Executive Desperation by Imouto Kitten Commissioned by Alex Oxford As the bell dinged and the female executive stepped out of the elevator and into her domain, her long black hair held out of the way in an immaculate bun and her skirted business suit tailored to hug her every curve, she is greeted by her personal assistent, "Good Morning, Miss Corina, you look lovely this morning, that blue suit really brings out your eyes." "And a Good Morning to you as well, Dillon. You're looking quite sharp yourself." she replies, starting the walk towards her office, well aware of Dillon's gaze examining every detail of her person, "What's on my schedule for this morning?" Only half paying attention as she organizes her thoughts about the young, brown-haired man. He was barely half her age, less than a year out of college, but he had impressed her and her subordinates during an internship, and accepting the company's offer to start working full-time immediately after graduation, he had quickly climbed the corporate ladder. Of course, she hadn't failed to notice the way he looked at her when he thought she didn't notice, he was far from the first male she had shared an office with and she had a body that made many stare in disbelief when they learned that she was nearly forty, but unlike many, he hadn't been turned away by one of her more notable... idiosyncrasies. "Oh, and you have a lunch meeting with a potential client at that new, high-end Mexican Restaurant, though I'm sure you'll handle the pressure just fine." finishes Dillon with a faint smile just as they're reaching Corina's office door, the business woman smiling in return at the subtle double meaning to his words. "Good, very good." Corina comments off handedly as she unlocks her door and steps inside, the floor to ceiling windows covering two of the walls of the corner office offering an excellent view of the city skyline. As Corina takes a seat in her high-backed, leather-upholstred swivel deskchair, Dillon retrieves the box of assorted pastries that had been delivered fresh to the office that morning from the local French Bakery, presenting the selection for Corina's perusal with a comment of, "Sweets for the Office Sweetheart, sure to keep one fuelled throughout even the most monotonous of memos." before he starts water heating for coffee. Though she already had a full breakfast, Corina can't resist indulging in one of the sweet treats and is halfway through one by the time Dillon is sitting a saucer and steaming mug, it's contents a light tan from the heavy amounts of milk and creamer Corina enjoys in her coffee despite some lactose intolerance. Half of the morning passes in mostly companionable silence, Corina at the large, main desk in her office and Dillon at asmaller, adjunct desk as she reviews reports, checks e-mails, and signs forms and he sorts through the incoming stream of data to filter out the stuff that doesn't require a share of her precious time, the occasional request of "Refill my cup, Dillon." the only thing interrupting the sounds of typing, clicking, munching on baked goods, and the occasional skrich of fountain pen on paper. Eventually, breakfast, the pastries, and her beverage of choice desagreeing with her insides catches up to Corina and she can feel a pressure starting to build in her ample rump. Not slowing in her work in the least, she comments, as though discussing the weather rather than her own bodily functions, "Dillon, I need to poop." The young man glancing up from his own work to watch his boss, hoping to spy the first fidgets and the start of squirming as Corina continues her work as if she said nothing. Corina had never been shy about her bodily functions, and though she had never come out and declared it directly, she quite enjoyed holding her wastes. As the top executive for her branch, she had the privilege of a private restroom, but the executive facilities on this floor were usually pristine, not because Corina was particularly fastidious or because the janitor was particularly diligent, but from sheer lack of use as Corina routinely went the whole day without excusing herself, waiting until she is in the privacy of her home to relieve herself. Naturally, this had lead to a few close calls, especially given her habit of munching on pastries throughout the morning and her refusal to accept lactose intolerance as a good reason to go on a dairy free diet. Among Dillon's predecessors, most had proven too easily distracted by Corina's beauty to do their job properly, and among those who could focus in her presence, most quit in revulsion or requested transfers after realizing that she was always open about her bodily needs and how she'd refrain from taking care of them even when the pressure got to the point she couldn't help squirming and fidgeting. But Dillon, aside from being an amazing assistent in general, had proved rather exceptional. He clearly admired his boss's body every chance he got without letting it negatively impact his performance, and he hadn't shied away at learning of her toilet habits. In fact, it only seemed to increase his interest, and while he had never said anything, Corina was fairly certain Dillon enjoyed watching her tummy troubles as much as she enjoyed experiencing them. Continuing her work, her attention now split between the documents on her desktop, both physical and virtual and the building pressure in her colon, Corina is grateful that it's a rather slow morning as she polishes off the last of the pastries, subtly shifting her weight from one side to the other as the remains of her breakfast shift within her guts. In fact, her growing desperation takes up so much of the business woman's attention that she fails to notice the passing of time until at 11:30, Dillon speaks up, "Ms. Corina, we need to get going if we're to make your lunch meeting on time." Glancing at the clock, Corina replies, "Right you are, right you are." before standing up, taking a few moments to school her features and adopt the regal posture of a queen about to grace her subjects with her presence. Shy about her toilet needs she is not, but it still wouldn't do to lose her composure in front of her employees. The pair exit Corina's private office and step into their branch's main sales floor, the tranquility from when they arrived earlier that morning having given way to the bustle of a busy office, many workers on the phone with various customers and others moving between the desks to deliver memos and physical files to co-workers. On their way to the elevator, several of the desk jockeys try to capture the attention of their boss lady, only for Dillon to intercede, deftly redirecting requests to lesser supervisors or instructing employees to forward files to the appropriate inbox, a faint smile crossing Corina's face at how easily Dillon performs his secondary role of wrangling the rank and file members of their department, doubly grateful as her stomach lets out a grumbling noise that Corina knows has nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with her bowels wishing to void their contents, the not quite middle-aged woman appreciating how noisy the main office area is as it renders the sounds of her digestive tract inaudible. Once in the elevator, Corina lets out a sigh of relief and lets her posture relax slightly as she compliments her assistant, "Good work keeping the drones in line." "Your quite welcome, Ms. Corina." replies Dillon, " A lady as sweet and lovely as yourself shouldn't have to deal with excitable sales agents panicking over trivialities." Noticing the slight pinking of her cheeks at the compliment, Dillon adds, "And that rose pink sets off the cerulean blue of your eyes quite nicely. The rest of the elevator ride passes quickly, and as the doors open on to the office building's garage, the pair approach a company car they'll be using for their excursion as Corina asks, "Mind driving today?" Putting on a false British accent, Dillon replies, "Not at all milady." and playing up the chauffer act further, he holds open the passenger side door for Corina as she gingerly lowers herself into the car, fearful that any sudden move might stretch her anal sphincter or compress her intestines, either of which might lead to the dual embarrassment of a semi-public accident and having to cancel the lunch meeting on such short notice. As the pair make the trip cross town to the restaurant their potential client had selected for their lunch meeting, Dillon can't help glancing at his boss out of the corner of his eye, watching as she squirms in her seat and winces slightly whenever he takes a turn just a bit too sharply or brakes for a red light a bit too suddenly. He had noticed a few of the junior associates walking stiffly or standing with their thighs pressed together as they left the office, but clearly his superior's situation is already far more severe than any of those he helps keep in line. Pulling into the parking lot at their destination, Dillon, ever the gentleman, offers his hand to help Corina out of the car, "Thank you, Dillon." her only verbal reply as she prepares to meet their client, even as the contents of her colon crash against her back door in their efforts to stain her clothes. As the executive and her personal assistant enter the high-end establishment, the sound of soft music from a live mariachi band, loud enough to provide an authentic atmosphere but still quiet enough to allow the diners to converse among themselves fills the air, and Dillon has barely mentioned their reservation to the greeter when an older gentleman comes up to and introduces himself to the pair, the potential client they came here to meet having been waiting for them. As the trio are seated in a corner booth that offers a bit of privacy from the main dining room, neither Corina nor Dillon correct the client's misconception that Dillon is the executive and Corina is his secretary, the pair knowing from experience that clients tend to be more straightforward and less flirty when they think the pair's roles reversed, plus it lets Corina observe the client without being under equal scrutiny. Despite it only being lunchtime, neither Corina nor Dillon turn down the client's offer of sharing an expensive bottle of wine, though the pair are careful to slowly sip their drinks, intoxication a sure way to stumble into an unfavorable agreement. Though the remains of her breakfast, the pastries, and the dairy-heavy coffee are already waging war within her to make the Battle of the Alamo look like a Victorian Tea party, Corina doesn't hesitate to order a dish that doesn't skimp on the meat, beans, cheese, or chiles, and while Dillon knows that combination must be wreaking havoc on his boss's digestive tract, Corina retains her poise and Dillon keeps their client distracted enough that the older gentleman never catches on to her plight, not even as she adds a sinfully decadent dessert of churros to the array of food stuffs working to rupture her rump. It's not until the long, rather leisurely meal has concluded, a preliminary business agreement has been shook on, and Corina is back in the passenger's seat on the way back to the office that Corina finally lets her professionalism slip as she utters a very unladylike exclamation of, "I need to shit like a racehorse on elephant laxatives!" her posture far more agitated on the return trip than on the way out. Corina's steps from the car to the elevator when they return to the office are far more stiff than what Dillon usually sees from his boss, even on those late nights when the pair would work til midnight, Corina refraining from a trip to the executive washroom the whole time, and as the elevator rises to the floor that houses their office, her foot is constantly tapping in impatience. As Corina braves the gauntlet of office workers under her command, she doesn't even give Dillon time to deflect the tides, simply ordering, "Move aside, I'm not to be disturbed for at least the next half hour." even nearly knocking over a young intern in her haste, failing to notice the teenaged girl clutching herself through her pleated skirt. Barging into her office, Corina doesn't bother shutting the door behind her as she makes a bee line for the private washroom contained there in, a trembling hand on the doorknob before Dillon speaks up, "Ms. Corina, that's not going to help." "And why not!?" replies the business lady, forgetting her manners as everything she has consumed that day continues to agitate her colon. "I got a message from the maintenance department around 11 this morning." Starts Dillon, maintaining an infectious calm, "A water main ruptured and will take most of the afternoon to fix." Turning pale, Corina asks, "What are you saying?" "The entire building is without running water and will remain so for at least a couple more hours." Nearly panicking, Corina flings open the door to her executive washroom, and runs for the sink, nearly twisting the taps off their mounts in her rush to confirm for herself that there is no running water, that her private facilities are currently useless. She stands staring at the faucet, both valves wide open but not even a trickle of water coming out for well over a minute, the only sound that of her agitated abdomen angrily gurgling before she schools her features, regaining her composure as she declares, "Well, it can't be helped. I'll just have to wait... not like I haven't held larger loads longer." Walking out of the useless and unused washroom, Corina instructs Dillon, her facade of outer calm in stark contrast to the battle broiling in her bottom, "I take it you didn't inform me as such a report would usually be of no importance to me." "Precisely, madam." replies Dillon. "Well, do inform me of any updates from maintenance." she concludes as she returns to her desk, sitting down a bit awkwardly as she clenches her rump and tries not to squeeze her stomach. The afternoon goes much like the morning did, but as Corina's tummy troubles intensify, threatening total and explosive expulsion of her last few meals and the need to replace a tailored skirted suit, a lether desk chair, and a pair of silk panties and matching pantyhose at the very least, Corina can barely focus on her work as she shifts from side-to-side in her seat, failing to find a position that lets her accumulated wastes rest comfortably within her. Dillon is having much better luck staying on top of his work, but even he can't resist the occasional glance out of the corner of his eye to stare at his lovely boss lady as she squirms in her seat, her need obvious to anyone watching, even if they weren't familiar with her mannerisms, wishing he could do something to help relieve her of her terrible tummy torment even as he enjoys the sight of her digestive distress. The businesswoman's unseeing eyes look up from the report she's been pretending to read for the last quarter of an hour, hope swimming in her cerulean orbs when Dillon announces, "I just got a message from maintenance." "Is...is the water fixed?" asks Corina, failing to keep a desperate stammer out of her voice as Dillon reads through the message, the hope in her eyes snuffing out at his reply. "I'm afraid not," He says, the words sounding almost like those of a judge sentencing a prisoner to death to Corina's ears, "The damage was more extensive than they initially thought and they doubt they can restore running water before tomorrow." Spotting the dejected look on his superior's face, Dillon replies, "But look on the bright side! There's only an hour left until quitting time and there's nothing pressing to mandate a late night." Doing her best to recompose herself, Corina replies, "Yes, you're right. Not much longer and then I can go home and take care of my personal business." though her tone sounds like she's trying to convince herself she can make it as much as she's trying to convince Dillon. The final hour of work is absolute torture for Corina, her every muscle spending most of it tensed even as she just stares at her screen, taking in none of the reports presented there, and she only breaks from her tummy trouble triggered trance when Dillon announces, "The work day is over." As her assistant helps her to her feet, it is all Corina can do to stay upright as she hobbles towards her office door, and stepping out into the main sales floor, she's grateful that none of her employees remain to witness her moment of weakness as Dillon supports her on the way to the elevator, the exectuvive assistant the only one of the pair to notice a few dark patches on the office carpet the overnight janitorial staff will have to take care of. As they make the trip down to the garage, Dillon asks, "Would you like me to drive you home?" "Th-that would be great." replies Corina in a whisper that's barely audible over the gurgling of her guts as the elevator opens and Dillon helps his boss towards his personal car and helps her into the passenger seat. But before he closes her door, Dillon takes advantage of technically being off the clock to lean in, placing a quick kiss on Corina's cheek before whispering in her ear, "You've never looked more beautiful than right now with such bursting, bloated bowels... but I'm sure you can hold it for just a little longer." Blushing like a schoolgirl a third her age, Corina is unable to formulate a response before the car door is shut and the engine starts. The difference between the trip back to the office after lunch and the trip to Corina's home is even more stark than the difference between the trip to the restaurant and the trip back to the office. Corina groans in desperation with seemingly every change in the vehicle's velocity, no matter how gently Dillon takes turns or how soon he slows for stop lights, and at least to Corina, it seems like every traffic light along the route is a angry red that threatens to have her turning her clothes and Dillon's upholstery brown, and what little of her mind isn't focused on keeping her wastes within is swimming in response to the most forward comment Dillon has ever made regarding his opinion of her toilet habits. After the longest ride home she can remember, Dillon helps Corina out of the car and to her door as she pulls her keys from her purse. However, as she tries to unlock her door, knowing her salvation is less than a dozen yards beyond, Corina fumbles her keys, the jingle jangle as they make contact with her front porch like a death knell. Panicking, Corina hastily bends over to grab her fallen keys, but this sudden movement spells her doom. With a sound like thunder, her tired, overtaxed sphincter is stretched just past it's limit, a deluge of dark brown muck erupting forth, bulging the seat of her skirt and quickly soaking through, her wastes only partly solid. Too mortified to even straighten up, Corina remains bent over as a full day's worth of coffee, pastries, breakfast and mexican food that has long since been transformed into wastes, everything useful to her body stripped away continues to cascade from her rear, the liquid running down her legs to pool around her shoes as the solid part threatens to drag her ruined panties and pantyhose to the ground, adding a full moon to the rather dramatic show she's giving her assistent. After a subjective eternity, Corina finally finishes emptying her bowels, a mixture of mortification and monumental relief warring within her as she straightens up, keys clenched in her hands as she tries to ignore the gross feeling of her ruined clothes plastered to her skin. Glancing over to Dillon, who silently witnessed the whole, embarrassing incident, Corina can see him straining against the trousers of his own business attire, and while the heat in her cheeks makes her sure she must be blushing to make a lobster look pale, she decides she has little to lose as she invites, "Would you like to come in and help me clean up?" "I'd be honored." is all Dillon can muster as Corina finally unlocks her door and leads the way inside.