At the lake!

[swimwear4wetting]

No toilet after waking up — that was the plan. And that’s why it felt so intense now. Both bladders bursting. The pressure high. The desire unmistakable. That first morning piss — golden, warm, fragrant. Exactly what swimsuits and speedos crave. They soaked it in. They came alive. They celebrated it. And they? They had planned it — deliberately. Lots of drinks at breakfast. No toilet. No compromise. Tea. Juice. Water. And of course, muesli. Getting dressed was a race against time. Could they make it into their swimwear before it all came pouring out? It was a struggle. A game of control. A triumph of anticipation. Now they stood on the wooden dock. Barefoot. The water below still and clear. Her red swimsuit clung tight — damp from the last swim. His black speedo stretched across his hips — glistening slightly, clearly showing the urgency. She sat on his lap. Right there on the dock. Close. Familiar. Intimate. Her legs wrapped around him. Her arms rested on his shoulders. And then they let go — together. Relieved. Ecstatic. She peed through her swimsuit. He flooded his speedo with piss. It was indescribable. A fragrant flood. Wet. Warm. His arousal clearly visible. The fabric drank every drop. Heavy. Alive. A single golden puddle spread beneath them — large, warm, glowing. Their shared mark. Their moment.

They looked at each other. And both knew: this was right. They slipped into the lake — slowly, dripping, free. The puddle stayed behind — quiet and proud. In the water, everything changed — cool, soft, flowing. They swam a bit. Then found each other again. Their bodies met. The fabric spoke. She rubbed against him. Felt him through the speedo. Through the water. Through the closeness. He twitched. She smiled. His speedo grew warmer. Wetter. Beautiful. Her hand rested on the pouch — now soaked, now responsive. Her swimsuit wasn’t just wet from the lake — it was warm from her own juices. Her desire had left its mark — honest, feminine, wet. He held her close. Let her glide. Kissed her underwater. And again, something happened between them — another release. Right into the lake. They had drunk extra for this. Their swimwear flushed with heat once more. No one saw it. But they felt everything. Around the fabric, it turned warm and yellow. And the desire surged again.

And behind? Now, in the water, the moment arrived. Naturally. Intimately. She felt the warm mass spread inside her swimsuit. She pushed a soft load into her bikini. She used it as a diaper! The fabric turned damp. Heavy. Full. Now it was his turn. Something soft released — familiar, gentle. He packed his speedo with heat. It tightened. Grew warmer. Grew fuller. Became part of him. They held each other. Moved slowly — almost like a dance. He grabbed her ass. Spread the warmth through her suit. She stroked his load through the speedo. Loved it. Pressed it. No shame. No hesitation. Just closeness. The lake absorbed it all — like a silent ally. After a break on the shore — two bottles of water, a granola bar, a few grapes — they discovered the mud pit. Hidden. At the lake’s edge. Half in shadow. Half in sun. The ground was soft. Deep. Slippery. They wanted to get filthy today. And stepped in — first hesitant, then laughing. The mud wrapped around their legs. Their hips. Their colorful diapers.

They sat side by side. Let themselves sink. Her red swimsuit stuck instantly. Heavy. Alive. His black speedo glistened — already damp again from lust, from water, from everything. They looked at each other. Grinned. And then she let go. She sprayed her swimsuit full — straight into the mud. He followed. He gave his speedo a golden gift. Felt the fabric soak it up again. The mud drank it all — like a greedy friend. They slid closer. Touched. Rubbed against each other. The fabric was soft. Slippery. Honest. Their hands wandered. Their bodies danced. And then it happened — the second lustful fabric moment. She pressed against him. Felt him through the speedo. Felt herself. He twitched and came. She moaned and squirt in her swimsuit.