X

"Nice top"

I wanted to get to the office early since there was bound to be a lot of work to catch up with, to say nothing of Connie and Fran, so instead of walking the mile to the station I caught the bus. This meant that I saw her before she saw me.

There she was, standing outside the station, oblivious to the admiring glances she attracted from each passing male and peering anxiously at every possible approach route. I was shocked to recognise none other than my girlfriend from the train, the pretty blonde with the button nose and those wonderful tits. It was so unexpected to see her here, behaving in such a strange way, that it took me a few moments to realise that she must be looking for me.

Of course: I remembered now. Last week we had been sitting side by side for the whole journey into town. I remembered the way she had kept looking at me, and how embarrassed I had felt. I also remembered her confused behaviour as I got off the train. I had thought she was disgusted as my FUCK-enhanced cock so obviously filled my trousers; only now did it dawn on me that she had been succumbing to the irresistible influence I now exercised over any woman I wanted. "Oh great," I moaned inwardly. "Just what I need. Another gorgeous woman desperate to sacrifice her young life at the altar of my lust."

She did not see me until I was getting off the bus. Then she started so violently I thought for a moment she was going to fall; but she steadied herself and stood, feet close together, staring at me with wide eyes, her mouth agape and her hands clasped under her chin. The expression "her heart was in her mouth": her posture simply summed it up.

I had no idea how I could release her from the spell but I thought I had to try. I walked directly up to her. Apart from angling her head up slightly to stay focused on my face as I approached (I was a good foot taller), she did not move a muscle. "Hello," I said, smiling. "I've seen you on the train, haven't I?"

She made no reply. She looked confused and maybe even scared.

I extended my hand. At first the gesture seemed to be completely lost on her, but after a long pause she dropped her right hand into mine (leaving her left hand incongruously parked under her chin) and gave me by far the feeblest handshake I have ever encountered. Her hand was so small, even childlike, that my engulfing hand seemed enormous; and when I let go, her arm fell limp by her side. The poor child was quite clearly beside herself.

"I'm James Walker," I informed her.

There was another long pause. I could see she knew she ought to respond and desperately wanted to but she struggled to summon the words. "Alicia Benson", she announced eventually and broke into a relieved smile that she had been able to articulate her name so successfully.

"Well, Alicia, I think we should celebrate knowing each other's names. I'll buy you a coffee."

We found a table in the coffee shop adjoining the station and I learnt for the first time of the agonies to which I had unknowingly subjected this poor girl over the last few days. Since our tube journey last week I had quite frankly not given her a thought (having much else on my mind), but her life had been dominated by thoughts of me.

It took time to piece things together because unless gently prompted she would lapse into gazing at me with silent wonder, but I was able to confirm that her glances on the train had signified not disgust but a rapidly increasing fascination with this irresistibly attractive older man sitting next to her. She knew she must not stare but it was impossible to keep her eyes away from him. He looked so fine: loving, kindly and wise. Who was he? When she got to her usual stop she felt impelled to stay on the train and see where he got off; and when he did, she followed him to his workplace.

She explained that she could think of no excuse for following me into the building and knew she could not hang around outside all day so she had reluctantly gone to work, returning as soon as she could to stake the place out and follow me. But she had got there too late, and missed me.

"And if you had seen me and followed me home," I asked, "what then?"

"I don't know," she replied, looking miserable and confused. "I didn't think that far ahead. The only thing I could think of was how much I needed to see you again."

She told me that she had been aware she had seen me before, but somehow she had previously overlooked my magnificent qualities. This point, in fact, seemed to perplex and embarrass her more than anything; how could she have been so blind? There must have been something the matter with her. At any rate, she knew that I joined the train two stops down the line from her so next morning she caught a much earlier train than usual and got off at my station and waited.

"That was so awful," she recalled. "When you didn't appear I was gripped by this horrible fear that I was never going to see you again. I've waited at the station and outside your office every day since but I just knew it was hopeless and I'd lost you. I was so angry and frustrated. I'd been right next to you; I could have touched you; and I'd lost you. I've had that agonised sense of loss ever since," she went on, starting to look upset; "until this morning, of course," she concluded, breaking into a huge relieved smile of pure happiness.

I was much moved by her story. I was aware, of course, that this was all the effect of FUCK, and I was guiltily conscious that by staying so close to her I must be making it worse. I had started by looking for some opening that would allow me to weaken her fascination for me but as she had told me her story I had realised that FUCK's grip on her was far stronger than I had imagined.

I had to admit I was becoming increasingly fascinated myself. I had always known she sported remarkably large breasts considering her youth and relatively small frame, but in the past their bulk had usually been contained by modest attire, her top often being done up right to the neck. But today, maybe in honour of the continuing fine weather, she wore a white cotton shirt with a wide low halter neck that exposed her bosoms in all their pale flawless glory. They drew my gaze irresistibly. Halfway through her story she had suddenly noticed where my eyes were resting. She blushed, smiled modestly, and leant forward to push her bust more firmly in my direction.

"Nice top," I remarked appreciatively.

She gave a gratified giggle as she realised my double meaning. "I'm glad you like it," she smiled, pressing her arms to her sides to force the tits still farther forward.

My conscience came up against those tits and surrendered unconditionally. It was no contest. For all my good intentions when we sat down, by now I had a raging hard-on (fortunately invisible from Alicia under the table) and I could think of nothing but how I was going to have my way with her.

"I don't understand what's happening," she said bemusedly. "The last few days have been so strange. I'm not -- I'm not going mad, am I?"

I reassured her on this point, and asked her to tell me more about herself. I learnt she was eighteen (spot on, I thought), she came from Worcester and had been undecided whether to go on to university after finishing college, so she had come to London to temp for a year, earn a bit of money, and see the big city while she thought about her future. She was lodging with old friends of her parents.

This might be an opening, I told myself. "Is that all right?" I asked.

"Well, the room's a bit small and they could be more exciting, I suppose, but yes, it's fine."

"And," I went on, taking the bull by the horns, "now that you've finally met me, how do you feel?"

She sat back and let out a huge sigh. (I was fascinated to watch the way her tits responded when she shifted position.) "Oh, James," she said finally. "What can I say? You're just so much more wonderful that I ever imagined anyone could be. I just wish I could be with you for ever. Please, please say I can stay with you."

I was not quite certain what she meant by this, and I am not sure she knew either. I waved my left hand in front of her so she could see the wedding ring.

"Oh, I know," she said sadly. "You needn't rub it in. I know it's just a silly dream but [another huge sigh] it would be so wonderful if I could be with you always. It's all I've been thinking of. At least," she concluded, with an air of resigned acceptance of reality, "at least say that I can see you again."

I said she could and took her number, promising to call her in the next day or two. I told her we had to go to work now and I thought we should take separate trains because people might think it odd if they saw her staring at me (we were getting our share of curious looks in the coffee shop). She told me I was so thoughtful.

As I got up to go she put aside her untouched coffee and sought permission to ask a personal question.

"Go ahead," I said, resuming my seat.

She paused for a long time.

"Your wife," she said finally. "Do you love her?"

I looked her straight in the eye. "I love her very much," I said truthfully.

She nodded sadly, as if she had expected this answer. Then she blushed, and stammered, "Have you -- would you ever -- I mean, could you ever be unfaithful to her?"

"Alicia," I replied sternly, "that is a very personal question to someone you've only just met."

She looked horribly embarrassed but was clearly determined to get something off her considerable chest. "Because if you could," she said, "and if you wanted, I, er, I could, I mean ..." And she trailed off. When I made no reply she dropped her eyes and looked crushed. "I've upset you, haven't I? I'm sorry. Oh, James, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me but I saw you leaving and I just panicked ... I've blown it, haven't I?"

"Alicia," I said, getting up again. "I've got to go now. You must go too. Catch the next train after me. And keep that phone switched on. I'll ring you soon, I promise."

Looking up at me with big round blue eyes moist with emotion, she seemed unable to speak but gave a series of rapid nods to show she had understood. I left without looking back but I felt those eyes follow me every step of the way. As I boarded my train I saw her arrive on the platform, her eyes still fixed on me as the train pulled out. I reflected that I was becoming so accustomed to the effects of FUCK that it had not surprised me to hear a beautiful eighteen-year-old girl, who I felt sure had never put a foot out of line in her life before, so abjectly offer herself to a married man of nearly fifty.