First comes a burning passionate mad desire, comes with a trembling in the knees and trembling in the chest. And you - in his sweet captivity, from which there is no escape. And when the first drops begin to seep through the delicate fabric of your panties, the “sweet” dope like a cloud wraps you up. And there is no strength to resist him. And the burning liquid, gaining strength, easily penetrating through the linen and clothes, running hot through the legs, envelops and warms you. And at this moment there is nothing around, there is only the desire that it never ends:

How it all began

For the first time I was just writing off for my own pleasure when I was in the first grade.

In my opinion, I had a cold and was sitting at home. My parents were at work, my brother was at school, so I was left to myself. I played and was very passionate about the game, because the new doll, presented to me for the New Year, I had not had time to get bored.

For a long time I experienced a terrible inconvenience from a full bladder, but for some reason it was scary to go to a dark and cold toilet, and I endured it. Finally, the limit of patience came, and I was ready to stand up to put an end to my torment, but with horror I felt how a hot trickle escaped from captivity and ran under me, burning my ass. True, I rather quickly coped with this unexpected “accident” by crossing my legs and holding my crotch with my hands: Contrary to my own expectations, having coped with the element that went out of control and the elements raging in me, I didn’t run to the toilet at all, as I should have done and again sat on the stool, continuing to torment his bladder. A strange feeling suddenly came to me: how nice it was to touch this body of hot urine on my body, which made me feel more comfortable and even festive at that winter evening. Suddenly, my body fluttered, demanding to “continue the banquet,” and I relaxed:

I don’t know exactly how long I was in a state of bliss (there was no orgasm then - there was something else that I still don’t understand), but when I came out of my stupor, I was scared and rushed for a rag to hide traces of my "shame". But I didn’t take off my wet pants (I couldn’t see them from under the hem of the dress, and when I sat down, I tried not to sit on the hem), because I was pleased with the constant feeling of wet tissue between my legs and on the ass:

Then I was very worried, remembering how it seemed to me, a disgusting act. I was ashamed of myself: “I was a little crazy,” I told myself. But somewhere in the depths of my soul, I again and again wanted to experience that euphoria of wet panties. On the one hand, the feeling of contempt for oneself, and on the other hand the desire to do it again and again, experiencing indescribable pleasure, pursued me to the acquaintance with the Internet, when my “experience” had already been measured for dozens of years.

The second time, it seems to me, I did it in the third or fourth grade. Returning from school, I just flew into the apartment - so impatient. Throwing the briefcase, and without undressing, I slipped into the toilet. Having pulled up the coat and the hem of my uniform dress, I was ready to take off my panties and sit down, as I suddenly changed my mind, and instead, perching my feet on the toilet, sat on my haunches. A second later, I felt a strong hot jet, crashing into the fabric of my panties and pantyhose, burned my ass and thighs, and, bursting through a cotton obstacle, rushed into the toilet:

And again the bitter hangover - remorse and even a terrible fear for his psyche.

How was then

After this incident, I didn’t write in my pants for quite a while until I experienced my first orgasm in my life, which was also associated with wet pants.

And it happened during the summer holidays (I then moved to the seventh grade) in a country summer camp.I was friends then with one boy, now I don’t remember his name, I only remember that then I dreamed them both in a dream and in reality as much as a teenage girl could fall in her thirteen years. We rested in different detachments, as he was older than me by a year, so during the day our meetings took place in fragments. And only in the evening on the dance floor or in the “cinema” (the cinema in our camp was located under the open sky, where we, the spectators, sat on short terribly uncomfortable wooden benches dug in rows in the ground, and the screen, a large piece of dirty white cloth, hung on the wall of the strange wooden architecture of the structure, called the “stage”, we could finally be together. Did we dance to the hoarse melodies of the camp tape recorder, did we watch old, worn films, were childishly happy and trembling, timidly touching each other.

And, oh, happiness, on the morning ruler the camp commander announced a general mushroom picking, which means that all the troops go into the forest, and our troops will be near, and this means:

I was preening from the very breakfast up to the construction, as if I was going not to pick mushrooms, but to visit or to a concert. Finally, having built up, our squad, armed with all sorts of buckets, baskets and just bags, went to the forest in a merry formation. My heart was ready to jump out of my chest: “Soon, soon I will see him! ...”, I sang to myself. Having plunged into the forest, the guys scattered where, gradually dissolving between the trees. I walked as slowly as I could, pretending to be searching for mushrooms. Soon, left completely alone, I stopped in anticipation and soon I heard the crunch of dry branches behind my back. My heart sank into a ball, I turned around - yes, that was it. He smiled, I smiled in response, he began to say something to me, but, still confused, I did not hear what it was. Then we joined hands and wandered, enjoying intimacy and solitude. For me, alas, these moments of happiness lasted too long. So lightly ignored by me the first urge of my bladder, manifested at the beginning of the campaign, now became a serious problem. Moreover, this problem grew on the eyes like a snowball. Being naturally shy girl, I naturally could not tell him about her. I frantically looked for a way out of the current situation and the first timid droplets, which were a tiny spot on my tights (in our dense forests with swampy terrain in a dress, cannot be, because the clouds of mosquitoes dictated their fashion there. Therefore, we girls dressed according to mosquitoes etiquette "in tracksuits and in the event that even if there was a terrible heat), increased my ingenuity. I simply forced him to play catch-up with hide-and-seek, hoping to seize the moment and pee in some bushes. The first attempts to hide ended in complete failure. He was a sports boy and he easily caught up with me. Oh, if he knew what torment I had to experience. But finally, luck: taking advantage of his awkwardness (he stumbled over a huge bitch lying on the ground and fell), I jerked what was strength and disappeared into a dense bush. Sitting on my knees and catching my breath, I began to listen. He was there, I clearly heard the crunch of dry branches. What to do, it was necessary only to wait, when he would move away, then I could calmly lower my pants and pee. But my bladder indifferent to my conclusions. He demanded his own and hot trickle, rushing into my pants, argued that he was determined and ready to beat the obstinate mistress. I was sweating with horror and with both hands I gripped tightly into the crotch and, having made several manipulations, stopped the trickle, ready to turn into a powerful and ferocious stream. But the marks of his first attack were on his face. The traitorous spot on leotards in the most interesting place was already impossible to hide.I decided not to leave my cover anymore, even if I could pee without further loss, tears ran down my cheeks from resentment. Taking advantage of another weakness of the hostess, my bladder began a decisive assault and, to be honest, the fortress was ...