The Wet Misadventures Of One Miss Tempani Jones : Episode 2

Tempani sat exhaustedly at her desk. She’d already had quite the day and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

The orgasms (and they are certainly orgasms…plural) that Tempani experiences are quite intense. Waves of pleasure flow through her, every fibre in her body alive to the heightened state of arousal.

They are not the sort of orgasm one has where they can simply go ‘that was nice’ before popping off to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

These orgasms exhaust Tempani and as she stared out of her office window at the rain she questioned whether she would have the strength to make it back home.

Despite her post-orgasmic fatigue she had coped remarkably well at the very important meeting. Indeed, the very important client and his entourage seemed pleasantly transfixed as Tempani delivered here presentation with professional aplomb.

The only time she slightly hesitated was when a raindrop still clinging to her damp hair fell. Like a horny harbinger of ecstasy it spied Tempani’s bare hand resting on the large glass conference room table.

This dirty little drop only had only one goal in mind. It could see Tempani’s finger just waiting. Were the lines in the knuckle smiling at it? Teasing it to descend faster, to fulfil its deviant destiny by sensually splashing down on to that smooth skin and bringing with it the mother of all climaxes.

Yet despite what promise this singular speck of satisfaction held it would fail in its true purpose. With Tempani’s skin in sight and pleasure only moments away she moved her hand to gesture at the screen. The raindrop splashed inconsequentially on the glass table.

Tempani turned to glance at the raindrop that lay lifeless on the table, it’s promise of pleasure unfulfilled. It was at that moment her brain decided to add some unhelpful commentary;

“Cor! Imagine what would have happened if that had hit you? Best of luck trying to show exponential growth in a line graph while having a full on orgasm”

This momentarily caused Tempani to lose her focus but she was able to regain her composure and complete the very important meeting without incident or interruption from any more perverted little raindrops.

When the meeting was over she exchanged final pleasantries with the very important client and returned to her office. Following a brief discussion with her assistant where she asked if she wouldn’t mind popping out and buying an umbrella and a new pair of tights, Tempani closed the door and collapsed in her chair thoroughly exhausted.

The company that Tempani worked for occupied the fifth floor of a modern building in Central London. The abundance of glass meant the architect was not a big fan of privacy and any passengers travelling on the train track that ran adjacent to the building would have a clear view of her.

She would often stare out across the impressive London skyline, it helped her focus but on this day her view was distorted by the rain that lashed against the glass.

The rain was heavy and the way it hit the window made Tempani believe that it was trying to break the glass to get to her. The sound of the rain splashing against the glass seemed to hiss ‘We are not finished with you’.

She moved closer to the window and stared at the droplets that formed on the glass with impatient haste. It was probably her exhaustion but Tempani thought the rain reacted to her. The rain found its journey blocked by a transparent obstacle it slipped and slithered across the pane desperate to reach her. Deciding that strength lay in numbers it grouped together forming a larger stream. Tempani dreamily traced their futile attempt with her finger.

She would write about the events of that morning when she got home in her ‘Rain Journal’. It was a book that Tempani had started when she first realised about this condition. The hope behind the journal was that it would provide some answers as to what was happening. Yet over ten years of entries and it was nothing more than an anthology of questions, frustrations and awkward encounters.

Her gift/curse/affliction (Tempani would delete as applicable depending on her mood) first revealed itself shortly after puberty. An unexpected downpour during a hockey game led to a thoroughly embarrassed Tempani, numerous raised eyebrows from her class mates and the strong suggestion to her parents from the ex-Nun head teacher that they should consider an exorcism.

Several other incidents are recorded in this journal before a two page acceptance that the rain does in fact cause orgasms (the word orgasm is underlined and highlighted).

What follows are a number of experiments and theories, some of which have proven to be useful. Perhaps the most notable is that it is just rain that causes this reaction and not water. Baths, showers, swimming pools have no sensual impact upon Tempani at all. However, a record of a day trip to Clacton-On-Sea establishes that the sea is very much a no go area. Tempani then spends a number of unnecessary pages theorising whether this means rivers as well and when she might end up in a river, concluding that this probably applies to lakes also and repeating the process.

In amongst the reminders of rain induced orgasms are pages entitled ‘Practical Tips’. Here Tempani bullets points in a variety of different coloured felt tips steps she could take to mitigate the consequence of coming into contact with rain.

Page 7 for instance is the reason why if you asked anyone who went to her school ‘Do you remember Tempani Jones?’ they would reply without hesitation ‘Oh you mean the girl who came to school wearing a poncho carrying an umbrella’.

A melancholic theme of this journal is the bleak look that a young Tempani has on living with this bizarre gift. An attractive and previously outgoing, happy-go-lucky girl slowly becomes more recluse. It is, should you require a reference, on Page 12 of her journal where she happens upon a semi-permanent solution to her troubles – Not go out.

Whilst she reluctantly accepts that her education requires leaving the house she justifies limiting social interaction with a graph, the accuracy of which may be suspect but one can at least admire the pretty colours she chose to use.

Effectively withdrawing from society has its consequence that Tempani painfully reflects upon. Her parents, still reeling from their daughter’s very public sexual awakening, may have been happy she was not sneaking off to see boys but very disappointed she would feign illness to escape a picnic arranged for Aunt Margaret’s 80th birthday.

Whilst she still maintained a core group of friends she had little desire to extend it, her theory was the less people she interacted with the less chance of witnesses of any storm based sauciness. However, even her closest friends would not often invite her to places citing the reason that they didn’t think she’d want to come, it nonetheless frustrated Tempani that she was deprived the opportunity to say no.

Withdrawn and isolated Tempani found the only suitable distraction was her education and with very little distraction she thrived. University beckoned and with it a set of new challenges.

The move from teenager to womanhood is marked in the journal with a declaration that she must live a normal life. It is a mission statement to herself that she would not hide away any longer. Despite this new found resolve she still maintained some of the usual precautions – avoiding large groups and where possible outdoor activities.

Her commitment to leading a more normal life extended to no longer resisting the advances of those who found her attractive. At school she had dismissed any possibility of having a boyfriend finding the notion to be ridiculous (with or without her affliction) but she could not deny her curiosity and desire to indulge ‘in that sort of thing’ (this is also highlighted and underlined).

Her first experience was with Tom after one boozy night at a local pub. His wish of how he wanted to end that evening was made clear before Tempani had even ordered her first rum and Coke. After a number of drinks they ended back in his room for an evening that Tempani would describe in her journal as ‘absolutely fucking terrible’.

To be fair it would be wrong to simply lay all blame at Tom’s drunken fumblings because as Tempani recognised this disappointing liaison led to a scientific discovery – Only the rain could arouse her.

Masturbation was something that Tempani never really considered doing. Why would she? Why put all that effort in if you could simply stick your head out the window and let the rain give you a mind blowing orgasm.

Despite all her ‘experiments’ Tempani had never tried out manual stimulation. Had she done so she would have quickly realised she felt no arousal whatsoever. Instead, this discovery was left to Tom.

Admittedly his technique of prodding at her like he was entering his PIN number at a cash point was not the most masterful way of doing it but it really wouldn’t have mattered. Tempani could feel nothing. She just lay there trying her best to encourage the increasingly frustrated Tom.

However no amount of rubbing would produce any sign of arousal and the faux deep breathing Tempina did to give the impression she was sexually excited started to make her seem like she was asthmatic.

“What’s a matter with you?” Tom said, the alcohol doing little to help control his emotions.

Tempani abruptly stopped that line of questioning by giving Tom a lack lustre handjob resulting in him unemotionally depositing himself over her belly. At least Tempani could put ‘Semen’ on her list of wet things that don’t cause orgasms.

After this non event Tempani spent perhaps too much time trying to make herself manually have an orgasm. Despite her technique being far more refined than Tom’s the result was the same – nothing, not the slightest hint of arousal.

She even tried sex toys but this just resulted in a one page, double sided rant in her journal that she was fifty pounds down and wasted loads of batteries.

Tempani later theorised that perhaps she was cured but the unfortunate consequence of that cure was that all sexual desire had been removed from her. Although she was only twenty she already felt she had a lifetime of orgasms and probably could live with that.

Her awkward experience with Tom happened as England entered a long spell of dry weather and the glorious sun matched her equally glorious mood. She felt free of this curse and threw herself fully back into life by attending many social events.

It was at an outdoor music festival (a previous no go event for Tempani) that she met Ethan. Their relationship blossomed slowly and whilst there was clear sexual chemistry between them Tempani was in no rush to take things to the next level.

No longer concerned with rain the journal entries changed to her theories on how she could possibly keep a man when he would not be able to sexually please her.

She mused on the possibility that a mix of blowjobs, handjobs and any other jobs she could think of would keep them more than satisfied but the problem would arise when they wished to reciprocate. Even the best lover in the world would not be able to make Tempani the slightest bit aroused and guys seem to take that personally.

Within the journal is a whole essay on the possibility of a platonic relationship. They certainly exist and Tempani was in no doubt that there were plenty of couples enjoying such companionship.

What she didn’t know is how does a relationship become platonic. Even at a young age she knew guys do not approach you in bars and say ‘Fancy coming back to my place for a nice platonic relationship’. How do you even raise it? When is it socially acceptable?

“Darling I just want you to know I am going to suck your cock but other than that our relationship is strictly platonic’.

Despite her insecure scribblings Tempani very much enjoyed the company of Ethan and they began to spend quite a lot of time together. Heavy petting on the sofa would not lead to anything more intimate than awkward silence. Ethan masking his erection wondering how to get her in the bedroom and Tempani wondering if now is the right time to say ‘Hey let’s go platonic’.

Despite the awkwardness they continued to see each other even indulging in such pursuits as jogs around the local park (something that Tempani would have normally avoided and not just because of the rain).

During these jogs there would be impromptu races which would lead to flirtatious attempts to trip each other up. As they lined up to start their next race Tempani kissed Ethan on the cheek and said ‘Catch me if you can.’ They both laughed as he chased her round the park, Tempani took a hard right into the wooded area where Ethan found her resting against a tree.

“You caught me” she said, smiling but clearly out of breath.

“What’s my prize?” Ethan replied advancing towards her.

“Come here and I’ll show you”.

Ethan approached Tempani, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her in close as they started to kiss. Above them storm clouds were forming and light drizzle fell hesitantly from the sky.

The leaves of the tree protected them from rainfall but the hissing sound it made alerted Tempani to its presence.

She looked up at the dark clouds that menacingly filled the sky. Normally she would be feeling a sense of panic at this sight, desperately looking to escape the rain or at the very least find somewhere to privately submit to the pleasure it would bring.

But now she was cured. She had no fear. As Ethan nuzzled at the nape of her neck she smirked at the clouds , a teasing smile to entice a jealous reaction from an ex-lover.

The clouds did react throwing down more rain at the kissing couple, ensuring this time it was harder so the weak barrier of leaves would provide no protection.

Drops landed on Tempani as she nibbled on Ethan’s earlobe. As the rain trickled down her cheek she began to experience something she thought lost forever. Within moments her body began to tingle, her heartbeat quickened and her breathing became shallow.

Tempani pulled Ethan into her, his arousal could be felt poking through his shorts. She grabbed his hand and put in between her legs, the dampness already seeping through her jogging bottoms.

She gripped the band of his shorts and tugged them down releasing his cock which she took in her hand and began to stroke.

“Fucking Hell Temps!” he moaned as he slightly pulled away to look at her.

She stared back at him. Tempani could feel the orgasm beginning to build, it was only a matter of time before she would be experiencing the full force. Drunk with arousal she had the presence of mind to bring Ethan along for this wild ride.

The reality, of course, was she didn’t need him. Nothing he would be doing aided her arousal, the rain had that totally covered.

Pulling down her jogging bottoms while Ethan hastily struggled with putting a condom on she purred impatiently ‘Hurry up and fuck me!’

Tempani did all she could to delay this inevitable orgasm. Ethan had to be inside when it happened otherwise she’d be experiencing the same sexual awkwardness as she did with Tom, albeit at the opposite end of the spectrum.

Tempani stifled a moan of pleasure, keeping it at the back of her throat which she only released as Ethan’s cock slid inside with ease.

Once he had entered her Tempani fully submitted to the pleasure that only the rain could provide. Pressed against the tree she wildly bucked and slammed down on Ethan’s hard cock.

Any intention for Ethan to be involved in this orgasm disappeared, Tempani was lost in the throes of it so much so that Ethan could have quite simply ejaculated followed by doing a few laps of the park and Tempani would not have even known he had gone.

When she later reflected on this liaison in her journal she would be unable to recall whether she felt Ethan’s cock inside her. She would remember from holding it in her hand that it was thick and certainly above average size but whatever it was doing as she welcomed wave after wave of blissful pleasure you would have to ask Ethan.

To be fair Tempani would make a particular point of complimenting Ethan on his athletic prowess. With her fingernails dug firmly in his shoulders and convulsing wildly in his manly grip, she was impressed he managed to stay standing throughout.

At some point when there was a small respite before the rain demanded another orgasm from Tempani, she heard Ethan moan, his buttocks thrust wildly before he nuzzled into her. She presumed this was his orgasm but any weakening of his grip was met by Tempani tightening hers. She hooked her legs round his, gripped his neck and welcomed yet another orgasm.

You see, as Tempani recognised at Page 52 of her journal, the rain controls her pleasure. It decides when it is enough and often it’s desire to cause Tempani pleasure was insatiable.

The final climatic wave dripped through her body, turning every nerve into pressure points of pleasure. Perhaps Ethan was of some use after all, she could feel his fingers on her side that caused her to roar out the final orgasm. Exhausted and spent she gently lowered herself down and rested wearily against the tree.

Despite her lack of concern throughout for Ethan he seemed to have enjoyed this unexpected frolic in the forest as he addressed his assessment to the exhausted Tempani

“Oh wow! Fuck! Wow! What the fuck just happened. Wow!”

Whilst Tempani would have loved to indulge in a debrief with Ethan she needed to get out of the rain and get dry. Another thing she had learned about the rain is she only has a post-orgasm immunity for a short period (Page 13 of the Journal – The Didn’t Towel Dry Your Hair Properly Incident)

“Let’s go” she said smiling before running back to the car as best she could with weak legs so she could get dry.

Tempani knew that after this any suggestion of a platonic relationship was off the table. Throughout her journal she would often reflect on the lessons learned with this liaison.

The first lesson was she could have a sexual relationship with a partner, it just needed to be raining when she did. What follows in the journal are a number of prints out showing the average rainfall in England as well as certain specific cities.

On average it rains 156 days and Tempani reckoned that was more than enough sex per year to keep anyone happy.

A flaw in this plan was that it never rained at a suitable frequency to make this viable. Firstly it can often rain for a full week and she did not know if her body could cope with a week’s worth of the orgasms that the rain provided.

Secondly, England had experienced more lengthier periods of dry weather. Often weather presenters would be eager to reveal a month being the driest ever on record. Whilst this suited Tempani’s health and prevented her just becoming a mess of liquid on the floor it was not great for sustaining a relationship.

For example, the storm that brought such a passionate encounter between Tempani and Ethan was a brief interlude before England was once again basked in hot dry weather.

One can forgive Ethan for wanting to experience as soon as possible what he did in those woods and Tempani could only keep him at bay for so long before a frost formed over their relationship.

This caused Tempani to revert back to the beginning of her journal and opting for a life of withdrawal and isolation.

Tempani often mused in her journal about Ethan and others. Wondering what their sex life is like with others. She questioned whether she is being fair to them. After all, a woman having wild multiple orgasms on their cock may give them a sense of achievement they have not strictly earned.

She imagined Ethan sitting on the edge of the bed, head in hands after some unsatisfying love making

“Seriously love it must be you cos I once had this girl literally explode on my cock”

Yet despite these misgivings Ethan would not be the last to experience Tempani’s rain induced sex sessions. Each one recorded for posterity in her journal with the conclusion ‘I never learn my lesson.’

Tempani broke her hypnotic gaze at the rain that still relentlessly tried to pursue her through the glass. She turned to her desk where her phone was vibrating. She picked it up and saw that Danny had messaged her.

Danny was the latest to show Tempani some affection. They had met a few months earlier at a rather dull conference she was forced to attend. She regretted that the conference took place on a particularly sunny day because a wet session with Danny would have livened things up. Nevertheless they stayed in contact and had been out for some perfectly platonic dates.

Fancy going out tonight the message read.

Tempani looked back out of the window at the storm clouds that showed no sign of relenting. She scrolled through the many Weather apps she had installed which confirmed rain was forecast all night.

Absolutely!!! She replied.

Some time later Tempani Jones would write in her journal that she never learns her lesson.

The Wet Misadventures of One Miss Tempani Jones

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.”