Dragon Lady

By this time my cock had formed a tent in my trousers. I tried to adjust for more comfort, but I had to admit after a few tries, that what I was really doing was simply fondling myself through my clothing. On about my fourth effort, I realized that she was watching me fondle my cock. Busted! What the hell! I thought about it for a minute and began to fondle it more openly while I watched her play with her tits. Now that I was masturbating, she apparently found me more interesting than her magazine. She was starring openly at the lump in my trousers. Still she said nothing.

After a few minutes of this kind of juicy foreplay, she upped the ante. She set her magazine on the seat along side her copy of the FT and pulled her oh-so-conservative black suit dress up around her hips. Just like Dragon Lady, she wasn't wearing any panties (well, like my fantasy of Dragon Lady). Had she shed them when she stepped out to the loo? No way to know. She slowly spread her legs and pushed her hips forward on the seat to show me her fully-shaved pussy. All pretense of ignoring me was gone as she stared directly at me, and I returned the eye contact. Then she took one hand off her tits and began to slowly drag it up and down her now glistening slit. As she did that, her outer lips swelled and pulled back, disclosing the treasures within. Each time her fingers reached the top of her slit she grazed her clit, which had enlarged so as to poke out from under its hood. Eventually she slid a couple of fingers into her wet gleaming pussy. She slid her hips farther forward so that she could get her fingers deep into her cunt. As she finger-fucked herself, it looked like she was raking her g-spot each time she withdrew her fingers. She closed her eyes each time she withdrew.

"Well, if she's shown me hers, I guess I better show her mine," I thought as I undid my belt, unfastened my trousers and zipper and slid my trousers and boxers from beneath my hips. My cock sprang to attention; its tip glistening with pre-cum. Her eyes widened a bit as she realized how big my cock was, but beyond that, she gave no indication that anything had changed. I began to slowly stroke my cock, as she continued to finger-fuck herself. She kept her eyes wide open now, watching my fisting of my cock. When a large drop of pre-cum emerged from my cock, I used my fingers to swirl it about the head while I stared directly at her eyes. She smiled ever so slowly and then licked her lips as she held her fingers in her cunt, apparently pushing hard on the sensitive spot in its front wall.

Things went on like that for about ten minutes with neither of us hurrying to reach our climax, until we heard our London station announced with a three-minute warning over the train's public address system. At this point she began finger-fucking herself much harder and faster with her right hand, while the other hand began rubbing her clit. I could see from the strained expression her face that it wouldn't be long before she climaxed.

In response, I began stroking my cock much harder. Not wanting to make a mess, I reached across for her newspaper and set it on my knees to catch my cum. As the train began slowing, I could see her contract in a furious orgasm. She remained completely silent, but it seemed to go on forever. As soon as she began cumming, I felt myself begin to do the same, and I emptied an enormous stream of cum into her Financial Times.

We both fell back in post-orgasmic stupor for a moment, but by then we could see the train was coming into the station so we quickly buttoned up to respectability. She flipped open her briefcase and returned her porn magazines and the FT to its interior, quickly closing and latching the lid. Then, apparently thinking better of her actions, she reopened the case, seemingly reorganizing its contents until satisfied whereupon she removed the FT and closed and latched the lid again, setting the folded newspaper atop the case. I likewise returned my magazine and my woefully ignored pocketbook to my briefcase. Neither of us said a word, although I did see a trace of a smile on her face as she put her hand atop her defiled FT. When the train stopped, she rose and left the compartment with the briefcase in one hand and the FT in the other.

Being a gentleman, I let her exit the compartment first and followed her down the aisle and onto the platform. As we walked up the platform, she let me catch up and then linked an arm in mine, lightly pressing her breast against my upper arm. Her perfume was intoxicating. Still she said nothing.

We walked through the station together and not a word was said, although she continued to lightly brush her breast against my arm. Finally, as we were about to exit towards the taxis, she turned to me and handed me the FT. "I think you'll have more use for this than me," she said with a smile. It was the most pleasant voice I had heard Dragon Lady use all day, but then, was it really Dragon Lady? Then she turned, stepped up to the first cab in the queue, ducked quickly through its rear door and, after a quick word to the cabby, drove off into the night.

As the cab bore her away, I stood holding the FT. Never saw her again. It had been an extraordinary day, but I was becoming unsure which parts of it really happened and which were all in my mind. It was then that I noticed a very brief pair of sex-stained panties folded up in the Financial Times. I also noticed that the FT smelled faintly of her perfume, so perhaps some of it was real.

Was it Dragon Lady in my train compartment? I'll never know. The deal cratered a couple of days later, and I never saw her again. I heard Dragon Lady moved to Australia.