The brief clacking of heels, as a plain, quick-shooting office-worker materialises...

A warbling sound accompanied by the faintest of yellow glows makes its way under the stall separator and to your senses. It's then followed by the sound of someones high-heels making contact with a distinctly wooden floorboard, and one half of a telephone conversation-

'Yeah, I'm aware of the Miller file.'- there's a brief pause, followed by the sound of shifting clothing- 'No, I'm not interested in what he has to say. You know I don't trust clients like that.', the feminine voice continues- 'Hold on- I'm just stopping for a bit of relief before I hit the clock.'

You're aware now that you can see movement on the other side of the glory hole's aperture- curiously, no shadow of the woman is cast under the stall door- only through the hole is anything visible, you conclude- and with that, something flesh-coloured and thick makes itself very apparent. The woman's flaccid cock slides its way through the hole and into your half, admittedly bigger than your own is when fully sprung. It brushes against your too-close forehead briefly, before falling down to rest against the wall. A further shifting upwards, and the lady's painted fingers manage to finesse her tennis-ball sized balls to complete up the full package, her shaft now gently resting on-top of her orbs turgidity. You're mildly surprised that there was enough diameter in the hole, given her girth.

The woman chuckles at nothing in apparent- as you blankly stare, dumbfounded at the apparent cock in front of you. 'Yes, I meant the gloryhole, Sandra!' she continues, her laughter now clear to be the response to her telephone conversation's jesting. There's a pause. Her cock twitches impatiently. 'Can you blame me?' She continues, finishing her amusement, before asking her partner to hold on for a moment-

'Hello, slut?', she asks, now clearly talking to you- 'I've got to be in work in a couple of minutes. Can you make your mind up and drain my balls for me already?'