I happened to see Brenda, a woman I'd known since my school days, as I was leaving work and heading for my car. She now worked in an office just a few minutes walk away from my business, and I often saw her around, occasionally even sharing a table at one of the local eateries.
Brenda was a smart woman with a good figure and attractive if not precisely pretty features. She always wore a suit to work, sometimes jacket and trousers, but usually a jacket and skirt, blue or black with matching tights and shoes.
Normally so cool and composed, I was a little surprised to see Brenda on the far side of the car park which lay at the back of my office building, weaving between the parked cars with unusual haste. As I continued to follow her progress, the reason became obvious: She was hurrying towards the public loos. Brenda, it seemed, had been caught out in public. I wondered in passing why she had not done something about it before leaving her office.
I climbed into my car and drove towards the exit, beside which the loos were located. As I approached, I saw Brenda standing outside the door to the Ladies doing to most amazing pee dance, bending one knee and then the other in rapid succession. She was clearly bursting, and for some reason was unable to get in to use the toilet.
I pulled up at the curb, much to the annoyance of the driver behind me because my car was now blovking the exit, and waved to Brenda. It took a few moments before she noticed me -- her attention was attracting by the blasting car horn behind me -- and even then she didn't seem to register who I was at first. When she did realize that it was me, she looked momentary relieved, picked up a couple of carrier bags and hobbled (quite literally hobbled over to see me.
I pulled my sweater down to cover my groin because the sight of Brenda's very obvious desperation had caused my dick to harden, something that would be very obvious to her when she was close enough to look in. I lowered the window on the passenger's side and called to her, "Hello Brenda. What's up?" As if I didn't know.
"Dave? Oh thank God," she said, arriving at the window and bending forward to lean in. I imagined the bending was helping a little with her predicament. "You couldn't give me a lift home, could you? I'm dying to go to the loo and the door's locked."
"Yes, of course," I agreed readily. "Hop in."
She climbed in, bags still in her hand, and we had a bit of a struggle to lift them over onto the back seat of the car. Then she pulled the safety belt across her breasts, and I could almost see the cogs going round as she gingerly pulled the lower strap across her abdomen to inset the buckle.
"I really appreciate this," she said a little breathlessly as I pulled away. "I was shopping in places that don't have a public loo. I just made it to that one in the car park, only to find the bloody door locked. Oh, why are they always doing things like that?"
Silently, I decided that men who did jobs like lock and unlock public lavatories, especially the ladies loos, probably enjoyed the power they could exert over desperate women. It would not have surprised me to find out that the attendant spent half his day sitting in a parked car watching the comings and goings of women who need to relieve themselves, and locking the door from time to time on the pretext of some problem or other.
Of course, I said nothing of this to Brenda, settling instead for making a few sympathetic noises.
"Okay," I said after she had complained about her predicament for a minute or so, "which way?"
She looked surprised. "Don't you know where I live?"
"Well, vaguely. I think I visited once when your sister was getting married, but that was a couple of years ago."
"Oh, right," she said, her manner decidedly abstracted as she sat rubbing her hands briskly on her thighs and frantically bouncing her knees up and down. God, she really was bursting. "Um," she added at length, and I glanced at her in time to see her expression become tense. When sahe managed to continue, her voice was really strained. "Um," she began again, "Go--go to the junction at the end of the High Street and...um, turn right onto...oh! I can't think of the name of the road."
"That would be Pound Lane, right?" I prompted.
"Oh, yes, that's right. Then, um, t--take the second turn on the left into--."
She suddenly tried to lean forward, moving so quickly that the safety belt locked. She drew in a sharp, anxious breath and plunged both hands between her legs, sliding the hem of her skirt up in one swift motion in order to clamp her fingers over her crotch. "Oh my God!" she gasped, her voice shaking as if she might start crying at any moment. "I don't think I'm going to make it. I'm nearly wetting myself."
"It's alright," I soothed. "You'll be home in a couple of minutes. I think I remember where it is now."
"Oh," she groaned, pressing her knees together and pinching her hands between her thighs. "Thank you," she added in a tiny, embarrassed voice. I glanced at her again and found her blushing from ear to ear, totally humiliated "Oh, this is so awful," she whimpered. "I can't believe it's happening."
Neither could I. I knew she was in terrible pain, but it was still giving me an incredible hard-on. I absolutely ached to make some kind of tactile contact with her, and without stopping to think I reached over and briefly laid a hand on her shaking thigh. Her only reaction was a flickering smile, and I realized she had interpreted my gesture as one of sympathy. Well, it essentially was, but it also brought me a lot closer to a much stronger physical reaction.
I tried to concentrate on driving after that, afraid that I would cum in my pants and betray my unseemly interest in her dilemma. I turned onto Pound Lane and drove quickly to the second turning, which happened to be Cedar Drive. "Which house is yours?" I asked as we travelled along the street, dodging between cars parked on both curbs.
"Ooohhhh!" she cried out in pain and frustration, and I knew she was extremely close to wetting herself. I wanted to delay her, and I suppose I could have found a way if I'd really tried, but compassion overcame my desire to see her wet herself.
"What house number Brenda?" I prompted again.
"S--seventeen," she squeezed between clenched teeth. "Oh, oh no. It's going to be too late. I daren't even get out of the car."
"But we're here. Come on Brenda. You can make it," I urged, praying that she wouldn't.
in answer to my prayers, she merely sat there shaking her head. "If I stand up, I'll lose control," she sobbed.
"No you won't," I answered firmly, and climbed out of the car, unmindful of my dick standing to attention and bulging against the front of my jeans. I ran around to the passenber's side and opened the door for her. She was struggling to release the safety belt while raising her knees up so far that her thighs were pressed against her breasts.
As soon as the buckle popped its morring, I grabbed her arm and practically pulled her out of the car. As soon as she was standing, she immediately tried to double over forward. My grip on her arm prevented her from going all the way down, and ignoring her incoherent protests about starting to wet herself, I frog-marched her to her garden gate, unlatched it and steered her through into the garden.
She hobbled and moaned at ever step, but I got her to the front door. Then I asked, "Where's your door key?"
"Oh no," she squealed in utter despair. "In my b--bag."
"Where's--?" I started to ask, then I remembered. She had put it on the back seat along with her shopping. "Okay," I said, "I'll go and get it. Wait here."
"Can't wait," she gasped out as she stood there, gripping the door handle, leaning forward, bending her left knee.
Then I caught the muffled sound of urine escaping from her, beginning its journey through her clothes and down her legs. A few moments later, I saw a trickle of pee travel down her right calf and begin collecting just behind her shoe.