Go to the mall

Slowly coming back to earth from the high of your first wetting experience, you talk to Brenda about her plans for the day, surprisingly enjoying the sensation of your soaked pants on your bottom half. In the middle of your idle chatter, a prior arrangement pops back into mind.

“Sorry, I gotta go,” you sheepishly interrupt her, checking your calendar. “I’m hanging out with the girls at the mall today. See you when I get back, if you’re not busy?” You glance down; the massive pool you and Brenda created earlier has noticeably shrunk, just like the dream predicted. Brenda walks you over to the door, you and her leaving a trail of wet footprints on the floor.

“I’ll be out with Mark and the kids later,” she explains. “Have fun at the mall, though!” She stops right beside the door, with the beginning of a new, thin golden trickle extending down her inner left thigh.

“Okay! Catch you later!” you say, smiling.

“Bye!” she smiles back, filling a small puddle between her feet as you leave her line of sight.

Back in your apartment, you ponder what clothes to change into. Even after you manage to control the voice in your head begging you not to leave the house in piss-drenched clothes, you still wouldn’t dare to go outside in just a pair of old sweatpants and a loose old T-shirt. After some pondering, you settle on a trendy one-shoulder top, denim miniskirt and high heels.

Now then… should you wear panties? You need to get used to voiding yourself in public as soon as possible if you intend to fit in. Going to a restroom is out of the question—and if the dream was right, you wouldn’t be allowed in one anyway! If the shrinking pool at Brenda’s is any indication, it wonʼt make much of a difference where you make water. On the other hand, you haven’t seen anyone go number two yet, so just in case, you don’t want to make too much of a mess if you're going out for a meal. A nice pair of full-cut panty briefs should hold a decent amount, hopefully giving it time to dissolve discreetly. After sliding into a pair of elastic, form-fitting panties, you walk downstairs to your car and drive off.

As a way to pass the time, you half-heartedly flip from one radio station to the next. Most of the programming seems to be essentially the same as usual. You settle on a generic talk show, though you don’t pay much attention to the host nor the D-list actress she’s interviewing. The inconsequential chatter is mostly what you would expect… except for the occasional sound of crashing water, or a raspy fart here and there. Despite these intrusions, the women don’t bother to stop talking, or even make any kind of comment on their audible excretions as they yammer on.

It takes about twenty minutes of driving for the pressure in your bladder to build up to an uncomfortable level, despite the plentiful amount you produced just a while ago in Brenda’s living room. Now aware of the way things work, you decide to try out your new bladder-draining rights in the safety of this semi-private space. The added challenge of driving makes the task difficult at first, but you eventually manage to relax your bottom sphincters, causing the unexpectedly massive amount of pee inside you to rush out. It feels surprisingly nice as the warm fluid quickly fills every available space between your groin, your ass and the cushioned seat. Blockaded by your ass and thighs and with nowhere else to go, your piss courses forward to splash onto the floor of the vehicle.

It feels even more pleasurable now than at Brenda’s. It’s hard to put into words, but there’s something very pleasant about deliberately, forcefully pissing yourself while doing something so mundane, far out of sight of any toilets. Maybe it’s the fact that bodily waste is so taboo to you. Before today, if anyone found out you had wet yourself even by accident, it would have been embarrassing, never mind what they would think if you’d done it on purpose. Or maybe it’s this sense of newfound freedom, now that all the little inconveniences and unspoken rules surrounding such a basic bodily function are a thing of the past.

You spend the rest of the trip thinking about this, unconsciously rubbing your ass back and forth against the seat, feeling the wetness in the fabric of your skirt and underwear, sniffing the soft but sharp smell in the air.

Upon reaching the vast shopping mall, you find a parking spot near the main gate. You exit the car, taking a moment to admire your work: the soaked driver's seat, the smell, the puddle on the car floor, the dark stain on the front of your skirt, the wet coat covering your whole ass and thighs. You feel a warmth on your face as you walk toward the building in your current state, looking like a toddler who’s just had an accident, embarrassed yet exhilarated by the naughtiness of what you just did. As exciting as they are, it’s going to take a while to get used to these new rules.

Crossing the threshold, you’re welcomed by the usual open storefronts, wandering shoppers, artificial lights, echoing music and lively chatter. Everything about this place feels comfortingly familiar, except for liquid splodges and variously-solid mounds randomly scattered throughout the otherwise pristine floor, as if someone had let loose a pack of badly housetrained dogs.

Soon enough, you pass by a young girl of around twenty, with no clothes at all between the bottom of her snug sweater and the top of her thigh-high socks, who’s trying to talk her boyfriend into buying her a gift. You stop for a moment to discreetly appreciate (and secretly envy) her exposed shapely ass when you see, to your surprise, a brown tip emerge between its cheeks. The fecal expulsion grows in spurts, hanging lower every time she unconsciously pushes it a little bit further out of herself. Eventually, the massive load severs under its own weight, hitting the floor behind her with a loud wet slap. No one other than yourself, not even the girl, seems to take any kind of notice. Still attempting to sweet-talk her man, she expels another piece of poop, this one slightly lighter in color and softer in consistency, which lengthens to its breaking point and lands directly on top of the first one, leaving a bit of caked buildup between the girl’s cheeks.

Now exhilarated, you walk around the mall, coming across all kinds of women standing, walking, sitting, casually hanging out with friends or alone. Some are wearing seemingly normal outfits, some are only wearing underwear on their lower trunks, and some have put on absolutely nothing to cover anything under their hips. A young girl, probably in her early twenties, is laughing at a joke while drizzling piss from her bare pussy, sprinkling her friend’s legs in the process. A forty-something businesswoman is sitting at the edge of a fountain, typing on her laptop while efficiently dunking turds into the water one after another. A woman of about your age is waiting for someone outside a store, dancing in place to whatever is playing in her headphones, with a thick brown snake swaying and hitting the bottom of her asscheeks, threatening to snap off. It’s not that every woman is constantly pissing and shitting everywhere, but even with your limited experience, you know that holding it becomes uncomfortable fairly quickly, and with the crowds of women swarming around this place, you’re unlikely to go two minutes without running into someone emptying herself.