a big error in judgement
I should explain that I was working at the time for a large American investment firm in London. It was quite an exciting place to be: lots of hustle and bustle, with many things to do. The pay was good, and I worked in a well-respected team. I stayed in a hotel for the four days I was there, and, though it was more expensive, I was a few minutes from work in the centre of London. The only downside was that I had to be away from my family, but I mitigated this by working longer hours for four days and leaving each Thursday for an extended weekend. This arrangement worked really well. I found that the normally hideous traffic was better on a Thursday night, especially by the time I left, and getting home again (about 100 miles away) was a doddle. The extra hours I worked each day between 5.30 and 8pm were more productive, once most people had gone and the phone had stopped ringing, and they were also hours during which I could speak to my New York colleagues. Quite often there would be just me, or a couple of colleagues, head-down, working on projects. As I say, productive times.
My employer at the time had a lot of money. The building in which we worked, although not the main London office, was very well appointed, if a little "80s". There was marble and walnut veneer everywhere, but rather too much chrome for my liking! Despite their fondness for chrome, they certainly knew how to make life easy for their staff. For example, there were wonderful canteens, coffee shops dotted around the building, a little gift shop, and air conditioning everywhere. There was even a laundry service in-house; my discarded shirts were dropped off there, and were washed, pressed and ready to pick up when I got back from the weekend. However, the building's best feature was that each toilet in the building (on every floor) had a small adjoining shower / locker room. Very useful for those who cycled into work, for those who wished, as I did, to arrive in civvies and change into formal wear, or for those who were late for work!
After a while, I got into the habit of leaving my suits and shirts at work, and having them laundered there, just taking a small bag back and forth to my home at the weekends. A quick change in the morning when I got to the office, and there I was, ready for work! All in all, life was pretty comfortable.
2
The floor on which I worked was rather full of men, and the men's toilets were frequently engaged; one would often have to wait or go to a different floor to use them. Similarly, the small adjoining shower room was always busy, always full of old towels and discarded underwear, and all-in-all not that pleasant - one of the perils of working in IT is that there are way too many men and not nearly enough girls! That certainly wasn't the case on the top floor of our building. It was populated entirely by women, and, as I discovered, the consequence was that their men's toilet was always empty.
When I first chanced upon it, having gone up a couple of floors one day to find a free one, I was staggered. It was spotlessly clean, completely empty and looked as though it had never been used! And when I looked around the door to the little shower room, I was delighted to discover that there wasn't a single item of clothing there either. It, too, looked as though it was reserved for someone who had yet to arrive. I took it to be me and adopted the top floor for my stuff, becoming rather proud of my new shower room. I told a couple of my team colleagues about it too, and they started to use it, but it was still immeasurably better than the ones on our floor.
By the end of the four-day-week, I was knackered, and very glad to be going home again. Usually, I would just use the shower room to hang my shirts and suits and change there in the morning and evening but after one particularly arduous and hot day, I couldn't resist the temptation of the shower. It was a wonderfully refreshing experience, taking my time, enjoying the cool water wash away the day's problems. I couldn't believe that I hadn't done this before! It was the perfect way to end the week!
So, I took to showering and changing into civvies every week before I left. Taking the suit off, soaking, and slipping into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt was a wonderfully liberating experience, and, by the time I drove out of the building, I'd forgotten all about the rigours of work for another weekend.
I don't actually remember when I started wanking in the shower too - who knows how these things start? First you're just washing yourself, then you're washing yourself with more attention than is strictly necessary, then you're washing yourself rather more vigorously, and then you're wanking with abandon, feeling fantastic. What I *can* remember are the wonderful feelings of wanking in the shower there - the feeling of control, of doing something that I really shouldn't do there, of rejecting rules and conventions, and, best of all, the wonderful feeling of imminent release. The latter feeling, of course, just got better and better until the orgasm came along and I came with force, with my cum releasing the week's pent up frustrations of work.
3
So it was each week - I would finish work about 8 o'clock on a Thursday, go upstairs, shower, and enjoy a powerful orgasm before I changed and went home. I would usually wash myself first, gradually turning down the heat of the water until it was just nicely cool, and then, when I felt refreshed, I would turn to face the shower and let the water cascade down in front of me, tickling my cock as it grew in anticipation. Then I would take hold of it and, slipping my foreskin back and forth, start wanking; slowly at first, then getting a little quicker, eventually moving swiftly until the deep rumbling, muscular strength took over my body, almost preventing me from stopping, and squeezed out my sperm with a pounding might.
And it was at exactly that moment that my one of my colleagues walked in to the shower room. I heard him come in, and the shock of it - a noise that I'd never expected to hear - made me wheel around as my cum burst forth. It squirted from me, a long white rope, with such force that it landed in a gob outside the shower tray. My head exploded with a melee of feelings - orgasm, fear, panic, embarrassment - and, as I turned, I saw him staring down at my cock delivering its milky load. I covered myself up, trying somehow to stop it, but it was futile. As he stood there, with a look of amazed embarrassment on his face, I could still feel my cock pumping out cum behind my hands.
Adam stopped, and backed out of the shower room, muttering something about being sorry. He turned and fled, and I was left covered in spunk, with a rapidly deflating cock and a heart that was pounding like never before. It was the most weirdly intense orgasm of my life.
I became aware, after a few seconds, of the water streaming down still. I washed the spunk off my hands, rinsed myself and got out of the shower.
