by Fiona Locke
Emily flushed. She felt her sex moistening again at the prospect. ‘Aye aye, sir.’
‘Navigation is important, Mr Vane,’ he said. ‘But action at close quarters is the true test of any officer.’
Bursting
JULIE HAD TO go. Desperately. She hadn’t reckoned on so much traffic on the way back from the airport and she’d thought she could survive till she got home. It was usually a half-hour drive, but today everything was conspiring against her. First she got stuck behind a tractor for several miles. Then there was a patch of roadworks. And now this bloody bus trundling along at a snail’s pace. She sounded her horn in irritation, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. Overtaking wasn’t even an option; she couldn’t see around the bus.
She squeezed her legs together, trying to sit as still as possible. Her jeans felt unbearably tight. The slightest movement was agony and threatened to make her lose control.
She’d already passed the one dodgy petrol station where she might have used the loo, but she’d been less desperate then. She wasn’t going to double-back now and there was no point in leaving the main road for a pub; she might as well gut it out until she made it home.
It had been an awful visit with Melanie. Though the girls had been inseparable throughout school, they’d lost touch for several years after university. And while the emails exchanged through Friends Reunited made it seem like no time had passed, the reality had been unbearable.
A weekend in the south of France had sounded like paradise to Julie. Unfortunately, Melanie’s paradise included two shrieking babies and a gormless husband who thought fart jokes were the pinnacle of wit. Julie’s polite smile became increasingly strained as she counted the minutes until she could leave. She’d used the headache excuse early on but by the end of the visit no faking was necessary. She’d even lied about the flight time to get away earlier, preferring to kill the final three hours at the airport.
Her haste to leave had clouded her judgment and she’d had two vodka tonics in the airport bar to obliterate her memories of the awful visit. Then she’d had a cup of tea on the plane to sober up for the drive. She’d needed to relieve herself when the plane landed, but her suitcase was – amazingly – already on the carousel. The queue for the ladies’ stretched out the door, so she’d ignored the urge in her eagerness to be home again. Now she was really suffering.
Briefly she considered pulling over to pee in the bushes, but she didn’t fancy braving the nettles or ruining her heels in the wet grass. It was only another few miles.
The bus lumbered to a stop and Julie watched helplessly as an elderly man shuffled to the door and climbed the steps with excruciating care. She couldn’t take it any more. She threw the car into reverse and backed up enough to see around the bulk of the vehicle. The road was clear ahead and she stamped the pedal, squealing her tyres as she overtook. An oncoming car appeared over the ridge and blared its horn at her, but she made it into her own lane, finally achieving some speed.
Her bladder ached as she watched the speedometer climb to 80, then 90. She was on the home stretch. It wouldn’t be long now.
She glared at a speed camera warning sign as she sailed past – a crude likeness of an ancient box Brownie that was supposed to encourage you to slow down. But the boxes seldom had cameras in them. She’d certainly never been flashed by one on this familiar road. Not that it would deter her now anyway.
Almost there, almost there, she told herself, swerving to avoid the suicidal pheasant that emerged from the hedgerow. She skidded a little on the wet road and had to brake hard to regain control of the car. Her handbag slid off the passenger seat, spilling its contents noisily onto the floor.
Julie cursed and leaned across to retrieve things, wincing at the discomfort in her bladder as she bent down. The car wavered on its course as she felt around under the seat for her phone. She had just rescued it, and was raising her head to look up at the road again, when she saw the fence rushing towards her.
She cried out and hit the brakes, but not before the nose of the car crunched into the wooden slats and she lurched to a painful stop in the gravel of a farm track. Almost immediately she saw the flashing lights of a police car in her rearview mirror.
‘Nooo!’ she cried, a long plaintive wail of dismay. ‘Not fair!’
For a moment she was tempted to do a runner – just floor the accelerator and race home, run inside and relieve herself. The cop might chase her inside the house, but she could shout her explanation through the closed bathroom door and present herself contritely to him afterwards.
But she was also aware of the alcohol in her system. If she made him chase her home he would assume the worst. She wasn’t drunk, but there was no way she’d pass a breath test. Besides, he could easily take her down before she made it inside the house. That old goat Mr Beddowes across the road would love to see her arrested outside her own front door.
With a groan of misery, she shut the engine off. The car shuddered unpleasantly before going silent and Julie tried not to think about all the liquid sloshing around inside her.
The police car eased to a stop behind her. Squirming in her seat, her heart pounding, Julie watched the officer stroll up to her car with all the casual confidence of officialdom. He radiated control. He was about forty, and his posture and crew cut suggested ex-army. Clean-cut and no-nonsense. Impossible to bargain with.
She pushed the button to open the window and was surprised when it didn’t respond. Of course. The engine was off. With a shaky hand she tried to turn the key, but the ignition didn’t respond either. Brilliant. It didn’t matter, though, as the policeman was already opening her door.
‘In a hurry?’ he asked coolly.
Though she loathed his sarcasm, Julie forced a meek smile and a nervous laugh. ‘As a matter of fact, yes.’ She looked up towards the gate. She’d only nosed into it, cracked the boards but not destroyed it. ‘I just … I swerved to avoid a pheasant and went off the road.’
‘Where were going you in such a hurry?’
‘It’s a little embarrassing, but … well, I’m pretty desperate for the loo.’
‘Oh?’
Did he expect her to elaborate? What more was there to tell?
‘Yes. I’m just back from a week in France and I thought I could wait till I got home.’
He raised his eyebrows with imperious mockery. ‘I see. You held it the entire time you were in France, did you?’
Julie shook her head, flustered. ‘No, I mean I’m on my way back from the airport. The queue was too long when I got off the plane.’
His expression didn’t change and she gestured wildly at her suitcase behind her as if she needed to prove that she’d been to France. But he was looking at her hand and she realised she was still holding onto her phone. Had a death grip on it, in fact.
‘My handbag fell,’ she explained hastily, indicating the clutter on the floor of the passenger seat. ‘I wasn’t using the phone. I was just picking things up when I saw the fence and it was too late.’
‘I thought you said you swerved to avoid a pheasant.’
Cold sweat began to prickle on her forehead and she suddenly understood how interrogators got people to confess. She was volunteering irrelevant information that only made her look guiltier. Surely an innocent person wouldn’t behave this way.
‘I did, but then –’
‘Do you know how fast you were going?’ he asked steadily.
She winced as her bladder reminded her of her predicament. ‘I have no idea, but I know it was too fast. I’m really sorry. It was just an accident. I’ll leave a note for the farmer and pay for the damage.’
He was unmoved. ‘You were weaving about on the road too. Before avoiding this alleged pheasant.’ His insinuating tone implied a myriad of potential crimes she might be guilty of. Finally, he asked the question she’d been dreading. ‘Have you been drinking?’
‘No! Well, a tiny bit. At the airport before I left. But that was hours ago. I swear I’m not dr
unk!’ She cringed at her words. Only the guilty insisted like that. ‘Look, there was a pheasant. But I only went off the road when I was trying to pick things up off the floor. When my bag fell.’
Though it was the truth, she knew how implausible her story sounded as she babbled it to him. Her composure was crumbling fast in the face of his pitiless authority. Wildly she imagined asking him if he thought she had a corpse in the boot, but she thought better of it.
‘Please,’ she said at last. ‘I’m really in pain. I have to go.’
She was halfway to trying the engine again when he placed his hand on her arm.
‘Just a minute, miss. Would you step out of the car, please?’
Julie gave him a pleading look, but she knew she had no choice. She turned slowly in her seat and set her feet on the ground, one at a time. She heaved herself out with a little gasp and looked up just in time to see the bus she’d overtaken. It rumbled past smugly. In the back seat a little boy stuck his tongue out at her.
‘Please, officer …’
‘What’s your name?’
His question caught her off guard. ‘Julie Pembroke,’ she said.
‘Very well, Miss Pembroke. Come with me, please.’
She followed him as he led her round the back of her car. When they reached the other side he leaned back against the passenger door and crossed his arms over his chest.
‘Right, Miss Pembroke. Show me how desperate you are.’
She blinked. ‘What?’
‘You did say it was urgent. You can do it here,’ he said, nodding down at the ground.
She could only stare at him in wide-eyed horror.
‘Come along, Miss Pembroke,’ he said testily. ‘I haven’t got all day.’
‘But I – I can’t,’ she said at last.
‘I thought you were in pain.’
Her cheeks blazed. ‘I am, but … But I can’t go in front of you.’
‘I see. It’s so pressing it’s worth risking the lives of everyone else on the road, yet suddenly you’ve lost the urge, is that it?’
‘No! I mean yes, I have to go, but … I just –’
‘Then go.’
‘Look, I can’t do it here. Can’t we at least go to my house? Or a pub?’
‘Right here, Miss Pembroke. Right now.’
Tears stung her eyes and she gave a loud sniffle, hoping to elicit some sympathy.
‘If you want me to give you a break you’ll have to show me how urgent it was.’
‘But I …’ Her protest petered out. He was going to stand there waiting, all day if he had to, until she did it. If you want me to give you a break … Did that mean he’d let her off then? She didn’t dare ask.
Her car shielded her from the road. Passing motorists would see only the two vehicles. Slowly, helplessly, Julie sank to her knees in front of him.
With shaking hands she fumbled at the top button of her jeans, finally manoeuvring the zip down. She had to rise a little to get her jeans over her hips. Why hadn’t she worn a skirt? It might have allowed her a little modesty. Instead, she had to push her jeans all the way down to her ankles in order to spread her legs wide enough to see where she was aiming. It was a precarious position: balancing awkwardly on her high heels, her bare bottom and exposed sex hovering above the gravel roadside. Men had it so much easier.
There was a crunch of gravel as her captor shifted position, reminding her that she was not alone. He loomed over her, waiting.
Julie hesitated at her panties. They were nothing special – just simple white cotton – but they were her last vestige of dignity. Taking them down would be the point of no return; her debasement would be complete.
She looked up at him one last time. He sighed and glanced at his watch.
Overwhelmed with shame, she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her girlish knickers and slid them down to her knees, then to her ankles. She had never known such a feeling of vulnerability before. She tried not to imagine the picture she presented.
Julie covered her burning face with her hands and waited for the act that would bring her torment to an end – physically at least. She anticipated a gushing stream of warm piss, the ecstasy of relief so long delayed. But her bladder wouldn’t let go.
She whimpered softly, trying to block the situation from her mind so she could relax enough to get on with it. Her legs quivered with the effort of squatting. Taking a deep breath, she told herself that relief was finally here, she could finally let go. She pictured waterfalls, the running tap, but it was obvious that nothing was going to help. The position was uncomfortable and the mortifying presence of the watcher made the act impossible. The aching only intensified while the prospect of relief retreated with every passing second.
‘I can’t,’ she moaned through her hands. Her toes were going numb from the pressure on her feet and she thought her knees would give with the effort of crouching if she had to stay there much longer.
The policeman was silent for an agonising period and she finally peeled her hands away from her face, peering out at him like a child hiding from a scary movie.
‘Get up, Miss Pembroke,’ the officer said testily. ‘You’ve wasted enough of my time.’ It was clear he thought she was lying – about everything. She was just another lawbreaker willing to make up any pathetic story to get out of trouble.
She yanked her panties and jeans back into place, wincing at the persistent discomfort in her bladder. Resigned to her fate, she got to her feet, staring glumly at the road, still feeling the urge but knowing that it wasn’t going to happen without privacy.
He took her by the arm and led her to the police car. Then he opened the back door and guided her inside. She sat uncomfortably while he closed the door and walked round to the front of the car to climb in behind the wheel. There was a squawk from the police radio, followed by a burst of unintelligible dialogue.
Julie sat slumped in the back seat while he riffled through papers and finally produced a form. So this was it – she was under arrest. But wouldn’t he do that at the station? He hadn’t so much as asked her to walk a straight line; he had no proof she was drunk. And forcing her to squat on the roadside – surely that wasn’t by-the-book procedure either.
‘Um, listen,’ she ventured at last, her desperation making her bolder. ‘Am I under arrest or what?’
He regarded her with an expression of bored disdain. ‘All in due time, Miss Pembroke. I have many things to check before I can book you. You’ve brought it on yourself.’
His unshakeable calm was maddening. ‘Then isn’t there at least some way of hurrying it up?’ she blurted out. ‘I really have to go.’
He glanced at the form, then back at her, deep in thought. He made a great show of setting the paper down on the seat beside him. ‘If it’s that important to you, there might be a quicker way of dealing with you.’
Horrified and grateful in equal measures, Julie was in too much distress to care what he had in mind. Anything to avoid a ticket, arrest, being kept here any longer with her cramping bladder. She nodded frantically.
‘Very well,’ he said, his lips curling in a half-smile. He got out of the car and opened her door for her.
When she stood up again she felt her insides twist and she nearly asked if she could have another go at peeing. She was pretty sure she could manage it now. But she didn’t want to jeopardise the chance he was giving her.
The policeman patted the fender. ‘Over the bonnet of the car.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me, Miss Pembroke.’
Before Julie could process the instruction, he swiftly unbuckled his heavy police belt and pulled it flapping through the loops.
‘The alternative is corporal punishment,’ he continued, eyeing her sternly. ‘You’re a little old for it, but I believe I’ll be able to teach you a lesson.’ Seeing her hesitation he added, ‘Last chance. You can submit to the thrashing you richly deserve. Or I can get on with the process of booking you. We might get back to the
station in an hour or so.’
There wasn’t a trace of pity in his ice-blue eyes as he doubled the belt and Julie knew she hadn’t misunderstood him. She quickly scanned the road in either direction, as though someone might have overheard.
Reluctantly, she edged forward. She stopped in front of him, her face burning. Then she stretched herself over the car. She was grateful for the small mercy of not having to look him in the face, but the position put added pressure on her bladder. Wincing, she pressed her forehead into the warm metal of his car as she waited.
If she’d thought her jeans would offer some protection, she was wrong. His belt met the tight denim with a sharp report. She yelped and leapt up, clutching her bottom.
‘Back in position,’ he growled. ‘I haven’t even started.’
Julie lowered herself back over the car, her cheeks blazing with pain.
The next stroke dragged a guttural moan from her and she kicked one leg up as the strap licked across her bottom.
Julie heard the approaching roar of an engine and she forced her head down as far as she could, knowing that the passing driver could see exactly what was happening to her. She heard the leather whisk through the air behind her again and she cringed in anticipation. The leather flashed across her cheeks just as the car passed, making her yelp and writhe.
Again and again the policeman’s heavy belt painted wide fiery stripes over her bottom, eliciting cries of pain and outrage from her. Her bladder ached more than ever and she was certain the urgency intensified the pain of the whipping. The two torments fed off each other and she sobbed in misery, trying to shut out the sound of yet another car coming from behind them. She’d never known so much traffic on this road.
And then it happened. He delivered a particularly hard stroke to the undercurve of her buttocks. The force of the blow made her struggle and kick and she felt a tiny trickle escape. With a cry of despair she gritted her teeth and tried to pinch off the flow, squeezing her legs together violently. Despite her writhing, his steady rhythm didn’t falter. The pain of the whipping was too intense; she couldn’t concentrate on anything else.
