I have never told anyone the complete version of events. Some may think it an odd place to bare one's secrets. However, I feel compelled to share this part of my life and anonymity offers a shield. So please hear me out.

About a year ago I met a woman I found utterly irresistible. Describing her in words feels inadequate, though I'll try. Whatever image you might conjure, it pales beside the feelings she stirred in me.

She was a woman of contrasts. Harmless in appearance, yet she carried a will that could pierce the fiercest armour. Not conventionally beautiful, she nonetheless evoked in me an almost unbearable longing.

It was her eyes that first captivated me. I had hardly noticed her among the subway throng. Then our gazes met. Sapphire blue, unflinching, luminous. In that instant I was undone. My unraveling had begun.

She did not avert her gaze as one might expect someone to do instinctively when caught in the act of staring. Instead she kept a constant watch. I looked around to see whether someone else may have caught her attention.

To my left a white haired man appeared engrossed in a book. To my right a younger woman was listening to music, her head subtly swaying to an inaudible beat. The three of us were the sole occupants of the rear most booth in an otherwise sparsely populated carriage.

I convinced myself she was focused on me. Perhaps wishful thinking, perhaps something more.

When I met her eyes again, her head tilted slightly, almost imperceptibly and I interpreted it as validation. I believe her eyes smiled though her lips did not.

She was standing, holding on to a yellow strap hanging from the ceiling, the opposite arm dangling by her side, holding an elegant black clutch.

Espresso hair fell in waves behind her shoulders, complimenting a light skin tone, unblemished except for a slight scar above the right eyebrow.

Her lips were full, parted slightly, alluring. She was at least twenty feet away from me, yet felt tantalizingly close.

I studied her further, as her gaze invited me to, demanded me even. I felt a peculiar obedience, a surrender to that silent force.

She wore a white fitted blouse and navy blue knee length skirt. Black straps adorned her ankles above her heeled boots. Her stance was balanced, bracing for the inevitable rocking of the carriage as we traversed the underbelly of the city. Her left leg bent gently at the knee, toe pointing outward.

My eyes paused at her calf muscle flexed in the act of steadying her posture. I was captivated by the glow her skin. Soft, gently tanned, healthy.

My eyes moved over her body, taking in the length of her legs, the curve at her hips, the bulge of her breasts in her shirt, her delicate yet confident decolletage.

When I met her eyes again, her mouth formed a subtle knowing smile. I managed a smile in return. If she noticed, her face did not betray her thoughts.

The train gradually slowed. We ground to a halt, the doors screeching open. She disembarked, her gaze lingering on me just a second too long, and then she vanished into the crowded station.

My mind was left a swirl of questions and sensations I couldn't name.

Back home, the world felt muted. Simone and I shared a quiet evening, dinner and a movie, but I was distracted. I tried to dismiss the thought of the woman on the train, but it clung stubbornly. Even the intimacy with my wife, satisfying and warm as it was, could not quiet the memory.

As days turned into weeks, my commutes were filled with the anticipation of seeing the mystery woman again.

Simone and I did not have children as many of our friends did by now, but our lives were full. The software company that employed me as a business developer was growing rapidly and I worked many late nights. We visited friends, frequented restaurants on regular date nights and participated in weekend sports.

Sex with my wife continued to be good, wonderful even. But the woman on the train lingered in my thoughts.

Then on a Monday morning in late November, a month after our first encounter, she appeared again.

I had just ordered my morning caffeine hit from a coffee shop near my office. I turned around and she was behind me in the line, casual, serene, but every bit as commanding as I remembered.

My heart faltered. Words deserted me. And then she spoke.

“Soon we will know each other,” she said, with that faint, knowing smile. And just like that, she glided past, leaving me reeling.

The day at work was a haze of distraction. My mind conjured scenarios, imagined encounters, played with possibilities — some innocent, some charged with desire I could barely acknowledge.

This distracted state of mind continued for days and the first to notice was of course Simone. When she eventually confronted me, as I knew she would, a concocted story about a big project at work not going according to plan placated her for the time being.

But the weeks passed, and my lack of presence weighed on our relationship and on my performance at work. I realized that I had to do something to regain my composure, and sought out the help of a psychologist. My plan was to fully confide in the practitioner and get help to continue my life as normal.

On a Friday afternoon I arrived at the medical centre for my appointment with Dr Lucy Westin.

Her rooms were on the second floor and I caught the elevator up after buying a packet of crisps and a soft drink from a convenience store on the ground floor.

After waiting a few minutes in a brightly lit waiting area the receptionist called my name and ushered me to a door with a golden plaque elegantly advertising the doctor's name. She open the door and closed it behind me as I stepped through.

I froze instantly.

Dr Lucy Westin was sitting on a large mahogany desk, her legs dangling in front of her not quite touching the floor. She wore a familiar navy blue skirt. Her seated position and relaxed posture had caused it to ride higher than when I had seen her on the train, exposing her legs up to half way between her knees and waist. She wore the same white shirt and black boots than that first day, almost two months ago.

I was stumbled for words, but found none. She, however, appeared calm, assessing.

"We meet again," she said.

"Who are you?" I blurted. The words did not seem like mine.

"Your psychologist," she responded. "What can I help you with today?"

"I, I..." My voice was slightly broken. I tried hard to regain my composure. "Well..."

She raised her left eyebrow, her mouth forming the wry smile I had thought about so many times these last two months.

"Never mind. You need to do something for me."

"Ok." I had no better response.

A tilt of her head, a subtle gesture, and I found myself drawn closer. My pulse surged with every step, every movement charged with tension I could neither name nor resist.

The mere idea that I was close enough to reach her and touch her legs had my mind racing. I could feel a trickle of sweat running down from under my arm.

She raised her hand and placed it on the crown of my head. With a sudden force she pushed down. I steadied myself with a knee in the ground to avoid falling. Her continued push forced my other leg down and I found myself kneeling in front of her.

She lifted her other arm, placing both hands behind my head, pulling me towards her. I braced myself by shooting my arm out towards the table, my hand gripping its edge midway between her legs. Her pull behind my head did not relent and I shuffled forward on my knees to regain some stability.

My palm was sweaty and I almost lost my grip. I sensed the warmth of her skin tantalizingly close.

In a single motion her knees moved further apart and she pulled my head down level with the table. I could see her white underwear, narrowly covering her. Goosebumps decorated the smooth skin of her thighs. A moist patch had formed on her underwear, revealing the dark shade of groomed pubic hair underneath.

I was completely mesmerised. I had been so utterly focused on her that I hadn't noticed my own arousal unfold. Now I felt my erection full and strong pressing against the inside of my pants.

I don't think I understood that this was real until I heard her voice again.

"For fuck sake, eat me!" she insisted.

Needing no further cue, I bent forward and placed my mouth over her underwear, feeling her moisture seeping through. I pursed my lips and pressed forward against her panties, then tilted my head slightly and applied my lips around her labia sucking gently through the material.

My pride swelled as I heard her coo a soft "aaah."

I pressed my tongue against her and was rewarded with a hint of her scent through her panties. I wanted to taste her fully and slid my hand up her thigh to remove the underwear. But she raised her leg, running the bridge of her foot over my erection, and leaned back, her leg continuing upwards until she placed her heeled boot against my chest. With surprising strength she thrust out her leg, shoving my torso backwards. I shot out my hands to brace myself on the floor behind me.

She stood up from the desk, placing the boot on my chest again and pushed me down, gently yet insistently, until my back was flat on the floor. Next she slid her hands up under the sides of her skirt and dropped her panties to the floor. She took two steps forward and I could see up her skirt, moisture glistening on the short black hair adorning her pussy. My heart was thumping in my chest.

She looked me in the eye and without saying a word, lowered her body, placing first one, then the other knee on the floor to the side just behind my head.

She grabbed one wrist firmly in each hand, then moved my arms to pin one forearm under each of her legs. As she slowly lowered her pelvis to my face, a few droplets of moisture dripped onto my neck and chin. By now my cock was pulsating with anticipation.

Finally her pussy was hovering within an inch of my mouth. I tried to crane my neck to reach her, but she pushed her palms down on my head.

I could feel the heat of her on my face. Her wetness was evidenced by drops running down her thighs, some falling onto my chin, and then on my tongue, which I flicked up finding her to be just out of reach. I desperately wanted more of her sweet musky juices on my lips. She tasted of pure desire.

She pivoted her pelvis down until I felt the soft warm touch of her pussy full on my face. I instinctively tried to pry my arms free to grab her hips, but she held firm.

She rocked slowly forwards, then back, soaking my face in her delectable juices. As her pussy ground over my lips, I swirled my tongue out in a circular motion, finding her labia and then her vagina. The tip of my tongue entered her and I heard soft groans of pleasure as her head tilted back.

She was moving her hips faster, more urgently, a steady chorus of sighs escaping her lips. I could no longer control where my tongue explored. My mouth and much of my face were passengers, being used for her pleasure.

As her cadence increased so did the squelching of her lubricated pussy rubbing against me. My arms were still firmly anchored, but I started grinding my hips as my arousal escalated.

Her moans grew loader now, a steady "ahh ahh," synchronised with the rhythm of her hips.

The pitch of her moan increased. She leaned her body back bracing her weight behind her by placing one hand on my upper leg. The other hand fumbled and gripped my cock through my slacks, pressing it down opposite to it's natural direction. While slightly painful I gasped at the pleasure it caused.

Her rhythm became more urgent and I found myself gasping for air in short bursts as her wild pussy ground on me with increased pressure.

"Oh fuck!" she exclaimed, the last "kggh" sound lingering in her throat as her mouth opened in a silent scream. Her grip around my cock tightened, her rocking stopped and she crushed her spasming pussy into my face. A single jerking motion down on my cock sent me over the edge and I let go a cry of pleasure as I came, my contractions fighting against her tight grip.

The moments of mutual ecstasy faded into relaxed content. Her grip loosened and she raised herself, stepping over me. She picked up her underwear and stepped in behind her desk.

Taking this as my cue I raised myself, noticing the somewhat embarrassing wet patches decorating the front of my pants.

As I was trying to find some words, she beat me to it. "Will you require a follow-up session, Mr Stevens?"

"I... um. Well... I think so, yes," I managed in clumsy response.

"Next week same time?"

She looked at me nonchalantly, like this had been a perfectly regular therapy session.

"Well... ok."

A wry smile. "Good, see you then. Please leave the door open."

And in a daze I stumbled out.

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Part 2 coming soon.