At midmorning, Laura stopped for a snack, and had a large bottle of soft-drink and a small side of chips. She then decided she would have to re-focus her efforts. Men tended to like her better than girls – a curse for a lesbian, but a reality nonetheless – so probably she should be looking for work in places staffed by men. If people were going to be giving her boobs strange looks anyway, they may as well be aroused instead of disgusted.
At first this plan didn’t seem to be working either. The various boys and men she met as she continued to hand out her resume did appear to WANT to work with the buxom pink-haired kitten in front of them, but they regretfully explained there just weren’t positions open this time of year. Laura became increasingly frustrated.
Finally her luck changed when she applied at a supermarket. The man wearing a name badge she happened to approach at the service counter turned out to be the store manager, inspecting the shop floor. He introduced himself as David, greeted her warmly and suggested she come upstairs to the offices for an interview immediately.
He led Laura up stairs – stairs which caused Laura’s tits to bounce and tug on their chain painfully – into a small waiting room-slash-break area. Here he apologized and said he just had some brief business to take care of, and asked Laura to wait for a moment.
Laura took a seat. She had just become aware of a pressure in her bladder from the soft drink earlier. She crossed her legs and tried to ignore it; she was so close to an actual interview.
David vanished into an office, and a long time passed. Laura checked her watch regularly, and soon half an hour has passed with no sign of David. She was just about to get up and leave when he finally emerged.
“Ah, Laura, was it? I’m so sorry about the delay. An important phone call came in which tied me up for a while. Would you like to come in now?”
Laura stood, trying her best to smile warmly, and followed him into his office, where she took a seat.
“So,” David began, “You were after one of the checkout positions?”
“Yes,” Laura began, then had to take a deep breath. Her bladder was REALLY full. “Actually”, she said, “I’m sorry, but would it be all right if I took a moment to use your loo?”
“Of course!” said David. “Through there!” He gestured at a door to the side of the office – clearly he had a private bathroom. Laura gratefully went through it, almost running.
On the other side there was indeed a well-appointed private bathroom – a single room containing sink, toilet and bathroom. Laura headed for the toilet, but then paused. She had been about to pull down her panties, but had just remembered – she was not allowed to touch her own underwear.
Her face colored. How was she supposed to piss without taking off her panties? The thought was rhetorical, because she knew how her blackmailer wanted her to do it. He wanted her to wet herself – to piss in her underwear and then walk around in wet panties until she could get home and get Erica to take them off her.
Laura was in an agony of indecision. She knew she was going to have to do it – wet herself – because there was no way she could hold her bladder until she got home to Erica, and the only other option – asking someone to help her take her panties off – seemed even more humiliating. But if she did it here, she would have to go back out and sit through a whole interview with David with urine-soaked panties. If she could hold it in until the end of the interview, she could run outside afterwards and wet herself in an alleyway or something, and then phone Erica and get her to pick Laura up in the car while she hid from view.
Laura didn’t know if she could make it through the interview. She actually sat down on the toilet and thought about pissing there and then. A tiny trickle of urine emerged from her urethra and dampened the front of her panties slightly. But then she stopped – she couldn’t do it, piss herself here and then go talk to a man who would definitely notice. She got up from the toilet again, flushed it to avoid suspicion, and went back outside.
Laura’s bladder was really full now – so full it hurt. In that respect it matched the agony in her chain-bound tits. Laura found it hard to think about anything other than her painful boobs and her need to piss.
“Sorry about that,” she breathed, as she resumed her seat.
“No worries,” said David cheerfully, and began the interview
Laura used all of her effort to concentrate on David’s questions and answer them charmingly and professionally. Yes, she had worked in retail (a lie). Yes, she was good at resolving conflict. Yes, she was great with customers.
After about 15 minutes David’s questions ground to a halt. He was staring at Laura’s breasts. Laura tried to ignore it.
“I’m sorry, are your clothes all right?” he finally asked. “Your… bust appears to be at a strange angle.”
Laura flushed with embarrassment. Her mind raced through potential responses. She wanted to just say, “Yes, it’s fine,” and move on, but she remembered rule 3 – she was to answer questions about her breasts fully and honestly. Surely, though, her blackmailer wouldn’t know how she answered this question?
Or would he? What had that call been that David had taken before Laura came in? Was it possible her blackmailer was checking up on her? That was paranoid, wasn’t it?
Laura remembered the picture of the knife. Better paranoid than dead. She would obey her rules.
So what would she say? What was full and honest? Perhaps, “My breasts are at an odd angle a bit because I’m wearing a special bra.” Except that’s not the way she’d have to phrase it.
“My…. sex-balloons…. are pointing upwards because I’m wearing a special bra,” she said. She felt like crying. It was so humiliating to describe her tits that way. And she needed to piss so badly.
David’s brow furrowed. “What kind of special bra?”
Laura closed her eyes, not wanting to look at him, trying to hold back tears. “A length of chain that loops around the back of my neck and then clips to the nipples of each of my rapemelons.”
David was baffled, horrified, and maybe a little aroused. “Isn’t that painful?”
Laura nodded, sniffling. “It’s very painful.”
David said, “Then why would you wear it?”
Laura knew the answer: “Because I like it, and it suits me.”
David was silent for a long a couple of long minutes. Too long. Laura couldn’t control herself any longer. Maybe if she’d been happy and confident she could have held onto her bladder but crying and humiliated, she no longer had that control. She made a quiet little moan, and then started to piss into her panties. She felt the hot piss gush from her pussy and immediately begin soaking into and through her underwear, soaking her crotch.
In the silence of the room, what she was doing was obvious, and it became more obvious as the pool of urine on her seat grew, and began to drip down onto the floor. All of her rear was soaked in it – the front and back of her panties, the back of her skirt. The skin of her ass was wet with piss. And still she couldn’t stop, could do nothing but sit and feel the hot urine gushing from her pussy into the wet cotton of her underpants.
David listened to her pissing for a few seconds, a disgusted look on his face, and then stood. He walked over to where Laura sat, bent down, and pulled up her sweater to expose her tits. Laura let him; it didn’t occur to him to stop him. She was pissing herself in this man’s office – how could she say no to him? It still felt weird to have her boobs exposed in front of a man, but not nearly as much as it used to. Certainly not as strange as wetting herself in front of him. She wanted to stop, but she couldn’t. Her breasts lay there, big and round and exposed to his gaze.
David reached down and gave one of the chains on Laura’s tits an experimental tug. Laura yelped in pain. Her flow of urine was slowing now. Her piss was no longer in her bladder; it was in a deep puddle on the chair around her buttocks, and on the floor below. David leant against the edge of his desk and regarded the piss-soaked slut in front of him.
“How big are your tits, Laura?” he asked, finally.
“My fuckhandles are 32 double Ds,” said Laura. She shifted in her seat, and felt some of the warm puddle of urine slop over the side of the chair and onto the carpet.
“Fuckhandles, huh? Is that how men use them?”
Laura knew she had to be truthful. “I haven’t had a man use my milkbags that way, but my girlfriend uses my sex-balloons as fuckhandles sometimes.”
“Are you a lesbian, Laura?”
Laura nodded.
“And are your tits real?”
“My rapemelons are all natural,” Laura replied. She wasn’t sure whether she should be proud of having natural tits, or ashamed that her boobs were so sluttily big without augmentation. She felt a little of both.
“Well, obviously,” David said, “you are completely unsuitable to work at the checkout. You can’t hold your bladder and you go around torturing your tits in public.”
David’s crotch was at the same height as Laura’s face. A part of her mind recognized that she was in the perfect position for him to reach out and pull her hair until her face was right up against his dick. She squeezed her legs together eagerly.
“But I might have another job for you,” he said. “Do you want it?”
Laura felt a stab of apprehension. “What is it?”
“A girl who’s just wet herself on my new carpet doesn’t really seem to be in a position for asking questions, Laura.”
Laura blushed. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll tell you anyway,” said David. “I own the Pretty Titty Club. It’s a strip club. I want you to work there.”
“As a stripper?” Laura said. This was awful – she couldn’t be a stripper! She was acutely aware of the warm, wet puddle she was sitting in, though, and just wanted this to be over.
“No, stripping requires talent. You have to be able to dance and be reasonably fit. I’m not sure you’re good enough to be a stripper.”
Laura felt offended, but said nothing.
“I think you’d make a good drinks girl, though. You just have to wander around, ask the customers for orders, and bring them their drinks.”
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