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Hello everyone! I just recently joined the site, and I'm stunned by the amount of specific personal stories studded all over the place. I like to write desperation stories and accounts, but I've admittedly never finished one... until now. This is my first story, something which I had created a long while ago on another site that has since cracked down on this topic of writing; the material is partially real and partially fiction. It's also a lengthy one, so I don't really know how long this will be when posted.
   The beginning's a lot of buildup of the plot; if you want to skip to "the good stuff," scroll down to the second asterisk line. It builds slowly to the climax, but I think it came out pretty well. Enjoy!

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     The sweat dripped down my forehead as I penciled in the answer bubble on my exam sheet. I took a moment to wipe my face and glance up toward the front of the room at the thermometer attached to the board. The mercury said ninety, but I knew it was wrong; it had to be much hotter than that. I groaned on the inside, wishing for even a faint breath of wind to find its way from the open window to my seat. The only thing coming through that window was the incessant twitter of songbirds and a low buzzing of a lawnmower several blocks away. Accepting my circumstances, I refocused on the exam before me.

 

     The test was a standardized, statewide assessment given to every highschooler, even to the seniors like me who, with only a few weeks of school left, had nearly quit trying completely. While the grade didn't count to our overall GPA, it did affect whether we graduated or not; that was the only reason we studied for this thing in the first place. The procedures were very strict; nothing was allowed in the testing rooms at all, no getting up from our seats with tests out, and a teacher had to be in the room at all times. The testing block was supposed to be three hours long, but the test guidelines assured us we had as much time as we needed to finish. There was no way in Hell I was going to fail this test and repeat senior year, so took my sweet time in doing it right the first time.

     A faint noise caught my ear, a rustling or rubbing sound I couldn't identify. I performed a quick scan around me to find out where it was coming from, and eventually pinpointed it to the exam proctor, who I'll call Ms. L. She was a beautiful woman in her late 20's I'd say, with whom I had the pleasure of spending the last semester in Economics. She was slim, sexy, and smart, and that day she was wearing a blouse, skirt, and pantyhose; the rustling was due to her rubbing her legs together producing the noise. She was sitting at the teacher's desk, a location of which I had a clear view from my own desk. She seemed to be restless, fidgeting slightly every once in a while and continuing to methodically rub her thighs together up and down, each of her high heels clicking as they touched the floor.

     Now by this point I had already connected the idea of female desperation to my fetish and special interest; I'd already seen several instances of genuine desperation in public and private, even one incident in particular which was - ahem - "dripping" with excitement (that's a different story). But perhaps due to the stressful nature of the exam before me, I simply didn't put two and two together, instead concluding that Ms. L was most likely anxious to escape the blistering heat of the classroom as much as we were. Still, the movements she was making were noticeably sexy, as her tan pantyhose and black skirt along with her white blouse resembled the business attire of a secretary more than a teacher's. I returned to my work before I let the mood overcome and distract me.

     A little while passed and the announcement from Ms. L told us we had half an hour left of official allotted time. At that point I started to worry, seeing as I was only three-quarters of the way through and still had a sizable amount questions left. Ms. L stood up from her desk, smoothing out her skirt as she observed the room. From my seat she appeared to be stepping from one foot to another in a way that hinted she was trying to suppress her movement. I was trying to concentrate on the test, I really was, but the situation was starting to perk my interest extensively.

     She paced around the room, observing our work it seemed to gauge how far along we were. One student a few rows away raised his hand with a question, and Ms. L walked over to him. She bent lower to hear the whispered question, but it was the way in which she performed this simple maneuver which finally alerted me to the predicament she was facing; instead of bending over at the waist as most teachers usually do, she bent almost entirely at the knees, signaling she was dealing with a filling bladder region.

     For a brief moment I blanked, not believing the woman who was the eye-candy of our economics class and state exam was trying her hardest not to reveal how badly she needed to pee in front of 20 or so Seniors. I had teachers in the past who would call in an aide or substitute if they really needed to go during a slow class period, but apparently this kind of test demanded all the staff they could get, so no one was available to take over for poor Ms. L.

     All of her motions were now crystal-clear to me: the way she wiggled her legs when standing still, followed by rubbing the front of her skirt and discreetly placing her hands over her noticeably rounder bladder region. At one point while helping another student, she bounced her bum a few times before quickly sitting down with her legs crossed in the desk behind the girl. I was hoping to see a wet desk when she stood up, but it was clean.

     I heard a rumble in the hallway as a teacher wheeled in a cart with Dixie cups of water to keep us hydrated during the testing block; we'd already received this opportunity about three time in the last hour, and not wanting to become dehydrated in the heat I took up the offer each time. I wasn't affected in terms of my own bladder, but Ms. L certainly didn't seem thrilled about pouring water into twenty little cups and passing them out in her state.

     With all these distractions, I was only able to finish about 15 questions before the time ended. Ms. L seemed to quietly breathe a sigh of relief as she announced "Pencils down please." I knew I needed quite a bit more time, as did about five other students. My anxious teacher walked around to collect the completed tests, shuffling in such a way as not to disturb her bladder.

     At first, I feverishly continued my work as not to prolong this test any longer than it needed to be. I assumed Ms. L would be replaced with a sub or someone else so she can relieve herself, thus making the exam uneventful once more. However, our principal was walking through the rooms where students were still taking the tests, and Ms. L somehow curtailed her holding techniques long enough to talk with him. I couldn't hear what they said, but at one point she seemed to whisper something even quieter than the rest of their conversation, to which our principal responded with a seemingly sympathetic head shake indicating "no." After announcing to us we had all the time we needed, he proceeded to leave; immediately Ms. L softly moaned and placed one hand on her bladder, the other on her skirt over her thighs. For a brief moment her eyes met mine; she blushed and returned to her desk quietly.

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   About half an hour passed by. By then I was almost finished with my last essay, and the only other student still taking the test in my room looked as if she was checking over her answers. Ms. L was continuing her feverish pee-dance seated in her desk chair, hands on her bladder and frequently wandering downward to her crotch; rocking back and forth, her face looked flushed and tired from her efforts.

     The other student got up to hand in her exam just as I finished my writing. She placed the papers on the pile at the front of the room and left, giving me a look as she left hinting that she knew Ms. L's situation too. The room was now dead silent apart from the constant birds chirping outside and the rhythmic squeaking of my teacher's chair as she squirmed around on it. Ms. L glanced over at me in a longing, hopeful sort of way, then realized I wasn't finished and went back to her desperation.

     I knew I had checked over my answers as I went through the test, so that I was completely sure of each answer I wrote down in the assessment. I could have handed in the test right then and there and still have full confidence I had the right answers. That would have been the gentlemanly thing to do. But I couldn't shake the consistent urgings of my mind telling me to delay my desperate teacher. I knew damn well this might be the last time I time I took a test like that; it might be the last time I could see any teacher, nevermind a hot one like Ms. L, who was genuinely about to burst. My devilish side one out, and as if on cue, she hesitatingly asked me whether I was done yet. I told her I was going to just check over my test until the end of the day (at this point there was only half an hour left of the school day anyway).

     Her eyes widened in shock, but her voice replied with a strained acceptance. I returned my eyes to my paper to "review my answers" while at the same time using my peripheral vision to witness the hot desperation show across the room. I decided to get a better vantage point, asking her if I could sit closer to the window (and consequently her desk) in order to catch some of the breeze. She consented, and I brought my materials over to the desk closest to her's to resume my review. From there I could note every movement of her legs and hands as she moved about while still appearing to be engrossed in my test.

     After a few more minutes she stood up and started to prance around next to her desk while cupping her bladder and twisting her legs around each other. The clicking of her high heels on the tile flooring was only adding to the intensity of the situation. Moving from her desk to the board and back, her path seemed to be dictated by her bladder; indeed, every move she made seemed to be devoted entirely to staying dry.

     I looked up at her as she glanced over at me, our eyes meeting once again. Only this time, I didn't break the gaze; she blushed a deep pink, but seemed to be beyond caring at that point. She moaned aloud and said,

     "I'm sorry, this is so embarrassing. It's just been such a long testing period, and I had quite a lot of water today since I last had a break. I could really use a relief but all the staff's booked."

     My response should have been sympathy and end there. Instead, under the unbelievably sexy circumstances I was in, I blurted out, "I know, I can tell." I waited for the reprimand, but surprisingly she smiled a sweet smile and whispered in mock surprise, "Oh wow, how could you tell?", then laughed. I joined in before she gripped her bladder and groaned, "Oh dear, I can't laugh, I can't, or I'll have an acci-..."

     Her eyes widened; I could tell she had her own slip of the tongue. I decided not to push it any further and went back to my test.

*****************************************************
     With five minutes left before the final bell, the situation had reached its crescendo. I pretended to feverishly correct an "error" in my essay as Ms. L performed the Broadway production of "Gotta Pee" right in front of my desk. Her pantyhose-clad legs, which appeared silky that close up, were entwined in ways I couldn't fathom; her hands were pressed into her skirt between her legs, and when she turned into a profile position her bulging bladder appeared squashed by her skirt. She was frantic, but I wanted to see this through.

     As she paced, her moaning was like musical symphonies, coordinated with each time she would lean on the desk and bend one foot into the air at the knee and do the same with the other foot a few seconds later. She would then tap her heels in that beautiful clicking movement before finally resuming her pretzel-leg actions.

     With about 2 minutes to go, she walked (more like waddled) over to me and asked for my paper. I feigned stress as I handed it over, and she slammed them down on her desk while simultaneously motioning with her hand for me to leave. When I didn't move, she asked me in a strained voice why I was still there. I explained that students weren't allowed to leave the room without a pass (which was true), and that if she wanted to write me one I could leave.

     With both her hands wedged between her legs, it took her a few seconds to actually decide whether it was worth it. Eventually she agreed, and grabbed the sticky-note pad from her desk and fumbled around for a pen. When she couldn't find one, she gave me a pleading look which compelled me to offer her mine. She scrawled a hasty pass and an even sloppier signature which was nothing more than a squiggle. In my last act of torture, I explained that teachers wouldn't admit students through the hall unless the signature of the teacher was legible (also true). Almost shaking in desperation, she corrected it and handed the note to me. In one swift motion, she collapsed into her chair and crossed her legs so tightly I could see through her pantyhose, and hands pressed into the crotch of her skirt, gripping for dear life.

     "Thanks Ms. L, have a good one," I managed to blurt out as I headed for the door, defeated in seeing an accident. She managed a half-hearted "you too" with her head down, then suddenly looked back at me and whispered quietly,

     "Before you go, could you please bring me over that trashcan by the door? I have some...um, uh... garbage I want to throw out."

     I swallowed hard, knowing the true reason why she wanted it. I slowly grabbed the bin as she frantically rubbed her crotch, bringing it over to her desk. She quickly placed it under her desk, offering a meek smile showing thanks as she grabbed the sides of her skirt. I turned toward the door as I saw her carefully begin to inch her skirt up her thighs. I left the room and was about to close the door behind me (the doors at our school automatically lock shut from the inside), when I instinctively went back in for one last glimpse.

     Even today I am so glad for that decision; I reentered to see Ms. L with her jet-black skirt hiked up around her waist, exposing her panties and pantyhose which were still on completely. Her legs were spread; with one hand she was holding the bucket underneath her crotch, the other holding the desk for support. She looked up in surprise just as a stream of golden pee poured through her panties and pantyhose into the bucket with a hiss and splash.

     Both of us shouted at each other at the same time; "I just needed to grab my pen!" I cried as she yelled "Look away!" I looked away of course, and the rest of it is just noise in my memories. The splatter went on and on and coincided with breathy moans and gasps from my teacher as her monstrous bladder emptied itself behind me. I offered a hasty apology as I left the room; as I pulled the door shut with a click, I heard the last few drops of pee hitting the golden lake at the bottom of the trash bin.

     I walked back to my locker in a dreamy state. I don't know what Ms. L did with her bucket of pee after that. I don't know what she did with her soaked panties either. But as I remember that day ever since, I always like to believe that my teacher enjoyed her desperation as much as her student enjoyed watching it.

 

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     Again, this is my first ever desperation story. I'm therefore extremely new to all this in terms of writing, so let me know how I can improve upon this little experiment in fiction -- or even suggest some topics you would like me to dream up next... thanks!

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Thanks for the feedback, all!

I completely agree with the others. The only thing you could inmprove in my opinion, would be to use blank lines between paragraphs. This helps understanding the structure of the story even easier.

Yeah, I completely agree. I actually did what you suggested in the editor, but they didn't show up in the final post. I'll have to figure that out for the next one.

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