2nd October 2018
My mind was a whirr. Had it really only been a day since my life had changed so dramatically? Since I’d been sitting minding my own business in a chatroom, trying to kill time on a boring, rainy Sunday afternoon? When she had butted into my half-hearted conversation, intoxicated me with her words, captured my mind and then barely an hour later, my body.
I had slept fitfully that night, my skin still tingling from our interaction. Every cell thrumming with excitement, I relived each magical moment, fingers buried deep in my tender, dripping pussy, thumb rubbing my throbbing clitoris. I came over and over, yet still ached with need. Barely understanding what had happened to me, what had possessed me, yet somehow knowing things would never be the same again.
This morning on the early train, tired from my sleepless night, her black box had again taken me by surprise.
“Sticky fingers? Troubled, twisting sleep filled with soft, heaving, moaning flesh?”
I felt my body jerk to attention. How did she know how I had spent my night? I blushed, glancing round the carriage, illogically feeling she was there watching me.
I replied with some garbled message about feeling out of sorts, giving irrelevant details about the day ahead. I instantly knew that it would be a day filled with distraction, no hope of anything sensible penetrating my already dizzied mind. As I sat, headphones buried in my ears, intoxicating sounds started to take on new meaning, filling my head. Portishead’s honeyed tones taunting me, as I sat staring out the window, questioning over and over what was happening to me.
The day proceeded as expected, my futile attempts at concentration failing, as I surreptitiously glanced at my phone, black teasing boxes appearing, toying with my mind throughout the day. Engaging in work discussions, I answered monosyllabically, smiling politely to hide the fact that the words held no meaning or interest for me.
As the return train roared into the packed station, I fought my way on, exhausted and desperate for a seat. Locating one in a corner, tutting as I clambered over selfish passengers sitting on the outside, thankful I had the cool glass of the window to rest my burning forehead against. Squashed alongside a sweating, overweight man in a suit, I once again listened to the beautiful melody of ‘Roads,’ now on repeat, sinking back into the unfamiliar, but intoxicating feelings of submission.
As soon as the train emerged into daylight, a black box appeared on the screen I was clasping. Immediately alert, I replied, apprising her of my surroundings.
“Squeezed into your corner letting your mind be consumed.”
I looked around at my fellow passengers, engrossed in their own business, as I tapped out my reply, careful to hide what I was writing but unable to prevent the smile teasing across my lips.
“And where is your finger?”
I had to think for a moment before realising I had been nervously biting on it as I read her words. I told her it was in between gripped teeth.