Golden Springs of Springfield by Imouto Kitten

Commissioned by Anonymous

It was a bright, Monday morning in Springfield, and in the neatest 
bedroom of 742 Evergreen Terrace, the middle child of the Simpson Family 
was stirring, the overachieving young blonde's body so in tuned to her 
weekly routine that she woke just in time to shut off her alarm a split 
second after it went off.

As Lisa stretches to work the kinks from a good night's sleep from her 
muscles, a twinge deep in her tummy penetrates her consciousness... like 
most mornings, Lisa awoke to her bladder sending the first signals that 
she needs to dispose of the urine that built up during her slumber.

Turning down her covers and standing from her bed, Lisa straightens her 
teal nightgown before padding barefooted down the hallway to the 
bathroom. Opening the door, she's greeted by a sight that would be 
unpleasant even without the building pressure in her lower abdomen, her 
father passed out on the toilet, and to make matter's worse, Homer is 
missing his shirt and pants, his man boobs and collossal gut on full 
display.

Slamming the door and shaking her head in hopes of forgetting what she 
just saw, Lisa starts down the hall once more, her new destination her 
parent's room and the master bathroom within.

Lisa is intercepted by her mother coming out of Maggie's nursery, the 
beehived blunette carrying her youngest as she greets her older 
daughter, "Good Morning, Lisa!"

"Good morning, Mom," replies the blonde, standing a bit straighter than 
usual, "Dad must've had a few too many beers at Moe's last night, he's 
passed out in the hall bathroom."

Grumbling, Marge replies, "Just great, and the toilet in the master 
bathroom is clogged. As if I wasn't having enough trouble trying to 
potty train maggie."

Wanting to grumble herself at what her mom just said, Lisa changes 
course, resigned to having to hold until she gets to school as Marge 
heads downstairs to start breakfast, Maggie in tow

Back in her room, Lisa pulls her nightie over her head to reveal a pair 
of plain, white panties hugging her hips and ample rump, and deciding a 
morning shower is out of the question as long as Homer is hold up in the 
bathroom, she retrieves one of her red dresses from her closet and pulls 
it on before placing her perls around her neck and slipping into her red 
flats.

Knowing she can dress faster than her mom can cook breakfast and not 
wanting to dwell on the slowly intensifying twinges from her personal 
reservoir, the child genius passes a few minutes double, triple, and 
quadruple checking that her bookbag contains all the books she'll need 
for the day, ordered by period and that all her homework from that 
weekend, even the assignments not due that day are immaculately 
handwritten, properly collated, and divided by subject.

Deciding breakfast will be ready soon, Lisa hefts her fully loaded 
backpack and heads down stairs, walking into the kitchen just as Marge 
is placing a plate of tofu eggs and sausage and pancakes at Lisa's spot.

"Thanks, Mom!" cries the girl, digging into her food as Marge turns her 
attention to feeding Maggie while she waits for the Simpson Men to join 
them.

After Lisa has downed two glasses of almond milk and is halfway through 
a third glass of Orange juice, Bart drags himself into the kitchen, 
still looking half asleep, but at least dressed for school as he 
announces, "Homer's passed out on the toilet."

"We know!" reply his sister and mother, the one unhappy about the 
reminder that she'll have to wait until she gets to school for her 
morning pee, the other unhappy at the reminder of her husband's 
out-of-control alcoholism.

Finishing her breakfast and trying to ignore her brother's complete lack 
of table manners, Lisa fails to notice herself crossing her legs and 
squirming slightly in her seat, and furthermore, she fails to notice the 
glances Bart is giving her as a result of these subtle signs of what's 
happening deep within her.

The two school children finish their meals just in time to hear Otto 
honking the horn before dashing out the door to board the school bus.

As Lisa takes her seat on the bus, unconsciously crossing her legs as 
she does so, she can't help thinking, 'Won't be long now until I can 
empty my bladder.' Unfortunately, this proves far too optimistic as Otto 
seems to be even more stoned out of his mind than usual this morning, 
zigzagging all over the suburbs of Springfield, taking turns at 
inadvisable speeds, and more than once narrowly avoiding running over 
someone's car as he turns onto a one-way street, going the wrong 
direction.

Throughout the bumpy and turbulent ride, Lisa is grateful her bladder 
isn't more full than it is, as close to certain as the laws of 
probability will allow that some of the jolts she feels through the 
bus's horribly maintained suspension would have her leaving yellow spots 
on her undies if she was truly desperate.

Even then, when Otto finally slams on breaks in front of Springfield 
Elementary, making the bus do a reverse wheelie as it comes to a sudden 
stop and throwing more than a few students out of their seats, Lisa is 
amazed she manages to prevent a leak even as her pelvic floor and thighs 
cramp from the force of keeping the floodgates sealed.

Rising to wobbly legs, Lisa makes her way to the front of the bus, her 
steps steady once more by the time she steps out on the sidewalk and 
turns towards the building, already plotting the quickest route from the 
entrance to a girls' restroom, ignoring the crowd of other students 
disembarking from the bus.

However, as soon as Lisa steps foot inside the school, the bell rings 
out, and a quick glance at a nearby wall clock makes Lisa realize she 
has to make a choice between being on time to homeroom or relieving her 
bladder of its nightly cargo.

Too proud to sully her reputation as a model student to bend to her 
body's demands that she sacrifice her perfect punctuality, Lisa heads 
for class, hopeful she can keep her personal pool of pee from pouring 
into her panties at least until the mid-morning recess.

Reaching her classroom, Lisa takes her seat and pulls out her materials 
for her first class of the day, the bell ringing just as she places the 
last item on her desk even as her classmates are still making their ways 
to their own seats.

At first, the familiar rhythm of passing in homework, listening to Miss 
Hoover lecture in a bored tone, raising her hand to answer or ask 
questions, and taking notes allows Lisa to push the growing pressure in 
her piddle pot out of mind. However, about halfway through the class, a 
rather sudden and strong spasm brings her mind back to the swelling sack 
of waste waters throbbing in her tummy.

Clenching her pelvic floor, Lisa shoves the hand not holding her pencil 
under her desk to grab her girlhood through her dress and undies, and 
while the lack of moisture is somewhat reassuring, the now constant 
throb has her a bit concerned. On the one hand, she hasn't had an 
accident since she was potty trained, and in fact, she had been the only 
one in the class to never have a single accident at school throughout 
Kindergarten and first grade. On the other hand, despite a near idetic 
memory, the young blonde couldn't remember ever needing to pee this 
badly, and except for Ralph Wiggum, accidents were rare enough among the 
second graders that anyone facing such misfortune would immediately 
become the primary subject of playground gossip and object of ridicule 
for the whole class, something the studious girl's nerdy reputation 
couldn't handle.

Lisa was tempted to raise her hand and ask to be excused, but not 
wanting to miss even a minute of the lesson, her pride as an honor 
student and youngest member of the Springfield chapter of Mensa made her 
hesitate, and upon noticing that less than a quarter hour remained until 
the mid-morning recess made her resolve to hold through the end of 
class, mentally chanting, 'I can hold it, I can hold it.' over and over 
to herself like a silent mantra, doing her best to convince herself that 
it's the truth and not an empttttttty boast.

So focused on her mantra and the throbbing of her tinkle tank, Lisa 
takes in none of the last ten minutes of the lesssson, not that Ms. 
Hoover seems to notice, the disillusioned and burntout teacher going 
through the motions instead of showing any passion for sharing knowledge 
with the children in her charge.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of first period and bringing Lisa 
back to awareness of her surroundings, she lets out a breath she hadn't 
realize she had been holding, and standing up, she follows the rest of 
the class outside for recess, breaking into a brisk walk in the 
direction of the playground's restrooms as soon as her classmates break 
ranks, barely resisting the urge to break into a run and thinking her 
salvation is within reach.

However, it is not to be, as when she turns the corner, she comes 
face-to-face with Nelson, the bully standing guard in front of the 
bathrooms like a miniature bouncer at a night club, turning away any 
student that comes close.

"Well, what have we here?" asks Nelson spotting Lisa, "If it isn't the 
younger, smarter half of the Simpsons duo."

Standing straight, as much in an effort to keep her straining muscles 
tensed against the deluge trying to escape her bladder to soak her 
panties and wash away what little respect she has from her peers as 
trying to look resolute in front of the older and far more physically 
imposing boy, Lisa crosses her arms and squeezes her thighs together as 
she declares with more confidence than she's currently feeling and more 
than a bit of indignation, "Nelson, I don't have time for this, please 
stand aside."

"No can do, Simpson." replies the boy, "No one uses the bathroom without 
paying the proper tribute."

"And what would this tribute be?" asks Lisa, more out of curiosity than 
any intention to let the bully extort her.

"Oh, I think twenty bucks aught to be plenty." declares Nelson, it 
taking nearly as much self control to keep her jaw from dropping as to 
keep her undies dry when Lisa hears the sum he's asking. That was easily 
enough to cover a full two weeks of school lunches with money to spare, 
far more money than any student was likely to have on them at school, 
and definitely more than she had on her.

Lisa dug her fingertips into the flesh of her upper arms to resist the 
urge to bury them in her crotch, not wanting to give Nelson the 
satisfaction of knowing just how badly she wanted, no needed to get past 
him, to let him know just how much power he held over her at that 
moment.

She was torn. She couldn't afford the price he was asking and any effort 
to force her way past him would likely end up jostling her bladder 
enough to not only make her have an accident that would make her a 
laughing stock, but would give him a front row, no on-stage seat to 
witness her humiliation up close and personal, a thought that nearly 
made her cheeks turn as red as her dress. She could try telling a 
teacher, but she was already looked down upon by many of her peers for 
being a tattle-tale, and excluding the more over the top of her 
brother's antics, the teachers often didn't bother trying to discipline 
troublemakers... and even if she were allowed in the school building 
during recess, she doubts she could make it to the next closest girls' 
room and make it to her next class on time.

As she fights with her bladder to keep her waste waters contained and 
her thoughts run around in circles trying to figure out a solution to 
her desperate situation, Lisa doesn't notice the appreciative glances 
Nelson is giving her, the boy noticing just how tense her whole body is 
and the way she's practically bouncing in place. No one would ever 
accuse Nelson of being smart, but even he could tell that Lisa needed to 
pee badly and was trying to hide it and failing to convince anyone who's 
actually paying attention.

In fact, not only is Lisa too lost in her thoughts to realize the way 
the older boy's eyes trace over the pudgy curves visible through her 
dress and that her desperation is showing more than she thinks, she 
fails to take in his words as Nelson gives her an alternative offer.

"Huh, what was that?" she asks, snapping back to reality.

"I said," starts Nelson, "For a cute girl like you, I might be persuaded 
to drop the price in exchange for a kiss."

At registering these words, Lisa's cheeks really do turn red as her 
dress, the nerdy overachiever not used to being complimented on her 
looks rather than her brains... and as her taut tinkle tank lets out a 
particularly powerful pulse of need, she's tempted to swallow her pride 
and accept the offer, but the middle Simpson child is nothing if not 
stubborn, and as she hesitates to either accept or run off in defeat, 
Nelson continues, "Of course, we could always do it the hard way. I may 
be too much of a gentleman to hit a girl, but I have other ways of 
making it very uncomfortable if you don't either pay up or run off... 
I'm sure I could hold you in a bear hug until the bell rings."

And that does it. She's sure being squeezed by the older boy right now 
could only result in both of them being drenched in her golden liquid, 
and her resolve to stand up to the bully finally breaking, she retreats, 
sending up a silent prayer to any gods willing to listen for the 
strength to hold it until she gets home.

Thanks to the prolonged stand off with Nelson, it isn't much longer 
before the bell marking the end of recess rings and Lisa soon finds 
herself back at her desk, one leg crossed over the other and the foot on 
the floor bouncing in time with the beat of her bulging, bursting 
bladder as Miss Hoover starts the second lecture of the day.

Unfortunately for Lisa's already frantic, fluid-fuelled state of mind, 
the class is geography and the day's topic is rivers and waterfalls.

As Miss Hoover drones on about the Amazon and the Nile, about Niagara 
Falls and Victoria Falls, Lisa's sphincter struggles to hold back the 
flood waters of the Great Golden Lake Lisa as they threaten to rush 
forth in a great golden cascade, the girl genius searching her 
surroundings for anything to distract her from the torturous throbbing 
of her terribly taut tinkle tank and the torment of listening to a 
lecture that is only making her need to pee all the more excruciating.

Eventually her eyes fall upon Ralph Wiggum, the only student in the 
second grade at Springfield Elementary even more unpopular than Lisa, 
the dim, but kind-hearted boy fidgetting in his seat. Clearly, Lisa 
wasn't the only victim of Nelson's Toilet Toll, and Lisa couldn't help 
shuddering as her own swollen pee sack spasms in sympathy.

Sadly, this wasn't exactly an uncommon sight in Miss Hoover's second 
grade class. Sure, Ralph got just as much ridicule for being on the left 
tail of the bell curve as Lisa got for being on the right tail, but part 
of what cemented him as the least popular kid in their grade was that he 
was the only one in the class who still wet his pants in class with 
enough regularity to not make gossip headlines.

In fact, it had just been last week that Lisa had noticed Ralph in a 
very similar situation to the one she was now witnessing, and Lisa felt 
just as helpless to help the poor boy as she did about her own impending 
flood, and it didn't help that Miss Hoover seldom bothered to call on 
Ralph if he raised his hand since he tended to ask the kind of questions 
that made people reject the rule of "there are no stupid questions".

Though it didn't help much to distract her from the powerful pulsing and 
pounding of her own prodigiously protruding piddle pot, observing 
Ralph's struggles to likewise avoid an accident did manage to push the 
contents of the lecture out of mind. However, just as Lisa expected, 
Ralphs fight to keep his pants dry proves futile, and with five minutes 
left in class, Lisa stares transfixed as Ralph's fidgeting suddenly 
halts, the seat of his pants darkening noticeably befor a cascade as 
yellow as his skin starts to run off the edges of his desk chair to pool 
on the floor.

Though she can't bring herself to look away, all Lisa can do is clench 
her internal muscles in an effort to not join the boy in his humiliation 
and stay quiet to delay a fresh round of laughter at the poor boy's 
expense. The only silver lining to this situation the girl genius can 
think of is that at least Ralph was still at his desk this time, the 
middle Simpson spawn shuddering at the memory of last week when Ralph 
had gotten as far as walking in frontof Lisa's desk before soaking his 
shorts.

By the time the bell has rung, the other students have noticed the 
silently sobbing boy's soaked pants, and while Lisa would like to stop 
to try and comfort Ralph, a throb from her own tinkle tank reminds her 
that she's in danger of joining him as she quickly packs her school bag 
and speed walks into the hallway.

She plans to make a beeline to the nearest restrooms, but as other 
students start to fill the halls, Martin joins her and starts talking 
about the morning's fourth grade classes, and while Lisa would normally 
be happy to chat with the only other student in the whole school with an 
intellect to rival her own, she's in no mood to talk as her tinkle tank 
throbs incessantly, and to make matters worse, apparently Miss Krabapple 
had also decided today would be the perfect day to talk about bodies of 
water during a geography class. She'd like to just blow him off, but she 
can't think straight with the perpetual pounding of her piddle pot 
putting her panties in peril and she doesn't want to be rude, and for 
being the smartest boy in school, Martin is apparently oblivious to her 
distress as he goes on and on about ponds, lakes, seas, and oceans, 
happy to monolog as Lisa walks in silence.

As they past the restroom, Lisa still unable to think clearly enough to 
politely excuse herself, she overhears the school's groundskeeper and 
Janitor, willy grumbling something about cherry bombs and all the 
toilets being out of order, Lisa's heart sinking as she realizes she'd 
probably be out of luck even if Martin wasn't obliviously keeping her 
from pursuing her salvation.

For possibly the first time in her life, Lisa is greatful that there's 
only a half day of school that day as she and Martin approach the bus, 
and while she doesn't want to blame Martin for her current predicament, 
she certainly doesn't want to continue listening to him talk about 
things like the desalination of water, hydro electric power and 
graywater collection systems, even if discussion of such technologies 
would usually interest her, especially given their potential 
eco-friendly benefits, As such, she decides to claim a seat on the first 
bench with a single pre-existing occupant, not even bothering to check 
who she'll be sitting with before easing into her seat in an attempt to 
avoid jostling her bladder and crossing her legs as she prays to any 
gods willing to listen that Otto doesn't attempt any crazy tricks on the 
ride home.

As she rocks back and forth in her seat as she waits for the bus to 
finish filling with students, a quiet whimpering draws Lisa's attention 
to the person in the window seat next to her. Glancing towards the 
sound, she discovers that in her haste to blow off Martin, she ended up 
sitting next to Milhouse.

Her brother's socially awkward best friend is rocking back and forth as 
well, both hands clamped over his crotch and a pained expression on his 
face as he continues to produce the pathetic noises that drew her 
attention to him.

Lisa can only think of two reasons a boy would be huddled like that, and 
while striking up a conversation with someone in similar need of a 
toilet is the last thing she wants to do at that moment, the possibility 
that the bespectacled boy is reeling from one of the bullies deciding to 
hit the poor preteen below the belt is too much for her to ignore.

Doing her best to keep her voice steady, Lisa asks, "Milhouse, are you 
okay?"

Glancing up as if just realizing he's not alone, Milhouse replies, his 
already nasally voice even higher pitch than usual, "No, I'm not okay."

"What's wrong?" asks the smartest girl in school.

"It's all Nelson's fault." replies the boy, "First he demands I give him 
like a month's worth of lunch money to use the bathroom, and when I 
don't have it but try to slip past him, he gets me in a headlock, drags 
me to a sink, and forces my head under the tap, demanding I drink or 
drown."

Lisa would normally be outraged by such a story and ready to march up to 
the bully in question and give him a piece of her mind if she wasn't 
struggling to keep her own golden flood waters from soaking through her 
panties and dress to run over the vinyl covering of the bus seat.

Instead of a thunderhead of righteous fury, all Lisa can manage is a 
slightly shocked, "That's terrible!"

"Yeah, it really bites!" the usually reserved sidekick of Springfield's 
number one troublemaker practically spits out, "and now I'm pretty sure 
I'm going to have wet shorts by the time I get home.

"Have you considered going before the bus leaves?" asks Lisa, forgetting 
what she had overheard from Willy, not that it matters as soon as the 
question leaves her mouth, the last student boards the bus, the door 
clatters shut like a death knell, and Otto floors it, both of the 
desperate children being pushed against the back of the seat due to the 
sudden acceleration.

Lisa manages to avoid any leaks, but she can't help silently agreeing as 
Milhouse lets out a strangled cried of, "I'd need a miracle to make it 
home dry."

Fortunately, Otto is just being reckless instead of acting like a stunt 
driver for a change, but as her painfully protruding, powerfully 
pulsing, poised to pop piddle pot continues to plead for relief from 
nearly 16 hours worth of pent-up pee, Lisa wracks her brain for anything 
that might help either her or Milhouse avoid ending up like Ralph from 
that morning.

Just when she thinks the situation is hopeless, Lisa remembers a certain 
quirk of male biology she had read when perusing the chapter on the 
reproductive system in a college anatomy textbook she had checked out 
from the local library.

She can't believe she's even contemplating what she's thinking of doing, 
especially with Milhouse, a boy she finds neither physically or 
intellectually attractive, a boy she suspects harbors a crush on her she 
definitely doesn't want to encourage... and yet, glancing at how 
pathetic the desperate boy looks, she can't help emphasizing with his 
plight, and so she rationalizes that she's just doing it to help the boy 
out and maybe distract herself from her own need.

Glancing to make sure no one is looking in their direction, Lisa leans 
over and whispers in Milhouse's ear, "Milhouse, there's something I 
think might help, but I need you to trust me and pull your hands away 
from your crotch."

"I don't know," replies the boy, "if I let go, I might lose it 
immediately."

"Come on, Milhouse, "replies Lisa, running her fingers over Milhouse's 
clenched, white-knuckled hands, "Nelson prevented me from using the 
bathroom as well, so I kind of know what you're going through even if I 
didn't provoke him into forcing me to drink from a bathroom sink."

"Well, I guess I can trust you." replies the boy reluctantly as he 
slowly relinquishes his grip on his boyhood.

As soon as Milhouse grants her access, Lisa slides a hand past the 
waistband of not only his shorts, but his tighty whities as well, 
gripping his preteen prick and giving it a few quick strokes to bring 
him to what might be his first erection due to deliberate stimulation.

As Lisa gives her first handjob, Milhouse's whimpers of desperation give 
way to whimpers of pleasure, and eager to know if she's putting what 
she's learned to proper practical use, Lisa can't help asking, "How does 
that feel?"

"It...it feels amazing!" cries out the boy, barely managing to keep his 
voice down enough to not draw attention. "And it feels like I don't need 
to pee anymore."

""I've read that, as long as a boy's penis is stimulated enough to stay 
erect, it's very hard for a boy to pee even if he tries."

"Wow..." breathes the boy, practically in heaven thanks to Lisa's touch 
on his immature member.

"However, you mustn't overdo it." adds the girl genius, "Stimulate it 
too much, and you'll ejaculate, and once that happens, it'll be hard to 
stay erect."

Milhouse doesn't really understand what Lisa is telling him, but between 
the relief from his aching bladder and how nice having her touch him 
feels, he doesn't really care as he leans back in his seat, savoring the 
sensations Lisa is sending up and down his spine.

Milhouse is so relaxed under Lisa's ministrations that it takes several 
shouts of "Hey, little four-eyed Dude, this is your stop!" from Otto to 
realize it's time for him to get off the bus.

Standing up and feeling his need return almost as soon as Lisa withdraws 
her hand, a blushing Milhouse whispers, "Thanks, Lisa." in her ear as he 
steps into the aisle with a wide smile on his face.

"Your welcome, and good luck." Whispers the blonde in response as the 
blunet makes his way off the bus, Lisa hoping that they both manage to 
make it.

However, while Lisa's handjob had distracted him quite effectively, 
Milhouse feels like his desperation has returned with a vengeance and 
grows with every step he takes towards his frontdoor and the bathroom 
beyond.

As the bus speeds off and he takes the first step from the sidewalk onto 
the path leading up to his house, Milhouse freezes, the first leak 
slipping sphincter security to dampen his undies. Panicking that he's 
mere seconds from complete loss of bladder control and completely soaked 
shorts, he jams a hand down the front of his pants, gripping his 
childish cock and trying to emulate what Lisa was doing to him on the 
bus.

Touching himself doesn't feel anywhere as good as when Lisa touched him, 
but it does take the edge off as he slowly makes his way up the path to 
his front door. However, as he moves, he can't help gradually increasing 
the speed of his strokes upon his immature boyhood, and by the time he's 
hobbled through his front door, he's stroking himself at a pace beyond 
anything Lisa had done.

Her cryptic warning about not overdoing it crosses his mind, but the 
increased stimulation feels so good, even if it can't compare to Lisa's 
more leisurely ministrations that Milhouse can't bring himself to slow 
down.

And it is this lack of self control that proves Milhouse's undoing as 
when he finally reaches his bathroom, his salvation within sight, the 
inexperienced boy pushes himself over the edge, an unfamiliar liquid too 
thick and sticky to be pee squirting from his tip, splattering all over 
the inside of his briefs and his hand, the boy falling to his knees as 
his entire body trembles in what he'll only learn much later was his 
first ever orgasm.

And while the rush of unexpected spermarche leaves the boy tingling from 
head to toe, his rapture soon gives way to revulsion as the much runnier 
liquid he's been trying to prevent pouring into his pants gushes forth, 
rinsing the stickiness from his hand and soaking his undies, shorts, and 
the bathroom floor, the poor boy sitting in an ever expanding puddle of 
pee with the toilet within arms reach.

###

While Lisa struggles to keep her panties dry, her Mother was dealing 
with quite a different battle of the bladder. After cleaning up after 
breakfast, she had managed to get her hungover husband awake enough to 
pour some coffee down his throat and stuff a doughnut in his mouth and 
get him dressed and off to the nuclear plant, but then Marge had turned 
her attention to the youngest of her children.

She was trying to toilet train little Maggie, but so far, it was proving 
more difficult than it had been with Lisa or even Bart.

The Kitchen clean and her husband off to work, Marge had wash the 
remnants of breakfast from Maggie's face before carrying the toddler 
upstairs to change her out of the onesie the child had slept in. 
Naturally, this had included removing a diaper thoroughly soaked from a 
night's worth of piddle. As Maggie had proven unwilling to view pull-ups 
as any different from her normal diapers, Marge had decided to try the 
toddler with proper panties, slipping a white cotton pair up Maggie's 
chubby thighs after cleaning the remnants of the child's nightly 
tinkles, soon adding a matching t-shirt before covering both articles 
with a blue jumper dress and finishing the toddler's new look with a 
pair of blue booties.

"Now Maggie, remember you're wearing big girl pants, so you need to tell 
me when you need to go potty." though the only response she gets is a 
suck on Maggie's ever present pacifier. Deciding that's probably the 
best she's going to get, Marge lifts her baby girl off the changing 
table and sits the toddler on the floor before asking, "How about we try 
to go potty right now?" before taking Maggie's hand and leading the 
child to the hallway bathroom.

However, as they approach the bathroom, Maggie grows fussy, trying to 
get away from her mother's grasp, acting as if she's terrified of what 
lies behind that door. Despite her best efforts, Marge can't convince 
the little girl to go anywhere near the room, and with the master 
bathroom's toilet clogged and a plumber unable to come out to fix it for 
a few days, the Simpsons matriarch resigns herself to setting up the 
toddler potty in the living room.

"Now, how about we try using the potty?" Asks Marge once the plastic 
potty has been set up and is ready for Maggie to use, and while the 
mother still has no idea why her baby won't go anywhere near the 
upstairs bathroom, the toddler doesn't complain as her mother pulls down 
her panties, lifts her skirt, and sits her on the plastic seat.

After several minutes of nothing happening, Marge concludes her baby 
girl is empty, having already tinkled everything from the night before 
into the latest deposit in the nursery's diaper pail and the juice and 
milk from breakfast not having time to work through the toddler's 
system.

Helping her baby to her feet, Marge says, "Nothing came out this time, 
but when you do need to tinkle, you need to tell me and then come sit on 
your potty like you just did." the Simpson Matriarch hoping the little 
girl will follow suit.

However, as the morning wears on, Marge's attention divided between the 
housework and keeping an eye on Maggie, the older woman is about ready 
to pull out her beehive by the handful. On the upside, Maggie hasn't had 
any accidents, but she's also completely ignored the potty after the 
earlier demonstration. She's even tried speeding up the process by 
offering the toddler extra sippy cups of juice, and despite Maggie 
draining her cup quickly every time, the child never shows any signs of 
needing to potty, either that she's about to wet her panties like she 
would her diapers or moving towards the potty or trying to get her 
mother's attention for reasons unrelated to play.

Either the toddler has a tinkle tank of tempered titanium, is too 
distracted to recognize the tell-tale tingle that she needs to tinkle, 
or, most worrisome for her anxious mother, is retaining fluids.

As Marge puts the final touches on a large platter of sandwiches, about 
half-and-half between assorted meat and dairy varieties like 
ham-and-cheese and turkey-and-cheese and more vegetarian friendly 
options like peanut butter, banana, and tomato, knowing her two eldest 
will be hungry when they get home from their half-day of school, the 
Simpson matriarch decides to take a more hands-on approach in hopes of 
finally getting her youngest to go like a big girl.

Finding Maggie in the living room stretching on tip toes to add a block 
to the top of a rather tall from the toddler's perspective stack of 
blocks, Marge watches as her baby's attempt causes the stack to 
collapse, the child angrily sucking on her pacifier as the older woman 
kneels behind her.

Gently feeling her baby's abdomen through the blue jumper, Marge finds a 
rather hard, baseball-sized lump, and nearly gasps in shock at how much 
her little girl is apparently holding before asking, "Do you need to go 
potty, Maggie?"

As if the question flips a switch in the toddler's brain, Maggie 
suddenly realizes the tingle she had ignored all morning has grown into 
a rather painful pounding, the last block slipping from slacking fingers 
to clatter to the floor with the rest of her collapsed skyscraper as she 
clamps both hands over her throbbing girlhood, wanting to just relax and 
let the warmth flow only to remember that she's wearing big girl pants.

###

About this time, Otto is pulling onto Evergreen Terrace, and Lisa lets 
out a sigh of relief as she spots her house, the throbbing of her own 
terribly taut tinkle tank seeming to have grown orders of magnitude 
without the distraction of helping Milhouse keep his own waste water 
reservoir from springing a leak of biblical proportions.

When Otto slams on the breakes in front of the Simpson homestead, it's 
all Lisa can do to not let a leak escape and to then stand up without 
immediately jamming a hand between her thighs as she walks stiffly down 
the aisle, hands in fists at her sides and her knees nearly touching.

However, as she steps down onto the pavement, the strongest spasm yet 
shreds what remains of the honor student's resolve and she jams a hand 
between her legs, pressing her panties and red dress tightly against her 
girlhood, unaware just how much she's mirroring her baby sister's 
posture as she runs for the front door.

She throws open the door just as Marge witnesses Maggie's reaction to 
her question, and looking up, the Simpson matriarch greets her middle 
child, "Welcome home, Lisa! I think Maggie's about to use her potty for 
the first time!" Clearly oblivious that her elder daughter is in no 
better shape than her youngest.

As Marge moves over to the potty, lifting the lid and patting the seat 
as she encourages, "Come on, Maggie, come sit on your potty and tinkle 
like a big girl!" Lisa is torn between staying to watch this milestone 
in her baby sister's life and rushing up the stairs to her own 
salvation, but eventually, sisterly duty wins out over her bodily needs.

"You can do it, maggie!" calls out Lisa in encouragement for the 
littlest Simpson as the child takes first one then two shakey steps 
towards the Potty.

Each impact of one of her tiny, blue bootied feet on the carpet sends a 
jolt to Maggie's tiny, toddler tinkle tank as it throbs terribly, but 
wanting to make her big sister and mother proud of her, the child 
continues towards the potty even as she whimpers around her mouthful of 
pacifier.

After what seems like an eternity for both sisters, Maggie is standing 
in front of the potty, visibly trembling, her jumper scrunched up where 
chubby thighs meet the toddler's trembling tinkle, unable to move except 
to look up at her mother, eyes watery with unshed tears.

Taking pity on the young child, Marge declares, let me help you, 
Maggie." as she reaches for the hem of the jumper, but before the older 
woman can reach under the dress to pull down her baby's panties, the 
toddler's tiny dam breaks prematurely, a familiar warmth spreading out 
over Maggie's girlhood as she takes the longest, biggest tinkle of her 
young life. Though, naturally, without a diaper to contain it as usual, 
the warmth doesn't stop at Maggie's crotch or even at her butt, but 
soaks through her tiny, white panties to soak her jumper, drench her 
hands, and run down her chubby thighs to pool on the floor, the wet spot 
taking up more of the carpet than the potty by the timeMaggie has 
emptied and collapses to her knees from the strain.

As Maggie finally lets the tears stream down her face, Marge tries to 
hide her disappointment as she declares, "Maybe tomorrow will be the 
day." before picking up the crying girl and telling Lisa, "There's 
sandwiches in the kitchen, please eat at least one of the peanut butter 
ones if you insist on avoiding the ones with meat and cheese." as she 
heads up the stairs to get Maggie cleaned up.

Lisa had been silent through Maggie's accident, her every muscle 
straining to avoid making it a double accident, unwilling to lower 
herself to wetting herself like a literal baby. As such, the girl genius 
files away the information about lunch for later and barely lets her mom 
clear the top of the stairs before bolting up the steps herself, the 
hand not clamped over her crotch striking out at the doorknob for the 
bathroom like an ambush predator swiping at their prey's juggular.

it is in horror that Lisa tries to turn the knob, only for it to refuse 
to budge, and in piddle-powered panic, she grabs the knob with both 
hands, trying to rattle the door off it's hinges as she exclaims, "no no 
no nonononononono!" under her breath."

As she raises a fist to bang on the door, Bart steps out of the shadows 
of the hallway, calmly declaring, "That won't do any good, Leese."

"BART!" yells the middle simpson child at her older brother, "Did you 
lock the bathroom!?"

Twirling a screwdriver that he had apparently used as a lockpick, Bart 
replies mischieviously, "Sure did, Leese, and from what I've seen today, 
I'd say it won't be long before my efforts pay off!" Laughing a bit 
maniacally, he explains his cunning plan, revealing that, in his own 
way, he's nearly as smart as Lisa just not in the way adults tend to 
appreciate. "After what you said about Homer at breakfast and the way 
you were moving a bit stiffly this morning, I figured you must not have 
been able to take your morning piss, and you were clearly too distracted 
to notice me asking Otto to cut it close getting to school... After 
that, it was easy to talk Nelson into preventing anyone from using the 
toilets during recess, especially after I suggested he could extort 
people for their pocket money instead of taking it by force. I hadn't 
counted on Martin distracting you, but by then, I had already cherry 
bombed all the toilets in the school. Milhouse was collateral damage, 
but worth it to see you wiggling that big, bubble butt of yours in 
desperation as you ran up to the front door from the bus. Mom and Maggie 
distracting you wasn't in the plan, but it did give me the time to 
jerry-rig the bathroom door so I could watch you wetting yourself 
instead of hunkering down inside and only getting to see the aftermath. 
It's almost like that karma stuff you're always going on about decided 
to help me get my perfect revenge for you snitching on me and getting me 
grounded."

Through out her brother's villainous monologue, shocck, disgust, and 
fury have been warring within Lisa as she stood on the verge of wetting 
herself, both hands thrust against her throbbing crotch as her piddle 
pot pleads for her to let Bart win, to pee herself, but hearing him 
twist her belief in karma sends her over the edge as she tackles her 
brother, grabbing for the screwdriver, certain she can undo whatever 
Bart did to the bathroom door if she can just get hold of the tool he 
used.

And while the siblings would normally be evenly matched in a physical 
contest, Bart has the clear advantage this time, Lisa's bloated, 
bursting bladder bulge a rather devastating disadvantage, and instead of 
managing to claim the screwdriver and leave Bart flat on his back, Lisa 
finds herself flat on her back, and to make matters worse, not only has 
her brother managed to pin her, but he's now sitting on top of per 
positively pounding, painfully pulsing, prodigiously protruding, poised 
to pop piddle pot, still twirling that infernal screwdriver in one hand 
as he gloats.

"Come on, Leese, just admit you've lost this time." declares the boy 
with a smug smile.

"Get off of me and open the door before I tell mom!" cries Lisa in 
response.

"Tut, tut, Leese, you're clearly too desperate to put up a decent fight 
or think clearly. All I have to do is wait, you'll wet yourself, and 
then there'll be no way to snitch on me without admitting you wet 
yourself." When her only response is defiant silence, Bart tosses the 
screwdriver to the side and wiggles his fingers threateningly as his 
hands approach Lisa's ribs.

Realizing what's coming, Lisa cries out, "No bart, please don't tick-" 
only to be cut off as she is reduced to uncontrolable giggles.

Naturally, tickle-torture induced laughter and someone sitting on one's 
lower abdomen is a very bad combination for a bladder that hasn't been 
emptied in way too long, and while an initial leak gives Lisa the 
adrenaline boost to throw Bart off of her and jump to her feet, it's too 
late, and much as Maggie had done minutes earlier, Lisa stands paralyzed 
as her personal piddle pond, no, more like an ocean spills out of her, 
drenching panties, dress, hands, and thighs en route to the floor, Bart 
with an on-stage seat for one of the best shows he can recall, 
Springfield's most notorious troublemaker tenting his shorts as he 
watches his sister humiliate herself, etching every detail of her 
accident into his memory, all the more pleased for having a hand in 
bringing about this course of events.

Once she's empty, Lisa turns her gaze upon her brother once more, 
clearly pissed in both senses of the word as she lets out a angry hiss 
of, "BART!"

"Calm down, Leese, you wouldn't want anyone else to know about this, 
would you?"

"Are you trying to blackmail me?" replies Lisa, losing steam at the 
thought of what would happen if their mom found out or if everyone at 
school heard of this incident.

I don't know, but if you don't want me to go get Mom right now and 
announce it on the playground," says Bart, closing the distance between 
them, not even flinching as his sneaker steps in her puddle, leaning in 
to whisper in her ear, "You'd better let me watch as you get cleaned 
up." his voice turning husky as he delivers his demand.

"Th-that's disgusting, especially since I'm your sister!" replies Lisa 
as she realizes her brother's sick desires apparently extend beyond 
simply wanting to humiliate and manipulate her.

"Well, if you don't want to," Bart cups his hands around his mouth, 
ready to shout for their mother before Lisa hastily wipes a hand dry on 
the breast of her dress and clamps it over her brother's mouth.

"Okay, okay, I'll let you watch." cries Lisa, her sense of pride winning 
out over her sense of justice.

"I knew you'd see it my way." replies Bart as he uses the screwdriver to 
unlock the Bathroom door before opening and saying smuggly, "Panty 
peeers first." Following Lisa in and locking the door behind them.

As Lisa peels off her soaked dress and her yellowed panties, her cheeks 
burn with embarrassment and it only gets worse as she tosses them in the 
sink and notices the tent in Bart's shorts, and if she had to guess, her 
brother is quite a bit better endowed than Milhouse.

Doing her best to ignore that she has an audience, She starts the cold 
water running, trying to rinse as much pee from her dress and undies as 
possible, hoping to hang them up in her room to dry before tossing them 
in the laundry, hoping this will be enough to remove any evidence, but 
the whole time, Lisa can feel Bart's eyes on her bare bottom, and not 
for the first time, she can't help but feel a bit self-conscious of the 
pudgy physique she inherited from her father's side of the family, 
though if the way Bart is rubbing the bulge in his shorts when she 
glances over her shoulder to where he's sitting on the lid of the toilet 
is any indicator, she suspects he might describe her as pleasantly 
plump, and despite her earlier protest that it's wrong for her brother 
to want to watch her like this, she can't help but feel a warmth and 
wettness welling up between her thighs that she knows has nothing to do 
with her accident.

Deciding she's done the best she can with her clothes, Lisa turns to the 
shower, and hearing the sound of a zipper, she catches a glimpse out of 
the corner of her eye of Bart pulling out his boyhood and stroking it 
even as his eyes follow her every movement, and indeed, he looks to be 
about an inch longer than Milhouse and just a bit thicker.

With a subconscious sway to her hips, Lisa steps into the shower, and as 
she starts the hot water, she notices for the first time that the shower 
curtain is completely transparent, Bart able to see everything even as 
she pulls the curtain close

As Lisa starts to wash herself, starting with her flat chest and working 
her way down her rounded tummy, the knowledge that her brother is 
masturbating mere feet away, the boy able to examine every square inch 
of her body as she washes away the remnants of her accident, Lisa can't 
help but grow more aroused, flattered that her brother apparently finds 
her attractive enough to want to watch her like this, an arousal that's 
quickly driving away her disgust at wetting herself and being peeped on, 
and her anger that her brother put so much effort into assuring such an 
outcome.

By the time she reaches her own crotch, Lisa has grown so aroused that 
she can't help fingering her immature girlhood, carefully prodding her 
virgin opening with her fingertips and even grinding the heel of her 
palm against her engorged clit. If asked, she'd swear she's just being 
thorough in her cleaning after wetting herself, but in her own mind, she 
can't help but admit to herself that she's masturbating, and with the 
full knowledge that her brother is not only watching, but jacking off to 
the sight of her naked, nubile body under the shower spray, and though 
she has her back to Bart, she's sure that the book dumb boy is more than 
street smart enough to realize exactly what she's doing.

"Hey Leese!" cries out the boy, pulling the girl genius from her 
internal conflict, "I'm going to cum soon, hope you don't mind me using 
your undies as a cum rag."

Bart's words are enough to make Lisa reflexively turn around, though she 
fails to pull her hands away from her crotch, her fingers furiously 
working her folds now in full view of her brother's perverted gaze. Her 
own gaze locks on to Bart just in time to see him pulling her panties 
from the sink and wrap them around his boyhood, and while part of her 
wants to yell at him to put them back in the sink, she can't help 
staring transfixed at her brothers crotch as he resumes jacking off, 
this time with her panties as a makeshift cock sheath, the boy clearly 
staring at her pleasuring herself in turn.

Neither sibling is quite sure which of them careens over the edge first, 
but before too long, both siblings are experiencing rather strong 
climaxes, especially considering their youth, both of them watching as 
the other climaxes, Lisa staring in morbid fascination as her panties 
are coated in globs of semen as her brother ejaculates into the white 
cotton.

As Lisa recovers from her climax, she watches Bart smear the last of his 
seed on her undies before he shamelessly turns back towards the toilet, 
and adds insult to injury by peeing into the bowl, the only Simpson 
child to avoid an accident that day.

She makes quick work of finishing up her shower after that, and as she 
steps out of the tub, wrapping a towel around her, Bart comments, "Great 
show, Leese." and getting a mischievous grin, he adds, "I should make 
you put these back on in exchange for not telling people about how you 
had your hand down Milhouse's shorts."

Lisa is torn between lunging at Bart and strangling him like their 
father so often does and plucking her sperm encrusted panties from his 
hand and pulling them on, but before she can do either, Bart tosses them 
in the sink, commenting, "Nah, even I think that sounds gross. Still, 
great show, we should do this again sometime." With that, Bart gives 
Lisa's towel-covered butt a quick smack before rushing out of the 
Bathroom.

Letting out a huff, Lisa makes quick work of combing out her wet hair 
and blowing it dry before turning to her discarded clothing, torn 
between actually doing what Bart had suggested and simply trying to 
rinse away his seed.