please?

i am started a new chapter in katiexbaby’s journey to be the best baby in the world

for this chapter, i have decided to create an account on a certain website that we all know and love. the account is dedicated to omo content, and i hope you all love it!

if you are a fan of daily content, i have good news: i am too!!! i promise that i will post every single morning pee before noon EST (but most of the time i’ll post it around 8am!!!). this way, we can start our days together with an empty bladder.

in addition to these videos, i will also post at LEAST 2 more times a day about various things relating to omo. these will be stuff like: photos of my bladder bulge, text saying how desperate i am/my water intake/last time i emptied, videos and/or pictures from my other bathroom breaks during the day, videos of my thighs jiggling from needing to go, etc.!

ALSO! i will post at LEAST one photo set of a wetting a week. these sets will include 8-12 pictures/short videos. i will post these on a random day during the week, and i promise they will be no less than 10 days from the last set. some weeks will have two sets because my ultimate goal is to have 5 sets a month (to me, a month is measured from the 1st of the month to the last day of the month).

i will also be selling custom content later on, which is very very new to me! so, please be kind and patient with me on that.

each month is $10, and i promise it will be worth every penny.

message me for the link!!!

note: i will never post pictures or videos with my face in it due to privacy reasons, so be mindful of that when subscribing 🥰

“Take me home, please,” she says. It’s a request, but it’s also a demand.

She’s leaning against the outside wall of the bar when I step out, next to the door, legs wrapped tightly together. “I have to pee too much,” she says. After squirming for most of the evening, she is still. Her fists are tightly clenched.

I don’t know what this means, exactly, that she has to pee too much. But I don’t need to ask questions.

It’s only a block back to my place. But as we walk, she keeps having to stop and drop into a crouch, fanning her legs, before springing back up again. She’s never not moving. It occurs to me what a good workout her pee-holding sessions must be. She rests her weight on one leg, then the other, then crouches, clamping her legs together, then springs up, raising her right knee up almost even with her hip. I know she’s struggling, but I can’t help finding it a little amusing.

And, of course, terribly arousing.

My eyes keep dropping to her legs to see if I can find any evidence of the droplets I glimpsed in the bar, but I can’t. Her dance is, apparently, working. She’s keeping it in. I wonder for the hundredth time that night about the state of her underwear.

We arrive back at my place. I live in a fourth-floor walk-up — not ideal — and climbing the stairs takes forever. Every now and then she emits a slight whine as we clomp upward. With one floor to go I pause and look back. She’s on the landing behind me, bent slightly, hand between her legs, looking up at me.

“How’s it going?” I ask.

“I’m having a hard time,” she says, smiling at the understatement. “I’ve almost peed myself so many times tonight,” she says. “And I almost did again.”

“You’re almost done,” I say. “Almost there.”

She begins to move forward again. I climb the last flight and unlock the door. I step aside just inside the entranceway, holding the door to let her pass, wondering what’s next. She reaches the top of the stairs, and walks, with tiny, stiff steps through the doorway. Then she collapses into me, head on my neck, shimmying pelvis against mine.

“What now?” I ask.

“Do you know how bad I have to pee?” she asks.

“Really, really bad?” I venture.

“The worst,” she breaths into my neck. The feeling of her breath makes me shiver.

I wrap my arms around her, and she wraps hers around me. She draws us tightly together, and clamps her legs around my thigh, rubbing herself against it. I feel some moisture through my pant leg, confirming what already seemed almost certain: her underwear is damp. She makes a low sound in her throat.

“I have to pee so bad,” she whispers. “I have to pee so, so bad.” It’s like a mantra, and she continues with it as she grinds herself harder and harder against my leg.

“Can I feel?” I ask.

She nods. “I have to pee so bad,” she murmurs again into my neck.

I slide my right hand up her back, tracing it with my fingers — I feel her shiver — over her shoulder, and then down, over her breast, over her belly, down to her bladder. Gently, I trace it with my fingertips. It is rounded and very firm. I apply an infinitesimal amount of pressure and the response is immediate. “Mmmmm,” she groans, burrowing her face into my neck. She bites me a little on my shoulder. I feel my thigh get hot, then cool, right between her legs. She leaked — a short, quick burst, through her underwear and onto my pants. She gasps.

“You’ve gotta pee,” I confirm.

“I have to pee,” she agrees, mumbling again into my neck.

“It’s really bad,” I say.

“I have to pee so, so badly,” she replies.

“Do you want to go?” I ask. I nod down the hall toward the bathroom.

She looks up at me, one raised eyebrow. “No fucking way.”

She turns her head up a bit more, and then kisses me fully on the mouth. Her mouth moves hungrily against mine as she grinds her crotch into my thigh. I respond, first drawing her closer with my one arm and moving my other down from her bladder to her thigh. She breaks the kiss, dismounts my thigh, and takes a half step back. Looking me in the eye, she moves my hand gradually upward to her crotch. It’s warm, and the cotton fabric guarding it is quite wet beneath my fingertips.

I almost cum. She watches my response, eyes gleaming, and smiles. Then she takes a shaky step back. “This situation,” she says, “is too good to waste.”

She reaches behind her. I hear a zipper unzip. Her skirt falls to the ground.

She is standing in a white bodysuit, underwear that reminds me of a leotard. She manages to hold still for a second — ta da! — before she resumes squirming ceaselessly, legs clamped tightly together. A wet circle the size of an outspread hand is between her legs.

“You’re wet,” I observe, somewhat stupidly.

“I have to pee,” she reminds me.

“What now?” I ask.

She smiles again, eyes gleaming.

sit me on your lap with my full bladder, straddling your leg between mine.. i’m allowed to grind but only slow, torturous

and you tell me i can come, but i have to prove how bad I want it, so i have to make a mess

Those pulsating pissy lips🌈..

Just…a character desperately shoving an unwrapped diaper over their crotch like they would do with a towel while blushing furiously because this is still a diaper and they’re peeing in it (and maybe realizing too late that said diaper was made for toddlers and isn’t able to withstand the flow / sheer volume of a full adult sized bladder.

Are you seriously still trying to hold it?

What’s that splattering sound?

Will you stop moving around so much?

Urinating outside counts as public indecency you know.

How are you going to get out of that to pee?

…You still wet the bed? At this age?

No, we aren’t stopping for a bathroom break. We passed a rest stop twenty minutes ago, you should have asked then if you had to go so badly.

You seriously think that wetting yourself is a better option? Just use the bottle for fuck’s sake.

Taking an hour long bath isn’t acceptable when there’s only one bathroom in the house.

You thought it was a good idea to take me to a place without a bathroom? On the first date?

Driving around looking for a restroom wasn’t exactly my idea of a fun evening.

Since when do you do the laundry more then once a week?

That constant foot tapping is really distracting. Can you cut it out?

Are you honestly telling me you’ve never peed in the woods before?

This is the last time I’m lending you my clothes.

What do you mean you don’t have to go? You’ve been squirming for the past forty five minutes.