cut her hair short. Very cute. She looks right and left, but then goes back in to keep working. Must be an important deadline. Maybe I should play the bad guy.

A short time after, I stride over and see what’s about. I come over to her door.

“So, how’s the work coming? Got all the papers you need for the submission this morning?”

“Look, Dave– I can’t talk. It’s due in ten minutes, I’m missing one file, and it still needs a total re-edit. And shit! I need to pee! So I’ve got this killer lead that I’ve got to follow-up on soon, and I still need to make the reservations for–wait. Dave? Don’t you have the Lewis and Case profile? I need that now.”

“Look– I’ll find it and hand it over. Just stay there. I’ll be back in a minute!”

“Hurry!”

“Be back in a flash!” Liar. I feel a little bad about this. “Just stay right there.”

“Ok.” She said, slightly strained. She was desperate. As I left, I heard her almost grunt, trying to hold it in.

“Just stay right there, and I’ll be back in a minute!” I called over the cubicle, walking somewhat briskly...well, somewhat briskly to my desk. I don’t usually do this, but something was in me that day. Maybe it was because I needed some fun, or maybe I just hadn’t jacked off enough yesterday. Who knows?

I looked through my box of 3 ½ diskettes, pausing for a moment on a few disks that struck my fancy. I looked at my computer clock. 10:47. Ten minutes? She has well over ten before that deadline. It takes all sorts of exaggeration to get someone to do anything, so she probably lied. I opened my top drawer, where I thought I had put the disk. Bending over, I felt a hard object on my breast. It was in my shirt pocket. Should have known. After refreshing my e-mail page, I briskly walked back. She was in bad shape.

“Hey, here’s the report. Are you cool–about the report, that is?” I don’t want to sound obvious. She is literally clenching those thighs. Man, they’ve got to have a day for bike shorts on the dress code. Screw causal Friday. Then, inadvertently, a tactic of greatest cunning was expelled from my very lips:

“Hey, do you want me to finish the edit? Need any help?” I didn’t intend this, mind you, but did it work. To her, a young feminist, having some upstart guy asking her if she wants help on a project at work is like a declaration of war. Well, not really, but she immediately told me “No, I can handle it” with complete certainty. I waited until she loaded the file – those disk go bad sometimes, and she, as in an answer to my unintended challenge of her capacity, remained bolted to the seat, a very unwise move.

I went to the water cooler–one of the ones that has hot and cold water, and I pulled out a teabag from the shelf. “Planter’s choice” Hm. If it was choice, I reasoned, it would have had one of the planter’s names on it. Probably the end bits of the harvest from a number of companies, or something. One cup. One bag...steep...Ah! Too hot. Speaking of which, our madamoiselle stepped out at 10:58 [precisely] from her office, slightly bent over. She readjusted her posture with only a slight wince. Why I am doing this – here we go...

“Wow. Two minutes to spare. You work quick. I suppose you--”

“Yeah” she said as curtly as possible, trying to get past me. She is going to explode on the carpet, if I don’t disengage. Shit, I’m not a mean guy. I’ll get out of her way. No need to be brutal; I relented my scheme. I curtly waived, she briskly shuffled forward past me to the restrooms, saying “Sorry” to excuse herself, and well, then it happened.

The janitor’s cart was outside the restrooms. Actually, although it was technically stationed in front of the ladies door, maintenance was cleaning the men’s room. Random chance, without any play on my part, did the rest. The janitor walked out, blocking her path. He turned around to get some cleanser from his cart. She kind of jumped up. I swear something leaked out, but it’s only a guess-dark shiny shorts don’t show stains easily. The janitor excused himself, slipped into the ladies room – apparently the cart was unsatisfactory. In a moment, the battle was over. She began to wet herself. The janitor returned a second later before the waterworks started with a bottle of sanitizer and went into the men’s room in a flash, apparently unsuspecting. In that moment, however, was the difference between victory and defeat. She must have thought he was cleaning the ladies room, and that broke the camel’s back.

Now alone, although not unobserved, [incidentally my tea was cool enough to drink] the grey-black shiny spandex back of her shorts became black and more shiny. I clenched together my thighs upon this realization with the force of a vice grip. Incidentally, my testicles were not overthrilled, but the horniness welled up inside me was overpowering. Her urine dribbled onto the floor, and she half stooped, her body compressed together but to no avail. For a few glorious moments, it was as though she was paralyzed. Urine welled around her bottom, darkening in an upside-down “U”, streaking in lines around and down her thighs. A few lines traveled to the floor and droplets came out of her crotch. The other indication was the barely-audible, but strong pssssss of urine. The moment, dare I say, was golden. She reanimated, waddled, dripping, an intermittent gushers coming out, and hobbled into the ladies’ room, carrying her briefcase defensively in front of her waist. I rapidly drank half of my tea, waited for the janitor to finish up, and repaired to the facilities, wherein I wanked it like none other. I never masturbate in public restrooms. This, however, demanded special consideration. By all that is holy, is it not great that such a simple thing as our fluids can excite some of us so? Glory be!

That was Friday. During the weekend, I thought about that moment frequently. I felt bad afterwards, but then concluded that truly, were it not for the janitor, it would have just been nothing at all. I may have delayed her a bit, but really, though I enjoyed it, I wouldn’t have actually caused her to piss herself; that’s just not me. Returning to work, I chanced to see something new in her briefcase – a zip-lock baggy with two Depends undergarments [the thong style ones with the buttons and straps?]. Just to think of her losing control again, dribbling and gushing on those pads. Mm. Perhaps there was something more to this that an anomalous accident.

Please do respond with comments

[the diaper mike]

a little hard to read. space more. go on more please

[adot]

I enjoyed the style and can't wait to see where you go with it.

best,

A.

Note: For entertainment

Post-Note: Please send a message to GuybrushT or reply to make some comments. I am anxious to hear what you think.

Please do respond with comments

[Baby D]

Itz a really good story, you should go further with it!