Reliving the day I was kindly helped to discover the wonders of pleasuring myself and one of the reasons I find peeing so exciting!
I have a vivid memory from when I was younger, wetting my pants backstage before a dance concert. The bathroom was full of older girls primping and preening. I stood uncomfortably at the end of the long queue but it wasn't long before a hot, dark wet patch was spreading up from the crotch of my blue leotard. I found my dance teacher who was suitably horrified (it wasn't long before we supposed to go on stage) and she handed me over to a lovely grandmotherly lady to help me out.
The bathroom was still packed so the lady told me to go outside and wait for her. I shuffled awkwardly by myself while I waited out in the hot sun by an old tennis court. I was well aware there was more pee inside me and so I decided to cut my losses. There was nobody around so I straddled my legs to the side and let go, letting the crotch of my leotard fill with hot, naughty pee that soaked through and trickled down my legs onto the dusty ground. A tiny little piece of the ashamed feeling dissolved and gave way to cheeky excitement and a little tickle in my crotch.
Finally the older lady came bustling out armed with a clean leotard and a wet washcloth. She told me hurriedly to get my stained leotard off. I whipped it off, privately more excited still as my small, fresh nipples and then damp little pussy were exposed to the nice lady under the hot sun. The lady crouched down and ran the warm, wet washcloth up along the inside of one of my legs, and then the other. I was a little taken aback that she seemed to think I couldn't wash the pee off myself - but I had just wet my pants like a little baby, so who was I to argue?
I was even more surprised when she then took the washcloth and ran it between my legs, over my pussy, back and forth. My little clit didn't know what had hit it, it must have stood to attention instantly. I swallowed a gasp as the lady rubbed the warm, soft, soaking washcloth back and forth along my slit a couple more times. Then she told me - quickly, quickly - to get dressed. I pulled the new leotard on as fast as I could but my mind was now completely preoccupied with the lovely sensation between my legs.
Last week I was cleaning out my room when I came across my old dancing costumes. I pulled out the dark blue leotard and the memories came flooding back - not to mention the wetness that came flooding into my underpants. I had an urge to see if there was any way I could pull the leotard on, to feel the same little piece of fabric against my crotch that I'd felt the day I really, truly discovered my pussy.
It was a tight squeeze. The straps barely covered my nipples and the crotch rode right up between the lips of my vulva. It felt really nice. I suddenly had another idea. The hall where we'd had the dance concert was just down the street. I hadn't actually been in there for years but I knew it was hardly ever used anymore. I quickly pulled a little dress over the top of the way-too-tiny blue leotard, yelled out that I was taking a quick walk and slipped out the back door.
It was tough going trying to look normal as I walked down the street. When I stood up straight, the crotch of the leotard stretched so tight over my pussy. The friction coupled with my sheer excitement made it hard not to orgasm just with each step. I got to the spot behind the hall, next to the derelict tennis court and whipped the dress over my head. There I stood, legs straddled slightly, as I let my body relax and began to pee.
The old sensation was delicious - hot wetness welling up and spilling through the fabric. I watched as the outline of my swollen pussy was engulfed with naughty, sexy pee, trickling through the front and splashing onto the dusty ground.
By the time I'd finished my pussy was hot and fat and aching to be touched. I wriggled out of the leotard and slipped the dress back on over my naked body. I sat back on a ragged patch of grass under a pink bougainvillea and lifted the hem of my dress to expose my pink, hairy pussy. As I masturbated, rubbing and stroking my slippery slit and clitoris, I wondered what had happened to that lovely old lady. I more than half wished that maybe she'd come bustling around the corner right now armed with a warm, wet washcloth and a firm, gentle hand...