You guys know the drill now, right? Lolol, old story from the fall of 2015, my first year at university that I wrote for omorashi.org. I hope you all like it! Even though these are old, feedback is welcome. Feel free to shoot me a message any time. :)
Hey guys! It’s me again. I’m sure that judging from the topic title
you can tell I did something stupid again, so let’s just get into it.
I was doing a hold yesterday. You know, drinking some soda, some
water, the usual stuff, just waiting around for it all to start kicking
in. The problem was at some point I realized I had to turn in a paper I
had due to one of my professors. Looking at the clock, I hadn’t gotten
too far into the whole hold thing, I was feeling it but I wasn’t
unbearably desperate. I estimated that I shouldn’t be more than an hour,
and by the time I got back I’d probably REALLY be feeling it, so I said
what the hell, let’s go turn it in now. So I got to the nearest transit
stop, knowing it would be there any second, and took it to a friends
place. I had a water bottle filled with lemonade on me and continually
sipped from it as the trip progressed. Eventually I got to my friends
place, and bugged her for a ride, given the University is all but 5
minutes away from where she lives. She had to go to the store anyway so
she let me off in the Uni lot, and said she was going to pick up some
groceries and would be in the lot again by the time I got out. Perfect.
At this point I was definitely starting to feel twitchy. I’d clench my
thighs or bounce around a little every now and again from the
Obligatory description paragraph! To reiterate very simply, I’m
between 5'8-5'9, 116 pounds, pale as ash, and long black hair that
reaches past my shoulders. For my trip out I was wearing a white
Avengers T-shirt, a small jean jacket over it, a black miniskirt, and
black tights. Just a white bra and panties set, nothing special.
So I get to the University. At this point I need to pee pretty
solidly, but I’m not in danger. At this moment, everything was going
according to plan. When I get in I ask for directions to the professor
offices of that general category, and I get some really vague ones so I
get sort of lost. I find my way there eventually by pure accident.
I get to her office and I knock. She tells me to come in and I hand
in my assignment. Thing is about this particular teacher, she’s chatty.
Which I don’t mind at all! She’s sweet, funny, and well-versed in her
subject which is something I happen to find very interesting. I’m also
overly nervous and polite, so I won’t often excuse myself from a
conversation even if I need to.
She kept me in that office talking for about an hour. In this time,
my need for the bathroom rose to DANGER levels. She was so into our
conversation she didn’t even notice my constant fidgeting, or any of the
usual telltale signs. And to be fair, I was really into the
conversation too. It was during this conversation the first leak
happened, and I visibly stiffened, thinking to myself something along
the lines of “Shiiiiiiiiiit.” Eventually she let me go, saying she had
some stuff to get done, and I politely excused myself from the office.
The moment I shut the door I looked around and shoved my hand between my
legs. Bathroom. NOW. I could let out enough and continue the hold at
home, but if I didn’t do something I wouldn’t make it home to finish
holding. Almost the moment I finished that thought I leaked a little
into my panties, like my body was adding an exclamation point.
I looked around the entire floor for the bathroom. Campus is three or
four buildings altogether, I haven’t gotten used to the grounds yet so I
can’t say for sure. But its big. And not knowing where I am often, I
get lost easy. Like some Omorashi cliche, the bathroom on this floor was
out of order. I dribbled a bit more, as I had been doing every little
bit. I actually took another sip of my lemonade, almost reflexively.
Then I slapped myself mentally…Muscle memory isn’t always a good
thing. I did end up coming across an elevator in my desperate waddling,
and ended up on the second floor (I had been on the third). I was almost
starting to get my bearings here, some of the area looked familiar. I
felt a familiar warmth and immediately gripped at myself again under my
skirt, clenching my legs together. The spurts had definitely soaked
through my underwear, I felt the tights between my legs growing
increasingly damp as time went on. I didn’t have much time left. Another
spurt or two happened before I regained control, my hand coming away
wet. I wiped it off on my knee and continued my desperate journey.
Luckily for me, it being the weekend, there weren’t a ton of students
around, especially given that here in Canada, thanksgiving was Sunday.
The day I’m posting this actually, so happy thanksgiving everyone!
After much exploring I found a staircase, the kind that goes down to a
landing, and then turns around to finish going down in the opposite
direction. The staircase was familiar to me, at the bottom was an area I
usually frequent so once I got down there I knew where the nearest
bathroom was. My bladder evidently didn’t like the fact that I was close
to making it, as every step down to the first landing, I leaked. My
hands were buried between my legs and I could feel them catching drops. I
was sweating, my muscles straining, but I couldn’t give up, I was so
close! I reached the landing and made my way down the second set of
steps, slowly but steadily dribbling all the way. About midway down I
started leaking heavily, and one large spurt in particular I felt stream
down the back of my leg a little. This was bad. I felt more urine
travel down the insides of my legs and begin to gently patter onto the
stairs. I was losing control I was increasingly doubting I would get
back. It was also at this moment I heard voices coming from the top of
the stairs coming down, and voices from ahead of me, on the ground
floor. In front of the stairs, maybe 10 feet, there was a door leading
outside and a hallway going left, and I could hear people coming from
around the corner. I was about to be surrounded, and judging from the
absolute straining feeling in my bladder as I dribbled and leaked on the
stairs, I might be absolutely peeing myself during said time. So I did
the only thing I could do…I dashed down the remainder of the stairs,
did a 180, hid under them, and slammed my back against the wall and
covered my mouth. I could hear people coming around the corner and more
coming down the stairs. I shoved my hand down my tights and gripped my
crotch outside of my now soaking wet panties, with my other hand
covering my mouth trying to stay as quiet as possible. There was just
one issue….I couldn’t hold it. I gripped, and crossed my legs, and
braced as hard as I could, but I just couldn’t hold it anymore, no
matter how hard I tried.
It started to come out, regardless of how badly I was trying to hold
it or not. A hissing came from under my hand, streaming down my locked
legs onto the floor, my other hand muffling moans and whines. I tried so
hard but the more I tried the harder it came, my panties and tights
were soaked. I could feel it gathering in my shoes, and my legs becoming
warm and wet all over. I let out a muffled squeal into my palm as my
bladder just felt like it dropped, and the stream grew so powerful it
sprayed between my fingers onto the floor. The voices were growing
distant now, like it even mattered anymore. I felt it streaming down my
legs, my breathing becoming ragged as it made its own trails and
waterfalls down my legs and thighs. There was a massive puddle beneath
me on the ground. I just stood there, unsure of how to react. I had just
pissed myself at University.
Me being me, I immediately went into Solid Snake mode. I whipped out a
napkin and wiped off the back of my tights. Being black, they wouldn’t
show much. I darted out the aforementioned door and out into the sun. It
was rather warm. My panties and tights were damp but its not like
anyone could tell, especially given the distance between me and anyone
else. A LITTLE bit had gotten on the skirt, but as that was black too, I
was currently semi-safe. I looped around campus from the outside,
hoping to dry a little. I saw the car in the parking lot, but my friend
wasn’t in it. I found out later she went to the convenience store across
the street while waiting for me.
I hopped into the car, and reclined the passenger seat back. I kicked
off my shoes and pulled my tights off. I put them in my backpack and
pulled out a pair of knee highs (I go everywhere with spare socks. You
never know people!) and put them on. Bam. Nobody would even be the
wiser. I could even feel my panties were no longer sopping wet.
Eventually she came back to the car to find me. She looked at my legs,
and then at me, asking why I changed like that. I told her it was hot,
while smiling like an idiot. She claimed it made no sense but didn’t
pursue it further after I said I felt the socks were cuter. I then
managed to get home and reflect on my day.
Well there you have it! As always, feel free to give feedback and ask me anything! I love hearing from everyone :)
From June 07 to June 25, 2017, In Grenoble (France) and within the Street Art Fest, my gifs are looping on cinema screens in the Street Art Film Fest of the same city. If you are close take a walk in the city to see street artist working and then take relax watching some documentaries, time lapses and gifs inside.
warnings: this is an angsty one… ptsd, panic attack, hallucinations, blood, abuse and torture (in hallucination).
Neil was out running when it really began to hit. He had been feeling a bit off during practice, but chalked it up to anxiety in the face of the Foxes’ upcoming match against Edgar Allen. However, when practice continued and Neil didn’t feel any less antsy than he had before, he decided that he needed to go for a run. After a brief conversation with Andrew, who wasn’t in the mood to run and would supervise Kevin, Neil was off on one of his favorite paths, looping through campus and the outskirts on a run just long enough to take his mind off of things yet not long enough to leave him too sore for practice the next day.
Neil was frustrated to find out that this was apparently not one of the times where running could help shake him out of his own thoughts. Instead, Neil found himself replaying the Foxes’ last match against the Ravens, his own conversation with Ichirou, the sound of the bullet piercing Riko’s flesh, and the image of Lola cackling as his father threatened to break his legs.
Aiming to prevent further destruction to his already damaged psyche, Neil put in extra speed for the last mile or so, attempting to drown out the sound of his nightmares from the past with the pounding of his feet against the pavement and his ragged breathing.
When he stumbles up to his dorm room roughly five minutes later, he is uncharacteristically out of breath and feels like he ran for much longer than he had. His head swims as he drops to the floor, roughly unlaces his shoes and then tosses them a short distance away. Neil then sits with his knees pulled up to his chest,his head resting on them, eyes half-closed, and tries to make them focus on his surroundings. Stop it, He tells himself. You’re fine.
Neil’s not sure how long he’s been sitting on the floor when a knock sounds on the door of his dorm room, but it’s long enough that Neil’s back feels stiff from sitting on the floor in the same position for an extended amount of time. Neil stands up off the floor slowly and cautiously, but apparently his legs have now decided they can continue to hold him, so he stands the rest of the way less carefully and then takes a minute to stretch his back and glance around the dorm. As he’s walking to unlock the door, where another knock is sounding, he pauses to be grateful that nobody was home when he came in from his run. It’s not that he would have particularly minded if Andrew was there, but Neil knew that despite Andrew’s constant reminders that he “Doesn’t give a shit,” Andrew would spend the remainder of the day – and probably the next few as well – critically gazing at Neil, his hazel eyes looking for a sign that Neil wasn’t quite as fine as he claimed. So, in the long run, it was probably best that Andrew wasn’t here for this particular little episode. Neil was fine. I’m fine. Breathe. Blink. Walk. Door.
Neil’s startled out of his train of thought when a knock on the door sounds for the third time, and he takes a deep breath before hurrying the rest of the distance to the door and unlocking it to see Matt’s smiling face.
“Hey!” Matt greets, stepping inside after Neil opens the door wide enough for him to step through.
“Hi,” Neil replies, still mentally cataloging the pattern of his breathing and making sure that he doesn’t give away anything concerning his current mental state.
“Do you guys have any drink glasses?” Matt asks, meandering off into the living room before turning to look back at Neil. “Where’s Andrew and Kevin?”
Neil shrugs, “The court, I think. Why do you want glasses?”
“Nicky broke our last clean one, and we’re all too lazy to do the dishes,” Matt grins cheekily, and Neil rolls his eyes.
“I think we have a few, I’ll go grab some.”
Matt just nods in response, getting distracted as he apparently sees something interesting outside the dorm’s living room window. When Neil reaches the kitchen, Matt is chuckling to himself and looking down at the street below.
“The soccer players decided to start a water balloon fight in the parking lot apparently,” Matt chuckles from his position at the window as Neil heads towards the cabinet where they keep the drink glasses. Neil’s mind is still distracted, the light a bit too harsh for his pounding head and his legs a bit too wobbly to move confidently.
“That’s a fuck ton of water balloons,” Matt laughs. “I feel sorry for whichever sorry ass had to dish out the money.”
Neil mutters a “Mmhmm” that he knows Matt probably can’t hear. He vaguely notices that his hands are shaking as he reaches to open the cabinet, but doesn’t think much of it until he attempts to grab a glass and drops it, the sound of shattering glass piercing through his dazed thoughts.
Neil looks down and is somewhat surprised to see that the glass actually broke, despite hearing the shattering of the glass. He stares at the counter, now covered in shattered glass, without really comprehending what he’s seeing, but eventually he notices a dull pain in his hands. Neil looks down to see that he had apparently tried to clumsily pick up some of the shattered glass pieces at some point, although he doesn’t remember when. Both of his hands are bloodied and shaking, and Neil stares down at them in horror.
Neil knows that the cuts aren’t as bad as they look, knows that it’s just the blood that makes them look bad. Still, the panic that began earlier in the day finally hits a breaking point and Neil slides to the floor, still staring at his hands in panic. He hears Lola’s voice in his head, sees his father standing in front of him with his favorite knife, hears Riko’s laughter as one of the Ravens breaks a thumb, sees Ichirou, Tetsuji, and Riko standing in front of him with grins as sharp as knives. All at once, he can’t breathe.
“Neil? What’s going on, I thought I heard–” Matt starts, stepping into the kitchen and faced with the sight of Neil, bloodied and slumped against the fridge with a look of pure terror on his face.
“Neil!” Matt gasps, crouching in front of Neil with concern in his eyes. Neil, however, does not see Matt but Lola, coming to burn more scars into his face with her dashboard lighter and flinches back, hitting his head against the fridge behind him in the process.
“Neil, stay with me. It’s ok,” Matt murmured while backing up a few feet to give Neil some room. “Neil, it’s Matt. You’re in Palmetto.”
Neil stays slumped against the fridge, his breathing becoming more and more ragged as the image of his father and mother appear before him, his mother with blood dripping from her abdomen and out of her mouth, his father with a grin that betrays his insanity and a bloodied knife in one hand, gun in the other.
“Look at what you did, Nathaniel!” His father taunts, moving forward to plunge the knife in his mother’s wound again and again and again.
“Stop,” Neil whimpers at the vision of his father. His eyes are blurry with tears and fear. Neil thinks he can hear a voice that sort of sounds like Matt somewhere in the distance, but he’s not sure and the image of his father and mother in front of him are far more important.
“Why didn’t you keep running?” His mother asks as more blood trickles out of her mouth. “I told you to keep running! This is all your fault… all your fault… all your fault!”
Neil sobs and clenches his fist, burying his nails in the already stinging cuts on his palms. Neil only realizes he hasn’t been breathing properly again when he suddenly gets the urge to breathe, and gasps out air as black spots dot his vision. He thinks he can hear Matt again, but it sounds like the Matt in his head just said Andrew’s name, and that’s not right because Andrew and Matt aren’t friends. Still, as Neil drifts in and out of consciousness, he hears half of the imaginary conversation between Matt and Andrew.
“Fuck, Andrew I don’t know! He dropped a glass and his hands are bloody and he’s sobbing and collapsing and I don’t think he can hear me!” There’s a brief pause, but then dream Matt’s voice is back and sounding more urgent than ever. “He’s blacked out. Fuck, where the fuck are you?! I don’t know how to help him!”
Just as the pain of his nails digging into his hands finally registers and Neil feels that he is about to vomit, there is something unfamiliar being laid against his cheek and a voice finding its way through his shattering brain.
“Neil,” the voice says, and Neil thinks he’s hallucinating again because the voice sounds a lot like Andrew, but Andrew’s with Kevin at the court.
Neil attempts to take a deep breath in order to respond, but all that comes up is a shaky sob and another memory of Lola.
A few seconds later, the same voice says, “Neil.” And then a pause. “Abram.”
Finally, Neil opens his eyes. He blearily sees Matt sitting on the floor by the entrance to the kitchen and comprehends that the thing pressed to his cheek must be Matt’s phone, and therefore Andrew is actually speaking.
“Andrew,” Neil croaks. “I-”
“Shut up and listen,” Andrew replies, his bored, flat tone a welcome distraction. “Breathe. In and out, Abram. You’re on the filthy floor of our kitchen and no one is there to hurt you.”
“I need you,” Neil chokes around another sob.
“I’m on my way,” Is Andrew’s response.
“What about Kevin?” Neil asks, his thoughts becoming more and more coherent the more he talks to Andrew.
“Left him at the court.”
“He didn’t move fast enough,” Andrew responds. His voice is tight with anger and what Neil assumes is a mix of worry and tension, although to anyone else it would sound as apathetic as ever.
“How long?” Neil asks.
“I’m around the corner from the dorms.”
Neil makes a vague noise of assent and closes his eyes, listening to Andrew’s breathing on the other end of the line and concentrating on matching his own breathing to Andrew’s. He can hear Andrew turn off the Maserati’s engine, can hear him pull open the car door and then the slam when he closes it, can hear the whoosh of the dorm’s front door opening and the pounding of hard-soled shoes against the metal of the stairs, can hear the creaking of their dorm room door opening through both the phone and with his own ears, and when Andrew appears in the kitchen doorway, stepping past Matt to get to Neil and immediately sitting down on the floor with him and placing a strong hand on the back of his neck, Neil knows he’s going to be okay.
I mean I don’t think so??? I took the bus from the transit terminal and when he was getting on he just looked like he was really not into being there, and it was more like he was haphazard than actively losing control you know??? he also straight up skipped a whole part of the route where it goes on a loop through the college campus before going back onto the main roads. tbh he could have just not given a fuck and not wanted to be at work on sunday morning with only three people on his bus but I definitely don’t think he was having a stroke. but yeah I made it to my stop in one piece so hopefully it all goes smoothly for the rest of the route
Author’s note: First chapter of the Student/Teacher AU, as promised! Shorter than usual, but this is a bit more of slow burn than some of my other stuff. Enjoy!
Summary: Looking to make some extra money, college senior Emma Swan takes a post as a model for Professor Killian Jones’ art class. Sparks fly on both sides. Will they give into temptation?
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Emma scowled at the screen, convinced
there had to be a mistake. She couldn’t be that
short. She’d never get that internship if she couldn’t save enough
money to live in the state capitol for three months.
wrong?” Elsa asked warily. Elsa had learned early in their freshman
year to be wary of Emma’s moods. Elsa’s gentle temperament smoothed
out Emma’s rough edges; it was why they remained friends after being
thrown together randomly in the dorms.
still scowled at her laptop. “Financial aid got dispersed.”
sighed. “According to this, I only have a few hundred dollars left
they not deposit it in your account again?”
it’s there, just not as much as I thought.” She tossed a pen into
the wall; it made a dull thud against the drywall. The miniature
violence did not make her feel better.
Okay, so he hadn’t needed to twist her
arm to oh so charmingly get her to stay another
night in his bed. If Emma was being honest with herself, she didn’t
want to leave their bubble. Those first twenty four hours of their
budding relationship were heady and intoxicating and she’d never felt
anything quite like it. Going back to class and after that, to work,
seemed dreadfully dull and mundane. So she allowed herself to be
persuaded. With his sweet words and toe curling kisses and dexterous
that wasn’t all that kept her. They did eventually find their way
back into his studio, where he showed her more of his work. She even
got to see a couple of his paintings. There was one she really liked,
a depiction of the ocean at sunset. Emma had always loved the ocean,
despite only seeing it herself a couple of times in her life. The
colors he used really spoke to her; she could simply tell that he
felt connected to the water too. She was tempted to ask if she could
have it, but changed her mind. It was far too early for something
like that. Instead,
she listened to him talk, reveling in his passion for his art. Now
that she’d witnessed that same passion turned toward her…she
wondered why she resisted the pull toward him.
Men like Killian
Jones certainly weren’t typical in her experience.