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Rest Room Reaction
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Rest Room Reaction, by Rajah Dodger
I was heading down the hall toward the men's room when I
heard a squeaking noise coming from the women's room. I
thought this was odd, since I didn't think anyone else was
working this late. I think the lateness of the hour got to me,
as otherwise I'd never have considered opening the women's
room door. It was a good thing this place oils its hinges
well.
What with it being after 10 pm, the bathroom only had
about a quarter of its lights on. I heard a female voice
panting, saying something like "ummmm, nummm, do it, do it..."
Between that and the squeaking sound I managed to work out
that some one was in here trying to get off. I ducked my head
down and scanned the spaces under the stall doors till I saw
one with feet. Nice feet, splayed wide with sensible blue
pumps set to one side. I wondered how I was going to pull
this off...
I slid under the side of the stall at the end. It was
only two down from the one where the woman was sitting. Her
voice was lower and softer now, little fluttery noises from
deep in her throat. I took off my shoes, set them up on the
ledge, and climbed up on top of the toilet. Good thing I did
a lot of push-ups when I was young, my arms were up to the
task of getting up on top of the stall wall. Of course the
bonus was that with my shoes out of view, and me at the back
of the stall, I was pretty much invisible to a casual
onlooker. I balanced my belly on the wall and poked my head
out further. Finally I saw what was going on. Or getting off,
more like.
She was nice looking - black hair, frilly yellow blouse
gaping open, medium tits, smooth legs. Her panties were out
of sight, probably on the floor the way she had her legs
spread. She was leaning back on the toilet seat with three
fingers sliding through her wet slit and her left hand mauling
her breast. She must have been pinching her nipple - it was
red, and stuck out like a cherry on a sundae. Her eyes were
closed, and I got an immediate erection from the scene. Her
fingers started going faster again, and she flipped her thumb
against her nipple as she muttered "fuck him, don't need him,
don't need her, fuck 'em, got myself, yeah, right there, do
me, do me, ahhhhhhh...". Her mumbles faded into groans and
gurgles as her right hand became a blur between her pussy and
her clit, ending when she suddenly sagged back with a long
"OOOohhhhhhhh".
I was breathing faster myself, and I watched in fascination as
she took some toilet paper and dabbed at her sweaty face and
chest, then sat up and flushed the toilet, using the spray
like a bidet. I couldn't get enough of this, but suddenly
something happened that made me freeze. I felt a hand on my
crotch.
Now understand my position: balanced on the stall
separator wall, head and chest on one side, waist down hanging
in the air on the other. I hadn't heard the bathroom door
open, and I would have felt the breeze if my stall door had
been opened. (At least I *think* I would have... I'll admit I
was pretty much absorbed in the woman I was watching.) That
only left one possibility -- someone had heard this woman and
had the same idea I had. I hoped it wasn't security.
I hoped it was a woman, and I really wished I could do
something to find out because there were fingers tracing my
erection through my pants and I couldn't move without making
enough noise to draw attention from the woman I had watched.
That didn't seem like a good idea. She was buttoning her
blouse now; her nipples were almost visible through it. As
she drew her panties back up her legs, I dropped my head to be
on the safe side. I had my own problems to deal with. The
fingers in my crotch knew what they were doing, and they had
been joined by a hand pressing my pants into the split of my
bottom. It looked like I was going to be having my own sexual
experience, but it was going to be in my pants.
I heard the woman leave her stall and wash her hands,
then I heard a female voice from my stall call out to her.
"Elaine? You still working on that Harkins project?" "Oh...
hi, Marge. Yes, it's a grind but you know how it is when you
have to get something done."
I was grinding my teeth by now, as Marge (I assumed) was
bringing me closer to the edge and I knew I wouldn't be able
to last long. She was playing with what felt like her thumb
and one finger, running up the ridge of my shaft, gripping the
head through my pants and rubbing it with her thumb, then
scratching with her nails back down to my balls. I put one
arm out to press against the wall and reached back to hold the
top of the stall with the other as I felt my cum start to
boil.
What a scene... Elaine was drying her hands, and I was
never so happy about a bathroom being equipped with those hot
air dryers. The sound that made drowned out any squeaks I may
have caused as I shot off in my pants, my hot sperm coating my
rod as Marge rubbed my pants against me. She kept this up
until I wasn't jerking my hips any more, by which time I knew
the front of my pants was stained clear through. I could feel
the pool of semen from my waist down to my sticky balls.
Elaine finished drying her hands and started to leave the
bathroom, but Marge detained her to talk about someone who had
just had a baby. Me, I was managing to keep my balance, keep
my head and legs down, and wondering what Marge's game was. I
got really worried when I felt her dig my wallet out from my
hip pocket, but I wasn't in any position to protest. Finally
they finished talking and Elaine left. That left me with
Marge, who kept her hand on my crotch as she spoke to me for
the first time.
"You've got a nice ass, Tim. I'd like to see it again
some day. Up close and personal, and I think you know what I
mean. I'll be leaving now, and if you get down quickly, I'll
make sure the hallway is clear for, oh, say two minutes. Long
enough for you to go do something in the *right* bathroom."
She chuckled, a deep throaty sound, and rubbed my wet spot.
"Don't look around for me - it would be a waste of your time,
and besides, now I know how to find *you*." Then she left.
I clambered down, put my shoes on and hurried to the
bathroom door. Sure enough, the hall was empty. I didn't
even hear any footsteps, although the carpet made that clue
unlikely to begin with. I rushed to the men's room and looked
at my pants. Stained from the waistband to the bottom of my
fly. Well, there was nothing to do about *that*. I unzipped,
took some wet paper towels and did as much as I could to clean
up. I smelled like a cross between a locker room and a
whorehouse mattress. The cleanup helped a little.
I went back to my cubicle, skittishly checking at corners
so I wouldn't run into anyone. When I got there I saw my
briefcase and breathed a sigh of relief. I could hold that in
front of me when I left. When I tried to pick it up, the
handle slipped out of my hand. Funny... I looked closer, then
took a sniff. I had a thought and opened it - seems Marge
decided to leave me a little present to remember her by.
There was a pair of damp panties on top of my papers, and they
weren't wet from urine. I certainly couldn't give my boss my
project report now, but that could wait until morning. I had
the stirrings of an erection again, and somehow I didn't trust
the men's room any more.
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