Eau de Toilette

Oh the Toilet, the title? - a skillful play on words - or not

A voyeur driven fantasy following many viewing of hidden cameras, ingeniously designed and positioned.

Where is he taking me this time? In his hand and warm, voices young and old. Some excited, some just chatting, a female one very close to me and constantly talking to him and he responds. His stride seems swift and urgent, we're definitely on a mission, great - I like that, don't like being stuffed on a shelf, yeah OK with something inside me and throbbing, but not the same as being free.

Ah! a change of possession, feminine hands, gentle, soft and now we are standing, muffled tones, they must be finalising plans and suddenly we are now in a closed, echoing area out of the sunlight. Sounds of flapping, clunking shoes and some clicking of foot ware on hard surfaces, the dribble of liquid, occasional torrents of liquids, high pitched howl of something electric, a rattle, chattering females and now we're in a more closetted space, voices in the space but distant, still they're bouncing of echoing planes, but in a less harsh tone, the slam and click of a locked door and I'm out of her hand and on a shelf. Kept blind, I sense I'm going to before soon.

Back in her hand, fiddled with, click - now I am active. The creases of her palm, the black paint on her nails, several rings on fingers, a swift view of her lined mature face, a tiled wall, a door with a hook, a porcelain wall mounted box, roll of paper - all a blur and then yes a pool of water, then I am blind as her hand masks my eyes, but she can't keep the mission secret from me, not that she needs to, I know my place. Finally I am fixed, still and waiting and she's left me alone, a pity but I've seen her before, she is fascinating.

My view is a concave rim, brighter above, the hook on the door, crude graffiti above the hook, overhead light tubes, one constantly blinking. Gurgling water, slapping, clumping and click of feet, the roar and howls of machines, all female voices - some kids as well, doors slamming, locks clicking, it won't be long.

Oh the Toilet, the title? - a skillful play on words - or not

A voyeur driven fantasy following many viewing of hidden cameras, ingeniously designed and positioned

Our first visitor is mature, blonde hair, wearing rimless spectacles, dressed completely in black. She grimaces into the bowl with a resigned shrug, turns and hangs a standard sized soft hand bag on the door hook. A clear seam of her big pants under her skirt indicates her choice of underwear. She stoops and hitches up her long skirt to her waist, steps back and thumbs down a pair of dark tan tights, taking a pair of plain white large knickers with them - so far. The gusset is trapped up in her crack but is released by the drag of her hand between her legs, she holds the tights and knickers forward away from the oncoming ablutions, hovering above the rim.

The dark pigmented surround of her sphincter is framed by a goodly curl of greying dark brown hair. She has a bulbous ring piece and then beyond, the gathered lips of her twat. There is a wait, a dribble, and finally a torrent gush of piss is forced through the clasp of labia, the torrent controlled by the in and out actions of her pelvic muscles, which tempts her arse hole to exude it's load too, but it remains steadfastly closed.

The piss ceases and she shakes any remains away with a few minor bounces, stands a little higher, reaches for tissue paper and swipes, from her front, through her crotch and drops the paper to one side. A concentrated attendance to her knickers, her tights and then her skirt follows, making sure they looked the same as when she entered my domain. She takes her bag, reaches over me and leaves, the flushing process in full action.

*

A contrast in age, now as a young blonde woman appears with a slight smile, maybe she's been talking outside, there is a constant babble of voices, springing from the surrounds. Her blonde hair is tied back from her face, she has no bag and swiftly turns her denim clad frame, exposing the tight, single pigtail down her back. Her belt swings wide, her zip is dealt with and her jeans are lowered. A miniscule black thong goes below the rim and she squats releasing two streams from a cute, neatly flapped minge. Her urethra is spouting a full flow a seemingly urgent flow yet it's emerging from two places in her labia - a sight often seen until the folds of her vagina give way and the streams join. When it stops she stands further erect and does some more vigorous bounces than the previous lady, drops fall then a swift hitch of her thong, her jeans, zip and belt and a quick glance back she leaves.

There was no wipe and no attempt to flush.

*

A chubby, busty middle aged woman occupies the space, dressed in a maroon trousers and jacket, with a black top. The material is lightweight, no visible panty lines and there are signs of spare wobbly flesh beneath as she fumbles with the fastening, after hanging a large soft leather bag on the door hook. The trousers and black knickers go down in one piece and she squats high over the rim, exposing a hairy pussy pouch, a long slit and then again, two dribbles preceded by a squirt of a thin white substance. It is a quick hurried stop and she does a cursory wipe from the front, discarding the tissue to the side, then up with a small pair of black briefs, her flabby buttocks quivering, her trousers up, a couple of twisty wriggles, fastened and after a swift turn, flush and she's gone with her bag.

*

The weather must be cold, judging by varieties of clothing, as the next pisser is enveloped in a massive padded winter coat, with a fur lined hood. She stands, fussing with something hidden from my view. The coat is hitched up a fraction and she is in trousers. They and prseumably pants as I don't detect any go down to reveal a black haired pussy and strikingly white and dangling a good five inches, the string of a tampon. She stands, reaches through and her hand shifts the string to one side, holding it there out of the spray. It wasn't a spray but a single stream, very brief. She bounces twice, wipes - reaching round her butt, her hands are manicured and delicate, heavily ringed then she drops the tissue to one side and wriggles her trousers up, not before a sight of black briefs with a vivid logo on the back. She fastens, makes sure her coat is in place and then I see her two big, large store, shopping bags and handbag removed from the hook until the door swings shut.

*

The door swings and a middle aged lady in a white padded jacket with a black trim and black slacks enters, turning to hang a shoulder bag. She takes a quick look at the water, drags down her slacks with pink knickers, bends to rest her hands on her knees and from a lightly haired gash she pisses. It was urgent. Plain panties arise, showing a dark smudge a little too high to be caused from a leakage. A brief adjustment of garments, she leans to flush and she's gone.

*

An athletic girl next. Brutalist face, fair hair tied back in a bunch wearing a logoed pale tee-shirt, a loose black cardigan, several neck adornments and jeans held with a broad studded belt. She grimaces fiercely into the bowl and as she's unhitching her buckles and zip - up comes a foot, then another to turn then squat on the rim in soft street shoes. She mustn't slip. Her bum low, she reaches round and sticks fingers into her bald cunt, then finds a string and hauls out a dirty tampon, which leaves blood round her snatch while she drops it aside. A long steady piss, a couple of bobs up and down then she stands. More fiddling then a new tampon is carefully inserted. It's wrapping and tissues follow the messy cotton. She clambers to the floor, rights everything, then raises one leg and activates the flush mechanism.

*

Nice contrast, a pretty, slender, tall girl enters with shoulder length dark hair, a zipped light fleece over a striped black and white top and jeans. The stripes are shuffled up her torso, her jeans drop, taking a pair of black briefs. There is a large mole on her right buttock and her pubes are full at the front, but there are none round her twat. She pisses, then reaches round with a tissue to gently dab over her genitals, three times, examining the tissue each time before discarding it. She must be sore judging by the light actions, never rubbing or inserting. They are dropped aside, she drags the panties then the jeans up, fastens all, activates the flush and leaves.

*

Cold weather still - a massive fur collared hoodie over a short black jacket on a young girl. The jacket is open and she's wearing a light coloured fluffy scarf. Her light brown hair hangs over her shoulders as she searched pockets and finds a device in the front pocket of her jeans. It's checked and thrust safer into her jeans. Her expression is concerned as she wiggles her jeans and black briefs which contain a panty liner, down. She turns backs towards the rim and bends. She has a cute bald mons. Bobbing up and down during the flow, she wipes thoroughly inspecting the tissue, dropping it away, then up come the briefs which have an attractive scalloped edge round them, the liner remaining stuck. Her hand filters between her legs several times as if checking the liner is intact, then up go her branded jeans with tow wiggles. While bending her hoodie has hoodied her, so she swings that back - she's got a lovely expression of satisfaction, while various items of outerwear are as carefully checked as underwear. There is much concern about her hoodie, the fur round it, then her scarf is draped round it and knotted in the trendy way, she leans over and flushes.

I am on another Mission

His hands fiddle with me as he strides. There are no voices, just sounds of soft footware on earth, rustle of long grass, the crack of a twig, some bird song. A distant rumble and clatter of a rail track, then down several steps and I'm in his hands until placed down and activated in quiet darkness. A muttered male greeting, then silence. There is grass on the earth at my level, a distant open fronted shabby building and steps up into it in bright sunshine. The back wall of the building is needing care and decorations, it is outdoors. A long period of time passes, while I am moved in the semi darkness. I can hear heavy breathing, a low muttered pair of male voices, curses, discussions and then silence.

Aimed horizontally, through long growth, couple of bricks to each side; the view to the ramshackle tin roof is a totally different front-on angle. A bleached blonde, trim mum in a acid yellow top and jeans with a rope woven belt, strange sandals, looking anxiously around as she zips down, heaves the denim down and squats, I zoom. Loud music drifts around alerting her, making her cock her head, listen, smile. She is holding the belted jeans away from a substantially meaty, shaven open gash with ash grey coloured outer lips, revealing pearl pink inner labia, folds of vagina membrane full of moisture which turns to a slightly yellow gush of urine to a hole beneath her squat. A swift one, two quick bobs up and down, then ringed fingers, wipe tissues through, drop them. She stands, corrects her clothing, steps down and disappears.

*

Similar age, dark fluffy hair in a bob with added adornments festival type, maroon and gold patterned sweater over black slacks. No bag. Studied searching gaze, jigging to the music, then down with the slacks, no panties visible. Bare cunt, clear to view with her knees spread wide, enabling a very low squat, distinct long labia, that is folded to one side until the piss starts in three outlets in the formidable labia which finally gives way in a fluttering parting to an almighty flow. That ceases and instead of tissue this girl has her own system. She puts her hand down, spreads her fingers either side of her lips, squeezes them together, then stands and goes to her slacks - there is no underwear. Further searching the vicinity, contented and abluted she leaves.

*

Very mature, in fact elderly, this grey haired, dumpy, short old dear is accompanied by a not much younger, dark auburn, coiffed woman. They are chattering constantly, looking furtively all around. They step up and the subject is supported being helped to place her feet in precise positions. They seem to be out of place, considering the now raucous music blaring around. The men mutter, I stay put. Both women are clad in long dark skirts, with similar, two piece woolen tops. Her skirt is hoisted to reveal black stockings and ... very strange these days, black suspender belts. In squatting as low as she can, her friend holding an arm, the old lady gathers in her skirt. The suspenders must be at their stretch limit, carving into her thighs. It is obviously quite an effort for grey hair. It's some time before her urine appears from a very hairy crotch as I zoom. She is so low and wobbling as a dribble starts and remains so for a long period, her fanny is just visible. Friend hands a handful of tissues and there is careful dab, until she totters upright, wobbling, gasping and giggling. Their constant chatter continues as she is helped to step to one side and unassisted deals with her outer dress, her underwear being drawn up is masked by the garment. The verbal pair totter off.

Suddenly I am handled, clicked off and stuffed away. Something has happened - but what?

The end