Anne Glenson drained her coffee mug. It was the fourth she’d had that morning. It was Monday, officially Archie’s day off – correction their day off – as the nature of his work meant that they never had a proper weekend to themselves. Today, however, he’d had to go to a meeting which was expected to last all morning and she didn’t anticipate seeing him before lunchtime if not later.

His absence did, however, furnish her with an opportunity for a little self indulgence. For as long as she cared to remember Anne had enjoyed holding it until she was absolutely bursting and couldn’t wait any longer. Few things felt better than a long holding session culminating in the sheer joy of a delightful warm wetness as she soaked herself like the naughtiest of naughty housewives. She just loved being bursting for the loo and, even better, flooding her pants. Although it was something she’d always done, whenever she’d been able to get away with it, at 37 Anne was well old enough to know better and that fact turned her on too. Archie knew about her tendency but he didn’t approve – or at least had her believe that he didn’t approve. He was sweet, kind and tolerant but she didn’t think it was fair to rub his nose in it. Consequently opportunities to indulge herself had to be taken as and when he wasn’t about for the most part.

It was quite true that the wetting she’d had at the village fete was a genuine accident but, unfortunately, her secret was out of the bag and it didn’t sit well with some of the women in that small rural community. She’d already outraged their sense of decency by wearing not just jeans but tight jeans too – ones which showed of her legs and bottom to their shapeliest and best advantage. So far as they were concerned though, it just wasn’t done – and certainly not by the rector’s wife! Earlier that morning she’d nipped down to the village in her tight blue jeans in order to pick up some stamps and the Daily Telegraph. As she left the shop her sharp ears had picked up a whispered conversation between Major Hancock’s wife and the postmistress.

“You know she does it in her pants, don’t you? I think it’s quite disgusting.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard. Quite dreadful. Someone in her position should know better – I mean the rector’s wife of all people! If it was that slut from the Fox & Eagle I could understand…”

That had been two hours ago and, although Anne had been unable to resist crossing and uncrossing her legs for effect, she’d not been desperate then, just quite capable of peeing if she’d wanted to. Now safely back in the warmth of the rectory she’d topped up her coffee intake and completed the Telegraph crossword whilst she was about it. As she debated over whether to pour herself a glass of water or make a fifth coffee she could feel her pleasant sensation of discomfort turn to one of desperation. Her bladder was swollen but less so than it could get or she’d like. To speed things up a little she poured herself a large glass of water and drank it quickly.

Returning to her easy chair, Anne decided to make herself as comfortable as possible. She’d prepared it well using two large plastic sheets and spreading three old towels on top of them. By now she really needed to go to the loo but there was no way that she was going – oh not. Anne stroked her crotch as she felt the pressure building whilst her desperation increased. She’d been checking out some of her favourite desperation sites earlier and that had really put her in the mood.

Now she was really desperate and as the clock struck twelve she decided it was time to release all that pent up pee. Unwilling to hold it in for any longer, Anne began peeing and started to release little spurts which soon turned into a cascade. She sighed with pleasure as the warm wetness completely soaked her knickers and stonewash blue jeans. It wasn’t long before the towels beneath her were sodden too. The sheer relief and naughtiness of it just felt amazing. Eventually she stopped peeing but as she did so another urge took over and she unzipped her jeans. Sliding a hand inside her sodden knickers Anne began pleasuring herself, consumed with the enjoyment of what she was doing. In fact she was enjoying herself so much that she didn’t hear Archie’s car in the drive or his key in the door. Only when she was about to climax did she look up, just as Archie entered the room. Caught at it, she blushed but decided to act as normally as possible.

“Archie, I wasn’t expecting you back just yet.”

There was an unmistakable bulge in Archie’s pants but he had at least to pretend to disapprove.

“Clearly not by the look of it.”

Anne moved her hand from her crotch.

“How did the meeting go? Did you have a good time?”

Archie frowned.

“Clearly not as good a time as you appear to be having! I think you should have a shower and get changed. Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can find anything in the fridge for that spot of lunch I hoped you might have got ready for me. Oh, and whilst you’re showering make sure that bladder’s properly emptied.”

Anne gave her husband a guilty look.

“Archie, you’re cross, aren’t you?”

Archie reached out and took Anne in his arms. As he did so, her sodden jeans fell to the floor.

“No darling, of course I’m not cross. I’m not surprised either though. If the bookie in Stowchester had offered me decent odds on this happening I’d be a rich man now!”

The End