Peeping at colleagues in the toilet

Once, I secretly watched a colleague and told her.
The watching was accidental, but telling her was an opportunity I deliberately created.
That time, I was waiting in the restroom when I happened to see a former colleague come in. The restroom only had one women's stall, and there were no barriers on the men's side. I was overjoyed and quickly squatted down, placing a mirror in the crevices to watch her expose herself. She got up, and I quickly ran outside. Because I hadn't taken my pants off, I was much faster than her. Once outside, I pretended to look into the distance. A little while later, she came out, dressed properly, and greeted me with great surprise. I believe many people have had this kind of chance encounter.
She used to be my colleague, a typist in the factory office. We often ate lunch together and chatted during breaks. Later, I went to work for another company, and she lost her job because the textile factory closed down. Now she runs a small printing shop nearby. After a long time apart, she invited me to her shop to sit and chat.
During our conversation, my unnatural behavior finally caught her attention. She kept asking why I was looking around and why I seemed distracted. At first, I covered it up with "nothing," but later, feeling the time was right, I told her I'd been spied on.
To tell a woman, the first thing to do is, of course, to have her spied on, usually in a drain or toilet, and rarely in some other way. After she's seen me, if possible, I'll try to tell her about it. The "conditions" are multifaceted, but the most important are the environment. The spied situation is that no one is in the men's restroom. On one hand, without men, I can watch more freely, focus intently, and remember every detail clearly. On the other hand, because no man encounters me, even if things get out of hand, she'll only believe my fabricated story. Also, there should be no one around while I'm waiting for her. Secondly, the woman's own qualities are important. Generally, it's best to choose someone with a gentle appearance, preferably a married woman who is also an older sister-in-law (this has also been tried with younger women). The woman being spied on should have some distinctive features, such as a unique pubic area, more or less pubic hair, fuller labia majora or longer labia minora, lighter pubic color, long stretches of leukorrhea or menstrual blood, etc. The list goes on. It can also be due to the woman's unusual behavior when exposing her genitals, such as forcefully spreading her buttocks to help with defecation, which opens the vulva accordingly, shaking her buttocks vigorously to shake off excess urine after urinating, or putting on her pants without wiping her bottom, or wiping her genitals very gently and carefully, even inserting her fingers into her vagina to wipe. Also, the woman's clothing should be distinctive, such as sexy underwear, thongs, transparent ones, embroidered ones, or in the past, even menstrual pads, but now sanitary napkins, panty liners, tampons, etc. Stuffing toilet paper into the vulva is also a particular point of interest. Once given the opportunity to tell her about being spied on, these specific details often serve to both solidify her belief and exacerbate her shame.
As for the entire process of telling her, including the language used, I already had a basic design. I made slight modifications based on the specific circumstances during the actual action, but the core principles remained the same. Here, I'll give a general overview of the design, focusing on the main points and omitting some unnecessary details. Fellow enthusiasts can carefully consider and add details according to their own ideas. I've used this design many times and consider it quite successful. By "quite successful," I mean that I've almost never encountered any real danger, and most of the time I've managed to say everything I wanted to say to her. Sometimes I've said the basics, sometimes just the beginning, but as long as I've said the beginning, at least she knows she's being spied on. That's enough; letting her know is enough, and the rest is a bonus.
It's crucial to be absolutely certain that the woman I'm telling is the one I've been secretly watching. For me, seeing her and then telling her, and if I have the chance to describe what I saw to her, the feeling is even more thrilling than the act of secretly watching her. For her, only by truly being secretly watched and knowing it herself will she truly experience the feeling of shame and indignation. Extensive experience has led me to conclude that women don't actually mind being spied on by men; what they mind is others knowing they've been spied on. Telling her I've been spied on is equivalent to others knowing she's been spied on. Women also have a very unpleasant trait: they desperately want others to suffer. If the woman I'm telling clearly knows that the woman being spied on isn't her but someone else, she might "make a big fuss and announce it to the world," which would put me in danger.
I usually wait outside the restroom after secretly watching a woman. As for which woman I've been watching, it's quite easy to figure out. Sometimes, I can observe from the men's restroom and see the woman go in; other times, I judge based on the woman's clothing, especially her pants and shoes. The woman came out, and the surrounding environment met my requirements, so I tried to strike up a conversation. My most common method was to ask for directions. After she answered, I would feign hesitation and then say, "Be careful when you go to the restroom. I just saw a man peeping at you in the men's restroom next door." Many women don't react after hearing this, and the conversation ends there. My goal is basically achieved: she was spied on, so she must have been in a stall where she could be spied on. Her lack of reaction to my words indicates that she understands and believes me, which fits my first point above; she's just using an ostrich strategy. Her mentality gives me a thrill.
Some women ask, "Why didn't you catch the peeping tom?" I say, "There were three or four of them; I was alone and didn't dare." A woman asks, "How did you know they were peeping at women?" I say, "At first, I didn't know. They saw me and asked me to look with them. I thought something, like a wallet, had fallen into the ditch, and I went to help, which is when I saw what was reflected in the rearview mirror." When a woman asks, "Why did you tell her?" I say, "I saw her giving directions earlier, so I know she's a good person. I'm a helpful person too. I was looking in the mirror earlier to offer assistance, and telling her now is also to remind her." When a woman asks, "She's already been spied on, what's the point of telling her?" I say, "She's already been spied on, and I'm telling her so she can avoid being spied on again." And so on, answering whatever the woman asks, without a fixed rule. Usually, that's it.
There are two types of women for whom I'll be more specific. The first type denies being in a potentially spied-on stall, or even denies using the toilet, saying things like, "I just went in to wash my hands." I say, "I was just trying to be helpful; it doesn't matter to her, like 'If it's true, correct it; if not, commend her.'" At the same time, I'll describe some details I saw, such as the color of her underwear, the characteristics of her feces, but only briefly, or I'll explicitly tell her, "I could see the woman next door's pants and shoes very clearly in the mirror," meaning, "She can't deny it." There's another type of woman who, after I tell her, shows interest in the details, wanting to know exactly how it works. These women are extremely rare, yet they're the ones I most hope to encounter. In these situations, I'll explain in detail the principles of peeping through drains, pretending to think as I speak, not too fluently. While describing the process, I'll intersperse the scenes I see, describing the whole thing more clearly than she does herself. If she's talkative, we might even drift off into a very distant topic. Of course, I have to carefully control this distance; by "distant," I mean digging into her additional private matters.
Actually, I've considered this before daring to tell the women I've been spying on. I use reverse thinking: if I were the spy, would I dare to say it? If I dare to say it, it means I'm not the spy. That's what the women I've fooled think. "I'm not the spy; I told her, I'm just a kind person." Faced with someone's kindness, no matter how uncomfortable you feel, it's hard to turn your back. At most, you'll pretend not to understand or be indifferent, avoiding the topic. Most of the time, you'll lower your head, blush, feigning composure while secretly ashamed.
In rare cases, some women tried to catch the men spying on them. Since I had already pretended to be focused and watching from a distance, I excused myself by saying they had already escaped, and then offered a "helpful but cowardly" explanation, indicating my unwillingness to get involved further, and the attempt was dropped. There were also instances where I suggested she report it to the police, but the woman was unwilling to get involved, and the attempt was dropped again. The most impressive thing was observing couples. I've actually observed couples several times, but only two conversations were particularly lengthy and in-depth. One couple had the woman go to the restroom while the man waited outside. After the woman left, I went out too, followed them for a considerable distance, and then approached them to tell them what was happening. I even encouraged the husband to go back and apprehend the spy. Of course, after their initial anger subsided, they ultimately decided to let it go. My feelings were, of course, absolutely extreme. The woman was spied on, her husband found out, and the man who had seen his wife's private parts was right in front of him. And, as usual, he had to say "thank you" at the end. Tell me, what kind of feeling is that? I think that encounter with me will definitely be a long-lasting memory for them. I just don't know if their feelings were excitement or repression. As for the husband, does thinking about it make him impotent or aroused?
I rambled on about how to tell a woman who's been spied on, and I'll find a similar opportunity to tell my female colleague, whom I just spied on. Because I both spied on my colleague and then told her about it, such an experience is extremely rare even for me, so I still remember it very clearly. I saw several particularly stimulating scenes of her using the toilet: she spread her buttocks with both hands, squatted for a long time without defecating, and had clear, sticky white discharge hanging from her vulva. She wiggled her buttocks up and down and side to side until she finally shook off the discharge. When wiping, she used two fingers, padded with toilet paper, to press into her vulva, inserting her fingers slightly into the vaginal opening for a few seconds, about half a finger inside. She then examined the toilet paper she had used to wipe. After getting up, she placed a piece of toilet paper on her crotch. If you guys don't believe me, look at the woman next door who stood up; how come you can still see clearly? It's obviously fake. Actually, when a woman stands up, her genitals are raised, and so is her face. At this point, you can point a mirror towards the women's restroom. As long as you control the angle, you can still safely peek. Moreover, seeing a woman's genitals with her legs together is a different kind of scenery compared to when she's squatting and her genitals are open. A woman's genitals when she's standing and when she's squatting are different sights, each with its own appeal and stimulation. You can't say which genitals are more attractive.
In her shop, we chatted, and the topic changed. I occasionally told her about what I had seen, interspersed with many unrelated remarks. However, after bringing up the topic of her being spied on in the restroom, the conversation basically revolved around this topic. Because it was a private conversation between two married people, after the initial awkwardness, the conversation gradually became more relaxed. The hardest part of talking about this kind of topic between a man and a woman is breaking the ice. Once the topic is broken, what follows is not as unbelievable as you might imagine.
During our conversation, she told me she'd heard rumors of peeping in that toilet. I asked her, "If you knew that, why did you go?" She said, "I only knew people were peeping, but I didn't know how. This was the only toilet nearby, so I never paid attention." Her words gave me the opportunity to explain the principles of peeping. While explaining, I casually (actually, not casually, but deliberately) drew her a diagram of a drainpipe peeping site. I think most enthusiasts would recognize this diagram; I could draw it without thinking. But given the circumstances, I had to pretend, drawing and revising as I went. She knew she was being spied on after seeing this picture. To show her how clearly and subtly I saw her private parts, I used tables and chairs as props and reenacted it in her shop. I sat on one side of the table, with a wad of copy paper between my legs to represent her private parts. I had her look at it from the other side of the table with a small makeup mirror. You can imagine how conspicuous the white paper wad stood against her dark crotch. In her mind, the more conspicuous the paper wad, the more conspicuous her exposed private parts were. I was the man who saw her private parts, and now I was face to face with her. The more conspicuous her private parts were, the more clearly I saw them, and the more complicated her feelings became. That was the effect I wanted.
When she mentioned spreading her buttocks to relieve herself, she explained that it was "because of constipation, and she didn't expect anyone to be watching." I told her that spreading her buttocks also meant her labia were open, and that's exactly what she said. When she talked about the hanging vaginal discharge, she sighed about the suffering of women, saying that she put her hand into her vagina to remove as much accumulated discharge as possible. I took the opportunity to subtly mention the psychological reaction of men when they see a woman's hand inserted into her vagina. I told her I saw the white discharge hanging outside her vulva and it really reminded me of a man's penis.
Later in the conversation, the conversation became more open, and I "honestly" admitted that initially I was unconsciously peeping under someone's influence, but later, somehow, my eyes were glued to the reflection in the mirror, and I had complex feelings. Of course, while saying this, I interjected with a lot of self-justification to prove that it was just a momentary impulse and not a real voyeuristic desire. She agreed with my explanation, revealing that her husband had also involuntarily stared at women. She even asked me, "Do you men really like looking at women's privacy that much?" I honestly admitted, "Deep down, men do have that desire." Having acknowledged my earlier thoughts and actions, I then described many details of her exposing her vulva, which was the effect I was trying to achieve. Watching a woman describe how she exposed her vulva, what her exposed genitals looked like, and seeing her face flush with embarrassment as she listened, I felt immense stimulation and satisfaction, a pleasure no less than having sex with her. I am a voyeur; I like this; I pursue this effect.
The conversation broadened as we talked, and eventually she mentioned several past experiences of being seen in private by men. Once, she was showering in the men's bathroom at the factory; the door wasn't locked properly, and a male colleague barged in. She was stunned for a moment before leaving. Other times, she was at a gynecologist's, not exactly peeping, but the doctor always brought interns, and a group of people would crowd around her, looking at her baby. She was always incredibly embarrassed. I feigned curiosity about her experiences with interns looking at her, coaxing her to reveal some details and her shy, helpless feelings.
Later, I told her, "Those men who peeped at me actually took pictures of her baby, saying they'd make a DVD and give it to me if fate allowed." Of course, this was fabricated, and I repeatedly emphasized that I would never go back there to ask for the photos. I said this to deepen her shame. Think about it: even something as private as a baby, which is something you absolutely shouldn't let men see, is something that can be seen and forgotten. But if it's photographed, it's forever exposed to the eyes of strange men. She doesn't know which men have seen her baby, and because the photos exist, it means that anyone can see her baby whenever they want. Those men know her and can openly look at her. In this way, she's essentially exposed to unrelated men with no privacy whatsoever.
Because we're acquaintances, I couldn't remain completely uninvolved, so I suggested she call the police. I could testify for her. I knew the perpetrators had already fled, and even if the police came, they wouldn't get to the bottom of it. Like all women, she didn't want her scandal exposed. She made excuses, saying she couldn't leave the shop and would talk to the community later, promising to be more careful when using the restroom in the future. She said the shop couldn't be without staff, which was clearly an excuse. She locked up to go to the restroom and chatted with me outside for quite a while; she wasn't afraid of being without staff. She didn't say she'd never use that restroom again, only that she'd be more careful in the future, as drainage ditches and restrooms are inherently easy places for peeping, and being careful would prevent it
. When we parted, I promised not to tell anyone about what happened that day, and even gave her a terrible idea: her husband could keep an eye on the men's restroom and catch the peeping tom. She took my bad idea as a good one. I did this to let her husband know that her private parts, which she could only see, had already been seen by unrelated men. Men care deeply about this; it's a complex issue. I've experienced this myself and know the feeling all too well.
My last words to her were, "This sight, once seen, is unforgettable. Even now, when I close my eyes, that image floats before me." What I meant by this was to remind her that a woman's private parts aren't something you can just look at and forget; I'll remember her private parts for a lifetime.
Her last words to me were, "You bad thing." Of course, it was said in a joking tone.

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Peeping at colleagues in the toilet

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