It had been a typical party - too many people in a house that lacked the necessary facilities to cope with them. Three times during the evening I'd tried to visit the ladies room, but every attempt was greeted by a longer line of fidgeting women all waiting to pee.

      I had been looking forward to the party, and had dressed myself in my white dress and heels, garter belt and white stockings, hoping the evening would turn out to be... interesting. Instead, it had merely been dull, and when I finally accepted that I would find no relief for my aching bladder until I left, I decided to go home early.

      As I stepped into the cool night air, my desire to pee sharply increased. Gasping with the shock of suddenly needing to go so badly, I hurried to my car. It was about a twenty-minute drive to my house, but I felt confident that I would make it if I didn't hang around.

      That had been my mistake. In my haste to reach home and the bathroom, I began speeding. Half way there, blue and red lights flared into life in my rearview mirror.

      "Oh no. Not now," I moaned as I pulled over, clenching my thighs together as I waited for the cop. He took his time sauntering over to my window. "Good evening, officer," I greeted him pleasantly, trying to keep the shake out of my voice as I fought another surge of desperation.

      "You know why I stopped you, ma'am?"

      "Um, yes, I was going a little fast."

      "Fifteen miles over the limit, to be exact."

      "Really? That much?"

      "What's the hurry?"

      "I...um," I began, then stopped. I didn't see why I should have to explain myself.

      The cop seemed to interpret my reluctance as an indication that I was hiding something. Resting a hand on the open window frame, he leaned in close and said, "Can I see your license and registration."

      "Of course," I said, before remembering that I'd left my purse at home to avoid the risk of having it stolen. "Oh," I added after a pause. "Actually, I don't have my documents with me. You see, I--"

      "Have you been drinking, ma'am?"

      I considered lying, then thought better of it. "A little, yes. But--?"

      "Please step out of the car," he ordered, his tone suddenly authoritative.

      I swallowed. "You want me to get out?" I asked, praying he would say no, it was all just a mistake.

      He nodded. "Keep your hands where I can see them."

      "Oooh," I gasped quietly, fighting to maintain control of my bulging bladder with muscles that suddenly felt very weak. I stalled for a few seconds, then saw his hand go to the butt of his firearm. I carefully opened the door and swung my legs out, rising stiffly to a standing position. My muscles knotted in my abdomen. God, I was so desperate. I tried not to think about how I would be almost home now if I hadn't been pulled over.

      I felt very self-conscious, dressed the way I was, and noticed the cop give me a quick appraising look. "Face the car and place your hands on the roof," he ordered.

      "Is this really necessary?"

      "Do I need to repeat that instruction?" he asked, his hand straying to the butt of his firearm again.

      "No," I said quickly and followed his instruction. He gripped my right arm, pulled it behind me and closed a cold metal bracelet around my wrist. "Wait," I gasped, my voice trembling. "I...I need to go to the bathroom. Please."

      Without giving any indication that he had heard me, the cop took hold of my left wrist and closed the other bracelet around it. I felt vulnerable, made to stand on the roadside in my short dress, handcuffed and bursting to pee with no prospect of immediate relief. What was I going to do?

      "I'm taking you in on suspicion of DUI," the cop explained as I began dancing from foot to foot and rubbing my thighs together. "You'll need to have a blood test. Do you understand what I'm explaining to you?"

      Of course I do, you mindless asshole.

      Aloud, I said, "Oh, look, I really need to go to the bathroom. Please let me do something about it before you drive me anywhere."

      "That wouldn't be appropriate, ma'am. You'll just have to wait until you get downtown."

      "Oooh! I can't wait that long. I really, really need to pee."

      "Don't make things worse for yourself by resisting arrest," he warned.

      "But I'm not resisting arrest. I'm just dying to pee. Oh! Please, I really am so desperate."

      Gripping my arm, the cop led me toward his cruiser. I hobbled along beside him, pleading with him, my voice shaking so badly now that my words were becoming indistinct. "P-p-please let me u-use a b-bathroom. Ooh! I really have to go."

      He didn't speak; he just kept marching me toward his car. Fueled by frustration, my anger flared. "Didn't you hear? I'm about to piss my pants!"

      "I told you, you'll have to hold it."

      "Noooo," I whined, on the very brink of peeing myself now.

      He opened the back door of the cruiser, placed a hand on top of my head and maneuvered me onto the rear seat. "Keeping me chained up like this is torture," I complained as he closed the door. "It can't be legal."

      "You can attend to your needs downtown," he repeated evenly as he lowered himself into the driver's seat.

      "But--"

      "We'll also caution you there, once we've established your identity."

      "My identity?"

      "You don't have any documents with you. We also need to establish that the vehicle you were driving hasn't been stolen."

      "Oh, for God's sake! This is insane! If you don't let me pee now, I'll have to do it all over your seat. You don't want that, do you?"

      "You'll be fine," he informed me calmly. Of course he was calm; he wasn't the one with the bursting bladder between his hips!

      I could see that he wasn't going to let me relieve myself, so I tightly crossed my legs and prayed I could somehow hold on until we arrived at the police station. I would have given anything to be able to grab my crotch, but with my hands locked behind my back, I couldn't reach. All I could do was rock back and forth, holding it... holding it.

      The minutes passed with agonizing slowness until I was certain my bladder would explode. I squirmed frantically, my knees banging into the back of the driver's seat. "Sit still," the cop ordered.

      I didn't bother to protest again. I just tried to concentrate on keeping my muscles taut, but I kept trying to remember how many drinks I'd had at the party: Two? Three? However many it was, they were really catching up with me now. Had somebody pricked my bladder with a pin at that moment, it would surely have burst like a balloon.

      I was so preoccupied with my desperation that I didn't even notice the cruiser leave the highway and enter a residential area. "Where are you taking me?" I finally asked when I realized what was happening.

      The cop pulled into the curb outside a darkened house, and stopped the engine. "What are you doing?" I demanded. "This isn't the police station. Where are we?"

      I saw the dark outline of his head turn as he looked round at me. "My home."

      "What?" I gasped as he climbed out of the car. A moment later, he opened the door to my left, reached in and dragged me out. He pressed a hand over my mouth, warning me to be quiet.

      What the hell was going on?

      He frog-marched me to the front door of the house, easily overpowering my attempts to break away. He jiggled a key into the lock, pushed me inside, and closed the door behind us. A light snapped on, and I blinked in the glare.

      Near to panic and right on the verge of wetting myself, I made a tense moaning noise as the cop turned me around and steered me along a short hallway. He led me through an open doorway at the end, and turned on this light too. It was a bathroom, and there, just a few feet in front of me, was a toilet. I could have screamed.

      He turned me back to face him, moved in close and, reaching around my body, grabbed my butt. His fingers closed like claws, squeezing me so hard that it sent a shock wave though my bladder. I started to pee as he pulled me harder against him, his erection ramming against my bloated abdomen. I started to pee.

      Alerted by the loud hissing sound, he shouted, "Hold it!"

      "I c-c-can't," I stammered, feeling warm pee running down my thighs and soaking into my stockings.

      "Hold it!" he ordered again.

      "Then stop squeezing me! You're making me go! Oh! Oh! God, I can't stop. I can't hold it anymore. Oh!"

      He chuckled then and squeezed my butt even harder, making my pee gushed out between my thighs with even greater force. It streamed down my legs and collected in my shoes, filling them before puddling on the floor around my feet.

      I tugged futilely at the handcuffs pinning my arms behind me, but there was no way to free myself. I could do nothing except stand there and continue to pee until my bladder was empty, and my dress, stockings and shoes were completely soaked.

      The cop slackened his grip on my butt. I sagged, and he lowered me down on the toilet, too late to do any good, of course.

      As I sat there letting the tension drain from my body and savoring the relief of an empty bladder, I dimly wondered what was going to happen next.