The tall dark-haired beauty had glided down the escalator, weaved snakelike through the crowd, irritated by each of the little people endlessly surrounding her.
Public transport was unfamiliar to her, she was used to taking taxis, yet despite the crowd she was able to avoid the usual bumps and sidesteps. Confidence in her beauty empowered her. Her long elegant strides cowered the sea of people into parting. When they remained stubborn, her sinuous form reacted quickly to each necessary twist. This was her first experience of the London underground, yet it didn't show. This arena wasn't her natural environment, but she adapted well.
On the platform the masses stood motionless. Some read newspapers, most stared impassively ahead, eyes dead, minds elsewhere. Everything was silent save for the whine of walkmans, distant subway trains and the everlasting swirl of air, rushing through the tunnels.
She arrived at the platform in a bad mood, sighing audibly. Fumbling in her Louis Vuitton handbag she found her mobile phone, dialled noisily, drawing glances from the other commuters. Had she even been aware of them, no attention would have been paid, Tara seldom noticed the eyes that watched her. The particular set of eyes that had trailed her for weeks remained a mystery. Unknown, but alert.
Everything about her set her apart, he thought. From the designer sunglasses poised delicately on her head to the impossibly high heels beneath those flawless legs. Everything. He craved all of it.
After some time she returned the phone to her bag, annoyed. A few more eyes drifted over her, some disapproving, some dissolute. Her perfume travelled down the track, lingering, sensual, tempting more into her web. She bent slightly, setting her shopping bag down, slowly rubbing the back of her heel. Eyes became transfixed on her slender legs, the tightness of her skirt as it hugged her firm, robust ass. The eyes rolled back up her figure in unison, as if involved in some synchronised event, captivated by the straighting figure, the flirtatious tossing of her long jet black hair.
He thought about touching her. Not so seriously, just to pass the time. She turned for a moment and he caught sight of her breasts, hidden from view in a tight sweater but glorious all the same. He thought of the heaviness in his hand, the nipples hardened between his fingers.
She shifted, her weight rolling impatiently from one foot to the other, oblivious to the child skipping around her feet. The mother dragged him away, smiling apologetically. Tara turned her head disdainfully, sighing again.
The train arrived, it's distant wheeze breaking into a thunderous blast as it shot through the tunnel. Tara popped her phone back into her bag and glided forward. She felt a hand graze her bottom as she stepped up, a slight squeeze on her cheek betraying it's deliberateness.
She stepped inside, trying to turn to catch the man. The crowd behind were too strong, pushing her forward like cattle, her feet finally resting near the opposite door. She held the bar in front tightly, watching over the young man who'd sat ahead of her. He was almost directly beneath her now. He glanced up, she instinctively edged back, resting against something hard. The compartment was musty and hot, and she didn't enjoy the feeling of being so closely surrounded.
The warm, firm skin of the man behind her felt different though, calming, pleasurable. She relaxed her body into him a little. At first she'd worried the jolting of the train would send her sprawling, but his weight was able to balance her. She released her grip on the metallic bar a little, rubbed her shoulders into his chest discreetly, like a kitten getting comfortable. She wondered if it was his hand she had felt, not minding if it had been.
The train came to a halt, more passengers got on, forcing this man to push further against her. Along with his chest, she could now feel his leg. His foot was placed almost between her own, the outside of his thigh snaking up the inside of hers. His breath had quickened and was hot on her neck. When she turned her head slightly she felt her hair brush over his skin, caught a glimpse of his shoulder, sheathed in a cool black suit.
His body was hard, his chest wide. It felt like being spralled across a heavy oak table. Her nipples began to harden gradually from the comfort.
The train rattled on, each rattle and jolt knocked their bodies together, a slow steady rhythm. Tara bit her lip a little, wiggled her bottom slowly, faintly, rubbing it over his hardening cock. Her movements were subtle, camouflaged by the swaying of the train. She opened her eyes, unaware she'd closed them. Pressed into the corner hidden from the eyes she felt safe. Only the young man sitting almost beneath her could see. Wild-eyed and clearly horny, he looked like one of the builders who whistled at her in the street, brutish, cocky, unshaven. Probably unwashed. His blue jeans were tight, his erection clear. His eyes were transfixed by her round voluptous breasts, hidden in her tight cream sweater. He glanced up at her, made eye-contact, smiled shamelessly.
Tara looked away, suppressing a smile. She placed her palm on the end of her tight skirt, midway down her thigh. Slowly she rubbed her fingers up and down over her skin, the material of her skirt tickling her nicely. Her pussy was tingling, alive with excitement. Her fingers moved slyly under her skirt, stroked her naked thigh. She stroked her skin, just at the point where her tiny panties began, teasing herself, teasing the brute.
The mystery cock was pressed tight up against her back now, and she could feel it straining even through the clothes. She leaned her head back slightly, feeling a large hand run down and squeeze her bottom. The breath was in her ear, hard heavy exhales. He lifted her ass slightly, almost toppling her, before slowly setting her back down, his cock slowly travelling up between the slight cleft of her bottom. The feel of that hard meat resting between her cheeks made her panties moist, her face reddened.
He stared in wonder at the hot little nymph so near to him. The roaming fingers, the slight smile, the colored cheeks. His cock had hardened and throbbed now. He could reach across and brush her skin. The thought tortured him.
The train paused again, this time a far larger number departing than boarding. Tara slipped between her admirers, grabbing a seat. She searched the faces standing up carefully. A number of men stood in the corner where she'd been and she eyed them suspiciously, trying to determine which had been touching her.
He was smiling at her lustfully and she could see his cock was still hard. She smiled back flirtatiously for a moment before looking away. He was handsome, tall and smart, though thinner than she'd thought. His hair hung long, draped over his shoulders, stylishly well-kept. Clearly well-bred, Tara wondered why he rode the subway. She leaned back in the seat, imagining his hard body on top of her, the dirty things he might like her to do.
Nearby, he struggled hard to maintain his rage. He had to stay calm now, had to stay calm. He knew he wouldn't hurt her unless forced to.
The train rolled on, chasing the endless dark from the tunnels, the dark that never left. She took out her phone, glancing coquettishly at the man, tossing back her hair. This time, her call was answered and she spoke confidently, authoritatively, her voice alone in the silence. The admirers listened attentively.
"Hi Emma, it's Tara. Listen, I can't meet you for drinks tonight babe, I'm gonna go home. Yeah, I know babe, but we can go wild tomorrow, can't we? Ok, we'll do lunch. Ciao babe."
Tara smiled at her mystery man as she replaced the phone. She took out her mirror and adjusted her lipstick, aware of him watching.
Beautiful legs, he thought, wondering if he tilted his head, would he see up her skirt from this angle. He thought he would, but was afraid to chance it. She was horny, he knew that. A wet pussy, for sure. He watched her serruptiously, occasional stolen glances. Others were bolder.
Lost in thought, the train had seemed to stop suddenly, and like a carnival ride they'd all swept off. She'd brushed past him, knowing he would follow. Eager and excited, happy in the late evening sunshine, She'd sashayed home. Body and mind were absorbed with dirty thoughts. Now she could feel eyes burning into her, thrilling her, her pulse racing. It had been too long since she'd been naughty. She hoped he would be stronger than he looked, as strong as he had felt behind her, willing and able to control her delicate frame. Leaving her front door open, she breezed inside without looking back. Her skirt was left at the bottom of the stairs, along with the shopping. The tight sweater sat at the top, her sunglasses making it as far as the bedroom door before being discarded.
She waited a few minutes in the dark bedroom, the curtains drawn, hiding her from the light. She was breathless, her hands pressed up against the wall, legs spread. The front door closed. The bedroom door opened soon after. She spoke without turning.
"Don't say a word. Don't talk. I've been a very bad girl, and I need to be spanked."
Her own voice excited her, her old familiar speech. The material of her panties riding up her bottom, the coldness of the air on her skin where soon his hot hands would rest. Distant gleeful memories came back to her.
