Sue James badly needed to pee. In fact, she was absolutely bursting.

      Waiting impatiently at yet another red light, she snatched the opportunity to tightly clench her thighs, something she found very difficult to do when actually driving. She closed her eyes, slapping the palm of her left hand repeatedly against the edge of the steering wheel. She had no idea why this should help her fight off the nearly-overwhelming urge to release the contents of her swollen bladder, but it did.

      "Oh, come on!" she complained to the traffic light whose baleful red stare had halted her progress. The pain was growing intolerable.

      Of course, she'd been forced to hold on to a full bladder often enough in her career, especially when on night watch. It was seen as a sign of weakness by her fellow crewmates, nearly all of them male, to have to succumb to the urge to visit the toilet before the end of one's watch. She had never yielded to the urge, however bad it got, because she was damned if she would give them the satisfaction of seeing her call for a temporary replacement while she scuttled off to the little girl's room like a child. She sometimes wondered if she was doing harm to her bladder during these long hold-it sessions.

      As bad as some of those sessions had been, however, they were nothing compared to this one which was truly testing her powers of endurance. The real culprit was the end-of-tour party, but then wasn't it always. She had enjoyed one too many drinks and should probably not even be driving. No, that wasn't true; she definitely shouldn't be driving. Quite apart from her state of inebriation, she was being seriously distracted by her distended bladder. If she got caught by the police, it would probably spell the end of her career.

      At least she was only two minutes away from home, so there was still a hope. She had never peed in her naval uniform yet, but there was a first time for everything, and if that cursed light didn't change soon this would be it.

      Without thinking, she pressed a hand against her crotch. It scarcely helped since her skirt prevented her from pushing where it would really do some good, but she could hardly pull her skirt up while sitting in traffic. As a truck pulled up to her left, she quickly removed her hand and placed it back on the steering wheel, aware that the driver could look down into her open-top BMW and see what she was doing.

      After what felt like an eternity, the light finally winked green and Sue rapidly pulled away from the junction, knowing she was accelerating faster than she should, but she was so incredibly desperate for the bathroom. She could barely control of her shaking legs which made her driving even more precarious. God, she couldn't believe how close she was to pissing herself.

      She turned onto Orchard Way and deftly guided the car into the entrance of number four. She pressed the remote for the garage door and waited as it lifted ponderously to admit her. She wasn't sure why she was wasting valuable seconds putting the car away, other than the obvious advantage that once the garage door had closed behind her, she would be able to break into a frantic pee dance without the neighbors seeing. lf she went to the front door and couldn't work the key into the lock before she lost control, the world and his brother would be able to watch her soak her skirt and stockings.

      As soon as the garage door had closed behind her, she freed the seatbelt and clambered out of the car. She half-walked, half-hobbled the ten feet to the door leading into the house, fumbling for the light switch so that she could see what she was doing. If Alan, the rather tall (and, yes, she had to admit it), dark and handsome bridge officer she'd been cohabiting with for the past three months could see her now, she would never live it down. She felt immensely grateful that he wasn't here. In fact, he wasn't likely to be back for several more hours yet, giving her plenty of time to get both herself and her uniform cleaned up if she did have an accident.

      She fumbled the key into the lock, almost dropping it at one point, she hopped from foot to foot, bending at the waist, her free hand rubbing her abdomen. The key turned and she gratefully pushed open the door, dashing through into the house in sudden panic. Now that the bathroom was so close, it was nearly impossible to suppress the urge to piss. She sucked in air between clenched teeth, thinking how much she was going to enjoy sitting on the toilet and releasing the entire contents of her bulging, aching bladder.

      As she stepped into the central passage lined with doors branching off into other areas of the house, the sight which met her eyes made her freeze. Someone was standing there. A man in a black ski-mask.

      She gasped, startled and afraid. She felt hot pee spurt into her panties, and without pausing to think how it would look she quickly crossed her legs and doubled over, willing her muscles to clamp off the flow. She managed to stop it, but not before the moisture had soaked through her panties and started trickling down her legs. She rubbed her thighs together to halt its progress, making her stockings absorb as much as possible.

      Feeling that she had regained sufficient control for the moment, Sue tried to straighten up. Her best course of action, she realized, was to duck back into the garage and lock the door behind her. But she couldn't move quickly, not with her bladder in this appalling state. Moving with astonishing speed, the intruder was on her and gripping her arms, straightening her up and pushing her body against the garage door, closing it.

      "What do you want?" she demanded, appalled by the mixture of fear and strain in her voice.

      "You came home too early," replied a rasping voice. "Too bad."

      Sue understood then that she was being burgled, and it suddenly struck her how fortunate she was that this intruder had decided to take the precaution of wearing a ski mask. At least she hadn't seen his face and could therefore not identify him, and that meant there was at least a chance that he wouldn't feel the need to...silence her for good.

      "Now you're here," he continued, "you can tell me where the good stuff is."

      "Good stuff?" Sue echoed, her voice tight as she fought to maintain control of her painfully throbbing bladder. She couldn't wet herself, not now; not in front of him.

      "Come on," the voice drawled. "A girl like you. High paying job."

      "High paying? You must be kidding."

      "Don't bullshit me. Just tell me where to find the safe."

      "I don't have a safe."

      "Sure you do."

      "I'm telling the truth," she insisted, shifting her weight from foot to foot, her thigh muscles trembling as she tried to hold in her pee without actually breaking into a humiliating dance.

      The intruder shook his head, his hard eyes regarding her with obvious distaste. "Wrong answer," he said, and violently turned her around, dragging her by the arm into the bedroom. Sue felt her stomach muscles tense in alarm and blurted out, "Wait! I have to go to the bathroom." When he failed to acknowledge her request, she added in rising panic, "Please. I can't wait much longer. I have to go."

      To her surprise, the intruder did not drag her over to the bed, but seized the chair standing before her dressing table and carried it out into the hallway, his grip on her arm unyielding. "Sit down," he ordered, steering her so that she was standing in front of the chair.

      "No, please," Sue pleaded again. "You have to let me use the bathroom. It's really urgent."

      "You'll have to hold it," he informed her without compassion, at the same time pressing a hand down firmly on her shoulder, forcing her to sit.

      "I can't," Sue protested, a note of despair creeping into her voice.

      "Oh yes you can," he said. "In fact, I insist on it. Otherwise...," he producing a gun from his jacket pocket, "I may have to use this."

      Sue stared at the pistol in disbelief. "What? You'll going to shoot me if I wet myself?"

      "Right. Now I'll ask you again. Where's the safe?"

      "I don't have one. Honestly. I've only got a brooch my mother gave me and a few rings and necklaces. Oohhh God! Please let me go. I'm really desperate."

      "Like I said, you got to hold it."

      "Please, no," she whimpered, feeling her lips start to tremble. "I can't wait any longer."

      "Then I'll just have to shoot you," he announced, and pointed the muzzle of the gun at her face. Sue felt another spurt of pee shoot into her panties, and she fought like mad to hold back the flood. If it seeped through her skirt or ran down her legs onto the floor he would see it, and perhaps he really was insane enough to shoot her for that.

      Then, without warning, the intruder backed away. She watched in surprise as he retreated, wondering with sudden hope if he was giving up and leaving. Please let it be so, she pleaded silently.

      But he didn't leave. Instead, he stepped briefly into the living room and came back with a green canvas holdall, setting it down on the floor a few feet in front of her. "Put your arms down by your sides," he ordered as he produced coils of rope from inside the bag.

      "What are you going to do?" Sue demanded, even though the answer was perfectly obvious.

      Dropping onto one knee beside her chair and laying the gun on the floor well out of her reach, he repeated but with greater menace, "Put your arms down by your sides."

      "Oh, please don't," she whimpered as he unwound the first coil of rope and began using it to secure her right wrist to the chair's backrest. As he coiled the rope up her forearm to just above her elbow, strapping it to the chair back, Sue moved her remaining free hand to her groin and began rubbing herself frantically through her skirt. The intruder paused for a moment to watch her, then chuckled softly.

      "Does that help?" he asked, tying off the rope behind her right elbow where she could not possible reach it.

      "No," Sue admitted sulkily. "Why won't you let me use the toilet before you tie me up? You can see I'm in agony."

      "Maybe because I like torturing pretty girls."

      "Why?"

      The intruder shrugged as he straightened up and circled round her before stooping down on her other side. "Because they deserve it," he answered finally, seizing her left wrist and pulling her hand away from her crotch.

      Reflexively, Sue crossed her legs, her right foot swinging back and forth while she tapped her left heel on the floor. She watched helplessly as rope was coiled around her left arm. Suddenly, pain displaced diplomacy and she shouted, "Let me go to the toilet. Right now!"

      "No."

      "For pity's sake. I can't keep on holding it!"

      "You know what will happen if you piss yourself."

      "Oh God. You can't possibly mean it."

      "Oh yes I do."

      "Then you must be insane."

      The intruder paused in the act of securing the second rope, the expression in the dark eyes suddenly turning to a look of scorn. "Insane am I? Okay then."

      Sue relapsed into silence as he produced more rope and, forcing her to uncross her legs, wound it around her ankles and secured the ends to the chair. He proceeded to coil rope around her thighs, then across her hips and abdomen, pulling it taut against her bulging bladder.

      She groaned in discomfort and frustration as he tugged the rope tight and tied the knot. The added pressure had brought her bladder to the point of rupturing.

      More rope was wound about her waist and torso, and to finish off, the intruder deftly looped what remained around her shoulders, securing the ends to the top of the chair back.

      Without a word, he stood up and marched off into the kitchen. Sue watched him go, trying to bend forward to take a little of the strain off her bladder, but the ropes stopped her. Rocking and wiggling as far as her bonds would allow, she sat there listening to the sounds of cupboards being opened and closed. She caught the chink of glasses knocking together and then heard a faucet being turned on. This was followed by the unmistakable sound of a glass being filled with water, and she understood what he meant to do. "Nooo," she moaned softly, squirming in the chair and vigorously bouncing her knees up and down; it was a poor substitute now that she was no longer able to cross her legs, but it was all she could do to hold back a torrent of pee.

      She wished Alan would arrive home now and save her, but she knew it was a futile wish.

      The intruder returned bearing a tall glass brimming with water, and holding it to her lips he commanded, "Drink it. All of it. And I don't want to see or hear one drop coming out of the other end."

      "I can't."

      "Drink it!" he ordered again, this time in a tone which brooked no argument.

      Sue gasped as she fought against another muscular spasm in her abdomen, catching her bottom lip between her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut in order to focus on controlling her bladder muscles, knowing that if they gave way this lunatic would probably murder her.

      "Please don't make me hold it any more," she whimpered.

      "I won't tell you again," he warned, and proffered the glass. A drop of the water slopped over the rim of the glass and plopped noisily on the front of Sue's skirt. The sight and sound of it sent her into paroxysms of desperation. She was on the verge of pleading again for the bathroom, but guessing that her sadistic captor would not relent, she reluctantly allowed the rim of the glass between her lips and began to drink.

      She grimaces as the water began flowing across her tongue, coming so quickly she hardly had time to breathe. She swallowed, gulp after gulp, and by the time the water level dropped to the halfway mark, she was going out of her mind with panic. The sensation of cold water hitting her stomach triggering a sympathetic and powerful urge to relieve the terrible pressure on her bladder. But she dare not let it go. She had to keep holding it; she simply had to.

      She tried to issue another protest, but this time it merely emerged through her nose as nothing more than a nasal whine. When, after an age or so it seemed, the water was all gone, the intruder lowered the glass and regarded his captive's agonized features with amused eyes.

      "You bastard," she squeezed out, watching her own knees bouncing up and down, her legs futilely pulling against the ropes. She would have given anything at that moment to be able to cross her legs.

      "Are you ready to tell me now?" the intruder asked.

      "Tell you what?" Sue snapped, her voice sounding sharper than she had intended.

      "Where the safe is."

      Preoccupied by her efforts to plug up the dam between her thighs, Sue could only shake her head mutely at first. As the gun muzzle touched her forehead, she gasped out, "I keep telling you: There isn't any safe."

      "Oh yes, you do keep telling me that. If that's how you want to play it, then it looks like I'll just have to sit here and wait for you to change your mind."

      Producing a roll of sticky white tape from his bag, the intruder calming tore of a strip and advanced on Sue. She tried to turn her head away, but he was too quiuck for her, pulling it tightly across her lips and pressing it firmly against her cheeks.

      He leaned his face close to hers once more and whispered, "When you've got something to tell me, just...grunt or something, okay?" Then, unexpectedly, he proceeded to kiss her lips through the tape, letting his free hand slither across the front of her jacket, momentarily pausing at her left breast before descending and coming to rest on the rope stretched tight across her abdomen.

      Then, still kissing her through the tape, he applied pressure to her overfull bladder. Sue complained through her gag, wiggling her legs as she jerked her body against her bonds, but there was absolutely nothing she could do to thwart his unwanted attentions.

      At last, just as she felt sure her bladder would explode, the terrible pressure abruptly eased. Sue looked up and saw the intruder move to the opposite end of the hallway, take up a position against the door and simply stand there watching her struggling, fighting against the inevitable. The sadistic bastard, she thought resentfully, and tried to go on holding in the pints of pee that threatened to erupt between her legs. Unfortunately, she was so appalling desperate now that she could not stop herself from leaking almost continuously into her panties.

      Her muscles spasmed violently in protest at all the stress they had endured, and pee began to gush from her in spurts, short ones to begin with and then in more sustained bursts until she felt the warm liquid running down the backs of her legs, soaking into her skirt and spreading rapidly towards the edges of the seat.

      Her piss was also gushing upward between her bound thighs, a wet patch spreading across the front of her skirt. The intruder must be able to see it; must know she was wetting herself. Hell, he could probably hear the hissing sound from where he stood, and in a few moments would surely smell the acrid stench of fresh urine. But there was simply nothing more she could do. She'd been unable to cork it up any longer. In fact, she could hardly believe she had managed to wait as long as she did. Even over the deep, moaning breaths she was forcing through her gag, she heard her pee trickling over the edges of the chair and spattering on the carpet around her feet. She could feel it wriggling past her knees and down her calves, interrupted only briefly by the presence of the rope around her ankles before seeping into her shoes and inching its way down to her curled-up toes.

      She went on relieving herself for perhaps a minute, relishing the relief as the tortured ache of her bladder finally began to subside. Then, with the swiftness of the onset of a tropical night, an immense weariness settled over her as her muscles all relaxed in unison. She sat there, head hung in resignation, waiting to incur the wrath of this madman of an intruder.

      As the seconds passed, it slowly dawned on her that the man had not moved. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she lifted her head to find him still standing there watching her. Meeting her questioning gaze, he nodded once, took up his bag and departed through the doorway at the end of the corridor opposite to where she still sat bound and gagged. After a delay of perhaps half a minute, presumably during which the man removed the ski mask and tucked it inside his bag, Sue heard the front door slam. He had gone, leaving her tied to a chair in her wet skirt and panties.

      She tugged at the ropes holding her wrists and arms in place, and experienced sudden dismay at the realization that she would not be able to get free to clean herself up before Alan arrived home. When everything else that had happened to her had failed, this prospect managed to make her cry.

      Tears ran unchecked down her face because she could not reach to wipe them away. Most dripped onto the lapels of her jacket, while some remained trapped at the edges of the tape pressing against her cheeks. She had never felt as utterly humiliated as she did at that moment, quite convinced that this was one mishap she would never be allowed to live down.