Date: Wed, 25 Jun 2003 19:30:06 EDT
From: wetbriefboy@aol.com
Subject: The Longest Inning (ws)

Justin stood in left field suffering the single dread that made him hate
Little League -- he needed to pee, badly, and there was only one out.

Not that Justin had a weak bladder.  He never even wet the bed once
his entire childhood.  But pissing his pants in left field while the whole
world was watching was the 13-year-old's greatest fear.  He would
rather have died.

"Ball four!," the umpire yelled.  "Take your base."

Justin grimaced.  As nonchalantly as possible, Justin squeezed the
crotch of his pin-stripe uniform with his left hand, obscuring the view
using his glove.  His penis swelled slightly from the dual pressure of his
bladder and his hand.  At least he was dry, he thought, hoping --
praying -- that the batter would ground to second, forcing a double
play.  He figured he could make a quick run for the bathroom before
his turn at bat was up, if the inning would only end.

"Stree-rike," the umpire bellowed, raising his hand in a gesture Justin
never really understood.  The count was now two-and-two.  Justin
was hopeful.  His urge to piss was momentarily manageable, and his
confidence returned.

The batter swung at the next pitch and Justin's adrenaline flowed as he
realized it could be a pop fly to him, fearing his bladder would pop in his
fly if he had to run after the ball, catch it and throw it to the infield.

"Oh God, please don't hit it to me," Justin said to himself.  "Please."

It was a foul tip.  Justin was simultaneously relieved and scared.  When
would the inning end?  The next pitch was a wild one, over the catcher's
head.  The boy on first base easily advanced to second.

"Damn," thought Justin.  "No chance of a double play now."

Justin braced himself for the next pitch -- it was a full count.  The pitch
was thrown, the batter leaned back then took and hard cut at the ball,
thrusting all of his 90 pounds into it.  Justin heard a loud crack as the
ball hit the bat, and he stood motionless, with his knees bent, ready to
dash after the ball as soon as he could detect where it was going.  He
tried to focus on the ball, but he couldn't get his mind off squeezing his
entire lower abdominal region to keep from peeing.  It was the longest
half-second he had ever experienced, ending with his realization that
the ball was a super-high pop-up, just above home plate.

The catcher threw off his mask, and began waddling around like he
was drunk, squinting into the bright sun and positioning himself beneath
where he projected the ball would eventually land.  Justin stood
breathless, hoping the catcher would miraculously catch the ball and
bring him only one out from bladder relief.

Then he heard the clanging noise of the ball landing on the fenced
backstop.  Another foul ball.  Another full-count pitch.  Still two outs
to go.  And now, more than before, Justin really had to go.

He again squeezed his crotch with one hand while blocking the view
with his glove, but this time he feared that he leaked some pee into the
brand new white jockeys beneath his pin-strip pants.  He wasn't
completely sure -- it may have only been his imagination, or sweat,
like that which was now wetting his brow.

The pitch was thrown, the batter swung, and again it was a foul ball.
Justin squirmed and squeezed his crotch again.  He moved his hand
up to his face to check if it was dry or smelled like piss.  He sniffed
deeply while pretending to scratch his nose as the batter tapped the
ball just over the head of the first baseman.  Still one out, with runners
on first and third.  Justin was still dry, but he really had to pee fiercely.

The next batter hit the first pitch.  It was a hard grounder between
the short stop and third baseman, coming right at Justin.  His reflexes
took over and he raced towards the ball, sliding on his left knee to
field the bouncing grounder.  He knew the boy on third had scored,
tying the score, so he turned to the boy who had been on first and
was now rounding second.  The boy had stopped in his tracks two
strides past second, trying to figure out whether he could make it to
third.  Justin saw his hesitation and quickly threw the ball to the second
baseman, who seemed equally surprised by Justin's quick fielding to
the runner.  Nevertheless, as if Justin's prayers were answered, his
teammate caught the throw and began chasing the runner towards
third in the all-too-familiar pickle.

Justin stood up and desperately checked his crotch to see if it was
still dry, ignoring the cheering, much of which was directed towards
him.  Justin could only think about the cheers turning to laughter if he
wet his pants.  His pants looked dry, but his briefs felt slightly damp
against his balls and half-erect penis.  Justin was petrified.  He looked
at his crotch again, certain that a little pee squirted into his underwear,
but there was no wet spot on his pants.

Suddenly the crowd cheered louder, and Justin looked up to see
what happened, realizing that he had completely forgot about the
pickle.  He looked at second base to see if the runner was there,
and then to third, but it was not until the pitcher held up two fingers
and yelled "two outs" that Justin was convinced that the runner had
been tagged out.

Normally, Justin would have been thrilled to have fielded a grounder
so well that he forced a runner into a pickle, then tagged out.  Now,
he was just thankful that he was only one out from relief.  But he was
even more fearful that his swift heads-up play would have no avail on
his straining bladder.  And he contined to struggle to outlast the inning
and avoid the ultimate humiliation.

He squeezed his crotch again -- for a couple seconds this time -- and
even grunted a bit as he slowly walked back into position in left field.
Justin realized that his 90-pound body never had to pee worse than
it did right then, and that his breaking point was imminent.  He began
to wonder if he could even hold it while he ran to the bathroom after
the inning, even if the inning ended quickly.

But after Justin settled back into position and remained motionless
while the count grew to two-and-two, the burning, bursting pains
subsided some, offering him hope that he could endure the inning.
That hope lessened, however, as two bad pitches -- one low and
the other outside -- brought the batter to first, advancing the other
runner to second.

There were two outs, with runners on first and second, and a new
batter.  Justin knew the inning could continue for 15 minutes as easily
as it could end in a minute.  He prayed for the latter, again squeezing
his crotch behind his glove as if part of a newfound religious ritual.
The pressure slowly increased.  Justin gulped as tears welled up in his
otherwise bright blue eyes.  "God," he thought, "I'm leaking from both
ends.

Justin held back his tears, and with greater effort, held back his bladder,
squeezing his crotch every 10 to 20 seconds.  Another batter was
walked.  Now the bases were loaded, and Justin became desperate,
almost panic-stricken.  His breathing was now in short bursts as he
mostly held his breath.  He bore down on every muscle in his lower
abdomen that might possibly keep him from wetting in his pants.  He
began swinging his legs around in tight arcs, and squeezing his crotch
so frequently that he had a hard-on, which he repositioned upward
within his damp briefs.

The count was now one-and-two.  Justin was truly in agony.  He
pressed his glove against his crotch and kept it there continually,
hoping the stimulation would help.  He began to plan his course to
the bathroom the moment the inning ended, fearful that he wouldn't
be able to hold it and run at the same time.


'Oh, God, please help me," Justin prayed.  "Please don't let me piss
my pants.  Oh, please."

Justin's prayer was interrupted by the sound of a baseball hitting a bat,
and he quickly looked up to see what was happening.  It was a slow
grounder, to second base.  "Please, let Billy throw him out," Justin
pleaded to himself, squeezing his crotch almost continually.  Now Justin
felt weakening moments where his muscles began to relax slightly, a
precursor to what he knew was complete loss of control.  These
weakening moments came in short waves, with longer periods between
where he could muster all his strength and prolong the inevitable.

The second baseman scooped up the ground ball and gently tossed
it to first, throwing the boy out.  The inning was over.

Justin had neither time nor inclination to thank God for answering
his prayers, for he began his painful and fearful dash to the bathroom.
He tried to squeeze his crotch with his hand while running but couldn't,
and his weakening waves intensified with each step.  As he rounded
the corner of the infield gate that led to the final 100 feet to the
bathroom, he felt a little piss squirt into his briefs, and he was now
in the final seconds of desperation.  A couple more strides, another
squirt of piss.  He was beginning to lose control.

As Justin got within 20 feet of the bathroom, he knew his briefs had
soaked through and that he assuredly had a visible wet spot on his
pants, but Justin didn't look down to check.  He was too focused
on his all-encompassing mission to make it into the bathroom.

Another large squirt warmed his crotch as he rounded the door and
ran into the bathroom, and he knew he was simultaneously saved and
in trouble.  Justin knew that no one could see him, but he also knew
that his wet briefs would likely cause a noticeable wet spot on his
pants that would be difficult to hide and difficult to explain away.

But as Justin entered the bathroom in his mad dash, he saw that
someone was at the lone urinal.  Without breaking his stride, Justin
pushed the door to the lone toilet, but was met by an equal
resistance -- it was bolted shut; someone was inside.

Another warm squirt.  Justin turned again to the urinal and saw that
it was a schoolmate Chris peeing there, who had turned around when
he heard the crashing noise into the locked stall.

Their eyes met, and Chris knew instantly both that Justin was begging
him to finish so he could pee, and that it was too late.

"Oh Chris," Justin whimpered through pending tears, as an even larger
squirt of pee soaked his briefs, followed a second later by another.

Chris, who had just stopped pissing, looked down at Justin's crotch
and watched a small wet spot grow.  Justin was petrified, and
paralyzed.  He was beginning to piss his pant.  Tears welled up in
his eyes while a boy he knew watched, and there was nothing Justin
could do about it.

"It's okay, Justin," Chris said gently, now returning his eyes to Justin's.
"Just let it go."

By this time, Justin's squirts of piss lasted longer than the gaps between,
and Justin felt the warm pee run on his thighs.  Justin knew that not only
his briefs were soaked through, but that his baseball pants were soaked
through the crotch and the top of the legs, making further resistance
futile.  So Justin relaxed, and the piss flooded into his briefs, through
and down his pants, and onto the floor.  It was the ultimate humiliation,
but it felt so good that Justin just closed his eyes, opened his mouth and
let out a sigh.

Justin pissed his pants, while Chris stared with fascination.  Chris stared
with wide eyes and an open jaw, while the dick he just placed back into his
dry briefs got rock hard, for Justin's biggest fear was Chris' most intense
and secret fantasy.

"Stop," Chris suddenly exclaimed in his loudest possible whisper.  Justin
opened his eyes and with great effort stopped pissing.  His bladder was
still half full, but the unbearable pressure and pain had been relieved.

Just then a man exited the lone bathroom stall, and Justin turned to face
the wall to hide his wet pants.  The man rinsed his hands and left.  Justin
was paralyzed with fear and humiliation.

"Come into the stall before someone sees you," Chris said.

Justin was mortified, and tears began to roll down his cheeks as he
realized he had just pissed his pants in front of Chris, a boy he didn't know
well but admired.  He still had to pee, but he was too scared to continue,
and too ashamed.  Nevertheless, he followed Chris into the stall in a futile
gesture to avoid discovery by the world outside the bathroom.

"What's the point?" Justin said through mumbles that revealed his great
effort to suppress his urge to sob uncontrollably.  "I'm up at bat soon,
and I'll have to return or we'll forfeit the game.  Either way I doomed."

Justin lost his battle against his tears, and he began to sob, and another
squirt of piss entered his wet jockeys before he realized it.  Chris' eyes
widened as he witnessed this, and his lust overpowered his judgment
and he decided without reflection to take advantage of Justin's
vulnerability.

"It's okay," Chris said in a soothingly seductive voice.  "Your secret is
safe with me; I promise.  I have baseball pants in my backpack and
dry underwear and socks.  The pants are the same color as yours, so
no one will even notice you changed."

Justin looked up at Chris, and Chris moved his eyes from Justin's wet
crotch to meet his eyes.  A bond was instantly formed, and each boy
saw beyond the other's eyes, deep into his soul.  For a moment, Justin
and Chris didn't breath, and their hearts stopped beating.  Justin was
eternally grateful, and his expression alone made it obvious that he'd
do anything if Chris would live up to his word.

"Jesus," Justin said, no longer sobbing.  "Any other boy would have
laughed at me and told everyone in school," he said, his voice cracking.
"You hardly know me yet you are so kind.  You are saving my life,
although I'll never be able to look you in the face again without feeling
shame.  Hell, you could blackmail me forever . . .".

Chris saw an opening and took it.  He cut Justin off mid-sentence.

"Not if I tell you a secret of mine that is far worse than you pissing
your pants.  Or better than that, not if I show you my secret."

The boys stood motionless.  Their eyes met again, foretelling their
respective fears and lusts, their humiliations and fantasies.  Suddenly,
Chris broke the silence.

"Do you still have to go more?" Chris asked.  Justin nodded sheepishly
but affirmatively.

"Cool," Chris said as he reached down and began to unbutton the
fly to Justin's wet baseball pants.  He didn't need to say another word,
for Justin understood Chris' horrible wanting secret.

Chris gazed up at Justin, his mouth slightly agape as he continued to
unbutton Justin's fly.  Justin simply looked at Chris, with compassion
in his eyes, silently communicating that Chris could go ahead.  And
Chris did.

Chris gently lowered Justin's wet pants to his ankles, leaving his wet
jockey shorts in place.  Chris pulled off each of Justin's shoes then
removed his pants, leaving him standing in socks and wet briefs.  Chris
stayed on his knees, and gently stroked Justin's legs on the outsides,
moving slowly up to the sides of his wet jockeys, then down along the
back of his hamstrings to his knees.

"I've still got to piss bad," Justin suddenly said, in a knowing and
provocative tone.  "I don't think I can hold it more than a few seconds."

Chris said nothing, but slid his hands up the insides of Justin's smooth
thighs, separating Justin's feet until they were shoulder width apart.
The bulge in Justin's damp crotch got larger as Chris' hands stopped
just at the seams of his jockey shorts.  Chris moved his hand around
the outsides of Justin's legs, tracing the wet seam.  His hands stopped
when the reached the lower part of Justin's tight butt.

"Oh, I'm gonna pee,!" Justin announced, and Chris moved his hands
up and cupped Justin's ass as Justin began to slowly piss more into his
briefs.

"Oh God," Justin exclaimed in a combination of humiliation and
eroticism, and Chris echoed his words and sentiments, pulling his
face into Justin's jockey shorts as Justin flooded them with piss.

Chris inhaled the smell of Justin's pee, along with telltale remnants
of his sweat, and Chris' dick throbbed in his pants from the
excitement.  Justin's piss soaked through the cotton onto Chris'
face, and Chris felt wetness trickle down his neck and chest beneath
the front of his shirt.  Chris opened his mouth and licked the crotch
of Justin's jockeys, and the taste caused him to shake with excitement.
Chris moved his mouth down over Justin's balls and began sucking
the liquid as fast as Justin pissed his briefs.


Drinking Justin's piss was more arousing than Chris ever imagined --
and his imagination was intense -- and Chris felt his dick throb
uncontrollably in his tight white briefs, and he knew that was going to
cum in his pants imminently.

A sudden surge of piss flooded through Justin's jockey briefs into
Chris' mouth and onto his face, and Chris shot his load in his briefs.
As Justin finished his last squirts of piss, Chris continued shooting his
squirts of cum in his pants.

Chris was panting in ecstasy, and he noticed that Justin's dick was
now rock hard in his wet jockeys.  Justin was finished pissing, and
in a strange way he actually regretted it.  Chris continued sucking on
Justin's briefs, but now he was doing it to massage Justin's balls
instead of drinking his piss.  And Justin was very aroused.

"Don't stop!" Justin begged.  "Keep sucking."

Chris moved his mouth up along the shaft of Justin's dick, sucking
the wet jockeys between his mouth and Justin's hard cock.  Chris
then pulled down Justin's jockey shorts and rested Justin's dick on
Chris' tongue.  Chris then slowly took Justin's cock into his mouth,
sliding it along his tongue until his lips touched Justin's pubic hairs.
Chris then closed his mouth on Justin's cock, and felt his throat
close along the perimeter of Justin's cock head.

Chris began to slide his mouth off Justin's dick, then moved it back
in again.  He repeated this movement twice, then Justin shot a
stream of cum into Chris' mouth.  Justin's succulent cum continued
to flood into Chris' mouth, overpowering the taste of his piss.

Chris regained his composure and stood up, looking eye to eye
with Justin while both boys panted.  "There," Chris said, "now you
know a bigger secret about me."

Justin smiled.

"Thank you," he said.  "But I think I just discovered another
secret of my own that's just as big."

Chris looked silently but inquisitively at Justin.

"I think," Justin continued, "that I liked pissing my pants as much
as you enjoyed watching me.  And that was so fucking hot -- I've
never cum so hard or so long or so much in my life.

Chris smiled, and leaned forward and kissed Justin on the cheek.
"Wait here wet boy while I find my back pack."

As Chris exited the stall, Justin asked "Promise you'll return?"

Chris glowed and said, "You'll be changed in time for your turn
at bat -- no one will ever know you were gone."

After Chris returned and Justin changed, Chris stuffed Justin's wet
clothes into his pack and waited 10 seconds to leave the bathroom
after Justin ran out.  Chris then walked into the stands just after
Justin returned to the dug out.

In two minutes, Justin was up on deck, warming up his swing.
After one hard chop, he caught sight of Chris in the stands, and
Justin beamed a warm smile, and Chris' heart melted.

When at bat, Justin took a hard cut at the first pitch -- a fast ball --
and hit the ball so hard and squarely that the sound echoed off
the neighboring buildings.  The baseball sailed between and over
the heads of the left and center fielders in a line drive that hit the
fence on a single bounce.  The runner on first easily made it home
as Justin made a stand-up double.

Justin took off his helmet and cap, and oblivious to the cheers at
what would be the winning run, Justin waved his cap at Chris in
the stands.

Goose bumps ran down Chris' spine.  And Chris
suddenly realized that the wonderful boy gesturing to him on
second base was responsible for the piss-soaked jockey shorts
in his back pack, and for the gooey mess in his own briefs.

Chris laughed, and gave Justin a thumbs-up sign.

Justin grinned, and looked around the infield, and he was oddly
struck by how less intimidating baseball had become.