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Half an hour passes before I reluctantly get out, wrapping a towel around my body before making my way down the dark hall to the wardrobe in the corner. As I am digging out a fresh dress, arms grab me from behind making me squeal. I'm spun to have my back pressed harshly against the wall and instantly I see the assailant is Whitey and my surprise swiftly turns to anger. "Whitey what the hell are you doing?!" I cry as I struggle against his grasp on me. He shifts his hands from my arm to my towel before yanking it off. Again I squeal as cold air now caresses my breasts. My nipples form into small peaks as Whitey stares at my naked form. I try to break away, yet he shoves his knee between my leg, pinning me with his tall body to the wall. "I don't like being ignored..." Whitey breathes as he strokes his hands over my breasts, down my tummy, and over my mound. I whimper as he lightly puts pressure on my clit, not letting up even as I moan. "I wasn't ignoring you--" a pinch of my clit. While the day draws to its hectic close, your hand, almost like it has a life of its own, keeps checking your phone for messages, only to have it mock you with its colourfully barren display. Finally you are able to leave the office. It is nearly 9pm as you make your way to the tube, feeling exhausted, despondent, disappointed. Like a conveyor belt of revellers, the car is busy dispersing people throughout town on their way to a night out, dressed to impress and smiling at the prospect of the next few hours. You find their excitement stifling and quite annoying. Your mind wanders, trying to imagine how the evening might have turned out. Instead you force yourself to think of the hot shower and bottle of Italian red waiting to offer you a modicum of comfort and consolation. Ascending from the tube, your sensible heels click on the pavement as the cold night air assaults you, jolting you from your reverie and firmly urging you to walk faster. As you pick up the pace, thoughts turning.
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