Panic at the Palace

The car interior lit up and went dark again in a monotonously repeating seemingly never–ending cycle as the car passed under the orange lights of the motorway. Passing a brightly lit road sign Filip pushed the accelerator pedal down. Immediately the electronic auto–adaptive gearbox shifted down a gear to provide the driver with maximum acceleration and the sound of the mighty V12 engine changed from a hardly noticeable rumble to a deep low roar as the engine revved up. The needle of the speedometer moved steadily clockwise until Filip eased of the accelerator and the car settled at a comfortable cruising speed of 160 kph. Traffic was light at this time of night, and the few drivers on the road quickly changed lanes to provide an open passage as soon as they noticed the headlights of the imposing Mercedes CL600 in their rear–view mirror speeding towards them. There was no police escort, and few people noticed the special license plates on the car as it rushed by them and disappeared on the horizon.Filip casually glanced at the woman in the seat next to him. They had left the restaurant, located somewhere deep in the belly of West–Flanders about half an hour ago and had just made a quick stop to pick up some of Mathilde’s things for the night. Shortly afterwards, she had fallen asleep. Wine always did have that effect on her, especially when combined with a copious meal. He loved her. I mean, he really loved her. Not just in the corporeal way love is seen by some these days. He loved every single thing about her. Especially he loved to watch her sleep. How her chest moved slowly up and down, accompanied by her soft regular breathing. He loved her vulnerability. She looked like Snow–white, forever lost in a sleep of undisturbed quiet. Which suited him just fine since he was a prince and could wake her up with just a kiss and they would be together forever and a day. They passed a bump in the road. Mathilde momentarily opened her eyes. She caught his fleeting gaze and smiled at him. She could always make his heart melt with a single smile. He noticed she squeezed her legs together for just a second, before she turned around and tried to find a more comfortable sleeping position. “How much further is it?” “We should get there in under 40 minutes” was his answer. She didn’t reply. Moments later she had fallen asleep again. For a few minutes Filip tried to listen to her soft breathing before pushing down the accelerator again, urging the car to go faster still. Half an hour later they passed the saluting guards to enter the Palace grounds. As he parked the car and turned off the engine, the sudden silence startled Mathilde awake. She suppressed a yawn and smiled at him. He just gave her a quizzical glance and stepped out, sighing. Noticing his nervousness, Mathilde tried to reassure him – “I’m sure everything will go just fine, darling.” Again he looked at her for several seconds before answering, as if he were sizing her up before finally deciding to go on. “Yeah”, he said, this time smiling himself, “You’ll do just fine.” As they entered the Palace, senior aides whisked them off toward the Royal Apartments. They had to wait a few minutes for the King and Queen to arrive. Albert was just in a conference call. Mathilde glanced at her watch and seemingly speaking her thoughts aloud, more to herself then anyone else spoke; – “Maybe I ought to go freshen up first.” Filip, lost in thought suddenly snapped back to attention. He watched Mathilde intently. He just caught her tensing her thigh muscles before she turned to Filip and met his gaze. “No”, he said, “you look just fine.” And with that Albert entered the room, with Paola at his side. The conversation started off a bit awkward, but soon the ice was broken and a vivid conversation got underway. After all, they did have a lot to talk about. The stewards poured both Albert and Filip a large glass of brandy, the ladies stuck to coffee. Of which Paola seemed to be drinking gallons. Hardly had her cup been refilled or she had emptied it out again and each time a steward came discreetly from a corner of the room with for a healthy refill. At first, Mathilde strived to keep up with her. However, after her fifth cup she decidedly eased off. Still, she felt she had to empty every cup before the coffee got cold, and since it was the Queen herself who each time nodded to a steward to refill the empty cup, she was reluctant to decline. They had been chatting for about three–quarters of an hour, and sometimes Mathilde seemed a bit distracted. The Queen in her turn became more quiet as well, leaving the talking to her husband. Mathilde uncrossed and crossed her leg and, for what seemed to be the fifth time in the last few minutes, readjusted her position. The King was just in the process of telling some funny anecdote about his first audience with the Prime Minister and as Mathilde laughed, she bent forward ever so slightly while tensing the muscles in her thighs really hard. A small bead of sweat had formed on her brow and on the table in front of her, the coffee was getting cold. Paola watched Mathilde intently, and exchanged a knowing look with Filip. Mathilde of course, was far from happy. As she had gotten out of the car, she had felt a slight twinge in her bladder, reminding her she hadn’t visited a loo for quite some time. Anyway, she didn’t see any toilets when entering the Palace. She actually thought she had been quite obvious in asking for one when she had asked Filip for somewhere to freshen up, but apparently he hadn’t got the message quite as clearly as she was hoping for, and before she could ask him in even less uncertain terms, the King and Queen had entered the room. She actually managed to forget all about her need for a while. It was the very first time she had been admitted in the inner circle of the Royal Family. In fact, apart from Filip, she only knew them from the telly and tabloids. She had been rather taken aback when Filip had told her during dinner that they would be driving straight on to the palace, after picking up some stuff from her place, to meet with his parents and spend the night. But being there, she was impressed by their down–to–earthiness and, well, human like behavior. In no way did they appear any different then any other people she knew. In fact, it wasn’t until her third cup of coffee until her bladder started kicking in. And with a vengeance too. As if it had decided it had been put on hold for quite long enough, it felt ready to explode within minutes. Mathilde definitely started to worry. However down–to–earth they might be, Mathilde still felt very reluctant to ask to be excused. She had been keeping up with Paola on the coffee drinking, but she decided to definitely back off now. Well, she was a young woman of stature, so she felt quite confident containing her straining bladder while keeping her composure. However, for some reason her kidneys were working overtime tonight. She couldn’t remember having been that desperate before, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep concentrating on the conversation. She desperately tried to keep her cool, but she felt very hot and flustered. She was frantically looking for a way out. She mentally counted the cups of coffee she had had and tried to calculate how many the Queen would have drunk. Her only hope was that the Queen might need to excuse herself and she would be able to tag along. She carefully slid forward on her seat. Her red silk panties didn’t stretch and tensed around her labia and provided for some temporary relief. She desperately wanted to plant a hand in her lap. Every fiber of her being was screaming for release. The pressure on her sphincter was excruciating. She could feel drops of sweat forming on her brow and it was all she could do to keep tears from forming in her eyes. Things were not looking good. Albert was telling some sort of funny anecdote. Mathilde had definitely lost all sense of humor by now, but she had to produce some polite laugh. She tensed her thigh muscles, putting every ounce of strength she had in it. Just at that time a steward came to refill Paola’s cup. The sound of the coffee splashing in the cup was just too much. In spite of all her efforts a small spurt escaped. She could feel the dampness in her panties. This was it. She simply couldn’t wait any longer. She absolutely had to go, right now. She scraped her throat and raised her voice. It was unsteady, trembling a little and sounded more like a hoarse whisper –“I’m sorry, but…” Paola read the signs and immediately seized the moment and interrupted her mid–speech. “Well, would you look at the time. Perhaps we should all retire and continue this in the morning. “She made a gesture and one of the stewards approached, bowing slightly. “Here, he’ll show you to your room for the night.” Mathilde rose very slowly. Both Filip and Paola noticed a tiny darkening spot in her crotch as she stood up and followed the steward, at a surprising pace for a woman in her condition. As the door closed behind them, the three Royals found themselves alone in the room. “She’s a very nice girl.”, Paola broke the silence. Filip said nothing and followed the Queen over to where Mathilde had been sitting just a few moments before. Both stood there in silence for a few moments. It would have been difficult not to notice the small discoloration in the red velvet seat. Paola looked Filip in the eyes. She sighed “Well, she’s a vast improvement over the last one. Still, she needs quite a bit of work.” Filip’s gaze wavered a moment, but then he looked at his mother with a resolved smile. “You’d better get at it then, mother. Because this is the woman I want to become my wife.” The silence was deafening. As if it wasn’t merely caused by not speaking, but was something tangible all around them. As if silence were a mist, or even some dark grey fume that not only shrouded all sound, but also clouded the mind, making any thought of sound something that could only vaguely be remembered. Mathilde swallowed. Slowly she began to again become aware of her surroundings. At first there was only a thundering, booming sound, but slowly it faded away into the constant, monotonous ticking of the great clock standing but a few feet away. She became aware of the scrutinizing look of the Queen. She cast her eyes down, but still she could feel the gaze burning her, piercing her. She swallowed again and looked back up at Paola. “So”, she started hesitantly, “last night…” Before she was able to complete the sentence, Paola interrupted her. “Your experience last night was no coincidence. It was engineered to develop in the way that it has done.” She paused a moment, for maximum effect, and added: “Including your little mishap.” Mathilde’s eyes grew large. She looked as if she was going to say something, but fell silent again. Finally, with effort, she stammered: “So… you did notice?” “Indeed. Your ehm… performance wasn’t bad, but yes, I did notice. Your desperation was quite obvious to the trained eye. I knew you were in some trouble after your third cup of coffee. To your credit, you managed to last quite a bit longer then I had anticipated.” Another silence fell. The afternoon sun shone brightly through the spotless French–style windows opening on to the lush green garden. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. Mathilde blinked as a sunray caught the silver teaspoon on the table and reflected in her eyes. She shifted position, both to avoid the sunlight and to ease off some of the pressure on her bladder, which was beginning to fill. The Queen broke the silence. “I also know that for the past half hour you’ve had some urge to relieve yourself again, though as of yet nowhere near as bad as you needed to yesterday evening.” Again, Mathilde seemed dumbfounded. “I on the other hand, have not visited the ladies’ room since before I met you yesterday evening.” Mathilde looked at her incredulously. “But surely… I mean, after all that… That is, don’t you… “ “ Do I need to visit a loo you mean? You’re thinking about all of the coffee I had last night and the tea over the past hour?” She laughed, and went on in a confiding tone of voice. “Well yes, I’m absolutely gagging for a toilet. Actually, I’ve been on the absolute verge of wetting myself for the past hour.” Mathilde shook her head in disbelief. She looked at Paola intently. Nothing about her betrayed her current state. She looked totally relaxed and at ease. Her voice was steady and strong. Her face seemed unconcerned. To Mathilde’s surprise, Paola actually got up to serve herself another cup of tea. “Would you like some more too, dear?” Mathilde involuntarily flexed her thigh muscles as her bladder again informed her that more liquid would definitely not be appreciated. But even before she could decline Paola had already passed over her cup, without filling it, and walked away to a nearby table, where she set the teapot down. She opened a delicate porcelain jar and picked a lump of sugar out of it, dropping it in her tea. “I’m sorry, I forgot. You already are quite uncomfortable yourself, aren’t you?” She went to sit down again, and sipped some from her cup. Mathilde was absolutely amazed at the ease of Paola’s movements. Nothing about her, albeit short, walk indicated in any way whatsoever that right there was walking and sitting a very desperate woman, with an absolutely bursting bladder. Paola patted her gown. “Actually, I have to admit, wearing one of these lovely dresses does give me a few hidden advantages. Like just now, while I was standing at the table, I was able to slightly cross my legs and squeeze them together pretty hard without looking the least bit conspicuous.” She paused for a few moments. “All of which of course doesn’t mean your bladder can betray you once in a while…“Mathilde gave Paola a puzzled look. She just smiled broadly and reached for the hem of her gown. She lifted up the skirt, and as Paola was slightly spreading her legs, Mathilde was just able to discern Paola’s lovely blue satin panties, which featured a prominent wet spot. Mathilde felt like she had been struck by lightning. Paola rearranged her dress and seeing the look on Mathilde’s face, tried to reassure her. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, if I were you. You’ll learn to deal with the act of contained desperation in no time, including how to deal with situations like the one I’m in right now.” By now, Mathilde had her legs crossed very tightly and started shifting in her seat as the copious amounts of tea she had consumed over the past hour made their way into her already very tense bladder. “ Well, I can see you’re starting to get very uncomfortable too. Would you describe yourself as desperate yet?” Mathilde nodded yes. “So I would assume that under normal circumstances you would already have excused or at least definitely now excuse yourself?” “God, yes, I would have.”, escaped her before she realised it. “Well, as a rule, I would strongly suggest you refrain from doing so for the time being. Try to hold your bladder for as long as possible. You shouldn’t worry about small accidents at this time. You’re quite safe here.” Mathilde bit her lower lip. “Try walking around the room for a minute.” Mathilde very slowly got up. The Queen finished her cup of tea and also got up to get a better look. Mathilde was inching around the room. Her back was arched somewhat. She was wearing a white, loosely knitted sweater over a white top and tight black stretchy pants showing off every curve. By arching her back, her beautiful bottom was sticking out somewhat, showing off some quality panty lines. Her hands were clasped tightly against the sides of her legs. Her knuckles were white from the sheer pressure she used to clench her hands into fists. She was taking small, deliberate steps, keeping her thighs clasped tightly together all the time. She continued walking like that for a few more meters, before coming to a complete stop. She crossed her legs, her eyes were closed. Again, she was biting her lower lip furiously. “I can see you’re trying very hard to keep your composure. Which is commendable of course. But right now, you’re among friends, so there’s really no need to be ashamed. Do whatever you feel you have to.” Mathilde seemed reluctant to act at first. But a mere few moments later her right hand shot to her crotch, shortly followed by the left, and she furiously started applying pressure on to her pee hole. She curtseyed deep. The Queen walked over to her. Mathilde whimpered: “I really don’t think I can wait any longer. I simply have to go…” Paola put her hand on Mathilde’s shoulder. “That’s quite all right. I don’t think there is any need to go any further right now. At any rate, we’ll be working on capacity later. Right now, our first priority is composure. That is what is lacking most. There’s a loo right next door. Go relieve yourself and freshen up a little. Your chambermaid will escort you to your room. Tonight, after dinner, we’ll have our first real lesson. A theoretical one at that.” After Mathilde had left the room, Queen Paola gazed through the window at the garden. The afternoon sun was now filtered by the leaves of a giant oak tree, creating a mesmerizing, continuously changing shadow and light pattern on the tiled floor right outside. The Queen for a moment was lost in thought. She was definitely starting to see the fun in all this. And she was sure, so would Mathilde, once she’d gotten used to the concept. Her own bladder, by now, was absolutely filled to the brim. Her sphincter was aching from the sheer pressure it had to endure. She felt the dampness in her panties. It was taking all her training, and some incredible self–control both to hold it in and to keep her composure. It had been quite some time since she had been in a similar state. A larger spurt involuntarily escaped her control. Being alone, in the privacy of her own quarters, she allowed herself a big squirm. Her satin panties were absolutely soaking and she felt a small trickle make its way along the inside of her right thigh. She made her way to the phone, reveling in the wonderful feeling of those soft warm panties hugging her every move. All good things come to an end, no matter how you train yourself to prolong them, she thought to herself as another spurt escaped her and joined the trickle, which dropped from her leg under the added weight and fell onto the carpeted floor with an almost inaudible pat, leaving a spot of dark blue on the otherwise perfectly sky blue carpet. Several other pats followed, before the Queen managed to forcibly cut the flow. More for the feeling of pleasure it gave her, then for the sense of relief it brought, she thrust her left hand deep into her crotch, pressing the black silk fabric down hard up and in between her legs. She couldn’t prevent spurting several more times, moistening the material she had pressed against herself, before she again was able to stem the impending flood. As she picked up the headset, she let go of her gown. An unmistakable wet spot marked the front of her dress. Well, it would be a bloody shame to let all of this go to waste, she thought as she dialed the office of her husband. Boy, was he in for a treat. It was just past the hour mark as Mathilde passed through the long hallway. A lone clock at the end of it just struck for the tenth time before falling silent again. Outside, darkness was just setting in as the sun disappeared in a bright fiery ball behind the skyline of the city, drenching the cloudless sky in blood. The last sunrays reflected in the mirrors on the right hand side of the hallway, as if they were desperately searching for a firm hold onto them and avoid the sun from sinking any further. As they slipped helplessly across the smooth, cool surfaces and finally disappeared altogether, the purple colors of night were starting to conquer the reds and oranges still lingering on the edge of sight, as if they were triumphantly reclaiming the ground they had lost at the crack of dawn. The beauty of it all somewhat escaped Mathilde. She was still struggling to come to terms with the strange turn of events and the incredible facts that had been presented to her that very afternoon. She had thought long and hard after retreating to her room. The concept seemed both hilarious and frightening to her. She had thought she was prepared for virtually anything, but never in her wildest dreams… She really didn’t know what to make of it all. At some point though, she had stopped pondering over it. She had made up her mind, she loved Filip more then she had loved anything in her short life. If this is what it was going to take for them to be together, then this is what she had to do. No questions asked. And after all, she had already made quite the fool of herself in her previous encounters with the Queen. Add to that some very vivid recollections of other close calls and near misses, and she was definitely starting to see why this kind of training would be useful to a person constantly in the spotlight. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious, walking through that long corridor. She hadn’t a clue as to what they were going to throw at her next. She noticed Paola had changed since afternoon tea. She wondered about that. Paola wore a more businesslike attire now: a straight, fairly narrow pink skirt, ending just above her knees, white silk blouse and a pink blazer on top of that. Simple, but elegant. If possible, she looked even better then she did wearing the gown. There was some kind of radiance emanating from her, she seemed positively elated. Also, there was this fragrance about her. She hadn’t noticed it before and she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. It seemed like a fleeting breath of fresh air in a dank room. On the very edge of what could be perceived, like it was there but somehow it was not. Mathilde herself hadn’t changed. Well, apart from her panties that is. They were already slightly damp as she had left the room and was rushing towards the loo and blissful relief. But as she had entered the bathroom and yanked her pants down, the sheer notion of being inches, mere seconds away from the relief she so desperately sought, had proven too much for her. Pee simply came gushing out, and she had no choice but to sit down and finish emptying her bladder through her panties. So apart from those, she hadn’t bothered to change. Paola opened one of the many doors and entered a dark room. She flicked a switch and three rows of lights illuminated the room. It was moderately sized and had three shuttered windows on the left–hand side. It had soft burgundy red wall to wall carpet, muffling the sound of their footsteps. In the center stood an oval shaped dark ebony–wood conference table, around which 20 black leather desk chairs were set. Right in the middle of the table stood two brushed aluminum thermos flasks, encircled on the one end by a semi–circle of mugs and on the other side a semi–circle of glasses. The table shone so brightly under the spotlights it could have doubled as a mirror. The walls were covered floor to ceiling in a fiery chestnut, all apart from the wall at the far side of the room, opposite the heavy oak door, which was made out of some black lacquered wood veneer, perfectly smooth apart from a seam splitting it in two equal halves. All around the room stood smaller tables and on some of them stood a stenography typewriter. Paola pointed to a chair at the head of the table. A small stack of papers lay on the table in front of it. As Mathilde obediently sat down, she noticed that on the paper on top of the stack, which had seemed perfectly white from a distance, were actually written a few lines in small, fine guilded letters: “An introduction to hold–it techniques.” “Chapter 1: basic composure in low–profile occasions and partially screened circumstances.” No author was mentioned. Paola picked up a remote from one of the side tables and took a seat on Mathilde’s right–hand side. “Right. Tonight we’ll get started on some basic training. Over the next few weeks you’ll actually be attending two courses. The first one is a basic training course all high–profile members of staff are required to complete before assuming their respective offices. Usually this training is conducted in small groups about twice a year, with a repeat course for a portion of the current staff once a year. Of course in your case you’ll get private training. However, as you are destined to enter the highest circles of nobility, you’ll be required to take an advanced course as well. For the latter you will then, among others, co–ordinate with the Secret Service, the military liaison officer and your private assistant, or chambermaid if you prefer. Don’t worry about none of that yet. You’ll see everything will work out fine once you get to that point. The basic course consists of two major parts: composure and capacity. As I already explained, during the first part of your course, we’ll mainly be focusing on composure. I have already determined your holding capabilities, though far from excellent, are well above average for non–trained personnel. However, having said that, I would strongly recommend that, even in these early stages, you refrain from relieving yourself for as long as possible, by which I mean until you cannot focus on anything else but your physical discomfort. Any questions so far?” Mathilde had been a bit overwhelmed by the wealth of information that had been fed to her, and the businesslike matter–of–fact style by which Paola was addressing the issue had taken her somewhat aback. She was doing her very best not to show though, so she quickly responded: –“No, as of yet, no questions.” The Queen paused for a few moments, as if to give her pupil time to absorb the information. Mathilde still felt like Paola was seeing right through her. “Very well then, on to tonight’s lecture. Actually, this is quite an interesting one too. In order to teach you how to behave in the spotlight, while hiding a more or less pressing need to urinate, we’ll be studying how other people handle themselves under those circumstances. We are going to train you to become an expert in detecting any and all signs of desperation in other women. The point is, once you know what to look for, you’ll be able to avoid doing those things yourself.” Paola pressed a button on the remote. Mathilde heard a soft hum coming from behind her. The black wall split along the seam and slid open, revealing a plethora of multimedia equipment. In the center was a huge screen, encircled by several smaller ones. As Paola pushed another button, the screens came to life. “We enlisted the help of the Secret Service to produce this training video. They were quite happy to oblige, as it presented them with an excellent opportunity to test some of their more advanced gear. The lady you are about to observe is Lynn Wesenbeek. She’s a reporter for a television program, ‘Royalty’. We offered her an exclusive interview with me during a lunch.” A smile appeared on Paola’s face. “Before anyone meets with a member of the Royal Family, they have to attend a briefing in which they are explained how the protocol works. For this particular occasion, we adopted the more strict protocol they use in the Netherlands. I’ll spare you the details, the only things that matters is that in this protocol, it is explicitly mentioned that one is not allowed to leave the table, unless the highest ranking member of the Royal Family does. You can see how this would suit our purposes. Anyway, let’s see what happens.” The Queen got up and pick a small box from a stack. Opening it, she took out a shiny DVD–disc and inserted it in the player next to the screens, pressing play as she did so. In the center screen appeared a woman. She was sitting in a plush chair at a small table by a burning fireplace. She appeared to be waiting for someone. A half–empty drink stood by her, as she seemed engrossed in a small notepad on her lap. She was wearing a cream colored outfit, consisting of a skirt, ending a few inches above the knees, and a blazer, which was unbuttoned. Under it she wore a bright white silk blouse, revealing just a hint of her lace bra underneath. By any standard, she was a good–looking woman. Other screens showed various other video feeds from different locations where other hidden cameras had been set up, including several that seemed to be mounted under the table–top, providing images from different angles of the empty chair where Lynn was to sit after the Queen had arrived. Lynn was feeling quite nervous. Only very rarely did journalists get the opportunity for an in–depth, up close and personal interview with the Queen. She considered it quite an honor and a sign of approval of the Palace that she had been granted one. She sipped from her drink. She wasn’t thirsty though. She had already been drinking loads of water on the way to the restaurant. For some reason she always did that when she was nervous. It seemed to calm her down, being able to do something to keep her occupied. That’s why she had made sure she visited the ladies’ room upon entering the restaurant. Especially after the peculiar instructions the guys from protocol had given her. She had actually been glad when they had told her the Queen would be late, due to some unforeseen circumstances. It gave her the opportunity to review the questions she was planning to ask. She really didn’t want to sit at the table with her notepad next to her. She felt that would be very rude and would probably close the Queen up. She glanced at her watch. 45 minutes late and counting. Of course she didn’t have any other appointments that day. So she had time to spare. For the tenth time she replayed the questions in her mind. On the screens nothing of interest could be seen. Lynn sat crossed–legged, probably just by force of habit more then anything else. The Queen fast–forwarded another 10 minutes. Lynn stuffed her notepad in her purse, and got up, apparently looking for something. On another screen, showing the entrance to the restrooms, frantic action could be seen. The wheels had been set in motion. Lynn had had enough. If she went over the questions one more time, she was going to go insane. She finished her drink. She was just getting aware of a slight pressure in her bladder, an decided it probably would be a good idea to just ignore it, as she usually did, and went in search of the ladies’. She rounded the corner and, seeing the door she was looking for, sped up her pace. Isn’t it funny, she thought to herself, it always feels more urgent when relief’s in sight. She was just about to reach for the shiny copper doorknob when someone on the other end opened it for her. Startled from her thoughts she looked up in the face of a broad shouldered muscle man. “Ma’am?” he said in a questioning tone. “Eh”, Lynn stammered, “I was just on my way to… wash my hands”. The high definition color screens in the palace clearly showed the slight blush on her cheeks. The man didn’t budge. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. Sniffer dog’s inside. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to wait for a few minutes, Ma’am. Lynn Wesenbeek seemed somewhat disappointed. Zooming in on her lower body, you could clearly see the slight bob she made, just prior to crossing her legs. Just then, an aide came rushing into view. “Ah, here you are. The Queen is just about to arrive. Would you be so kind as to follow me?” Lynn looked hesitantly at the man in front of the ladies’ room door. He didn’t even blink. With a last longing look towards the door she finally followed the aide, sighing and straightening her skirt as she did so. Paola skipped to a later section of the disc. “As expected, this particular lady had quite good control, no doubt through extensive personal experience. However, as you undoubtedly know yourself, it is extremely difficult to suppress all body language associated with an intense pressing urge to relieve oneself. In this case of course, she had the advantage of the table, hiding most of her body from me and any onlookers. It really is quite interesting to see how she’s handling herself.” Playback resumed. Lynn tightened her pelvic muscles as she laughed. She was cursing herself for all the water she’d been drinking on the way over. This was undoubtedly one of the major drawbacks of her profession. One she really hadn’t expected when she started working for the news desk – a rookie fresh out of college. She had found out soon enough though. Being on location for hours on end, often at places where adequate facilities simply weren’t available, was a classic ingredient for some quality desperation. After several very close calls she had started experimenting with maxi–pads, of which she all too soon experienced the limits of usefulness. On one particular occasion, she had been very desperate for what seemed to her like a very long time. She had already had to release some urine in her pad, at first involuntary, later simply to relieve the pain in her sphincter, until she had felt the pad starting to overflow and starting to stain her underwear. Now she couldn’t even sit down any more, from fear of showing any patches on her skirt. To cut a long story short, she had ended up totally flooding herself while broadcasting live for the seven o’clock news. A truly marvelous, epic piece of reality TV which had spiced up blooper–programs for years to come, not because of the wetting – the camera had her in a classic waist–up shot at the time – but simply because she had so incredibly screwed up her entire presentation, while trying not to show the nation what she was doing. It was the wetting though, that made her the laughing stock of the news–desk for several, very painful, weeks. After that she decided she either had to quit the job or find more suitable solutions then simply pissing herself. Fortunately, a solution presented itself. A close friend of hers had recently given birth and ever since experienced difficulties with bladder control. She recommended Lynn a special class. So it was that Lynn started joining her friend to an incontinence class, where she got a black belt in Kegel muscle training, sort of speak. So she wasn’t cursing herself in fear of wetting in front of the Queen. Not yet anyway. No, she just hated being so damn uncomfortable all the time. Somehow her days seems filled with desperation and holding her bladder. And really, it isn’t easy to maintain the cool and professional composure people associate with journalists, while holding a very full bladder, she could tell you! Anyway, uncomfortable would be a pretty accurate way to describe her condition right now. She had been since she the moment she took her seat. She always did feel worse when she thought of lavatories just within reach, let alone standing in front of one. So, as a rule, she avoided those kind of things, hence she was a little vexed that the empty–headed security guard had denied her entry to the powder room. Perhaps she should have asked more bluntly, maybe the damn moron really did think she had only wanted to wash her hands. And of course, it was just her luck the Queen decided to arrive before that infernal idiot dog had finished sniffing the ladies’ restroom. So, she tried doing what she usually did. Which was to try ignore the call of nature. But, really, this is one call that is very difficult, not to say damn near impossible to ignore. I mean, you can try thinking about something else all you want, still there’s that nagging signal in the back of your mind, accompanied by that difficult to describe feeling, somewhere in between pressure and pain that seemed to be the exclusive trademark of an unhappy bladder, emanating from her abdominal region. The main course, and its exquisite wines didn’t help the matter either, of course. The table camera fed crystal clear pictures of the action going on underneath the tablecloth. Lynn had her legs crossed very tightly, her right leg over her left. Her right ankle was wrapped around her left calf. She was rhythmically tensing her thigh muscles. On a different screen you could see how, now and then, Lynn curled up her left foot, now resting only with her heel on the floor, then only resting with the tips of her toes. As she did so, she slid back and forward a few inched in her seat, causing her skirt to ride up. Underneath the black tights, a glimpse of white cotton panties could just be made out. Paola pointed out that, above the table surface, virtually nothing could be seen of the hidden activity underneath the tablecloth. Though, she noted, the tensing of her thighs, while sitting as stiffly crossed–legged as Lynn was, did show a slight bob and she really ought to have avoided the sliding in her seat. Again Paola paused playback. “However, as I have said, it does become increasingly difficult for anyone to keep ignoring and keep hiding from others and intense need to empty ones bladder as the physical discomfort increases. Something this woman will clearly demonstrate.” Playback resumed. Lynn was feeling miserable. The waistband of her skirt was pressing into her by now painfully full bladder. One hand disappeared from the table as she tugged at the waistband, easing the pressure on her distended bladder, which felt rock–hard. She let go of the waistband again. On the center screen, a camera had zoomed in to an extreme close–up of Lynn’s face. As she let go of the waistband, her smiling expression changed to a pained grin for just a second. By now, Lynn was beginning to realize she was in trouble. Excellent bladder control or not, there’s still only so much a girl’s bladder can hold. And she quickly was running out of spare space in there. She really ought to have slipped in the ladies’ room before meeting the Queen, regardless of what the security guard had said. It really only would have taken just a minute. But what a world of difference it would have made. It didn’t do her any good to think about that now though. Contrary, all the thought of the porcelain throne just incited a renewed wave of urgency. It really was all she could do to hold back. She mustered every ounce of strength she had in her and with great effort managed to prevent any leakage. This simply wasn’t going to work for much longer. Drastic measures needed to be taken. While trying her utmost to appear an attentive listener, while really, even if the Queen would have been discussing her plans for a mass–murder, she still wouldn’t have heard a word she was saying, she inched her had away from the table and very carefully undid the button on the back of her skirt. The cameras remorselessly caught every little detail. She plunged her hand underneath the waistband of her skirt, frantically pushing her fingers in her panties, which under the pressure partially slid in between the folds of her vagina, while at its edges a few plucks of pubic hair could just be seen through her black tights. “Obviously, this is where things are starting to go very wrong for our intrepid reporter”, said Paola, barely suppressing a smile. “Her behavior is obviously becoming more conspicuous by the minute. As this point, she hardly managed to speak a coherent sentence, let alone keep a decent conversation going. Notice the way she’s anxiously biting her lip and how her eyes are darting here and there.” In addition, her complexion had changed from slightly blushing to a deep red. “She’s obviously struggling.” Lynn’s body suddenly tensed for about a second. Her face drew white and her eyes were wide open as a look of horror overcame her face for a split second. She somewhat bent over the table. Obviously realizing her unusual behavior, Lynn’s hand shot out from between her legs and she reached for the water bottle set in the middle of the table, trying to justify why she had bent over in the first place. As she did so, she had to uncross her legs. The table camera zoomed in quite dramatically on Lynn’s crotch area, recording for posterity the prominent, quite large wet area on Lynn’s cotton panties. She had quite obviously just lost control of her bladder, and somewhat wet herself. Lynn’s bladder was absolutely bursting at the seams. Again she tensed her sphincter, in a desperate effort to hold back an ever more pressing need to relieve herself. Her fingers were in constant motion, desperately trying to find some position that would bring her some much–needed relief, buying her just a few extra seconds. But she felt just about ready to give in. Her muscles were burning with the effort, but she felt her strength waning. To her absolute horror, she could feel her urethra filling with hot, burning urine. She tried in vain to hold back with her hand what her sphincter had failed to hold. She peed for almost a full second before, by some unearthly willpower, she managed to clamp it off. Her panties felt soaking, but since they were quite thick, they had absorbed most of it. Lynn just felt more miserable then ever. The small amount of pee that she had let go did nothing to ease her plight. If anything, having let go, even for only a second, had made her feel more desperate then ever. She wasn’t going to make it. She knew it was a matter of minutes before she would completely and utterly disgrace herself in front of the Queen. She felt like crying. “At this point”, Paola interrupted, “she showed some extreme resourcefulness. She obviously was loosing control. She was going to relieve herself right there and then, in her panties, whether she wanted to or not. She had already used every trick in her book that didn’t show the whole room she was absolutely bursting to pee, but her bladder had failed her. The outcome seems inevitable. Now watch this…” Lynn dropped her napkin. It was a fairly large linen one, on which several decorative designs had been embroidered. She bent over to pick it up, but instead of putting it back on her lap, she scrunched it into a bundle and pushed it hard between her legs. “Now this move really surprised me. I hardly imagined she’d have the guts to resort to such extreme measures. What determination, she must have nerves of steel.”, Paola added in an approving tone of voice. Lynn was at that point still fighting an unequal battle she could not win. No matter of will power and self–control would have convinced her bladder to retain all of its contents. The center screen filled with a close–up of Lynn’s face. Her features looked harsh. Every muscle in her face seemed tensed to the absolute maximum. She was practically biting through her lower lip as she was taking fast, shallow breaths. Then, suddenly, she took one big, sharp intake of breath and squeezed her eyes shut. She stopped biting her lower lip, but squeezed her mouth together so that only a fine red line remained. She remained like that for a second, until all of a sudden her lips parted. Her eyes remained closed, but less tightly then before. Her features softened, and it was as if all tension flowed away from her face. A muffled sigh escaped her lips. For a second, she seemed in ecstasy. On another screen, a different camera captured how the fabric of the material pressed so tightly in between her legs darkened, as some of the pent–up pee of her overfilled bladder escaped her control. After what seemed like an eternity to her, she cut off the flow, hoping she had managed to stop soon enough to avoid any collateral damage to her skirt. She quickly tossed the napkin on the floor and kicked it further under the table. She still had to pee very, very badly, but the edge of her need had been taken off. She was confident she could now last until after desert and coffee. Which, surprisingly, she did. When she finally got up to see the Queen off, however, she was every bit as desperate again as she had been prior to her small accident, just managing not to flood her panties as she stood up. She ran a hand across the back of her skirt, where a significant, though not overly large, wet patch had formed. She quickly slid the chair under the table, to hide the dampness on her seat. It was almost as entertaining to see how she managed to hide her wet patch from the Queen, as it was to see her try to suppress the most blatant of squirms. In which she really only partially succeeded. She couldn’t help but stand stiffly crossed–legged as she waved the Queen off, and actually had to make a deep curtsey to avoid flooding herself right there and then. A camera zoomed in on her legs and caught a tiny trickle running along the inside of her left leg. Noticing it herself, she quickly wiped it off with her other leg. As soon as the Queen had left the premises, Lynn made a mad dash for the ladies’, leaving a trail of drops from the door to the cubicle. As usual, the thought of impending relief worsened her state, so she was actually already peeing full force before she was able to yank her tights and panties down. She barely managed to hike up her skirt and sit down on the loo to avoid completely flooding the floor. The panties and tights went straight into the dustbin, as they were way to wet to take with her. She tried to clean up as much as possible, before leaving the restroom with a incredible sense of relief. She was just glad the Queen hadn’t noticed anything. As Paola was going over the various points of today’s lesson one more time, Mathilde squeezed her thighs together firmly. Already she was again bursting for a loo. She would have crossed her legs, but the height of the table didn’t allow it. She felt the wetness in her panties. Though this time, it had nothing to do with not being able to hold her bladder…
Desp1999