"Oh shit! No-no-no!" Sue shouted as red and blue lights began pulsing in her rear-view mirror. "Oh not now, for God's sake!"

      She knew she had been speeding, doing nearly fifty in a thirty-mile-an-hour limit, but she didn't have much choice. She was in a desperate hurry to get home. She was nursing a bladder full of piss, and if she didn't release it in the next couple of minutes her jeans were going to get drenched from crotch to ankles.

      Issuing a series of frustrated gasps, Sue pressed a hand to her crotch as she watched the motorcycle cop dismount and stand beside his bike removing his cloves, taking his time. After what felt to Sue like an eternity, he finally started towards her car. She watched his languid approach in her side mirror, longing to shout out at him, "Don't you have something better to do, like eating doughnuts?" She rubbed herself hard in anticipation of having to remove her hand in a few seconds and relying solely on her already fatigued muscles to maintain control.

      "Do you know why I pulled you over?" came his opening gambit. Well, she thought, let me see. Maybe it was because you were tired of jacking-off in some alley and needed a real-live female to irritate.

      Aloud, she said, "Yes. I was speeding. But I--?"

      "You were, in fact, doing 51 in a 30-mile-an-hour zone."

      I know, but I'm really in a hurry."

      "Who isn't," the cop observed nonchalantly, turning the pages on his pad with excruciating slowness. Sue wanted to just scream at him to hurry up. "Let me see your licence and proof of insurance."

      "Listen," Sue answered, her tone earnest. "I was going so fast because I am seriously in need of a bathroom." She began banging her knees together to make the point and saw the cop watching her do it.

      "Licence and proof of insurance," he repeated pedantically.

      "Okay, okay," Sue agreed, aware that she was sounding testy.

      She picked up her purse from the passenger's seat and began riffling through the contents. There was so much stuff crammed in there that it had become almost impossible to find anything, especially when one was in a hurry.

      After a tense fifteen seconds, she managed to find her driving licence and handed it over. The cop began inspecting it while she went on searching for her proof of insurance. Where the hell was it? It had to be here!

      Sue examined the contents of the purse twice, then finally in desperation she emptied them out onto the seat and began spreading them out with her right hand. She groaned aloud as a bladder spasm made her inner spinchter relax in an effort to release her pee, leaving only the outer sphincter to staunch the flow. Without thinking, she replaced her left hand between her legs and pressed on her groin as hard as she could. Then, suddenly remembering the cop, she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

      "Listen," she said, "I can't find my insurance stuff. I must have left it at home. I live just down there, on the other side of the next intersection. If you'll follow me, I'll go and get it and show it to you. But before I do, you have to let me go to the bathroom. I'm about to pee in my pants."

      With a single shake of his head, the cop took a step back and unbuttoned the flap on his holster. "Please step out of he vehicle, ma'am," he instructed her.

      "Oh no, please. I can't," Sue began to protest, rocking back and forth in her seat now and banging her knees together with greater violence.

      "Step out of the vehicle, ma'am," the cop repeated with far greater officiousness. No please this time. Sue saw him lift the flap of the holster and rest his palm on the butt of his gun. The bastard meant it. She would have to get out.

      She released her safety belt and pulled on the door handle. She planted her feet on the road and braced herself for what was to come. As she tried to stand up, she felt a jet of pee gushed out into her panties. She bent forward, crossing her legs and squeezing her thighs together. It stopped, but even the slightest jolt would start her wetting herself again.

      "Oh no," she whimpered, her face so hot that it must be crimson. "Please, I...oh," she said incoherently.

      Unmoved by her predicament, the cop said, "I want you to turn around and place your hands on the roof of the vehicle."

      "Please," Sue whined again. "I'm peeing in my pants."

      "Put your hands on the roof," the cop reiterated.

      Keeping her legs crossed, Sue turned herself on the sole of one foot and placed her hands on the roof as instructed, at the same time sticking her bottom out to help take some of the unbearable pressure off her badly distressed bladder.

      She heard the cop step closer, and a moment later he was snapping one braclet of a pair of handcuffs around her right wrist.

      "What the hell are you doing?" Sue demanded indignantly, momentarily ignoring the frantic pleas for her bladder to allow it relief. "I'm not a criminal."

      Wordlessly, the cop seized her left wrist and pulled it behind her, deftly closing the other bracelet around it. Sue couldn't believe what was happening to her: She was standing on the side of the road, her arms locked behind her, and with her bladder about to explode with all the force of a nuclear bomb. Why couldn't this asshole understand that she was absolutely bursting to go to the bathroom? How could he do this to her knowing how desperate she was to pee? It was inhumane!

      Thinking that she would report him, Sue half turned to try to get a look at the man's badge number, but he immediately grabbed her shoulders and made her face the car.

      It was an impossible situation. Beyond caring about being embarrassed now, Sue began to hop from foot to foot, doing a frantic pee dance in a last desperate bid to keep control of her tortured bladder. "Stand still, please ma'am," the cop ordered.

      Sue couldn't believe it. "I can't stand still," she snapped at him. "I've told you I need to go to the bathroom, but you woudn't listen."

      "I said stand--?"

      "Are you fucking deaf?" Sue yelled angrily. "How can I stand still when I'm bursting for a piss?"

      Without another word to her, the cop lifted the raio on his lapel and spoke his callsign into the microphone. When dispatch answered, her said, "I need a patrol car at the corner of 5th and Magnolia. One to transport for resisting arrest."

      "What?" Sue positively shrieked. What was this bastard playing at? He was arresting her for not having her insurance papers with her? Or for swearing at him? Either way, he was behaving like a complete asshole, and she would sue to fucking police department for everything they had.

      A fresh surge of pressure in her abdomen made her gasp and dance even harder, raising her right knee up level with her hip, then placing that foot on the ground and raising the left knee. She was on the verge of losing it, and she knew it. The cop was going to make her stand here until the patrol car turned up, probably five or ten minutes, maybe even longer. And then there was the ride to the station. There was absolutely no way she was going to be able to hold it that long.

      Despite doing everything she could to wait, and ignoring several more warnings from the cop to keep still, Sue felt a trickle of pee leaking into her panties. She struggled with every once of her strength to plug the leak, but it was no good; her muscles were too tired to keep all that pee in any longer. Still, she could not bring herself to just let it go, as badly as she needed the relief that would bring. Her bladder felt so heavy inside her, as if it had stretched enough to contain a gallon, even though she knew it couldn't really be much more than a couple of pints.

      She fought on for another two minutes, bouncing and curtseying, wiggling her knees back and forth in a rapid scissoring motion, and bending over forward with her knees pressed together so hard she could almost feel the bones grating. Whatever she did, the trickle continued, gradually gathering strength until, finally, she could feel it traveling down her inner thighs.

      She looked down and saw the tell-tale streaks of wet on the legs of her jeans, and watching in morbid fascination as they spread down towards her trembling knees. She could also feel the wetness gathering around her crotch and spreading across her butt. She had fought so hard and lost.

      In despair, she finally relaxed her sphincter and let go. The warmth flooded her jeans and the demin turned dark as her pee flooded down her legs. She watched it run down the tops of her feet and spill over the edges of her sandles, wriggling away across the blacktop as she went on peeing and peeing and peeing.

      When, at last, the torrent eased to a trickle and then ceased altogether, Sue straightened up and stood there with eyes closed, refusing to acknowledge any passersby who had seen her accident. She would rather not know who they were, especially since they were likely to be her neighbors and would know her.

      She had become so lost in her introspective humiliation that she started when she felt the cop take hold of her left wrist. She tried to look round but again he turned her away. She felt the left braclet release, and a moment later the right. She was free.

      She brought her hands round to her front and began massarging her wrists. Turning to look at the cop now, she noticed immediately the bulge in the front of his pants. When she met his gaze, he gave her a fleeting smile as he said, "I've decided to let you off this time. Just watch your speed in future."

      "What? B--but what about the car? What will they say?"

      "There is no car," the cop told her, and without a backward glance, returned to his motorcycle, mounted it, started the engine, performed a one-eighty and drove away, leaving her standing there with wet jeans and a red face.

      "Bastard," Sue muttered as she watched him ride away, then climbed back into her car and slowly drove the last few hundred yards home. After all, there was no need to hurry now.