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female The Continence Mandate


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I thought to myself: "Forced female desperation is just the thing. If only there was a powerful organization that could make rules and then enforce them with near absolute authority. Oh. Right. There is. We call it 'the government'. Now, what if the people in charge all had a holding fetish to rival my own, and all just loved to see women bursting?"

This is also the reason why I love bes31's "The Piss Tax" so much. Simmilar concept, different execution.

 

 

I'm glad you guys like it. This was originally posted in a place with a much narrower focus group. It was reasonably well received, so I was interested in finding out how the idea would sit with a more general audience. As general as "a bunch of perverts" gets :wink:

Anyway, here's a bit more.

Nota bene:
- STRONG LANGUAGE
- EXPLICIT SEX SCENE
- OFFHAND REFERENCES TO SEXUAL EXPLOITATION

So if that upsets you... well... you know... there's a trigger warning right there. :tongue:

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The Continence Mandate: Jane's Re-Evaluation

 

Part 1: Inspection


Jane walked down the stairs and into the parking lot of her apartment complex with her head held high. A casual observer would have seen nothing but a confident young woman. Her heels clicked on the pavement, as she set one foot in front of the other in a very controlled, lady-like stride. No one could know what was going on inside of her. When she reached her car, the sun was setting, shining its almost vertical rays through her auburn hair. She unlocked the door, and slid into the driver's seat.

When she pulled out of the parking lot and continued onto the ringway, her legs were shaking, something she could allow herself in the relative privacy of her own vehicle. She steered the small sedan past the shopping center and onto the on-ramp. Traffic on the highway was light on a Saturday afternoon, and when the camera had identified the lane markings, the blue indicator on her dashboard came on. The flicked the switch, and a loud ping announced that the car was now driving itself. Now she was able to take both hands of the wheel, place them in her lap, and support her holding muscles with her fingers. She sighted, leaned back, and closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation. How nice. The computer knew where they were going, so there was no need to pay any attention to the road. She needed this short break to mentally and physically prepare for what would come next. 'Just an hour and a half”, she thought, 'and I'll finally be comfortable again!' Of course, another hard test was lying ahead of her, something that would need to be taken care of before she could enjoy the luxury of...

The insistent ringing of her phone brought her back to reality. She reluctantly opened her eyes and looked at the caller ID portrayed on the screen in the center console. One hand still firmly in her crotch, she used the other to take the call. “Hi Karen.” “Hi Sweetheart. Are you on your way already?” “Just about there.” “Well, I wish you luck. Let me go how the eval turns out.” “Will do. Listen, I need a moment to focus, so if you don't mind...” “No problem. Just call me afterwards, please. Bye!”

A few more minutes of relaxing followed. When the autopilot beeped loudly for the third time, Jane finally let go of her private parts, and took back manual control. If she hadn't, the car would have parked itself in the safety lane, instead of veering into less predictable traffic patterns without a human operator on watch. She got off the highway, turned right at the end of the off-ramp, and followed a side road into a middle-class neighborhood. Her destination was one of those small, bungalow-style houses that the university had set up as single dwellings, trying to attract skilled scientist on tenure track. The U's plans of becoming a major research center hadn't really worked out, and most of its housing had ended up on the free market, becoming very popular with more affluent singles, and childless couples. She pulled into a driveway and brought the car to a halt in front of a garage door, before shutting it down. One last squeeze, just a few more seconds of manual support. A sigh. No reasonable way to put it off any longer. Time to get out of her seat.

Jane used her passenger door window to check her appearance for the last time. Her face was acceptable, very light makeup, virtually no mascara, just a hint of naturally colored lipstick. Richard liked the natural look. No elaborate earrings either, just metal studs. Hair up, managed by a single tie. Her tank top was as plain as it got, white, midriff-baring and tight. Her toned stomach nicely on display. Her nipples pushed through the thin fabric in the cool evening breeze.

The skintight blue jeans accentuated her long, slender legs, easily her body's best feature. The lowcut waistband exposed just a hint of her hip bones on either side. She very much liked this part of her outfit, but it was not like she would have had the option to change her pants anyway. In fact, she hadn't been out of this particular pair in days.

Well, she wasn't a super model. She wished the had boobs to show off, or a butt to speak of, but this would have to do. She knew she was hot, and she had styled herself exactly to his likings.

Only one thing left to do. The bulge in her lower abdomen was showing. She slowly pulled her swollen bladder back in, using all her strength, until her belly was perfectly flat,like there wasn't a drop of fluid in her at all. Now, hold it there, hold it... Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she blinked them away.


The door was opened by the only man who could afford her relief. People usually imagine every Bladder Master to be a bald, overweight, old man with a nasty sadistic look. In contrast, Richard Bartosz was a skinny gentleman in his thirties, with black-rimmed glasses and an innocent expression.

“Bad Girl Jane Elvey reporting for inspection, sir.” He nodded and let her into his small, brightly lit kitchen, closing the door behind her without a word. Then he grabbed her by the shoulders, and pulled her in for a deep, passionate kiss. She melted into his arms while his tongue found its way into her mouth. After what must have been a minute, their lips separated. He hold her at arms length, and looked at her more affectionately than most would have considered proper. “Hey Babygirl.” “Good afternoon, sir.”

He smiled, then gestured towards the coat rack. “Why don't you hang up your jacket?” “My jacket? Oh. Yes.” Thankfully, the room wasn't too chilly. She pulled her top over her head, and hung it to a hook by its spaghetti straps. He studied her A-cup breasts. Just a handful, but what a nice handful they were. Two small hemispheres, perfectly firm, not the slightest amount of slouch, the tiny nipples rosy and slightly pointed upwards.

Standing there, in just her heels and skinny jeans, she raised her arms over her head and did a slow turn, presenting to him her 24-year-old body, shaped by a decade of gymnastics. He seemed to like what he saw. He had noticed the tremor in her legs, her sucked-in belly, the panicked look in her eyes. She was almost exploding. Her entire body screamed off her need for the toilet, and yet she managed to put on a smile and keep up her facade. 'Oh god' he thought. 'She's a hot mess. A desperate, piss-filled, bursting, trembling hot mess. But she's absolutely not allowed to show it.' The thought gave him a raging erection.

He closed his fist around her hair, and spun her around, using the ponytail for a handle. Then he roughly pushed her against the refrigerator, face first. He got as close to her as he could, pressing his groin into her butt, and ran his tongue up and down her neck, while his hands cupped her breasts. They both breathed heavily, and his tongue started playing with her earlobes, while his fingers explored her torso, wandered downwards, and tried to slip into her tight waistband. Then, suddenly, he pulled away. Jane turned around and looked at him inquiringly. She had fully expected his greeting to escalate further, like it usually did. But apparently he intended to go by the book this time.

“That's enough pleasantries. Time for your inspection. Assume the position, please.” She stood at ease, arms behind her back, legs shoulder width apart. Her breasts glistened in the light. He first palpated her abdomen. Pulled in tight, flat, and rock-hard. Just like it was supposed to be.

He ran his hands up and down her inner thighs, over her butt, her crotch, and between her legs. He was feeling her up, under the pretext of a continence inspection. Of course she was dry! The thin moisture sense wire, woven in between the cotton fibers of her jeans, would have detected a leak and triggered an alarm long before he could have noticed anything. But carrying out the inspection with utmost attention to detail was his right and duty as a bladder master. Jane had no say in this matter, anyway. When he ran his finger over her most interesting place for the third time, he could feel her lips contract through the light denim, clenching to control her urge. This was enough. He was only a man. He had to have her, now! He retrieved the small key from his kitchen cabinet, almost dropped it into the sink. Her belt buckle lock was a marvel of modern engineering. A combination of electronic and mechanical features, virtually unpickable, and resistant to anything short of an angle grinder. But he had the key. It clicked three times, then he yanked the belt out of the loops and threw it across the room. Jane didn't move, her arms still behind her back. He fumbled with the button, then the zipper, then he pulled on her jeans, but they wouldn't budge in this position. Wait, why was he making his life so difficult? “Jane, please remove your trousers. I want to inspect you dryness more closely.” That was, of course, well within his rights.

Even Jane had a bit of trouble pulling down her pants. They were tight on her hips, and the seam had buried itself deeply into her butt crack. The stiffness of her legs didn't help either, and her shoes now had to come off, too. She wiggled out of the garment, carefully peeled the fabric from her left leg, stepped out of it, then the right leg. Focus and don't lose it. Don't acknowledge your pain. Fresh air was hitting her lower body. Her genitals breathed for the first time in days. She put the jeans away to one side and stood in front of Richard, naked.


He only allowed himself to admire her neat hairless pussy for a second or two. Then the regular inspection routine was over. Jane felt herself grabbed around her small waist and heaved onto the kitchen table. She flinched, the tabletop was remarkably cold against her back. Richard intended to make her forget the cold. He maneuvered her butt just to the edge of the table, with her legs dangling in the air. Than he suddenly disappeared out of her field of view. He re-emerged seconds later, without pants. His sizable erection pointed at her slit, like a missile he was about to fire at her. He tore a ribbed condom out of its wrapper and nonchalantly pulled it over his penis, in one swift motion, owing to years of practice. He ran his dick across Jane's labia. Then he very carefully put just the tip past her outer lips, and again dragged down the length of her genitals. With a bit of pressure, he touched the bulb of her clitoris, the sensitive tissue just below it, her vibrating urethral opening, then arrived at her vagina. She shuddered. It was all the teasing he could muster. He finally wanted to make her his. He pinned Jane to the table with both his hands on her ribcage. The angle was just right.

He pushed his rock-hard member into her, all the way to the hilt, then remained still for a moment, to appreciate her tightness. She was unbelievably tight. Her swollen bladder seemed to take up all the space there was in her lite body, leaving virtually no room for him. Her muscles clenched down on his manhood from all directions with mighty force. And there was the rhythmic pulsing that kept squeezing him, to an almost painful degree. Her entire lower section contracted with every beat of her heart, in the desperate attempt to keep in multiple days of pee. Like Kegel exercises on steroids. It was incredible how good that felt. He had always liked them bursting. Even as a teenager, making his first sexual experiences, he had known that the longer girls had stayed away from the toilet, the better they were in the sack.

He pulled back, then thrusted forward. Even with the lubricated condom, and her getting wetter and wetter with every second, it was remarkably difficult to slide down her love canal. So tight, so tense, holding everything shut with every bit of strength she got. He picked up momentum now, started to screw her with force. Her legs, wrapped around his back, followed his rhythm, pulled him in with every thrust.

Jane didn't have quite as much fun. The sex was good, but extremely physically demanding. With her legs spread wide apart, her sphincter tried to give in, and she squeezed it shut with iron discipline. Her abs were tired, her bladder was on fire, and worst of all, she was enjoying it way too much. Richard's penis lightly brushed against her G-spot on each stroke, which drove her crazy. She knew if she had an orgasm, she would lose it and piss all over his table. And his groin. 'Do not come, do not come... oh god!' She wanted to lay back, close her eyes, and focus on holding both her pee and her lust under control. She didn't, because she couldn't trust him not to try anything stupid. And sure enough, about ten minutes in, he took his right from her torso and reached for her clitoris. She slapped the hand away. If he touched her there, everything would be over. He seemed to get the message and didn't try again. He just kept on pounding.

Every time he was about to come, he slowed down his pace, seeking to prolong his pleasure and her torment. After forty-five minutes of torture, he couldn't take it anymore, and picked up more and more speed, slammed her hard, again and again, his penis painfully stabbing her bladder. There was nothing gentle about it, just raw, animalistic fucking. She wanted to cry, but she also wanted to come.

Then it was over. He shot his load, grunted, and collapsed on top of her, his dick still buried deep within. Just for a split second, he balanced his weight on her bladder. She shrieked, then covered her mouth with her hands. To show her weakness in front of him, stupid, stupid girl!

“What was that?” “Nothing, I just... it was nothing!” “Nothing. I see.” He pulled out and stepped away, holding the condom in place on his shriveling genitals with one hand. “Assume a proper posture, would you please?” She staggered to her legs and again stood at the inspection position, still stark naked. “You stay right there, while I get cleaned up.”

He left her standing in the kitchen, disappearing to the left, where she knew his bathroom was. He left the door ajar. She heard a metallic sound, probably the lid of a trash can, as he threw away the condom. Running water. Then suddenly... oh please no, splattering noises, he was peeing standing up. Peeing, piss.ing, urinating, relieving himself! Utter sadism. Jane bent double, her hands jammed in her crotch, holding in an ocean, just millimeters from the open air between her thighs. Just for a few seconds, just until he stopped peeing. Oh god, please...


When Richard came back into the room, wearing pants, he found Jane with nearly perfect posture, legs apart, calm and collected. Except for her thighs, which she couldn't stop from trembling. And the bulge was protruding a bit, as she could not pull it back in all the way anymore. There is a limit for everything. She knew that if he was in a particular strict mood, this could seal her fate right there. He did not discipline her. Instead, he kissed her on the forehead, took a step back, and gently ran his fingers down her cheek. “Don't worry, Babygirl. You know I love you.”

She smiled. “I know. I love you, too.” That was a boldfaced lie. But it came over her lips quite easily. What was a girl supposed to do? With her bladder master on her side, instead of against her, life was going to be a whole lot more comfortable.

He had fallen for her completely. She had played him just right. Jane had already noticed his strange behavior when he performed her first inspection as her newly-assigned bladder master, to replace her old parole officer. His touches had been chaste, his voice shy, his behavior far to correct. In the following weeks, a picture had started to form. He had not tried to take sexual advantage of her. It was an open secret that nearly every Bad Girl was sleeping with her bladder master. Of course, they didn't have to grant sexual favors by law, but the threat of never being allowed to piss again, and the authority to actually follow through with that threat, opens a lot of legs. Unchecked power tends to do that. Richard had not tried to coax her into anything, even though it was obvious she turned him on. Especially when she was bursting, which was all the time. He had gotten more and more formal, stuck to all his rules and regulations. And he blushed when she smiled at her. A major crush. After the realization had sunk in, the rest had been easy. He was a man, and men are simple. It was Seduction 101. She tried different clothes, experimented with makeup, found out what he liked. A little basic flirting. She twirled her hair around her fingers often. Smiled a lot. Was nice to him. Struck up innocent conversations about his past. Learned that already in his late thirties, he had have a plethora of sexual partners, but never a meaningful relationship. He was craving intimacy, quite clearly. Then, one night, after the sight of her desperate piss-filled body at the inspection had left him again with a massive boner, she jumped him. Initiated sexual contact, actively, aggressively. He didn't resist. Quite the contrary, once the ice was broken, he had taken the lead, as a complete dominant. He was calling the shots now. At least he thought he did. Jane didn't mind. In a way, it was to be expected. The voluntary position of Bladder Master attracted a certain personality type. She only had to modify her behavior slightly to appease this side of him. A coy look here and there, a lot of submissive 'yes, sir', and 'thank you, sir', and occasionally even 'yes, daddy'. Nothing that was unusual in a situation with such an awfully one-sided power balance anyway. She had him exactly where she wanted. He had swallowed her bait whole. Hook, line, and sinker. Who was taking advantage of whom now? This was going to make so many things so much easier.


Richard glanced at his watch. “19:55. Almost time.” He pulled a plastic card from his pocket and handed it to Jane. “Your Bathroom Pass, Honey. Please step in here”.

He opened the bathroom door. The light came on automatically, to reveal a sink, a shower, and the only toilet available to Jane in the world. Her bladder buzzed with anticipation. She whimpered.

“Now, now, easy there, Babygirl. Don't get too existed. It's still not eight. Please put your pass into the reader.” The black box swallowed the card. A warning buzzer sounded. The display read 'OUTSIDE OF SCHEDULE'. The lid remained firmly shut. That was to be expected.

“Okay, we are just about there. When your time comes, you've got five minutes to void. That includes the time used to obtain permission.”

“Five minutes will be... plenty long enough.” Her words came pressed.

“Oh, will it? Let's make it four then.” he said with a grin.

Time had never passed so slowly for poor Jane. Every second was an hour, every minute seemed to draw into eternity. Her entire universe seemed to consist of nothing but her bloated hollow organ, and the plumbing fixture in front of her.


20:00 rolled around. The reader beeped twice. The toilet had accepted her bathroom pass as valid, and the lid swung open. Jane stared at the marvelous machine. A lovely aquamarine seat, and below it, the bowl in all its porcelain glory. So close. She almost lost it right there.

She swallowed, then focused to give her voice a formal tone. “Sir, it is time for my scheduled toilet break. May I please take this urination?” Richard nodded. “Yes, you may.”

Jane didn't need to be told twice. She didn't sit down on the toilet, she threw herself at it. As soon as her buttom touched the blue plastic, her tired sphincter gave way. A few first drops hit the water. Then there was a trickle. Then a stream. Then a fire hose. Then Niagara Falls. She unleashed a flood. Four days of pent-up liquid and frustration broke way.

Jane let out a deep moan, as her body relaxed completely for the first time in days. She bit her lower lip. The feeling intensified. Her eyes rolled back into her head in total bliss. She shivered from the relief. Her entire lower body vibrated from the turbulence of liters of boiling hot piss shooting out of her urethra with incredible force. Her sphincter didn't hurt anymore, and the pulsing in her bladder was now almost enjoyable. The pressure didn't seem to come down, if anything her stream got even more violent. She had released a gushing torrent of pure joy. The pleasure became unbearable, she was extremely sexually aroused. Without any regards to Richard watching, her right hand found her swollen clitoris. All it took was a quick flick off the thumb, to send her over the edge. A mind-shattering orgasm ripped through her. The orgasm she had to deny herself just minutes earlier. Gone was any conscious thought. An intelligent young woman, suddenly reduced to mere animal instincts. There was only relief, and moaning, and piss.ing. She was in absolute heaven. Her fingers developed a life of their own, rubbing and prodding, and she immediately hit her next climax. Then another one. The intensity of the sensations rippling through her body almost threw her off the throne, she barely managed to keep her bottom on the seat. The convulsions of her muscles weren't even making a dent in the downpour. Piss was spraying in random directions when her fingers, still playing with her little special spot, inadvertently interrupted the stream. After almost two minutes of pure ecstasy, her racing heart started to slow down, her arousal faded away, and she slouched on the seat in exhaustion. But she was still peeing forcefully. She just hung there and let it happen. Well into the third minute, her stream began to slowly subside, then trickled off. She was spent.

“Your time is up!” “Huh?” “Four minutes are over, Jane. Get up!”


Her legs were made from jelly, and her surroundings were clouded in fog. Richard had to help her stand, then hold her steady to stop her from swaying back and forth. Her circulation needed a few seconds to catch up with the demand for oxygen in her brain. Nothing that was supposed to happen to a young athlete at peak physical condition. Everything was numb.

A single droplet of urine still glistened on her pussy. When Richard was sure she wouldn't fall over, he carefully let go of her, got on his knees, and gently kissed the drop away. It didn't feel half bad. He looked up to her, smiling. “Hot shower, and then to bed?” “That sounds lovely.”

The shower was indeed hot, almost scolding. It was a nice change of pace from the sponge baths she had have to take all week. Jane didn't bother with shampoo or any other products, despite the row of bottles lined up on the shelf. She stood there and let the hot water beat down on her. He tried his hands at massaging her necks and shoulders, and was quite decent at it. Richard's shower was one of those fancy modern ones, so when he turned off the water, a warm stream of air flowed around the two, drying them off. It left Jane's hair in a mess, but she couldn't even pretend to care. The way to the bedroom seemed a mile long. The room was dark, but she had been in Richards bed often enough to find it with her eyes closed.

She slipped under the sheets, and Richard came after her, working himself into a spooning position, wrapping his arms around her and resting his hands on her breasts. The bed was all soft, and warm, and incredibly comfortable, and she was so tired and so fully relaxed. It took only seconds before her thoughts started to become less and less coherent, and she drifted off into the dark nothingness of sleep.


Richard awoke with a tight little butt pressed firmly into his groin. Was there a better way? He lay there, enjoying her warm body for a few minutes, before she started to stir. He softly kissed the back of her neck. “Good morning, Babygirl. How was your night?”

She was starting to take a liking to him Babygirling her. As silly as a name that was for a well-educated, independent woman, he spoke it with so much love and affection, it almost made her forgot their relationship was build on a lie. Not that she would have objected, anyway.

He inquisitively pushed on her bladder. It put up a little resistance.

“Mhhhh.” “Stop making inappropriate noises, silly girl. What's the status?” “There's a little in there from the night. Not much. Almost empty” “That's good. Let's get up and have some breakfast, shall we? You don't want to fall behind on your hydration regime.”

Breakfast consisted of a fruit mix nutrient solution for Jane, washed down with the prescribed amount of water. Richard didn't eat anything. He sat opposite her, holding a mug of coffee, watching her, smiling. Jane didn't want to raise the topic of her evaluation herself. He had to address it sooner or later.

When she was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth, Jane realized she had left her bathroom pass in the reader. She retrieved it and held it out to Richard, who had entered the room behind her. He reached for the card, but instead of taking it from her hand, he closed her fingers around it. “Keep it.” “Pardon me?” “I want you to keep it. You are going to need it, soon.” “I... uh... okay.” Richard nodded. “I think it's time to talk about the results of your evaluation.”

They didn't right away. Richard set up his laptop on the kitchen table. Then three binders with papers followed. Then he gestured Jane to take a seat, sat down himself, cleared his throat. He appeared like a bureaucrat now. More a representative of the urinary justice system, then an average human being.

“This is the final interview and communication of previous review results, according to article 82 of the Female Urination and Licensing Act. This will conclude the evaluation of Jane Elvey, Bad Girl and registered Troublemaker, Citizen's ID Number F-91-02-84-17-A. Can you confirm that you are the aforementioned individual?” “Yes, I am.” “That is sufficient, as the woman in question is personally known to the reviewer. Intimately, in fact.” Jane faked a shy little smile and coy look. It was pretty convincing.

“Over the last six months...” His voice droned on, observations, facts and opinions, evaluation and recommendation. Jane usually wasn't overly emotional. She thought of herself as rational and tough. After two minutes, she couldn't believe her luck. After five minutes, she was fighting tears. After ten minutes, she was sobbing at his shoulder, unable to contain her joy. He was stroking her hair, talking softly. “It's okay, Babygirl. You fought hard for this. I doubt there has ever been a parolee with your level of determination. You deserve it.”


Jane hadn't cried for too long. Weeping like a little child wasn't really her style. She felt almost embarrassed for her outburst. Then again, it did fit into the framework of the submissive persona she was presenting to Richard. After breaking the good news to her, he didn't have much more to say. He sipped his coffee and waited for her to regain composure. After she had wiped away her tears, he nodded. “This concludes the final interview and the evaluation. Listen, I don't mean to rush you, but I think we both have work to do. Let's get you dressed, okay?”

Richard retrieved a suitcase. He kept a change of clothes for her at hand. Well, not exactly 'a change of clothes'. More like 'half her wardrobe'. Certified clothing with build-in moisture sensors had become mandatory for every Bad Girl under the control of a court-assigned bladder master. These garments were available in a variety of different styles, makes, and models, which they needed to be, since women governed by the continence mandate were not supposed to adapt their clothing to accommodate their swelling bladder. Thanks to economy of scale, all this weren't terrible expensive either, which was good, since the clothes had to be provided with the woman's own money.

Jane had never been fond of skirts. The selection consisted almost exclusively of jeans, shorts, and various types of pants. Not only pants that were supposed to be held on by high-tech belts, but also clothing that locked on its own. He knew she did her run and the rest of her weekly workout routine during her shorter, three-day holding period, so he dug into her sportswear. He picked a pair of running tights, a tat bit thinner and more form-fitting even than usual yoga pants. He liked how her legs looked in these. Of course he did. Once her shapely butt was safely encased in the stretchy fabric, he engaged the lock in the reinforced waistband. This simple act made his penis stir. After she had slipped a black T-shirt over her braless chest, he directed her out of the house. She had expected a peck on the forehead like usual, but instead he bid her farewell by smacking her behind with the flat of his hand. Hard. A loud snap, like the crack of a whip, accompanied by a delightful squeal out of her mouth. Her muscular buttocks didn't jiggle one bit. He grinned as he shut the door.


 

Edited by randomkath
forum word filter trouble (see edit history)
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18 hours ago, phoenix80803 said:

Thanks @randomkath, this is a good story and please do continue. Maybe a suggestion for next chapter? Perhaps a schoolgirl, (middle/high school) being punished? Thanks. 

Middle school is too young for my tastes. I draw the line at age of consent, or thereabout.

But if you want to read about a woman in her 20s being severely punished, that's what you'll get. 

 

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On 2/26/2017 at 2:04 PM, randomkath said:

Middle school is too young for my tastes. I draw the line at age of consent, or thereabout.

But if you want to read about a woman in her 20s being severely punished, that's what you'll get. 

 

 

3 hours ago, LOLC2k said:

That is my preference too! Not into girls, women only!

You could be 18 and still in highschool, this might please everyone.

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Jeffery, thank you, you just removed all my doubts about needing more exposition :tongue:


I actually have been working on an update that is almost no desperation, all exposition, but it will only come once the Jane arc is dealt with. It will shine a light on some aspect of this universe and explain a few of the terms thrown around. The current storyline needs to be finished first, but this will be a thing.



The easy answer to "what on earth is going on here" is: I am obsessed with female desperation, and this story is my personal fantasy, taken to its logical extreme. Why are things the way they are? Because I get off writing about it.



That being said, I'm not going to use such an easy way out. The whole premise I have thought up doesn't even make sense objectively, but it does make sense to those in power in this universe, making the whole thing internally consistent.



Okay, back to writing.

Edited by randomkath (see edit history)
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To be honest the framing device gets my hackles up; chalk it up to my anti-authoritarian tendencies. That said, what I could read before that made it a deal breaker indicates that you are quite a skilled writer; if you ever decided to do some sort of variant where the mass female desperation was some sort of trend, fad, or cultural movement enforced by social pressure, instead of something literally mandated by law, I would read that in a heartbeat.

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This is not quite a full update, but it's all I can deliver right now:

 


Intermission: A Friendship Breaks

Karen was Jane's best and oldest friend. They had known each other since high school. Since Jane had been in high school, anyway. More than that, they had been through hell and back, hell being the urinary justice system. Both were already looking back on a remarkable criminal career at their young age, Karen more so than Jane. They had gone to the Watershed Federal Correction & Rehabilitation Facility for Women together, twice. Just recently, after an unfortunate incident that lead to her leaking a few drops at work, Karen had been sent to Watershed for a third time. She had spent the unusually short period of just six weeks at this institution. After she returned, she had acted somewhat reserved, and had restricted contact to her friends to a minimum. She also avoided the topic of what hat happened to her there at all costs. Jane hadn't felt like prying too much, given how focused on her own predicament she had been. But the end of Jane's probationary period and the results of her evaluation had piqued Karen's interest. She immediately had wanted to talk about it.

The café where they had agreed to meet was just at the edge of campus, less than a kilometer from Jane's apartment. So she had decided to walk. The place was just a little too up-market and expensive for the average student, but there was usually no shortage of university personnel, faculty, and suit-wearing yuppies from the nearby business district. Just not this early in the day. It was barely 11 AM, and just a handful of customers were sitting at the bar. The outside terrace was completely empty, safe for one table, tucked away in a corner, that sat a single lone figure.

She spotted Karen from a distance. As always, seeing her stung a little. It was a psychological mystery how she could be so jealous, and yet the same time so fond of a person. Karen's appearance was everything Jane had always wanted. She didn't even think of herself as ugly, she was undeniably hot. But hot and beautiful are not necessarily the same thing. People called her skinny frame 'tight', her little button nose 'cute'. But she knew her face was boring, and her chest was just as flat as her behind. No one had ever used the trite old stereotype of 'Plain Jane' to describe her, but maybe the monicker would fit. Despite the ballet dancing and yoga classes, all she could present was a tomboyish kind of attractiveness.
Karen, on the other hand, was positively gorgeous. Next to her, Jane was invisible. When they went out together, Karen got all the stares. And how could one not stare at this epitome of feminity?  Cascading red locks, ivory skin, piercing green eyes, a lightly freckled face, luscious lips, and her body! Tall and curvy, ample bosom, nice round ass, endless legs. The incarnation of the perfect ginger goddess. Whenever they were together, Jane felt inadequate, and maybe slightly aroused.

Their hello consisted of a quick hug. “Hi Honey.” “Hey Sweetheart.” The sunny autumn day was still warm enough to allow for a light summer dress of the floral variety. Maybe a little short for propriety. Okay, a lot too short. But not unusual for Karen. She was a successful junior marketing executive, yet her business clothes would probably have looked similar, albeit black.
One aspect was off. For the first time in eternity, Jane saw Karen's silhouette without any bulge in her lower region. There was just her friend's amazing hourglass figure, and no bump to be seen. This owed to the constrictive black garment fastened around her middle. A compression girdle. A devious device, not unlike in appearance to an old-fashioned waist cincher or short corset, but made from the strongest, most modern materials. A layer of strong plastic, interwoven with aramid fibers, brutally tightened with a steel cable, and locked up securely by electronic means. Designed for a single purpose: Press down the swollen bladder of a girl forbidden from having her need on show. Jane had encountered one in her criminal career once or twice. These days, her strong abs were everything she needed. For the most part.
Karen interpreted Jane's questioning look right. “Master put me on no-show yesterday. There was no chance I would ever be able to pull in my bladder all the way, so he shoved me into this thing here. Any tips on how to deal with this? I've got no experience.” “Uh... well...”
Then the absurdity of the situation struck her. Strong, tough Karen, Holding Queen Karen I, her guru and go-to adviser for all things pee, was asking for her help. What had the world come to?
“You really have never been compressed before?” “No, they never found it necessary, until yesterday. If you've got anything to share, please tell me.” Karen would never admit that she was at the end of her tether, but her voice was clearly strained.
“I have been on no-show since I was twenty. They introduced it as a generalized part of the Troublemaker routine four years ago. I guess you just dodged the bullet back then? I mean, if there was no pending disciplinary measure against you, maybe it simply never came up.” “How do you cope with it? There is not a single millimeter for my bladder to expand, except for upwards, into me. When he tightened down this contraption, it just got so much worse. I feel like I've got a week worth in me.”
“It never really gets easier physically. You just have to accept it. Grin and bear the pressure. Maybe this thought helps you: How long have you been holding it?” “Three days.” “And what does it feel like with the girdle?” “A week.” “And can you hold it for a week?” “Of course.” “Then how is this even a challenge for you?”
Karen thought about it, then nodded. “Okay, I get it. Just treat it like you were holding longer already. And I can hold a lot longer. Yes. Why didn't I think of that? Thanks!” She smiled, and hope had returned to her face.

The waitress was a cute little thing, and visibly bursting at the seams. While taking their orders, she was having obvious trouble with keeping her legs from bouncing. Jane was really starting to develop an eye for the bladder situation of other girls, and this kid wasn't gonna make it to the end of her shift. Poor soul. While waiting for the server to return, they chit-chated about this and that, saving the more private talk about about Jane's evaluation for when they wouldn't be interrupted. Soon their drinks arrived. Karen had ordered some kind of sugary monstrosity, consisting of more caramel syrup than actual coffee. Jane preferred her hot beverages black and bitter. She scanned her cup with her cellphone, being sure to log the fluid intake against her daily total.

The dress was really short, and Jane couldn't stop herself from staring at the milky white thighs on display. When Karen shifted in her seat, she caught a glimpse of something she had hoped to see, and a little more. She didn't fault her friend for going commando. She herself had been stuck in locked pants for the better part of the last year. If she was allowed to wear a dress, she would want to feel a little breeze down there as well. No, she had spotted something else. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching, and found out they were completely alone.
“Karen, you're okay with me...” She neither finished the sentence, nor waited for permission. She had already lifted the hem of Karen's dress and was staring at her private parts. She had seen the other woman's genitals hundreds of times, from very up close. She didn't even want to think about how many hours she must have spent with her face buried in this muff. Their sexual relationship had lasted for a little over two years, and it had been a blast. After all this time, she was still a little upset that is was over, and their friendship didn't come with additional benefits anymore. Sometimes Jane wondered if the older Karen had felt naughty, introducing an innocent jailbait teen to the pleasures of girllove. They had both agreed to keep it casual, so the whole thing had ended when Karen had met her soulmate and future wife Ivy. But Jane still knew this pussy very well. A textbook example of a vulva, with slightly puffy lips, a birthmark, and a small scar where there had been a little mishap involving Jane's tongue piercing. She knew it by heart, and this object didn't belong there. Stuck to Karen's pubic mount was a flat, black rectangle, about the size of a stick of gum. Two thin lines ran down either side of her slit.
“What is this...  thing?” “Urine sensor. Really fancy. Can detect a single drop before it has even left you completely. Something high-tech about area effect sensing of urea and other substances. Isn't fooled by anything else, I can go swimming with it.” “How does it stay on there?” “Surgical adhesive.” “Doesn't it hurt when it comes off?” “It doesn't.” Jane raised an eyebrow. “I would have thought that a strong glue like that would at least cause some...” “No, it doesn't come off.” “Oh. I see. That's a little extreme, don't you think?” Karen shrugged. “It's necessary, I suppose. You know I enjoy wearing skirts. How else is he going to secure a sensor on me, without locking me in a pair of panties? And I'm a married woman. How would I explain to Ivy she can't go down on me anymore?”
“Necessary. How is any of this continence bullshit necessary in the first place?” “Jane!” “What? Do you actually believe it's a good idea to have something permanently glued to your junk?” “It can be surgically removed.” “That's not the point! Next thing you know, they have these things stuck on every girl passing through Watershed.”
Karen looked absolutely horrified at the mention of Watershed. “Can we please not talk about this?” “I... I'm sorry.”

There was a moment of awkward silence between the two, before Karen picked up the ball. “We haven't met to talk about me, have we? How did your evaluation go?”
Jane's face lit up. A lot more enjoyable topic.
“Well... good news. Apparently I've made quite an impression on Richard.”  “You are still calling him Richard? You know how inappropriate that is!” “Oh, please.” Karen raised both hands. “Sorry, let's not discuss that again. What was the result exactly?”
Jane looked smug. “I have been so well-behaved, they are probably going to put me back in license class IV. Going to be allowed to pee at home again. And even better, I'll likely have my intake factors reduced to something more humane. Like 1.5 or even 1.3 regular. God knows I've been hovering around 1.8 long enough.”
Karen frowned. “Neat trick you pulled off there.” Jane was taken aback. “What? What do you mean, I've worked my ass off for this!”
“More like shook it. What the hell do you think you are doing here? Spread your legs, turn one man's head, beat the system? You're not even close to continent. Sleeping with your bladder master is not an achievement.” Jane was utterly perplexed by this behavior. “You are sleeping with yours as well, and you wife gets sloppy seconds. How's that for a double standard?” “I'm a grown woman and Ivy doesn't get to decide who I fuck. And this is not about sex. You are as manipulative as...” She struggled for an apt comparism, and had to settle for another profanity. “...shit!”
“Since when are you opposed to that? You can twist any man around your little finger, and do it all the time.” “I would never mess with a bladder master!”
“You're kidding, right? They have all the advantages on their side. Everything to level the playing field!”
“You have no shame. The continence mandate is the basis... the foundation of our stable society.” There was no sarcasm in Karen's voice. The vile was almost palpable. Jane was shocked. “That's a textbook definition. And a meaningless phrase. Since when are you eating up their propaganda?”
“You and 'Richard'. Maybe the Continence Board would find that little tidbit interesting to know...”
“Karen, what on earth is the matter with you?”
“The matter with me? You are antisocial scum with no common decency whatsoever, and you ask me what's the matter with me?”
Another stock phrase. 'Antisocial scum', indeed. Vitriol usually spewed by authority figures of the urinary justice system. Jane couldn't even be angry at her friend. The statement was so clearly ridiculous, and contradicting everything Karen had believed in her entire adult life. She took pride in her massive holding abilities, but she had always made it pretty clear that she thought the continence mandate was bullshit. In the ten years the two had known each other, the only reason Karen had played along with the system was that she couldn't beat it. And it wasn't just that change of mind. There was also the sudden mood swing, from begging Jane's help when facing the unknown girdle, to scolding her for nothing at all. She should have picked up on it immediately. It was perplexing, and very unlike the Karen she knew. Something was fishy. Figuratively, of course; Karen's nearly exposed genitals smelled perfectly fine. A suspicion started to form.
“Have you been brainwashed? I hate to bring it up again, but what the hell did they do to you at Watershed?”
Karen jumped from her seat and stormed away, leaving Jane with two empty coffee cups, the bill, and a very uneasy feeling.

 

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55 minutes ago, DrBorderline said:

To be honest the framing device gets my hackles up; chalk it up to my anti-authoritarian tendencies. That said, what I could read before that made it a deal breaker indicates that you are quite a skilled writer; if you ever decided to do some sort of variant where the mass female desperation was some sort of trend, fad, or cultural movement enforced by social pressure, instead of something literally mandated by law, I would read that in a heartbeat.

Aww...

The fetishist in me cries, the libertarian rejoices. :tongue:

Yes, by its very premise, this setting involves people being deprived of personal freedom and essential human rights, in kangaroo courts, solely for the sexual enjoyment of the author. No two ways about it. And this is only the start of some of my more extreme tendencies in that general direction. Apparently, fascist elements make for good fetish fuel. I could stress again that there is a very real distinction between a sexual fantasy and reality. But from how eloquently you expressed your thoughts, it seems to me that you understand the distinction intellectually, you are just turned off by the police state theme of the setting. Then this is not going to be for you, I'm afraid.

I've ran into a bit of writer's block with this story, so I am actually working on something that doesn't take part in this universe at the moment. If you like my style (I still don't see why, I hate my own writing), you are probably going to enjoy it.

Edited by randomkath (see edit history)
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  • 1 month later...

Part 2: Re-Evaluation

 

The elevator reached the upper floor of Centerville city hall and the metal doors slid open. Archibald Bennett stepped out of the cabin and approached the front desk of the regional Continence Board. The raven-haired receptionist quickly uncrossed her legs and sat up straight. He pretended not to have noticed.
“Good morning, Angela. I'm here to see the commissioner.” “Good morning Archie. I know, you are early. He's in a meeting with someone from the court. Let me check if he can see you now.”
She picked up her phone and pressed a few buttons. Archibald used the distraction to study her beautiful legs, showcased by a smart knee-length pencil skirt. Shins, calves, ankles, all smooth and firm. When her eyes started to turn in his direction, he looked away to study the  notice board on the wall. Thanks to forty years of practice, he was a master at discretely ogling women. Finally someone on the other end took the call and Angela started to talk. “Sir I... yes, I know, sorry about that. Your nine o'clock is here. Oh yes. Okay, thanks, bye.” When she put down the phone, her hands where shaking enough to miss the cradle on the first try. Again he pretended not to notice. She rolled back in her office chair, and stood up slowly. The movement was almost fluent and natural, but the prominent bulge in her lower abdomen gave away the farce. She circumnavigated the U-shaped desk, gestured the visitor to follow her, and so he did.
The hall was long, and the  commissioner's office was located at the very end. They passed dozens of doors. General Registry, Schedule and Hydration Matters, Troublemaker Registry, Legal & Court Liaison, Bad Girl Registry, big meeting room, Probation Matters & Bladder Master Assignment, men's room (no ladies' room, obviously), Human Resources, small meeting room, Human Rights & Ethics Commission. The later office was always empty, of course. They had done away with such bureaucratic nonsense years ago.
He knew the way very well and didn't need anyone to accompany him, but he sure as hell wasn't going to complain about the receptionist walking in front of him. Angela's buttocks were printing through the fabric of her tight skirt. Normally one would expect a luscious rear to jiggle a bit, but this one didn't. Clearly, all her muscles were tensed as tight as possible. “So, Angie...”, he asked in a casual tone, “on what kind of schedule do they have you these days?” “Once a day, usually. Though I'm going on 40 hours now.” “Interesting. What are you being punished for?” She stopped dead in her tracks and turned around, frowning. “Archie, please don't be ridiculous. I'm always on my best behavior, there is no need for disciplinary measures. It's just that I'll get quite a sweet bonus if I can get it down to six pees per week. That's almost my whole car payment. And if you don't mind, let us talk about something that isn't my bladder.” She didn't really give him a chance to start such a conversation, instead she picked up the pace, almost stormed down the floor with her heels clicking. He had trouble following without starting to jog. He caught up with her just as she reached the commissioner's door. She gestured to the small couch in the hallway “He will see you in five to ten minutes. Please take a seat and wait for him to call you in.” “Seriously? Why do I...” “Archie, please.” “Fine.” He watched her legs from behind as she walked down the hall and back to her desk.
Archibald sat down and grumpily glanced at his watch. 'I hope this is important.' he thought, somewhat annoyed. 'They are getting paid full time, I have to take hours off work.'
Thankfully, it didn't even take a minute before the door opened a crack and Commissioner John Barley poked his head out. “Hey, Archie, good to see you! Please come in.” “Hello John. I think your receptionist might explode.” “She won't, because she knows what will happen to her if she does. Come in.”

The commissioner's office was smaller than one would expect from a high-ranking local government official. His desk was standard size, too, and laden down with an insane amount of paperwork. Files stacked in two enormous piles at either side of the huge computer screen. The view from the large sixth floor window was ruined by dark, low-hanging clouds and the thunderstorm raging behind the sound-dampening glass. The room had two big, comfy chairs for visitors. One of them currently held a tiny Hispanic woman, almost disappearing into the cushions. “Archie, this is the honorable Anna Espinoza, judge at the 8th Circuit Court of Urinary Affairs. Your honor, Archibald Bennett, our most senior bladder master, and a very dear friend of mine. Unofficially, he's also our specialist for delicate cases.” Archibald held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ma'am.” Judge Espinoza nodded and shook his right, without rising from her chair or speaking a word.
Commissioner Barley waited until Archie had taken a seat before he cleared his throat. His first question came as quite a surprise. “You have worked with Richard Bartosz before. What can you tell us about him? We are particularly interested if anything could shine a negative light on his reliability.”  “Richard? Yeah, I know him. Very straightforward guy. I have nothing negative to say about his work. On a personal level, maybe. He's a bit of a dick.” They all chuckled at the admittedly childish joke.
“Is he loyal? Does he adhere to procedure?” “Yes. He has a stick up his ass, if you pardon my French. Follows every regulation to the letter. Never met such a stuck-up human being. Really good at his job, though. Why are you asking?”
Without further comment, the commissioner slid a document over his desk in Archibald's direction. An evaluation report for a Bad Girl on probation, addressed to the Court of Urinary Affairs and signed by Richard Bartosz. Quite a positive report. The woman in question was called  'remarkably composed and continent', and Richard suggested a re-classification into Urination Permit Class IV, which meant dropping two classes and severely relaxing her harsh pee-schedule. In addition he pushed for a more lenient hydration regime and reducing her intake factor to 1.5 times the volume of a regular girl. This was unusual, as discipline was rarely relaxed, once a women was caught in the mills of the urinary justice system. Punishments tended to escalate. But something like this wasn't totally unheard of, either. From time to time, a probation officer or bladder master would indeed suggest to loosen the reins, and the court would usually heed their advice. All the development and achievements listed in the report where indeed pointing towards a well-behaved woman. There was nothing suspect about it. Richard was diligent.
Archibald looked up from the document. “So? Happens once in a while, doesn't it?” The commissioner slid him another file. An injunction to the Continence Board, regarding a registered troublemaker. Again under Richard's name. The bathroom clearance of the named troublemaker was to be extended, allowing her to urinate at home again, without her bladder master's presence. The justification for this decision contained the same phrase as before, 'remarkably composed and continent.' Archibald compared the names. The same girl on both. Ordering such administrative adjustments was the right and duty of a bladder master. But in conjunction with a more lenient schedule? The notion was ridiculous. How on earth was Richard to know if this subject would behave herself once they started to be less strict with her? Of course her voiding would need to take place in a certified government urination center, like the home of a bladder master, and be supervised by a responsible public officer. He put down the file.
“Those are both for the same woman?”, he asked incredulously. “Yes, and submitted independently of each other to the board and the court. Of course, both documents where compiled automatically into the parolee's electronic file, but if wasn't for the fact that someone tipped us off, it would have slipped by. They do not reference each other, which is odd. It's not against regulation, but it seems like this was done deliberately to avoid raising flags about this extremely unlikely development.”
“Wait a minute, one step after the other. What do you mean, somebody tipped you off?” “One of my clerks received an anonymous call yesterday morning. An unknown woman who wouldn't give her name. She told us this girl here...” he tapped the files three times for emphasis “... is running a manipulation gambit and has brought her bladder master under her control. We usually wouldn't give anything about that. An anonymous caller against the word of one of our most trusted men. But when we looked into it, this here surfaced. We don't have anything else to go by. The call wasn't recorded, but the log file enabled us to track it back to a payphone on campus. No further clues.”
“A payphone? What's next, carrier pigeons? Mounted messengers?” “Very funny, Archie. Yes, apparently they still exist. Can we please focus?”
“I'm sorry. What do you think could explain Richard's behavior?” “We think she is granting him sexual favors.” Archibald shrugged. Then frowned. “That's not unusual. Aren't all Bad Girls sleeping with their bladder masters? Are you as a government agency now going to tell consenting adults what they can or cannot do?”
The commissioner shook his head. “We would never partake in such an invasion of personal freedom. I don't know about the court, but...”  “We wouldn't either” the judge interjected. She had an almost comically deep voice for a woman her size. “The issue is not that they are being intimate. We are having reason to suspect he grew a little too fond of her.”
“What do you mean by that, exactly?” “There might be more emotional attachment than it is healthy for a professional working relationship. In fact, he could be in  love.”
Archibald whistled through his teeth. “I see. Well, Richard has always been very pedantic and rule-obsessed. He's pretty much a square. But I have to admit, love can bend a man's mind. Are you going to disregard his suggestions?”
Commissioner Barley stroked his beard. “No, not outright. We cannot simply ignore the position of one of our most reliable volunteers. Not just on a hunch. What we need is a second opinion. Someone to re-examine and re-evaluate Miss Elvey.“
“And that would be me, right?” “Right. You just need to be aware of a few things. Take a look at this.” The commissioner turned his screen towards Archie. It was displaying the personal file of Jane Elvey, Bad Girl, Troublemaker. He tapped on a few numbers and lines of commentary on the upper right side of the screen. “Look at this.”
Archibald leaned forward and squinted. His eyes weren't what they used to be. He took a few seconds to take in the information. Then he understood. “She's a smart girl, isn't she?” “I think so. Excellent academic record, very successful freelance data analyst. Regular contractor to half a dozen insurance companies, according to her tax report. We also have her Bachelor thesis on file, if you want to read it. Both of them, actually.” “Maybe I will actually do that. So what you are trying to tell me is 'watch out, she's more intelligent than you are', isn't it?” “I would not have phrased it that way, but yes. Don't let her outmaneuver you.”
“I won't. There is something else. My boss is very supportive of me volunteering for bladder master duties, but if you're going to send me off on a mission, I'm going to miss several days of work. I can agree to this whole ordeal, if you can make up for lost wages. Pay me the amount I would have earned otherwise, in full.” The commissioner nodded. “Deal. More than that. If you can save us from a scandal, I'll make it personally worth your while.”
“Great. What about my official status while I deal with this? As a private person, I'm not going to get very far.” “You are a sworn-in Bladder Master with all the necessary training and experience. We'll make you a special investigator” “'Special investigator',  really? Are you going to give me a badge?” He was dumbfounded when the commissioner did exactly that. From out of his desk drawer he took a small leather wallet holding a brass shield, and handed it over to Archibald. “Uh...” “You can sign for it later.” “What's next, a gun?” “Don't be silly, you know we don't do that. If you want one, bring your own.” “I think I'll manage.”
The commissioner rose from his seat. “Then we have an agreement. I will have all files transferred to you immediately. You find out what our little troublemaker is up to, and we will follow your advice on the validity of Mr. Bartosz' claims.” Archie stood up as well. “I will put a little pressure on her.” “Literally, or figuratively?” Archibald grinned. “Both, actually. Do I have free reign?” “Of course. Whatever you deem necessary.”
“Then I'll be on my way. Commissioner. Your Honor.”
Judge Espinoza raised her hand to stop him. “I think I don't need to tell you how serious this is. I was personally involved in Miss Elvey's case. In fact, I defined the terms of her probation. I want you to shine a light on this.”
He smiled. “Ma'am, I've been doing this job for quite a while. I assure you, this little fruit is going to be thoroughly examined. Maybe Richard does have a point. I will find out.”

On his way to the elevator he had to pass Angela's desk again. This time, she didn't even notice him approaching, until he was standing right in front of her. Her legs where crossed tightly, both hands stuck between them. He could see her thighs trembling through the skirt. She looked up to him when the sound of his steps had finally found a way into her conscious mind. “Uh-oh.”
“Aw, you poor thing. Are the 40 hours really that hard on you?” Angela very carefully uncrossed her legs. She couldn't stop herself from wriggling around in the chair. “I... it isn't just that! I brought it all on myself! I'm so greedy.” “What do you mean?”
“Oh, if it was just the bonus... I tried exploiting the pay scale, but I think it backfired. They offer so many incentives to hold it longer and drink more. I took a twenty percent fluid increase for a fifteen percent raise last month. I have been struggling with 24 hours ever since. I was barely even comfortable with holding it for a day before. And now I'm trying to get the damn bonus. I need the money, god damn it.”
“Oh, that's tough.” The sympathy in his voice was entirely fake, but she didn't notice. “Will you be okay?” “I will make it. I cannot lose this job. I have to make it. Just eight more hours and... oh fuck...” She bent forward, digging both hands into her privates to fight off a powerful wave.
Archibald smiled. “I wish you the best of luck, Angela. I need to get going. Stay strong, I have faith in you.”
As soon as the elevator doors had closed behind him, he took out his phone to compose a message. 'Hello John. Angela might not be as well-behaved as you think she is. She was visibly fidgeting and crossing her legs when I left. She even used her hands to hold, right in front of me. Maybe she needs a disciplinary liter or two, to teach her some manners.  Archie.'

Archibald set down his cup on Richard's kitchen table. “As fun as reminiscing about old times is, I came here for a reason. Official business, so to speak.” “That's what I feared. What is this about?”
“Your parolee, Jane Elvey.” “What about her?” “Well, what do your think about her progress?”
“That's all in the report. She's a shining example of discipline and resolve. Archie, cut to the chase, you are not here to have me explain all this Bobbe Myseh again. I submitted a report.” “Two, actually. The issue is that the court does not quite follow your reasoning.” “That would be a first.”
Archibald shrugged. “There's a first time for everything. A few things don't quite work out. First of all, what's that with her not needing supervision to void?” “She doesn't”. “Really, after you suggested being extraordinarily lenient with her regarding her schedule and intake, you want to leave her to her own devices for urination as well? Who is going to track her progress? And why do your documents not reference each other correctly?” “She is trustworthy enough to not need surveillance. And for the reports...I simply must have forgotten to tick the appropriate boxes.” “'Forgotten', you? The most anal human being in existence.” “Archie, damn it, what is it you want?”
“Are you having sexual relations with her.” He looked annoyed. “Why exactly should I tell you about my love life?”
“Dick, please. This is a continence investigation. Cooperate.” Richard crossed his arms. “Fine. If that's how you're going to be. I thought we had spent enough time on the job together to at least develop a decent respect for each other. I don't want to say 'friendship', but...”
“You are trying to distract from the topic. Which is suspicious on its own. Are you sleeping with her?”
“If you wanna know it, I fuck the living daylights out of her on a regular basis. Last week, I screwed her silly on this very table. What's it to you?” Archie looked down at the tabletop, where his hands had been seconds ago, hoping Richard used a good general-purpose cleaning product.
“The court suspects that maybe you are not keeping the necessary emotional distance for a proper evaluation. That you have taken a liking.”
Richard went pale, except for his ears, which were now beet red. “Nonsense! I tell you, that's just not true. I just like to shtup her from time to time.”
Archibald sighed. “You've always been a lousy liar. First of all, your ears turn red. And the more uncomfortable you feel about something, the more Yiddish phrases sneak into your language.” “Dreck!” “Thus proving my point.” “Proof is exactly what you don't have.”
Archibald took an official-looking envelope from his briefcase and threw it across the table at Richard. “Be that as it may, we are going to re-evaluate your little plaything. She has been temporarily assigned to me. Your powers over her have been suspended for the time being. You'll find all necessary documentation in here. Don't worry, if we find everything in order, you'll get her back.” He rose from his chair. “Have a nice day.”

Jane jogged down the winding southern part of the trail, and left the path just after the bridge, jumping down into the dry part of the riverbed, navigating the rocks that were scattered on the sandy ground. Careful not to lose footing, but still fast-paced. Despite the thunderstorm this morning, the stream was small enough to jump across. She landed on the other side, taking a second to balance out her body. The gurgling and splashing sound of the water caused her bladder to pulse and contract. She tried to ignore it, and made her way up the river bank, taking care to chose a path that wasn't covered in ankle-deep mud. She worked her way through the knee-high brush and back onto the beaten path, this time at the opposite river shore. The trail followed the waterline for a few hundred meters, before it meandered into the woods. After about a kilometer, she was back on the graveled parking lot the park administration had set up, starting point of no less than four nature trails. She stabilized herself against the side of her car as she started to stretch. She was sweating like a pig under her thick winter jacket, but that was purely intentional. She was trying to remove as much fluid from her system as she could. Her heart was barely beating faster than it would have after running up a few flights of stairs, and her breath was still deep, controlled and relatively calm. Entirely satisfied with her physical fitness, she felt in ideal shape to register for a cross-country run or two. Maybe her cardio workouts weren't as intense as they had been in her marathon days, but then again, one could hardly call her condition back then 'healthy'. She had been severely underweight, and her joints had been killing her. No, her body was fine the way it was now. Which was apparently also what the guy who had been following her since kilometer two had thought. She had not turned back to look at him too much, but she just knew that his eyes had been glued to her butt, clad in thin, stretchy fabric, swinging from side to side. The man had annoyed her, but even after she had sped up a little, he had stayed a few meters behind her, panting and wheezing, but not losing ground. You had to give him that, he was anything if not persistent. She had finally been able to lose him with her detour through the riverbed.
After she had finished stretching out her muscles, she unlocked the trunk to take out two regulation water bottles. She already had woken her phone and was ready to make the call, when she remembered to take off her jacket. Being seen wearing it could spell trouble. It wouldn't be to hard to figure out the truth, that she was working out in clothing far to warm for this time of year, just to sweat out a few additional milliliters of liquid. A modification or her behavior to alleviate the struggle of her hold. A serious offense, especially for a convicted criminal like her. She really didn't need to face this accusation right now. Without the jacket, her drenched shirt stuck to her skin, exposing her nipples and the outline of her breast. 'Well', she thought, 'at least now it makes for a sexy show for Richard'.
Her bladder master didn't answer his phone. The video call went straight to the mailbox. That wasn't unusual, Richard was self-employed and chronically short on time. She carefully held her phone at arm's length, making sure to keep her entire head and upper body in frame, documenting how she drank every last drop from both bottles. Her lazy scan of just the cup at the café the other day, without any video evidence of her actually drinking the coffee, had gotten her a warning from Richard. He was letting her get away with a lot of things lately, up to fidgeting in public, but improper adherence to the hydration regime was something else entirely. She didn't intent to ruin everything at the very last moment, being so close to achieving her goal. She swallowed the last mouthful of water from bottle number two, presented both empty containers to the camera, and ended the call.
When she swung herself into the driver's seat, the reinforced waistband dug into her, making her wince. Her tight pants were fitting a lot more snugly around her bladder than they did two days ago. It was bearable, but far from pleasant.
On the upside, when her rear touched the seat, she felt a slight sting where Richard's hand had met her buttocks. They were probably still a little red under the fabric, which excited her sexually quite a bit. Maybe she could get him to spank her more often. Was he into that at all? Even if he wasn't, he would probably go along with it, just to see her get off. But maybe it would be even more enjoyable to make him think it was his own idea, instead of just asking for it? She had originally started sleeping with Richard for purely utilitarian reasons, but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy it, right? Physical pleasure was a nice extra she got out of him, so why not get him to satisfy her kink as an additional bonus?
Karen had certainly never objected. But you could not call what they had done to each other 'spanking', exactly. They had positively beaten each other up. There had been relatively little play in their play fights in the bedroom. Karen, significantly outweighing Jane, and with a lot more upper body strength, had usually won, and was the one to wrestle her opponent slash lover into submission, throw her onto the bed, and peel her out of her clothes. Usually, but not exclusively. Jane had fought dirty. Angry, boob-grabbing, hair-pulling, ass-slapping, neck-biting sex. All teeth, and knees, and elbows, and fingernails. Either woman had been required to explain nicks and bruises to her family at some point. 'Yes my girlfriend roughs me up from time to time, no it is not domestic abuse, yes it is perfectly consensual, I'd rather not go into details about my love live, please stop asking, Dad.' It had been awkward, to say the least. But recalling how wild and passionate their relationship had been, still got Jane's engine roaring. This one time, when they had returned from a cycling tour, they had started to make out in the elevator. No, not 'make out', they had been all over each other, and then...
The shirt wasn't the only moist piece of clothing sticking to parts of her anatomy anymore. 'Damn it girl', she thought, 'cut it out, or you'll end up masturbating yourself stupid in a parking lot. Go home first, skank!'

Jane managed to get the car all the way back down the dirt road, onto the highway, through the western part of the ringway, and into the designated parking spot in front of her apartment, before her hands wandered down into her neither regions. She had a very active libido. The combination of her full, pulsating bladder, burning bottom, physical exercise, and reminiscing about steaming hot sex with her ex, was driving her crazy. The running tights were thin enough to stimulate herself through them. The temptation was almost too much to resist. She gave herself a quick squeeze, and a gentle rub. Just one or two circular motions on her clitoris, nice and slow, careful not to get the nerves down there too exited. She wanted to save the climax for the total privacy of her bedroom. It was promising to become a major one. More than two days worth of urine were safely stored in her distended bladder, something that would have driven her mad with desperation just a few years ago. But these days, this was hardly even a challenge. She felt perfectly confident in holding it through the orgasm that was building in her. Her legs were weak and her muscles hard to control when she made her way to her door. She was used to the feeling, but usually it had a different reason.
She was able to put it off for even longer. First she cleaned herself up as good as she could, rinsed her feet, gave her upper body a sponge bath washed her hair over the bathtub. Then she threw on a fresh shirt. This was as clean as she would get, as long as she was locked inside of a pair of pants with a moisture sensor. She came back to the living room, barefooted, full with anticipation, to find the alert light on her phone blinking slowly. She thought about doing the deed first, checking the notifications later. But her curiosity got the better of her, and she picked up the device.
Two new messages. 'Inspection & urination at...' Just an automated reminder from the Continence Board, like hundreds before. Annoying. How on earth could she not remember? She really ought to set up a filter. Then again, she wouldn't need to, as this was probably the last time she would be called to Richard's place to pee. It couldn't be long before her papers cleared and she was finally allowed to pi.ss at home again.
The second one was sent from Richard's private phone, not his official number. Unusual.
'Hey Babygirl. I don't know what plans they have for you. Please comply and stay strong. I know you can do it. I love you.  Richard.'
This confused her to no end. She opened the first message again, reading what she had just glanced over before. The address was not what she was used to. Not Richard's house, a completely different part of town. Her arousal had bubbled away, replaced with a deep worry. 'Damn it!' she thought. 'That can't be good.'

The small apartment block was in a completely nondescript outer part of town, at the transition between middle-class picket fences and densely packed inner city habitation. The third floor door didn't have a name on it, the apartment could only be found by its four-digit number.  Archibald waited for the bell to sound for the third time before he opened.
He was facing a brunette in tight sport leggings and a red t-shirt. A tasty little tart. Not particularly feminine, more the sporty type, but young and skinny enough. Not really his cup of tea, but he knew some men went after girls like her.
“Bad Girl Jane Elvey reporting for inspection, sir.” Nice and polite. A good start.
He nodded. “I'm Bladder Master Archibald Bennett, Special Investigator of the Court of Urinary Affairs. You will continue to call me 'Sir'. Come in.” He closed the door behind her. They were standing in the living room of a perfectly ordinary city flat, right out of the middle section of a Scandinavian furniture store catalog. Boring and unremarkable. Jane was a very acute observer. The books on the shelves were a standard collection, and the photos in the generic frames showed at least three different families. A furnished apartment, rented with everything already in it. She doubted anyone lived here. She would bet here left leg that rent for this place would show up on an expense report to the Continence Board in the near future. She chose not to mention it and turned to the more obvious.
“'Special Investigator', sir? May I inquire what became of Richard Bartosz?” “Yes, you may.” Jane raised an eyebrow. She had no intention of playing a game of wits and pedantic language with a man who had absolute authority over a central aspect of her live. At least not without properly gauging him first. She didn't say anything. She knew perfectly well that people who expected a certain question and had already prepared a response, were mentally primed to spit it out, even if the question never came. And sure enough, after about five seconds, Mr. Bennett started talking on his own.
“You have been temporarily assigned to me for evaluation, which means all duties and responsibilities of Mr. Bartosz have been transferred over for the time being. We will get into details later. The inspection comes first.”
The second syllable of 'inspection' had not yet completely left his mouth, when Jane had already assumed the proper position. Bolt upright, arms behind her back, legs shoulder width apart. A shining example of proper discipline and adherence to protocol. He still shook his head.
“This is not going to suffice, Miss Elvey.” “Pardon me?” “I have no way of comparing your posture to earlier inspections and cannot track your progress. You are wearing flat shoes. During earlier inspection sessions with Mr. Bartosz, you wore high heels. Explain that to me.”
Jane was indeed wearing a comfortable pair of sneakers. But how on earth did he know about her heels? “Sir, may I ask...”
“I have all of Mr. Bartosz's files. He really shouldn't have saved private pictures on his work account. High heels, on every single one of them.”
The gears started grinding in Jane's head. Some of the photos Richard had taken of her were rather explicit, and now this man had them. That didn't really bother her. She had slept with someone, even faked an entire relationship, for personal gain. She was long past caring about good taste, or her reputation. And a few raunchy photos could easily be explained away as part of a purely sexual relationship. Something for Richard to look at, to keep fantasizing about her in lonely nights. She worried about something else. If he had the pictures, surely, he also had all the messages Richard had ever sent her in an official capacity. And all her replies. Was there anything incriminating about their content? Most of it was probably rather innocuous. Hydration schedules, times and dates for inspection, documentation of water intake, movement tracking, that sort of stuff. Expected exchanges between a Bladder Master, and his subject. But there were also a few more intimate pieces of communication. Could anything be drawn from that, other than that they were sleeping together? Had he ever called her 'Babygirl' in any of his notes? She was pretty sure that had only ever happened in person. In all other communications, she had been 'Miss Elvey', or 'Jane'. She had never called him anything but 'Sir' in writing. His last message had come from his personal phone, they couldn't find it via his work account. She had deleted it from her own device, and if they had enough on them for a warrant to seize his private property, she wouldn't have this conversation anyway. She was probably fine. But she couldn't be 100% sure. How much she would love to get her hands on those files, just to check if there was anything that could expose her.
The man in front of her was still waiting for an answer regarding her shoes. The question had a very serious background: The core of the regulations was that no allowances should be made to accommodate a growing need to urinate. This meant no changes to behavior and outward appearance, and especially applied to clothing. Forgoing an uncomfortable item of clothing one would have worn otherwise, could be construed as a serious violation.
“I was wearing high heels every time we met, because R... Mr. Bartosz likes them.” That was close. Had he caught her almost saying 'Richard' there? Probably not. Only a small stumble in her voice, barely noticeable.
“You were wearing nice shoes simply as a courtesy?” “Yes. Sir, I'm not what you would call a girly girl. I prefer things to be a little more practical.”
“Is that so? Please take off you shoes.” Jane complied without hesitation. Bending down to undo the laces proved to be an arduous task. Her three-day bladder protested painfully, but her face didn't show it. After a few seconds of fiddling, she slipped out of her shoes and socks and wiggled her toes.
“Get on your tiptoes?” “Excuse me?” “Assume the inspection position and get on your tiptoes, so I have a comparable posture to go by.” She arched her feet and grew a few centimeters. “Sir, please note: This is very straining. I'm not a ballet dancer. If I start to tremble, I assure you, it is not because the state of my bladder, it is just because I have trouble standing still like this.” “Oh, yes, you will have trouble”, he muttered under his breath, but he didn't argue. It was a strenuous position, and no part of the Female Urination Act said a woman couldn't tremble because she holding an unnatural pose.
Jane had also only told have the truth. Sure, she wasn't a professional ballerina. Ballet as an activity was a bit frilly and girly in appearance, not her style, and she had only dabbled in it lightly. But she was an accomplished cross-country runner with very secure footing, and did recognize ballet dancers as among the toughest and most hard-working athletes out there. Like a lot of serious competitors in her sport, she had long since added gymnastics element to her workout. Once you got off paved roads, there was more to it than just cardio. Balancing out her own weight on her outstretched ankles posed no challenge whatsoever. She knew his order had been supposed to be a stress factor, to throw her off guard. But now she had a good defense against accusations of fidgeting. Any slight tremor or other sign of weakness could be explained away. Her muscles and coordination were just not up to the task of going en pointe, easy as that. And he himself had given her this perfect excuse. Wasn't that nice?
He looked somewhat grumpy, probably realizing he had maneuvered himself into a corner, but not willing to compromise his authority by acknowledging it, or by revoking his order.
He began to feel around her legs and crotch. Despite the three days without a pi.ss, Jane's tights were  spotless, except for the occasional speck of dirt here or there. She didn't even wince when he pressed on her bladder, to find out how firm it was. Then he produced the key, unlocked the waistband, pulled it forward slightly, and peered into it. The inspection as a whole was a superfluous exercise. How could she be anything but dry?
There was no sexual element to how he ran his hands over her body, just doing his duty. Very unusual. Jane wondered if there had ever been a single bladder master without any active carnal interest in his subject. Well, there was one now. That was unfortunate, as it would make him much harder to manipulate. When he was done with the inspection, the took a step back and nodded. “That's a pass. Stand normally.” Jane breathed a false sigh of relief as she dropped down onto her heels. Convincing? Maybe.
“I assume you are wondering what the sudden replacement of your bladder master is supposed to mean.” She didn't. She had figured out what this was all about by the time he had finished his introduction, but she nodded anyway. Let him talk.
“Mr. Bartosz has made a few unusual suggestions regarding your future schedule and legal status. The court saw it fit to get a second opinion on your parole. You are being re-evaluated, that's all. Now, given your history of undisciplined behavior and repeat offenses against the Continence Mandate, what he suggested is extraordinarily lenient and smells of favoritism. Do you believe you deserve it?”
“Deserve what exactly, sir?” “Don't play games with me, young lady, I know your master went through every single document during the final interview. That's standard procedure.”
'Well Duh! You fucking idiot!', Jane scolded herself. 'Rookie mistake. Focus!'
“Sir, I have worked really hard to get where I am. I'm a very good holder, and I've not lost composure in front of others since my last appearance in court. Yes, I deserve it.”
He shook his head from side to side. “There are some people who would not even have given you this last chance. The terms of your probation are extremely mild. You get to void twice per week. One might argue they should have simply plugged and filled you till you burst.”
Jane closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She was trying very hard not to get angry. “Sir”, she said with forced calm. “I have proven that I can resist urination long enough to qualify for the biweekly schedule.”
“Well, there are two possible interpretations of the word 'biweekly', aren't there?” She didn't like the implications at all, but thankfully he didn't continue this train of thought.
“You know, Miss Elvey, I have been wondering: Do you and Mr. Bartosz have a sexual relationship?” “I thought that was obvious from the photos, sir.” “Answer the question.” “Yes, we do.”
He twirled his mustache. “And you still maintain that he was objective in your evaluation?” Finally he got to the point! “Yes sir. It's just a little harmless fun between adults.” “I see. We might get back to that.” Oh, of course they would!
Mr. Bennett changed the topic. “We've got five minutes until your break. But we are in a bit of a pickle. I can't seem to find your bathroom pass among Mr. Bartosz' papers. You don't happen to know where he kept it, do you?” What a casually evil question. If she didn't have it on her, there would never be enough time to retrieve it from wherever it was. And if she did have it on her that meant... well, she had no choice but to reveal the truth.
“Yes. I have it.” “That's an unusual choice for a Bladder Master to make. I wonder what got him to trust a criminal with the most important document of all.” He studied her frame, clad in tight fabric head to toe, with no obvious place to keep a piece of plastic the size of a credit card. “Where is it?”
She picked up her left shoe from the floor, lifted the sweat-absorbing insole, and took out the card. “I figured this was a good way not to lose it.” He was taken aback. “Huh. Give it to me.” She did. He warily looked at the pass, sniffed it, and seemed very relived it didn't smell. If Jane had known of this development in advance, she would have made sure not to change her socks for a year.
“Okay, follow me.” Another white-tiled bathroom. The oh-so stylishly rolled little hand towels and rose-scented soap confirmed her suspicion. Yes, this place was definitely pre-furnished.
The view of the toilet sent short little pangs of urgency through Jane's lower body. Not nearly as bad as last time, but then again, it had only been three days. Archibald fed the card into the reader for her. It responded with the familiar 'OUT OF SCHEDULE' series of beeps. Well, it started, but halfway through, the clock turned to 20:00. A loud click, and the lid opened on its own. Finally.
Jane knew what was expected of her. “Sir, it is time for my scheduled toilet break.  May I please take this urination?” “Permission denied”.
Jane was disappointed, but less surprised than one might think. “Excuse me?” “I said no.” “But...”
Archibald sighted. “Your files say you have an IQ upwards of 130. I can't believe I have to spell it out for you, but let me put it in a very simple form: Are you allowed to pee without permission?”
“No.” “And have you been granted permission?” “No.” “Then why are we even having this conversation? Stop wasting my time!”
Jane swallowed. “I still need to get cleaned up.” “So you can take a leak in the shower? Forget about it.” “I've been locked in these pants for three days. Improper hygiene is a health hazard, and I...”
“All right, all right, quit your whining.” He rummaged through a cabinet, then threw her a a blue plastic packet. “These should suffice.”
“Wet wipes. Really?” “If you behave like a baby, you're going to get cleaned like one. With your whining about wanting to go potty, I might as well have you put in diapers.” “You know, actually...” “No.”
Jane stopped arguing, pulled down her pants without even wasting a thought to modesty, and very diligently cleaned her thighs, butt and crotch. She used almost the whole package. The last thing she needed was some kind of infection. While she wiped and scrubbed, she got more and more grumpy. Not only was she quickly approaching desperation without having any idea when she would be allowed to pee, no, she also highly doubted the moist towelettes had come with the apartment. This jerk had brought them on purposes. This whole thing was exactly what he had planned in advance, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Archibald chose to interpret the look on her face in a different manner. “Fine. If being able to take a shower means that much to you, I will figure out how we can make allowance for one, without you sneaking in a pi.ss. I don't know why I'm doing this for a morally depraved criminal like you, maybe I'm just a nice guy.”
Jane had an appropriate response at the tip of her tongue, but decided not to push her luck. “Thank you.” “Thank you, what?” “Thank you... sir.” “That's more like it.”
He pulled the card out of the machine and the toilet closed itself off again. “When you're done, join me in the living room. Nice piercing, by the way.” Jane fought very hard to get the murderous thoughts under control at this point. Maybe if she took a knife from one of the kitchen drawers and drove it between his ribs...
Mr. Assface... er... Bennett... was waiting for her at the living room table, where he had placed a big red plastic suitcase. It was her suitcase! Well, not exactly her property, it was were Richard had kept all her sensor-equipped clothing at his place. Archibald had noticed her surprise. “Oh, yes, I meant to tell you. I've acquired the clothing Mr. Bartosz was storing for you. Just to make things a little less complicated.” He dug through the container until he had found a pair of black jeans, a belt already threaded through the loops. He threw it at Jane. Him hurling objects in her general direction was becoming a theme, apparently. “Put these on."
Jane tried. The denim slid over her legs easily enough, but then the fight with the button started. There was almost five centimeters between the brass knob and the hole on the other side. How was that even possible? It shouldn't be hard to close these pants, these were her jeans, she had worn them a million times, goddamnit! She would chalk it up to the balloon of urine inside of her, but again, it had only been three days.
“Well? Button up the damn thing!” “I... uh, it seems those wont fit me.” Archibald had to suppress a little smirk when putting on his stern voice. “Nonsense. Don't be ridiculous. These are your jeans. Unless you've gotten a few kilos since last week...” “That has literally never been a concern for me!” “Don't interrupt me! So if these don't fit properly, I can only assume you don't have your bulge under control. Now, that would be unfortunate, and would call for some disciplinary fluids, wouldn't it? Maybe after a liter or two, you...”
“No, no!”, Jane interjected, in spite of the warning. “I misspoke, these fit perfectly fine, see?” She pulled in her stomach with all she had, until it was not only flat, but even slightly concave. The button slipped into the hole, the two halves of the buckle connected on their own, clicked loudly, locking the belt in place. It was tighter than she remembered, too. She shuddered, just barely managed not to wince visibly.
Archibald chuckled in sadistic pleasure. The fifty credits of taxpayer money he had spent at the tailor's were absolutely worth it. A shame they couldn't take it in more than a few centimeters without the whole thing getting obvious. Still, she was starting to show nerves. Oh, this would be fun!

Jane was sitting at her desk, working. She carefully checked all parameter for errors before running the script. The vacuum cleaner was getting on her nerves with its insistent whirring, but she shut out the noise and focused on the screen in front of her. Twelve simple but elegant lines of code. Her powerful desktop computer, an almost anachronistic monstrosity, started to tear through approximately a terabyte of numbers, correlating, interpolating, extrapolating, analyzing trends. The algorithm couldn't be found in any commercial software package, or, for that matter, in any textbook. Maybe she would publish a paper someday, but until then, she was making boatloads of money as a consultant. For some of those companies, she was the go-to expert for the statistical interpretation of incomplete data. Quite an achievement for someone who wasn't even 25.
But her career or her bank account weren't really what was on top of her mind right now. She was preoccupied with other thoughts. She hadn't slept well. The jeans and tight belt were uncomfortable, to say the least, and her bladder was starting to give her trouble. She would pass four days without a pi.ss in a couple of hours, the longest she had ever held it for, and a toilet break wasn't even on the horizon. Again, the damn vacuum cleaner. The annoying sound was not lightening her mood. And she had no idea when she would finally get to release all  the build-up pressure. She could already picture herself back at Watershed, the hellhole to end all hellholes. The agony would just go on forever and ever, and...
She had it with the damn vacuum! She jumped from her chair, paying no mind to the pain it caused in her bladder, and leaped across the small living room with a single long step. She kicked the machine while she was still in motion, with all the strength of her well-trained legs. The instincts of a fanatical athlete, who had been kicking around balls all her life, set in not a second to late. She would have broken her toes, had she hit it straight on. Instead, muscle memory made her turn her entire lower leg, picking up the robot with the side of her foot and lifting it into the air. It was significantly heavier than a soccer ball, though, so it only flew about two meters, over the coffee table, before it slammed into the side of the sofa and crashed to the ground. It landed on it's wheels, apparently undamaged.
It turned around, pointing its sensors at Jane. The rudimentary artificial intelligence was trying to figure out how it had inconvenienced its human mistress, and how it could avoid doing so in the future. The visual effect was akin to a puppy caught pooping on the carpet.
This just got Jane even more angry, but not at the machine, at herself! Losing her cool, taking out pointless aggression on an inanimate object! How really fucking mature. Since when did she react so emotional to pressure, anyway? What became of her always rational mind? Her foot hurt a little. Good, maybe that would be enough to remind her not to be stupid.

The bell rang just as Jane was finishing her second ration bottle of the day. She wiped her mouth dry and opened, empty container still in hand. “Ah, you are drinking your water like a good girl, I see.” There wasn't any greeting. Archibald Bennett walked in like he owned the place and slammed the door shut behind himself. That was to be expected. What Jane didn't expect, was his next move. He produced a little key and nonchalantly unlocked her belt.
“Pull down your pants.” “All the way?” “If you want to. Or just enough so that I have free access to your bladder, I don't care about the rest of you.” She loosened the waistband and wiggled the jeans down just enough so that her bulge was now completely exposed. Archibald grunted. “Pull it in.”
Jane tried, but to no avail. “Um... I don't think there is any room left in me for it to go.”
“We will see about that later. For know, I just note that you refuse to follow orders.” “I can't!” Archibald shook his head. “You know very well that ability is not a factor. I gave you an order, and you failed to comply. I don't give a damn if it's actually physically possible. The law knows of no such constraints.”
Jane hung her head. She was feeling sad and violated, but there was none of the raging anger that had motivated her to brutalize an innocent robot just hours ago.
Meanwhile, Archibald had taken a gray box, about the size of a book, out of his bag. A portable bladder scanner Jane had encountered a thousand times before. They made intensive use of them at Watershed, to ensure no one voided a single drop without permission. As if that was at all possible. He roughly shoved the cold device against her distended lower midsection. Jane winced and instinctively tried to pull away. “Don't do that again. This is the only warning you will get.” The scanner beeped. Archibald nodded.
“Impressive volume. Okay. Go and take a shower. And don't even think about using the opportunity to pi.ss. I've got a precise reading, down to the milliliter.”

Keeping it in while the warm water flowed down her body was a lot easier than Jane had feared. She had intensive training in this field. Having to hold it through a nice long shower with all the hissing and sensory stimulation was an often-used method of discipline and conditioning at Watershed. Her bladder pulsated and waves of pain streamed through her body. Still, finally getting cleaned up everywhere, not just where there weren't any moisture sensors to  set off, was downright pleasant. Oh, Watershed! How happy she was to be here, at home, and no longer locked up in that hellhole. What could Archibald lay on her that could possibly be worse than all the horrible things she had suffered there? Her morale had returned. What a hot shower could do to a human being!

When she returned to the living room, wearing a towel, Archibald had been joined by a short-haired woman around his age. Jane did not approve. “What is this person doing in my apartment?” “This is Dr. Klein. I let her in.”
The small doctor smiled brightly and jovially extended her right hand for Jane to shake. “A pleasure to meet you. I will perform the procedure.” “Uh...” It was obvious, but Jane still had to ask. “What procedure, doctor?”
Klein turned to the man to her left. “You didn't tell her?” “She's a smart girl, she has probably figured it out by now. Isn't that right, Miss Elvey?”
“A permanent sensor, sir?” “Yes.” Jane sighed. “And I presume my consent is not required?” “Precisely. Plus, weren't you the one complaining about not being able to shower? Doctor?”
“If you would just lie down on the couch and expose the area in question, please.” Both the sofa and coffee table had been covered in surgical drapes. As the bladder master helped the doctor into a pair of sterile gloves, she went over a few additional points. “This is not technically an invasive procedure. A sterile field is not even strictly necessary, it just helps with proper attachment and prevents long-term skin irritation. You don't want any dust below this thing.” She raised the transparent but still sealed package. A rectangle the size of a stick of gum, with two long, thin sensor lines on either side. “I will attach the sensor with skin glue. Unlike temporary cyanoacrylate-base liquid bandages you might know from minor procedures, this will permanently affix the base of the device to your dermis. That means it will, in simple terms, melt through the dead cells of your epidermis to directly attach itself to living tissue. Please take off the towel. Oh my.” The physician's eyes got wide. “That is an impressive bulge!”
“Impressive, but highly illegal. I ordered her to pull it in.” “Oh Archie, you are always so strict with your subjects.” “I do what is necessary. Go on.”
The doctor studied Jane's genitals diligently. “Laser hair removal?” “No, just depilatory cream.” “That saves me from having to shave you. Obviously, no hair will grow below or out from under the device. But if you want to grow a little pubic hair to hide it from view, this will not impede it's function. Miss Elvey, this might feel a little cold now.” It did, but it wasn't too bad. Just some regular antiseptic scrub. What followed was some kind of alcoholic skin degreasing solution. Then the package was torn open, and a small tube of yellow goo was applied to a plastic swab.
“Stay very still now. You don't want any of this stuff going anywhere else accidentally.” The actual  attachment of the sensor was painless, quick, and unspectacular. The next time Jane glanced down, her pubic mound looked just like what she had seen on Karen a few days earlier. Dr. Klein took off her gloves.
“Done already. Remain still for a minute or two, while the glue sets. The sensor is active and ready to go immediately, and will log into the Continence Board surveillance network wherever it can get a cellular signal. I don't think I need to explain to you what it detects. It is very sensitive, a drop it enough. Do not temper with it either. This will set off the alarm, too. There are no special after-care instructions. The device does not interfere with sexual intercourse. It is water proof down to 50 meters, and resilient against a wide range of temperatures and organic solvents. The battery lasts for approximately seven years, at which point the whole sensor will have to be surgically removed and replaced. That's about it. Any questions?”
“Just one: How is the medical degree working out for you?”

A little over 24 hours later, a throbbing mess was sitting in the back of a bus, on her way across town. Jane didn't trust herself to safely steer even a semi-automated vehicle, so public transport it was. Jane knew she was in trouble. Archibald had summoned her to the apartment again. Five days had passed since she had last emptied her bladder. She hadn't slept at all last night, deep lines had buried themselves into her face. Her bladder had distended to such a ridiculous size, none of her jeans fit anymore. A pair of old stretched-out yoga pants had been the only thing she had been able to squeeze herself into. At least the urine sensor wasn't bothering her. That much was true: the thing was barely even noticeable. The anguish showed on her face, and she walked bent slightly forward. Her feet were tapping on their own. She just hoped no would call the police on her, over the public display of desperation.
She existed the bus at the appropriate station and hobbled the last few hundred meters to the apartment block. She pushed open the front door, shuffled into the hall, and recoiled in horror. The wide metal door held a printed sign: 'ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER – USE STAIRS'.
Two stories up, four flights of stairs. Jane muttered swearwords through her teeth, and whimpered silently with every step. Her urethra stung, she wanted to cry. She somehow made it up all the way, and just when she was about to knock on the door, she heard a ping behind her. The elevator door slid open, and a woman came out, walked right past Jane, fiddled with her keys for a few seconds, and disappeared into one of the units.
Jane was furious. How on earth could she be so stupid not to even push the damn button to try it? Of course, Mr. Assface was behind it! One page out of a simple office printer, and she had fallen for it like an idiot. Fine. At least she wouldn't give him any satisfaction by acknowledging he'd got her.
She somehow mustered the strength to stand up straight, place her feet a few centimeters apart, and put on a big fake grin before she raised her hand to knock.

His eyes were already analyzing her posture before she had even entered the room. While she was still standing in the hall, he looked up and down the entire length of her body, with a very critical look on his face. It was just now, when contrasted with Archibald's frown, that she realized how much Richard had been smiling at her. “Miss Elvey. How nice you could join me. And still distended far beyond the legal limit, I see. Come in.”
Jane almost instinctively assumed the inspection position, but the man in charge had something different in mind. “That won't be necessary.” The pointed tot the sofa. “Sit down, we need to talk.”
She did. “What do we need to talk about, sir?”
“A few things. First of all, why you think it would be appropriate to cross your legs.” Her legs had firmly twisted themselves into a knot without her even noticing. She very carefully uncrossed them and brought her knees a centimeter apart.
“Very good. This lack of discipline of yours will have consequences. Consider this the second warning. You already got the first one yesterday. Now, for the purpose I ordered you to come here in the first place...”
“A toilet break, sir?” “No. We had this same conversation two days ago. Now shut up about it already!”
Jane gave up all hope. She was absolutely powerless, and knew it. She never stood a chance to win this game in the first place. She was frantic. On the brink of wetting herself.
“Did you manipulate Richard Bartosz into giving you a positive review?” Jane was almost relieved. Two days, and now he finally decided to get to the point! What a stupid, cruel, pointless game. Pure state-sanctioned sadism.
“No. We had a very professional relationship. And we had sex from time to time, just for the fun of it. Nothing else.”
“I see. But did you manipulate Richard Bartosz into giving you a positive review? Look at you, you're swollen like a stratosphere balloon! I told you to pull in your bladder. Last warning. And did you manipulate Richard Bartosz into giving you a positive review?”
Jane didn't even try. She knew her bladder wouldn't be going anywhere.
“Ah... still refusing to follow orders, I see.” He got up and retrieved two ration bottles from the fridge, placing them on the table in front of her. “That's a disciplinary liter, then.”
Tears were running down Jane's face. Her mind was clouded in pain. The whole situation was not conductive to thinking. But she wasn't blind.
“That's two liters.” “Your factor is closer to two than it is to one, isn't it? You've got ten minutes for both of them. While you do so, I want you to ponder the following question: Did you manipulate Richard Bartosz into giving you a positive review? Drink up.”
Jane managed to swallow everything. The fluid was sloshing around in her stomach, but she doubted it would reach her bladder any time soon. No way her kidneys could work quickly against the massive pressure. When she finished the second bottle, she let out a small burp.
Archibald frowned again. “Not exactly very ladylike. And not a valid answer to my question. But I still hope this has taught you a lesson. Now, for the last time: Stop showing off your bladder. Pull it in.” Jane just shock her head.
“Very well then. Stand up.” She somehow did. It was hard, and painful, but she succeeded. Not enough for Archibald, though. “Stand upright, and don't even think about bringing your thighs together. Stay here. I need to get something.” He was gone for less than half a minute, somewhere in the apartment, before he returned with a cardboard box the size of a shoe carton. It was a very long thirty seconds for Jane.
“To the bathroom. Now. Walk. Upright. No hobbling. No holding. Go.”
The toilet came into view, and Jane started sobbing. She wanted to pi.ss so badly, she could taste it.
“Pull down your pants. Good girl. Now watch this.” From the breast pocket of his shirt, he took a crimson red card. He shoved it into the machine, and without protest, not even a single beep, the lid opened. “High-rank privilege card, no limits to urination whatsoever. Million of women desperately want this thing. It is personalized to my name, so don't try any funny business. You butt, down on there, now. And not a single drop, I warn you!”
Jane's behind touched the plastic seat. It felt slightly warm, and comfortable, and ...“Hnnngrh”.
“Speak in complete sentences. Did you manipulate Richard Bartosz into giving you a positive review?” “No... I... please, the pain...” “Spare me the details.”.
A loud, buzzing noise tore through the bathroom. It was emanating from Archibald's phone. He calmly took it out of his pocket and canceled the alarm. The sensor had been triggered. A single drop had slipped out of the pulsating, burning, tormented center of the galaxy that was Jane's urethral opening. It still glistened on her genitals, had not yet fallen down. She gasped. 'BUUUUUUUZ!' Another drop. And another one. Then a small spurt.
“Clamp it! Stop it now, or the rest of your days will be living hell!” And she did! She moaned and cried, but she didn't lose it again. She was fully aware of the dire consequences this could have. Archibald's voice didn't even have a threatening tone. He spoke very matter-of-factly.“I swear to god, if you do that again, I will see to it that you never pi.ss again!”
Archibald disappeared for a few seconds, then returned with a plastic cup, filled it at the sink, and handed it to her. “This is to recuperate your losses. I'm being very lenient. You know I could have you hauled off to Watershed for urination without permission, just for that. But I warn you: The things I can do to you are worse even than Watershed. Do you understand?”
Jane nodded while she drank the water. Her teeth were floating.
“I'm glad we are on the same page. Now, to do something about that unsightly bulge of yours...”
The shoe box held a compression girdle. Of course it did. Archie slid the fabric across her waist, secured the fasteners, and engaged the lock with movements that indicated he had done this a million times before. Then he gripped on tightly to the reins.
“Did you manipulate Richard Bartosz into giving you a positive review? No answer? Suit yourself.” He pulled hard. Everything tightened. The entire universe seemed to shrink, came crushing down on Jane. She yelped, then continued to cry.
“Did you manipulate Richard Bartosz into giving you a positive review?”
Jane was dying. She had never needed it so badly. She had no idea how the pi.ss didn't just spray out of her right there. She begged and she pleaded, without even being aware what she said. In between the words, she whimpered sorrowfully, but he showed no mercy. There was no hope, only boundless agony.
“You know...” a distant voice, through all the suffering, “I don't see the 'remarkably composed and continent' in you.” She slowly raised her head, looked in his general direction, barely able to make out his outline in the sea of tears. “That's how Richard described you in his reports. Verbatim. I cannot see much of this supposed strength now.”
“I... please...”
“Did you manipulate Richard Bartosz into giving you a positive review?”
“No.”
“Really? Did you manipulate Richard Bartosz into giving you a positive review?”
“No.”
“Did you manipulate Richard Bartosz into giving you a positive review?”
“I told you, no!”
“Uh-hu. This is not quite closed yet...” He pulled again.

All legal and ethical concerns aside, torture is not a reliable way of extracting information. It almost never works to acquire knowledge. The signal-to-noise ratio of any statement obtained, is disastrous. Torture is, however, quite an effective means of control. If the goal is to force a confession, and the question of whether it's actually true is insignificant, it is the tool of choice for those with unchecked power and zero accountability.

“Did you manipulate Richard Bartosz into giving you a positive review?”
“Yes! God...” “Go on.” “He fell for me. He was in love. I... I'm going to burst!“ “That should be enough.”
With a loud pop, the girdle slacked. The pressure around her middle dropped to almost nothing.
Jane whimpered loudly. Archibald wasn't faced by that. “Say it!” “Say what?” “Girl, if you don't want to ask the question, I can't help you.”
'Ask the question?' Jane took a few more seconds to understand. All she could think of was her burning desire for a good hard pi.ss. Then the realization sunk in. Of course. The question.
“Sir, may I please take this urination?” “Yes.”
Jane exploded. A gallon of pi.ss erupted from her pee hole. Her body went completely limp. As the stream gushed out of her, her tears ran dry. She still wanted to cry, but there was nothing left. Pi.ssing felt good, but there was no sexual enjoyment in it, like she had experienced so many times before. There was only defeat. Defeat and the complete loss of all dignity and control. She was doomed.

 

Epilogue

Jane had pushed her luck, and lost everything. To her great surprise, she didn't find herself back at Watershed. But once Archibald had submitted his report, the court found against her.
The general conditions didn't change that much. She was still stuck in Urination Permit Class VI. Only that now, with another severe violation added to her record, there was no chance of ever getting out of there. The board decided to adjust her factor to the permissible maximum of 2, increasing her mandatory fluids to twice that of a woman of good standing.
But the real punishment was the replacement of her bladder master. The temporary arrangement became permanent. Archibald took complete control of her.
Jane's life got a lot less comfortable from now on. It wasn't only the higher fluid intake, or the times between her pee breaks, which seemed to get longer and longer.
All rules were brutally enforced. Archibald was a lot less lenient than Richard had been. And he couldn't be guilt-tripped, seduced, threatened, blackmailed, or bribed. All of this, she considered, and most of it, she tried. He was aware of her  manipulative exploits, her intelligence, and her willingness to bend the rules. And he had no sexual interest in her whatsoever, past the obvious enjoyment he got from controlling her bladder.
Her new master was quick to dish out punishments for loss of composure, and very liberal in his use of forfeiture of toilet breaks. Disciplinary liters mounted, the girdle became a regular companion, and it became quite normal for a week to pass between her visits to the powder room. Sometimes she daydreamed about the relaxed twice-per-week schedule she was once allowed to attend.

Richard tried to contact her a few times. She deleted his messages, blocked his calls, and the one time he appeared on her doorstep, she didn't open. He stopped after a month. Maybe he had realized that he had just been a pawn in her game. She felt a little sorry for him. Hopefully, he wasn't beating himself up too much over it. In a way, they both were victims of the system.

 

Edited by randomkath (see edit history)
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After a few messages I've received, I have to clarify something here:

This is a fantasy is which people are deprived of basic human rights, by a brutal bureaucracy, for a mad cause that is never fully explained, but accepted by everyone, and justified by circular reasoning. 

It is just a fantasy. Please don't worry about my mental health, or ethical framework. 

If you think Archie is an evil bastard, all that means is that you have a working moral compass. :wink:

If you'd rather read of a young woman actually enjoying holding it, check out my story "The Rough Seam" on this very board:

 

Edited by randomkath (see edit history)
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