The Toilet is NOT Her Office

In the office toilets, an annoyed coworker tries to interrupt the phone conversation in the next stall with her farts, but things do not go like she planned...

                I thought the bathroom would be empty because of how early it was, but you could hear her from the hall outside.

                “THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I SAID! NO, I TOLD HER IT WAS A BAD IDEA, LIKE THREE TIMES-“

                The sound of the heavy bathroom door falling into the frame behind me was drowned out by someone practically screaming into their phone from the handicap stall in the corner. I didn’t recognize who it was.

                “HAHAHAHA YOU TELL HER THAT, BUT WAIT UNTIL I’M THERE. I WANT TO SEE THE LOOK ON HER FACE-“

                I paused by the line of sinks across from the stalls to flatten some unruly curls in the mirror. Her laughing, blasting voice echoed across the white minimalist linoleum walls of the restroom and into my ringing ears. It was way too early for this. I expected her to stop her conversation now that someone else was in the restroom. Maybe she didn’t know I was in here? She was being so incredibly loud, she might not have heard me come in.

                I tilted my head, peering down the row of stalls, looking at the pair of black pumps, pale ankles, and the cuffs of blue slacks visible in the under the stall door. She tapped the heels of her shoes against the linoleum as she talked. The slacks were not around her ankles, and they weren’t bunched or loose in any way to suggest that she had them lowered to her thighs or knees. She was probably sitting on the toilet fully clothed, I thought, using the restroom as her own personal little office.

                I walked down the line of sinks. I had to know. I stopped at the sink across from the handicap stall. I pretended to mess with my hair some more, but I was really doing was peering over my shoulder, trying to spy through the gaps around the stall door and at the person sitting on the toilet inside.

                The gap was too small and too far away to make out any details, but I could see shapes and colors. There was the shape of the toilet, the blue of a jacket and pants, and the white of a blouse. She was a person sitting on the toilet fully clothed in a blue pantsuit.

                “YEAH!!! YOU SHOULD JUST DO IT, GIRL! IT WORKED FOR ERIC AND ME, JUST TAKE THE PLUNGE! YOLO HAHA!!”

                I saw myself making annoyed, bitchy little faces in the mirror.

                There was still the question if she knew I was in here, though. She could just be this rude, or, maybe, she thought she was alone. Did whoever she was talking to know this conversation was happening in a restroom? That they could be interrupted any second by the whooshing flush of a toilet, or -

                A little wicked thought popped into my mind. I saw my face curl like the Grinch’s in the mirror.

                I walked as quietly as I could into the stall next to the handicap stall. I was wearing flats, so it’s not like my heels were clacking against the floor, clicking like hers were while she fidgeted. I slowly closed the stall door. I lifted up my dress – purple with little white flowers all over – and lowered my panties to my knees. I always avoid lowering my panties to my ankles or even to my calves in case they’re visible from the bottom of the stall. Not because they’re risqué or anything. They’re the plainest, most boring black cotton panties possible, but my coworkers don’t need to know that.

                From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see the woman in the other stall, who was still talking. She had the most incredible lung capacity.

                “NO?! YOU DIDN’T? HOW MUCH DID IT COST?... ARE YOU EVEN GOING TO GET YOUR MONEY’S WORTH? I MEAN IF YOU WANTED TO BUY IT THAT’S FINE, BUT I WOULD THINK TWICE ABOUT THAT PRICE TAG-“

                I would be so easy to interrupt her with a toilet flush. To give her a little jolt, and maybe get her to talk at least a little softer.

                But that would have been boring.

                Instead, I started to push. I tried to summon something from deep inside my ass. I leaned forward on the toilet as far as possible so that the little trickle of pee forced out of me silently hit the porcelain and didn’t give myself away.

                I didn’t need to shit when I came in here. I barely needed to pee. It was more like that feeling where you could pee and you will probably need to pee later, so might as well get it out of the way now so it’s not distracting.

                I pushed and pushed. I wanted nothing less than to just completely interrupt her conversation with my ass. To reveal to the person on the other side of the phone that she was using the restroom as her office. I tightened every muscle in my guts, trying to wring out something anything, calling upon the toilet gods to bless me with some heinous shit or at least some farts.

                “I GOTTA GIVE YOU THE RECIPE. SHIT WAS DA BOMB!! HAHAHA!”

                PPHRRbbtTT-BBrffRRRTT

                The gods answered my prayers. I felt myself open and a stuttering belching fart blasted out of me, immediately followed by the rushing crumbly crackling friction of turds escaping that I didn’t even know were inside of me. They splashed against the toilet water, hitting the bottom of the bowl with dull CLUNKS.

                She immediately stopped talking. There was the frantic plastic rustling noises of a phone being shoved into a handbag and colliding with her make up. The handicap stall door flung open, and she powerwalked out of the bathroom at high speed on her click-clacking heels. The restroom door opened and then slammed.

                It was hard to stop myself from grinning.

                Absolutely overcome by curiosity, I got up off the toilet and opened the stall door. I held my dress bunched together in front of me like a apron, my unwiped, naked butt sticking out from behind. I rushed to the restroom door. My underwear slipped down from my knees to my ankles halfway and I had to waddle the rest of the way. I opened the door just a sliver and peeked my head out into the hall.

                I could see the mysterious woman grow smaller and smaller as she kept powerwalking in embarrassment further and further down the long hallway. I still couldn’t make out who it was. Whoever it was, they had a round ass, so round and wide and impressive and hypnotic that the bottom of her suitcoat ballooned around its shape.

                I closed the door and shuffled along back to my stall with my panties around my ankles.

                My absurd reflection greeted me in the row of mirrors above the sinks. I smirked. I turned around in the middle of the public restroom, completely mooning the mirror, admiring my own butt, shaking it a little bit from side to side, trying to get my cheeks to shake and quiver.

                While I was posing, I saw the mess that I left in the toilet bowl. There were two turds, one a rocky pinecone and the other a long, skinny, and smooth brown-green torpedo that I didn’t even register exiting my asshole. The tip of it poked out of the water.

                The whole time I was still holding my dress in front of my, afraid that I would get it dirty. But was I that dirty? You never know, do you? Sometimes you wipe and there’s nothing, but other times you’re wiping over and over again, digging mud out with your fingertips through the paper.

                Nervous, my heart beating fast, I spread my legs apart and bent forward. A nasty thrill spread subtle arousal through my entire body. I lifted my dress up around my lower back. With my hands free, I gripped my cheeks and pulled them open.

                I could see my winking asshole in the mirror. There were two small streaks of shit around it, revealed by my fingers sinking and warping the skin of my butt cheeks.

                Below my asshole, my pussy lips were visible, glistening with slickness. My clit called out for attention. Without thinking, I began to rub myself while still presenting myself to the mirror. My thumb pressed into my hood while my index and middle fingers played with my clit and rubbed down my lips, feeling my juices on my fingers, the pressure lighting up my pussy, my nails dancing across my skin.

                And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the restroom door slowly start to open.

                I bolted in complete electric terror. I jumped into the stall behind me and slammed the door shut and latched it closed and crashed my ass into the seat – which such force that my cheeks stung – and pushed the handle with my elbow to hide my panting breathe all in what felt one single, impossible blur of movement fueled by adrenaline instinct.

                I clutched my dress to my chest. I wanted to pull up my feet and huddle into a little ball on the toilet seat, but they might see me lift my legs from under the stall door, and that would look even more suspicious. I listened to the sound of footsteps across the floor. My guts tightened in terror.

                Did they see? Could they have seen? When someone opens a door, their first thought isn’t to look to their right, it’s to look forward. Although a sudden flash of motion like a bare assed woman diving into a toilet stall could draw their attention. My brain buzzed trying to desperately figure out how much they had seen.

                The footsteps retreated and the restroom door opened and closed again.

                I was alone again. I quickly wiped my butt.

                Then, I reached down to pull up my panties. But my nails only touched the bare skin of my legs.

                My heart immediately started racing. I lifted my legs and swung my body around, scanning the floor of the stall. They were gone. Vanished!

                I thought back, I remembered the weight of them around my ankles when I was spreading my legs. And then the door opened, and soft cotton clung to my ankles as I leapt before letting go.

                They were still outside.

                I stood up. My asscheeks stung. I turned around and craned my head to look at my butt and the shape of the toilet seat was a bright red mark across my ass and thighs, stamped into my skin when I slammed my butt down in mortal terror. I frowned, prodding at the sore red skin with a finger.

                I stepped out of the stall.

                I looked across the floor, expecting to see a bundle of black cotton, but there was only linoleum. I swung my head down, peering under each of the stalls, bending at the waist over and over again like one of those water sipping desk toy birds. Nothing. I looked in the trashcan by the door. Empty.

                My fingers were twitching and I was shivering from the dripping sweat. My stomach twisted with cramping despair. Whoever was in here. Whoever might have seen me. Took my panties. Some stranger. Had them. For who knows what. Were they going to tell company security? Were they going to keep them? Wear them?

                My knees felt weak and numb. I was trembling all over, panting, gut churning with what I thought was humiliation sinking into my stomach. That is, until-

                PPPHHBBSSSPLLLSSHH

                Panicked, red hot diarrhea shit sprayed out of my clenching, spasming asshole trying open and close at the same time and splashed against the floor, painting it with watery filth. My nose was immediately assaulted by the rotten, almost coppery stench.

                “AaGHHGCk,” I grimaced, gasped, choked, eyes watering from sudden horrible pain ruining my anus, of my bowels swelling inside me with more and more diarrhea shit, all of it trying to escape out of my puckering, screaming asshole at once.

                I lifted the edges of my dress, openly crying, my ass losing control and erupting onto the floor behind me like a hellish burning firehose. I felt my wet shit run down my cheeks and my legs. I stepped out of my flats while still shitting, praying that the muddy deluge wasn’t splattering against the inside of my dress.

                When it was over a giant rusty puddle decorated the floor. Muddy chunks of diarrhea floated in the rancid pond. I picked up my shoes and padded over back to my stall.

                Dabbing the tears away with a piece of toilet paper, I lifted my dress up around my waist. I sniffled and folded a long length of toilet paper over and over into a pad. Standing on trembling legs, I reached behind and wiped, wincing from the soreness pulsing from my asshole and the sticky gunk I felt even through the layers and layers of paper.

***

                Those ecchi animes where someone forgets they’re wearing panties are a total lie. The feeling of your dress rustling against your ass, of bare cheeks sitting in polyester, of the loose empty feeling of air across yourself as you walk, drifting up your legs and to your wet, vulnerable pussy, are all constant, humiliating, embarrassing reminders that your panties are gone, that you were so incredibly stupid and lost them while spreading your ass rubbing yourself in the mirror like a pervert and then shat all over the restroom floor like an animal.

                The whole day I looked at every coworker in wide-eyed fear, gauging their responses with complete paranoia. Was it them? Did they recognize it was me this morning? Did they have my fucking panties?