There was a huge, stinking brown smear all along the gusset of her knickers! For a moment, she simply could not explain it, before she suddenly recalled that she had been for a huge dump twenty minutes ago, quietly doing the saxophone bit from The Heat Is On and dancing as much as the cubicle allowed, and got so into the song that she had forgotten to wipe her arse.
It was always a challenge to crack one off surreptitiously and today was no exception. As he commenced the vinegar strokes, a woman suddenly flung the door open from outside and announced in a loud, savagely mocking voice to all in the vicinity that he was “having a shuffle in here!”. There was scarcely room to turn around in the cubicle, let alone to hide, and as faces crowded around the doorway, peering and leering at his exposed form, though he ceased his rapid motions, he had crossed the ejaculatory Rubicon already, and they were treated to the sight of a fountain of white goo slopping lazily out of the top of his column. And, to cap it all, he couldn’t stop a long, very personal, and indeed profoundly satisfied, groan of exultation emanating from his lips, thereafter to be echoed back at him from all present, from everyone they’d told, and from everyone who heard the recording uploaded to YouTube and subsequently remixed to a hundred different jungle beats.