I’ll never forget the first time I saw her. It was a very ordinary day I was on my way into the city, on the train. It was very crowded as usual, no chance of a seat, so I stood in the aisle between the seats in First Class.
Day dreaming about a holiday I must have smiled to myself as I noticed a woman sitting on her own some way down the carriage smiling at me. That smile was infectious, soon we were grinning at each other. I noticed that she was very expensively dressed and had a beautiful leather briefcase.
The train arrived at the station and I lost sight of her in the crowd, I made my way to work and thought no more about it.
For the next few days I had breakfast meetings to attend so caught an earlier train and so it wasn’t until the following week that I caught the same one and saw her again. She waved when she saw me and beckoned me over. There was an empty seat next to her. She said to me, “You’ll be OK, the ticket inspector has been here and it will take him the rest of the journey to work through the other carriages.” She realised that I wasn’t about to pay a supplement to sit in First Class.
She said that she’d seen me on the train regularly for several months now and wondered what I did, why I was travelling to the city. “It’s a hobby of mine to imagine what people do, what makes them happy,” she said, “I was interested in you because I have often seen you smile and I promised myself that if I ever had the chance to talk to you that I would ask you why you were smiling.”
That made me laugh – we shared an interest in people watching. In that short journey – just twenty minutes – we swapped information about, jobs and careers, holidays and food likes. As the train arrived we agreed to chat the next time we met on the train.
“I’m Linda, by the way,” she said as we got up to leave. She put out her hand and I shook it. That was my first inkling about what was to come, a tiny shock like static electricity, tingled through my hand. “I’m Collette,” I replied.
For the next couple of weeks we met regularly to talk on the train and I got to know her – that she ran her own business, was happily married with no children, a little older than me. We found out that we shared a love of: beaches in winter, the aliens in ‘Men in Black’ and all of the film Love Actually; that we couldn’t stand pizza and politicians who ‘Twittered’; and that our favourite holiday destination was Madrid.
During this time we never touched, but I often wondered about that tingle.
Then one day she said, “I’m really early for a meeting, do you have time for a coffee?” I knew I wouldn’t be missed so I agreed and we went to the Starbucks at the station.
It was a little strange sitting on a comfortable chair, opposite her, being able to look into her eyes properly for the first time. It was here that I felt the first real stirrings and wondered if she was sharing that feeling. I had no idea and wasn’t about to screw things up by asking.
The hour flew by and we started to share more personal information about relationships, joking about the number of frogs we’d had to kiss before we’d found our Princes. We talked about the music that made us cry and skirted around the things that turned us on.
As we got up to leave she said to me, “I’ve really enjoyed this, we must do this again sometime, I feel like we are friends now.” With that she leaned across and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. I was so surprised that all I could do was put my hand up to touch the spot where her lips had brushed my skin. I stuttered, “Bye,” as she walked off.
I spent the next few days revisiting that kiss, like you do with your tongue to a sore tooth. I was becoming obsessed, replaying it again and again. This also coincided with a very busy time at work and early starts, so I didn’t have the chance to see her again for two weeks.
I stood the platform waiting for the train as usual but this time as it pulled in slowly I saw her face at one of the doors. She waved at me and as I got to the door she thrust a ticket into my hand. “I couldn’t risk missing you, so I bought you an upgrade,” she said, smiling broadly. As we went to our seats she told me about what had happened and the idea she had. She’d been given a voucher, by a client, as a ‘thank you’ for achieving a difficult project; it was for tea for two at the Ritz and would I like to be her guest?
I’d never been there and so I accepted like a shot – it was on my ‘500 things to do before you die’ list. We looked at our diaries and set a date for the following week. All too quickly the journey was over and we went our separate ways, unlikely to see it each other until the tea.
I agonised over what to wear that day, tried on lots of different things and finally settled for a silk shirt and linen trousers. We met in the lobby. Linda seemed a bit nervous. She said, “I haven’t been quite honest with you, come with me and I’ll show you what I mean.” She led the way to the lift. I was intrigued and if I’m honest a bit scared.
We went up to the second floor and she opened the door to a large suite – a sitting room with two comfortable sofas and an adjoining bedroom with an ensuite bathroom. She stood by one of the large windows overlooking Green Park and turned to look at me.
She said, “I wanted to get to know you better, but wanted that to be in private so we could be ourselves. There are no strings attached to this, whatever you decide I will accept and not think any differently of you. You can go now or stay and have tea and take it from there.”
I was overwhelmed. I had a fantasy of being seduced by a woman but never in such beautiful and luxurious surroundings. If it was here I wasn’t sure if I could go through with it.
I started to say something and Linda put up her hand, palm towards me. “Don’t say anything, just nod,” she said, “will you stay for tea?” When I nodded she let out a breath.
There was a discreet knock at the door and a uniformed young man wheeled in a trolley and laid up the table between the sofas with Darjeeling tea and slices of lemon, cucumber sandwiches and tiny scones to serve with strawberry jam and clotted cream.
We sat chatting as we sampled to sandwiches and the scones. It was very relaxed and I was enjoying it. The conversation ranged far and wide until Linda said, “I have something serious to ask you.”
I nodded and she asked, “Do you masturbate?”
I made some jokey response like, “All women do but it is the best kept secret in the world.”
“No, I’m serious, she said, “I’ve always wanted to know what turns other women on when they masturbate.”
“Will you tell me about your sexual fantasies?” she asked.
I said, "Yes."
She asked me to start so I told the story of having photos taken by an old man when I was still at school, that I often turned into a fantasy.
I explained about how I went to his studio and that the first thing he asked me to do was take off my shirt as it would show in the pictures.
Although I felt very uncomfortable with that I did as he asked. He gave me a piece of fabric to drape across my breasts.
As he took the pictures he kept coming over to arrange my long hair and would accidentally brush his fingers over my breasts. When he brushed my nipples they started to get hard. I felt very scared and that made me feel as though I was going to wet myself. He saw my arousal and played on it - touching my upper body, brushing against me.
Linda asked me to describe how my body felt while this was happening. I told her how I got a dull ache across my tummy; I started to get wet between my legs. I think I also started to blush across my neck and upper chest.
Just talking about it started to get me wet. It was a lovely feeling. She could see I was aroused.
“Will you show me what he what he did," she asked. I knew that I could bail out at any point, but this felt really safe, so I wanted to continue.
So I took off my shirt and pretended that my hands were his and stroked my breasts. It was amazing to have her watch me do this. She could see my arousal growing. Then she asked me to describe what my emotions were at the time. I talked about how humiliated I felt particularly because my body was reacting to his stimulation but I didn't want it to happen.
"This was rape" she said, “why did you get turned on?”
I replied, “I thought that I deserved the treatment I received because I needed to be punished for wanting sex. Submitting to his touching was also my way of buying approval, of getting to belong.”
It was wonderful to be able to tell her about this. I was so turned on and I think she could see that.
She asked me to carry on with the story and I did…
The guy told me that the best pictures would be of me naked, so I was to take my jeans off.
Linda could see I was shaking and said, “Shall I undo your zip for you?” I nodded.
I stood in front of her and she very gently unzipped my trousers and slid them down my legs. As she did so her fingers brushed the skin on my legs. That was so arousing, I moaned.
Once my trousers were off Linda just sat and looked at me. Finally I admitted to myself that I was hoping to seduce her - I was longing for her to stroke me.
I went on with the story, describing how the man ran his fingers along the top of my knickers. How he slipped his fingers inside the elastic and stroked my tummy, then down my tummy to my mound.
“Will you show me?” she said.
I did what she asked and she could see how wet I was, my juice was soaking through my knickers.
She asked me if he took my pants off and I said, “Yes.”
She asked, " Shall I do that for you now?”.
"Yes please," I replied. She took my knickers down and I stepped out of them to stand naked in front of her. She reached out and gently touched my tummy. I groaned and spread my legs. I shivered, full of need.
I longed to have her touch me between the legs. I longed to have an orgasm. I wanted to ask her to stroke me but was too shy to do so.
“Please,” I begged.
“Of course,” she replied and reached out to me with her arms…….
To be continued…..
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment