My wet suit

[wamthom]

Hey lads. Recently joined the forums and I’ve enjoyed reading others’ stories and experiences, so thought I’d share one of my own experiences involving real desperation and wetting. Sorry, not sure if this is 'chatter' or a story as such. . .

I worked for a company with its main office in central London. The team was spread all over the country, but every few months, we’d meet in person. Most of them would stay overnight if they weren’t local, but since I was based there, it was a 90-minute commute for me, I didn’t need to book a hotel.After one of our meetups, we headed out for drinks. Most of the team dropped their bags at their hotels before joining in. I had another meeting right before, but I eventually made it to the pub in Westminster, typically very small and most of the customers standing outside on the pavement drinking. It had been back to back meetings all day, so I’d had a toilet break at lunchtime, but had grabbed a couple of coffees from the canteen walking between meeting rooms in the afternoon.

I didn’t plan to drink much, but, of course, one pint led to another and I ended up staying longer than I’d intended as usual, and found myself with a full bladder but needing to leave to catch a train. As soon as I start drinking beer, I try to hold for as long as I can, because I know as soon as I go once, I’ll need to go after every pint. I thought I could make it to the toilets at Waterloo station before it became too urgent so set off walking which took about 20 minutes over the river. I was a little uncomfortable, but not desperate, and found walking, concentrating on avoiding the traffic and weaving through the crowds took my mind off it, trying to keep calm.

I knew which platform I needed, knew there were toilets just opposite it and knew I had time before the train left, but when I arrived at the station it was packed. Everyone was crowded together, staring up at the departure boards with cancellations and delays everywhere. I looked at the boards and saw that a delayed train from earlier was just about to leave – I ran the length of the station to platform 1, I couldn’t risk missing this train in case there wasn’t another that evening. By now I could really feel my full bladder, and as I ran I was tensing my muscles to try and get rid of that feeling that I needed a piss.

I jumped on the train, just as the beeps were going for the closing doors, and squeezed my way into the middle of the carriage which was packed, standing room only. There was no air con on these trains, so I took off my suit jacket, and held it draped over my back pack in front of me. I was wearing a slim fit, mid blue suit; that slightly stretchy material, which was clinging to my legs in the heat; white shirt, tie and tan brogues.

The train was a slow suburban stopping service which would take about 40 mins. There were no toilets on board, and while every station would have had them, I looked at the train app and could see there was nothing else heading in my direction, so couldn’t risk getting off. Standing still with the slow rocking motion of the train in the sweaty hot carriage made the situation worse and I felt my face flushing, my leg was writhing every so often and I was nervously tapping my foot, or my fingers against the rail I was holding onto.

There’s no personal space when the trains are packed, and my back was pressed up close against some fit guy’s arm, I could feel the heat of his bicep through my shirt and every time he moved it sent a buzz zipping down my spine to my bladder. I was facing directly into the back of another lad’s head, admiring his fresh fade. I got temporarily lost in a filthy day dream, picturing them desperate as well and just letting go together without any care, bicep guy soaking his suit and fresh fade guy drenching his tight gym trackies. Another jolt on the train brought me back to reality – I couldn’t fantasize my way out of this one.

By Wimbledon which was about half way I was standing there, moving my weight from foot to foot, trying to pretend nothing was happening but I was desperate, I’d say the most desperate I’ve ever been. My pulse was racing, I was squirming and the pressure in my swollen bladder was unbearable, I clenched my teeth, pressed my backpack hard against my groin, trying everything to stop the overwhelming desire to let go. I had no idea how much longer I could keep this up.

It came to the point where I couldn’t hold back any longer. We were so tightly packed in, no one would see my trousers, and I was holding my jacket and bag in front of me, so I thought I’d I let go, just a little bit, to see if I could relive the pressure. I felt the small hot, wet burst in my boxers, and the release at first was instant, so I tensed back up immediately. I let out a deep breath and felt momentarily calm. It wasn’t much, but the relief was enough to make the next few minutes bearable. I brushed the hand which was holding my bag strap across my groin, no one could see, and I thought I’ve got away with this – I could feel my boxers were damp but the front of my trousers felt try, albeit I was very sensitive through the fabric.

Three more stops, three to go, only about ten minutes, but again I was desperate. The train was gradually emptying out at each stop, fresh fade lad got himself a seat which had been vacated, and as hot bicep guy went to get off, I headed towards a glass panel which separated the doorway from the seats and faced into that. I was shaking, tensing my whole body to try and stop, but I felt my face turning red and I was feint in the heat, so I decided to let go just a little bit more. I adjusted my rucksack in front of me and released another small burst. It was another short moment of relief, but this time I struggled to stop as quickly, and I could feel I’d done more damage than last time – the warmth spread, and I could feel my tight trousers clinging wet against my inner thighs. There was space to look down this time and I could see a dark patch on my groin running down the inside of my legs, halfway down my thighs.Don’t panic I thought, no one can see it, I checked my bag and jacket were covering me and managed to hold on for the rest of the journey.

When we arrived at my stop I knew there were toilets on the platform we came into. The doors opened, and I let the rush of people off, who scurried down the platform. I slowly stepped off myself, the jolt onto the platform sending a spasm in my bladder. I was the last in the line of commuters heading to the exits, so I took my time, breathed in the now cool air and tried to compose myself. The station lights were bright, and I lifted my bag away from my front, glancing at my trousers, trying not to draw attention in case anyone was looking on the CCTV. The dark wet patch had dried off slightly but would be noticeable if I didn’t hold my jacket in front of me. The now damp fabric stretched tight against me wasn’t making it any easier to relax.

I headed to the toilet and my heart sunk – surely not I thought, as I pushed on the door which was locked. The station isn’t fully staffed at this time of night so they must have closed them earlier. The throbbing pressure in my bladder was excruciating now, and as I set off again down the platform ,swiping my ticket at the barrier and out of the station, each step was a gamble, the urge to go so intense.

I walked out onto the street, and made it a few metres before stopping. I was in crippling pain, I put my bag down on the ground and bent over, trying to shift the pressure. This street was relatively quiet, the passengers from my train had all hurried off, but it was lined with apartments, and was one of the routes out of the town centre. There was no where to hide to take a piss, no alleyways, no suitable doorways, for fear of someone walking along or being seen on cctv or on video doorbells. I thought if I can make it out of the town centre – about 5 mins walk, I know there are some trees and bushes along the road I can dive behind. I hobbled maybe another 100 metres before I knew it was over, the pressure was stronger than ever, with every step it became more unbearable, I was trembling and I thought I’m just going to have to let go.

Despite how badly I needed to, it was actually hard to release. A small dribble came out, and weirdly now rather than focusing on holding it in, I had to concentrate on letting go. The piss came out in pulses, but then the stream got going and a sudden burst of constant pressure came. Something in me was thinking will it ruin my clothes, how can I minimise the damage, but then the thought of completely wrecking my suit hit me with a strange thrill.

A satisfying wave spread through my whole body, a rush of relief, as the warm wet feeling spread across my groin, down the front of my thighs, past my knees and seeping down towards my ankles. My trousers weren’t just damp, they were drenched, and under the street lights, I looked to see the fabric had turned dark and glossy. Steam was rising in the cold air, and my trousers, clinging wet. I looked around me and the street was still empty, apart from a few taxis waiting outside the station in the distance. I knew there was no going back so just carried on, pushing the muscles to release as much as possible.

I crouched down in a vain attempt to save my shoes, as though I was doing up my laces, one foot then the other – this redirected the flow, and I felt it flood through to the back of my boxers, through the back of my trousers and down the back of my legs. It started dripping onto the pavement where my knee was bent. I stayed in this position, keeping an eye out for any oncoming pedestrians until I’d finished, stopping and then squeezing again to release every last drop.

I stood up, brushed my hands over my thighs, smoothing out the sodden fabric, as though that was going to make a difference! I looked down at the puddle I’d left and cursed myself – in the hurry I’d dumped my jacket on the ground, which had been soaking up the piss running across the paving – oh well, the damage was done. As I continued home, my trousers were heavy, and where they were tight around my ankles I could feel it soaking into my socks. They hung a bit lower, stretched by the wetness and were flapping against my legs. They were now quite an even, shiny dark blue – on the front at least, I thought if anyone sees me now in the dim light, they probably wouldn’t notice.

My heart was still pounding, this time with the sensation - a rush. If I were doing this on purpose, I’d probably be wearing dark trackies and a bomber jacket - easy to wash, easy to hide; but this wasn’t one of my planned desperate wet experiences. There was the same recklessness, secret thrill, and rush of getting away with it, but this time I was walking home in my once pristine, now slick, piss soaked suit which might be wrecked. Letting go had been satisfying and I felt exhilarated that it had been out of my control.

[Wombat48]

Amazing account!! So pretty much a genuine accident! Loved your descriptions throughout...would love to hear what happened when you got home if you want to PM me lol?
What colour boxers and socks were you wearing?

[wamthom]

Cheers for that!

Yeah, like I said in the introductions thread, I love getting desperate and wetting on purpose, but this was a genuine accident – I wouldn’t choose something that risky to wear for fear of getting noticed, or that pricey to just wreck for a laugh, so there was something about this that hit different!

I wear black Under Armour tech mesh boxers, those stretchy trunk ones, so they soak up piss against your body quickly, warm and snug!. I’m sorry, I can’t remember what colour socks I was wearing - with that colour suit and shoes, they were probably grey or navy blue.

Getting home I jumped straight in the shower, suit and all, I thought I’d rinse it out in case it could be saved, but figured I’d have a bit of fun soaking it through anyway, make the most of it! Turns out it was beyond saving, so I had a few more goes pissing in it at home . When it was just too knackered, I got gunged in it and then ripped it up - That’s a whole other kink, but that’s for a different forum!

I’m thinking about a story with hot bicep guy and fresh fade lad, trying not to veer into a stronger interest territory!
Are there many lads on here who enjoy the wetting as well as desperation like me?

[bodgyuk]

The description made me feel like an onlooker - wonderful story.

Would like to read a story about fresh fade lad.

[Brian]

This is an absolutely cracking account. Thank you so much for posting. Really intense descriptions about what happened to you in that train and after you got out.

I’m thinking about a story with hot bicep guy and fresh fade lad, trying not to veer into a stronger interest territory!
Are there many lads on here who enjoy the wetting as well as desperation like me?

You bet I do!
I'd love to read about either fresh fade lad or hot bicep guy getting desperate and wetting himself. I wonder if either of them detected your desperation in that train.

[Mullat123]

I love this!!!!

[Lee]

I love this!!!!

Me too! Brilliant!!

[Fred]

A well-described, memorable experience. The bicep guy being desperate would turn me on. I enjoy thinking about very fit men who have developed all their muscles except for one.

[SimonWater]

I’m thinking about a story with hot bicep guy and fresh fade lad, trying not to veer into a stronger interest territory!
Are there many lads on here who enjoy the wetting as well as desperation like me?

Thanks for posting that desperation/wetting experience, I loved the details.
A story about the other guys would be great for sure, there are so many possible scenarios to imagine.
I guess that a good number of the members enjoy wetting and desperation to the same degree - I certainly do.

[Lee]

I agree about lots of possible exciting scenarios to imagine.

Whenever I’ve seen suited lads on late night trains, and you can tell they’ve had a few drinks, I sometimes visualise one of them making his way along the busy train to the toilet and finding it occupied, then waiting desperately for a while before squatting down in terrible discomfort … and wetting himself!