Victoria - A Stranger on the Train

More than an hour had passed. Apparently, the constant rumbling held some secret narcotic property for her. She'd make sure to ask Malcom to rock her on the crib the night before her big promotion.

Ugh. Where are we?

Her neck had been crooked and it was stiff and pulsing. As minutes of constant bumps--both from tracks and the next man's elbow--and announcements ensued from her husband's master plan, another problem arose, her breasts were getting full again. No problem though, she could pump in the bathroom lat--

Wait.

Panic. She didn't have it. She didn't have her pump; she didn't even remember packing it.

Oh no, no no no.

If they were starting to strain, she didn't want to think what they would feel like in six hours unless she managed to let out at least 2 ounces in the bathroom. She got up in a hurry, hoping that expressing with her fingers would work just as well, although she'd never done it herself.

Locked.

Pleaase... Are you kidding me?

In the wired bra, the slight jiggle of her breasts from her frustrated tapping let her realize how uncomfortable it actually was -- the doctor's words made sense for the first time.

A man walking past to his seat had actually stopped just to look at her.

Great.

"Hello, gorgeous. You here for the whole ride?"

"Umm... No, I'm not."

"Ah...well, it's such a beautiful ride. This was the only way my wife and I used to tra..."

Now that her breasts had her complete attention, every bump along the ride sent jolts through her chest like needles to her nerves. She didn't want to think what it'd feel like in some hours: tits stretching to unknown stages of fullness, hours complying to ceaseless bumps, writhing in agony while trying to keep appearances in front of a dozen strangers. She needed to focus on something else, anything at all.

Please God. This has to work.

She was sweating. Victoria tried, discreetly, to control her breathing. If only she could actually succeed with the expressing, she promised she'd make the most out of this trip.

"Are you okay, girl?"

...

"Yes." Since some point of her abstraction Victoria had been feeling the top of her breasts through her corporate cleavage.

Oh my God...

The door finally opened, and she practically pushed the guy out on her way in, blushing.

"Okay, this is simple. I'll just do it like the baby does," she whispered.

Victoria tensed, prying open all the buttons down to her midriff. She exposed her bra with the delicacy of an operating surgeon. Very carefully, she unclasped it at the front.

"Oh God! Ow! Ow... Umm hm hm hmm." She clamped her nails on the sink feeling as if blood was rushing back to a limb cut off from perfusion.

Except there was no relief afterwards; she had taken off the imaginary tight belt after a movie marathon with snacks and gallons of tea, but she still needed to pee. Her lips curled. Sheer will was all behind the fabricated resilience keeping her from crying in the toilet, feigning defeat.

"Okay, okay. Deep breaths, Victoria," she said.

She stripped from the waist up, meaning to preserve her outfit in condition, before she pinched her right peak and began her task.

It worked.

---------------

"It's happening! YES! Oh my God, thank you. Thank you thank you thank you."

It took minutes to get it right; she thought she'd found the 'right' technique. Milk sprayed from her peak in short jets, streaming into the sink, and as far the mirror if she pulled the right way.

In reality, it had less to do with her clumsy pinching. All she'd actually done was stimulate the breast until the let-down kicked in, and the oversupplied teat did the rest.

She giggled cheerfully at her new weapon.

"Maybe next time I'll spray that peeping, old sexist pig," she scoffed.

Her mind set the scene; her boss opens the door with random files on his hand, waving them like a white peace flag as safe passage into her intimate space. She is angry. She prepares her other boob, her right boob (the one that makes the most), and unplugs her pump from the left as he approaches, mumbling and gesturing nonsense about some fabricated emergency. She gets up, unveiling the two engorged mammaries pointing at the mole by his nose, and fires.

That ought to gross him out... Right?

Probably not.

During a productive first quarter last year on his office, he'd let her know she was being considered for the ultimate promotion; someone had left, and she was candidate. The one job she thought was still years ahead, now within her reach. It was the first time she'd smiled at him since the interview. She hugged him tight, skipping side to side on her glee, and the old man didn't hesitate to graze the top of her skirt covered ass. It had been awkward and abusive, but she wouldn't let it ruin her mood. She had worked so hard, but she hardly believed it. It had been worth it, all of it; finally.

Until Daniel arrived.

From then on, her life had been flushed down the toilet.

He was shady, corruptive and barely competent, but also somewhat handsome and insidiously persuasive. He could talk his way out or in of any situation, apparently. Even men seemed fascinated by his charm, specially her boss.

Only three months after he got into the company, her manager called her into his office.

"Yes, Mr. Harvey?" she said impatiently.

"Ehm, just Harvey," he asked her for the umpteenth time. "Well, listen, darling. I called you up here because...ahem-- Well, there's been some relevant changes, these last weeks, about the position I told you..." She'd come to despise the hesitant tone her boss used to deliver bad news, or any news. Just spit it out for fuck's sake. She usually thought. Not today. She felt cold and pale. "I'm afraid there are new elements, to consider. And so, I took the liberty of, well, I uh... Convinced, the men upstairs to wait just a little longer. Only just, until we could see things with more clarity," he said, forcing a smile.

He continued, but she couldn't remember anything else. Probably some attempt at consolation; it didn't matter. She sat on her office for a long time, lost, until her alarm said pumping time. With the let-down came a strong wave from her uterus that hit hard into her chest that day. Her eyes felt heavy. Over the memo in front of her, Victoria saw big transparent splotches.

That's okay, she thought, sniffing, it's just the hormones...

Those next weeks were somber.

Her workaholic habits proved insufficient to compensate for Daniel's dirty tactics. He had closed a deal with an impossible client (it was rumored that he'd bribed a manager inside for leverage). It wasn't a big sale, but upper management was impressed. The numbers remained on her favor, but she knew it wouldn't be enough.

Her marriage was reaching a critical point, and while she never meant to be a mother, she was missing a special moment from the life of her first child. There was actual dissapointment in his eyes, his eyes. She couldn't believe it. Alone against the current, cast out from her own family and with no real friends to rely on the office.

--------------------------

When he wasn't cheating on her grandmother, her grandfather used to train boxers. The idea had been in her head for days. But when her doctor made her repeat the question the third time, she knew she'd have to settle with the other areas of the gym.

After many weeks her body responded of course. More importantly, she allowed herself to interact. Victoria couldn't remember the last time she'd tried to get closer to another human being without the sales pitch. That hall full of mirrors and brightly colored mats revived her basic human instinct to socialize, to empathize, and it showed.

Suddenly there were new friends at work -- It was a great spark. Still, she knew she'd have to go further to get ahead. She would probably never bend so low as to offer money in exchange for a contract of any size but there were other...unsavory options.

A relevant morning, she took a moment to see. The mirror showed her a different figure. She was close to leaving her twenties but she'd never looked better.

She started to dress sexy. Victoria let her hair down from her corporate pony tail and progressively changed her wardrobe. It was humiliating, having been forced take such measures, but she wasn't about to risk sacrificing all those years of twelve to fourteen hours a day over her own ethical dress code. Unsurprisingly, instead of an admonition, she received nothing but compliments from her boss.

The sexier she dressed--within reasonable limits of the company's dress code--the more attention and favor she got from the manager. This little phenomenon was particularly useful with clients -- once they got lost into the tundra gray of her eyes all she needed was a cross of her legs and they were hers. Every deal left a lingering, sour taste, but there was no stopping her now, that promotion was as good as hers; or it was, right before Harvey's call last night.

"Hello, darling. How are you? I'm sorry about the time. Ahem, listen, umm..."

----------------------

She felt a new woman, coming out of the bathroom on that train. Her left breast had not cooperated into deflation as much as she had expected, and was still a little tense, so the tiny bathroom definitively merited another visit later, but for now she was beaming with a dash of pride.

Walking the tight, stretched hallway, Victoria saw the old 'stud' again, talking with a tall man in uniform some steps further -- from their demeanor she deduced they knew each other from before; she didn't deem his conversational skills as graphic as to elicit such life out of the cardboard employees on the train.

Despite her discreet attempt to go unnoticed, her vivid shades of gold, bathing in the intermittent sunlight coming through the windows of the speeding train, were impossible to ignore. Victoria was outstandingly beautiful, but now more so in her joy. He left the other man behind mid-sentence to approach, apparently preoccupied.

"You okay, love?" he said.

What she felt from her frustrated attempt to escape didn't pair well with the stranger's prying questions. Still, she had promised to behave in a positive note.

"Hi. Yes, I'm fine, thank you." She smiled politely, but there was still a hint of sarcasm. He would have picked it up if he wasn't watching her cleavage. "... I'm Victoria," she completed, eager to fill the awkward pause of his stare, unsure of how to shake him awake.

"You looked so pale back there," he answered, cuddling her open hand with both of his, they felt uncomfortably soft. "You sure you're alright, sweetcake?"

Stay positive, Victoria.

"Yes. I was just refreshing myself, you are very kind," she said, mimicking a genuine smile trying to get past him.

"Right. Precious, If you're feeling ill at any part of the travel, I know almost everyone on the crew. I think I can arrange you be on business if you'd prefer, but let me tell you right now," he leaned, "it's just the same as couch," he laughed loudly. She tried to join him in timid courtesy--missing the joke if there was any--noting he hadn't let go of her hand. "I have a... A private cabin," purposefully avoiding the word 'room' in roomette, "it's much more comfortable than this."

"Oh. Are there any more available? I'd be willing to pay whatever fee, of course."

"No," he shook is head, a little condescending. "You have to book those, days, sometimes months before, sweetcake. I think the bedroom wasn't occupied, but that one is above a thousand bucks or so."

What!?

"Oh, wow," she thought about what kind of room here would look like a thousand dollars, seeing that the rest of the train was far from impressive. He thought he saw disappointment. Now, gathering the courage, he took the opportunity. Hoping to trade mindless hours using his phone for the panoramic view of the legs and cleavage of this magnificent, beautiful creature.

"I used to pay for those when I traveled with my wife, but now they're just too big for just an old man. Still, there's room for two in my r-- private car, cabin. I'd be more than willing to share it with such a beautiful young lady," he said, planting his lips into the back of her hand, sending shivers down her spine.

She quickly managed to extricate herself from between his paws, throwing excuses through a smile, "... I'll just sit tight right here in coach. Thank you...though."

"Sure?"

"Mmhm. Yes. Do you know how long until we reach the next station? The train seems behind schedule."

He laughed his raucous laugh again, "Oh sweetcake, I don't remember the last time I used a train that wasn't long 'behind schedule' -- that's just how it is. Don't worry, you'll get there eventually. Just enjoy the look out the window, and remember, if you change your mind talk to that boy there, my door is open," he said, pointing at the tall man he'd been talking to at the end of the hall.

Stay. Positive.

She took another shot with the left in the bathroom, with similar results, ultimately deciding to give up her bra into the inscrutable depths of her purse. Victoria had never been one to choose physical pain to honor of tradition--only perhaps in the face of possible embarrassment--which is why she never actually wore the heels beside her desk at the office, lest for a formal meeting here and there. Some men seemed drawn to her pedicured toes in sandals (in any of them) anyway, a fact she had been sensible to since her own husband disclosed his 'thing' for her feet.

They are, pretty. She thought, sitting back on her spot, looking at her feet strapped by golden ribbons. The white polish on her nails made her skin look of a fairer shade.

Nurtured by Malcom's comments her interest to keep them beautiful and healthy grew into adulthood; and there was another reason: it was the perfect way to keep her husband's savage libido at bay. He took her anywhere he could, whenever the baby and the tension would allow them to, much to her dismay.

Sometimes she truly enjoyed it; and she hated it. On the rare times the man found the hidden rhythm to stimulate her clitoris into orgasm she'd pass out to wake up feeling ashamed and confused. That he had seen her beg for release, and grunt, and moan, and faint...it made her shiver.

Besides, Victoria was scared to death of another pregnancy. It would nail her into the professional coffin; a lifetime of housewife duties: her career, history. She didn't trust condoms anymore, or any light contraception for that matter -- If it was up to her, she'd have him snipped, but that was another topic entirely. She wished she had the courage to undergo surgery herself. For these reasons, as a counter-measure over months Victoria became progressively skilled with her feet.

-------------------

OW!

A stinging pain in her breast almost made her stand up. She was sweating. Victoria had fallen asleep again and the snoring man had hit her left tit with all the momentum of a bump concentrated on his pointy elbow. It took her breath away.

Oh fuck, oh fuck.

She got up to the bathroom, holding her aching breast. This time, she expressed even less than before, barely enough for relief, and only after minutes of tutorials on the 'most effective' pumping techniques. Victoria felt restless. She discovered the definition of the word 'mastitis', among other things, and it filled her with absolute terror. She called the first person she could think of.

"Oh shit! Victoria, hi. Babe, I'm sorry, I meant to call you before. It's been crazy down here." Malcom said.

"Hi. Don't worry, how's the baby?" Victoria said.

"Yeah, that's the thing. I mean he's fine but he like puked a little earlier, so I called the doctor and he told me a bunch of things," he said, "I'm keeping my eye on him, crawling around the house."

Her heart shrunk. "Does he have a fever? How hot is he?"

"No no, he's normal, he looks fine. Besides the house is still a mess so it's business as usual. The doctor said it was a good sign that he's playing and crawling all over the place. How are you? How's your trip?"

"Oh. Well, keep... Um, It's fine. Look, I have a bit of an emergency going on; I forgot to bring my pump and my breasts are so full right now. I'm not sure of what to do."

"Wow. Okay. Why don't you get off on the next station, get yourself the pump. I'll buy a ticket for tomorrow or something."

"What? No! The train is late already, at this rate I'll be at the hotel by nightfall. I have to get there today."

Last night, Victoria's boss had called to inform her, after a good ten minutes of wasted breath, that they were sending Daniel to close the biggest deal of the year, her deal, in light of the upcoming weather and her 'reluctance' to fly. The client had moved the date a day forward, and they couldn't bet on her to get there by car on heavy rain, so they wanted Daniel to fly there before things got worse; peeping Harvey was willing to pay for the ticket himself.

She said she'd be there tomorrow morning, so there was absolutely no way that she'd risk more delays.

"Have you tried like, massaging it?"

"I have tried everything, Malcom. Did you happen to go to those nursing classes, by any chance?"

He snorted at her comment, "Well, you see babe, I kinda lacked two main ingredients--"

"Ugh, you know what I mean! JUST... Forget I said anything."

"Sorry. Maybe, look for a doctor to help you, or some other mom."

"Yeah. Thanks. Take care of the baby, bye."

She let out a long breath resembling a kettle steaming off in the stove. Her hands waved as fans. Her plump tits swayed freely on her nude torso when she tried one last time, failed, and put her shirt and blazer back on again to leave.

"Excuse me. Yes, hi." Victoria said.

"Hello, miss. Is there something I can help you with?" said the neatly shaved, tall man.

"Yes, I'd like to change seats please. Is there any available? Perhaps in another car?"

"Not in coach there are not. We will be arriving at the next station soon, then you may take another seat."

They had recently left the last station, and it seemed that the bearded man beside her had no intention of leaving.

"I see. Is there any doctor onboard?"

"Onboard? Is there a medical emergency?" he said, frowning.

"Oh no, no. I just wanted to know what to do in case... Never mind."

When he turned, she glimpsed beyond the hall. Beside her seat, the sight of her seating companion, an overly stuffed rag doll shuffling unconscious in his seat.

Fuck it.

"Sir? One more thing."

--------------------

The man lead her through a set of stairs into the upper level of a different car, smiling for the first time at the mention of the old, short man with the hawaiian red shirt, the one with the glasses. The same smell she'd picked up in coach lingered, stronger and distinctive in this area, yet she couldn't name it.

He knocked on one of the small sliding doors populating the car and waited. The window was partially covered by a rough worn out cloth--it may have been a proper curtain once--so you could still get a glimpse from inside. It looked as if a chinese bathroom had been engulfed by the theme of the train.

"Here we are. You can stay in this section, but everything you consume you have to pay."

Victoria hesitated. She had no idea what she'd do about her stubborn tit, and now that she was standing in front of the door she wondered if he would really be of any help.

"Understood?"

"Uh-huh. Thank you."

There was no room in her mind for food or his rude tone -- she was pondering whether to turn around and spend the whole trip in the bathroom or to fall into the hands of this overly familiar stranger when he opened the door.