Tammy.
Tammy arrived at the station, at the same time she always did, and took a seat. Every day she tried to take the same platform seat: it wasn't always possible, as sometimes inconsiderate strangers would be there first and occupy the cold, metal grill that passed as a place to rest until the tube train arrived. Every morning, same time, same train, usual band of strangers.
Her days always began the same way; alarm, ten minute snooze, get up, brush her teeth, boil the kettle, make her coffee, head back upstairs, apply make up at her dressing table, straighten her hair, robe off, travel agent uniform on, kiss husband on the head as he snuffled whilst wrapped in the duvet, downstairs, two slices of toast with marmalade that she could eat walking to the station, then out of the door for the six minute walk.
Arriving at the station, she'd sit (hopefully) and wait for the tube. She hated having to stand. It left her feeling conspicuous, obvious, in her bright red uniform. Her crisp white shirt drew attention to her in the warm weather when it was far too warm to hide beneath a coat.
She knew that her boobs drew attention. Her back was slim, her waist petite, and at just 5'2, her height and curves made it hard to hide such large breasts. Her shirt strained. Looking down, she frowned at the buttons attempting to hold her EE cup boobs in check and prevent them simply running amok.
Sitting down made shielding them from unwelcome stares easier. Standing, they were impossible to miss. Men walking past her, often several times, made little effort to hide their gawps. When she could sit, she could hold a book in front of her. However, when she had to stand, the heels which lengthened her legs, the tight, fitted skirt which sat a little above her knees and clung to the curves of her toned buttocks, the straining and seemingly soon to yield buttons, the bright red jacket which didn't conceal her boobs, and the shoulder length chestnut hair, all made Tammy a focus for gazes.
The weekend had seemed too long, passing painfully and slowly. Her husband and she had gone for a meal, met with friends, had a little too much to drink, walked, been to the gym, fucked. But she was eager for Monday morning, for a return to the station. When her boyfriend had slid inside her, she closed her eyes and imagined
him
. As he held her ankles and filled her with his hard cock, she had thought of
him
. She kept her eyes closed throughout but her imagination stimulated her clit. When her husband's tongue teased her clit - it was
him
. When her husbnad's fingers opened her lips - it was
him
. And when he came, his balls emptying into her tight pussy, she imagined it was
his
creamy seed that made her pussy feel content.
It was three weeks earlier that he had first appeared at the station in the morning. He was a little older than her, maybe mid 30s and he wasn't really the type she normally found herself attracted to. He was well dressed, obviously office bound, with a nipple tinglingly gentle and slightly lopsided smile, grey flecking his dark brown hair, and his build lean, almost wiry. He was only of average height, but he was slim, almost like a middle-distance runner. And that smile...
The first day Tammy had seen him, she felt as if she had fallen in an ice bath. He smiled at her, a glancing smile, almost in passing. He had held her look, a searching gaze that was penetrative but not invasive. That smile danced across those slightly plump lips and ignited his eyes, and she felt as if she forgot to exhale. Her breath, her emotions, her lust, waited in her chest for release.
She wasn't sure what she had just experienced. She knew her chest felt full and that she felt a pulse of anticipation between her thighs that she hadn't experienced in a long time, but she wasn't sure why. She glanced over her shoulder. He didn't acknowledge her any further. Moving along the platform, he turned his collar up without even a glance back at her. Tammy felt strangely cut adrift.
That same evening three weeks ago, and every morning and evening since, he had again been on her train. He stood nearby though at a little distance, and always ended up on another carriage. Each time he saw her he gave her that smile; and in the weeks since that smile seemed to grow even warmer, more familiar, and she responded. Her smile had grown wider, more pervasive, and the way he smiled ignited not only his own eyes, but her eyes too and, increasingly, her pussy. She found herself gazing at him, while he seemed, once he had smiled at her, to almost ignore her very existence.
As the days went by, she found herself longing for his arrival far more than the trains. If she felt he wasn't going to make it, she was prepared to wait for the next train, or the train after. Or even the train after that.
When he arrived, she felt a sense of calm, a sense that she was moored once more. It was ridiculous. She knew it was ridiculous. He ignored her apart from a smile that almost wrapped itself around her when their eyes first met, and that was all. Each day she found herself wondering what he would wear, what shoes he would have on, if he would pass close enough to for her to smell his aftershave, what colour his belt would be, if his tie would match his suit. She came to dread weekends because she wouldn't see him, this stranger, for about 7 or 8 minutes each day. Nothing more. Just see him.
And as the days wore on, as the sun climbed higher in the sky, as the trees began to leaf more fully, she started to fantasise about him. If it was morning and she found herself fantasising on the journey to work, she would arrive and run through to the back, to the toilet. Her skirt would be hitched up, her thong yanked aside and she would push two fingers inside her wet pussy as she panted and relived the fantasy she had just played out in her head. She knew how wet she would be when she opened her legs, because she always felt herself getting wetter while her mind played over the increasingly obscene fantasies she created for him.
Sex with her husband was fun, if increasingly unlikely, but it never made her heart race and her clit throb with anticipation. She looked forward to it, his cock pleased her and she would usually reach an orgasm. However, he wasn't adventurous, and she never asked him to be. When she masturbated, she had a butt plug she pushed deep inside herself. She would watch porn (strangely, gay male porn despite never having been with a gay guy as far as she knew). Her range of toys were growing increasingly exotic. She had multiple vibrators and dildos. Of course she owned a rabbit, but she also now owned a dildo shaped like a demon's horn that was so thick at the base that there was no way, having slid down the first ten inches, that the last two inches would squeeze inside her wet hole, no matter how much lube she used. But she loved trying. None of this, none of it, was something she had discussed with her husband or felt she could.
Monday
The sun on this day was glorious, but the temperature had not yet risen to match the solar splendour. Consequently, as she walked into the station, in addition to the other features which made her stand out, her nipples now drew further attention. The chill in the air meant her expansive bosom was topped off by the obvious stiff nipples that made a mockery of her bra and her shirt.
Tammy looked down as a young man stared when she walked down the platform.
