This story is mostly fictional, though it does have some real-life elements I remember from growing up. This is a one-episode story. If you like what you've read, please send me fan mail at jonjonleprechaun@comcast.net. Also, you can read my other stories posted on Nifty in the Gay sections Adult-Youth and Young Friends: Billie's Tightie Whities, My Summer Surgery and Marcus, 14 y/o freeballer, Heat Wave Boys, Sixth Grade Josh, What Happened When Miguel Wet His Pants, and (most currently & still on-going) the XYZ boys series.
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-Jon
Urination, No Sex, Masturbation: teen, wetting, self-exploration
Randy cursed the traffic gods. Being stuck on the freeway was a pain in the best of circumstances, and he was only two miles from his exit (four miles from his home). He had been stuck here for an hour; for at least half of that hour he had had one hand in his lap, gripping himself. But the feeling was getting too strong to ignore, and he was afraid it wouldn't be enough. Because Randy had to piss. REALLY had to piss.
Now he regretted guzzling that Big Gulp while he drove. And regretted throwing the empty cup out the window even more.
`Come on, Randy, you're sixteen years old. You are NOT going to wet your pants!' he thought to himself. For one thing, he would ruin his car seat. If he lost control his shorts and briefs wouldn't be able to soak it all up.
So he tensed his bladder muscles as much as possible, and gripped himself as hard as he could.
Then the traffic gods smiled on him. Traffic started moving. Within minutes he was off of the freeway and heading down his street, and then pulling into his driveway. It was empty.
Good,' he thought, no one else is home.' He quickly threw the car into park and jerked up the parking brake, turned off the ignition, and practically jumped out. His thin, 6' frame was half-doubled over as he ran, one hand still clutching himself, as he felt the telltale spasms in his groin that told him he was about to lose control. He struggled one-handed with his keys to open the front door, and felt a quick jet of warm piss spurt into his underpants.
"NO!" he yelled as he ran down the hallway to the only downstairs bathroom. His briefs grew sodden as several more quick squirts shot out. And to make matters worse, he had trouble undoing his webbed leather belt. When he finally got his shorts open, his bladder gave out and his urine began flowing.
"CRAP!" he yelled, and just sat down on the toilet. As he felt his piss soaking his baby blue 2(X)ist briefs, he looked down to check the damage in his shorts. The light grey linen was noticeably darker around the fly; he knew he'd have to do laundry before his parents got back home later tonight.
Randy stayed sitting on the toilet for a few minutes after his piss stream stopped, until the dripping finished. Standing, he pulled up his soaked briefs and then his saturated shorts, and checked himself out in the mirror.
It was obvious what had happened. The telltale, dark pattern in his crotch told that he had wet his pants. But he saw something else just as obvious: the bulge behind his zipper.
Randy had an erection. A rock-hard boner.
It had been several years since Randy had last pissed his pants. When he was younger he had done it on purpose. He remembered that he always enjoyed the risk of doing something so forbidden, until he hit puberty and started worrying more that others would discover his hidden thrill. But he had forgotten that he also enjoyed the physical feeling of having his dick and balls encased in the warm wetness.
He walked into the kitchen, and looked at the clock. 2:00, his parents wouldn't be home for at least four more hours, maybe even five or six. And his fifteen-year-old brother Sean was staying at a friend's house for the weekend. So he decided to do something he hadn't done since he was 11 or 12: hang out in piss-wet clothing.
Randy headed out through the back door, out onto the back deck. The spring sun was just warm enough. After kicking off his shoes and sliding off his t-shirt, he got a bottle of flavored water out of the mini-fridge and grabbed one of the plastic recliners. He took them out onto the grass, and laid down.
A memory came flooding back. Randy recalled being eleven, in this same setting: home alone, lying on the recliner barefoot and bare-chested, but that time with a 6-pack of soda on the ground next to him. He had drank them all down, one after the other; the fullness in his crotch after the 2nd can getting more intense with the emptying of each subsequent can. Until midway through can #5, when he lost it and let his bladder empty into his pants. And again as he started can #6. And again as he finished that one. When he wet himself for the fourth time that day, he could clearly hear his piss flooding into the puddle in the grass under him.
He also remembered being hard that day too. But back then, he didn't really know what to do with it.
Now he did.
As he drained that liter bottle, he massaged his hard-on through his shorts with his other hand. Hard enough that those familiar feelings coursed through his entire teen body, but not hard enough to get him anywhere close to the edge. At least not yet.
After finishing the bottle he padded back onto the porch and pulled two more out of the fridge, then went and laid back down, continuing where he had left off. Before long his bladder filled back up, causing his hard cock to throb even more as he rubbed it. Midway through that second bottle the spasms started. He continued kneading himself, even as the dam burst again and he flooded his pants again, feeling the warm liquid soaking through the thin material onto his hand.
When he finished pissing, he brought his piss-wet hand to his mouth and licked it. He knew he didn't really like the taste of his piss (he had tried it off and on over the years), but it threw another illicit layer over his actions and almost brought him to the edge. But he backed off, wanting to make this experience last.
Less than an hour later, he was just finishing the third bottle when he let himself flood his pants again. As that stream died off, he increased his hand action until he felt his balls pull up as he approached the point of no return. Only this time, he didn't stop.
Randy groaned aloud as his groin tensed up and then relaxed, jet after jet of teen cum flooding his already-soaking briefs. He had shot off into his underpants lots of times before; mostly in bed, also a few times while sitting in class during particularly boring lectures. But never outside like this.
The teen laid there for a few minutes after his orgasm finished, and then half-sat up and looked down his body at his shorts. The front, and down between his legs, was soaked. He could feel the combination of warm-but-cooling piss, together with the stickiness of his spent cum, surrounding his genitals. Then he laid back on the recliner, put his hands behind his head, and drifter off to sleep.
Some time later, a noise half woke up Randy. He continued lying there, with his eyes closed. Until he felt a coolness, a shadow blocking the sun from his naked upper body.
He moved his hand to shade his eyes, opened them, and saw Sean standing there, smirking down at him.
"What did you do, bro, wet your pants in your sleep?"
Randy looked down at himself again. His shorts still had that obviously pissed-in look. His hands flew down to cover himself, but it was too late.
"Y-you won't tell mom and dad, will you?" Another memory flew into Randy's brain: he was 10 and Sean was 9, and he was lying in the bathtub just wearing a pair of freshly peed-in tightie whities. And then the bargaining, the blackmail, to keep his brother from tattling.
Here they were again.
Sean sneered down at Randy.
"Maybe not."
Randy sighed. "What do I gotta do?"
But Sean didn't say anything, he just stood there. Until he reached down, undid his own shorts, and pulled out his half-hard cock. And then relaxed. And emptied his half-full bladder onto Randy.