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 there 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 sit- ting. Her voice was lower and softer now, little flut- tery 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.

The End