There is nothing unusual about a rainy day in London, especially in October.
The pavements full of workers on their way to the office, jostling for position with their tiny black umbrellas, grumpily making way for the one who ploughs through the bustling crowd with his oversized golfing umbrella.
The previous night’s takeaway boxes mangle into paper mache works of art against the side of the pavement. A solitary paper cup not wishing to be part of this impromptu abstract sculpture attempts to escape down the dirty stream, it’s journey disturbed by a black cab ferrying a passenger whose new haircut is worth paying the disproportionate fare to preserve.
The paper cup perseveres in its determination to reach the mystery of the drain it spies in the distance and the promise of a magical journey into the unknown.
In its haste the paper cup becomes entangled with a newspaper but it has little time to dwell on whatever horror is the main headline of the day.
Such is the determination of this adventurous little cup it fails to notice the oncoming bus with its large wipers that dismiss the raindrops with arrogant glee.
Yet fortune is on the side of this intrepid cup as the stream which carries it towards its final destination quickens with the increasing rainfall, pushing it safely past the advancing wheels of the bus. The cup spins to reflect upon this closest of calls as it watches the wheels of the bus brush up against the pavement.
The cup is now mere moments away from completing its journey, the wrought iron finishing line agonisingly close. Suddenly a gust of wind striving to reclaim the attention from the rain in this storm picks up the little cup, lifting it high up into the air. It’s goal that had been so close fades into the distance. Is it a raindrop that drips from the lid as it spins uncontrollably in the air or a tear of a dream unfulfilled?
Quickly bored with its newly found plaything the wind unceremoniously dumps the cup in a nearby alley. There it rests, defeated. It takes one final melancholic roll as it concedes to be forever forgotten. The hopes of what wonders lay beyond that drain disappear as it rests still.
Yet our broken cup was not alone in that alley on that particular morning. Had the cup just found the strength to roll one final time it would have hit a patent leather kitten heel shoe.
That shoe belonged to one Miss Tempani Jones. And she was about to have an orgasm.
Now a woman pleasuring herself down an alley is a relatively rare occurrence, even in London. Rarer still at 8.30 a.m. on a Thursday morning.
To be fair to Tempani she certainly had not intended on being down an alley pleasuring herself. It was not part of her normal morning routine, she was not some kinky exhibitionist getting a quick thrill. Nor was she filming a brief video to later upload to a porn site. This was very much an unplanned masturbatory pitstop on her way to work.
Equally it would be unfair of us to judge the location Tempani had chosen for this impromptu orgasm. We can all sit in moral judgement offering alternatives such as doing it at home before she left or the toilet cubicles at work, to even maybe not doing it at all. But this was all out of her control.
Tempani loved being in control. Her life was dictated by precise routines each specifically designed to ensure she would not find herself leaning up against a wall knuckle deep in her own pussy, especially before she has even been able to buy her usual Espresso Macchiato.
So what events conspired to make poor Tempani have no option but to satisfy herself on that stormy Thursday morning?
The previous evening had been beautifully mundane, the sort of day that isn’t even worth registering as a memory. Yet when Tempani reflects on her unusual start to her Thursday morning she would realise events of the previous day were more malevolent than she had assumed.
Firstly, her very important meeting that was scheduled for 9.30 a.m. with a very important client was moved forward to 8.30 a.m. This did not trouble Tempani who would simply get the earlier train to work. She would not wish to blame this very important client for why she was finger fucking herself in the alley, he was after all very important and this contract would see her with a nice bonus. She did however hope he had his worst performance on the golf course ever.
On her walk home from the train station that Wednesday the strap on her large leather tote bag snapped. Tempani loved this bag, it was just the right size to keep all the items she may require at any given time, including the small umbrella she always ensured she had on her person. You will see the relevance of that umbrella later.
Nevertheless given the stories she had read about how these fashion items are made she certainly would not be looking to blame her awkward Thursday on whatever poor soul made the tote bag.
Her Wednesday evening was spent drinking wine and preparing for her very important meeting. It was the pleading sound of the notification alert on her phone that interrupted her work to demand she upgrades to the latest operating system. Tempani was more than happy for her phone to be busy doing other things so not to disturb her further from her work.
Yet what Tempani did not know is that a minor glitch caused by an error in the code would mean all her alarms would be reset. The consequence of this is that on Thursday Tempani would wake up late. Waking up late was not part of Tempani’s routine and she was more than happy to throw shade at the software engineer in California that caused her to oversleep.
Rather than her relaxed morning routine Tempani found herself on that particular Thursday morning rushing around. There was to be no relaxing shower instead she found herself cleaning her teeth whilst rubbing shampoo in her hair; the hope was this newly discovered method of efficiency would claw back some lost time.
Instead of taking time to pick out her work outfit she instead hurriedly dressed in whatever she could find, laddering two pairs of tights before triumphantly hopping into the third pair without consequence.
There would be no time to sit and have that first cup of coffee in the morning while she watched the news, paying particular attention to the weather report. Instead she quickly grabbed her replacement bag, a smaller black handbag, rushing to check the contents before slipping on her heels and hurrying out the flat.
As she hurriedly clipped-clopped in comedic fashion towards the train station her focus was more on not breaking an ankle than the clouds that begun to form in the sky.
While waiting on the platform Tempani was more absorbed with telling her assistant on the phone all what she had to do than to the clouds that had now begun to turn sinisterly dark.
It was when she only a few stops away from Charing Cross that she happened to look up from her phone and see the first drops of rain hit the dirty train window.
Calmly, Tempani reached for her handbag to seek the reassurance she had her umbrella. Her relaxed searched became more and more frantic as the realisation dawned on her that her umbrella was still very much at home, housed as it always was inside her now broken tote bag. Yet even after it became obvious she did not possess an umbrella she continued the futile search, even rifling through the most smallest of pockets in the hope she might find it there.
Don’t panic Tempani it may just be a little drizzle she told herself. A rumble of thunder seemed to answer her back “Fuck you! I’m more than that”.
As the train slowly pulled into Charing Cross she hesitantly stood up. Her gaze was drawn to the gentleman who had been sitting opposite her who was in possession of an umbrella.
“Excuse me? I don’t suppose I could borrow your umbrella” she asked, ensuring she fluttered her eyelids as she pleaded to his chivalrous nature.
The gentleman just looked at her in absolute disgust before leaving the train (Tempani would later wish this gentleman experienced a disappointing sexual encounter for his refusal to give up his umbrella). She slowly followed the other commuters down the platform and onto the concourse.
There are a number of shops located within Charing Cross station purporting to cater for the needs of the weary worker, yet on this particular day not one had any umbrellas for sale.
Tempani stood in the archway and looked out on to The Strand. Normally there would be plenty of taxis waiting but the weather had meant these were in high demand. She opted to wait for either a taxi to come to her rescue or for there to be a miraculous break in the weather.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and noted the time. 8.15 a.m. It would take her at least ten minutes walk to get to work. She decided to wait a little longer, hopping on either foot in impatience.
Each minute that passed was agonising. She couldn’t be late for this very important meeting. Every time she checked her phone her brain would offer up an image of the very important client walking out of the office with his golf clubs in tow. Or her Boss disapprovingly shaking his head as she walked through the entrance before making her do the walk of shame to clear out her office.
Fuck it. Tempani decided she could wait no longer. Pulling the sleeve of her jacket over her hand she grabbed a free newspaper, held it over her head and made a run for it.
Now you may be wondering what Tempani’s deal is with rain. After all unless you happen to be the Wicked Witch of the West it really can’t hurt you. Indeed, the rain didn’t hurt Tempani – on the contrary, it made her horny.
When we say horny we are not talking just a little frisky. Whilst the mere presence of rain does heighten her senses it’s more what happens when one single raindrop touches her skin. Should that happen Tempani experiences waves of pleasure. The more rain that hits her the more intense the pleasure is. It’s like each raindrop is a mini vibrator specifically designed to create the most arousal possible.
So when Tempani decided to rush out into the rain with just a newspaper as protection she was not risking bodily harm, she was risking having a full blown orgasm in the middle of London during rush hour.
To be fair to Tempani she made a good effort of avoiding the rain. Perhaps she may have even been able to make it without incident were it not for the driver of the Audi (someone who she blamed unreservedly for the events of that Thursday morning) who decided driving at speed through a puddle was an appropriate way to confirm his masculinity.
In her attempt to dodge the mini tsunami she dropped the newspaper that had been protecting her exposing her forehead to the arousal inducing raindrops.
Tempani was able to quickly duck into a doorway for cover but she knew by now that it only took one raindrop to bring on the feelings of intense arousal. She could feel her nipples harden underneath her bra. Between her legs began to mimic the dampness of her forehead.
She couldn’t stay there in the doorway and allow the rain to do it’s thing. Not only were customers coming in and out of the shop and might say something about the smartly dressed woman having a loud orgasm but time was running out for her to get to the very important meeting.
Stifling a moan of pleasure she yanked her jacket over the head and continued her journey to work. The jacket was tight over her head making it difficult to see, plus the occasional pang of pleasure would make her legs suddenly go weak and with it an instinctive groan of arousal would follow.
To the passer by it would have looked as if Tempani was on her way to audition for the lead role in some porn parody of a horror movie. Eventually she made it to her office which was an attractive glass fronted building her firm shared with a number of other companies.
Now something else you need to know about Tempani’s ‘gift’ is that the pleasure she experiences will not subside until she has had a complete orgasm. Many times previously she has rushed indoors after getting caught in the rain, although drying herself manically with a towel did little to prevent her experiencing the complete climax.
Fortunately for Tempani there is a small alley which separates her more modern place of work with one of London’s many Victorian buildings. Avoiding meeting any work colleagues she rushed into the alley and no longer fought off the pleasure the rain was determined to bring.
Now you will recall when we first met Tempani in this alley her fingers were deep inside her. It is a legitimate question to ask why, if the rain does all the work, would she be needing to put in any effort of her own.
Well, she entered the alley at precisely 8.30 a.m. when her very important meeting was due to start. Even in the throes of pleasure Tempani had the presence of mind to believe that a bit of manual assistance would bring about this disruptive orgasm quicker.
Had she not done so and put her very important meeting ahead of her very real pleasure then she would have been in the midst of a complete and blissful orgasm before she even got to third slide of her PowerPoint presentation. She feared shouting at the very important client “Oh fuck! Yes! More” may come across as a tad over enthusiastic.
Within a few moments and with the assistance of her fingers Tempani welcomed the much needed orgasm. As this was an orgasm borne more out of necessity than want she was not willing to indulge in the full pleasure experience.
No sooner had she felt that wave of intense pleasure flow through her body and her vagina begin to contract as if it was trying to applaud happily, she was pulling up her tights and adjusting her skirt before running round to the entrance of the building.
Waiting in the foyer was her assistant who took one look at Tempani and asked “Did you get caught in the rain?”
“Yeh a little” replied Tempani, still experiencing the final throes of her orgasm.
“Anyway. The meeting is about to start” said her assistant moving towards where the lifts were located.
Tempani took a moment to collect her thoughts and ensure all the rain induced pleasure was firmly out of her system.
“You coming?” asked the assistant.
“Yeh I am.” replied Tempani “Just give me one more moment.”