Late Shift

Rachael would have given anything to thrust her hands between her legs and press her fingers against her pee–hole, but sitting at a supermarket checkout, it was not possible to hold herself without everyone seeing. And yet she would have to do something soon or she would piss her jeans before her shift ended at ten.
The damned place was always short of staff, and her stints on the checkout were always far longer than they were supposed to be. She had started this session at five o’clock to cope with the influx of customers who stopped to shop for groceries on the way home from work. John Smithers, the supermarket manager, had promised that the evening staff would turn up by six and she would be free to leave for the day. But then three of the girls who were supposed to be working didn’t show up, and back–up staff had not answered their phones. As a result, only three checkouts were in operation, and the queues were both long and endless.
Smithers had come to see her just before six and informed her that she would have to work the evening shift because they were so short–handed. Rachael had complained vociferously, and Smithers had mollified her by promising double–time if she worked until the store closed at 10 p.m. The money would be useful, and so Rachael had agreed. She had not expected to have to work out without evening a break for the loo.
By eight o’clock, her stomach had started aching, but at least the desire to pee had been manageable at that point. Now, after an hour of steady filling and expanding, her bladder was screaming for relief. There was no way she could hold on for another hour before visiting the loo.
Rachael crossed her legs and leaned forward on her seat, squeezing her external urethral sphincter as hard as she could. So much depended on this small, circular muscle, the only voluntary control a woman possesses to resist the desire to urinate when the internal sphincter relaxed in response to contracting bladder muscles. She scanned items, ran credit cards and tried to keep up a friendly conversation with each new customer.
At one point, Rachael noticed a blonde–haired woman in her mid–twenties hopping around in the queue at her checkout, and realized that the woman was also dying to go to the loo. It was hardly surprising: the public toilets in the shop had been closed since mid–afternoon owing to a burst water pipe. A plumber had been scheduled to fix it, but still had not turned up. There was probably more than one customer dealing with an uncomfortable bladder.
This woman looked particularly distracted, however, and glancing down at her legs, Rachael saw that she was walking on the spot. She also had a shopping trolley filled to the brim. She was clearly going to have to wait for some time, and it looked like she was going to have a lot of trouble with that. In a perverse way, the woman’s predicament made Rachael feel a little better about her own mounting desperation to pee. A burden shared, and all that.
As she continued scanning goods, Rachael cast occasional glances at the desperate woman. She was a smartly dressed business type, the type that would normally look cool and professional. For her to be fidgeting this much, she had to be practically breaking her neck for a piss.
When it was the woman’s turn, she began loading her items onto the conveyor. Rachael could not see that she was standing with her knees pressed firmly together, leaning over the trolley as she lifted her selections out. Bending like that must have help a little, Rachael thought, and suddenly felt the urge to re–cross her own legs. Glancing at the clock and finding the time was still only nine–twenty, Rachael suppressed a moan. She was almost pissing her knickers now, and waiting another forty minutes just wasn’t possible. What the hell was she going to do? If she ran to the loo and left the checkout unattended, Smithers would probably fire her. Why didn’t the fat fuck come and offer to take over for a couple of minutes to give her a break? She hadn’t even set eyes on him for the past hour. Probably in the staff room watching football, she decided resentfully.
Rachael’s attention was tugged back to the woman in the business suit. Had she just let out a little gasp? On the periphery of her vision, Rachael noticed the woman bend her right knee for a moment, then cross her legs as she reached down into the trolley for the last few items. When the trolley was empty, she pushed it forward out of her way and then opened her purse to take out her credit card. Rachael slowed down the rate at which she was processing the woman’s goods, wanting to see how she would cope with having to stand there and wait.
The woman swiped her card and Rachael saw on her display that her name was Jayne Thomas. The machine would be telling Jayne to wait for the cashier. As she went on scanning, Rachael asked, “Did you find everything you were looking for?” She could hear the strain in her voice as she struggled to suppress the urge to release her pee into her jeans.
“Yes, thank you,” Jayne replied, her voice also tense. She was staring off into the distance, Rachael observed, no doubt concentrating hard to avoid leaking into her clothes. Jayne shifted her legs then, the front of her skirt creasing as she bent a little. She had to be really bursting. At least she would soon be able to do something about it, Rachael thought bitterly, while she herself would have to wait for another half hour or more.
At last, Rachael finished scanning items and brought up the total. She authorized the credit card transaction then waited for approval, watching Jayne’s left hand close into a fist. She clenched it so hard that her knuckles turned white. The transaction was approved, and Rachael tore off the receipt and handed it to Jayne for a signature. As she leaned forward to sign, Jayne blew out her cheeks and released a sharp breath. Did that mean she had just started to piss herself?
At last, Rachael handed the final receipt to Jayne who offered a stiff thank you in return, before grabbing her trolley and pushing it rapidly out into the car park. As she started processing the next customer, Rachael stole several looks through the window, seeing Jayne unloading her shopping into the back of a blue Honda while dancing around in her high heels. She was going to have to drive like that, Rachael realized, and she wondered if Jayne would make it home before she wet herself all over the car seat.
Rachael’s thoughts turned back to her own desperation. She was keeping her thighs firmly clenched together, but she had come to the very brink of wetting her knickers now. She pushed down on the balls of her feet, wiggling her knees up and down, fighting to maintain control of her muscles. Twenty–five more minutes… before she could go. Oh God, there was no way she could hold it in that long. She had to get Smithers out here to relieve her at her post before she pissed herself.
Taking up the intercom mike from beneath her desk, she said in a quivering voice, “Would Mr. Smithers come to the checkout, please. Mr. Smithers to the checkout.” She knew the old miser wouldn’t like it, but she didn’t have any choice. She had to get to the loo!
Rachael continued processing the shopping for the next customer, biting her lower lip as she worked. The pain helped to take her mind off her bursting bladder a little, but it wouldn’t work for long. She was absolutely bursting. She glanced towards the back of the shop and the door marked STAFF ONLY. Where the hell was Smithers?
Something made Rachael turn to look through the front window of the store. The blue Honda was still there, and Jayne Thomas was just getting back out of it. Why was she still here? Rachael processed another credit card, glancing outside every few seconds while she waited. Jayne was on her way back into the shop, walking very stiffly. God, she had been so desperate to piss, Rachael thought, and wondered what had delayed the woman’s departure.
Just as the customer was signing the card receipt, Jayne approached Rachael’s till. “Excuse me,” she began, crossing her legs as she spoke. “Is there a ph––oh! Phone I can use? My car won’t start, and my–oooh, my cell’s battery’s flat.”
“Sorry, no,” Rachael informed her.
Jayne closed her eyes for a moment as she received this bad news. She uncrossed her legs and bent her right leg, raising her knee as she brought the tow of her shoe down and tapped it on the floor. “Okay,” she said after a short pause. “Is there a staff loo I could use?” she asked. “I really need to go, and your public one is closed.”
“I know,” Rachael said. “I’m afraid customers aren’t allowed back there.”
“Listen,” Jayne said sharply. “This is an emergency, or I wouldn’t ask. You have to make an exception.”
“I don’t––,” Rachael began, then heard Smithers’ voice behind her.
“What was the call for, Rachael?” he demanded shortly. “I’m busy and don’t have time for this.”
“Sorry,” Rachael addressed him while keeping an eye on Jayne’s frantic gyrations. “I just need someone to relieve me for a few minutes while I go to the loo.”
“Good God,” Smithers retorted. “Your shift ends in twenty minutes. Surely you can wait until then?”
“Actually, I’ve been waiting a long time, and I really need to go.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Smithers said. “You can’t leave your post at this late stage, and I have to get back to take an important phone call.”
“But this lady needs to use the loo too,” Rachael added quickly as Smithers began turning away.
Smithers glanced at Jayne then shook his head. “I’m sorry, madam,” he said, “but we’re not permitted to let members of the public into the back, for insurance reasons.”
“But your public toilets are closed!” Jayne objected frantically. “Can’t you make an exception this once?”
“I’m sorry,” Smithers repeated.
“But I have to go,” Jayne insisted. “Now!” She reinforced her plea by bending at the waist and turning her bent right knee in so that it pressed against the left. “Please!” she added when Smithers continued prevaricating.
“I’m really desperate too,” Rachael chimed in.
“Hey,” the man at the front of Rachael’s queue piped up. “Let the poor kid take a leak. You can see she’s desperate.”
A murmur of assent rippled along the queue, and Smithers eyed them all with barely–suppressed exasperation. He turned to Jayne and said, “Alright, you can use the staff toilet.”
“Oh, thank God!” Jayne gasped as she straightened her bent leg and took several steps towards the back of the shop. When Smithers didn’t immediately follow, she stopped and waited for him, tapping her heels on the floor in an urgent little dance, her lips puckering as she fought to hold back the torrent that threatened to erupt between her thighs at any moment.
“You’ll have to wait until ten,” Smithers informed Rachael.
“Oh no,” she gasped, her expression one of strained anguish. “I can’t hold it any longer.”
“Ten o’clock,” Smithers insisted.
“You can’t do that,” the customer at the front of the queue spoke up again. “That ain’t legal.”
Smithers gave him a withering stare and then turned to stride away, with Jayne hobbling along behind him, her body bending at the waist and her hands pressed against her abdomen.
Rachael’s eyes brimmed with tears as she finally succumbed to the urge to ram her hands between her legs, pressing hard on her pee–hole. “Oh God,” she whimpered as she felt warm pee jet through her jeans and soak her fingers. “No,” no, no,” she repeated over and over, fighting, squirming, struggling to hold the rest of her pee inside. It was no good: her bladder was stretched as far as it could go, and couldn’t hold any more. It felt so huge and tight that Rachael couldn’t bear the pressure any longer. She put up a last, valiant struggle, but pee rushed through her knickers and streamed over her squeezing fingers. There was nothing she could do to stop herself peeing in her jeans.
The man on the opposite side of the conveyor watched as the blue of Rachael’s denims grew darker as she soaked them in pee. The girl’s face was so red. She couldn’t bring herself to face any of the customers. She was pissing all over her chair and the floor inside her little cubicle. It was snaking across the floor towards the front of the shop, a long, thin river of yellowish liquid. Her humiliation was total.
“He should get fired for making you pee yourself like this,” the man said. “If you want to do something about it, I’ll be a witness.”
“Me too,” said the woman immediately behind him. “What that man did to you is appalling. He should be reprimanded.”
“Kicked in the bloody bollocks, more like,” said the man.
“Th–thank you,” Rachael stammered. “I…I’m really sorry, but you’ll have to go to another checkout.”
“It’s alright, love,” the man said. “You can ring my stuff up if you want. I don’t mind.”
“But…I…”
“Don’t leave your post,” the woman said. “Don’t give him a reason to sack you.”
Rachael sighed, and even though she was still blushing with embarrassment, she began processing the man’s shopping, aware that she was handling packages with pee–soaked fingers. The man really didn’t seem to mind, however; he smiled encouragingly at her.
“That’s the spirit,” he said. “Don’t let the bastard grind you down.”
Hearing heels tapping along the floor, Rachael looked round to find Jayne on her way out of the shop. The woman paused when she saw Rachael’s soaking wet jeans, and scowled at the door at the back of the shop. She approached Rachael and said, “Your boss is a total prick.”
“Right,” Rachael agreed sullenly.
Jayne hesitated, and then leaned her mouth close to Rachael’s ear. “If it helps any, I didn’t quite make it either. My underwear is thoroughly wet where I lost control. I only just managed to get my skirt up out of the way in time.”
Rachael nodded and smiled. Yes, it did help, a little. “Thanks,” she answered as Jayne straightened up and left the shop, still needing to deal with her car problem.
Rachael handled all the customers at her till, and not one of them complained about the smell or the fact that she had peed herself on the job. At five minutes after ten, the doors were closed, and relieved, in more ways than one, Rachael finally went back to the STAFF ONLY area and went into the ladies to clean herself up as best she could before going home. She only hoped the combination of her coat and the fact that it was dark out would hide the worst of her accident.
Outside, she walked over to Jayne and said, “Do you want a lift home? If you don’t mind the smell of my pissy jeans that is.”
“Oh, yes. That’s so kind,” Jayne responded. “And I wouldn’t worry about the smell. My knickers don’t smell too healthy either.”
“Okay. Let’s get your shopping into my car.”
“Right. Then, on the way home, we can discuss what you ought to do about your boss. I know I’m going to write to your head office about him.” After a pause, Jayne added, “Has this ever happened to you before? Wetting yourself in public?”
“Yeah, a couple of times,” Rachael admitted.
“Well, it happens to me a lot,” Jayne informed her young companion candidly. “I must have weak bladder muscles or something, because I always seem to be getting desperate when I’m out and there are no loos around. But, we can talk about that in the car too.”
“Sure,” Rachael agreed, aware that she was again reacting to this woman’s problem with peeing. She wondered if she was discovering something that she had not formerly realized about herself, and also wondered where it might ultimately lead…
By: David North David’s Website: Bound2Burst