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Investigative Hold Up


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[This is an unoriginal short-story that I edited under my own discretion, to the point that it barely resembles the original. Also, this is the first fictional story I've written and posted. I'd appreciate constructive comments and general proof-reading.]

It was around 5:15 PM when I responded to a report on the net, a suspected commercial burglary on the outskirts of the financial district. I was the first detective on the scene, and made my way to the second floor office. The office door was intact, and there were no signs of an armed struggle. Some faint grating sounds were coming from one of the rooms in the back, so I went to see what it was. Inside one of the smaller offices was a young woman in business attire (white blouse and black pencil skirt) gagged and blindfolded with some cloth and tied to a chair: her arms tied behind the chair and her legs tied apart also to the chair legs. Her skirt had ridden up, revealing a pair of shapely legs in beige nylon thigh highs. She was writhing in the chair and struggling against rope, causing the chair to move a rub against the wooden floor. Hearing me enter the room, I heard her muffled voice through the gag she as seemed to be screaming or yelling for me.

I hurriedly removed the blindfold and I identified myself. Her eyes and body relaxed, but she did not stop wriggling in the chair. Standing right next to her, I could see signs of crying: red eyes, wet cheeks. I checked her over for visible injuries, but thankfully she was unharmed. Her arms had been pushed into place through the bars of the chair frame and then tied, causing her to sit upright. I stepped out to report to the precinct on the radio. CSI teams were already enroute, and I was just told to secure the scene, or as the CSI techs were wont to say, "Don't touch a damn thing with them booger hooks!" This meant that I couldn't untie the woman from the chair, but I could a least remove the gag. I untied the cloth and took out the handkerchief which had been stuffed in her jaw.

"It's going to be alright, the precinct is sending some guys over. What's your name?" I asked.

"I'm Katlyn..." she coughed out in a hoarse voice. "Please... I need some water."

I went to the waiting room and got a cup of water. Even though I carefully tipped the cup into her mouth, she greedily slurped it, causing some of the water to run down her neck. Katlyn didn't appear to mind in the least, and took some deep breaths after finishing the cup in one go.

"C...could you please untie me? I really, really have to go to the bathroom!" she said, her voice carrying a noticeable whine.

"I'm sorry, Katlyn, I can't," I said apologetically. "The CSI team needs this place untouched. They'll probably yell at me just for removing the gag."

Her eyes watered and her face trembled a little. I sympathized with her: relief, which has seemed so close, was now so far.

"They'll be here in a short while, just hold on 'til them, " I consoled her.

"O-ok," Katlyn replied in a shaky voice. "Can you help distract me? Take my mind off of...?" her voice trailed off and she give a pronounced wiggle.

I leaned against the wall near the door and pulled out my pad to take notes as I started to ask Katlyn some background questions. She had arrived to open the office at 8:15 AM, and works in this back office (officially the "junior office").  Suddenly she broke off mid-sentence in a gasp. Her legs were tensed against the rope, in a futile effort to press against each other. I discreetly admired the firmness of her thighs. She raised herself her hips a fraction of an inch, and I was able to see her panties: white cotton, embroidered lace pattern. And a small yellow stain.

"Oh my god, I can't remember the last time I had to go this badly! I'm sorry, I'm so close to..." she check herself and stopped talking abruptly, as her face flushed red. Apparently, she was raised in a family with a strict taboo on toilet matters.

"It's not long now, Katlyn, just keep holding on," I encouraged her. "Tell me about the burglary."

Some time before her noon lunch break (the last time she checked the clock was 10:40 or thereabouts), three men in black balaclavas, dark jackets, and wielding guns walked into the office. At the time, she had been at the reception desk, and the first person the burglars dealt with. She was forced to the floor, tied up, and gagged (not too roughly, and not exactly smoothly, but in an expertly and practiced manner, she described. As she lay there helplessly, she heard some shouting but no gun shots. Then she was blindfolded, taken into the back office and tied to the chair. She didn't even know if the two others in office, a Mr. Jefferson and Mrs. Seonce, were alive or dead. I informed that they should be alive as there were no dead bodies in the office. However, this piece of news was far and away from comforting her in the present: her body was now twisting slightly left and right.

"You've been here some 6 or so hours then..." I said calculated aloud.

"Oh it's been that long?" she asked. A shaky, nervous giggle came out of her. "All I can think about is that, I haven't been to the restroom since opening up. I knew I should've taken a little break. But I always put off going..."

A somewhat awkward (and, in my opinion, lengthy) silence followed. I coughed and said off-handly, "I know a few people that are like that. I suppose they, and you," I nodded to her, "take their work seriously. Taking a break is... breaking one's concentration. Personally, you should cut yourself some slack."

"That makes sense," Katlyn replied. I could see by the way her eyes rolled to the corners that she was being thoughtful. Or, more likely, thinking intently about one thing and not thinking about another matter. "So, err... are they coming anytime soon?"

"They are taking a while. Let me check." I stepped out of the room. I couldn't get through to the CSI team directly, but dispatch said said they were likely caught up in the evening home-bound rush hour traffic.

Coming back inside, I saw Katlyn with her head down and moving her hips in a circular motion. She looked up, and fresh tears were streaking down her face.

"O-officer? You really can't untie me?" she asked desperately. The whine in her voice was clear and distinct now. I shook my head.

"Believe me, I would if I could, honey."

She raised her head, looking up towards and blew several intense sighs of frustration.

Still staring at the ceiling, she asked in a cracked voice, "C-can you lift up my skirt?"

I hadn't been expecting such a question, but it was obvious the poor girl was at her wit's end. The fact that she dared to ask this was proof of the seriousness of her desperation. Katlyn couldn't even look at me, which also spoke strongly of her embarrassment. I silently regarded her, and now my, predicament.

Her eyes had closed, tightly by the furrowing of her brow. "P-please officer. I-I'm going to the b-bathroom in my underwear, and I just - I don't want to soil my clothing..." she pleaded aloud.

"Fucking hell..." I muttered, scratching the back of my neck as I walked over to her. This was going to be an HR disaster. She didn't open her eyes, either to keep her concentration on holding herself, or because it was easier to not watch something so deeply humiliating. Or both.

As I knelt down beside her, I became aware of an interesting scent: the faint sweetness of her perfume, the mustyness of her sweat, and the sharpness of urine. Taking a firm hold of the edge of skirt from around her mid-thigh, I lifted it up an inch or two slowly, until it stopped. I noticed some freckles, and possibly a birthmark, on her right thigh through the thigh high. Next, I fingered the waistline of the skirt, which caused Katlyn to shudder, probably from hyper sensitivity to pressure around her abdomen. I tugged the waist up gently, until the edge of her skirt was up to her waist, revealing her white cotton panties (as well as a black and white design). Apparently there was a noticeable reduction of pressure, as I saw a very slight smoothening of her brow.

The lower half of her body was fully visible. Beneath the beige thigh highs were impression lines from the pressure of the rope. Through her thigh gap, I was able to see a quarter-sized pee stain on her crotch, just below the panty design, I could also see a puddle pooling underneath her. I felt veritable pity for Katlyn, being forced to wet herself as an adult in view of another adult, as well as a sense of guilt. As I watched, the puddle grew, swelling under her the tops of her thigh highs. Katlyn's body shuddered, and she bit her lip.

"I-I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I can't... please, don't look..." she whimpered.

I was unable to look away out of some strange sense of morbid interest. Katlyn exhaled and inhaled sharply and rapidly, twisted her shoulders and rocked her body forward and backward on the chair in a last ferocious attempt to break the rope as she finally lost control. She sobbed silently, but the creases on her face smoothened as the tension released. Urine welled up on the seat of the chair and then spilled over the top, pouring onto the floor and winding down Katlyn's legs. Relief visibly spread through her body as she slowly stopped writhing about on the chair. Her breathing also became slower, turning into deep breaths that made her chest rise and fall dramatically.

It was quite a sight to behold honestly, but at that time the CSI team came stomping through the front door of the office. Katlyn, in some kind of cathartic trance (and probably exhausted from the energy spent holding herself for some 6+ hours), was barely aware of their presence. As I went to give my report to the CSI team leader, I could hear one of them calling out. "We need some paper towels over here, the girl had a bit of an accident." Of course, I was given some trouble for "a dirty scene," but I was quick to remind CSI who exactly arrived almost a half hour late, which shut them up rather quickly. I heard a muttered comment about "putting the witness in diapers next time," but I resisted the urge to deign that with a response. Which was an interesting observation about myself: I don't usually get this protective of witnesses.

I was going to head back to the precinct and get started on the paperwork for this mess, but the apparently Katlyn has requested that she wanted to stay with me. Since her skirt was dry, she was able to move around without being as self-conscious as if she had wet her clothing. It was somewhat distracting, since I was wondering if she was still wearing the stained cotton white panties or nothing at all beneath her skirt. I ended up keeping her company in the ambulance, where she wrapped herself in a blanket and sipped on some coffee. When she was being escorted to the precinct for some questions by some other guys in the Commercial Crimes Division, she said that she was extremely grateful for my help, and would seriously consider "cutting herself some slack" next time.

Edited by razel (see edit history)
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3 likes and a positive comment, not too bad of a start.

To be honest I felt rushed towards the end, especially because I changed the story so much from original that copy-pasting the end was simply out of the question. Even the title is generic, because I couldn't think of a name besides "something that would show in a back search." Anyway, reading this over for the 100th time already, I think there's an unresolved tension between the two characters, something I've often seen in fiction, and now I can finally do something about it.

WIthin the next 7 days, there should be a sort of sequel, or more accurately a finale.

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