Sit there and watch Charlotte disappear behind me, or do something drastic like pull the emergency stop or kick out a window? Given the level of security around the Tube, and not wanting to wind up in prison, I chose the former, as much as it pained me to do so. When we got to White City, I thought about getting off and trying to catch a westbound train, but what good would that do me? I didn't know when or where she'd be getting off, and for all I knew, she had left the train as soon as mine started pulling out. Dammit! So close! Well, if she was following me, the best thing was to get off here and stand as conspicuously as I could on the platform to make sure she saw me. I let four trains go by before giving up on that plan.
Dejected, I boarded again and rode into Tottenham Court Road, and made my way up to the street. It was completely dark out now, and the city was alive with lights and traffic and the bustle of a typical Friday night. I wasn't feeling much like having fun anymore; in fact, I felt like giving up on the whole damn thing and going back home to Los Angeles. But I knew that I wouldn't. In truth, there was nothing on my mind but Charlotte.
I sauntered down through Soho southwest toward the May Fair where I'd been staying since I arrived two months ago. The clubs and the pubs were hopping; just the sort of scene I'd been looking forward to before my chance encounter on the Tube. Now I just wanted to get to my room and go to sleep. My eyes played tricks on me as I maneuvered along the crowded sidewalks, and every dirty blonde with long, wavy hair made me think she was Charlotte for a split second. Sometimes more. Sigh. At least I wasn't hungry. That would have made for a very bad night.
I poured myself a tall glass of scotch and dropped a couple of ice cubes into it, settling down onto the bed with the well-worn copy of Moby Dick I almost always travelled with. It was my thirty-seventh time through it, and I was beginning to feel like I got most of the allusions by now. But I couldn't concentrate. I kept identifying with Ahab, thinking Charlotte was my white whale. I put the book down and began to rub my hand around my pussy, grabbing my labia together and pinching my clit through them while I pictured Charlotte's perfect ass walking away from the bar on the first night I'd seen her. I was getting myself pretty worked up, but in truth I didn't have anything solid to fantasize about, never having had any sort of lesbian experience. I flipped the TV on and scrolled through the menu to the porn options, and then to the lesbian category. I went with Sapphic Slave Sluts 3, and it definitely did the trick. I quickly slipped my panties off, and as the titular girls, clad in various permutations of leather, latex, and fishnets, went at it, I began to furiously work first two and then three fingers in and out of my now-sopping pussy. Engrossed both in the action on screen and in my own ministrations, I nearly leapt out of the bed in shock when I heard a voice say, "You are just completely depraved, aren't you?"
It was Charlotte. She had come in from the balcony. She had on tight black pants and knee-high black leather boots, and she looked as beautiful as anyone ever could. Except for the primed crossbow she had pointed at my chest.
"Fuck, you scared me!" I said, equal parts happy to see her and worried about my prospects for a continued life.
"It's natural to be scared right before you die," she said, her voice cold as ice. "I'm sending you back to whatever hell it is you came from."
"I'm from Prague, actually, if you go back far enough. Although L.A. at present. That whole demons-are-from-hell thing is actually a big misconception. We're from Earth like everyone else. I really think if you just took the time to get to..." I talk a lot when I'm nervous.
"Shut up!" she said, but there was something new in her voice, a tiny bit of wavering, I thought. The crossbow dropped just a bit, and a look of uncertainty entered the brilliant green eyes that had just seconds before been full of steely resolve. Now, my own not-insignificant allure as a physical specimen, quite apart from any of my demonic attributes, would have had most men a bit distracted, especially given my compromised situation clothing-wise. Add in the powerful sex hormones I give off when aroused, even across a room, and it's the rare human male I wouldn't have been able to seduce at that point, even had they been a trained demon hunter. I began to wonder -- to hope -- that my natural secretions were having at least some of that effect on Charlotte. It was the only chance I had. I'm fast, but not that fast.
