Naughty Donna

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Donna couldn’t believe that it was going to happen to her again. She’d only been seeing her new boyfriend, John, for three weeks, and in that time she’d done something that she hadn’t done in years — she’d wet herself. It had been on their second date. They’d gone out for a couple of drinks and he was walking her back to the house she shared with a friend. It was only a ten minute walk, and she had not even needed to go when they left the bar, but within two minutes of setting off she’d been desperate and after another six or seven minutes, heart-breakingly close to home, her resistance gave out and, almost dying with embarrassment and humiliation, she’d stood in the street weeing in her knickers. It was dark, and nobody but John knew, and he’d been quite kind about it, but the memory of the hot rivers running down her slim legs, the humiliation of her boyfriend seeing her piss herself like a child when she was actually a shapely young woman of 22, none of that was something she wanted to repeat.

But, a fortnight later, the same thing had happened. They’d gone out for a couple of drinks and a meal and were walking back to John’s apartment. It was another few minutes away at least, and Donna was very concerned that she was not going to make it. Even worse, the first time she’d been wearing a skirt, so whilst her panties were soaked and her legs and shoes were wet, at least her housemate had not noticed when she got home and it had been easy enough to launder her underwear. But now she was wearing tight, light blue jeans and John’s apartment was more central than her house, so there were other people around.

Although John had been nice about her embarrassment, he had scolded her gently, pointing out that at 22 most girls don’t go to the toilet in their knickers. She was afraid he’d split with her on the spot, so whilst his comments made her feel like a naughty schoolchild, she was just relieved that he still called her the next day. He’d mentioned it a couple of times since, jokingly asking if she’d managed to stay dry all week. Donna was usually quite sparky, but something about John seemed to make her quiet and more submissive, so she’d blushed at his comments and simply nodded that yes, she’d been good, as if it was normal for a girl her age to have to confirm that she’d had no accidents.

“John, is there somewhere we can stop on the way to yours?” she asked. She’d meant to sound casual, but the sentence came out meek.

“Not really. Why?” It was late and he sounded half-irritated. He’d been saying for the last half an hour that they should head back.

“I…I need the loo, that’s all.” Again, she sounded quieter than she’d intended, like a shy kid talking to an adult. John was only a couple of years older than her — what was wrong with her?

“For God’s sake, Donna, why didn’t you go at the bar? It’s only a couple of minutes from here.”

“I didn’t want to go, but now I really need to pee. I really do.” A note of pleading crept in, but John’s response was brusque.

“Well just wait. We’ll be at mine soon. Just hold on. You know, like adults do?”

Donna fell into a petulant silence. She wanted to retort that she was adult enough when he was playing with her amazing, soft 32E boobs, or running his hands through her chestnut hair whilst screwing her. But then, he could remind her that she’d stopped in the street, a minute from her home, and wet herself uncontrollably. And now she was close to doing it again.

The next two minutes were an agony for Donna. She chewed her full, lower lip and screwed up her dark eyes in her pale face as she hobbled along after John, trying to walk with her legs crossed and, for the last minute, clutching between her legs, as if pressing her pussy would stop her peeing. But she made it. She felt like she was going to explode, but they were in the lobby of John’s building and, Miracle!, the elevator was waiting. Shaking his head as he looked at her, they pressed the button for his floor, and as Donna almost doubled over, he counted off the floors. He seemed in a grump, but she could hardly blame him for that — he’d wanted a sexy, 22-year old girlfriend, not someone he needed to potty train. Donna continued to shift her weight and cross her legs, pressing her thighs together in her tight jeans, as the lift slowly mersin escort made its way to John’s twelfth-floor apartment.

After what seemed to Donna like an eternity, the lift arrived and, with another shake of the head, John led Donna down the corridor to his apartment.

“Seriously, Donna, the first time was weird but I guess just one of those things, but this again — are you sure you’re old enough to drink?”

“Don’t be a dick, this isn’t funny. Just open the door.” Donna scowled at him as they arrived at his door and he got his keys out, but as she spoke he turned away from the door to face her.

“I’m a dick? How is it ok for you to call me names? What have I done? You’re the one who needs a wee-wee like a lickle girly every five minutes.”

“I’m not a child and it’s not every five minutes! Just open the door, for fuck’s sake, I’m desperate!”

“Again with the language! If you want to use my bathroom maybe you should be nicer, not naughtier.” A strange feeling flickered across Donna’s mind. John almost always made her feel much more timid and meek and (just admit it, Donna) submissive than she normally was. She knew she was beautiful, slim, 5’6″ and with natural curves, especially her boobs, that women would pay good money to achieve. Her physique and her pretty face, dark hair and a few pale, cute freckles that came out in the sun had always given her confidence as she knew girls envied her and boys wanted her. But John made her feel like a little girl, and something about his use of the word ‘naughtier’ stirred fantasies that she rarely admitted to.

“I’m not being naughty,” she insisted quietly, “But I…oh! Oh no!”

It was too late. Donna’s tormented bladder gave up. She jammed both hands between her legs and bent her knees, but there was no stopping it. A hot rush of golden piss bubbled from between her pussy lips, immediately soaking her pink, cotton bikini-style panties. The liquid followed the seam of her jeans and the crease of her bottom cheeks, shooting down her inner thighs and fanning out across her bottom, before streaming down the back of her legs. There was an obvious patch at the front of her jeans too, and piss was dripping from between her legs to splash in a yellow puddle between her feet. As John just stood looking at her, Donna started to cry, the humiliation was just too much. Her pee just kept coming, waves of piss flowing down her thighs, glistening on her soaking jeans.

John unlocked the door, and pulled Donna inside, her shoes splashing in the puddle she’d made and with pee still dripping from her onto his floor. He closed the door behind her and then turned to her.

“So, explain to me how you’re not naughty, Donna? Explain how you’re not a child? You’re wetting yourself! Again! On my floor!” What happened next was planned by neither, but surprised neither. In the same way something about John inspired Donna’s hidden submissive nature, something in the way the lovely girl acted stimulated fantasies of his. He pulled Donna by her arm to a chair in the hallway. She was unresistant, her hair covering her face as she sobbed like a child, tears dripping from her chin onto her full breasts. John undid her jeans and half dragged, hald peeled the tight, wet denim down her legs, before dragging her across his lap in the chair, face down, bottom up, in a most spankable pose.

John had often imagined a moment like this, but had always felt roleplay was too staged, was too embarrassing. But this was not staged. Donna had been bad. She’d let him turn her across his lap — what came next was just natural.


It was not a hard slap, but both of them felt it in their hearts. The sensation of his hand slapping across her white, round bottom cheeks, encased in knickers that she had just pissed in, felt as right to them as air and food. This was what they needed.


More confident now, John delivered two harder spanks, one to each cheek. Donna gasped, but made no effort to escape or shield her backside.


He alternated, two hard spanks to each buttock. “Not naughty?”


“Not a child?”


Donna started to sob again as he scolded her, but she did not move. He was right. She was 22 and she’d wet herself. She’d pissed on his floor. She’d been naughty.


“What do you think, Donna?” SPANK! “Well?”

“I..I’m naughty,” she gasped, between sobs.


“And why are you naughty, Donna?”


“Because I wet myself.” It was barely a whisper.


“That’s right, you did, like a little girl!” SPANK! “And what happens to naughty little girls?”


“They get spanked,” she choked out.

“That’s right,” he smiled, now fully relaxed into a role that he never thought he’d be able to take. “They get spanked. They get punished.” This last word was followed by a volley of harder spanks onto Donna’s sore bottom. John had been mesmerised by it since she was over his knee, watching as each slap brought a blush to the soft cheeks, that started to fade before being added to and building, the colour changing from white to pink and pink to red. He could actually feel the heat coming off her bottom, unprotected by the piss-wet pink cotton.


“And where do I punish you when you’re naughty, Donna?”


In the back of her mind Donna noticed that this phrasing suggested that this was not a one-time deal, but her lips answered anyway: “On my bottom.” SPANK! “You punish my bottom.” SPANK!

John paused. Donna’s bottom was glowing. “Get up,” he instructed, simply. She meekly did as she was told, standing in front of him, breasts heaving as she sobbed and blubbed, sniffling, tears rolling from her big, brown eyes. Both of her hands went to her bottom and he let her touch her smarting cheeks. She was also painfully aware of her wet panties and her pissy jeans which were in a soaking tangle at her ankles. John indicated a door. “The bathroom’s there — sort yourself out.”

Once Donna had washed her face and calmed down they had sex. It was by far the best sex either had had. John was firm with her, and Donna pliant tis every instruction. She sucked him, her full, pouty lips running up and down his cock until he pulled her head away by the hair and thrust into her. He fucked her roughly, taking her panting, mewling assent as encouragement. He finished on her tits, bringing himself off and coating her heavy breasts with cum, which he then instructed her to clean off and swallow. He was mesmerised as, instead of using her fingers as he’d expected, she lifted each breast up and licked and sucked at the soft flesh, cleaning off his spunk with her mouth.

What a night.

That night set a template for Donna and John. Over the next three months they saw each other two or three times at least each week. At least once each week Donna would piss herself and receive a spanking as punishment. Both of them were utterly comfortable in the roles they’d fallen to and this was the most content either had ever been in a relationship. As the dynamic settled in, it also started to grow. After she smashed several plates, John gave Donna her first non-wetting related spanking, and this established a new pattern that saw her getting punished three or four times each week. Donna also started to wet more regularly, and hardly a day went by without her peeing herself. One day, when she was spending the weekend at John’s but he was out for most of Saturday, she wet herself whilst wearing sweat pants and knickers and didn’t change them all day. She lay on the sofa, reading a book, oddly relaxed in her soggy clothes, aware that she smelled of pee. John found her like that, and that was the first time he used an implement on her, saying that she was extra naughty for wetting her panties when he wasn’t there and deserved his belt, not just his hand. He strapped her with the leather and it hurt more and for longer, but did nothing to discourage her and the next day she flooded her panties and leggings with hot urine as they walked in the park.

Four months in and their relationship had, to Donna’s mind, started to stagnate. Other than Monday and Thursday when she saw friends, she saw John every day and had all but moved in to his flat. He spanked her every day that he saw her and usually found a pretext to use the belt of the newly acquired cane on her at least once a week. She’d started to buy more black leggings as they were easier to wet without it being obvious, and she usually was wet. The smell of her peed in clothes had started to turn her on too, so she wore her panties for days at a time, wetting and re-wetting them. The relationship still excited her — she loved the feeling of her piss running into her knickers and down her legs, and she loved being scolded and punished — but the initial thrill of naughtiness had been replaced by a slight feeling of routine. The fact that she now cooked John’s dinner for him a few times per week also muted the thrill she’d had when he questioned her age and ability to go to the toilet as she was supposed to, as she often felt her 22 years.

John had been the one to instigate the harder punishments (although, Donna reflected, only because she’d started wetting more often) and she decided that this time she’d push things again. She usually dressed cute, rather than sexy — a lacy bra for her big boobs, a simple vest top, black leggings to mid-calf and some bikini cut panties, powder pink with little hearts on them and, if you looked, stain lines where they’d dried out after she’d wet herself. She suggested to John that they go for a walk — this was usually code for ‘I am going to pee in my knickers and then you can spank me and spunk in my mouth’ and he readily assented. They strolled arm in arm to the local park and, as usual, when she felt ready Donna steered them to a secluded spot. She turned to face him and they kissed. She placed his hands on her bottom and he stroked and squeezed it as she relaxed and peed, the familiar feeling of hot piss tricking down her thighs still exciting her as much as ever. Rivulets of wee ran into her pumps and pee swilled around her toes.

“Right, young lady, it’s home and over my knee for you,” announced John.

“Young lady?” asked Donna, holding him in place and looking into his eyes. “I thought it was little girl? Naughty little girl?” Her resolve flickered for a second, but in truth she’d been planning this for a fortnight, ever since she broke the remote control on purpose just to get a caning only ten minutes after a thorough spanking. She was addicted to being naughty.

She pushed gently, and gasped involuntarily as her anus pouted and a warm, soft piece of shit flowed out into her knickers, soiling them in the dirtiest way. John was initially unaware of what she’d done, and she smiled, then frowned, bending over slightly as more poop squashed into her rapidly filling panties. As he was still cupping her wet bottom, John suddenly realised what was happening, at the same time as he noticed the smell. He was wide-eyed and speechless. Now that he knew, Donna arched her back and twisted in his grip so that he could see her bottom. She knew she was being disgusting, and tears formed in her eyes, but she was delighted too.

She kept pushing. The feeling of her panties expanding with warm, mushy shit was amazing. Biting her lip, she straightened for a moment, and walked away from John to the nearest unoccupied bench. Her poop swayed as she walked, smearing and sticking to her skin inside the piss-wet knickers. The feeling was awful and thrilling. She had just messed her panties, on purpose, in public. Stood in front of her boyfriend and shit herself. Her nipples were as hard as diamond and her pussy was soaking — not just because she’d also wet herself. John was still silent, but was now watching with more like his usual sharp awareness.

Donna had not finished yet, but could not finish whilst standing straight up. No longer caring about passers by, she bent over at the waist and pushed her bottom out, luxuriating in the feel of the leggings being drawn tight and making the creamy shit smear over her bottom inside her dirty, dirty knickers. With a most unladylike grunt, she pushed hard and a final load of poo squeezed out of her, straining her panties to bursting. There was a visible bulge in the back of her leggings, and her bottom was covered with soft, smelly shit. Blinking away the tears of humiliation that had formed, she straightened and smiled at John, coyly pulling her bottom lip down with her finger.

“You filthy little baby!” John growled at her, before kissing her fiercely, both his hands slipping over her hips to her wet, shitty bottom. He gently ran his hands over the smelly bulge, cupping it and pressing the foul lumps against Donna’s soft, curvy cheeks.

To Be Continued…

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