As I looked in the mirror I appreciated my figure, my long legs, a somewhat shapely but not fat ass, a rather thin waistline and my perky C cup breasts, with a head of long blond hair to top it off. My pussy was adorned with a short neatly trimmed strip of public hair and already dripping in anticipation of what was to come. My name is Emily and I was 23, I had always liked the way I looked the kind of classic beauty that men would stare at if I walked past.
The mirror was in the changing room of a high end designer clothes store in a shopping center on the rich side of town. I hadn't really paid attention to what the stores name was only the expensive looking dress I saw in the window the tag on it read $960. This was the newest in a long series of stores I had visited to steal from, a habit I had picked up as a young teenager and never quite grown out of, if anything I had grown into it. The thrill and the adrenaline of it is what I live for, the fear of getting caught, the increase in heartbeats whenever someone walks by the changing room. It was enough to drive me crazy. But as time went on simply stealing wasn't enough, my actions got bolder and as I began exploring my body in my younger years, so too did I explore my habits taking risks in public places and masturbating in the change rooms I stole from, my tastes branching out to further feelings of exposure and depravity.
One such time about 2 years ago, almost by complete accident I had discovered something that gave me even more of a thrill than stealing and masturbating. I had set out like normal, having had a large lunch, I set out to a store within the shopping center, chosen something nice and set off towards the change room. There was only one changing cubicle and I stepped in quickly making sure none of the sales girls saw what i was wearing before I went in. My normal activities ensued as I stripped off taking my time and savoring the moment, the feeling of vulnerability and risk of exposure as I began touching myself. Stroking a finger in a circle around my clit, I looked through a crack in the door at the people walking past the changing rooms, going about their day completely oblivious of the girl masturbating before she walked out with $120 with of clothes.
I slowly began probing into my quickly moistening pussy, with two of my fingers working myself up to a familiar rhythm. It was about then that I noticed how full I felt, the meal I had before included a large coke and it had already made its way through my body. Not wanting to have to stop I ignored the rising tension in my bladder.
Looking out the crack in the door a large middle aged woman was approaching the change rooms, the kind of woman who looks like she complains to the manager at every opportunity. She walked up directly to my cubicle and knocked on the door, my face mere inches from her hand. This was the closest I had gotten to a person in my escapades, the idea of being discovered and the wrongness of what I was doing was enough to make my hands work double time, quickly and roughly thrusting into and out of my dripping cunt. Stifling a moan, I felt warmth emanating from my crotch as my body began to tremble and tingle in orgasmic bliss. It was at that point, my body at the height of pleasure, with a grouchy looking woman standing almost in front of me so close to discovering me that, the pressure in my bladder finally broke through. With all the sensations going through my body I could no longer keep control of it.
First a little squirt came out as I tried to staunch the flow, but it was to no use, the little squirt was joined by a second and a third and suddenly it was a stream. I had no idea what to do I was bent over naked, shaking from the best orgasm of my life and pissing all over the walls and carpet of the change room. All I could do was stand there and wait for what felt like an eternity for the stream to end, I felt like crying, I felt like running, I felt more vulnerable and alive than I had ever been. Surely at any moment the woman outside would hear the fall of water and call the manager to check, or look between the crack in the door to see my shaking form bent over pissing all over the place.
The woman was still waiting outside the door as my stream of pee ended. I quickly, swapped the tag from the new stolen dress to the one I had worn in. I threw the new dress on, and looked around the room to see some splatters of clear urine on the walls and dark marks on the carpet of the floor. Rushing out of the change room I dropped off my old clothes with the new tags on a shelf and darted out of the store before the grouchy woman could raise an alarm.
That had been the first of many days like it, I had tried to go back to other stores and just steal and pleasure myself like usual but it wasn't the same, there was something missing and I knew that deep down I had loved the experience. Despite knowing that the mess I had made in the store was wrong and disgusting, it was the most exhilarating and humiliating thing I had ever done, and I craved more. I had passed a point of no return in my life.
Over the past two years I had visited hundreds of stores often visiting two or three a week, pissing in every change room I could. I couldn't get enough of the thrill and excitement I felt at doing something so dirty and wrong. I began not only craving the adrenaline and vulnerability I felt from being in such a public place, but also the thrill and depravity I felt at making such a filthy mess, there was something so right about doing something that would make others despise me as a disgusting animal bent on masturbating in her own filth.
I began drinking as much as I could before my shopping trips, often holding onto it for as long as I could so that my piss turned a lovely golden shade, this of course increased the smell which only heightened how dirty I felt. I had pissed on walls, mirrors and chairs inside changing rooms, making sure I made as much mess as possible while I masturbated and urinated. Each time the adrenaline, vulnerability and deprivation of the act giving me the mental push to orgasm as my hands worked my pussy.
I still stole things it was very much a part of who I was at that point, not that I needed the clothes. Some I kept, some I sold online for a quick buck, or to pay rent and such and some I gifted to friends and relatives for birthdays and such. No one the wiser of how I had acquired them or how much pleasure it brought me to do so.
Recently there had even been a local news story about all the stores I had been to, complaining about a serial shoplifter who ruined stores changing rooms by urinating all over them and left with stolen goods. The news had dubbed the thief the pee bandit and had alerted people to report suspicious behavior as the bandit had racked up quite a cost. The night I had seen the report I had been frightened off of my habit for a while. But as time wore on I couldn't help but become frustrated by my aching pussy and the lack of excitement in my life. I found that without the stimulation of the dirty acts I had grown used to it was almost impossible for me to cum. Eventually I gave in, I needed to get off and I planned on doing it in the most dramatic and dirty way possible to make up for weeks without. That's how I found myself to be in the expensive designer store today.
Finishing observing myself in the mirror I made sure my clothes were set aside and swapped the tags early, a lesson I had learned over time as often it could be tricky to untie and retie them. In preparation for today I had drunk as much water as I could stomach the night before and held onto it all morning, drinking some more before I set out, by the time I arrived at the store I was about ready to burst.
