I could feel as much as hear her sobbing next to me. I rolled over to cuddle her and instantly realized what was going on. The bed was wet. For the third time this month.
My cock, already uncharacteristically stiff in the morning, started pulsing. I’m sure she felt it against her back as she also felt my hand reach between her legs. Her panties were of course soaked. I thought I might just cum from that alone. I felt a fresh sob as she realized I was awake, and she tried to push my fingers away.
“Shhh... it’s OK, baby, just let me lie here and love you.”
“It’s not OK, and I’m not a baby. Just because I,” she sobbed again, “just because I can’t stop wetting myself doesn’t mean I’m a baby.”
“It’s a few isolated instances,” I offered reassuringly, as my fingers coaxed her bud from its hood. “You’re not a baby, but you are my baby.” I kissed and nibbled the back of her neck until her sobs and sighs were replaced with a giggle. I wanted to tell her just how much hotter she was after wetting the bed and how her incontinence sent my kink-meter off the charts, but experience suggested she would not receive that very well, so I said nothing. My raging hard-on would need to be attended to after she got off, which didn’t take long.
I felt her squirm as her breathing changed. Her thighs parted a little, allowing me more room as her hand came to rest on mine. I always appreciated her guidance, especially when the goal was her pleasure, and I could feel her tense up. I wanted to release my usual morning bladder to mix alongside hers and have her straddle me as we made love in a soaking puddle of our own urine, but I was lucky she was letting me finger her, and after she gasped, said my name, and relaxed again, I used my other hand on myself as gobs of semen trickled out and onto the wet spot.
Years ago, we had talked about kinks, and she enjoyed being spanked or blindfolded a little, but that was about it. I had been interested in omorashi, and suggested we try watersports or a golden shower, but she seemed repulsed by the idea, and I continued my explorations privately. Now we were at a place where her greatest source of shame was my arousal, and I was determined to turn this into a win for both of us.
“I can’t believe you did that, and that you’d lay in my piss. So gross.” She sighed again, with a tinge of sadness still in her voice. “Tom, what am I going to do?
“What are we going to do?” I corrected her. “I’m in this with you.” She sighed again. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
“See, I’m dirty.” She shuddered. “So gross.”
“Monica, it’s only piss, a natural bodily process, and urine is sterile. It may smell a little funny, but it hurts nothing.” I sat up. “I’ll get the shower started for you.” I hopped out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom. “Leave your panties on the bed and don’t worry about it; I’ll take care of it.”
I rinsed off and voided myself in the shower (saves water), getting out to towel off as Monica arrived naked, ready to shower. I embraced her in a mock display of ravishment, kissing her neck and growling. “So gross,” she said as she pushed me away. “You just showered; why would you do that?”
“Because I love you,” I answered as I squeezed her left butt cheek before she disappeared into the shower and I went back to the bedroom.
I had the bed stripped in no time, the waterproof cover wiped down with a disinfecting wipe and new bedding laid out, ready to go on once it was dry. I whisked the soiled linens and miscellaneous dirty clothes downstairs to the laundry, and I set about getting the French press ready for our morning coffee.
I wished I could tell her just how hot she was surrounded by her wetness or how the thought of her doing that on me, or me peeing on her caused my arousal to grow again. But I remained silent as she entered the kitchen, dressed in her knee-length pencil skirt, black stockings, and light blue blouse, ready to head out to the office.
“Tom, I appreciate your kindness, but you don’t have to make me feel better. I’m getting old and I just can’t hold my bladder anymore. I’d understand if you never wanted to touch me again.” She didn’t seem sad as much as resigned or even disappointed.
“Wow, trying to get rid of me?”
“Tom! You know that’s not what I meant. I will always want you and I love your recent increased interest in me”, she blushed a little as she glanced at me, “but you don’t have to overcompensate for my…” she looked for the word, “infirmity.”
“We’ll just make sure you don’t drink a lot of water before bed, and cut you off at eight.”
“Why do you make everything seem so easy?”
“Monica…” I kissed her goodbye as she was ready to walk out the door for her commute. “Everything will be alright. You’ll see.”
She just let out a “Hmmm” as I shut the door behind her and then made my own arduous commute to the den down the hall from the kitchen. Luckily, I didn’t trip over my own shoes. I tried complaining to housekeeping, but I just ignored me.
After a couple of hours of work, I attended to the laundry and polished off my first liter of water, filling my bottle with the second as I tidied up a little. One benefit of working from home was constant micro-attention to housecleaning, so the place never got too bad. Then I hopped on Amazon to look at some adult pull-ups for Monica. I knew we would have to have a conversation sooner rather than later, and I wanted to be on top of it. There was no reason she couldn’t still feel sexy wearing a pull-up.
Another benefit of working from home was peeing whenever and wherever I wanted. I had a stash of Depends that I used on days when I knew work would keep me glued to my desk. I loved those days when I could pee freely as I worked. Sometimes I held as long as possible, leaking until my underwear was already wet before I barely made it to the tub. Something about feeling my wet pants and the sheer naughtiness of it would fill me with an urge to stroke my soaked cock as it hardened.
I had read some discussions about pull-ups and actual adult diapers, but I was never serious about them myself. Amazon offered a limited selection, but I ended up getting a stylish black pull-up from Tena. I was looking for something super absorbent, but not something that looked like a diaper. The Tena Stylish Black Underwear (in two 18-count packages) was the perfect compromise. I wasn’t sure how well it would work as an overnight, but then I didn’t care. I would be very happy if we both wet the bed.
I went back to work while the clock ticked for the two-hour delivery. I finished folding the laundry, and I had changed into a Depend, with a pee pad handy, just in case I overwhelmed it. It didn’t take long into my second liter when I was at the point of holding my pee and had progressed to the stage where I couldn’t suppress the tiny leaks, which would grow to be larger leaks in time and I just wouldn’t be able to stop it. That would take quite a while, and because I never liked to exhaust my muscles, I just stopped holding it after an hour.
I fantasized about Monica dancing the pee dance and holding her knees together and eventually losing it as golden liquid would stream down her stockings and out from under her skirt to pool on the linoleum floor. I would pull her down onto the floor with me as she’d peel off her blouse and strip and I’d tear her hose and panties out of the way, having her impale herself on my raging hard-on.
Meanwhile, I tried to clench my muscles again to stop the flood but gave up as warm relief gushed into the Depend, and I could feel my soft cock twitch with relief as the pull-up grew heavy and sagged from the weight of its fullness. A small rivulet of pee escaped the gather at my groin and trickled down my leg, staining the pad at my feet. I was still enjoying the relief and the relaxation it brought when my phone buzzed.
It was Monica. I answered it to hear her crying. “Monica, are you alright? What’s wrong? Do you need me to come get you?” It bothered me.
“Tom, I’m…” She snorted, “I’m… I peed my… myself at work.” She snuffled. “In the bathroom. I’m all wet. The car is all wet.” She continued crying.
“Are you on your way home?”
“No. I thought I’d go shopping.” The irritation in her voice should have served as a warning, but I can be thick sometimes.
“Can you pick up a dozen eggs?” She might have laughed, but given the circumstances, it was asking too much.
“OF COURSE I’M COMING HOME.”
“So, no eggs?” Her silence made me realize I shouldn’t push it. “I’ll meet you in the garage. It will be all right, Monica. We’ll make this work.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one pissing yourself.” I bit my tongue, and she disconnected the call. I was acutely aware of the weight of the pull-up as the liquid cooled. I peed a little more into it and then, standing on the slightly wetted pad, peeled off the Depend and wrapped it in it. I dropped that into a disposable plastic shopping bag and wiped myself off with a wet washcloth.
I tossed the washcloth in the hamper, grabbed a couple of towels and Monica’s old bathrobe, and threw my clothes back on. In the kitchen, I pulled out a stemless wineglass and poured her whatever sweet white we had open. I know, who uses stemless for white? I had very little time. With towels, wine, diaper bag and bathrobe in hand, I went out to the garage and opened the door. I had just finished putting the bag with the pull-up in it in the garbage when Monica’s white Soul turned onto the apron, climbed the gentle slope, and parked. I pushed the button to close the door and had her take off her wet clothes right there, towels ready to dry her off. She hadn’t peed on the car seat, so the damage was minimal, easy to clean.
Her clothing wasn’t that bad. I’m not sure I’d have noticed if I had just glanced at her casually. She had on the black stockings, which hid the wetness, and her skirt had obviously been in contact with the stockings, but if she hadn’t sat in the car, it might not have been noticeable. Watching her peel off the wet stockings and panties after dropping her clothes to the floor was hard to bear. I was afraid my bulge would be visible in the baggy shorts.
Her eyes looked sad as she accepted the glass of wine, and I fought the urge to take her there in the garage. Instead, I collected her soaked clothes to take to the laundry area, and suggested she rinse off in the downstairs shower stall. Wine in hand, she numbly shuffled off in that direction.
Unbeknownst to my wife, I was an expert in dealing with urine-soaked clothes. I had seen people complain about staining or cleanup, but I found that simple, immediate treatment ensured no further complications. I took her clothes and put them on one side of the laundry sink, where I ran some chilly water with a cup of white vinegar and let them soak. When it came time to wash the clothes, normal detergent would take care of it. Baking soda added to the wash could help, if needed, but quick action prevented any further remediation. It was odd in a way that my kink was training for the next phase of my marriage.
I came back up while she was still in the shower and took off my clothes and stepped in with her. She was crying and just letting the water run over her. “Tom…” she started when she felt me behind her, and swiveled to face me, putting her hands up to keep me at bay. “Please don’t. You don’t have to…”
She didn’t get to finish because I started kissing her. I’m sure she also noticed my erection, but that was incidental. I was just trying to be supportive. She seemed surprised and reluctant, but then she relaxed, and her tongue met mine as they danced the steps they knew well. Through the years we had “made out” less and relied on casual familiarity with one another’s bodies as our ardor for each other had waned. We had our moments, but our most passionate and active days seemed long behind us after 30 years of marriage.
We both relaxed into the kiss, and I slowed down and let my tongue explore her mouth like I hadn’t in years. Her hands, initially a barrier, became a snare, pulling me closer. I felt her breasts, still full and round, if a little less firm, press against my chest as she gripped me. I could hear her let out a half sigh, half moan as I felt her relax even more, and we lost all sense of time in a kiss like we hadn’t had for years. The water streamed against her shoulders, splashing my face, and running down our bodies as I pulled her even closer and moved my mouth to her neck.
She had always liked when I nibbled the back of her neck, alternating between kissing, sucking, and biting, and her hand reached down to my semi-erect cock in response. “I whispered in her ear that she doesn’t have to, causing her to shiver, and told her to just relax and let me love her.”
We simply held each other as the water cooled, and I leaned over and turned it off. Even though I wanted us both to cum, it was enough to be with her like this. I stepped out of the shower and grabbed two towels, taking a moment to cup her face in my hand. “Monica, you know I love you, and everything about you. So, tell me what happened today.” I could see her chin quiver in response. “Monica, it’s me. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
I started drying myself and looked away so she wouldn’t feel like I was pressuring her. “I pissed myself like a baby. That’s what happened.”
“Monica, it’s a normal part of aging. Have you made an appointment to see Dr. Jellico yet?”
I could hear her voice firm up a little. “Yes, I have an appointment next Wednesday.”
“Excellent! Who knows? Maybe it’s just a temporary thing?”
“God, I hope so.” My heart sank a little at that. But for her sake, I understood.
“So, what happened?”
She sighed and recounted her day. She got to work, finished her coffee, started drinking water as usual, had lunch and then had a meeting. “I went into the meeting feeling like I had to go to the bathroom, but nothing urgent, I figured it could wait.”
She had finished drying, and we both started upstairs to the bedroom to find clothes. “Halfway through the meeting I felt it more but figured I could hold it, and then I…” I could hear her voice quaver, “I squirted some pee in my underwear. I felt better after that, and then I squirted a little more. Towards the end, I had to keep crossing my legs and squirming a bit, and I squirted again. Roger asked me if I was OK, and I lied and said I was. But I wasn’t. It was all I could do to not pee myself, and I could feel pee wetting my panties.
She looked at me and blushed, embarrassed, and then looked away, continuing as she pulled clothes from her dresser. “The meeting ended. I waited a minute for people to leave, got up and tried not to sprint for the bathroom. I’m sure I was quite a sight, walking stiff-legged, trying not to pee in the hallway.”
Her voice quavered a little more, and I put my arm around her. I was picturing all of this in my head. I had read stories and seen videos of exactly this kind of scenario, and here was my painfully vanilla wife, dangling one of my kinkiest fantasies right in front of me.
“I, I got into the bathroom, locked the door, and tried to make it.” She was fighting back tears as I was fighting being visibly aroused. “I couldn’t even get my stockings down before I made it to the toilet and dripped everything into it. Thank God it didn’t hit the floor.”
“Oh, Monica, it will be all right.” I offered.
“Some of it ran down my legs and into my shoes, but I could clean up the worst of it.”
“Did anyone see?”
“No. I left the bathroom and went straight to the car. I don’t think anyone noticed anything. I just texted Roger that I wasn’t feeling well and left suddenly. You know Roger; he just said, "Take whatever time you need.” She paused for a moment. “The car,” she groaned, “what will I do?”
“I’ll take care of it.” We finished getting dressed in silence. Roger was a gem of a boss. Even if he knew what was going on, he would be unfazed and supportive. She was lucky. “You can still...
