The Secretary Who had to Hold It - Part 2

The day after I’d witnessed Katherine wet herself after waiting for hours to get to a loo, I wasn’t at all sure how she would react. She had been humiliated by being forced to pee in her clothes in front of me, an accident I was responsible for, albeit indirectly. Now that she’d had time to think things over, I felt sure she would decide to tender her resignation and move on, rather than having to face the awkwardness of working alongside me.
It had been good while it lasted, I told myself. She had asked for a shot at the job, despite the difficulties created by the lack of female facilities, but things had gone hopelessly wrong on her very first day. I didn’t see how she could deal with the embarrassment.
It was with a measure of surprise, therefore, that I heard the door to the outer office open a few minutes before nine, followed by the sound of high heels clicking across the linoleum floor. I listened to the sound of rustling as someone took off a coat and hung it on a hanger. I sat staring in childlike anticipation at the closed door of my office.
A few moments later, it swung open and Katherine stood in the opening, today wearing a clinging black, short–sleeved top and a pair of black trousers. She tipped her head slightly to one side in an enquiring manner, the corners of her mouth lifting in an almost shy smile as she said, “Good morning, Mr. Denes. Coffee?”
I think I sat there for a few moments with my mouth open. I couldn’t believe that she had turned up, still less that her manner seemed unchanged. “Um,” I managed finally, “Yes, please, Katherine.”
“Why not call me Kate,” she invited. “It’s less of a mouthful.”
I tried not to even think about the connotations of that remark. “Kate it is, then. And you can call me–”
“––Mr. Denes,” she interjected, shooting a big grin at me as she turned to leave.
I grinned back, and feeling considerably happier with the world, I got down to working through that pile of correspondence that would only continue to grow as the day wore on.
Fifteen minutes later, Katherine – Kate – returned with my mug of coffee. As she set it down on my desk, I said, “Thank you, Kate. Are you up for some shorthand today?”
“Certainly. Just let me get my pen and notepad.”
She sat in the chain next to my office window, set down her own mug of coffee on the window sill, crossed her legs, and then waited with pen poised for me to start. I considered the letter I wanted to answer. It required tact since it was to the owner of a small chemical factor manufacturing paint at the northern boundary of my patch. An anonymous caller had identified the factory as a source of dangerous waste, and in consequence, I had to follow it up with a visit. I didn’t want to ruffle feathers at this stage in case the call had come from a disgruntled employee of other individual with a personal grudge. If I found supporting evidence, of course, I would instigate a full inspection. At this stage, a letter seemed less confrontational than a phone call. Besides, it also left a paper trail to demonstrate that I had handled the situation correctly.
Perhaps it was this look of intense concentration on my face that prompted Kate to say, “I think we had better talk about what happened yesterday.”
I came back to the moment with a start. So, it seemed things were not all right after all.
“Okay,” I agreed, fearing the worst.
Kate hesitated, took a sip of coffee, and then said, “When you called me to apologise for leaving me stuck here and unable to go home, I honestly thought you had done it on purpose.”
“But I explained–”
“No,” she cut me off, holding up a hand to halt any further protest on my part. “Let me finish. I was going to say that I wouldn’t have minded if you had.”
I stared at her, barely able to believe what I was hearing. True, there had been some suggestion on the phone that she didn’t mind, but that had been then, before she’d had time to think things over.
“Then, later, when you tried to help me and I had my accident outside. I really couldn’t help what happened, and I should have been mortified I suppose, but part of me didn’t mind.” She stopped and shook her head as if she had still not quite expressed herself the way she wanted. At last, she shrugged and added, “I don’t know what I felt, but it wasn’t what I expected.”
“I felt bad for you,” I said, “but I couldn’t stop myself watching.”
“Like when I was making the coffee and doing a little pee–dance in there?” She inclined her head towards her office.
I nodded, wondering if this conversation might be seriously compromising my position of authority. I cleared my throat and quipped, “Do you think we might both have had repressed childhoods or something?”
She seemed to take this suggestion seriously, and remarked, “My dad used to really lay into me if I wet my clothes after I was potty–trained. So perhaps you’re right.”
“I wasn’t being serious,” I said, a little horrified to learn this intimate fact. “I don’t have a clue about the psychology of these things really.”
“No, neither do I,” she admitted, and smiled before taking another sip of coffee. “The thing is,” she resumed, “I knew this kind of thing was probably going to happen, given the circumstances here, but I still wanted the job. Most people would go ballistic about it, but…” Her cheeks flushed, as she seemed to contemplate her next comment. “The thing is,” she said again, clearly stalling as she trawled for the right words to express herself, “I’ve never minded holding it.”
“Holding your pee, you mean?” I asked, knowing full well that this was what she had meant.
She nodded. “I don’t tell many people that because those I have told think it’s weird; that there’s something wrong with me for putting up with the pain. But I really don’t mind the sensation of needing to go, until it gets really chronic anyway. That’s why I didn’t think working here would be a problem.”
“Have you changed your mind?” I asked, hoping against hope that she wasn’t going to say yes.
“No. It’s just I didn’t expect you to notice. But when you were watching me yesterday, while pretending not to watch me…” she paused here to offer me a knowing smile “…I realized that you were interested in my predicament.”
I felt my cheeks grow warm; it was my turn to blush. Since she had been so candid with me, I decided to make a clean breast of it with her. “I have to admit, it surprised me a bit. I mean, I’ve always noticed when women need to pee, and I’ll also admit that I’ve made love to a few women when they’ve been holding a full bladder. It feels…different.”
“Tighter,” she supplied, and I smiled ruefully.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Did they enjoy it, these women?”
I shook my head. “Couldn’t wait for it to be over. They just did it to humour me.”
“I’ve had sex with a full bladder,” she said, her manner more confident now that we had both broken through the stigmatic barrier that normally prohibits such conversations.
“And what about you?” I pried. “Did you enjoy it?”
She nodded. “It’s a funny combination of pain and pleasure. Yes, I actually liked it.” She shrugged. “I suppose I must have a masochistic tendency.”
We fell silent for a few moments while be both sipped from our respective coffee mugs, then Kate continued, “Do you like having sex with a full bladder yourself?”
I considered a moment, and then shook my head. “I have experienced it, but it doesn’t really do anything for me.” An odd expression flickered across her features and then was gone. Without knowing why, I felt the need to qualify my statement. “Perhaps I just haven’t tried it with the right woman.” I grinned brightly to rob this remark of some of the obvious innuendo.
“Perhaps not,” she said.
I noticed her crossed her legs, and she saw me notice. “Yes,” she said in response to my un–posed question, “I do need to pee, and it’s only nine–thirty. I’m going to have to stop drinking coffee at work; it seems to go right through me.”
“Are you going to be alright?” I asked.
“Oh yes. It isn’t serious. I’ll make it until lunch time if I don’t drink any more.”
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s get started on these letters.” I paused as she positioned pencil above paper, and then began, “For the attention of Mr. Robert A. Waterman, Director, Olsen Chemicals Limited.” I gave her the address then started dictating the body of the letter.
She was good. She kept up and only had to ask me to repeat something once, a bit of terminology associated with river water analysis. We were able to move along quickly to the second, then the third letter. I was peripherally aware that Kate was turning her elevated foot in small circles as she sat there taking notes, and I wondered if she really could last until lunchtime. If she couldn’t, perhaps there would be another interesting emergency today too.
We were about to embark on a response to my fourth item of correspondence, when the outer office door opened and the voice of Charlie Brunswick, the Site Foreman, called out, “You here, Mr. Denes?”
“In my office, Charlie,” I called back as Kate rose to open the door wider. “What’s up?”
“You better come, Mr. Denes. Fred Lammas has fallen in one of the tanks.”
I jumped from my seat. “Oh my God. Is he––?”
“We got him out, and ‘e seems alright, but he swallowed some effluent. He thinks he ought to go to the doctor, and he wants to ask you if that’s alright.”
“I’m afraid a doctor can’t do much,” I pointed out. “Which tank did he fall into?”
“Number seven,” Charlie supplied.
I breathed a sign of relief: number seven was the last one in the sequence before the effluent was discharged into the river. Brunswick’s predecessor used to actually scoop out a cupful of the stuff and drink it to convince officials and general visitors alike that it was safe to go into the river, and he was still alive and kicking.
“He’ll be fine,” I said to Charlie, hoping that would be an end to the matter. “Just tell him to take the rest of the day off.”
“He wants to talk to you about the guard rails on the tanks, Mr. Denes,” Charlie persisted. “He says they’re not safe, an’ that summit should be done about ‘em.”
“Something will be done about then, soon,” I said. “It’s high on my list of priorities.”
“He says that if it had been a night and nobody was about to ‘elp him out, he could have drowned.”
“Charlie, nobody ever works here at night, unless there’s an emergency,” I pointed out. “Even then, no one would ever be here alone. It’s against the rule.”
Charlie regarded me with a doubtful expression. “All the same, Mr. Denes, I think you better have a word. He’s pretty upset.”
“Alright, alright,” I agreed, trying to conceal my irritation. To Kate, I said, “Watch the office. I won’t be long.”
“Of course,” she answered. “I’ll get these letters typed up while you’re gone.”
“Good. Thank you.”
I followed Charlie across the plant to the end tank, which stood just fifty yards away from the river. It was a seven or eight–minute walk, and Charlie moved at a near trot as if every second were vital. I told him to slow down but it didn’t do any good, and so by the time I got there, I was feeling a little winded.
We found Fred lying down on the bank that hugged the base of the holding tank, surrounded by all five of his co–workers. Everyone had seen this as an excuse to slack off for a bit. “Okay, back to work, you lot,” I wheezed as I approached them. They cleared a path so that I could see Fred clearly. He was, I was sure, exaggerating his condition. For one thing, he had the back of one wrist pressed against his brow in a near–histrionic gesture of exhaustion.
“What’s up then, Fred?” I asked him as my shadow fell across her chest.
“I nearly drowned up there, that’s what, Mr. Denes,” he replied.
“I thought you could swim?”
He shook his head lamentably. “Not a stroke, sir.”
“Really. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, Fred, but it states on the application for this position that you must be able to swim.”
“Not when I joined the service, sir. There weren’t so many damn–fool regulations back then.”
I refrained from pointing out that it was hardly a damn–fool regulation if it helped to prevent the very accident that had occurred here today.
“Well, bad news Fred,” I said, my tone authoritative now, “if you want to make an issue of this, I shall have to file a formal report with Head Office, and I think they will then insist that you take swimming lessons if you want to go on working on this site. Or on any site owned by the Authority, come to that.”
Fred’s eyes widened as he sat up. He looked suddenly nervous and swallowed what looked like a hard lump in his throat. “Er, I don’t think it’ll be necessary to go telling Head Office, sir. If I can just take the rest of the day off to recover, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure, Fred?” I replied, very deliberately pressing home my advantage. “I don’t want you to think that I wouldn’t fight for your rights if you’re looking for some kind of compensation.”
“No, no, that’s alright, Mr. Denes. I’m feeling much better already.”
“Good. Well, on your way then.”
“Thank you sir.” He actually touched a finger to his cap as he turned to take his leave.
“Oh, by the way,” I said to his retreating back.
He paused and looked at me over his shoulder.
“It might be a good idea if you did take a few swimming lessons,” I suggested. “Even when those old railings have been replaced, accidents could still happen.”
He tried to accept this advice with a cheerful demeanour, but his forced smile couldn’t quite hide the underlying shit–eating grin.
Problem solved, I decided, and was just about to turn on my heels and march back to the office when Charlie accosted me. “While you’re here, Mr. Denes,” he whined apologetically, “I wonder if you’d mind taking a look at the generator in commutator shed number two. It’s been making some funny noises, and I’m worried that it might be getting ready to blow.”
Suppressing a weary sigh, I followed Charlie to the commutators sheds for what turned out to be an hour–long inspection and discussion about the age of the machinery and what needed replacing, and so on and so on. I would have cut the interview short, but given that Charlie was also the Union Shop Steward for the entire work force on my patch, I decided it would be politic to give him the time and attention he so obviously craved. It was worth the sacrifice from time to time, just to keep the peace.
On my way back to the office, I dived into the main brick building to use the lavatory, and was relieved to empty out. It was only then that I gave a thought to Kate, who had admitted wanting to pee at around nine thirty. It was now a few minutes after eleven. I wondered how she was doing.
When I stepped back into the outer office, Kate spun around quickly and greeted me with an expression of grave concern.
“Everything alright?” I asked her.
“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “I’m absolutely bursting for the loo, and I don’t think I can wait until half–past twelve.”
“Oh dear,” I said, taking in her tightly crossed legs and noting that she had her foot tucked behind her calf as if she were squeezing her thighs together with all her might.
“Would you mind very much if I took a really early lunch so that I can go home and do something about it?”
I could tell from the way that she compressed her lips while waiting for me to respond that she was in a very bad way. I was about to tell her yes, when an idea occurred to me.
“I have someone coming down from Head Office this afternoon,” I began as she uncrossed her legs and pressed down on her thighs with both hands.
“I know,” she said. “A Mr. Thompson.”
“That’s right. He’ll be here around one, and he’ll no doubt stick around all afternoon. That’s what he usually does anyway. So I wouldn’t mind an early lunch at the Bell and Anchor. I was wondering if you’d care to join me? It’s only a mile up river, so we can be there in a couple of minutes.”
Kate considered the offer for the merest moment before nodding her consent. “Okay,” she confirmed verbally, “as long as we get going right away. I’m really in trouble.”
“Of course. Just let me get my jacket.”
A minute later, we were in my car and pulling out through the main gates. I saw several of the men watching us depart, and could guess at the kind of lewd remarks they were exchanging about the boss and his new secretary sneaking off together, but I didn’t really give a damn. I hoped that Kate wouldn’t, once the realization dawned on her. At the moment, however, she wasn’t thinking about anything except her bursting bladder.
She was bending forward a little in her seat, her knees pressed together and bobbing up and down as she tapped her heels on the floor. I heard her blow out a long breath, and knew that suppressing the urge to urinate in her trousers was taking a lot of willpower.
As we pulled into the pub car park, I noticed a lorry at the side of the building and that a generator was running. I didn’t pay it much attention, but something registered subliminally.
I chose a parking spot close to the bar entrance since the car park was virtually empty, not really surprising given that the pub had only been open for about fifteen minutes. Even before I killed the engine, Kate was unbuckling her seat belt with one hand and opening the door with the other. She was clearly in a hurry.
I hopped out and walked around the car to where she stood, hopping from foot to foot as she waited for me to join her. She puckered her lips as if she were about to kiss me, and said, “Oooohhh, first stop, the loo.”
“After you,” I gestured for her to precede me.
She trotted forward, shoulders hunched, hands clenching and unclenching, and entered the bar looking around for the toilets. Failing to see them at once, she turned a questioning look on me.
“Down there,” I said, pointing to a passage connecting the Public and Lounge bars.
“Thanks,” she replied a little breathlessly and hurried in the direction indicated.
I approached the bar just as George, the barman, emerged from the kitchen. “Hello Mr. Denes,” he greeted me with his usual geniality.
“Good morning, George. What’s on the lunch menu today?”
“I’m not even sure we can stay open today,” he informed me as he slipped behind the bar and assumed his customary position with his elbows resting on the bar top.
“Oh?”
“We had some bloody vandals in here last night,” he explained, “and the little whatsits blocked all the toilets by ramming rolls of toilet paper down them. We’ve got a company in to unblock them, but they’re not getting on all that fast. We can’t very well go giving customers drinks if we can’t let ‘em use to loos.”
I saw George’s gaze slide past me, and turning, I saw a worried looking Kate approaching me across the public bar.
“The loos are both closed,” she announced. “What’s going on?”
George explained the situation to her, using exactly the same phrases he had when telling me. As she listened, Kate did a little dance that culminated in her crossing her legs.
“So, it’s up to you,” George concluded. “I’ll serve you if you like, but I can’t guarantee when you’ll be able to get into the toilets.”
Kate looked pained. I asked, “What do you want to do?”
“Would you mind driving me back to work,” she asked. “Then I can pick up my car and go home.”
“Alright,” I agreed. Glancing back at George, I shrugged. “Another time.”
Before we reached the door, a man entered and paused in the opening, effectively blocking the way out. To George, he called, “It’s shifting, mate. We should have it clear in a jiffy.”
“Thank God for that,” George replied with audible relief.
I looked at Kate. “Sounds like the loos will be available soon. Would you rather wait?”
She hesitated, swallowing hard as she considered the situation. “Um, well, I suppose I could,” she conceded. “As long as it really is only going to be a few minutes.”
“Need the loo, love?” the man in the doorway asked. Kate blushed as she nodded, and he added, “Won’t keep you long.”
Kate took a deep breath. “Right, where do you want to sit?”
I indicated the nearest table. “Here’s fine.”
She slipped off her jacket, hung it on the back of her chair and sat down opposite me. I could tell from the way her body moved that she had just crossed her legs. Looking across the table at me, she whispered, “I hope they are nearly finished. I’m nearly bursting.”
“You’ll be fine,” I offered the usual platitude, trying to ignore the way my cock had just stiffened at the sound of her words. I tried to concentrate on the lunch menu.
After a minute, George arrived to take out order. “Can I get your folks something to drink?” he asked innocently.
I looked across at Kate who was clearly tempted. When she continued to hesitate, I said, “I’ll have a pint of bitter, thanks George.”
“And to eat?”
“I’ll have the fish and chips today.”
“Right you are. You the young lady?”
“Okay, I’ll have a half pint of Hardy’s,” Kate said as George turned his face towards her. “And the fish and chips too.”
As he retreated to the bar to fill our orders, she said quietly, “I don’t have to drink any of it until the loos are open.”
“True,” I said. I went up to collect our drinks and pay. As I carried the drink over to our table, I noticed that Kate was swinging her crossed legs from side to side under the table. I set her glass down before her and she smiled her thanks, but it was a distracted smile. Her bladder had to be badly distended by this time, and I wondered what would happen if the anticipated reopening of the toilets had been over–optimistic.
I didn’t have to wonder for long. Ten minutes later, Kate was still fidgeting around on her seat, her drink untouched before her. “Oh God, come on,” she complained under her breath, then more directly to me. “This is getting serious,” she said, a note of panic now creeping into her voice.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I truly was because she looked so worried. I would have said more had George not appeared with our lunches.
“Something wrong with your drink?” he enquired, noticing Kate’s still–full glass.
“No,” she replied quickly. “I haven’t tried it yet, actually. I’m still waiting for the loo.”
“Oh, bloody hell,” George responded, looking through the west–facing window towards the truck I’d vaguely noticed on our arrival. “I’ll go and see how much longer they expect to be.”
“Um, George,” I interrupted his departure, “I know it’s not really the done thing, but don’t you have some staff toilets in the back that she could use?”
George shook his head solemnly. “They’re all linked together, so the staff ones are blocked too. I had to go into the yard for a wiz this morning.”
It was just a little more information than I wanted, so I just nodded and let George go on his way.
I regarded my lunch but felt guilty about eating when Kate was sitting opposite me in so much discomfort. Part of me was excited by her predicament, but at the same time it had to hurt like hell.
“Eat up,” she said with forced cheerfulness, and took up her own knife and fork. “I’m sure they’ll be finished soon.”
With an apologetic smile (after all, coming to the Bell & Anchor had been my idea), I began eating.
We ate in silence. Kate picked at her food, rocking her body continuously as she fought the urge to void her bladder. The poor girl had been desperate to pee for at least an hour now, and I didn’t think she would be able to bear the mounting pressure much longer.
At one point, George came through the still–empty bar and Kate looked up at him expectantly. He shook his head to indicate that the crew working on unblocking the lavatories were still not finished.
I was almost finished with my fish and chips when Kate set down her fork and folded her arms tightly across her stomach. “It’s no good, Mr. Denes. I have to leave. Will you please take me back to my car so that I can go home and do something my situation?”
“Yes, of course,” I agreed readily. “Are you planning to leave your drink?”
“I have to. I don’t dare drink anything at all.”
“Okay,” I said, then paused. “Kate, since you live in Charlton, don’t you? That’s only a few miles from here, so I think you could get home a lot faster if I drive you straight there from here. Then I could wait for you in the car and drive you back to work. Want to do that?”
She considered this for a moment, her expression one of sheer anguish. She didn’t hesitate for long. “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m so close.”
“I know,” I said, taking out my wallet and putting fifteen pounds on the table. “Come on, let’s go.”
Kate grabbed her jacket and literally hobbled towards the door leading into the car park. She didn’t seem able to stand upright. Her heels clicked in rapid succession as she took fast, tiny steps, clearly trying to not jolt her bulging bladder.
I tripped the locks on the car just before she reached the passenger’s door, and heard her grunt as she lowered herself gingerly onto the seat. I hopped in beside her and started the engine, aware that she was fumbling with the catch on her seat belt. “Oh God, please hurry. I don’t know if I can make it. Ooohh! I’ve never needed to loo this badly before.”
“Not even yesterday?” I asked before I could stop myself.
She shook her head. “This is definitely worse. I feel like something’s going to pop!”
I sped along a narrow country road with banks to either side, and if we had encountered an oncoming vehicle on several of the sharp bends, which would have been it. Even though I was doing sixty miles per hour, however, I could see that Kate was in serious trouble. She had her legs crossed, her fingers pushed between her thighs close to the tops of her thighs, and she was bending over and sitting upright every few seconds, her seat belt sliding and sometimes locking in she moved to quickly.
“Oh shit!” she yelped when we were still at least a mile from her home. “I can’t hold it. It’s starting to leak out. Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Mr. Denes. I really can’t wait any longer.”
Abandoning all attempts at modesty, she parted her knees a few inches and jammed both hands into her crotch, rubbing herself frantically. Perhaps she was trying to stimulate herself sexually to help take her mind off her burning desire to pee, or perhaps she was simply doing anything to help her hold back the flood for a few more seconds.
Suddenly, she let out a loud gasp. “Oh! Oh no. Stop the car. I have to get out. Now!”
I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw that I had some twat in a sports job right up my arse. There were several oncoming cars too, and passing them was going to be a squeeze as it was. “I can’t. There’s nowhere to pull over.”
“You have to. I’m pissing myself!”
“Kate, even if I could stop, there’s nowhere for you to go. Those banks are nearly sheer.”
She didn’t protest any further, and when I glanced across at her, I found her looking down at her crotch. She had withdrawn her hands and now hand them resting palms down on her upper thighs. Over the drone of the car engine, I could have sworn I caught the hiss of her pee jetting into her knickers and trousers. A few seconds later, confirmation came as the acrid smell of fresh urine filled my nostrils.
Kate began to sob, and without pausing to think about the potential ramifications of what I was doing, (she could have accused me of sexual harassment), I reached over and gripped her right knee. “Don’t worry. It’s alright.”
“It’s not alright,” she countered sharply, removing my hand from her leg. “I’m peeing on your car seat. The upholstery will be ruined.”
“Let me worry about that,” I said.
She let out a long, heartfelt sigh, mostly to express the immense relief of emptying her aching bladder at last.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her tone softening. “I didn’t mean to… I know you weren’t…”
“It’s fine,” I told her. “I wasn’t thinking.”
As if the implication of what she had done had just struck her, she covered her face with her hands. “I really am so sorry.”
“It’s alright. I know you were bursting. You couldn’t do anything else.”
“But it’s so awful of me. Twice in as many days.”
I paused a moment to think about whether or not I should try to make light of the situation. It was a gamble, but I decided to risk it. “At this rate, you won’t have any clean clothes by the end of the month.”
After a brief silence, Kate sort of laughed. It came out half way between a laugh and another sob, but when I stole another glance at her face, I saw that she was smiling rather than crying. “I did actually wash my clothes from yesterday last night,” she said.
I grinned, showing that I really was all right with what she had done on my leather car seat, thinking myself fortunate that the upholstery was not suede or some mix of cotton and synthetic. Cleaning that would have been just about impossible.
“I have to admit, I’ve never even seen a woman wet herself once in my life before yesterday, and now I’ve witnessed it twice in the space of twenty–four hours.”
“I am sorry,” she apologised again.
“You know, you really shouldn’t worry. Like I admitted yesterday on the phone when you asked me, I am interested when you’re… you know, desperate to go.”
“What you actually said was that it turns you on,” she reminded me.
“Right. Maybe I said a little too much there.”
“No,” she said, and fell silent for a while.
I was about to jump in and fill the voice when she resumed speaking. “When I was a kid, I always liked holding on until the last second. My mum would always tell me off for running through the house screaming that I needed the loo, and sometimes when it was occupied, well, I’m sure you can imagine the consequences.”
“Your father, you mean?”
She nodded in silence. At last, she continued. “I stopped holding it like that when I got older because it seemed undignified, and I really didn’t think boys would like it.”
“Then, about four years ago, I met one who liked to tie me to the bed before we made love. He often used to keep me there for hours, even after we’d finished having sex. I don’t know about you, but sex always makes me want to pee. He used to make me wait, sometimes too long and I was forced to wet the bed.”
“Was happened?” I asked, posing the question as tentatively as I could manage.
“He went off with someone else.”
“Sorry,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say and elected to remain silent.
We arrived in the little village of Charlton and I stopped at what was probably its only junction. “Which way?” I asked.
“Left,” she said. “It’s about a quarter of a mile out of the village. The third house on the left–hand side.”
As I covered the last few hundred yards of the drive, Kate asked, “Do you want to come in to wait while I shower and change?”
“Um, yes, if that’s okay?”
“Of course.” She pointed to a narrow driveway that led up to a garage just big enough for a single car. “Pull right up close to the garage so that I can get out and go round to the back door without anyone seeing me.”
I did as she bade, climbing out and following her through the garage to a door leading into a small garden at the rear. She took a key from under a flowerpot, of all things, and let herself into the kitchen. “Wait here,” she instructed as she kicked off her shoes and socks and padded barefoot across the tiled floor, disappearing from view through a doorway on the opposite side of the room.
I heard the shower running and sat there for a minute imagining what Kate must look like, standing in the cubicle naked, her skin streaming with water. Then I remember the car seat, and went out to inspect the damage. It wasn’t too bad, I discovered; a lot of the pee must have soaked into her trousers as she continued sitting in it. I opened the boot, retrieved a fairly clean rag normally used for wiping the windscreen, and ran it over the base of the passenger’s seat. I then found a plastic shopping bag and ripped it along its seams. I opened it out and spread it over the seat to prevent Kate getting any lingering residue of pee on her fresh clothes.
Returning to the kitchen, I caught the sound of various bumps from above as doors and drawers were opened and closed. A minute later, Kate was back in the kitchen with me, dressed now in black skirt and tights, and a pair of high heels. She had changed her top for a black sweater that hugged her curves and accentuated her marvellous figure.
“Funeral black again?” I teased her.
“Mourning the loss of bladder control,” she joked, then, pointing to the kettle, she added, “Fancy a cup of tea? Remember, I didn’t have anything to drink at the pub.”
I glanced at my watch, was about to nod, and then suddenly remembered the Regional Director’s impending arrival. It was already ten minutes to one. “We have to get back,” I said urgently.
My tone must have triggered the memory for Kate because her mouth fell open as she drew in a sharp breath. “Oh my Lord, of course. Quick, let’s go before I make you late. I can brew some coffee at the office.”
A minute later, we were back on the road. I now followed the route Kate would normally use to reach the plant, and could safely go faster. I couldn’t resist a glance at her slender thighs as she crossed her legs, and remarked, “You don’t need to go again already, do you?”
“No,” she answered, slightly taken–aback. Then she glanced down at her crossed legs and seemed to grasp what had prompted this remark. “Mind you,” she added with a mischievous smile, “after a few mugs of coffee, all that could change.”
“Well, I certainly hope so,” I quipped.
“Hmmm,” she responded, pursing her lips. “If you’re interested, you should come and see me after your meeting.”
“I will,” I agreed promptly, seized again by the knowledge that I was, once again, leaping rather than merely stepping over the bounds of propriety.
I had no idea what had gotten into me. All I knew was that, since I had met Kate, my life had turned into a roller coaster of a ride, and it was too late to jump off now.
By: David North