For a while, the tableau was as idyllic as a picture postcard.  Lisle was looking up at Gerlinde attentively, trying to ignore the growing needs of her bladder.  Gradually, the almost perfect pose started to crack as her legs and hips started to shift in movements familiar to anyone who had ever stood in line at a public restroom.  She caught her lower lip between her teeth, trying to distract herself from the increasingly urgent pressure.<br/><br/>It was a losing battle.  Slowly, her attention started to waver.  More and more, it was drawn to that low box of litter.  Was it worse to humiliate herself on the floor, or to degrade herself by climbing into the box like an animal?  As tempting as it was to administer some revenge on the doctor that had mutilated her, it was ironically human inhibitions that spurred her into the offered tray in the nick of time.<br/><br/>Her face flamed as warmth flooded out of her.  Positioning posed a bit of a problem, as she tried to make sure that she didn't soil herself worse in the process.  The mortification was tempered by relief, however, as the strain of holding it in was abruptly lifted.