Vickie sighed as she checked the time left on the digital player. There was still another fifteen minutes of dictation to complete. At the speed she typed, that translated into another half an hour of work to transcribe tit all. Who would have thought there could be so much to say about installing electrical wires and junction boxes and fuses. The document just kept getting longer and longer. The human race is, she decided, quite insane.

      It was already after five and she was supposed to be going out tonight, but she knew she would have to finish it before leaving for the day. Just as irritating was that she needed to pee - more wasted time. She would never get home in time to get ready before Owen came at six to collect her for dinner. But that was the trouble with these one-man businesses; the proprietor was always too invested in his little company and expected his staff -- which is to say her -- to be invested in it too. Considering what Bob Wilson, the sole owner of Wilson Electrical, paid her, that was a joke. Still, she needed the money, little as it was.

      Crossing her legs and shifting her bottom around on her chair, she made herself as comfortable as she could, set the player going again and resumed typing. The next time she glanced up at the clock it was twenty minutes before six, and she still had another five minutes of dictation to get through. At least it was almost done; then she could visit the bathroom for a much needed pee before going home. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, swinging her foot back and forth to help her hold on a few more minutes until she had finished the transcription.

      She wondered where Wilson had got to; she hadn't seen him for the past hour. Was he even here? He'd better be, she thought, or I'm going to give notice.

      The clock read twelve minutes to six when she finished typing. She released a pent-up sigh and got up from her desk, her first priority to visit the toilet and relieve herself. Except, it wasn't quite, was it. She needed to call Owen to tell him she was going to be late and stop him turning up at her apartment to find her absent. If she didn't call now, she might miss him, and she knew he seldom remembered to switch on his cellphone in the car. She bent her right knee and involuntarily pushing a hand against the front of her short denim skirt; surely she could wait just another few minutes.

      She picked up the phone and extended her index finger to key in Owen's number, then stopped. The line was already live. A voice she didn't recognize was speaking, talking about a shipment coming in that evening, and was Bob ready to receive it. Bob's voice answered, telling the other party that he needn't worry; that the premises would be empty and that no one would see what was going on.

      Vickie couldn't believe what she was hearing. Bob was engaging in some kind of illegal deal. He'd always seemed so honest and forthright. She heard herself give a little involuntary gasp of surprise. The unknown voice, which had just started negotiating a price, stopped speaking suddenly. After a short pause, it demanded sharply, "What was that? Is there someone else on the line?"

      "Someone else?" Bob said. "No, I don't think so. At least..." He let this thought trail off, then added, "Hang up. I'll call you back in a few minutes."

      The line went dead.

      Vickie replaced the handset and stood staring at it for a moment. She hadn't liked the tone of Bob's voice just before he hung up. There had been a mixture of fear and anger, and he was likely to take it out on her. But where was he? It would, she decided, be wise to leave before he came looking for her. Let him have the weekend to cool off.

      Vickie winced and lifted her right knee, then straightened her leg to tap the heel of her shoe on the floor. She really needed to pee, but if she went to the loo, Bob might come back before she could get out of the building. She didn't relish the idea of dying for a pee on the bus ride home, but she really didn't see that she had any choice.

      She picked up her handbag and headed for the door. Before she reached it, however, Bob appeared in the opening and blocked her path. "Why were you listening in?" he demanded without preamble, his tone sharp.

      "I wasn't," Vickie replied. "I was just going to make a call to my boyfriend to say I would be late."

      "And why exactly are you here so late Vickie?"

      She stared at him in confusion. "You asked me to finish all the dictation before I left today. There was a lot of it, so I--?"

      So," he interrupted her explanation, "you know."

      "Know what?"

      "Don't feign ignorance," Bob said impatiently. "You heard about our arrangement for tonight."

      "Well, a little," Vickie admitted reluctantly. "But I didn't really understand what you were talking about."

      "Don't be silly, love," Bob said, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You know bloody well what's going on."

      "It doesn't matter," Vickie said, changing tack. "Not to me. It's none of my business what you do."

      "I see. So you're not planning on informing the law then?"

      "Of course not."

      Bob took a deep sigh, making his broad shoulders rise and fall and reminding Vickie just how big and powerful he was. "Trouble is, Vickie, how can I be sure of that? How do I know you wouldn't just tell me what I want to hear so that I'll let you out of here, and then you go and call the police."

      "I wouldn't do that to you Bob. You must know that?"

      "But I don't know that, do I." Vickie remained silent, realizing that she could easily make matters worse for herself. She waited to see what Bob would do next, all the while shifting her weight from foot to foot, desperately trying not to break into a full-blown pee dance.

      Making up his mind, Bob entered the room and advanced on her. "I can'r risk it," he said, taking hold of her wrist.

      "Let go," Vickie objected, trying to pull away. Bob's grip was too powerful, however, and after a few seconds she gave up the struggle and asked, "What are you going to do to me?"

      "I'm going to keep you on ice until this evening's business transaction is over, then we'll see."

      "Bob, I promise I won't say anything," Vickie declared, her voice suddenly uneven and panicky.

      "I hope that's true, Vickie," he said. "But I'm not going to risk everything on your word. Tonight's deal is too big and too important. If it goes wrong...?"

      He let that trail off and began looking around the office. Vickie could see he was wondering what to do with her. He was, she guessed, looking for somewhere to lock her up, except none of the rooms had locking doors as far as she was aware. Feeling a sharp stab of pain as her bladder contracted in an attempt to void, she crossed her legs and said, "Can I go to the loo?"

      "What?" Bob answered abstractedly.

      "I need the loo," Vickie reiterated. "Urgently."

      "I'm not letting you out of my sight," he replied, clearly still distracted by his attempts to find a solution to the problem of his secretary being in possession of dangerous knowledge.

      "I can't get out of the loo without you seeing me," Vickie went on trying to persuade him to let her empty her aching bladder. "There's no window for a start. Please let me go. I'm really desperate."

      Suddenly, like clouds parting to let in the sun, Bob's expression cleared. He began dragging her towards the stairs leading down to the warehouse below. Vickie realized that he probably had not heard a word she said. "Bob, please. I'm dying for the loo." "Sorry," he said as he pulled her through the swing doors and began dragging her down the stairs, "I don't have time to mess about. They'll be here soon."

      "But I have to go," Vickie pleaded, trying to break free of his hold again.

      "If you don't stop struggling, I'll put you over my shoulder. Now come on!"

      Vickie imagined the terrible pressure on her bladder if Bob picked her up in a fireman's lift. His shoulder would dig into her abdomen while her own weight would squash her full bladder. She didn't think she could maintain control if that happened, so she did as she was bade and gave up trying to resist.

      Bob led her across the section of the warehouse he rented for his business and into a workshop-cum-garage where a part-time mechanic came in one every couple of weeks to service the company's three-strong fleet of vans. He opened a locker and rummaged around inside, and to Vickie's horror, produced a set of handcuffs. "Right, sit on the floor," he instructed her. "Over here. Come on. I don't have all day."

      "Oh no. Please don't," she begged, but Bob ignored her.

      He forced her down onto the floor and pulled her arms around one of the workbench legs. She felt him click the braclets shut around her wrists, closing them until they were too tight for her to wriggle free, but not tight enough to cut off her circulation.

      "Sorry about this," he said as he straightened up and stood over her, "but I can't take any chances. Not tonight."

      "You can't leave me like this," Vickie protested. "What am I going to do about the loo? I really have to go."

      "Sorry," Bob repeated. "You'll have to wait."

      "How long for?"

      "I don't know. Til we're finished."

      Vickie crossed her legs and shifted uncomfortably. "I can't wait a long time Bob. Can't you just let me go now? Please?"

      Bob hesitated, and even took a step forward, his hand moving to the pocket where he had stowed the key to the handcuffs. Vickie felt a sudden surge of anticipation which made her desire to pee even more acute. But then a car pulled up outside the garage doors and its engine fell silent. Bob went over to the window and peered out. "They're here."

      Bob rushed back across the garage, making for the exit into the warehouse. "What about me?" Vickie shouted after him.

      He stopped and turned back to face her. "You need to be quiet," he warned.

      "What I need is the toilet."

      "There isn't time. I have to deal with these people now."

      "If you don't let me go, I'll have to pee all over the floor. Do you want that?"

      Bob approached her again, but instead of freeing as she hoped he might, he began searching for something on the benchtop. A moment later, he stooped down beside her with a roll of yellow sticky tape in his hand. "If you won't stay quiet, then I'll have to make you," he informed her in a whisper as he unwound the roll and tore off a strip of tape.

      "Bob, please. For God's sake let me go to the loo. I'm almost bursting!"

      Without further response, Bob pressed the strip of tape over her mouth, then peeled off a second strip and added that to the first. "I'll com,e back and deal with you as soon as I can. In the meantime, just sit still and be quiet."

      Vickie made a muffled remark through the tape, but it was completely unintelligible. Grunting in distress, she bent her right leg and pressing her thighs together as she rocked back and forth. How can I sit still, she tried to convey, when my bladder was ready to explode? But Bob ignored her and departed into the warehouse, closing the door behind him.

      Vickie bent her knee still further as she sat there wrestling with the braclets securing her wrists. They were clamped tightly above the wrist bones and offered no hope of escape. She could not even work the chain of the handcuffs beneath the table leg to achieve at least partial liberation since a cross-support prevented that maneuvre. Basically, she was trapped, unable to get up and unable to get to a toilet, while her bladder achied abominably. The pain was absolutely killing her.

      How much longer could she bear the pressure on her tiring sphincter? How long would Bob be before coming back to release her from her bondage?

      Wriggling around in a last frantic effort to keep from wetting herself, Vickie finally accepted that however long Bob took, it was going to be too long. There was absolutely no way she would emerge from this situation with dry clothes.

      She was still deliberating on what to do when her dilemma solved itself. Her bladder gave a particularly violent contraction and she started to wet her knickers. She made a fleeting attempt to hold on, but now she had started to leak, the urge to continue peeing was intense and virtually irrisistible.

      She relaxed her muscles and the pee poured out of her in a torrent, soaking into the front and back panels of her skirt until hardly a square-inch of demin remained dry. A faintly-yellow tide streamed beneath her legs and spread out across the concrete floor. Here and there, little rivulets followed cracks in the concrete, so that in a few places, Vickie's pee managed to travel up to ten feet away from where she sat. She watched almost in awe at how much liquid had poured out of her. She really had been incredibly desperate to go.

      Now she simply had to sit there, wet and uncomfortable, until Bob returned. She only hoped he would not be annoyed at the mess she had been forced to make of his warehouse floor.