Here’s another update in the Sarah’s Secret Diary archive.
John was going to be with me through the Easter holiday, so I can’t think about playing my wet games. He doesn’t know anything about my wet passion, and once got angry with me when I wet myself once on holiday.
John was taking me to his parents house. It was an hour’s drive from our flat, but it was in the suburbs. I was wearing a dark blue ankle length dress. It was a mansion with several acres of well-maintained grassland. John’s father had built up a successful construction business before selling it to a larger company.
When we got there, John’s parents greeted us and we had been shown to the living room. It was so huge, I reckon the entire contents of our flat should be able to fit into it. the room was also filled with valuable antiques and statuettes. I felt very nervous and that made me thirsty, so I asked if I could have a glass of water. John’s mother gave me a glass and I drank it almost immediately. We then sat down on one of their extremely large sofas. John’s father told me that it was made to order, no wonder they were so big.
I felt so nervous that it almost made me need to go to the toilet. I began to feel a twinge in my bladder, but I didn’t want to embarass John and his parents by telling them I need to pee soon after entering the house. A couple of hours later, still sitting on the sofa, my need to go got stronger, so I started to cross my legs and tightened my bladder muscles. John and I was has a great conversation with his parents and I didn’t want to break it off now.
Later, it was time for lunch, and we walked towards the dining room to sit at the table. The lunch on offer of the traditional Sunday roast- chicken, vegetables, potatoes with salad dressing to eat and red wine to drink. I found it difficult to eat due to my increasingly desperate need to pee. I was able to hide my predicament by twisting my legs and fidgeting under the table. I was still trying to control my bladder muscles, but it was coming to the point whether I would either wait or wet. I asked where the toilet was, and John’s father told me.
“Down the corridor, then turn left towards the outhouse, then upstairs to the first floor, down the corridor there to the last door on your right. Got that?”
“Got it!” I lied. John asked if he wanted to go with me, but I declined.
“I’m a big girl, I can find it!” I replied.
I took a wrong turning at the first corridor, which lead me to another one. I then double-backed only to see another corridor. Moments later, I felt that I was lost. How could I? In a mansion? Meanwhile, my bladder was at bursting point, and had one hand inbetween my legs, desperately trying to hold it in. I looked in corridor after corridor, room after room, desperately looking for the toilet. Suddenly, I felt some pee leak into my knickers. I was frightened, because of the potential embarassment any accident would cause. I heard a voice in the distance.
“Sarah? Where are you?”
“I-I’m here.” Thankfully, it was John’s mother, who had seen me in my predicament.
“We’d better get you to a toilet before you have an accident.” She showed me the correct way and rushed there just in time. I was so relieved to release my pee in the toilet, I was very close to wetting myself. After I finished, I rejoined John at the dining room table, wondering what all the fuss was about.