April was in a terrible state. She had visited four homes that morning to investigate what looked like bogus insurance claims. The first two families had not been in, or had spotted her arrival and had lain low. By the time she reached the third, she was bursting to pee, but the home owner there had refused to let her into the house, preferring to argue with her in public on his own doorstep.

      The argument had dragged on, had become ugly, and in the end, driven by desperation, April had asked to use the man's bathroom. He had just laughed and told her he'd be happy to watch her piss her skirt. And so April had argued on, trying not to look as desperate to pee as she felt, but she soon reached the point where she could barely maintain control.

      Finally, forced by the prospect of an imminent accident in her panties if she didn't soon sit down, she had left the premises and returned to her car, listening to the man's gloating jeers as she departed.

      Now she was here at the fourth home, after twenty minutes of uncomfortable driving. Some of the journey had been spent with her hand up inside her skirt, massaging her straining muscles and pressing against her pee-hole to keep from leaking all over the car seat.

      April locked her car and hurried to the front door of the next residence on her list, tapping her heels as she rang the door bell, then pacing up and down as she waited for someone to answer.

      The seconds passed, and it began to look as if no one was home. April released a long, frustrated groan as she quickened her pace, bending slightly at the waist as the urge to pee peaked. God, she was so close to pissing herself. She rang the door bell again, praying that someone was in and would answer the door. She really had to pee.

      She was about to give up and dash back to her car before she soaked her underwear when the door opened and a man emerged. "Yes?" he asked simply, his southern drawl apparent even in that single syllable.

      "Mr. Brentwood?" April asked, her voice tense.

      "That's me. What can I do for you, you pretty little thing?"

      "I'm April Gray from Grade One Insurance. I'm here to look into a claim submitted by a Mr. Roy Brentwood about..." here, she paused to consult her clipboard, squeezing her thighs together to keep herself from peeing all over this man's stoop "...a car you say was stol-um-stolen last month. "

      "Oh yeah. That would be Old Roy, my daddy. It was his car."

      "But...um, it was a Mr. Jessie Brentwood who sub-mmmitted the claim."

      "Yep, that's me, right enough. Daddy's eyesight ain't what it used to be, so I filled out the forms for him."

      "I see," April said, trying to maintain her composure as she lost control for a second, allowing a squirt of pee go into her panties. "But...um," she resumed, struggling to keep from peeing any more, "we thought your claim seemed a little high, given the age of the vehicle. Um, that's why I'm here t-to go over the details with you, and...oh. Um, I wonder, Mr. Brentwood, if I could use your bathroom before we continue?"

      Brentwood looked down at her legs, his expression faintly amused as he observed how this sexy blonde was squeezing her thighs together. "Sure," he said amiably. "Come on in."

      "Oh," April gasped in relief, "thank you."

      She stepped into the house, her eyes already searching for a door that looked like it might lead to a bathroom. Brentwood walked past her and said, "This way, Miss er...?"

      "Gray," April supplied.

      "Right. It's this way."

      Brentwood led her along a passage and opened a door on the right near the end. "There you go," he said, grinning at her as she strutted stiffly after him.

      "Thank you," she said again as she passed through the doorway - and stopped. It was a living room, not a bathroom. April frowned, perplexed, the belief that she was about to find relief making her frantically desperate to pee.

      "I...I don't--?" she started to say, then felt a hand clamp over her nose and mouth. A powerful arm encircled her body, pinning her arms to her sides. She was forced to inhale something on the cloth covering the lower half of her face. She tried to speak, to object, but her voice deserted her. A moment later, the room vanished into darkness.

      When April came to, her bladder was on the verge of exploding. She was lying face down on something soft, and could feel that her wrists had been bound behind her back, and that something ensnared her ankles. Oh God, she had to pee right away; she simply couldn't hold it in any more.

      But she couldn't get up. She turned her head to see the blurred shape of someone standing over her. A voice said, "Welcome back, darlin'. Hope I didn't hurt you none."

      "Wha--?" April started to say, but the word was cut short as tape was pressed over her mouth. "Let me get that," the voice of Brentwood said. April tried to cry out, but the sound was muted. Another strip of tape appeared in front of her face and was pressed down on top of the first. Brentwood resumed, "And I'm not finished quite yet. There, now. We don't want Old Roy to hear you yellin', do we?"

      April tried to scream again, but the sound came out as a husky moan in her throat. Brentwood seemed amused, and added, "Such a pretty little thing. Don't worry. We'll figure out what to do with you."

      As he walked towards the room's only door, April called after him in muted tones, begging for him to let her do something about her painfully full bladder, but he didn't stop. He closed the door behind him and turned the key in the lock, leaving her to lie there fighting not to wet herself. But she couldn't fight it; she was in agony, her bladder ready to rupture. She couldn't even cross her legs, or grab her crotch. She couldn't do anything to help her hold on even for another minute.

      She tried to pull her wrists free from the ropes binding them together, but even if she succeeded, it would take time and she knew she couldn't possibly wait any longer. Besides, where would she go? She was in a living room, not a bathroom.

      April gasped as she felt a massive surge of desperation between her hips. All her muscles seemed to be contracting at once, compelling her to start peeing. As she began to leak into her panties, she squirmed in frantic need of pulling her panties and pantyhose down, wrestling urgently with her bonds. But it was no good: she was powerless to save herself from a humiliating accident.

      Pee gushed out between her bound legs, flooding her panties and spreading around her thighs. Reflexively, April turned onto her side and pulled her knees up to her chin, trying to regain control but only making her situation worse. Her skirt absorbed pee like blotting paper absorbing ink, until the material was wet and heavy on her thighs. She sobbed as the flood went on and on, drenching the sofa upon which she lay.

      April had no idea how long she went on urinating before the flow stopped. She lay there taking deep, shuddering breaths, experiencing the incredible relief of ending her desperate wait for the bathroom, but worried about what was going to happen to her now.

      Ten minutes later, Brentwood returned and paused when he saw the damage that April had done to his sofa. "Well now, looks like you done pee'd all over our new sofa. I sure as hell hope your insurance company's going to cover that too? Or, if'n they ain't, maybe I could just take the value of it out of you."

      April closed her eyes as Brentwood sat down on the sofa beside her and slid a hand up inside her pee-soaked skirt, his fingers forcing their way between her thighs and closing in on her wet panties. She prayed for a miracle that was very unlikely to come.