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Thursday, March 24, 2011

Wet & messy story: Shani does a poo in her knickers

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Posted by SkyMouse / Fortuna on February 23, 1998 at 13:45
This is my first posting here for some months. Let me know if you like this ... I love writing, and would be happy to contribute more, if I feel I am making someone's day :-)
STORY
The three incense sticks were blurring and dancing: three red
tips in the darkness. My mouth was dry, and I knew Shani's was
too. Our dance slowed to a single point. All that existed now
was her and, like an ancient and benevolent three-headed magus,
the red glows whose lava-fall of smoke was plooming and
flowering. The Veil of this world was closing, and soon it would
open to reveal the next world.
I held onto Shani, and felt her body slowly yielding and curving
towards me. The music was soft and romantic; it felt to me as
though I were singing to her, dancing for her, touching her, and
she responded by pressing herself tightly against me. I brushed
my hand through her hair, stroking its silkiness until I could
feel the warmth and life sparking through my fingers; I stroked
and twiddled her ponytail, and felt the softness of her face as
she hugged closer to kiss my chest and neck.
Shapes were beginning to dissolve and reform around us. The
sweet whisps of incense smoke were coalescing into the
semi-solid patterns of dreamlike trees, and behind the gentle
music was birdsong, the ruffling of wind against wind and branch
against branch, the crispy naughtiness of dry leafs under
barefoot; and our breathing and heartbeat, the mystical chariot
that cast us ever higher through these worlds...
I whispered to Shani. "Can you see the trees, and hear the
birds?"
"Yes," she whispered back. She snuggled closer, peering around
with wonder and caution, as though it might all fade away.
"It's beautiful."
The sunlight from the distant horizon was becoming warmer and
brighter, and there were splinters of coloured light splashed
and broken by the green, gold and brown leaves of the trees.
Shani was still holding me lovingly, smothering herself against
the warmth of my body and soul which longed to make love with
her; but she was breathing much harder now. I looked down, and
she was crossing and uncrossing her legs. I began to get hard
again ... I wanted to whisper to her, and fantasise with her,
and hear her tease me with her playful words. As my bulge
touched against her belly, she put her thumb in her mouth, and
smiled prettily and folornly at me.
"Do you still need the little girls' room, Shani?" I asked
quietly.
She sucked her thumb and nodded. She made a gorgeous little
curtsey, letting her loose, short dress swirl. She stood up
straight again, and I looked at her sweet eyes, my own now
shining and betraying my desire.
"Are you going to have an accident?" I asked, trembling
slightly. I longed to hear her words, see her desperation turn
into frenzy. She replied by curtseying again and going red.
Still curtseying down, she crossed her legs sharply, and
promptly uncrossed them. She let her knees slip apart, to show
her flowered, cotton knickers under her dress.
Shani stood up again, and huddled against me. Somehow, her hand
had found its way onto my crotch. There was no disguising how
much she was turning me on; an involuntary tremble had found its
way into the lower half of my body, and was creeping upwards.
"Oh, I'm going to piss myself," she choked out. I let
myself get harder against her hand. "gonna wet myself
like a little girl for you." She curtseyed down once more, this
time swaying awkwardly. She hitched the hem of her dress up a
little: just enough to show a little of her knickers.
In our dance, I was gyrating against her, and we were whispering
fondly to each other. My hands were cupping and tickling her
breasts; we could feel the warmth from that world permeating
into this one, making our images more and more real. The trees
and leaves began to buckle and merge together until they were
the outline of a school corridor. Shani's hand was in mine: I
was comforting her and saying, "we're nearly there. You can hold
on ... you're a big girl: only little girls go wee wee in their
knickers." Shani was sucking her thumb again. As we reached the
door to the bathroom, she began to cry softly. She was holding
herself under her dress.
Shani noticed me looking, and took her hands out. But she
sniffled, "I'm doing a wee wee in my knickers. I'm wetting my
pretty school knickers." I rested my hand on her arm, stroking
it up and down. As if to tease and spur her on, I whispered
"Shani's wetting her panties ... Shani's wetting her panties."
She crouched down lower, and suddenly there was a yellow
trickle, and then a thin stream running out from under her
dress, splattering onto the leaves. She stood nearly still, and
began peeing harder in her knickers. As the splashing got
louder, she looked down to watch herself wetting. "I'm doing it" she
stammered, "oh I've had an accident in my
knickers ... oh I've pissed myself ... I've wet my knickers for
you ... "
Soon there was a hot lake around her feet. She continued
crouching, with the bottom of her summer dress fluttering in the
breeze and her belly shivering as she finished spurting through
her knickers. They were soaked and baggy now, and as her
accident reached its conclusion, short, thin streams would jet
out and the cotton grow briefly transparent. When the last jet
had died away, Shani held her position and tentatively stroked
and squeezed her saturated undies. "I've wee-weed my
knickers," she said in a small voice, looking up at me. I held
my hand out to her, and she tugged herself up to her feet,
primly and delicately straightened her dress over her pissy
knickers, and held onto my hand.
The forest was entering me like a drug: the dry oak and sweet,
green grasses; fungi that clung to trees or sprung nonchalantly
from the ground; knotted bramble and loose fallen leaves
swirling around our feet. I felt Shani's hand nestled in mine,
trembling with mine. I squeezed it lovingly, wanting her
excitement and desire to be lost and mingled with mine.
"Please," she said. The breathy hoarseness in her voice made me
feel wanton with lust for her. She was leaning on me now, and I
felt drunk and crazed for her touch. "... come with me behind
the tree. Take me there." We walked along, hand in hand,
stopping every few moments to caress and smile at eachother for
a little longer. I knew, dimly, that we were somewhere still
standing together, our hands touching, and that this new world
and its electricity was all conveyed in the magic of the words
and feelings whispered between us ... but it was more real than
any dream.
I felt an excitement that flickered mistily like distant stars;
an excitement steady and inert like the stones on the beach, and
as dynamic and active as the waves which scour them. It was an
ancient excitement, legendary and fabulous, known without error
to every part of me, and as foreign as if it belonged in a
separate life. I touched Shani's arm. We became a single
sculpture, shining with perfection, eternal and fixed in time.
Did we have one heart, that now forced the blood into our one
shared body; or were we a single body nourished by two hearts?
I did not know.
"Shani," I began. My lungs rasped my speech as though through
reeds, my chest aroused and tingling deeply. Saying her name
was turning me on further -- it hung around me and inside me
like a fine spray of golddust. "Oh, Shani..." She bent her
knees and stood a little lower.
I pulled her to me, feeling her crumple against me like seaweed
in the ocean. I kissed her on the lips, while my heart crashed
and thundered against my chest.
I brushed my hand against her, and moved it down to push her
dress between her legs until the wetness soaked into it. She
giggled, "now you can see I've been naughty, even when my
knickers aren't showing!" I kissed her in agreement. "Imagine if
I'd been wearing a little miniskirt, though, and you could still
see my knickers after I'd pissed myself."
"I like that idea," I said.
"Do you want me to go and put a little skirt on? I will if you
want. I could really be your little schoolgirl then! The only
thing is ... I need the little girls room even worse now..."
"Oh no," I said, "do you still need to wee?"
"No ... it's worse. I should go to the loo first ... I need to
do a poo."
"No, change first ... wear a really short skirt!"
Shani feigned shyness with downcast eyes and a quick clenching of her fingers. "If I go and change now, we can play a game after. You can stop me going to the bathroom if you like."
"Yes," I said, "you're just going to have to hold on like a big girl."
Shani pursed her lips, but there was a trickle of delight on her face. "Ok, I'm going to put on my naughtiest little mini for you." Shani was quiet for a moment, and then added, "Wait there -- I want it to be a surprise for you. I want to come back in with my little miniskirt on, and tease you again by saying I've wet my knickers."
My chest felt rigid while she was gone, as though my lungs were
tearing against my rib-cage to escape. I looked down to see how
evident my excitement was, and the bulge was as visibly large as
it had felt. I was thrilled to think that Shani had witnessed my
growing desire, uncontrollable desire; I wanted that to be part
of our conspiracy, something that was happening because of her
and only for her.
Shani walked back in, and my mouth fell open. She was was
standing with her legs cutely crossed, one hand loosely
crumpling a fold in her pretty, pleated miniskirt. Her mouth was
pouting, and she said with a despondent sniffle, "done a wee-wee
in my knickers." The sensation in my chest, now a mixture of
tingling, sexual lust, and desire for her cuteness, began to
overcome and choke me.
"Do you think I look pretty? I've still got my wet knickers on."
"Yes, you look gorgeous, Shani," I assured her ... either out
loud, or telepathically. "I want to keep you here forever ...
really forever."
Shani twiddled the hem of her skirt again, and said in a voice
whose tentacles were already seeking every sensitive corner of
my soul, "done a piddle in my panties." I wanted to advance
towards her, overtcome her, and make powerful, forceful love: I
would have done if I had not felt so paralysed by that very
same, pleasurable energy. Shani looked at my face; I knew that
she could decode the lines here, modulated by these things I was
feeling for her; I knew she could translate the shape and colour
of my eyes, painted with appreciation, approval and love for her
and for what she was doing and the way she was doing it.
Somehow, I unlocked my muscles and moved to her. Watching my
arrival, Shani uncrossed her feet and bit her lower lip. She
knew that her teasing was winding up a spring inside me; I felt
jubilant that she was enjoying it as part of her game as much as
I. Still she continued, her words hooking my kinkiest and most
potent triggers, no less surely than an Icelandic trawler
captures its prey: "Your little Shani's wet herself," she
explained, half narrating and half confessing, "she was outside
the little girls room in a really short skirt ... and she did a
wee in her panties."
A blob of sweat had formed on my forehead. The part of me that
was standing with Shani, with our fingertips connected -- in
some nearly forgotten parallel universe -- knew that that sweat
existed in that world, too, and in all worlds between there and
here. That sweat was proof that we had conquered these worlds
with our souls; it was the flag of our union. I found my breath
again, and the energy with which we would soon consecrate that
flag.
Shani gave me a naughty look, like a schoolgirl precociously
soliciting to be fucked. "Do you want to look up my skirt?" she
asked. "I'm wearing really pretty knickers."
"Yes," I replied, and -- wanting to hear further confessions --
added "didn't you make it to the little girls room?"
Shani's eyes were burning, and she moved her feet apart and
crouched down a little as though she were starting to wet
herself again. "No ... I didn't make it, and I've wee-weed in my
knickers." She crouched down more deeply and huddled forward to
make her skirt slip up. "I've made my knickers pissy," she said,
almost mechanically, "and I need the little girls room even worse now."
"But you'll have to hold on," I said. "There's someone in there."
"Oh ... but please..." she protested. "I *can't* hold on ... I'm going to do a poo in my pants."
Back down on earth, we were doing more now than just holding
hands. The passion was reverberating between there and here, a
dynamic made into an eternal, unchanging standing wave. Time was
no longer moving; we were passing through a cinematic tunnel of
this standing wave and being simultaneously hungry and satiated.
Her image gazed back at me, both immediate and telecopic.
"Shani's gonna poo her frilly knickers," she beckonned, conjouring her sweetest and most plaintive little-girl voice. "Uh .... oh, gonna poo-poo my knickers ... in my prettiest little miniskirt! Imagine me outside the little girls room..."
"I know," I breathed, "that's where we are now. This is where
we're going to make love in a minute..."
"I'm wearing my sexiest little skirt, and I'm letting you see my
knickers cos I've pissed them, and ... Ooh I'm going to do a poo
... oh no, I need to do a poo and it's coming.."
Shani bent her knees a bit more and gazed up at me, as though
from a distant dream. "I'm going to do a poo in my knickers ...
oh I'm going to do a poo in my knickers..." She squatted down
and looked at me pleadingly. "Oh no ... now you can see up my
little skirt...you can see where I've weed my panties ... oo
I've done something really naughty, I've had a piss in my
panties ... oh and I need to go to the toilet again and I'm going to go poo poo in my knicks!"
I told Shani to stand up. "I want to dance with you again," I
whispered. Shani shook her head. "I can't..."
"Course you can," I said, with a mixture of encouragement and
teasing.
"I can't," she said again. She squatted down still further, and
rested her hand flatly onto the back of her skirt, lightly
keeping it pressed close to her.
I moved up close behind her, and nuzzled my nose against her
ear. Her neck seemed to ripple with softness as I kissed it,
and she quivered and slunk down as I put my arms around her to
cup her breasts.
Shani shivered and gasped "oh ... oh I'm having a poo accident."
She moved away, loosely slipping out of my snuggle, but her hand
trailed behind her and brushed against my chest as though she
wanted to remain connected. As she waddled forward, she bent
down, very slowly wriggling her bottom to tease me. I came
towards her again, wanting to fuck her, and again she reached
her hand back to touch me, before slipping forward. She looked
back at me and whimpered, "I'm doing a poo." She tugged her
skirt down and patted her bottom through it. "I can't make it to
the toilet... oh no, look ..." She bent down so I could see the
evidence. There was already a small bulge in the back of her
knickers.
She moaned, as though short of breath. "I think
I've had a knicker-pooing accident. Your sexy Shani's wet her
pants, and now she's doing a poo in her pants!" I rested my hand
on her knee, and looked behind her. The bulge in the seat of her
knickers was getting bigger. Shani let her miniskirt flop down
at the back, but the lump in her knickers was obstinately
forcing them into view. My hand had moved between her legs, both
here and back on earth. She was whispering to me, completing the
fantasy. Somewhere I was entering her; she was straddling me and
I was gritting me teeth as I pushed deep inside, still growing
monstrously. Here, though, she was reliving for me what had
happened and whispering to me, "I'm outside the little girls
room ... in my cute little miniskirt ... need to do a poo ...
gonna have a poo accident in my knickers ... oh I'm
shitting my school knickers ... while you fuck me ... I've done
a poo in my knickers ... I'm wearing my sexiest, prettiest,
shortest mini and I've done a poo in my knickers!"
--

Email: phil@easynet.co.uk

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