I blushed and squirmed all the way through writing this. But I really, really wanted to ruin so I’m putting this out there. One of my biggest fantasies. James knows the rest. And in order to have my pleasure, he picked this one to be posted. It’s been sitting in my drafts for nearly two days. Taunting me. Reminding me what a desperate denial slut I am.
This one has been with me ever you proved to me I wasn’t desperate when I said I was. I had to drink a glass of water every 15 minutes until I was squirming in my seat, desperate to use the bathroom. Then you made me drive home. In my fantasies, I imagine a different outcome, however. It was late in the evening, so I was all alone in that parking lot since classes were finished. I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with doing stuff in (semi)public because I find it arousing but I hate admitting it. But I imagine you telling me if I’m truly desperate I’d have no objection to going right there. Wet myself in the abandoned parking lot or not at all. Or that perhaps I had made it home and had to kneel on the bathroom floor. Only I mess up and could no longer control myself, having an accident right there. Only to tell and have the next message be ‘Thats what tongues are for.’ to humiliate me further. So yeah, I developed a wetting fantasy after that evening. I want to feel on the verge of breaking down in tears. I want to have trouble making it down the two flights of stairs in school, frightened I’ll break down right there where I can’t clean up at least a little. I have such a small bladder it will hardly be any trouble. But still, I dream about being pushed. Not given a break and having to drink no matter how bad it gets. Surely it couldn’t be as bad as I say. If it was I wouldn’t mind the chance of someone catching me going right there. Hidden only partially by my car I break down, feeling so ashamed and yet so relieved. Of course, there’s no holding back once I finally let go and I close my eyes as I just feel myself making a bigger puddle. Right through my ruined leggings, or perhaps I’m only in a skirt and nothing underneath.
I can’t begin to explain why I have this fantasy. It’s certainly my most humiliating one. Each time I think of it, I feel like I shouldn’t be having it. It’s so…pathetic. Embarrassing. Shameful. But then again, that’s exactly what draws me to it. The humiliation and wrongness of it. Sharing this even with just you was hard, even though I know you asked me to admit it. To later beg for it to happen sometime. That you probably won’t judge me for the way my humiliation kink works. It’s just a big circle round and round. The humiliation arouses me. The arousal humiliates me, knowing where it stems from. My face is getting so hot writing this up and I’m in the middle of my class, luckily close to lunch break. I may have to go edge after I’ve written this up. I can feel myself dripping.
Mostly it’s also the concept of the fantasy that runs a lot in the others. To be so humiliated to the point of breaking. Knowing how easily you could rub it in my face what a desperate, needy slut I am. How easy I break down. How I bring this on myself. How I basically humiliate myself. Just thinking about it is such a great mindfuck for me because I’m playing it out in my mind, over and over.
It’s just another way of denial…
Oh Lizzy, I’m so mean to you.