Most times when you're in the restroom, people come and go and you think nothing of it. You're there to just get your business over with so you can get back to your life at the point you hit the pause button.
I'm one to work a little later than my coworkers. The janitorial staff has seen me on a near nightly basis. Of course I see them through the day, too, but they really get to the dirty work when the bell tolls 6pm, when most everyone has left for the night, or in the case of this night, the weekend.
Practically all of the janitorial staff is Latino -- I'm not being racist here, just telling the truth -- and most of them are younger, arguably late 20s to early 30s, and most are also women. It was not odd to be in the restroom and hear knocks on the door -- one of the lady janitors needing to get in and close the restroom for cleaning.
This night I was at the office a little later than normal, and as tends to happen at various times through the day, the need for the restroom arose. I locked the desktop on my computer and ducked away to the restroom. I glanced around on my way there and noticed that no one else was on the floor -- everyone had left for the weekend.
Thankfully the restroom wasn't closed for cleaning -- I hated having to duck to another floor to find a restroom. While attending to bodily affairs, I heard the door to the restroom open. Odd, I thought, as no one else was on the floor, so it must be a janitor. They didn't knock or yell in asking if anyone was in, so I figured it was one of the male janitorial staff.
I finished up a few minutes later and flushed and proceeded out of the stall. Looking over at the sink, I saw one of the younger women on the janitorial staff sitting against the edge of the sink.
Her jeans were pulled down to her ankles. Seeing no panties in her jeans, I wondered if that was her regular approach to apparel. Her right leg was resting on the counter, spreading her wide, her pussy plainly visible while her jeans were still hanging on her other leg. Her fingers were moving into, out of, and around her pussy, which was surrounded by a small bush.
Her collared shirt bore the name of the company contracted to keep the building clean, and I could see her nipples standing out against the fabric. "Is she not wearing a bra?" I thought to myself while also wondering how she didn't hear the flush. Her long, dark Latina hair was pulled back into a pony tail -- still somewhat scraggly but still shiny enough to reflect some of the overhead fluorescent lighting.
Her eyes closed, moans softly escaping her lips, she was clearly lost in her own little world of ecstasy.
I found it difficult -- nay, physically impossible to move further toward her. Part of me wished I could stand there all night just staring at this beautiful woman who was clearly enjoying herself. She was bold and confident, to say the least, and I half wondered if I would've been able to wash my hands and leave without her even noticing.
"Do you need help with that?" I asked, breaking her out of the masturbation-induced spell that had enveloped her. Her eyes came open with a shot, bright green irises hidden by now enlarged pupils staring right at me with a look of panic and fear.
"Oh my, I'm...", she seemed so panicky she couldn't keep words together in sentences, "I'm so sorry." She started moving quickly to bring herself back into a more normal composure.
I walked to the basin that wasn't previously blocked by her leg and washed my hands (with soap) while still hearing her apologizing to me. I dried my hands and looked over at her, and seeing her bent over, it appeared she hadn't yet figured out how to get her leg back through the leg of her jeans.
I knelt down beside her and put my hand on her shoulder. She stopped what she was doing and looked me dead in the eye, tears partly welling up around the panicked look still present.
