07:50

With another series of lurching rattles, my train crossed the bridge and entered the station. As it did so, I caught a few fleeting glimpses of the river buses and the London Eye.

A particularly violent lurch over the points sent a delightful spasm through my already tender pussy.

The seething mass that was my fellow passengers swept me toward the exit door and then out onto the platform before depositing me like jetsam from a tide.

I straightened my mac, checked my bag was still with me and started for the barriers.

07:55

Stopping across the road from my office building, I slipped out of my sneakers and into my heels to comply with the dress code of Digby Smythe and Simpkins Solicitors LLP.

I took a moment to rub my ankle, kicked by a fellow commuter as we tumbled from the train, and headed inside.

08:01

DSS had the entire twenty-third floor of the building. Exiting the high-speed lift, I passed through the lobby with its deep wood tones and badged myself through security and into the reception area.

Debbie, the senior receptionist waved me over before I had gone ten feet and handed me a red message slip. Red was used by the partners to indicate the message was important.

“Mr Simpkins said to remind you that he has a conference in room four this afternoon and he wants a full executive buffet. It is in your diary.”

I smiled my thanks, taking in Debbie’s bright blue eyes, perfectly styled blonde hair, and immaculately French polished fingertips. Like all the reception staff she wore an almost sheer cream blouse, navy blue pencil skirt, sheer black stockings, and four-inch patent heels.

The partners were insistent that the right image was projected from the moment a prospective client stepped out of the lift. Debbie’s first task every day was to inspect her team and ensure that they were correctly dressed.

As ever Debbie’s lacey bra was firm enough to keep her full breasts in place but thin enough to allow a hint of nipple.

I took a long look, hopefully without being too obvious, and felt another dampening of my pussy.

08:05

Clutching the red slip, I tried again to make it to my office. It was already five minutes past eight and time was of the essence.

“Miss Redman.”

I turned to my name and was greeted by Isaac Goldstein, an intern from the Mergers division.

Shy and always uneasy around women, he stuttered on about an issue with his manager’s computer whilst trying to keep his eyes away from my breasts and legs, which I accept is no easy thing.

I assured him that I would speak with the IT department and moved as briskly as I could in the direction of my office. The long strides seemed to tease my aching pussy, the spike heels lifting my hips only adding to my problems.

08:09

Tina Jones, a tall leggy redhead from building services, appeared alongside me. “You look flushed this morning.”

“I’m fine, I’ve just got a lot on my to-do list today,”

“Okay, still on for our lunchtime run?”

“Yes, twelve-thirty, usual spot on the towpath.” I paused at my door.

Nodding her understanding, Tina was already walking away, her heels clacking on the tiles as she strove to catch up with a member of the janitorial staff.

08:11

Damn, this was going to be close; I could feel a surge of adrenaline as I quickly slipped my mac off and hung it behind my door.

08:12

Now the fucking intercom is buzzing. Quickly, and desperately aware of how breathless I must sound, I hit the button, “Good Morning, Ellie Redman, corporate services speaking.”

I’m leaning across my desk and it's adding to the sense of fullness in my now throbbing pussy.

“Yes, Mr Donaldson, I’ve already spoken with the florist and they are sending over some designs for approval,” I stuttered.

08:13

Two minutes to get along the corridor. This is going to be so fucking tight, I tell myself, but then that’s why she chose this time.

08:14

I’m almost running down the corridor as my phone buzzes. It’s the one-minute warning.

I hurtle through the door to the ladies, and to my relief, it’s empty.

I rush into the last stall, the one furthest from the door and hurriedly lift my skirt before dragging my wet cotton panties down my long stocking-clad legs.

Traditional six-strap suspenders with metal clasps hold up my sheer black Wolford stockings.

I must be down to seconds now but, careful not to let them touch the floor, I slip my black cotton panties over my heels and without pause wad them up before stuffing them into my mouth.

They are soaked with my cum and probably a little sweat and pee from my journey in.

I can taste the tanginess of my secretions as the aroma assails my senses.

I activate the video chat on my phone before sticking it to the cubicle door with the sucker she so thoughtfully provided.

I just manage a final jiggle of the bolt ensuring that the door is firmly locked before I brace my legs and arms against the cubicle walls.

08:15

There is no subtle build-up; it hits me hard and all at once.

A huge wave of deep throbbing vibrations attacks my core.

I bite down on my panties to stifle my screams as the attack goes on.

Wave after wave of pulsing throbbing vibrations deep inside my pussy.

I can feel my cum flowing, pouring from my pussy. Some runs down between my cheeks, some I can hear hitting the water beneath me.

My vision is blurring as my body shakes in orgasm.

My legs spread, I place my feet against the door, my throbbing wet slit fully exposed to the camera.

One final orgasm shakes me to the core, and I arch my body up off of the seat before sinking back down to suck in deep shuddering breaths.

I focus on my phone screen.

There is my lover, my Angelique, sitting at the kitchen table I had left just ninety minutes ago.

Her tan Mediterranean skin seemingly glowing as she removes her sticky fingers from between her legs and slowly licks them clean.

“Mmm, you may remove it now.”

With shaking hands, I reach between my legs and grip the pink silk string. I tug and my still throbbing lips part as the remote egg slips free. Another trickle of my cum follows and I scoop it up, licking my fingers for the camera.

“Still the seven o’clock train?” queries Angelique.

I whisper, “Yes,” as I reach for my smartphone, making a mental note never to bet against my lover when she says you can get sex toys with phone apps now.