The problem began for Sunny Hirst when she discovered that she had been asked to attend a job interview on the same day as one of her major college exams, starting, in fact, halfway through the exam time period. "Didn't you tell them about your commitments here?" I asked her sharply when she came to see me about sitting the exam at a different time, something we professors try to discourage because of the endless complications it can cause.

      "Yes, I did, Professor," she said, "but they say that's the only time they can see me. There are lots of other candidates and they're fully booked, so there are no other option."

      Sunny was one of my more mature students, taking a first degree in her mid-twenties. Her performance throughout her time at the college had been exemplary, as one might expect from someone who willingly returned to education rather than being forced into it by well-intentioned by sometimes misguided parents.

      "Look, Sunny," I said, "Surely they can see you the next day instead?"

      "No, they say they can't. The company's recruitment people are only in town for a day, and if I don't go I'll miss my chance at a great job."

      "Hmm," I grunted with skepticism. "If they are not flexible enough to let you sit an important exam, I'm not sure how good an employer they would be."

      "Oh, please, Professor," Sunny pleaded, "let me sit the exam early."

      "Ordinarily I might, but on this occasion, I'm busy." I consulted my schedule for the day in question: I had a one-hour slot at eight in the morning, and that was it. If I let her sit the exam then, she would have two hours before the others sat it at eleven when she could easily tip them off about what was on the test. I closed my organizer and said firmly, "I sorry, Sunny, but I don't think I can let you sit the exam. You'll have to come back next semester."

      "Oh no. Oh please, Professor. It's supposed my last semester and I need to graduate because if I get offered this job, I know they say they'll want me to start right away."

      "Really?" I said shortly, feeling increasingly irked by this company's total disregard for my priorities. "So it's all right for them to impose unreasonable conditions, but they won't consider your education. And yet, I'll wager they won't offer you the job if you don't graduate."

      "No, I suppose not," Sunny conceded, a sigh of despair escaping her as she spoke.

      "Well, then, you clearly need to impress upon them the importance of your education, and ask them to interview you at a different time."

      "They won't," she insisted. I could see she was close to tears.

      "Have you even asked them?" When she shook her head, I continued, "Well, then, how do you know?"

      "I...I just know. There are lots of other students going for the job, so if I'm not there, they'll just...move on."

      I was tempted to argue the point farther, but in truth, I knew she was probably right. Corporations were extremely unforgiving, not at all like academia. Finally, I said, "You do appreciate, Sunny, that this is entirely your own fault. You've known about this interview for how long?"

      "Nearly a week, sir."

      "Nearly a week," I echoed, "and I presume you are also aware that there are college procedures I have to follow for this kind of thing? Forms have to be filed with the administration before a student can be allowed to sit an exam at a different time to everyone else?"

      "I know," Sunny sobbed. "I'm sorry, I really am. I just forgot. I really did. I've been so stressed out lately, what with studying for all the tests."

      Starting to feel sorry for the girl, I relented enough to tell her about my 8 a.m. to 9 a.m. slot. She brightened at once. "Can I sit the exam then, Professor?" she asked hopefully.

      "Well, perhaps, but there are still problems to overcome. I have to invigilate exams all morning, which means I wouldn't be able to keep an eye on you." When she raised inquisitive eyebrows, I clarified, "To make sure you didn't pass information to the other students between nine and eleven."

      "Oh," she said as understanding dawned. "Okay, so couldn't someone else watch me until I leave for my interview?"

      "Ordinarily, yes, but it's exam week Sunny. Everyone is tied up with work, and I doubt that any of them could spare the time."

      Sunny considered for a moment, then asked, "What if I promise not to talk to the other students?"

      "I'm afraid that's not sufficient. What guarantee would I have that you had not compromised the test?"

      "But why would I tell them anything? It's not in my interests if they do better than me," she pointed out. It seemed reasonable, but there was a flaw in her argument.

      "But you don't stand to lose any points if they outperform you either, do you? It wouldn't affect your degree, but it might affect theirs."

      I paused, sighed for effect, then added, "All right. I'll talk to my colleagues about sitting with you between nine and eleven that morning, but don't get your hopes up."

      "Thank you, Professor," she said enthusiastically, standing to leave. "I really appreciate this."

      I did ask around, but as I'd anticipated everyone was too busy to take two hours out of their hectic schedules to baby-sit an undergraduate. And so, when Sunny came back to see me the following day, I had to give her the bad news.

      Her eyes immediately brimmed with tears and she buried her face in her hands. "Oh no," she moaned, her voice muffled by her hands. I felt so sorry for her, I really did, but I couldn't see any way around the problem.

      I was on the point of telling her to go because I had things I needed to do when she came up with a solution herself. "Professor," she said, her voice thick and choked with tears. "Can I...? I mean, I think I have an idea about...how to do it."

      "How to do what?" I asked, not entirely sure what she was getting at.

      "You just need to make sure I don't talk to any of the other students in the class before the exam, right?"

      "Right," I agreed.

      "And once the exam actually starts, that's no longer a problem?" she went on. I nodded that this was so. "Okay, so my interview isn't until eleven-thirty, which is half an hour after the exam starts. So if I was to stay in your office until a bit after eleven, so that I couldn't talk to anyone, then there wouldn't be a problem, right?"

      "True," I conceded, "but we've gone over this already. There's no way to ensure that you won't leave my office and talk to the other students."

      "Actually, there is," she said, her cheeks coloring.

      "Oh? How?"

      "I mean, what if I couldn't leave?" she asked, evasively. I hesitated, not sure where she was going with this. Seeing my confusion, she stammered on, "What if I--I mean you...could make sure I stayed put until after the exam started?"

      "But I've told--?"

      "I know," she interrupted, swallowing hard as if I might rebuke her for doing so.

      She looked so worried that I offered her a reassuring smile. "Go on," I encouraged.

      She blushed even harder and looked down at the floor, unwilling to meet my gaze. When she spoke again, her voice was low, as if she were anxious not to be overheard. "It was something you said yesterday..."

      "Me? What did I say?"

      "About...the staff all being...tied up."

      "Yes," I agreed, recalling that I had indeed used the phrase.

      "Well, couldn't you do that?"

      "Do what?" I demanded, growing a little impatient by this time.

      "Tie me up."

      I stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment. "Pardon me?"

      She swallowed again and straightened her shoulders as if bracing herself for a verbal lashing. "After I've sat the exam, you could...tie me up before you go an invig--? Invel--?"

      "Invigilate," I supplied.

      "Right. Before you go and invigilate the other exams."

      "Good heavens, girl. Do you have any idea what you're suggesting?" I exclaimed, my mind literally reeling with shock.

      "Yes, sir," she said timidly.

      "I don't think you do. You're asking me to break every rule in the book concerning mentor-student relations. It's entirely unethical. In short, you're asking me to do something to do that would lose me my job if anyone ever found out--?"

      "--They wouldn't," she interrupted me again, clearly desperate not to let me refuse what she perceived as her last chance.

      "So you say, but I would no more have a guarantee of that than your word not pass information to the other students before the exam."

      She considered this for a moment, then said, "But it would be my word against yours, as long as you locked the door and no one could get in. Besides, if you helped me, I wouldn't want to make trouble for you."

      I shook my head. "I don't think--?" I began.

      "--And it was my idea, not yours," she cut in for a third time.

      "I hope you're not planning to make a habit of interrupting me every time I start to speak?" I asked, smiling to rob the remark of its severity.

      "Sorry, Professor," she said, looking thoroughly miserable now.

      I knew it was an insane idea, and that I should have nothing to do with it, but at the same time I did want the girl to graduate. She was in line for a damned good degree too. I couldn't bring myself to undermine that, rules or no rules. Besides, part of me was curious enough about her request to want to follow through on it; to see her tied up in my office. There was, I realized, something a little erotic about the prospect.

      After giving the appearance of careful consideration, I finally said, somewhat against my better judgement, "Okay. We'll do as you suggest."

      "Oh, thank you. Thank you, Professor," she gabbled excitedly, springing to her feet. For a moment, I thought she was going to give me a hug.

      "Don't thank me yet," I cautioned. "Let's just hope this doesn't get both us both into hot water." Now there was another erotic thought.

      She departed with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step. I just hoped I was doing the right thing.

      in the intervening days before Sunny's examination, I undertook some research using the Internet, careful to do so from home in case the college server recorded the sites that I visited. I found common themes in bondage, especially the way most of the so-called experts at this game secured rope around the female torso so that it passed above and below the breasts, accentuating their curve in a somewhat alluring way. I wondered if I dare do that to Sunny? It was certainly tempting, and as she herself had pointed out, the whole thing was her idea. What the hell; I'd do it and see how she reacted.

      On the morning of the test, Sunny arrived at my office door promptly at eight in the morning. She was smartly dressed in a blue blouse, a black, pin-striped business suit, pantyhose and high heeled. Only then did it occur to me that she had to dress herself for the interview before taking the test, because she would not have an opportunity to go back to her room and change later.

      I let her in and sat her down at my second desk, the one not cluttered by a computer and a printer, and set her to work on her paper. She finished it ten minutes early and handed it to me, and I could tell from her happy expression that she believed she had performed well. I certainly hoped she had.

      "Professor?" she said then, and I assumed she was going to broach the subject of my tying her up. Instead, she said, "Would you mind if I called my mom to let her know how the test went. She's real worried about me this morning, what with the test and an interview."

      "Sure," I agreed readily, relieved in a way that the awkward moment of discussing her condage had been postponed. "Don't take too long about it though. I have to leave in about five minutes."

      "I won't, and thank you," she said, grinning happily.

      I watched her sitting there apparently at ease, legs casually crossed, chatting to her mother and telling her how well she believed she did on the test, and I began to have qualms about what I was about to do. I knew I was putting my career on the line if anything went wrong.

      I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't even notice that she had ended the conversation and was now watching me expectantly. Realizing that she was waiting for me to say something, I nervously cleared my throat. "Right, well, I think the moment has come," I said, rather obtusely. She nodded, and when she did not say anything, I hurried on, "If you're not sure about this, it isn't too late to change your mind."

      "Actually, Professor, I think it is," she said with a sheepish grin.

      She was right, of course. Clearly aware of my discomfiture, she leaned back and put her arms behind the chair. Then she frowned slightly and asked, "You did bring some rope, didn't you, because I didn't?"

      "Don't worry. I have plenty," I told her, and pulled open the second drawer down in my filing cabinet to retrieve several coils of rope and a strip of cloth I planned to use as a gag, slipping the latter into my jacket pocket.

      "Do you think you can avoid leaving rope impressions on my wrists?" Sunny asked me then. "If my dad sees them, he'll want to know how I got them."

      "Don't worry, I'll tie it around the sleeves of your jacket."

      "Good thinking," she said, grinning cheerfully as if I were about to do nothing more than .

      "That's why they pay me the big bucks," I said, then sighed wistfully. "I wish."

      I was assailed by an acute sense of guilt as I began winding the first length of rope around her wrists.

      Next, I wound a longer length of rope around her body, passing it above and below her breasts the way I'd seen it done on various web sites dedicated to female bondage. Sunny watched what I was doing with interest, then looked up at my blushing features and said, "You seem quite the expert. Are you sure you haven't done this kind of thing before?"

      "Never," I said, "but like any good academics, I did my research before getting started on something new."

      "Okay," she said, drawling the word as if to suggest that she didn't quite believe me, but was prepared to let the matter go. I felt the urge to justify myself, but stopped just short of stepping into that particular pile of dog shit.

      Next, I coiled rope to the back of the chair seat and passed a number of lengths across her hips and abdomen. I resisted the urge to pull it tight enough to crease up her skirt and jacket, and wondered why I felt a desire to bind her so tightly.

      Finally, I knelt down in front of her, physically moved her legs together, then wrapped my final length of rope around her ankles.

      "Careful not to tear my pantyhose," she requested, then after a short pause, added, "Actually, do you really need to tie my legs up?"

      "I like to do a thing thoroughly," I explained, secretly agreeing with her that it was not necessary at all; I simply wanted to do it, to see the overall effect of my handiwork. "And yes, I'll take care not to damage your pantyhose. You'll need to sit still, however. If you struggle, you'll be the one doing the tearing."

      "Okay," she said, accepting my statement at face value and raising no further objection.

      Just as I finished tying off the last knot, a sharp knock resounded on my office door. I rose quickly, startled. If whoever it was chose to walk in, he or she would witness Sunny tied to my office chair. Adreneline pulsed through me and I could almost smell my fear. Trying to sound my normal self, I answered, "Who is it?"

      "Professor Mayler," came the peremptory reply.

      The head of department. Of all the people... "Yes?" I inquired, hoping against hope that he would not ask permission to enter.

      "Just a quick reminder that you're invigilating the math. Exam for Sotherby at nine. You haven't fotgotten, have you?"

      "No. I'll be there," I reassured him.

      "Good," he said, and to my immense relief, he departed without further discussion. I stood in silence, listening to his steps retreat along the corridor, then bented a long sigh of relief.

      "That was close," Sunny observed, and turning back to her, I could see she looked as anxious as I felt.

      "Too close," I said. I pulled the strip of cloth from my pocket and held it by its ends.

      After regarding it for a moment, Sunny asked, "Do you have to gag me?"

      "Oh yes," I said.

      "Why?"

      "Simple. There's nothing to stop you holding a conversation with someone on the other side of that door, is there?" I said.

      "Well, no, I suppose. But no one would come here looking for me. I didn't tell--?" She stopped suddenly.

      "So who did you tell that you were sitting the exam in my office?"

      The girl gave me a guilty glance then looked away. "I might have mentioned it to Laura," she admitted.

      "Laura Tomlinson?" I shook my head reprovingly. "You two are good friends, I believe?"

      "Yes."

      "Well then," I said, "I assume that you can see the necessity for the gag?"

      "I suppose so," she conceded grundsingly, then drew in a deep breath and lifted her chin defiantly. It took me a moment to realize that she was waiting for me to apply the gag.

      I inserted the strip of cloth between her teeth and tied the ends together at the base of her neck. It wasn't the kind of gag that would silence her completely, like a mouth stuffed with cloth and sealed in with duct tape, the way i'd seen it on some web sites, but I considered that too dangerous, not to mention extremely uncomfortable.

      "How's that?" I asked her, before reminding myself that she couldn't answer. She looked at me over her shoulder and nodded, making a muffled sound which, I judged, would not have been audible from the other side of the closed door.

      "Very well," I said, taking up my keys and academic robes, "I'll be back for you around eleven. You should have plenty of time to tidy yourself up and get to your interview on time." Looking round at me over her shoulder, she nodded in acquiescence. I stood studying her for a few moments, enthralled by the sight of her sitting there with her hands bound behind her, and the gag cleaving her teeth. She raised questioning eyebrows as I continued to linger, and this prompted me to make my way to the door. I paused one last time to offer her a reassuring smile, then I departed, taking care to lock the door behind me.

      As I marched briskly down the corridor, running a minute or two late now. As I walked, I could not banish the vision of Sunny seated on my office chair, bound and gagged in her smart suit. It was undeniably erotic, and I suspect that part of the thrill was the danger in which it placed me in. This was an aspect of my personality I had not tapped into before, and it was mildly shocking to discover that I could be so acutely aroused by seeing the girl tied up, and even more so by the knowledge that I was actually responsible for enacting it. Up until now, I had always managed to maintain complete control of myself around the female students, even the ones who liked to parade in short skirts and high keels, perhaps in the hope of winning leniency from the male faculty. I wondered how I was going to cope with that now?

      The nine o'clock exam started punctually, and I did my best to read through a published paper while the students did their best to demonstrate their mathematical prowess. But for much of the time, I merely simply stared at the paper without seeing it, thinking instead of Sunny imprisoned in my office. As the minutes slipped by, my desire to go back to my room and spend more time with her grew out of all proportion, and I tried to contrive ways in which I might be able to satisfy that desire. Alas, I knew my full schedule would not permit it.

      In that, however, I was wrong. Luck favored the foolish this day, or so it seemed at the time. The last of the candidates finished the test by 9:45, leaving me fifteen minutes free before my next invigilatory ordeal began. I quickly gathered up the exam papers and hurried back to my office, shaking as I tried to insert the key into the door lock. Part of me refused to believe that Sunny would not have freed herself and made good escape by climbing through the window. After all, I was hardly a grand master at tying ropes.

      It was with a mixture of relief and gratification that I found Sunny still seated when I'd left her. She looked at me in surprise as I entered, as well she might since she had not expected to see me again before eleven. "I just popped back to make sure you were okay," I said in a whisper as I moved closer to her, unable to prevent my eyes straying to take in her shapely calves and the rope binding her ankles. There seemed to be an awful lot of rope there in retrospect, so perhaps I had overdone it a bit. I also could not help glancing at the amount of thigh she was showing. In fact, it seemed to me that the hem of her skirt had somehow ridden up a little, suggesting that she had been shifting her legs around and causing the material to slide her pantyhose.

      There was something else too, although it barely registered at the time. She seemed to be sitting a little stiffly, and i just put it down to the discomfort of having to sit in the same position for a protracted period of time, unable to move her backside or stretch her limbs appreciably.

      As soon as I released the gag from her mouth, she drew in several deep breaths. "Oh," she gasped, "the end of my nose is so itchy, it's driving me crazy. Would you scratch it for me please, Professor."

      "Of course," I said, and suited the action to the promise.

      Sunny moaned in relief as my attentions alleviated the problem. Without pausing to think, I said, "Anywhere else?"

      She regarded me for a moment, then her cheeks abruptly turned pink. I wondered what I had said that had caused her such acute embarrassment.

      "What's wrong?" I asked with such apparent innocence that she relaxed a little.

      "As a matter of fact, there is," she said in a subdued voice. When she saw that I was waiting for her to elaborate, she went on, "My right leg, near the top of my thigh..." She let the explanation trail off, the color suffusing her cheeks becoming brighter.

      "Okay," I said, and reached down and began scratching her thigh in the region indicated, through her skirt of course.

      I became aware of a bump on top of her leg, and suddenly realized what it must be. "Are you wearing a garter belt?" I asked her. She nodded, blushing so much now that he entire face had turned red.

      "That's what's really driving me crazy," she admitted, moving her leg as far as her bonds would allow, clearly longing to be able to do something about the infuriating itch. Her eyes met mine squarely as she apparently made up her mind about something. "Would you please move the suspender clasp and scratch my leg? I can't stand it much longer."

      "Certainly," I agreed, and began groping at the suspender clip through her skirt.

      "No, pull my skirt up so you can scratch it properly," she said.

      "All right," I agreed, frowning as if this were a hardship.

      I slid her skirt up to reveal the tops of her stockings (so much more interesting than pantyhose), and slipped a finger inside the top of the one sheathing her right thigh. I lifted the suspender and used my other hand to scratch the area where it had lain. A look of immense relief spread over Sunny's still-blushing features. Clearly, it was worth all the embarassment. She continued making soft moans of contentment for a further five or ten seconds, then I felt it appropriate to stop. I released the suspender clasp, and twisted the strap a little to one side so that it did not lay back in the same position on her leg.

      "Thank you," she said when I'd finished adjusting the hem of her skirt, and it was all I could do to stop myself saying: No, thank you.

      "So," I said at last, "apart from all the itches, how are you holding up?" I asked.

      "Okay," she replied, but she didn't sound too certain.

      "Are you sure?" I prompted.

      "Well, I would like to visit the bathroom."

      "The bathroom?" I echoed stupidly.

      She nodded. "I need to pee."

      "Oh," was all I could think to say at first. Then I collected myself and added, "I'm afraid you can't. There's no way I can let you go into the ladies room unspervised, and clearly I can't accompany--?"

      "I understand," she interrupted. "I know I have to wait until after the test starts. It's just that...?"

      "Yes?"

      "Well, I'm real thirsty too."

      "Ah," I said this time, wondering why my normally-broad vocabulary had chosen this time to desert me.

      "But if I drink anything," she resumed, "it will only make things worse."

      "Certainly a dilemma," I concurred, my interest in the poor girl's plight suddenly intensifying even farther. I suddenly had the unaccountable urge to ply her with water to make that dilemma even more acute. I had a brief vision of her struggling to control her bladder, the penalty for failure being wet underwear and a wet skirt. Without having the time to go home and change after such an accident, always assuming she had another suit to change into, her chances at the interview would be ruined.

      The very idea of her caught in this impossible situation literally made my skin tingle with anticipation. It was something akin to the thrill of gambling, and for Sunny the stakes were certainly very high. She would fight desperately to maintain control until I returned at eleven to release her from her captivity. And then what? If she managed to hold on, she would then be forced into a hobbling run along the corridor in a bid to reach the restroom before it was too late.

      "I do have some bottles of spring water in my desk if you want one," I heard myself saying, "but you'll have to decided quickly. I only have another minute."

      The girl expression was one of pure torment, as indeed it should be. I saw her fidget her legs, lifting the toe of one shoe, her stocking wrinkling across her instep. She began waggling the foot up and down, at the same time pursing her lips in concentration. She was already in trouble, and was clearly debating whether or not to risk exacerbating her discomfort. "I...I don't think I'd better," she decided at last. "I'm not sure I would be able to hold it long enough if I do."

      "Are you quite sure?" I said, giving her one last chance to change her mind.

      An idea occurred. I took an eight-ounce bottle of water from my desk drawer, unscrewed the cap and drank it down. Sunny watched me with obvious longing, and when I had finished and tossed the empty bottle in the trash, she finally said, "Okay, just not a whole bottle."

      "Sure," I agreed, and took a second bottle from the drawer.

      I freed the top and held the bottle to her lips. She parted them to allow the neck of the bottle between her teeth. As soon as it was in, I raised the bottle so that its contents glugged into her mouth. She squirmed, trying to pull her head away to halt the flow, but she couldn't lean back far enough. I knew I should have stopped and not forced her to drink the entire contents of the bottle, but I was starting to lose control by then, yielding to the thrill of this girl's predicament.

      Sunny kept on gulping the water as it continued to gush into her mouth, making noises of protest through her nose Some of the water spilled down the sides of her mouth and onto her blouse and jacket. A little made it down onto the front panel of her skirt. A presage of things to come, I wondered?

      "Why did you do that?" Sunny complained as I wiped the excess moisture from around her mouth. "I said just a little."

      "Sorry, I got carried away." I glanced at my watch and hurried on before she could continue to voi. ce her objections. "Sorry, but I have to go. I'll be back in an hour."

      I quickly took up the strip of cloth and pushed it between her teeth. This time she resisted, trying to speak, probably to complain about her intolerable situation I'd just placed her in. I tied the gag and muffled her speech so that it was less intelligible, although I could still make out some of the words, such as bathroom and can't wait.

      "Sorry, but I really do have to go," I told her, thinking that she could justifiably say the very same thing to me.

      Throughout the entire second test of the day, my thoughts did not stray far from Sunny's predicament. By ten thirty, I was wondering if she was still dry, or if her bladder muscles had yielded to the mounting pressure, forcing her to pee in her suit? I wondered if she had drunk tea or coffee for breakfast that morning before rushing to my office for her test? She would have been tense, a little nervous too, normal reactions to examination stress. Preoccupied in this way, she might have forgotten to visit the bathroom becoming to my room. Quite likely, the poor girl was bursting.

      The hands of the old-fashioned clocked on the back wall of the classroom crept slowly up towards eleven. This time, I was in less of a hurry for the students to finish their manuscripts; the longer I could legitimately delay going back to my office, the more frantic Sunny would be for her freedom. I kept imagining the mad dash she would have to make along the corridor to the Ladies. Would she lose it then?

      Finally, at just a few minutes before the eleven o'clock deadline, the last student turned in his paper, and once again I collected all of the papers into a folder and retraced my steps to my office door. I paused outside, listening for a few seconds before producing my keys and inserting the appropriate one in the lock.

      As I pushed open the door, I saw Sunny still sitting on my chair, but she no longer looked in the least bit comfortable. She was frantically tugging at the ropes holding her, her feets raised and pivoting on her high heels, her knees bouncing up and down as she wiggling her feet around, her features contorted in pain.

      As soon as she saw me, Sunny began making muffled noises through the tape covering her mouth. I quickly stepped in and closed the door behind me, worried that the sound of her mmphs and grunts would be heard by someone else. I put down my folder, went to her, and released the gag from her mouth.

      "Oh! Oh! Oohhh!" she exclaimed breathlessly as soon as her lips were free. "Thank God you're back. Let me go, quick. I have to pee so bad. Ooohhhh!"

      I prevaricated, not wanting it to end so quickly, but I couldn't think of a reason to delay her any longer. Writhing and squirming like an eel, tugging futilely at her bonds, Sunny looked at me with wide, frightened eyes. "Professor? Why won't you let me go? The test's over, right?"

      "It is," I admitted.

      "Then untie me already. I have to go pee right away!"

      I just stood there watching her squirming, listening to the rasp of her skirt against her pantyhose. Her breaths were coming now in a short, sharp gasp, betraying the strain of fighting the urge to urinate. How much longer could she go on holding it, I wondered? I really wanted to see her lose control, to watch a wet patch spread across the front of her skirt, she hear her pee streaming over the lip of the chair seat and onto the floor.

      "Professor, please! Sunny pleaded. "I have to go for my interview. Please untie me!"

      I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the bulge in my pants as I stooped down and began working on the knots securing her ankles. I saw Sunny notice it, however, and her eyes--already wide--widened even more. "What's --?" she began, then looked at me in sheer panic. "Why are you...?" she began again, but let the question trail off. I felt my face becoming hot, and could only imagine how red it looked.

      "I'm sorry, Sunny," I said in a rather congested voice. "I can't help it. Seeing you in this...predicament...well, it..."

      "Yeah, I can see that," she interjected frostily, swallowing hard as she dealt with her emotions and her desperation.

      Suddenly assailed by what must have been a very powerful spasm in her abdomen--her muscles trying to persuade her to ease the appalling pressure they were resisting--Sunny jerked violently as if electricity had pulsed through her body. "Oh no!" she gasped, bending her body forward and trying to raised her legs. "Oh no," she moaned this time as she lowered her head and her hair hung down to cover her face. From behind this blonde veil came a barely-repressed squeal. "It's too late."

      Her words made my skin prickle. I held my breath and listened. Sure enough, I could hear a muted hissing noise like water forcing its way past the nearly-closed nozzle of a hose pipe. It was happening. She was peeing in her clothes.

      I watched with undisguised fascination as a dark patch spread across the front of her skirt like ink soaking into a sheet of blotting paper. Within seconds, it had expanded all the way to the hem. I just stared as her piss gushed between her knees and poured over the front front edge of the chair. It continued its journey, soaking into her pantyhose as it wriggled down her calves. Its flow was briefly interrupted by the rope ensnaring her ankles, then again by the lips of her shoes before finally spilling over onto the carpet. The acrid smell of urine filled my nostrils, not the most pleasant of odors, but I hardly noticed it. The sight of Sunny wetting herself had me thoroughly mesmerized.

      I was startled from my reverier when she sobbed loudly, and I looked up at her face to find her cheeks wet with tears. I suddenly felt a complete bastard, and more than a little guilty for delaying her until she had no choice but to pee in her clothes. And then, of course, there was the interview. I had to do something to help her.

      "Don't worry," I told her as I freed her wrists, "I'll drive you back to your room so that you can get cleaned up and change your clothes.

      She sobbed even harder. "I haven't got another suit," she informed me.

      I should have realized. She was, after all, a student with limited means. "Okay," I said, "give me the number of the person who's interviewing you. I'm going to fix this for you, somehow, and then when I've done that, I'm going to take you to a clothes store and buy you a replacement suit."

      She gazed at me with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "Really?"

      "Yes, really," I reassured her. "Think of it as an apology for what just happened."

      Sunny looked down at her soaking wet skirt and said plaintively, "How can I leave like this? Everyone will see."

      "Come on, we'll use the staff elevator. That goes straight to the parking lot exit, and my car is close to the door. I'll make sure no one sees you."

      She nodded uphappily, realizing I think that it was the only way out for her without complete loss of dignity.

      I checked the corridor outside my office. More exams were underway and no one was around. This reminded me that I should have been invigilating the rest of Sunny's class. "Wait here," I told her, and closed the door without further explanation.

      It took about five minutes to persuade one of the post-doctoral students to invigilate the exam, something I could have arranged before but it honestly hadn't occurred to me until now. I hoped it wouldn't occur to Sunny; she would never believe that I had not deliberately engineered the entire situation.

      I managed to get Sunny to my car without being observed, then drove the girl to the accommodations hall where she had her room. As luck would have it, the place was practically deserted, again thanks to the college-wide examinations schedule this week.

      Twenty minutes later, after she had showered and slipped into jeans and sweatshirt, I drove Sunny downtown. In the very first clothes store we tried, she managed to find a suit that she liked. She tried it on and kept it on, waiting impatiently as the assistant removed an incredible number of tags and labels from the garmets. I paid which this was going on, and then we raced back to my car and headed for the college's careers office where the on-campus interviewers were being held.

      Sunny finally arrived at her interview forty minutes late, but the interviewer saw her anyway, in deference to my request. True, it had been necessary to bribe him with a $100 bottle of vintage scotch.

      That interviewer called me later in the day to tell me that he found Sunny an outstanding candidate and that he planned to recommend her for the job. Having evaluated the situation between Sunny and myself and arriving at the obvious conclusion, he added before ringing off that this should put me in the way of some more sexual favors from the girl. I know I should have tried to correct his erroneous impression of Sunny, but instead, I consoled myself with the knowledge that he probably wouldn't have believed me anyway.

      Besides, I have my dignity too!