Jump to content
Existing user? Sign In

Sign In



Sign Up

Search the Community

Showing results for tags 'fantasies'.

  • Search By Tags

    Type tags separated by commas.
  • Search By Author

Content Type


Forums

  • Welcome!
    • Welcome to OmoOrg!
    • Introductions
    • Feedback
  • Omorashi / Peeing
    • Omorashi general
    • Omorashi & peeing experiences
    • Omorashi & peeing artwork
    • Omorashi & peeing fiction
    • Omorashi & peeing videos
  • Omutsu / AB(DL)
    • Omutsu general
    • Diapered & ABDL experiences
    • Diapered & ABDL artwork
    • Diapered & ABDL fiction
    • Diapered & ABDL videos
  • General
    • Off-topic discussion
    • Forum games
    • Roleplaying realm

Categories

  • Shizuku's Comic
  • Premium Content
    • Nappy Boarding House
    • WesternWets Comics
    • OJHI JAV Series
    • LittleLadyLumi
    • Biku Comics
    • AliceWetting
    • Ripandbustys
  • JAV Collections
  • Wetting Videos
    • Female
    • Male
    • Transgender (MtF)
    • Transgender (FtM)
  • AB/DL Wetting Videos
    • Female
    • Male
    • Transgender (MtF)
    • Transgender (FtM)
  • Other Videos
    • Female AB/DL Messing
    • Male AB/DL Messing
    • Other AB/DL Messing
    • Other Messing
  • Doujinshi, Eroge and Hentai
    • Anime / Hentai
    • Doujinshi Archives
    • Artwork and CG Sets
    • Visual Novels
    • RPGs

Blogs

  • The Wet Hostage
  • I’m a real wild child
  • Suguha's Struggle
  • Unlucky Star - A Lucky Star Fan Fiction
  • The Winter Carnaval
  • Higashi High's Special Student
  • Fairy Tail - Juvia's First Pee
  • _____ _______'s Mixup Editting
  • The Lunambra Anthology
  • Captainjoker1's Story
  • Steven Universe - The Wetting of the Gems
  • Accident (a7x fanfiction)
  • A Zorua, a Fennekin, and omorashi
  • Arbor Gold
  • A Valentine's Day Short Story
  • Emily and Anna's Valentine's Day
  • Cho Chang in a Diaper
  • My Stories! :)
  • Random Zelda Fictions
  • Robin's Issue
  • Boys' Night In
  • Longstocking's Story
  • The Needs of the Many
  • Beyond Desperation
  • The Little Wet Vampire
  • way of the ruin
  • WaityKaty's Story
  • Not Quite As Planned
  • And It's All Your Fault Anyway
  • Silver Linings
  • Stuck together
  • Julia's Story
  • The Battle Of Bad Timing (The Battle Of Xandra)
  • The Queen
  • How my diaper wearing started
  • My first diaper date,..many chapters
  • Matilda Marie
  • [Female] Fairy Tail Fanfiction
  • Justice's Poem(s?)
  • Keiko's Plight
  • The Exam
  • The Bad Omen
  • My first story
  • The Emerald Forest
  • The Great Wet Conference
  • HS: Last Quarter
  • Saiyica's misfortune
  • Just Let it Out (pt 1)
  • Helpless and Desperate
  • The Silent Heroine
  • Hiccup's accident
  • The compartment
  • Justice's Short Stories
  • The Dare Game
  • Jayne
  • Rush Hour
  • Persona 4: Accidents Galore!
  • Tanya
  • Never a Bathroom in RPGs
  • 4 10 12
  • Echoes of the past
  • The essex Girls - Wonna Go to Lakeside
  • The Graduate's Flame
  • detention in diapers
  • Little Contest
  • Occupied
  • Alicia the Alchemist
  • Older sister wears diapers
  • To Boldly Pee: The Omorashi Chronicles
  • Guildless (a ravnica magic the gathering fanfiction.)
  • _____ _______'s Mixup
  • Kidnapped
  • Batman and Robin
  • Emily's Diary
  • Life is great
  • Birthday Fantasy
  • Community Service
  • I Bet You Can't
  • No Say in the Matter
  • The Wet Dilemma of AppleJack
  • Katie and Daniel
  • The Mushroom
  • Female Desperation Stories I Have Witnessed
  • Lucy's Wet Fiction Collection
  • Emily's Christmas Adventure
  • OmoOrg News and Updates
  • The Tale of a Sorceress
  • The Moocommunity
  • Valuable Cling Film [Saran Wrap for US readers]
  • Miaball
  • Kirby’s Omo-Love Lesson
  • Golden Time Lover
  • Kurt Omorashi
  • Even Heroes Falter
  • Poke omo fic
  • When You Gotta Go-La in Alola
  • Unexpected abduction
  • Fire Emblem: Golden Bonds
  • Pdpatti's Story
  • Ahlbi and Rayfa: Ace Holders
  • My Life as a Teenage Bedwetter
  • When a Dragon Can't Hold
  • Learned a New Skill: Relief
  • Samus The Padded Bounty Hunter
  • Video Game One-Shots
  • Lillica Quest
  • Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid One-Shots
  • The One With the Wet Rumors
  • High School Holding
  • Pushing Their Limits (My Hero Academia)
  • Peenoblade Chronicles 2
  • The Desperation Visor
  • Hehe's Story
  • Stream of Kindness
  • Pee Tee's Story
  • Omo High
  • Bladder Meter
  • The College Trip
  • Unconventionally Sensual (Working Title)
  • Emma X Otacon
  • Wanwan to Kurasu - A Wanko to Kurasou inspired series
  • Saves
  • Peesona 5
  • Ai No Exorcist Omorashi
  • nena the high school dipper user
  • Riveting Rivulets (A FanFic Collection)
  • Other Stories
  • The Bee and Barb
  • Living in a Harem
  • Dark Souls Collection
  • Taking Over the Family Business
  • BBCode Tests
  • Liberty's wetting shorts
  • Four Day Struggle
  • Blade Of Vengeance
  • Summer Blossoms
  • Elevator Desperation
  • Why some story characters never pee (no wetting, desperation, safe for work essentially)
  • Miku at School
  • Brotaku and the Omo adventures
  • Messing Contest
  • Holding right now...
  • REVENGE Part 3 [Daniel]
  • Ms. Anderson's Plight
  • Allison’s Work Dilemma
  • Little Punk Girl's Kinky Shenanigans
  • Amy's Saga
  • Desperate girls bathroom line at school.
  • Divine Intervention Gone Wrong
  • Just a Journal [male]
  • The Bizarre World of Cartridge: Omorashi Experiences
  • Five Nights of Holding
  • kitchen desperation
  • Quick intro
  • The Legacy of Gold Universe
  • The Wild Tempest
  • my first wetting/bedwetting
  • Male Desperation
  • Pemberley Afternoon
  • Rising Star
  • Sonador's Furry Fictions
  • Road Trip
  • Searching for a video
  • Desperation
  • Pee Diary
  • Accidents happen
  • The Trials and Tribulations of an Omo Noob
  • SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD
  • Omorashi Short Stories
  • Pee Adventurer
  • A Striptease Like No Other
  • Lizzy
  • Golden Machinations
  • Soul Eater Omo
  • Adventures in pee holding
  • Exam-time desperation
  • Johnah
  • Symmetry is Everything
  • KidIntheDark's Story
  • Pix Holding :3
  • Terezi's Secret
  • Shopping for Diapers
  • Levi & Alex
  • Sarah, Elliot's Slave for a Week
  • True revenge
  • Try something new
  • Technical Help Blog
  • Matt and Koko Omorashi
  • The Azur Lane Omorashi And Other Urine Based Sexual Activities Association
  • Desperate ride...
  • Desperate
  • Meeting at the Point
  • Drafts
  • Appointments
  • How to order from Jade Net
  • Status blog
  • Alice the beginning Ch. 1
  • darker then black yin's desperate ride
  • Unintentional Invocation
  • Online Class Desperation
  • Megan and Sarah, Emotional Rollercoaster
  • Shiver
  • Mandymom’s collection of Darkwing Duck omorashi
  • Kiplington School for Girls
  • Stonky stories
  • Katie Has A Very Public Accident in a Bar
  • Not so suttle hint
  • Kaneki Has an accident
  • Snek Writes Stuff
  • Age of Ultron: Omorashi (SPOILERS)
  • The Witches Wet
  • Omovember 2020
  • Kelli's in the Corner
  • Ebisu-Sensei Vs. The Sexy No Jutsu
  • Omorashi Jones
  • Newsnight
  • Jane's Aching Bladder
  • Wetting Games 1 - Sonic Adventure 2: Wetting
  • Pee test
  • Yomiel`s Night of Desparation
  • Omorashi stories
  • Female Daily Dare
  • Moving in (With Sophia)
  • Rita's Training Blog
  • Jordan
  • My bladder chronicles
  • Commander Lyra
  • The big Magic: the Peeing project
  • On that Christmas Night
  • First Peeing Experiance
  • Ending up in a "Wet Suit"
  • The Test Subject
  • a
  • Sex and the Sea
  • My 1st omo fanfic! (Pokemon)
  • O Wonderland (RPG Game)
  • Girls weekend out
  • Our Lady of Pee
  • Puddling in my Pants
  • camping
  • Omovember 2021
  • Johnny & Pablo (Non-Canonical)
  • Skyrim: Distortion
  • An Interruption
  • Harvest Moon
  • Do your kinks ever harm your self-esteem?
  • Holiday Specials
  • RpeeG
  • DragonFruit11117
  • Of Cupboards and Dreams
  • Afternoon in the Chokee
  • The DP Game
  • Hard Boiled Legs
  • Unnecessary Functions
  • Peculiar Endurance Event
  • story of my life
  • Have you Weed yet?
  • Thesis
  • Milovana Webtease review - Rapid Pee Desperation
  • Maddy
  • Emotions, Tonight, and Tomorrow
  • Holding experiences and challenges
  • Space Wetters (The Story of Aurora Stardust)
  • Assorted 'wings stories
  • PeeCember 2022
  • public speech
  • Goldenstorm's Story
  • Vaine Chronicles - Goddess of Death
  • My experiences with this fetish......
  • Searching for Friends!
  • FemScout's Desperate Run!!!
  • Chatbot characters
  • Sam's Graduation
  • Karkat Vantas: I need to go!
  • Diapered & Desperate
  • The Yellow Sisters
  • Henry(fill in later)
  • Bonus Material
  • The Juniper Triplets
  • Shawnie's Soggy Sunday Mornings
  • Doraemon Omorashi thing
  • Plush Empire Primitive Life Observations Files (Possible title change)
  • Hana and Kimiko
  • Wettie's Wet Log
  • Jenny and her friend Sara
  • Screencaps
  • steph226's Story
  • Miyu's Regression
  • SAO messing fanfic
  • 'The Juniper Triplets' Side Stories
  • What He Never Noticed
  • Diapered Housepets! : Grape
  • Erin's Wet Ride
  • a date with Mario
  • FNaF messing fic
  • The Retriever
  • Misused Authority
  • LLTQ Beginnings
  • A Rōnin's tale
  • Discipline in the Dorm
  • Pan's Personal Purgatory
  • Nightclub drugs raid causes MASSES of desperation
  • Knuckles's predicament
  • Naughty Kitty
  • Fairy Tail Omorashi
  • A Town to Forget
  • diapered walk
  • Endless Desire
  • Samantha's Life
  • honeybell3's Story
  • Beth and Him
  • Nah's bad day
  • Strider's property
  • school desperation
  • The First Time
  • Brotherly problems
  • Matthew and me
  • It's Just Business, Honest
  • "So what is it Doctor?"
  • Uri Nova
  • War and Wet
  • Carlsbad Caverns
  • Taylor And Me (The Long And Short Of It)
  • the car
  • Holding Back
  • Sakura's Mistaken Identity
  • The Stable Girl
  • Junie & Thena: The Wet Age of the Law
  • Pain's Story
  • When Serena Met Dawn
  • coffee troubles
  • Bad Idea
  • fizzypop's Story
  • The Mishap of Taylor Swift
  • League of Desperation
  • Granting me a wish
  • JLIO RE-WRITE
  • Perfect
  • Coach Desperation
  • The World of Edren
  • adevore155675's Story
  • Hunger Games Pee Desperation
  • The Sphere
  • Maddy and Haley
  • Stuck...
  • Everyday Life With a Fetishist
  • Elsa's little problem
  • Forced wetting
  • Elsa's emergency
  • A change of underwear
  • The Sphere: Dog for the Day
  • Summer Camp
  • April And Diapers
  • The Patient
  • How Do I End Up In These Situations?!
  • Trouble with Yui
  • First Holding Session!!
  • hidden feelings and curiosities
  • Love Grows
  • Suburban Wasteland
  • To Lunambra: A Medieval Watersports Tale
  • Severa's bad day
  • The War
  • On a Bus
  • A Desperate Detention You'll Never Forget
  • Meet the 13 Squads
  • omodarling's Story
  • Desperate Camping
  • Emily's Anniversary of an Accident
  • 3 litres...
  • Asuna's Journey Backwards
  • The Cinemas

Product Groups

  • Premium Subscriptions
  • Advertising

Categories

  • Gender
  • Wetting amounts
  • Clothing
  • Omorashi themes
  • Content warnings

Find results in...

Find results that contain...


Date Created

  • Start

    End


Last Updated

  • Start

    End


Filter by number of...

Joined

  • Start

    End


Group


FurAffinity


Twitter


Website URL


My pronouns are..


I'm into..

Found 6 results

  1. Hi, so this is my first time writing and I can't guarantee that whatever this is it will be pursued fervently, but I want to do something a little bit more creative with my thoughts regarding my sexuality and this scenario has played out in my dreams enough that I want to start with it. Warning, there will be sexual content but not in every chapter, and there will be lots of nudity, but the nudity will not always be sexual. This is not an omorashi first story either, and although omorashi will be included because it is a fetish of mine, it will not be featured in every chapter nor be a major plot point, at least at the beginning. I also have a mild form of Asperger's syndrome, so I feel that I will be able to create better characters that are more similar to me in the way I think, as opposed to neurotypical character that are often difficult for me to grasp. I will initially keep all characters above 18, however if it seems safe to do so I will include ages 15 and up, not because I am particularly attracted to people that young as a 20 year old cis straight white male, but more because I am particularly attracted to people who haven't quite figured out their sexuality, are shyer, and retain youthful attitudes, and this is easier to write in with younger characters. But for now I will stick to 18. I'd appreciate feedback if possible! Chapter 1: Elisa and Saturday Night at the gym Elisa had just started her first year at her university. Although far from her home in New Jersey, she was excited to begin a life of her own and adventure to new places, both physically and mentally. She had grown up in a very religious household, and although everyone in the household was practicing, her parents were good enough to her that they were not too overbearing. Her father was Puerto Rican and her mother was Dominican, and they had met in English class shortly after each of them moved to the USA. Elisa was the oldest having turned 18 last week, and she had one younger sister who was starting 8th grade at age 13, and a brother starting 4th grade at age 9. Although she loved her family very much, the day to day ruses in her household were difficult to manage at times, and she was looking forward to a change of scenery. Elisa's life was complicated as lives should be. There was nothing terrible, tragic, or traumatic about it but life is existentially hard to comprehend, especially in Elisa's case of a mild form of Asperger's syndrome, which gave her a depth of knowledge about a plethora of topics, including politics, geography, public transportation, art history, and really almost anything. Some people considered her to lack personality and be emotionally stoic due to the vast majority conversational interactions being infused with random facts and snippets. But apart from how she might be perceived, Elisa is a very emotional person. Well, not usually outwardly although she does cry from time to time in her bedroom. But like most people with Asperger's, Elisa had chronic depression. It was nothing severe and a manageable mental illness, but it made her feel even more isolated in the way she sees the world. Her quest at this stage in her life is to understand the world as best she can from observation and curiosity. At home she frequently took trips on the PATH to go to New York, and starting in high school she got a bike that could transport her to many medium distance places in North Jersey. But because her family was poor, they could not afford a car, so Elisa did not have a driver's license. That was okay for her though, because she was content with the current situation. For Elisa, life is hard, but the joyful moments make it worth living. As a practicing and believing Catholic, Elisa was well versed on the acts that should be avoided to prevent sin. She was not naïve to the nature of sex, but rather discouraged from participating in anything too promiscuous. Her mother had taught her about it when she was 9 in anticipation of menstruation, and since then she has read quite a bit on the topic and understands human nature when it comes to sexual matters. She has been catcalled or stared at more times than she could count while in public, and while these definitely bother her, she has not been protruded from participating in activities she loves because of it. However, as much as she understands sex from a knowledge standpoint, Elisa is rather unpracticed when it comes to understanding her own sexuality. In high school she also participated in an activity called drum and bugle corps or "drum corps" for short, and while there she had to get used to the idea of communal showers. Being naked in the presence of other girls her age was something she was used to and could tolerate, and as a result she was very comfortable in her own body. There she also discovered that she is mostly straight with perhaps a slight curiosity towards women. But her alone time is limited at her house, and because of the religious nature of her household, she does not want to risk anything about her sexuality being found out by her parents. The only time she ever gets time to herself is in the bathroom because her bedroom is shared with her sister, and she has a habit of taking long showers for the purpose of getting herself off. She knows of at least one fetish of hers, that being omorashi and pee holding. Though she has done it herself a few times, she finds herself most turned on when she sees guys struggle to hold it. It is this that gets her off half the time, whether she is reading or watching erotic material on her phone in the bathroom or just in the shower playing. However, she has not yet had a boyfriend, she has not yet seen a guy naked, and she has not often gone to any parties with people her age. Her parents seldom had to worry about Elisa's doings outside the house due to her Asperger's making many of the risky activities unappealing. Elisa hoped to change some of this at college though. She hoped to get a boyfriend, though she didn't want to force it, rather have it happen organically instead. She also hoped to see a guy naked at some point and/or attend a party of some sort, not to be risky with herself, but instead to observe. This really was a new stage in her life. Elisa had just enrolled in a small-ish liberal arts college in upstate New York near the Adirondacks (this is no particular real life school, I'm basing the school size off my own but I don't want to reveal where I am enrolled, so I picked the Adirondacks because the setting feels right). She got in on scholarships, both for her intellect and her status as the first in the family to attend college. The first week of classes have gone well so far, and the weekend has finally arrived. Elisa spent most of Saturday playing games and watching TV with her roommate, Jordyn. Her roommate and she also did some homework, but after a while they had both gotten tired and decided to move onto TV. This first week, Elisa had discovered that the fitness center was open 24 hours. One simply needed to tap their card and they were allowed in. The same was also true for the pool, however you needed to prove your ability to swim in order to go in without a lifeguard. (There was a multi campus lifeguard standby program so that appropriate lifeguards could be notified if the cameras showed something in which someone needed to intervene. If it was required, there was a button that could drain the entire pool at a high flow rate to provide air to any drowning victims. There was also a breathalyzer that would lock access to any inebriated students). Elisa took the test on Thursday and she now has swipe access to the pool for 24 hours. She found that exercising at night was the best way for her to be active and blow off steam. Fewer people were working out at midnight, making any semblance of social anxiety rest easy on her. She would typically arrive to the gym at 11:30, run on the treadmill for 20 minutes, do weights for 15 minutes, then go to the locker room, change into her swimsuit, use the pool for 15 minutes, come back to the locker room, shower, change into her pajamas, and head back to her dorm to go to bed. She had worked out every day this week except Wednesday, and she used the pool on Thursday and Friday. Her routine was beginning to set itself in and she was starting to get used to the schedule. It was 11:20 on Saturday when Elisa got ready to go to the gym. She got changed into her workout clothes (a purple tank top, white sports bra, gray yoga pants that cut off at the thigh as well as neon yellow spandex boy shorts underneath), and was about to say bye to Jordyn until she realized Jordyn was passed out watching TV in the lounge. Elisa walked by Jordyn, out the door, and over to the fitness center. She was carrying her bag with her swimsuit and pajamas, as well as her large water bottle. Her towel and shower supplies she kept in a locker at the fitness center. On her way over to the gym, she heard lots of voices and screaming all around her. It was yet another party night on campus, and although Elisa was curious, she persisted to the gym. She arrived to the locker room and dropped off all her nonessential items for working out. She realized she needed to pee but then a thought occurred to her: she hadn't indulged herself at all since arriving to campus, mostly because she was rarely ever alone. Perhaps she could play a game with herself and hold her pee as long as she could while working out so that she could release some sexual libido before heading back to her dorm. Consequently, that's what Elisa decided to do. She laid all of her belongings in her locker except for her water bottle, phone, earbuds, and face towel and walked out of the locker room toward the gym. Elisa drank about a third of a 1.5 liter bottle before she started running on the treadmill. 5 minutes in she started getting cramps and realized that she really should have stretched if she were to drink that much. Cramps aside, she made it through all 20 minutes and began to feel a slight twinge in her bladder. The gym was fairly sparse with only about 10 people working out, so there was no need to wait for any equipment. Elisa drank another 300mL or so before starting her quick weight routine. She did her biceps and shoulders with moderately heavy dumbbells (for her size and gender), and then moved onto the tricep machine. Elisa drank another 200mL before the triceps, followed by another 200mL after. It helped that her body needed the water, so it was absorbed into her system quickly preventing bloating and other discomfort. Elisa usually finished her gym portion after the triceps, but because she was feeling so mischievous and because her bladder was starting to give her warning signs, she fathomed another idea: she would do a few reps of the seated knee raise machine to challenge herself. Elisa walked over to the machine, set the weight at the right level and began the reps. Around the 7th or 8th rep she felt another twinge in her urethra that lasted a few seconds. She could feel the fluids building up and the pleasure mounting. As she raised her knees on the 8th rep she shivered and shuddered as her need to pee was ringing the doorbell in her brain. On her tenth and final rep, she let out a soft moan, uncharacteristic for her as she tends to be quite quiet in public, before finally relaxing. She didn't need to go so bad that she was in danger of spurting, but the experience was scary and exhilarating nonetheless. It wouldn't exactly be accurate to say Elisa was dry either, as the garments that covered her nether regions were already fairly damp from sweat since the treadmill. But perhaps her boys gotta were slightly damper because of the juices that may have escaped as her labia parted and lubricated itself. After her indulgence with the leg raising machine, Elisa was ready to return to her locker to prepare for the short swim. On the way over, she finished her final 300mL and refilled the water bottle. She was thinking about how excited and antsy she felt about what she was doing, being in public was especially energizing. She passed a guy who was walking into the gym and couldn't help but bite her lip at the small protruberance visible in his black running shorts. She had never seen a bare penis before except in images and some rated R movies, but she was yet inclined to lay her own eyes on a real one. Wouldn't it be something if I could catch one while I was here today. What if I were to walk into the locker room and see a guy just standing there playing with it? Elisa thought to herself. Alas, this fantasy lived up to its designation as a fantasy, and she arrived to an empty women's locker room as usual. Usual, however, was the baritone audiation emanating from the right side of the locker room, where the toilets and showers were. She realized that she could hear any conversation coming from the men's side, and the their toilets were likely opposite the women's as the conversation seemed to be more of an echo. Elisa discovered the vent in the wall that carried the sound she out her ear up to it and listened in. "Yo, you ready?" said one guy. "Nah man, Imma take a piss first. Them white claws gotta come out one way o 'nother, and I ain't be barfin' today" said the other. Elisa noticed that the end of this clause seemed slightly louder than the beginning, indicating that it was directed closer to her. "Aight man, 'll see ya inside" the first replied. Elisa heard a door creak and some footsteps walk toward her. The vent she was at was in the southeast corner of the room if north were the direction you face when you walk in. She heard some nasal breathing near the east side of the women's room, the west side of the men's. She then heard the soft patter of the guys pee in the nearby urinal. It then coalesced into a solid tone indicative of a stream. Elisa couldnt ignore the urge to touch herself, and began to rub her damp yoga pants. Her need to pee was also slightly heightened, but not yet to the point of bursting. The stream in the urinal dragged on and Elisa kept rubbing herself through the fabric, feeling the pleasure of hearing a guy pee this close. The stream kept going and a small spurt escaped Elisa. She had trouble convincing herself not to continue the pleasurable feelings, but finally the stream tapered and Elisa calmed down. She then heard footsteps walk away and the door creak open and shut again. Ew, thought Elisa, if you're going to be that hot you should at least be hygienic about it. She inspected the squirt both visually and with her nose, and decided that she better get to the pool before she bursts and ruins her fun. Elisa removed her sneakers and socks and walked over to her locker, ready to begin her final exercise before sexual ecstasy. ____ Sorry to leave it here, I intended to stop at a slightly different point but my hands are getting cold from typing and I want to have something posted before I continue so I can get some feedback. Let me know what you think!
  2. I'm curious about what ya'll guys' favorite desperation and wetting fantasies are. It can involve real themes or fictional themes, whatever kind of kinks you like, etc. For me personally, most of my fantasies involve anime characters I like being desperate and needing to use something other than a bathroom (tree, bottle, etc). I know it's a pretty common fantasy, but it's something I enjoy. What about you guys?
  3. Just wondering if anyone else has different fantasy ideas when it comes to sexual fantasy vs a wetting fantasy. What I mean is, when I think about sex, I fantasize about women, but when I think about Omo scenarios it doesn't matter who it is. I can get turned on by a fantasy of anyone. I guess, in a long winded round about way, I am saying/asking has anybody else had something similar: when Omo is involved, are you more open to different experiences than when just fantasizing for the simple pleasure of justing getting off. I have also noticed that while I am actively thinking about peeing or holding, etc, lately my mind has thought about one of the topics brought up, holding a penis while peeing. Well, even though I have one and have experience holding it, I have found the idea of holding someone else's has become very intriguing. This has lead to other thoughts as well. Such as what it would be like to actually have anal sex, not just being pegged by a GF (very fun), or playing with Butt plugs.
  4. Hi there~ So, I was looking at some houses with friends today. Have to move by the end of May! I have a pretty serious heart disease and I haven't been able to work since December.. Which sucked 'cause I worked my ass off to finish school and now I can't even do my dream job (kill me.) I was looking through my closet and packing up some clothes to sell on Kijiji when I thought up a fun way to make some greasy money (as trailer park boys say) I honestly still think about omo a lot. (Hi Etuhanlo.) I have accidents, everyone has some like maybe 1-2 times a year, but sometimes I just don't like going to the washroom. Why go pee when I can just hold it until I'm so distracted by how horny I am, I end up having the best time ever. SO, need $$$ + love omo = you guys better get your wallets ready 'cause I would like to sell any pictures, videos, cam chats, day holding chats, and even some classy audio stories. Also, Kirito... Sorry if this little 'ad' made you mad I know selling these kinda things is pretty "greasy"
  5. There a a thread here, somewhere, where women have admitted that they sometimes play a game of letting little spurts go, in secret but in plain view, for pleasure and for the risk. I had to go and lie down after reading some of those replies... But, years ago, I wrote a long and rambling stream-of-consciousness vignette about going home from a concert, somewhat dazed, and being so taken by the look of a particularly attractive woman that I bought a writing pad and scribbled down a long, long leer at her leggings... ...And fantasised that she would pee in them, ever such a little spurt. And then another, and another. It's one of the very first erotic pieces that I wrote, and it shows: be warned, it takes a while to get interesting. A scribble on the train, in which the reader learns exactly what it’s like to be a writer… So. King’s Cross Station, brightly-lit and echoing, marble floors and shuttered shops and crowds in little clusters, looking at departure times upon the ‘drive-in cinema’ display. My head is singing from the concert I have just come out of; I could tell you who it was but I don’t think that you’d believe me. I could tell you how it was, but only if your mind can write searing white letters of fire across the sky and underline them with the sound of thunder. I can feel it, now, the bow upon the string, a note beneath the hearing and above imagination, fluttering like shadows formed into the feathers on the wings of Odin’s Ravens, shimmering a little way beyond the edge of your perception and a little further into things we call the half-world... ... and are mostly too sensible to mention. I’ve just gone into that string-of-consciousness thing again: a curse or blessing for a writer. So: rush into a shop, and then the one next door, and then another: find someone, anyone, who sells a spiral notepad and a biro at a quarter past eleven in the evening. Thank God I live in London: someone did. What have I seen, what muse is in me, ringing out the music? Not the sweet and innocently-cynical young girls, barely in their teens and barely moved by music – half of them brought into the concert by their parents, respectable suburbia concealing lifelong love for music that the neighbours ought to disapprove of - if they hadn’t brought themselves and their own daughter too; and there is nothing there for me. Nor, either, in twenty-something students, scruffy and relaxed – nor the graduates, letting down their hair tonight but somehow always buttoned-down for work in the professions and the media. As ever, it is as if I am invisible to them: not ugly, not creepy, not even rejected in deliberate behaviours to emphasise exclusion. I am simply not there at all, it seems, or at least I do not seem to register upon whatever radar says ‘person, here’. Someday I will tell you how it is that I became like that: it is an ugly story, but fortunately one that I have overcome. Mostly I can fade away by consciously relaxing and withdrawing the external projection of the mind and personality, or not as I may choose; but sometimes it’s a curse that seeps out over me like a magician’s smoke. I look within, into the internal world… And out again, blessed or cursed with photographic memory, snapshot after snapshot. Flash – electric light and floor tiles, King’s Cross Station concourse: a woman in her thirties, somehow younger from a lifetime training. Dancing, I think, but maybe something more exotic. Slim, poised, forward on her feet, a bob of cut blonde hair tossing as she chatters to her phone. I watch, I am the watcher, fading into background and invisibility; I let the foreground flicker through me like the images in lenses, cameras, closed-circuit television systems watching in the night. Blessed and cursed indeed, I read the body language – cursed to know it, read the mind revealed in it, never know the person any closer than the hidden operators of the all-too-pervasive video security. So let me tell you what I see: she is pretty but not beautiful, slim but not for many years longer, held to shape by the muscle tone of all that training - a lifetime’s practice that I think she’s now neglecting. A bouncy personality, up on tiptoes, nodding in her conversation, animated in expression and the flashes of intelligence that flicker off of her. What is she wearing? The top is cashmere: smart, black and instantly forgettable. Heavy black shoes with clumping heels and straps, shiny with a hint of cutaways. Her stockings are like leggings, heavy and opaque, clinging firmly to her as they vanish up a miniskirt that barely reaches to her bottom, wispy and translucent; no woman wears a thing like that in lightweight tights or goes bare-legged! It is as if the reassuring grip of fabric hides her legs from a perception that they are in view: but every inch of them is visible, for the fabric shapes and silhouettes them from her ankles to her labia – plainly visible as a camel toe in a breathing, moving outline that leaves very little to imagine. We can tell what she's thinking, if ever she's thinking *that*. She’s wearing knickers underneath them, a thin and silky garment: unseen, but it reveals itself in the way the fabric of the leggings slides and doesn’t stretch, and sometimes halts a little to outline the elastic at the legs, high-cut like bikini bottoms. Whatever's visible, she doesn’t seem embarrassed or uneasy – quite the contrary – but neither is there any sense of exhibition, showing off and taunting men (and women!) in her field of view. No, she’s shielded from the stares and glares and leers that would accompany such nakedness by a belief that she’s not naked. And somehow, everyone around her has picked up on it and they unconsciously agree with her. What must that feel like? I read her movements: body-conscious but not consciously ‘displaying’, the feeling from the fabric not entirely fading out, not entirely edited from her awareness by whatever system of the mind keeps down the constant chatter of our clothes upon our skin. ‘Not entirely’, did I say? Not quite so, because there is a firmness in the leggings, not quite so much as girl-shaped figure-hugging Levis, that makes a woman held, pressed and squeezed a little bit, shaped and sculpted by her clothing. They’re always just a little bit aware of it, and always seem to like it – the ones with the figure for it – a constant trickle charge into the spiritual batteries of sensuality. Occasionally the feeling is the foreground, and women in such clothing strike a pose of rutting sexuality, aware and unaware that they are feeling such a thing and sending such a signal to the men around them. And, indeed, to other women, who pull their men a little closer, re-establishing the contact that tells the world “He’s Mine!” How strange it is, how few of the women wearing this fashion are consciously aware of any of it, the constant body-language conversation: to read it is to know that almost all the human mind is hidden from its owner... I watch the woman, looking closely at her legs and leggings, neutral in my body language so that she is unaware of me, and does not show the tension of a woman who perceives the ‘eye tracks’ of a man nearby. Her legs and leggings… The 'rise' from those high heels is lifting up her body and her pelvis, forward slightly, but she is comfortable with it. Her feet are placed a little bit apart, and then together; bending just a little bit, her knees becoming lighter as the fabric stretches; she rubs her legs together then steps forward, half a step, rocking back on one heel then the other, tension clearly visible in the muscles of her buttocks, outlined by the fabric. The conversation continues, all of her is bouncing, nodding, gesturing... But me, I’m watching her legs. Feet together, knees together, thighs together, squeezing: then up a bit, relaxing. Down again, almost crouching in a conspiratorial huddle around her telephone; then up, straight up, knees rubbing again in a left-and-right half-turning gesture, repeatedly, a signal of uncertainty or indecision. She presses her thighs together yet again, tightly, and I read it as consideration and rejection of an opportunity for penetrative sex – probably unspoken, it’s more likely that she’s talking to a ‘best friend’ than a boyfriend – but she definitely thought of having it, I saw her pelvis tilt forward, her pelvic muscles tighten and relax, and tighten up again, nothing hidden by the skirt at all, unconsciously miming the motions in detail - albeit more subtly than doing the real thing in bed - and then shutting herself down. The conversation lightens up, and she lowers herself slightly, her pelvis and her knees coming forward, legs together; something that she’s saying means she hasn’t yet ruled out the offer and will one day take him up on it. A thought that's pleasurable in anticipation, judging by the way I see her thigh muscles relaxing and her labia fill out. Her legs are now apart, boldly A-shaped in a clear and blatant challenge to whatever man is in the conversation, or maybe on the other end of it; the challenge being ‘prove yourself a worthy mate’. And she relaxes again, and gradually winds down the call, and walks to platform three to take her train. I watch her hips and her backside, swaying just a little: not loose but held taut by muscle tone - I see the firmness of the dancer and the lifelong athlete, muscles moving under fabric with a touch of softening, a rounded femininity that adds an extra grace and sensuality to her. You know, I think the leggings made her sexier than walking to the train completely naked ever could have been. Photo-memory recorded, and scribbled down in biro in the twenty minutes that it takes a train to reach the outer suburbs. And now I am at home, running it again in the camera of my imagination. You know me – omorashi fetishist – and my enthusiasms... What would it be like – imagine! – to let a little spurt into those leggings? There was no hint, none whatsoever, in her body language saying that she was aware of her bladder at all; far less that she might be desperate to go, and it doesn’t suit my fancy to imagine that she was. I prefer to think of a deliberate decision to let go a little bit, imagining a trickle and discovering a sudden spurt that needs to be firmly pulled back and cut off before it runs away to visible knicker-wetting loss and an embarrassing puddle. A spurt, a hot sensation: a sudden wetness, looseness in her labia and the tickle of displacing air… And almost painfully, like discovering the volume’s turned to max inside her headphones, coarse wet fabric rubs across her urethral opening, slowly being pushed aside and downwards as her clitoris emerges. Smooth and silky cotton-lycra knickers now feel harsh and scratchy – wince! – and she is super-sensitive and irritable. Twitch, and try to draw in, but she can’t and maybe there’s a risk that she’ll let go completely if she cannot ‘tighten up’. The wetness spreads out, passing through panties and into leggings, becoming a shining spot an inch across and fading to a damp uncomfortable humidity. Press her legs together, then apart, feeling it dry out a little faster. Walk – but carefully! – until she feel the slippery intrusion of her clitoris retreating into hiding. Does it stop there, or does she dare repeat it a moment later? Is she frightened that she’ll lose the lot? Yes, but the thrill of the risk that she will, iss all apart of the sin and the mischief of it. ...And all of it forgotten as she slips through the train, finally finding a seat: realising she had completely dropped the ball and shocked, for a moment, by the disturbing idea that she might have been weeing and entirely unaware of it, all that time that she was weaving her way along through carriage after carriage, through the standing passengers, until she found herself as seat. Of course she wouldn't have. She takes a window seat, beside some unremarkable receptionist in a bank's staff uniform, opposite some dull accountant, and gazes into space... And yes, she does. Does it feel different to let it go, release another little spurt, when she is sitting down aboard the train? She knows, in her mind, that there’s nothing to see – nothing at all, the glisten fades in seconds and there’s not a hint of wet, no shadow on the matt black fabric and whoever saw it would’ve had to look straight up her skirt to see it, a patch at most two inches across, well-hidden in the shadow of her legs and underneath her skirt. Her fellow-passengers are the very paragon of polite disinterest. She could do the lot, empty out and moments later there’d be nothing to see if she could be sure that the puddle would drain away behind her; and if it didn't, would they all just sit politely, pretending not to notice? What a thing to imagine, as she takes the risk of letting out a careful little dribble, not a hint of in her breathing, her expression or her movement: she won't do it all, but she will take the delicious risk that she will find it impossible to stop, a literal flood of embarrassment, ending a walk of shame into another carriage while they look at one another and say nothing. A spurt, and a guilty little warmth, secret, sinful, and she shouldn't. Three or four or six more later, she's not just damp, she's wet. The patch is tiny but it’s always there, wet enough to make the cloth glide over her urethra and now – continually – her clitoris. It’s out, and when she does it sitting down, some of the squirt and the first rush of heat in the fabric reaches out and touches her. And it’s not as if her labia do nothing: the little dribble that runs down and into them, the tickling droplet and the wetness, it’s a continuing challenge to her composure. She wants to touch herself under the skirt, just to know how bad the damage is – or so she tells herself – but she don’t want to draw attention. Time passes, one suburban station after another, long waits for the train while the signals are red: and spurt, after spurt, after spurt. The temptation, every time, to let the whole lot go, gets stronger. The seats on either side of her, and opposite, are empty now: who's to know? She realises that her backside is warm, and wet; and actually, she likes it. Another spurt, another hot little sin, and how bad would it be to just, just, let it go and just keep pissing? Her station. She gets off the train – carefully, so as to be last, to nobody's behind her looking at her backside - mortified to realise that the fabric of the seat is visibly wet, a coin-sized glistening spot in a palm-sized damp patch, on a seat where someone has, quite clearly, had 'an accident'. Except that she did every drop of it deliberately; and she got away with it, walking with her backside wet but probably not showing anything; and, increasingly, becoming rather pleased at what she's done, for all that it's a guilty pleasure that she really shouldn't do. Step away from the train, squirt another tiny spurt, caring rather less about the risk: she plays a 'head game' with the guilt and how she ought to be ashamed, as she walks along the platform; sometimes pretending to hate the sensation of having wet herself, and sometimes pretending to love it, as wet fabric slicks against her, drying down to damp, and warm, and guilty-but-not-sorry that she's done it. What is 'real' and what's 'pretend'? Both these inner worlds have a 'draw' to them, something deeply compelling and slick and wet. Each swing of the fantasy is greeted by another little leak, whether imagining shame and humiliation, or wicked joy and devilment in a forbidden act; and as she walks she is becoming wetter, and wetter, and wetter. Almost, almost, visibly so. Another spurt, at the ticket barrier, now she's in plain view? Hot, and she feels it hiss in the fabric, slipping a finger of "Wet!" between her skin and lycra, drawing a glistening black line down her thigh. That was rather more than she intended! She pulls-up, tightening, hearing the tapping of a rush of droplets landing on the tiling, as the ticket barrier beeps and swings open. Another spurt, as she walks out - can she really do this as she walks? - she did, along the platform, but now it turns out that it's awfully difficult to stop, and she crosses the taxi rank with the familiar finger of piss on her skin, longer, more insistent, tickling at the back of her knee before she is able to stop. And oh God, it shouldn't feel so nice, and she really, really shouldn't be doing this. Next? A walk across the station plaza, across the square towards her apartment block. The sky has cleared but the pavement is slick with rain, and it occurs to her that there’s no such thing as a noticeable puddle tonight. Another spurt: this time, unashamed and unhesitating, relishing the heat and wickedness: and then, walking, feeling it cool down, feeling her clitoris retreat and hide again: and she comes to a decision: "I don’t want it to" . Well. Stand up, turn around and take out her phone as if picking up a text, see that the coast is clear… And just relax, relax, relax. Nothing’s happening yet, and nothing needs to: there’s no hurry. And, before she's even aware that she's pissing, there is an intense heat in her crotch, almost scalding, and she becomes "I've Wet Myself", the woman pissing in her knickers. Now she feels the aching sense of her bladder, now she feels the sting and rush of running urine, now she recognises the hiss and froth of it, the sense of swirling, back against her pee-hole and up around her clitoris, rinsing it with a sharp sensation of hot water cutting through the slippery film of a secret pleasure. The swirl combs through her labia, stripping them of lubrication and leaving them, like her clitoris, painfully naked and sensitive. Her folds begin to sting and now the hotness is painful. But she would die to feel pain like this all day. Onwards it rushes – she knows the wet spot in her pants is visibly blossoming out, and now she feels the surge in the fabric inside her thighs, real streams, hot flows forcing their way down and stinging her skin. The wetness expands backwards and around her: a warm, spreading feeling that reaches around her bottom and sends feelers down the back of her legs. Suddenly the heat becomes a heavy weight and she feels her knickers peeling away from her groin, the leggings dropping away from the creases of her buttocks: a hot pool has forced its way in, and the sensation of being soaked rushes down her legs, all the way around down her thighs to her knees, where trickles split and chase their way down her calves. She is pissing a strong and steady stream, and she can feel her bladder at work, contracting, forcing it, immersing her in the trembling rush of pissing. Everywhere below her is hot, and wet, and surges of it have come upwards, soaking her pubic hair right up to the waistband of her knickers. Insidious little streams have worked their way up the elastics, emerging as two oval spots under the peaks of her hips, visible at the waistband of the skirt, then as little streams upon the front of her leggings. Mostly there is very little to see – everywhere, the fabric glistens, but nowhere does the wetting reveal itself in the cascades and flying trickles that betray a woman pissing in her knickers onto her bare legs… But she knows, very well, that she is wetting herself! Soaked, saturated, hot – no longer stinging, rinsed clean – and wet, wet, wet. She straightens up and make an effort not to stand in that telltale “I’ve wet myself!" half-crouch, and finds that it is, for a moment, unbearable as saturated cloth squeezes out new trickles, and the pool of pee in her groin and around her bottom shifts and surges, and drains down in a lukewarm renewal of the soaking on her thighs. Breathe out. She takes a step, and then another, constantly tantalised by wet cloth… And realises that she's still peeing, less than she was, but still a trickle that would be a massively embarrassing and visible wetting if she was wearing anything other than these lycra leggings. Wee is running over her shoes, clearly visible if you look, but disappearing into the wet grass in darkness. What next? Spurt, draw up. Spurt, draw in. Squeeze, let go: pull, pull, pull. A final relaxation with a little spurt; draw up and then it’s over. She presses her legs together a couple of times, to displace the puddles in the cloth. Takes a deep breath and walks, accepting that her lips and her clit are blaring alike a dimestore transistor radio at full volume. The wetness on her legs has already faded to dampness; and, although her bottom and her crotch feel very, very wet, she knows that dampness doesn’t show on matt black leggings after dark. And that feels good. And she got away with it. She could do this every damned day, and she wonders, idly, whether there was ever any reason not to. Right now, it’s so tempting, the thought of walking round the block until the urge to wet herself returns. But the tingling in her groin has a warning edge, that it’s going to sting and this could be a nasty redness if she don’t go home and shower thoroughly, right now. So next time, drink less coffee and a lot more water. And maybe, from the way her feet are squitching as she walks, invest in open-toed sandals. As she steps onto the doormats at the foyer of her block, and waits a moment for her key to scan, she realises that there is a little bit of wee, still left in her, a little dribble that she really, really shouldn't... Tempting, tempting, and why not? ... ... ... …and next time, you’ll know I mean it when I say it’s rather long. The writing, I mean.
  6. Part of the videos from Peefantasies.com that I have. When I got time I'll upload more. Caution : Every video includes nudity. gf gets feet rubbed and wets pants for you.mp4 pissing and masturbating while smoking.mp4
×
×
  • Create New...