You sprint.
Your tiny, trembling hands find a bolt at the toilet base—rust-flecked, slick from years of condensation—and you pull. Your bare feet scramble for friction on the slick ceramic. You haul yourself upward, gasping, dragging your body up along the cool, curved slope of the toilet bowl like a man climbing a glacier.
Above, Taylor’s thick thighs shift, pajama pants pooling just below her knees. Her backside looms—wide, soft, pale—hovering just inches above the seat. She’s still humming softly, the sound reverberating down like the voice of some inattentive goddess.
You reach the toilet seat rim just as she leans forward slightly, checking something on her phone again.
No time.
You plant your foot on the plastic hinge and leap onto the porcelain seat. It’s damp in spots—tiny beads of toilet water flecked with what looks like makeup dust and maybe a faint brown smear near the edge. You don’t care. You’re up. Visible.
You wave both arms frantically, mouth wide in a scream that only you can hear.
Taylor doesn’t look.
She shifts her weight again—her ass descending.
You lunge toward the far corner of the seat, heart pounding.
FWUMP.
Her full weight hits the toilet seat with a sudden drop, the porcelain vibrating beneath you. The force knocks you off balance, and you slide, feet skidding in a shallow puddle. You fall—slap—flat against the warm, smooth surface just behind her left thigh. Her skin is soft and slightly clammy, her weight pressing downward through the seat as she sighs.
A second later, the toilet bowl splashes.
You flinch, a fine mist catching your face. The smell hits instantly—sharp, pungent, personal.
Taylor groans. “Ughhh finally…” she murmurs, breath fogging the air.
You try to crawl back toward the edge of the seat, but her thigh is now practically pinning you in place, the outer curve of her body sealing you like a giant curtain of flesh. The scent is overwhelming now—intimate, heady, warm with body heat and a faint trace of soap and fabric softener.
Then comes the creak of her leaning forward… and reaching for toilet paper.
You have seconds.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author
