Special Agent Gerald Maytag moved quickly and quietly between the wooden benches and the metal lockers. He was dressed in a loose pair of running shorts and a cotton t-shirt, but had removed his sneakers to avoid squeaking on the tiled floor. Carrying the shoes in his left hand, Maytag crept softly along the rows of grey boxes. He divided his attention between examining the room and listening for approaching footsteps. Not certain what he was looking for, Maytag instinctively took note of everything around him.

Maytag could see clearly through the metal mesh walls of the lockers. Inside them hung towels and bathrobes of every color possible. Innumerable plastic containers of soap and shampoo rested on top shelves, and there were also quite a few bunches of plastic, about the size of a grapefruit. The thing that held his attention, though, was the smell.

It was the whole point of his being there, really. Although he had been told what to expect, it still shocked him. For every mint or peach-colored towel, there seemed to be a hint of the corresponding fragrance in the air. Yet Maytag felt no compulsion to run for fresh air, as he always did walking onto an elevator with a man reeking of cologne. The scents weren't individually strong; it was their cumulative effect that Maytag noticed. It was similar to a restaurant where the individual muted conversations swell together to form a comforting blanket of white noise. It reminded him of the noise of a group of people walking outside in the hall together, chatting away. In fact, he thought heard that noise at that very moment.

Walking outside in the hall! Maytag panicked with the realization that his discovery was imminent.

Gerald Maytag had studied the locker room use for two weeks. There was usually a steady flow of women at the start of the lunch hour, then a relative lack of activity until the noon aerobics class let out. On entering the locker room, Maytag was sure he had at least five minutes of safety, but now he stood on the edge of discovery. Actually, he wasn't on the edge of anything. He was squarely in the center of the room, directly in the middle of a row of lockers.

The voices grew louder, and Maytag looked around in desperation. One end of the row led to an emergency exit, the other to the showers: loud shrieking alarm, or loud shrieking women. That choice was no choice. Maytag then thought back to some paradigm-shifting seminar he had attended, and tried his best to think outside the box. He couldn't go back, and left and right were no options. Why not go up?

After shoving his sneakers on top of the locker, Maytag hooked his fingers over the edge and began to pull himself up. Shortly into his pull-up, Maytag's eyes focused on the small strip of black bakelite with white letters directly in front of his face. The label read "H. STANTON", and a smile crossed Maytag's face. He had found his salvation. Panic had held him for a moment, but dumb luck had delivered him to the promised land, or, in this case, the locker of his partner, Heather Stanton. If there was anyone on the planet willing to pull him out of a fire, or save him from a bullet, or hide him from discovery in a women's locker room, it was his partner. He might have to do a little explaining later, but Stanton would understand. After all, she was the reason he was there. Yes, he had slipped into the locker room to smell the place, but she was the one who first planted the idea in his head.

Two weeks prior, Maytag and Stanton had busted up a prostitution ring. Male prostitutes, to be exact. On raiding a sauna, Stanton could not resist the obvious joke.

"It smells like a boy's locker room in here," she had said.

Maytag took offense, and not just at the simple nature of the joke. "Why do people use that expression?"

"What expression?" Stanton echoed.

"'Smells like a boy's locker room'," Maytag clarified. "Why not just 'smells like a locker room'?"

"Because women's locker rooms don't stink like this," Stanton answered. "They smell like skin lotion and hair spray."

"Really?"

"Girl scouts' honor."

It had bothered him ever since. Maytag attempted to gain a surreptitious sniff by walking close to the entrance to the women's locker room a few times, but the results were inconclusive. He began making his observations and planning his one-man invasion. It should have worked perfectly, didn't quite, but at least he had a way out now. Stanton, the unwitting initiator of his predicament, had become his unknowing collaborator. His smile widened.

He let go of the locker, dropped to the ground, fetched his sneakers, and took hold of the handle. He felt it stick. True to its namesake, the locker was locked. His smile vanished.

Adrenaline flooded Maytag's bloodstream, and he bolted up the face of the locker. In no time his palms were flat, his arms locked straight, and his waist was level with the top of the metal cabinetry. Taking advantage of his momentum, Maytag swung his legs to his left and vaulted onto the locker roof.

Only he couldn't stop himself. His legs swung across the narrow ledge and over to the other side. A short stream of profanity and the sound of Maytag's limbs flailing against metal and then crashing into a wooden bench greeted the women who entered the locker room.

Maytag lay sprawled out on the floor. He heard the squeaking footfalls of sneakers all around him, murmurs of concern reverberating around the room. He could make out some forms, and they gradually came into focus. Women surrounded him. Women in spandex. From the floor his field of view was dominated by their legs - a phalanx of taut, bare, aerobicized legs.

One of them knelt down beside Maytag. "Are you OK? What happened?"

"Ohhh," Maytag groaned.

"Don't move him," said a voice from behind. "Get some help," called another.

"No, no, I'm ok," Maytag said, looking at the soft face of the kneeling woman and her cute blonde ponytail. Part of him wanted to escape, another wanted to see if he could even move. He propped himself on his arms and tried to turn his head. So far, so good, he thought. He looked some more at the legs surrounding him.

"Take it easy," said another woman who knelt down on Maytag's left side, opposite the blonde ponytail. She had dark round eyes and short brunette hair, cut in a page-boy style. "Just sit back for a second."

Maytag felt someone slide something under his head.

"There doesn't seem to be any blood."

"Where does it hurt?" asked the blonde ponytail. She brushed at his hair with painted fingernails. They raked lightly against his scalp.

"My knee, I think. Maybe the thigh," answered Maytag.

"Which side?" asked the brunette.

"The left."

Maytag felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. The thumbs hooked in toward his neck and the fingers fanned out pointing at his chest. He struggled to look back at the owner, but was rebuffed. "Sit still," said his unseen help-meet.

When his gaze fell forward again, he saw that the brunette had turned to face his legs. She wore a pair of black and red-striped hip-hugging Lycra shorts. She leaned forward, resting her weight on one palm on the ground while using the free hand to examine Maytag's leg. Her stripe-covered ass loomed large and her breasts were held tight to her chest by a black sports bra.

"Tell me when this hurts," she asked.

"OK so far," said Maytag. He looked away from her ass for a moment to glance at the blonde. She wore a tender smile, which turned to a round mouthed "ooh" when Maytag yelled, "Oww!"

"I'm sorry," said the brunette. "I guess it is your knee. Are you sure the other leg is ok?"

"Relatively sure," answered Maytag.

"I'll take a look," said the blonde. She turned to face his legs, and now Maytag had a view of her ass as well. She wore a blue leotard that cut high on the hip and made a bee-line along each cheek to her crotch. Out of the corner of his eye, Maytag saw a pair of women walk away from his crash site, but a few still remained. He could have counted, but he was distracted by the hands draped motionless around his neck, and the others making quite a bit of motion around his legs. He was also feeling groggy.

"I think my head hurts," Maytag said meekly.

"Poor thing," said the voice behind him. One hand let his shoulders, and in short order he felt nails drift against his scalp. It tingled all his head. Then he felt a kiss on his forehead. "Better?"

"Much," said Maytag.

"Maybe I should try that," said the brunette, gently touching his knee with her lips.

Maytag's cock, which had begun to swell inside his baggy running shorts, twitched and pushed against the loose material. He noticed, and wondered if anyone else had. He received an answer immediately.

"Hey, Stacy," said one of the women still standing over Maytag, "looks like your patient is responding."

The brunette looked up and then back at Maytag, staring at the growing bulge. She cleared her throat and said, "Hey, April, whaddaya think?" The blonde, April, then looked at the brunette, Stacy, who nodded toward Maytag's crotch.

"Nice going, Stacy," answered April. "We had the situation under control, and now he's swelling up."

"That's not good," said the woman behind Maytag's head. "Maybe we should get some ice," she teasingly suggested.

"Hush, Jan," said Stacy. "If I caused the problem, I'll see what I can do to help."

"I think you've done plenty already," said another one of the standing women.

Maytag didn't know what to say at that point, nor was he sure if Stacy had done enough already. Maybe she should take a closer look, he thought.

It was if she was right inside his mind. "Maybe I should take a closer look," said Stacy. She turned to face Maytag and his swelling problem. That robbed him of the view of her ass, but he still had April's backside to admire. Stacy reached for his shorts, and cupped her palm over the bulge. Maytag's cock twitched in response.

"Oh, my," said Stacy. "I think I just made it worse."

"Let me see," said April. The blonde shifted her position. Maytag had lost his rear view, but had gained two women fretting over his expanding hard-on. Not such a bad trade, he reasoned.

There wasn't much expanding left to be done, as April's hand verified. "I think we've gone past swelling and on to stiffening," April remarked. "Let's get these shorts out of the way." April then pushed aside a flimsy flap of material and exposed Maytag's medical condition.

"Maybe we should take his temperature," Stacy suggested.

"Good idea," said April. In one quick motion she lifted Maytag's cock, bent her head over it and took the head into her mouth. Her mouth felt warm and wet against Maytag's flesh.

"No, silly," said the voice behind Maytag, "You're supposed to put something in his mouth to take his temperature."

"What about his butt, Jan?" said one of the standing women.

"Maybe he'd rather stick something in your butt, Hannah," Jan answered.

Maytag looked up at the woman called Hannah. She wore a set of black spandex shorts and a white cotton midriff shirt. Her breasts curved away from her body and took the shirt with it, holding it away from her navel. Maytag sincerely hoped they could work out a butt arrangement that was agreeable to both of them.

With a loud slurping sound, April pulled away from Maytag's dick. "Definitely warm," she informed everyone. Stacy took the wet shaft in her hand and licked the side of it with her tongue. After swiping it base to tip, Stacy held his dick upright and took it deep in her mouth.

"Don't you think he's a little hot, Stacy?" April asked. Stacy hummed affirmatively. The gentle vibration of the sound tickled. Maytag moaned.

"Feeling better?" asked Jan.

"A little," he answered. "I think I may have hurt my hands, though. I should check to see if I have a full range of motion."

"Of course," answered Stacy. She moved away from Maytag's hip and leaned over, offering a generous view of the cleavage formed by the tight blue leotard. She lowered herself, and the tops of her breasts threatened to spill out like so much heavy cream.

Maytag bent his elbow and took hold of her side. His hand glided across the fabric and onto her breast. The hard contoured ribs gave way to her soft round tit. Maytag spread his fingers over the leotard, past the raised ridge of stitching to her exposed skin. The skin was not as slick as the artificial material, but it was soft to the touch and invited his hands to explore further.

"I think your fingers are fine," said Jan. She continued to run her fingers through his hair.

"At least the right side," Maytag responded.

"Get the hint, Stacy?" April asked.

"Mmm-hmm," Stacy hummed again, sending another gentle vibration along Maytag's cock to accompany the wet strokes of her lips and tongue. Stacy kept one hand on Maytag's balls while she sucked, and used the other to hold her weight while she pivoted to position her ass above Maytag's left hand.

Maytag didn't waste time. He raised his arm and took hold of her ass. The black and red-striped pants were as slippery as April's outfit, but Stacy's ass was firmer than April's breast. Squeezing April's tit and running a thumb against her hardening nipple, Maytag did his best to make large circles around Stacy's tight ass. He felt like he was juggling.

Stacy's ass felt great in his hand, and she seemed to increase the speed of her sucking as he massaged it. Maytag wanted to sit up to watch and get better leverage against her tight cheeks, but as soon as he tried, Jan held him fast to the floor.

"Take it easy," she said. "Don't rush."

Maytag tried to look back at her, and instead caught sight of Hannah rubbing herself through her black shorts. She made small circles around the top of her raised mound. Distracted, Maytag never did get back to looking at Jan.

He then lost his chance to see for a while. April scooted forward and leaned over so that her decolletage pressed against his chin. Maytag kissed and licked at her bouncy tits eagerly. Jan grabbed some hair between her fingers and playfully shoved Maytag's face into April's chest.

Free to concentrate on his manual dexterity, Maytag roamed between Stacy's legs and rubbed at her slit through her shorts. Despite the layer of cloth, her wet heat was obvious to the touch. The tight- fitting shorts didn't hide the terrain, either. Maytag felt his way along her lips to the stiff short nub of her clitoris. Stacy rewarded him with a long steady hum on his cock and a gentle squeeze of his sac.

"Looks like the left hand is ok, too." Maytag couldn't tell if Hannah said that or not. In fact, he wasn't sure just how many women there were around him.

April pulled down the front of her bodysuit, and her tits poured out onto Maytag's face. He nuzzled them and sucked on the hard rosy nipples, all the while rubbing Stacy's love button with his left hand. Stacy treated him to one more hum before taking her mouth away from his tool. "Your turn, April," Stacy announced. "I need to get out of this thing."

April turned around to face Maytag's engorged and slippery cock, and took to it like an overheated sun worshiper licks an ice cream cone. Stacy stood up and pushed down her shorts, rolling them into a twist along her thigh in the haste to remove them. Maytag tried to sit up to lick at her bare ass and slit, but again Jan held him down. Stacy saw his attempt, however. "Want some?" she asked. Stacy loomed overhead, and the perspective was odd. "Attack of the Sixty-Foot Woman with the Slim Thighs and Well-Trimmed Bush". Something like that, Maytag thought. She crouched and her sex approached him. That held his head tighter than Jan's fingers and excited him as much as April's tongue on his cock. Her musk pushed the smell of shampoos and soaps far into the olfactory background. When she reached eye level Maytag lifted his head and uttered, "Stacy! ", before plunging his tongue into the spicy slick folds of her sex.

Maytag reached out and grabbed April's ass. He worked his fingers inside the bodysuit, and slid them down the crack of her ass to her creamy pussy. His fingers dove inside, emerged again and massaged her lips. He wanted to concentrate on April and Stacy equally, but found it difficult.

Licking Stacy's twat, Maytag lost whatever tabs he had on the situation. He closed his eyes and lapped at her, and the warm mix of his spit and her juices traced small tributaries down his chin and along his neck. There were limbs resting on his chest and legs, mouths that sucked on his cock and fists that clutched the base and stroked him, but he couldn't keep track. He licked Stacy and nudged her towards orgasm.

But April came first. Her vaginal walls tightened around his fingers. She moaned and dug her nails into his chest and thighs. Maytag realized that someone else must be sucking his cock and he reached out to touch her. Just as he guessed, his left hand found a smooth thigh and then a naked ass.

"Hannah," he said as he groped at her curves.

April's climax triggered Stacy and she quivered and spasmed as Maytag circled her clit in an attempt to coax every last nerve of her body to join in the collective fireworks. She seemed to lose her balance, but someone, maybe Jan, held her still.

April rolled away from Maytag's sloppy wet face. He then saw Hannah clearly, sucking on his dick. She still wore the midriff cotton shirt, and although he could clearly see her bush, and what her fingers were doing there, it was somehow more interesting to stare under the white fabric at what he could make out of her breasts.

"My turn," he heard Jan say, and his view was obscured again. At least now he got to see what she looked like. She had quickly thrown off her shorts to reveal a pale white triangle of skin next to the tan of her legs. Her wiry brown hairs were trimmed to well inside the white lines, but some stubble had begun to appear at the border.

Once more, Maytag licked away. Jan had a tight hole, and whenever Maytag stopped circling her pudenda to dive inside, he felt the walls pushing back at him.

At last someone mounted Maytag's prick and slid down its length. After the warm-then-cool sensation of being in and out of a mouth so often, the hot feel of a cunt around his dick was almost too much to take. As before, the distraction of giving head kept his focus elsewhere, and his unseen consort rode up and down until Jan succumbed to his tonguing. But Maytag didn't think he could last much longer.

Jan bent down to kiss him. "What man is this?" she asked.

"Jan, you're pretty hot, too." he mumbled.

"I think he's coming too," someone said.

Two women, one of them April, knelt on either side of him. Their lips and tongues were locked together and they fingered each other's slits.

"Oh, April," Maytag said, just before losing all control. He spurted inside his lover over and over. She must have reached her place as well, because she started calling his name "Maytag! Maytag!"

Wait a second, he thought, how do they know my name?

"MAYTAG!" someone shouted. He looked up and into the face of his partner, Heather Stanton. Oh my god, when did she get here, he thought?

"He's definitely coming to," said another voice, one he recognized as Jan's, but the body did not match the face. In fact, the body looked a lot like Stacy's. What the hell was going on?

"Huh?" was all Maytag could manage. He looked around. The women were all gone, and there was no one but Stanton and the owner of Jan's voice. His head throbbed with pain. He tried to get up.

"Take it easy," said Stanton. "You keep trying to get up, even when you were knocked out. We had to hold you down."

"I practically sat on your chest," the other woman laughed.

"Knocked out?" Maytag asked.

"Out cold," Stanton said with a chuckle. "I asked you my name and you said Stacy and then Hannah. Close, but I expect men at my feet to do a little better than that."

"Oh," Maytag muttered.

"Then we asked you what month it was, and you said something about it being hot in January. Then you thought it was April."

"Maybe I can explain," he said.

"You mean, telling me what you think you're doing in the women's locker room?" asked Stanton rhetorically. "No, thanks."

Maytag flushed with embarrassment.

"I do want to know one thing," Stanton remarked. "How did your sneakers come off?"

"It's a long story." Maytag said slowly.

"That's what I thought. Let me get you some ice."

Stanton got up and left Maytag on the floor, alone with the Jan-Stacy figment of his reality. "Are you ok?" Jan-Stacy asked. "Anything I could do?"

"Actually," Maytag began, "You could check my knee here..."

End