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Songs From The Woods (mf,ws)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
/* This story contains watersports and some light mf. It should
however offend nobody, since this type of ws borders to the
normal everyday accidents in real life.
*/
^L
Songs from the Woods
by Tinker, february 1994
At first I didn't notice anything special about Anne at all. She entered
the computer lab at her usual time, about half past ten, and at that moment
I was busy wading through a pile of university garbage that had been
building up for two weeks. Being the local guru (or pretending to be it), I
always surround myself with dubious equipment and large monitors, and this
creates some sort of deflector shield that keeps away people. Especially
girls, who for no apparent reason are very rare in the lab anyway.
Only when I got up to get myself some coffee I briefly noticed that Anne
today wore a skirt, which she normally never did. Anne is the kind of girl
that would easily win from you in a wrestling match. Although she always
has long hair and wears earrings, she isn't a typical "female" in the usual
sense. More a type for some military job, or girl scouts. Nonetheless I
like her and we can get along quite well, both in our work and in informal
contacts.
While digging through the pile for another hour, I gradually noticed that
Anne was peeking at me once in a while from behind her computer terminal. I
wondered why, but did not pay attention. When lunch time arrived, I took
out my stuff and started munching away, meanwhile browsing through the
computer newsgroups on the net, the usual violent rape scenes on
alt.sex.stories (I always remind myself that once in a while something
interesting passes by), and my favourite alt.sex.fetish.watersports.
Recently I had posted there quite a bunch of home-brew stories about girls
wetting their panties, which is a fantasy I like, and this had generated a
stirr in the group that only slowly faded away. Today it was relatively
silent, with some debate going on between Politico and Ms. Margo about
blunt statements made by Julian three weeks ago. The cheerleader thread was
dying out and there were two junk postings from vague BBSses and far less
vague women who had something to sell.
Then I noticed Anne approaching, so I closed the news reader and pretended
to be looking at the standard dummy text I keep around for these purposes.
She sat down on the side of my desk and just said: "Any news from Tinker
today?" Something must have gone terribly wrong, I realised at once.
"Tinker" is the nickname I assume for my communications in the watersports
news groups. I never used it anywhere else. I never have anything on paper
at work, and my .newsrc file even does not contain any alt.sex group. How
the hell did she know about it?
Realising that Anne probably knew exactly what she was talking about, I
just looked dumb at her and asked "Who?". She smiled and dropped a printout
of my cheerleader story on the desk. It had the print date stamp of
yesterday on it, and I certainly had not printed it myself. Then I spotted
a word in the text that I had only changed a few days ago, and that had not
made it out onto the Net yet. So Anne must have had access to my files,
where the Dream Team story had been hidden between the research proposals
and the C sources. Hmmm... I did not know she knew the root password.
I sighed, smiled at her and asked: "Alright. How much do you want?". She
laughed: "It's nothing, just to show you that there's no point in denying
it. After all, I've been messing with your files and that's just as bad."
She now took a more comfortable pose on my desk and crossed her legs. "To
be honest, I would not have spotted this file if I had not recognised its
name." Now I lifted my eyebrows. Did this mean that Anne was reading
a.s.f.ws _before_ discovering my file? She nodded. "Yes, I was interested
in the material on the Net and had read your cheerleader story. So when I
stumbled upon a DREAMTEAM file, I could not resist looking. And then all
pieces fell together."
"Alright," I said. "So you know what I like to write (and read) about. Did
you like it?" "Well, yes, but it is clear that you are not a woman. The
stories miss a certain female angle. You miss some obvious things, and I
think you could do better." "Oh yeah, probably I could. So?" Anne paused
for a moment and looked out of the window. She put her tongue in her cheek
and then said: "So I've put on the only skirt I own."
I could not believe my ears, but Anne clearly was not joking, and the skirt
she wore told enough. It was a long, wide skirt of finely woven wool, brown
with beige, and because she was sitting on my desk I could see that she had
high black boots on her feet, and no pantyhose. Had she really dressed up
this way just to show me how she... it seemed unbelievable. But Ann just
smiled and told me that there were a few things I should know about, and
that she expected me to accompany her after work to the nearby park. That
said, she jumped off my desk, routinely stroke her skirt, and went back to
her terminal.
Needless to say, the rest of the afternoon I was not completely dedicated
to my work, and neither was Anne. After three o'clock she started moving
around on her chair, crossing and re-crossing her legs, and once she put
her hands in her lap. At half past three, she came to me and just said:
"Alright, let's go, I cannot hold too much longer." Quickly I shut off the
machines and together we went outside, to the large park-like campus that
surrounds our university. Soon we were relatively alone and Anne started to
talk.
"Basically you were right. Women can easily pee while standing up, and
wearing panties is not much of a problem. Wearing a skirt or dress can be,
however. And wearing jeans or other pants is downright impossible, at least
if you want to get away with it. I fully agree with you that a skirt is the
only viable alternative if you really want to get wet panties without
showing off."
We now arrived at a sheltered spot where someone had put down a wooden
picknick table and some crude benches. At this time of the year, the place
was deserted.
Ann continued: "However, I would disagree with you concerning the virtues
of peeing while standing up. This maybe looks sexier, but believe me, most
women (including myself) don't like the idea. You claim that you can keep
your legs dry, and this may be the case, but the real problem is more
psychological in nature. Women just feel uncomfortable doing it standing
up. At least I do. If I had no choice, and happened to wear a skirt (slight
chance!), I would rather quickly decide to wet my panties. But I would
_always_ squat down. Like this."
She simply bent her knees and squatted down, while holding her skirt up
behind her. Carefully she arranged the skirt over her knees and made sure
it did not touch the ground. She put her black boots about twenty
centimeters apart, and pulled her skirt down in front, so I could not see
her panties. Then she looked up to me. "You see? It is really easy."
I sat down on one of the benches and asked her: "But the difference of
doing a normal pee and doing it through your panties now becomes very
small. Isn't this squatting throwing away a lot of the fun?" She shook her
head. "It isn't. First, you see, I assume that I really have no choice and
cannot take off my panties. If I could, I would always take them off, of
course. I mean, _almost_ always." She smiled. "But sometimes you simply
can't, and since most girls wear panties under their skirts, you then have
to put up with them. Actually, the wetting itself is not that much of a
problem. Although squatting still is the most natural position if you are
accustomed to it, getting yourself wet panties takes no effort at all. The
trouble and fun starts afterwards, when you have to continue your business
with soaked panties between your legs. So squatting takes away only a
little bit of the real action."
"Furthermore, don't forget that pissing your pants will always be exciting
and satisfying, no matter what you wear or how you do it. I assure you, it
damned feels differently if I still wear my panties and squat down to pee.
The idea alone that I am going to wet myself arouses me quite a lot. The
few seconds before I really dump some pee into my panties are very
stimulating, believe me. The moment of wetting itself is the first climax.
Or better, the second. The first burst of adrenaline is caused b my
decision to wet myself and starting to look for a good spot. The second is
when I actually piss in my pants. And the third when my panties are so wet
that I cannot possibly ignore it anymore, which happens after half a minute
or so. I usually do not start to piss that hard. I want to feel it
trickling through my panties, really. It is _such_ a nice feeling." She
closed her eyes and pressed her hands into her crotch.
"Anyway, the third moment is when the pee starts to drip out of my panties
and I can see it flowing away from under my skirt. I cannot keep myself
from really pulling the plug then, and usually I get myself soaked knickers
in seconds. And sometimes even something more."
Ann now clearly had trouble holding herself. She pressed her tighs together
and hummed. "Hmmm... I just _love_ this feeling. My dam can burst any
moment now, but I don't need to care. I could just let go, but that would
make it voluntarily, and I'm to old for that. Now I only take precautions
just-in-case." Smiling, she looked up at me and winked. "Alright? Now you
know how a woman wets herself."
I protested. "Well, I now know why you do it this way, and thanks for that,
but I've still not seen anything substantial. Not even a glimpse of your
panties. Maybe you just don't wear panties today!" Ann laughed and had to
scramble to keep her bladder from going off. "You bet I do. But I had
thought of this. I read your stories, you know, and I know quite well what
you ike. You have a choice. Make it quick, because I am close to the fatal
moment. Either I can just do it as I am sitting now, which is the way I
would do it myself, or I can stand upright and spread my legs like your
cheerleaders." I doubted. "Well, I would _love_ to see your panties going
wet, and that calls for squatting, but standing up looks sexier indeed.
With this skirt, I think I vote for opening your knees, lifting up your
skirt a bit, and then let go." She nodded.
"I understand that. Of course you want to see something more. Well, no
problem. In fact, no problem at all. Please believe me that what I am going
to do now is _not_ normal for me. I prepared this to please you and to have
some fun myself, but don't expect me to repeat this, okay? It is just not
my style." She rose to her feet and to my surprise unbuttoned her skirt.
With a "Tada" movement, she dropped it to the ground. I could not believe
my eyes.
Under her long skirt, she wore a tiny pink-and-grey mini skirt of the only
correct type: wide and loose. She stepped out of the skirt that lay on the
ground and turned around to give me a good view. Her high black boots now
suddenly became a big accent and her legs seemed to get taller by half. Her
little skirt was narrow in her waist and broad over her hips, and did far
more for her figure than the long, straight skirt had done. I now even
noticed that her breasts were really nice to look at. Unbelievable what
this mean piece of designer's fashion did to her.
She obviously liked me looking at her that way, and turned to the other
side. Quicker this time, so her skirt lifted and reveiled her panties. I
gasped. "You _did_ read my stories, didn't you?" She smiled. Under her
pink-and-grey skirt she had put on hard orange panties that covered her bum
up to her waist. They jumped up to my eyes with such violence that I had to
blink three times, and Anne laughed hard. Her laugh echoed over the park,
and threw all switches in me. It also made her dam burst.
Instinctively Anne put her right hand in her crotch, went halfway down into
squatting position and reached for her skirt from behind. Grabbing in the
void, she suddenly realised that she wore a quite different skirt than she
normally did. All her familiar routine failed and for two seconds she
panicked. Then she recovered a bit and looked at me. "Eh, I think I've wet
myself," she apologised. Her voice trembled. "And dammit, I can't stop it."
Clearly against her instincts, she straightened her back and put her
gracious legs further apart. The indeed very short skirt barely covered her
panties, and she was not all too happy with that. Wearing short skirts
apparently is an acquired skill, and Anne unsurely pulled at it to make it
longer. Which did not work, because the skirt was simply too short. Then I
decided to get myself an even better view, went down, and sat upon the sand
in front of her. Anne did not move, booted legs spread out about two feet,
still holding her skirt. Because I was so low I now could clearly see her
panties. They were wet between her legs, but not that much. Apparently she
_did_ manage to stop peeing after the initial shock.
"Well Anne, you have wet pants, so the rest does not matter anymore. Just
let go. It will be very nice from here." Anne still clutched her tiny skirt
and her voice trembled even more when she said: "Please, I can't do it.
This skirt... I really can't. I...". She bit her lip and I saw the stain in
her orange panties grow a bit. "Relax Anne, just continue." She shook her
head. "No way. I just cannot wet myself wearing this piece of junk. I feel
so nude, as if the whole world is looking and seeing me wetting my pants."
Her panties now clearly were wet and she could not possibly cover it up
anymore with the awfully short mini. "Alright Anne," I said. "Enough is
enough. If you do not enjoy it, stop it. We do this for fun and for nothing
else."
She gave me a grateful smile and pulled her legs back together. Then she
hastily turned around and bend over to pick up her long skirt, forgetting
about the super mini she wore. Her piss stained crotch looked up to me and
I couldn't hold myself, grabbing with my left hand between her legs. She
screamed and lept forward, quickly turning around and holding her long
skirt in front of her. Then she started to laugh, and put on her skirt.
"Okay, you've had your part of the fun. Good to you. Now it's my turn."
She threw her hair over her shoulder, and squatted down, this time actually
finding a skirt to pull up. Eagerly she settled into her familiar pose and
I saw her tongue sliding between her lips. Again it struck me how beautiful
she actually was, especially now I knew her very nice legs and other body
parts that usually were covered up by her clothes. As some compromise to
me, she opened her knees and pulled up her skirt to give me a look at her
panties again. She looked at them herself as well. Still needing to pee
badly, she moved her knees a bit further apart, put her boots in a V-shape
instead of parallel, and pulled a ripple out of her flashing panties. And
just as she started to continue wetting herself, we heard voices
approaching.
Anne quickly got up and stroke down her skirt. "Shit. Nobody ever comes
here and now the place is crowded. What a luck that I put on my long skirt
again." I agreed. Her super mini certainly was not fitted to wear in
public, as she had discovered the hard way. "In hindsight, I should have
gotten myself a real mini skirt, not that old thing from my sister. But you
know, I would not wear it that often, so I thought it would do." She
sighed. "And now I need to pee like hell and I will _have_ to do it in my
pants. Come on, we're leaving." She took my arm in hers and we walked in
the opposite direction of the voices, down the path int the forest.
Anne did not make a secret of the fact that her wet panties and the urge to
pee had really turned her on. She held me very tight and made as much
physical contact as she could, rubbing her leg against mine through the
smooth fabric of her skirt. About fifty meters down the path she suddenly
stopped walking, pulled her sweater tightly over her breasts, looked down
to her long skirt and black boots, spread her legs again, wiped her hair
out of her face, and simply announced "Here it comes." While she closed her
eyes and felt her pee slowly streaming out into her panties, spreading a
wonderfully warm feeling around her lower body, I got behind her and took
her in my arms. Immediately she took my hands and put them firmly on her
breasts, while starting to push back with her hips. I took the suggestion
and pressed my crotch against her ass, hoping the wetness in her panties
would not yet have reached so far back and upwards.
Anne almost exploded from delight and I could hear the hissing in her
panties and now also the dripping onto the ground. I kissed her in the neck
and while her whole mind seemed to concentrate on that wet spot under her
skirt, I started to ride myself off against her bum. Anne made vague
movements with her hands towards the front of her skirt, but still was
conscious enough to understand that she could not help herself through her
skirt without spoiling it. So I started to squeeze herbreasts very gently,
and apparently that was just enough. Anne started to tremble again, still
putting more and more pee into her pants, and I heard and felt her
breathing go faster and fainter. It triggered my own reflexes, and while
Anne shivered over her whole body and sent streams of pee down her panties
that dropped a complete waterfall between her booted legs, I came hard and
deep, covering my face in her hair. Ten seconds later, Anne cried out and
collapsed, and I had to grab her quickly to prevent her from falling down
and spoiling her skirt. Now she only slid down a bit before I could catch
her, and except for her boots to slide even further apart, nothing
happened. With her skirt now forming almost a perfect triangle, Anne
breathed heavily and obviously was on a trip to the moon and back. Her high
boots stood widely spread out over a big puddle, and from under her skirt
the dripping still continued. I hugged her firmly and hoped it would take
long.
About a minute later, Anne regained consciousness and first checked out her
skirt, which still was unstained. Then she realised that she wore
absolutely soaked panties and that she felt something running down her
legs. Pulling up her skirt a bit, she inspected the damage, which was
negligible concerning the amount of pee she just had dumped into her
underwear. Her boots could easily have it and her legs were just her legs.
Satisfied she wanted to drop her skirt again, but I hold her back and put
my hand under her skirt. She approved and when my hand slid upward, she
even spread her knees a bit to give me access. I found a warm and wet piece
of fabric between her legs, and pushing at it caused another stream of warm
liquid trickling down her legs. She giggled and kissed me.
After this, we just checked eachother out for normal appearance and went
back to the university. Anne went straight through to the bus stop, and I
went to the lab to pick up my stuff. What an experience. I wondered how
Anne would appear next working day. In a skirt, or in jeans? After all, it
was nonsense to think that she could pull off a show like this every day.
Or could she? I would know it next Monday....
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