Doing Her Duty

Anne stood to one side as her husband, Councillor Brian Timpson, laid his wreath at the town's war memorial and a bugler played the Last Post. The Mayor of Attleton Market, Councillor Derek Tate, had gone to visit a small town in France on a fact finding mission as' twinning' the two towns had recently been discussed, and wasn't therefore able to perform the Remembrance Day ceremony. In the Mayor's absence that honour had fallen to Brian since he was leader of the council. Anne didn't share his enthusiasm for civic occasions or mingling with the great and the good. She knew, however, that it meant a great deal to Brian and didn't do his standing as a successful local businessman any harm either. However she was rather cynical about the twinning business and suspected that it was little more than a 'jolly' – an opportunity for councillors to squander public money on what would effectively be, for them at least, free holidays.

A stiff breeze blew up Anne's tartan skirt and round her black nylon panties as her husband lay the wreath and fellow councillors stood in mute silence. She recalled the conversation they'd had at breakfast that morning as she'd poured herself a third cup of coffee.

"Annie, don't you think you've had enough?" her husband had gently chided. "Remember you're accompanying me to the Remembrance ceremonies this morning."

"How could I possibly forget," she'd wearily replied. "Look, why don't you go on you're own for a change? That way I can polish off the Telegraph crossword and have something tasty cooked by the time you get back."

Brian lowered his spectacles and put the morning paper to one side.

"No Anne. All the other councillors will have their spouses or their partners with them and I'm depending on you being there. Also I'm relying on you being at your best and not embarrassing me. I have a position to maintain in this town and, to put it euphemistically, I don't want you being 'unwell' this morning as you so often are when we go out. If you can manage that I've got a table booked for Sunday lunch at the Bull."

"Yes sir," Anne replied, giving a mock salute as she did so. It was obviously time to play the dutiful wife. She would have her day some other time.

That conversation had taken place two and a half hours earlier. As the clock struck eleven silence was kept and the civic party at which Brian and Anne were at the head, left the cemetery. Feeling the coldness of the air Anne began to wish that she'd given that third cup of coffee a miss and gone to the toilet before they'd left home. She wasn't desperate by any means but she was beginning to get the first sensations of needing to pee and the cold air of that crisp November morning swirling round her panties wasn't helping. Sometimes the need to go developed very slowly but she knew from long experience that given the right conditions the transition from being okay to being absolutely frantic could be a rapid one. Cold mornings such as this had been known to exacerbate the need very quickly indeed. Furthermore, the ceremonies were by no means over. If anything, they'd only just begun. Anne realised that she was an hour and a half away from getting to use a loo and that was if everything went smoothly without delays. Knowing that she was at least 90 minutes away from the next possible loo visit did nothing to ease her anxiety. She was also keenly aware of the fact that she couldn't afford to let Brian down by publicly wetting herself. If she did he'd be absolutely furious when they got home and accuse her of doing it on purpose.

The civic party left the cemetery and set out on the long route to the church for the special service. There were much quicker routes than the one taken and Anne knew them all. However this morning they would take a special processional route so that as many people could see what was happening as possible. With uniformed military personnel, the Lord Lieutenant, High Sheriff and local MP in the party as well as councillors and representatives of local business and charitable organisations in the procession it was important to do full justice to the occasion. Cutting corners wasn't an option. Moreover Anne was keenly aware that getting to the church early – and they'd never managed it yet – would afford her no relief. Like many medieval churches of its type, Attleton Market Church had no toilets. The public ones in the market place were usually closed on Sundays too. In short there were no prospects of relief until the morning's proceedings were over and they were safely in the warmth of the Bull Inn.

Slowly the procession wended its way through the streets through the residential areas by the cemetery, past the hospital, the comprehensive school and Attleton College. As they crossed the bridge over the tidal stretch of river which ran through the town, Anne glanced down and observed that it was high tide, an observation which only made the sensation of a steadily filling bladder all the more acute. On they pressed, past the main supermarkets and shopping precinct on into the Market Place.

As they approached the church, Brian squeezed his wife's hand and gently whispered "Are you alright?" Forcing a smile, Anne replied "Yes. I'm absolutely fine."

Brian knew his wife well enough to be sure that she certainly wasn't 'fine' by a long way. She'd been far too quiet on the journey from the war memorial and when she was that quiet it usually meant there was trouble brewing. Also the copious amount of coffee she'd consumed at the breakfast table hadn't escaped his notice or, for that matter, her failure to visit the room he always frequented before undertaking lengthy engagements. However he was a wise enough man not to argue. He just hoped that his instincts were wrong or, at the very least, that matters weren't so bad as he feared.

At length the service began – ten minutes later than the scheduled time. Anne secretly hoped against hope that it would be a short one. She needed to go to the toilet quite badly and it was beginning to turn into desperation. Her bladder ached and the prospect of relief was still to her knowledge a good hour away, even if things went smoothly. She tried to distract herself, joining in the hymns and listening attentively to the lessons as well as the choir as it sang the Psalm and the anthem. At length an elderly Air Force chaplain mounted the pulpit steps, no doubt wheeled out of retirement for the occasion. By now Anne's desperation was increasing and she longed to put a hand up her skirt but didn't dare. With every minute that passed her bladder ached still more and her desperation increased. Not wanting to waste the opportunity to preach in such a prestigious place as Attleton Market, the retired chaplain stretched his sermon to a good twenty minutes. At length it was over and Anne gave a tangible sigh of relief as the rector announced the last hymn and the colours were collected in readiness for the National Anthem.

At length they filed out of the church and into the Market Place. Brian turned to her and smiled.

"That wasn't so bad, was it dear?"

"No," she muttered in reply.

By now Anne could feel herself beginning to lose control and a large spurt of pee escaped into her panties as they crossed the Market Place. As they bade farewell to Brian's friends in the civic party she felt relieved to be along with him. They turned the corner into a side street where the Bull Inn was. As they entered the bar Anne felt two more spurts of pee escape and realised that if she didn't get to a toilet within seconds she'd lose control completely there and then. Turning to her husband she tried hard not to betray the seriousness of the situation.

"Brian, I've just got to pop to the ladies. Be an angel dear and get me a G and T. I won't be long."

With that she hastened off to the toilets as quickly as she dared under the circumstances. More spurts were escaping by now and as she finally threw herself into the first vacant cubicle, Anne began to pee in earnest, completely soaking her black panties. Pulling them down hastily she lifted her skirt clear and thrust herself down on to the waiting toilet. Fortunately the lid had been left up by the previous user and the rest of her pee landed safely in the pan. Despite already wetting her pants there was still a fair amount in her bladder and her stream was a powerful one. As she released waves of almost orgasmic relief swept through her body. It felt totally amazing. As had sometimes happened in the past, Anne felt incredibly turned on and horny by the experience. If only Brian knew, but it was the sort of thing she was sure he'd never understand. Her stream died to a trickle before ending abruptly. Almost frigging herself, she resisted the urge to masturbate there and then but, oh boy, it sure was difficult!

Discarding her soaked panties and flushing them down the toilet, Anne adjusted her clothing, washed her hands and left the ladies.

Brian was waiting for her in the bar and an inviting G and T awaited her as he enjoyed the first few welcome sips of his pint. Leading her over to a table he gave her an unexpected peck on the cheek.

"I'm proud of you, Annie. You're a great credit to me."

It wasn't like Brian to be openly affectionate in public and Anne was a little taken aback.

"Thanks. But why?"

"Well, against all your instincts you unselfishly put duty first this morning and escorted me to an event that I know you must have found tedious. What's more, you were at your best and you didn't let me down. I think that's worth a kiss, don't you?"

Anne wasn't quite sure how she felt about Brian's comment "you were at your best and didn't let me down" although she knew what he meant and, for once, bit her tongue. Anyone who didn't know Brian as well as she did would think he was being patronising. She was still feeling incredibly horny from her experience in the toilets and spotted an opportunity for relief as well as payback.

"I'd say it was worth more than a kiss, Brian. To be honest I'm feeling rather horny and I was wondering if we might go to bed when we get back. It's ages since we had an intimate Sunday afternoon."

All the colour suddenly drained from Brian's face and he nearly choked on his pint. He'd had some difficulty 'getting it up' just lately and was rather hoping that his wife had lost interest in sex.

"I'm not sure about that love," he replied, hoping that his reluctance would be noted.

Anne smiled broadly. As usual she had her husband right where she wanted him – under the thumb. She'd done her duty and now he could do his.

"I'm very sure dear. In fact I've never been surer. But that's for later. In the meantime if you'd like to order, I'll have the Stilton and watercress soup followed by the salmon."

Brian reluctantly got up and made his way to the bar, clutching his wallet which invariably was in the habit of growing slim when his wife was around. Never mind the pint, he felt in need of a stiff whisky!

THE END