A shiver courses down your spine at the sound of a bassy fart blaring from the bathroom stall next to yours. Your hand instinctively heads up your skit as you relish big semisolid turds plodding against porcelain.
It's 3:30. About the time some of Azure's employees feel the urge to give birth to their twelve-course food babies. You always manage to claim a stall before the rush. You perch on your throne to masturbate to the raunchy chorus echoing against the bathroom walls. Farts, poops, pee, diarrhea, and moans of desperation from the employees squirming and crossing their meaty legs in front of the fully occupied stalls. Occasionally, you can hear perseverance waver as squishy plops splatter into the sink, the garbage, the floor, and sometimes even undergarments.
The woman next seems to be having a bad time. Her grunting, while oddly titillating, is getting more and more violent as the splash of feces grows heavier and louder; to the point, you can hear every wrinkle in her monstrous shit slither over the lips of her asshole. You can't hear toilet water splashing anymore. Just poop slapping against poop. She's been in that stall longer than anyone you've experienced. How much longer is she going to go?
Your fingers trach the trench of your wettening slit as you picture how clogged her toilet must be. How little room is left in there. Will she bother getting up when she feels it all touch her rear? Or is there some much left inside, she'll decide to endure it? Is she going to let all her feces smush against her ass like pie in a clown's face? What kind of face is she going to make when she realizes she's soiled herself beyond the relief of toilet paper? That she's going to have to walk back into the office with panties full of her mess? Would she even care? Would she just go back to her cubicle as if nothing happened? SIt back in her chair and let her crap slather her cheeks even further? Let it all ruin her panties and her chair and not give a single fuck.
Your fingers slip through your underwear and into your sopping cunt. Lustful resin drenches your entire hand while the woman continues voiding. If only you could see her fight her sphincter to squeeze out that monster turd.
Wait...maybe you can.
Nobody seems to notice you no matter what. Even management has;t caught on about you leaving your desk for hours around the same time for the past several months. Maybe...just maybe this woman wouldn't notice if you were to crawl underneath the wall dividing your stalls and watched her take a dump.
Your ears twitch at the sound of a stomach gurgling just outside the doors of your stall. There's someone complaining about having to use the bathroom. Sounds like she's seconds from just releasing it all into her pantyhose.
You realize another opportunity here. What if you opened the door and hid in the toilet? The bowels were made for people almost twice your size. You might be able to fit insdie.
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