Cassandra had really worked hard to get to where she was. Now she was about to taste the fruits of those efforts. As a television journalist, her achievements were exemplary. At the age of 28, she was made the host of a reality TV show that involved travelling with cops in a police car as they went about their rounds and capturing on camera their crime solving efforts.

      For her first episode, she had to rise early. The dress code required her to wear business apparel, so she went to her closet and picked out her most expensive business suit. Putting on a pot of coffee to help her deal with early morning drowsiness, she went into the bathroom to take a morning leak. Rising, she proceeded into the shower. The special massage shower that she had bought recently had her entranced and she lost track of time. Suddenly, she realised that she had been in the shower too long and snapped out of her stupor. Stepping out she looked at the clock on her mantelpiece. It read 5: 30. She had 45 minutes to get to the station.

      "Fuck," she said, " I really have to hurry."

      Hastily, she pulled on her business suit. As she was about to open the door, she caught sight of the pot of coffee. Being a bit drowsy still, she wondered if she should have some before leaving. "A few extra minutes won't really delay me," she thought. Taking out her largest mug, she poured herself some of the contents of the pot. Sipping it hurriedly, she poured herself another mug, thereby finishing what was remaining. Draining its contents, she hurried to her car.

      Before long, she was in gridlock. "Fuck, she said, "Shouldn't have spent so much time in the shower."

      Thoughts of the shower combined with the coffee in her system to make her aware of the first yearnings of her bladder. "Shit, I'll really have to hurry or I won't be able to take a piss before starting."

      The gridlock continued. Fifteen minutes to go. Her bladder was really beginning to make its presence felt.

      Finally with ten minutes to go, the traffic began to move. Cassandra drove fast and hoped that she wouldn't be pulled over. The irony was delicious. Here she was on her way to the police station and hoping that the police wouldn't pull her over.

      "Shit, shit, I really have to go," she muttered.

      With about two minutes to spare, she saw the police sign in the distance. Relieved, she thought to herself that she would just about be able to use the loo. Reaching the station, she alighted from the car and went to the reception. "Hello, I'm Cassandra Morgan from the DBC andI am here to shoot an episode of CopTV."

      At this point, Cassandra had her legs tightly crossed as she stood. She dare not separate them for fear of leaks.

      "Oh, yes, they are expecting you in there," the receptionist said, "Your crew is already here."

      "Thanks, can you tell me where the facilities are?"

      "End of the corridor."

      "Damn," thought Cassandra, "I hate these long walks to the loo."

      As she started her long walk, a head popped out of an office. It was her producer, Dave. "Ah, there you are, Cassandra. Do you know that we start in half a minute? Get in here."

      Damn, thought Cassandra, now I have to hold it through the show.

      Cassandra entered the room and was hurriedly made up. She was then introduced to the two police officers who would be her companions for the day along with her cameraman.

      Hurriedly they entered the police car. As the car sped on, Cassandra became even more aware of her bladder. Unfortunately, the back seat did not have the space for her to cross her legs. She just jammed them together. She was unable to sit still throughout the journey and had to really will herself to remain dry.

      Suddenly, a crackle from the police radio. "102 in progress at..."

      "Convenience store robbery," said one of the officers," We'll be there in three."

      They sped to the scene of the crime, Cassandra really squirming by this time. As they arrived, the cops told Cassandra and her photographer to stay in the car. For what seemed an eternity there was silence. Then some gunshots. The photographer said, "Why don't we take a few shots of you describing the situation."

      Cassandra didn't want to stand in her condition, but saw that she had no choice. Visibility was what this industry was all about and she needed every advantage to get ahead. With extreme will power she stood up and clamped her legs together.

      Then she began delivering her lines, trying not to display the strain she was feeling. But it was difficult. On two occasions, she nearly lost it, and had to use her stomach muscles to gain control by bending forward somewhat.

      "Here we have a robbery in progress...gunshots...possible casualties..."

      Cassandra was using mechanically the buzzwords she had familiarised herself with. She was concentrating too hard on not losing control. Suddenly, there was a loud gunshot which nearly made her wet herself. But she held on. Then in front of her eyes her cameraman ran for cover.

      She was about to do the same when she felt a hand on her mouth. The hand had a handkerchief containing some strange sort of substance. The world before her eyes collapsed into darkness.

      When she came to, she was still drowsy and in a strange, dark place. In front of her eyes was a tiny hole through which she could see. She tried moving her lips but they were stuck together with some sort of tape.

      She tried moving her hands to take off the tape, but they were pinioned behind her back. As were her legs. She was completely immobilised. Some sort of awareness had, by now, dawned on her. She was in the trunk of a car. She had been taken hostage by the robbers. But that didn't change the fact that she had to pee worse than ever. With great strength she held on, and mumbled through her gag. No reply. Great, she thought, they must have abandoned the car, using me as a hostage to make sure they weren't followed.

      Her bladder was in real agony now and she kept shifting position and jiggling, taking relief in the fact that at least she wasn't in danger and that she only had to wait till she was rescued. But how long will that be? she thought. Could be forever. She felt a dribble into her undies. Oh no, she thought, its starting. She pressed her legs together as tightly as she could but another dribble followed. She was now aware of a slight whiff of urine, and she really willed herself to ensure that the wetting ended there.

      Suddenly, she heard voices. One of them was the voice of her cameraman. "There's the car," he said, "She could still be in there."

      Cassandra began mumbling through her gag, banging against the trunk. Another dribble followed. She then heard something collide against the trunk and, in an instant, there she was staring at the two policemen and her cameraman who was in the act of filming. The dribbles had eased the strain on her bladder somewhat and by now she was relieved to be rescued and equally relieved that soon she would be able to take a piss in the bushes.

      But her troubles weren't over. "Sorry, m'aam. The cuffs on your hands and legs require a special key. We'll have to take you to the station to remove them."

      Oh no, thought Cassandra. From what she remembered though, the station was only fifteen minutes away from the scene of the crime. Her dribbles had ensured that her bladder was now in a position to avoid wetting herself till she reached the station.

      What she did not know was that the police had spent two hours searching for her and that she had been abandoned in the middle of nowhere. This added at least 45 minutes to the journey back.

      Since her legs were also cuffed, they had to carry her back to the car. Cassandra soon became conscious that the journey was taking far too long. She was growing uncomfortable with the cuffs but even more uncomfortable with her full bladder.

      The police car hit a couple of bumps sending her into paroxysms of agony and causing her to dribble a couple of times. By now her knickers were damp, adding to her discomfort. Cassandra could not sit still. She whimpered to her cameraman. "Please, I need to pee really bad."

      The cameraman was embarassed. He did not know what to do or say. So he just blurted out the lie that parents often blurt out to children when they are in a similar situation.

      "Don't worry, Cass, we're nearly there."

      This usually makes the situation worse as it increases the anticipation, and Cassandra began to bounce up and down.

      One of the cops in front tried to ease it somehow by saying "Try to think of something else."

      The other said "Don't worry, I too have to go. We're nearly there."

      God, these cliches, she thought. I'm beyond the stage where thinking of something else will help.

      The car hit another bump and Cassandra was in absolute agony. A huge dribble into her knickers. She clamped her legs again, but this time it was to no avail. Pee began to run through her suit and on to the floor. In front of an aghast cameraman, Cassandra Morgan, the beautiful 28 year old TV journalist, had just wet herself.