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female Anya's Predicament - Desperate Tales From Work, Chapter One.


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Hi everyone. I go by Vai, I'm a long time lurker that finally decided to try his hand at writing myself. I am currently in the process of writing a non-omo related full-length novel, but I have hit my first big "writer's block" moment, and I thought I could distract myself a little by writing a shorter story about something else, so here I am.

This is my first ever attempt at something like this, plus English is not my main language, so apologies in advance for any mistakes you might encounter during your read. Criticism is always appreciated.

The story's very loosely based on real people (with the names changed), and is in two parts; the second and final one is almost finished, and I'll be tweaking it based on the feedback I get on this one and post it shortly after. 

Lastly, I think this one turned out to be a little too slow-paced, with about first half of the first chapter serving mostly as an introduction and world-building. Feel free to skip ahead to around the second half, if you feel like it. Enjoy.

Chapter one: Four Minutes

Hi. My name's Ocean. Yeah, it's my real name. Yeaaah, I know, it's an unusual name, please save any name puns you have that you might think are original (trust me, I've heard it all) until the end of the story. Thank you.  

I'm an average 24 year old guy, and I would like to tell you about a series of events I've been through recently that I think most people here might enjoy hearing about, so here goes. 

 As long as I've known myself, I've had this strange dilemma of always asking to help people around me, yet never actually wanting to help.  Let me explain.

Back in college, I would hear groups of classmates huff and puff about their upcoming math exam, grab them on their arms, shove them into an empty classroom and proceed to spend hours lecturing until each and every one of them felt satisfied. Even though that would leave me very tired, with a sore throat from talking too much and an hour max to study for my physics exam the same day (and that's being generous, if I wanted to also get more than a few hours of sleep myself). 

I was one of the fortunate few among my peers to be able to afford a car of their own right after I turned eighteen and got my driving license. The next week, I was on the road to a muddy forest in the middle of god knows where, for a barbecue with friends, with a whopping seven of them stuffed in my humble 5-person-capacity vehicle (a dude even was riding in the trunk, for fuck’s sake).  

I just HAD to offer to lecture those friends at school. I HAD to offer to drive everyone there myself, I guess. 

Long story short, my life has been, and still is, filled with this irresistible desire to help everyone, yet not willing to do what’s necessary to help them, YET helping them anyway.  

About a month ago, I got a new job. Nothing special; average workload, decent pay. Good chance to get back on my feet after a few months of unemployment. On my first day, I’ve made myself a promise to try not to be the yes-man that I always was. I would do only what my job description required from me. No “helping people” anymore.  

It worked well. I could do things at my own pace, avoid overloading on work and burning myself out. This decision somewhat carried over to my personal life as well; I would offer less “unnecessary” help to people, and would go on to find a good and healthy balance between not being an asshole to people in need of my help but offering my support to anyone that needed it, without putting myself in too much trouble in return. 

Little did I know at the time that a random resurfacing of this habit of mine would soon lead to a rather, well, interesting series of events. 

I have mentioned before that my workload at the job  isn’t too crazy yet, since I am still new and learning the ropes. This gives me enough free time to have a chat with everyone in their free time and to get to know them a little better. One colleague I’ve had the chance to chit chat was a woman in their mid-fourties, named Anya from the accounting department. Her room was one floor above mine, but she would often come downstairs to the smoking area directly in front of my room, where I also would frequent. 

Over the course of a few weeks, I’ve gotten to know Anya a little better, despite our conversations almost never going deeper than surface level small talk. She was a single mother of one, divorced a few years ago, living with her 12 year old son. She was one of these people who would appear very cold at first glance, but was actually really sweet underneath. But I digress. 

I had also noticed despite almost all of my colleagues driving to and from work by car, she would use the bus instead, although the nearest bus station to work was at least a fifteen to twenty minute walk. Combined with the typical dry and cold weather of my city, I simply couldn’t imagine how troublesome it must have been for her. But as you would imagine, I couldn’t just ask her why she didn’t have a car, without sounding rude or awkward. 

During another one of our little chats in the smoking area, Anya got a phone call. She took a few steps away before answering it and I turned my head the other way and pretended not to listen in to give her some space, but I did not move away myself, since the smoking area was rather small. I did not specifically try to, but I could still hear bits and pieces of her conversation. It seemed rather serious. 

After she was done talking, I asked her if everything was alright. She told me it was her son’s teacher calling to let her know their school bus driver had been on a small car accident and would not be able to work today, so the parents would have to come pick their kids up from school themselves. For Anya, who, for whatever reason, did not have a car, that would mean an even longer bus ride , even more walking in the cold and even more wait time for her son. 

Being me, I of course thought of offering to give her a ride from work to school and back to their house, but I realised soon after that her place was practically on the opposite side of the city, and combined with the heavy after-work traffic, it would mean spending almost my entire evening on the road. 

Oh, did I mention it was MY BIRTHDAY TODAY? 

Did I have any plans for it tonight? No. I would spend it as if it was any other evening after work, just chilling at home by myself. But the alternative, the “cost” of helping Anya would be a birthday wasted being a personal driver for a colleague I barely knew for a few weeks.  

I couldn’t help it. I could have just held my tongue. I could have said “Hey Anya, I would love to take you there but it’s my birthday today and my friends are waiting for me after work. Sorry”. She didn’t even ask for my help in the first place, I could have not even mentioned it. But I did. Old habits die hard, I suppose.  

I put on my best concerned impression and asked Anya: 

“Hey, would you like me to drive you there after work? My place is not too far from there anyway,” That was a lie. My place WAS far from there. 

“No, Ocean, it’s fine, really, I'll just take the bus as usual,” she replied. 

Now, one advantage of being a people-pleaser for so long is that you get really really good at telling whether someone is rejecting help because they don’t need it or if they are just too nice to accept. 

Anya was doing a great job at sounding sincere, but an eye contact lasting a fraction of a second more than it should have gave it away for me. She clearly could use someone to drive her there and back. I pushed a little more. 

“Please, Anya, really, it’s no problem for me.” 

 “Alright,” she finally gave in, with the subtlest hint of relief, signaled to me by the ever so slight relaxation of her shoulders that would go unnoticed by most, but not by me. Again, courtesy of having seen this scene countless times in my years of helping people. “Here, have a cigarette on me in return,” she handed her pack to me with the sweetest smile on her face. “Let me get you a refill on your coffee, too,” she grabbed both my cup and hers (which I just now noticed to be significantly larger than our company’s standard 180 ml paper cups), before heading towards the kitchen. 

I lit up the cigarette I got from Anya, took a big breath and leaned on a wall nearby and started waiting. As I did, I noticed something strange. Strange, not because it was happening now, but because it hadn’t happened until now

 I have been single for a few years now, therefore thinking of a person I newly met in a sexual way at least once is pretty standard for me, especially if I found them at least decently attractive. But for some reason, I had never seen Anya that way.  

 As she walked towards the kitchen with her back turned to me, for the first time since I met her, I caught myself eyeing her. Not like a momentary glance, but more like looking up and down her body for a good few seconds, observing every detail on her figure, as if I would be tasked with painting a picture of her from memory within a time limit or something. 

She was... cute. Trust me, however much I tried, I could not find another word that described her better. Attractive didn’t quite fit. Sexy..? No, not quite. She was just... really... fucking... cute.  

I just sat there and got hypnotised in the rhythm of her slim hips sway slightly from side to side with each step. She had a pair of skinny dark blue jeans that complimented her slender legs beautifully. Now that I think about it, he almost always wore some variation of jeans or pants that seemed almost a  little too skinny for her (which was an achievement, since she already had a very slim figure). Her straight, medium-length brown hair brushed up against the back of her black leather jacket as a gentle but sharp gust of winter wind passed us by, causing her to quicken her steps and me to jolt out of the train of thoughts. 

I decided to go use the men’s room as I waited for her to get back, since we would most likely have a long drive ahead of us with the possibility of traffic. My cigarette was still unfinished, but I went in anyway after a quick glance to make sure nobody else was inside. Eh, only ten minutes left until the end of the shift, who cares. I quickly finished my business and returned to the smoking area. 

A minute later, I saw Anya come out of the kitchen with my regular-sized  and her much bigger cup filled. She handed mine to me as we both finished our coffees and cigarettes. Despite hers being almost triple in size compared to mine, I couldn’t help but notice we were both done with our drinks at around the same time. She must really like coffee, I thought. 

Our chatting was soon interrupted by another coworker of ours, a young girl named Marla from quality control department, the rooms next to mine. She waved us a little goodbye before rather hurriedly making her way towards the ladies room.  

Only after that did I have the sense to finally look at the time on my phone, and was subsequently horrified by the fact that it was 6:04 p.m., a whopping four minutes past the end of work. 

Four minutes may not seem like a great deal of time (ask the ladies), but in an area all surrounded by office workers that leave work at 6:00 p.m. sharp, it was the difference between a smooth fifteen minute drive home and an agonisingly boring hour on traffic surrounded by nothing but cars for kilometers on end. 

“Oh no,” I showed Anya the clock on my phone screen, before quickly entering my office to pack up. I told Anya to meet me next to my car, and hurry, before she nodded and ran upstairs to pack up her own stuff. 

 I could not, however, help but notice her make a brief pause in front of the ladies room and glance at the door for a second or so as she (rather reluctantly) decided to run past it and hurried towards the stairs. 

As you could probably imagine, this little scene intrigued me quite a bit; but I didn’t think too much of it. I only hoped she wouldn’t come to regret that last big cup of coffee.  

Boy oh boy, was I in for a ride. 

After I picked up all my stuff, I ran downstairs to the parking lot where I saw Anya standing with her legs crossed next to my car, shivering slightly as the cold sharp winds continued. I quickened my steps, as I was getting rather cold myself, as I politely apologised for the wait before we quickly hopped in the car and I started driving as fast as I could, hoping to beat a few people to the inevitable traffic jam that we both knew was to come. 

Anya seemed rather distracted as she did her seatbelt. I presumed she was anxious about making her son wait in the cold, so I tried to ease the mood a little. 

“Don’t worry Anya, I’ll get you there as soon as possible,” I reassured her. “Besides, I bet the little guy's having a blast having some extra time to play with his friends. Hey, he might even be glad we’ll be late; who wouldn’t enjoy being in school with all your buddies but not having to do any actual studying, right?” I chuckled. 

“I guess you’re right” she answered with a nervous smile.  

Following the GPS on my phone, I made a right turn towards the main road, and was subsequently greeted by a sea of tail lights spanning across miles down the road, with seemingly no end. 

“Oh boy,” I gestured at the massive traffic jam forming in front of us. “Guess we’re in for a long ride, literally.” I gave another chuckle at the product of my own stupid unnecessary sense of humor aimed at easing the situation, which at least got another nervous smile out of her.  

“Maybe you could give the teacher a call and ask how the kids are doing? You could let them know we might be a little late too. Maybe talk to your son, tell him not to worry and we would be there as fast as we can?” I started presenting options. 

“I guess I should do that,” said Anya as she pulled out her phone and dialed back the number that called her earlier. 

The teacher assured her the kids were fine, quite happy in fact, that they’ve finally had a few hours to play around with no classes to interrupt them, before he gave the phone to Anya’s son who quickly said hi to mum and even sounded like he couldn’t wait to get back to playing with his classmates. 

“See? Nothing to worry about,” I gave her a warm smile. Anya returned it shortly after with the same slight nervousness that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. She shifted around in her seat for a moment, before crossing one leg over another and rested her hands in her lap.  

At that point, the part of my brain that had a bit more of a, for lack of a better term, perverted look on things had started to slowly take over. 

Now, I don’t like fantasising about people I know. I never did. Both in the context of more vanilla sexual acts, and especially on this kink of mine. I will leave the discussion of “Is it wrong to fantasise about someone you know personally, since you do not know if they would consent to it?” debate up to the reader, but either way, I just couldn’t help the thought of “What if she has to pee?” from popping up in my mind. 

She probably just doesn’t like traffic jams, nothing unusual. 

Either way, she was definitely quieter than usual, and I decided not to push her. I put my gaze back on the road, as she silently stared out the window into the inching traffic jam. 

I usually like silence. I truly believe the so called “awkward silence” moments are only as awkward as you make them to be. But after twenty minutes of traffic that seemingly had no end, even I felt somewhat obligated to strike up a conversation, or at least find something to pass the time for both myself and Anya. 

 Before I could say anything, though, Anya (rather suddenly) turned to me and asked, with the same nervous tone still present in her voice: 

“Hey, Ocean, umm... how much longer do you think we’ll be?”  

I took my eyes off the road for the moment and looked towards her, while preparing more reassuring words to tell, when I realised Anya was now sitting very tensely in her seat. Her legs were now double-crossed, her posture was a lot stiffer. Her hands were also grabbing tightly at the sides of the car seat. Alarm bells started ringing in that part of my mind once again. 

Okay, she could just be cold. I kept brushing it off.  

I took a glance at the GPS on my phone screen. 

“The app says we should be there in about fourty-five minutes, including traffic,” I answered. 

Anya let out a slight groan, before shifting in her seat once again and buried her butt a little deeper into the seat. “Yeah, but umm... the app could be wrong, right..?” Not impossible, but very unlikely. “The traffic could clear up any moment, no..?” I wouldn’t count on it. 

“Well, these apps are usually pretty accurate, but we need to wait and see,” a deep sigh escaped Anya’s lips, before another (longer) shuffle in her seat. This time, she also uncrossed and recrossed her legs, with the other one on top this time, but just as tightly as before, if not more. Oh boy. 

I could not convince myself otherwise any longer. She had to pee. 

Don’t ask her. 

“Hey, Anya...” I continued. 

Please don’t. 

“Is something the matter? You seem a little distracted...” 

Dammit. You just could not resist, could you? 

“No, I'm alright, really,” that sounded more like an attempt by Anya to comfort herself instead of being directed at me. “I  think I’m just a little cold...” Sure, just cold. 

“I’ll turn the AC up a bit,” I answered, all the while trying to contain that part of my brain that grew increasingly more excited every time I took a glance at Anya’s remarkable efforts to contain the contents of her bladder. 

 I noticed her breathing getting ever so slightly shakier as she mumbled “Thanks,” followed by another deep sigh.  

Not even a minute later, before the AC even began heating up the car, Anya reached out to undo her seatbelt and took off her coat, as if she wasn’t the one complaining about being cold a moment ago.  

Must be real exhausting to keep all that coffee in there. 

Okay, and? She just needs to use the restroom, so what? Could happen to anyone. 

I wonder if she will ever admit to her need... 

Why does that matter? 

Maybe it gets bad enough that she would have to hold her crotch in front of you. 

That’s a perfectly natural response. 

God forbid, she could even have an accident right here, sitting next to you. 

Shut up. 

Admit it, you’re enjoying this.  

I was. I really was enjoying watching a grown woman’s silent (so far) but fierce battle against the call of nature. But I would certainly do my best to get her to a ladies’ room as quickly as I possibly could. I am NOT a pervert. 

“Mind if I put some music on?”  

I decided she could probably use a distraction from her growing need. 

“Not at all.”  

She put her best effort to sound like she was okay, but I could really tell it was getting rather serious now. 

“Anything you prefer?” 

“Not really.” She’s got something much more important on her mind right now, you idiot. 

I put on some generic chill playlist that I did not even recognise the names of the songs in, and directed my attention on the road ahead, to get there as quickly as possible. My random choice of a playlist happened to be quite enjoyable, as I rather quickly got lost in the relaxing melodies seamlessly playing back to back, and within a minute or so, I did not even mind the traffic anymore. 

I wasn’t looking at the time, but based on the number of songs played, it must have been ten or fifteen minutes when I got snapped out of my musical journey, by Anya’s now VERY concerned sounding voice. 

“Ocean...” she gushed, her breath now getting noticeably shakier. “How much time..?” 

“We’re almost there, I would say about half an hour or so,” I replied, with the usual smile. 

Anya now had her legs uncrossed, and instead had her hands on her inner thighs, gripping them tightly every few seconds or so. I also noticed her tapping her foot whenever she saw I was not looking, trying to be as quiet with it as possible. 

Fuck. 

“Are you umm... are you sure you’re okay Anya?” I asked her, trying to sound as sympathetic as humanly possible. “Do you... need anything..?” 

Come on. Come on. Come on. Say it. 

At this point, I should probably specify that despite this stream of perverted thoughts floating in the back of my mind, I was rather hoping she would in fact admit to the emergency of her predicament; not because of what you think, but because if she knew that  knew, she wouldn’t have to hide it anymore, and therefore maybe could use more... *ahem*... effective methods to hold it in, which I hoped would give her a little more relief until we get to our destination. 

You want to see her squirm around in that tiny seat? Hold her crotch? Maybe even both? 

Yes. I MEAN NO. Well, yes, but actually no. 

Now, the funny thing about someone admitting (or not admitting) their need to pee is that there’s a somewhat gamble-y side to it. The longer you deny it, the more embarrassing it becomes to come clean once you can’t hide it any longer. You know, you would be asked “Why didn’t you say anything before..?” I was guessing Anya would be in a similar predicament by now, as I could see her clearly debate about it for a few seconds. 

“I umm...” Anya now sounded clearly in distress as she blushed visibly. “I... I need to use the restroom...”

 

Chapter two coming soon

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1 hour ago, daisyduke said:

plase continue this, I love how you write

Glad you enjoyed. I've got another chapter almost finished, but it's a different scenario with another woman. I was going to decide whether to continue this story or switch to that one based on how well this one does, but it didn't get much feedback so I guess I'll wait a little more or decide on my own idk

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