Rabbit Hole (Pipkin Pippa, M/F, feet)

Rumors had long circulated about what dwelled in the women’s restroom at the local Big M.  The warnings of faulty plumbing that were taped to its door were just excuses, as the nuisance had not proved to be a large enough issue to call in pest control or law enforcement.  The remaining restroom was converted into a unisex facility, and that was seen as a net positive as far as corporate was concerned.

Testing the door revealed that there wasn’t even an effort to lock the thing away; supposedly it would just traverse the air ducts and make an even bigger mess if there wasn’t a clear path to what it wanted.  Vigilance on the night shift was all that could be done to deter it from stealing more food from beneath the front desk’s heat lamps.

It was a stupid dare.  In my hand was a combo meal that I picked out randomly from the restaurant’s menu.  Surely, whether it was man or beast, whatever resided in the restroom could be lured out by the bait, and all I had to do was see it and live to tell the tale.  My friends had already ducked out from the hallway before I made for the handle; only one of us needed to risk catching rabies from all of this.  The door was stiff from disrepair, but it eventually yielded to a light shove.

I braced myself for the worst, expecting to be greeted with pests and decay.  What hit me first, however, was a curious scent of what could best be described as a petting zoo interlaced with old sweat.  The lights inside had long since burned out, leaving me to rely upon the illumination from the hallway to see in. What sounded like the rustling of leaves was in fact innumerable food wrappers strewn across the floor, blotting out the tiling entirely.

As I craned my head through the door, I heard a sudden clamor of feet behind me.  I turned in time to see my two companions just before they shoved me into the room.  The debris provided poor footing, and I found myself sprawling upon the floor, intermingling with the garbage.  Stale fast food.  Palm oil and MSG.  The door slammed shut, and in the darkness I could hear muffled laughter from the outside.  I immediately went for the handle, only to find that they were holding it closed.  “No balls!” They shouted.  It was midnight and the staff could not care less about what happened beyond the serving counter.  I was on my own.

My protests were interrupted by a sudden squawk from the other side of the room.  Was the nuisance just a bird all along?  It sounded like a typical pet store parakeet, however.  I doubted such a tiny thing could have caused this much trouble.  After letting my eyes adjust to the darkness, I noticed a faint pink glow emanating from the handicap stall in the far corner.  To think that the amount of wrappers at the entrance was obscene!  Every nook and cranny of that cubicle was stuffed with trash.  The compounded mass of paper and plastic formed a crude mortar that extended from the open top of the stall to the ceiling.  A veritable cocoon of filth.  The glow shone through what few cracks were left in this bizarre construction.  The bird inside squawked once more.

I felt around for the meal that I dropped.  The bag was crushed slightly from my fall, but I figured the thing, whatever it truly was, wouldn’t care much about presentation when it came to food.  With tepid steps I inched toward the stall.  It had to know I was here, surely; yelling again felt pointless.  No move was made in regards to my presence, however, and that kept me on edge.  Once more, I found myself staring down a forbidden door. The menagerie scent from before was almost overbearing now.  Trying the handle felt too brazen; this was the women’s bathroom, after all.  What if the thing was just a deranged vagrant?  I needed to coax it out.

Idly, I investigated its neighboring stall.  There, on the bottom of its shared partition was a small hole, formed by what appeared to be the gnawing of a small rodent, or possibly a teething dog.  Unlike the rest of the handicap stall, this gap was loosely covered by a plastic tray.  I could hear the thing moving on the other side.  There was an unmistakable sound of a keyboard clattering away, which rang out alongside mumbling directed towards either herself or the bird.  I suddenly felt like a trespasser.  A voyeur.  Small.  What could lead a woman to live like this?  The food at hand was growing cold.  It was now or never.  I rolled up the bag as best as I could, and slowly pressed it against the yielding tray.

“Hold on, chat,” I heard her say.  Chat?  The tray shot aside and the bag was yanked out of my hand.  The hole was closed once more, followed by the frantic tearing of paper and savage chewing.  Even the bird was fed, I assumed, as I heard the sound of a squeaky cage being opened and its protests had stopped in response.  The meal only lasted for an instant.  After a moment of silence, I heard weight being shifted to the floor next to where I knelt in my stall, followed by the unmistakable sound of slippers being discarded.  She was close.  Only a few inches separated the two of us.  Was she placated?  Maybe this was enough to satisfy the dare.  As I was about to stand up, the hole opened once more.

Pink light flooded the stall alongside a new odor that immediately dominated the stale tones that once permeated the room.  Fresh sweat with notes of a sickly sweetness that was unmistakably feminine yet completely alien to anything I was familiar with.  It was intoxicating, whatever it was.  Unrealized neurons fired independent commands to unwilling hands.  The gap in the partition was about knee-height.  I knew what she offered, what she wanted.  The rest was automatic.

My pants dropped to the floor with a soft thud.  The cubicle walls were thick, but my crazed length cleared it easily.  Was I really doing this?  Pressing up against the partition only covered up the gap, the source of this madness, and I needed more of it.  Just as I was thinking of pulling back, something gripped me from the other side. Tender flesh wrapped around my member. In delicate motions it began to knead the entire span of my shaft.  I bucked in response, and the silky grasp turned to supple iron.  I felt little digits wrangle me back into place, and that finally tipped me off to what was going on.  It was hard to imagine soles being that soft.  It was if her feet had not once ever graced the earth, yet her svelte movements hinted at a more athletic background.

I had to brace myself against the toilet paper dispenser.  Each rotation of her ankles, every gliding motion sent shockwaves through my body.  I couldn’t keep still, and as if sensing this she quickly switched tactics.  With her left foot she clamped onto the base of my shaft, pinning me in place with just her hallux and index toes, while her right gathered up my dripping excitement across her five digits.  Properly slickened, she gripped me much like a large marker and proceeded to wring me out in long, slow strokes.

This was going to be the end of me.  It was a miracle I even lasted this long.  Yet, just as I was about to seize up in climax, she stopped.  I was still at the mercy of her grip.  She would resume her movements in brief bursts, continuing this agonizing pattern of bringing me to my threshold over and over again.  Did I upset her, or was she getting a kick out of toying with me like this?  I could hear her labored breathing.    She couldn’t keep this up forever, I hoped.

Feeling her hold loosen, I dared to pull back once more.  It was only an inch, but that was just enough to let the scent flow in from the hole again.  A whiff of her was all that I needed.  I was a new man.  My shell was cast aside.  I was pulled back in just as I hit my climax.  A shocked yelp echoed out from the other side; I had no doubt my love had reached her face, her chest, every part of her seated form.  I was free.  One last strand left me before I sunk to the floor, limp as clay.  The tray closed the hole again.

There I lied for god knows how long, sinking into the garbage where I belonged.  What would I tell my friends after this?  My muddled brain concocted a tall tale of fighting off a raccoon, though I had no scratches from this ordeal to support such a claim.  Were they even out there still?  What time was it now?

The darkness was cast out by the pink glow again.  A dumb grin began to form on my face at the prospect of a second round, but that was quickly dashed after seeing a dainty hand appear from the gap, holding a shiny pistol.  She gestured it towards the restroom door in a dismissive manner, and then kept the barrel trained on me as I quickly pulled up my pants and made for the exit.

Daylight.  My compatriots had either gotten bored or left me for dead.  I ducked the glances from the restaurant’s morning staff and made my way back home.  I was disheveled and covered in grungy smells and stains, yet none of that mattered to me.  I walked with my head held high and a song in my heart, society be damned.  I finally knew the touch of a woman.

Upon arrival, I immediately hopped into my shower.  While I could wash away the stale stench of trash, her scent, the thing that drove me wild, refused to fully leave.  It was faint, too weak to be noticed by anyone else, but it was there, and that sickly sweet sweat would not leave my mind.

I found myself outside of the women’s bathroom at the local Big M.  A large combo meal hung from my hand.  The door, still covered in faded warnings, yielded once more to me.  I fell down the rabbit hole again.