Carol brought her Volvo to a stop outside her house and literally ran to the front door, key in hand. She had to get to the bathroom in the next minute or she would wet herself. Too many celebratory cups of tea at work in anticipation of her promotion.

      She practically fell into the hallway and began hobbling towards the door at the far end, beyond which lay the lavatory and the relief she so desperately craved. She had taken only a few steps, however, when the phone on the hall table began to ring. Carol paused with a grunt of annoyance. "Not now," she complained. Dismissing the urge to answer it, she resumed her painful journey to the bathroom to satisfy a far more pressing urge. It would have to wait because she couldn't. Besides, the answering machine would kick in after the fourth ring.

      She was almost at the bathroom door when she realized that the phone had rung more than four times and the answering machine had not kicked in. "Oh for crap's sake," she gasped, tightly crossing her legs as she considered what to do. She could just leave it and let the caller ring back, but what if it was Mr. Drake, her boss from work?

      She had been interviewed by Drake and the Board of Directors that afternoon for the post of Section Manager, a job she really wanted - more money, better benefits. They had promised a prompt decision, but could they possibly have meant this prompt? Surely not. But what if they had?

      She gazed wistfully at the bathroom door, so near and yet so far, and cursed loudly. If she let it ring until the caller hung up, then she wouldn't know if it was him or not. Did it matter? Would the Board change its decision just because she wasn't at home to answer the telephone? Well, she had to admit that she had left work early, and it was possible that Drake had called her office and received no reply there. He wasn't the kind of man you just stood up, not when you were supposed to be busy working.

      The phone had rung seven times now...eight times. It was almost too late. She had to answer it. She could not risk offending Drake, not today of all days. Hobbling back towards the phone, she thrust a hand up her skirt and jammed it between her legs, pressing hard to maintain control of herself as she picked up the receiver. "Hel--hello?" said announced herself, doing her best to sound calm and collected.

      "Ah, Ms. Bernstein," the voice said. A male voice. Drake's voice. She thanked her lucky stars that she had decided to answer the phone after all, but now she had to stand here with a nearly-bursting bladder and talk to him. "This is Don Drake," he resumed unneccessarily.

      "Mr. Drake," she replied, smiling a friendly smile even though Drake could not actually see her. "Is something wrong sir?" Of course, she wanted to hear him say that nothing was wrong; quite the contrary in fact, that she had been given the promotion. Instead, Drake said,

      "I tried your office but your secretary said you had left for the afternoon."

      "Oh, yes sir. S-sorry about that. I had a dental appointment."

      "I see," Drake said, and paused. "Are you all right, Ms. Bernstein?"

      "Oh yes, I'm fine sir." I'm just breaking my neck for a piss and you're making me stand here trying to hold it!

      "Good," Drake said, and then he paused again.

      Carol stood there hopping from foot to foot, bending and straightening her torso as she struggled to resist the incredibly powerful urge to empty her throbbing bladder. She really didn't want to pee herself, not in her brand new two-peice suit she had bought especially for the interview. She'd even worn blue stockings and blue shoes to complete the ensemble, feeling every inch the professional woman while at the same time radiating femininity. Eight of the ten Board members were middle-aged men, after all, and she saw no reason not to play all her cards to get the promotion she so desperately wanted.

      Desperately wanted... All she desperately wanted right now was to reach the bathroom and pee!

      After what seemed an eternity, Drake spoke again. "I wanted to let you know...?" he began, then stopped as a voice in the background said something. She then heard Drake say in an irascible tone, then to her he said, "Sorry Carol. Can you hold on for a few moments?"

      "Um," Carol stammered, then added quickly, "Yes, of c-course sir." God, she hoped she could hold on.

      The line fell silent, and Carol began raising one knee and then the other, scissoring her legs as she muttered the incantation, "Gotta go. Gotta go. Gotta go."

      So why didn't she? She could probably go the bathroom and quickly relieve herself, then be back before Drake returned. She was so tempted to risk it, but what if he did come back sooner and no one answered? Besides, it wasn't going to be quick - her bladder was agonizingly full and it would probably take her a full minute to empty it.

      Did it really matter if she wasn't here when Drake came back on the line? Perhaps not, but it really didn't seem the thing to do, not under the circumstances. She changed her incantation to: "Come on, come on, come on." She went on scissoring her legs and bending her body in an attempt to ease the pressure, but it really wasn't helping.

      After a long painful minute of waiting had passed, however, Carol had been on the verge of running to the bathroom anyway when Drake's voice returned. "Carol? Are you still there?"

      "Still here," she said, her voice breaking slightly on the second syllable.

      "I'm sorry about this. Someone on the other line having a crisis. I really will be another minute. Probably less. Can you hold?"

      She wanted to scream no, she couldn't hold any longer. She was bursting for a pee and starting to leak into her panties. In another minute, she'd probably be pissing in her new, expensive skirt goddammit! But all she said was, "Yes sir. I'll hold."

      She paced back and forth along the hall as far as the telephone cord would allow, wishing that the cord were long enough to allow her to reach the toilet. Why hadn't she given them her cellphone number at work? At least then she could have sat on the toilet while she waited for Drake to give her the news. God, she couldn't keep this up much longer.

      She gasped as a spurt of pee shot into her panties, passing through the material as if it were not there and trickling down her thighs as far as the tops of her stockings. She pressed her thighs together, wiping away the moisture with her free hand. One more lapse like that and her resolve would give way. She had to control herself.

      "Ms. Bernstein?" Drake spoke again. "Carol?"

      "I'm here sir."

      "Ah, good. Sorry about the delay. I wanted to be the first to give you the good news. Based on my recommendation and your performance in the interview this afternoon, we've unanimously agreed to promote you to Section Manager."

      Another spurt, longer this time, almost unstoppable. But somehow she did manage to stop it. She could do nothing about the wetness spreading down her thighs this time though; there was just too much of it! She was wetting herself!

      Realizing that she ought to have said something before now, she tried to focus her mind on the conversation. She stuttered, "Oh, t-that's w-wonderful, sir. I...I um...thank you very m-much."

      "Are you all right Carol?" Drake asked her again. "You sound very tense. Anyone would think I had just delivered bad news instead of good."

      Without pausing to think of an alternative excuse for her behavior, Carol blurted out, "It's not that, sir. It's just that...oh, I'm desperate for the little girl's room."

      Drake paused briefly, then said in an almost jocular tone, "I see. Caught you at a bad moment. Pressing business and all that."

      "Um, well, y-yes sir. Very pressing."

      "Then I suppose I ought to let you go," Drake said.

      Despite her panic as more pee seeped into her panties and began its journey down her wiggling thighs, Carol thought she caught a note of reluctance in Drake's tone. She decided to bring the conversation to a close before she totally lost control and made a huge puddle on the hall carpet. "I would appreciate it, sir."

      "Does this sort of thing happen to you often?" Drake asked next, sounding almost wistful now.

      What the hell kind of question was that for him to be asking her? Aloud, she stammered, "N-no, n-not often."

      "Pity," Drake observed. "Perhaps we can talk about that," he added. "Soon."

      "Talk ab-about w-what? Oh!"

      "Oh, don't worry about it now. We'll discuss it next week some time." He paused yet again, much to Carol's immense frustration. He knew she was frantic to use the toilet, and yet he was still keeping her on the phone, delaying her as if...as if he actually wanted her to wet herself.

      She was dimnly aware of him saying something more, but she wasn't really listening. She couldn't concentrate. besides, she had the promotion, that was all that really mattered. What mattered now was sitting on the toilet and enjoying a long, glorious piss, relieving the pressure on her excruciatingly-full bladder.

      She considered just putting the phone down and pretending later that they had been cut off, but she really didn't think she could risk it. She pursed her lips and gasped through her nose, trying to suppress the sound as much as possible so that Drake would not hear. God, she would have given anything to just run to the bathroom, pulling her panties down on the way to minimise the delay once she got there.

      Instead, she simply went on standing there, her muslces giving way and letting still more piss shoot through her panties and began wriggling its way down her legs.

      "Well, I suppose I'd better let you go," Drake said finally.

      Standing there with pee streaming down her legs and collecting in her shoes, Carol bit her tongue. Let her go? She had already been forced to go, and she was fully aware that Drake had done his best to make it happen.

      Holding up her skirt to keep it dry, even though there was already a wet patch on the front of it, Carol surrendered to the inevitable and relaxed her tortured bladder muslces. Pee poured down her legs in a torrent. A strangled sigh of relief escaped her, and Drake heard it because he remarked, "Feels good, doesn't it?"

      "What?" she snapped, unable to suppress a sudden surge of anger.

      "We'll talk," Drake repeated calmly. "Soon."

      Then he hung up, leaving her standing there with the phone still in her hand, peeing like a racehorse, her body sagging as she relaxed. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the relief it brought.

      Later, as she soaked in the bath and her new skirt soaked in the hand basin to prevent it staining, she wondered just what was going to be entailed in this promotion? She would be working more closely with Drake, and judging by his behavior this afternoon, that might be a mixed blessing. Wondering what had fascinated him so about her desperate predicament out there in the hallway, she made up her mind to have that conversation with him next week. She wanted to know more. She wanted to know what he had in mind for their future working relationship, and was it going to involve that kind of humiliation happening again? She suspected it might. Oh yes, they needed to talk all right.