Rest Room Reaction

by Rajah Dodger {rdodger@hotmail.com} (c) 1994, 2009

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons
Attribution-Non-Commercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License (by-nc-sa). In
jurisdictions where the Creative Commons license is not recognized, United
States copyright and Berne Convention provisions apply; all rights reserved to
Rajah Dodger except that electronic not-for-profit reproduction rights are
explicitly granted with the stipulation that this authorship and permission
note must remain attached. 

Abstract: There's a reason they tell men not to go into the women's restroom

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 a hand had joined
them 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. 

/END/