Help her out

I hadn't really expected her to respond quite that severely. I'd had some success in the past with commands like "You get changed real quick while we chat." with little more than a taunting "Have you been standing there the whole time perv?" in reprisal. This was much much worse. I might have just screwed this total strangers head up for the rest of her life because I wanted to see some tits. A constant knotting feeling of guilt and revulsion was winding around my gut and there was only one way to get rid of it. I was going to have to fix this.

I take a deep breath and step towards the nearly nude Ms. Sheerer. "Rachel." Her head snaps up and she begins flailing about before falling off the toilet and curling up behind it. "Rachel, I want you to"

"No! Shut up! Stay back! Leave me alone."A sudden burst of adrenaline from the fall seems to have helped her find her voice again.

"Okay Rachel. I'm going to leave the room now" I begin slowly backing out of the room as she uncurls a bit eying me suspiciously. "and shut the door so you can be alone. Just please don't lock the door when I do okay?"

No sooner does the click of the door shutting sound than I hear a scrambling sound emerge from the other side. Followed by the frame shaking as if someone had just tackled the door. The knob begins to jimmy about before a more solid locking click is sounded. Then everything is quiet again.

I call out to the now self imprisoned young woman on the other side. "Rachel did you just lock the door just now?"

A silence hangs for a moment before a muffled reply of "Yes." comes back across the barrier.

"Why? I asked you not to."

"Because you're a creep! And you tried to **** me... and... and you made me do stuff."

"When? When did I **** you to do anything?"

"You made me take off all my clothes!"

"No. No, I did not and you know it. The only reason you pitched your clothes was because you knew they smelled like smoke. They reminded you of every time you wore them while smoking and made you want to smoke again. You tossed them because and you cared more about stopping smoking than actually covering yourself. But then you hit a roadblock. You smoked most often when you wanted to get laid and stripping in front of someone was making you horny."

"No! That's" She tries to interrupt but I just raise my voice and plod along.

"You didn't want to admit that parading around in your tiny little thong made you feel sexier than just being completely nude. You couldn't tell why you felt compelled to take it off since it didn't directly remind you of smoking. The struggle between which would be hotter, stripping or being completely naked at a strangers mercy, was tearing you apart subconsciously. If you took off your tiny little camo cover you would have to either fuck me or rush straight home and smoke a whole pack. You'd feel like a cheap worthless whore and a failure as a human being no matter which you chose. Alternatively you could just deny everything. You didn't want to stop smoking. Family and friends wanted you to. You didn't toss everything that reminded you of smoking away. I **** you to strip so I could fuck you. You didn't refuse to take your panties off because you didn't think they contributed to your smoking. You were afraid of being ****. There's a problem with that logic though. You locked the door." I have to stop and catch my breath after just ranting off anything that even remotely sounded right.

"Bwhat? How does my locking the door prove I want to be ****?"

"No, no no no. I asked you not to lock the door. Then you locked the door. It proves that you've been in control of your own actions the whole time. It proves that you're just feeling a little exposed at the moment." No response. "I can't really blame you given how little you're wearing. If you want to cover up without getting soaked in toilet water I have a rain poncho in my desk." I open the drawer and pull it out. "It came with an umbrella. Looks like it's a dark blue affair. Still in the original plastic." A loud splashing sound comes from the restroom followed by a thocking splat sort of sound and a high pitch whine. "Everything okay in there?"

"I was just putting my clothes in the sink so they could dry out. You can't slide the poncho under the door can you?"

"Nope. Too thick."

"Fine. I'll open the door." A loud click is followed by the knob turning, a smaller click, and the door opening half an inch. "There push it in."

"No can do. It's in a cylinder. You'll have to open the door farther."

"Forget it then." The door slams shut. I wait a moment but it never latches or locks. Taking the chance I push the door open toss the poncho in and shut it before the expression of shock finishes blooming across Rachels face and drowning out her expression of "Fuc" with the slamming of the door. Which is promptly locked from her side.