Chapter 27: Vidi, vici, veni

I fumbled for my watch.

"Christ! Is that the time?"

Gina, of course, was gazing ceilingward in glassy-eyed bliss and could not reply. I scrambled into my clothes and hailed a cab, and as it carried me to London Bridge Station I rang the client and gave some excuse for my lateness. This particular client was based in an inconveniently remote south-eastern suburb; the principal thing I remembered from my only previous visit was that there was evidently some kind of college in the area that specialised in African students, mainly female, because there had been a remarkably high proportion of attractive young black women about, gabbling to each other in unintelligible languages.

I was pleased to see, when I left the station at the other end, that the black girls were still very much in evidence but sadly I had no time to ogle them. I had to rush to the client's office, which fortunately was only a few minutes' walk away.

When I left, however, it was another story. I had checked the timetables and knew I had twenty minutes before the next train back to central London. My intention was to catch that train and go straight home where I knew Kylie would be happy to welcome me. I had no intention of entangling myself with pretty students, but there was no harm in hanging around for fifteen minutes or so and watching a few of them drift by.

There was a bookshop a few doors from the station that obviously catered for the college. I like bookshops, so I made my way inside and pretended to look at the shelves whilst casting appreciative sidelong glances at the delightful African scenery. I was careful, however, to keep moving and not settle close to anyone. Then I saw her.

There were a couple of things about her that instantly struck me.

They were attached to her chest.

They were simply enormous.

I am not saying she had big tits. The expression "big tits" does not begin to do justice to what she had. Alicia had "big tits" but this girl dwarfed Alicia. Instantly, FUCK-fuelled lust overrode everything else in my brain and I knew there and then that I had to have her. The only question was how.

As she approached me and walked by I took a better look at her. Like a lot of African girls, she was quite chunkily built, filling a pair of jeans very nicely. She was by no means, I had to admit, the prettiest girl in the shop; she looked rather sulky and preoccupied. But all these considerations were trivial compared with her tits.

She was wearing a man's rugby shirt of the traditional baggy variety. It was far, far too big for her and almost seemed to envelop her upper body except that it was relatively tight across the chest. She had tucked it into the jeans but because it was so big it hung very loosely around her. As she passed me I tried to see how much of the space within this huge shirt was occupied by her tits but it was difficult to tell, which I am sure is why she had chosen this particular garment.

I followed at a safe distance as she went to the Business Studies section and started to look through the shelves. This is, frankly, one of the least interesting sections of any bookshop but I too began to browse it. I tried to edge my way nearer to my quarry without attracting her attention.

It was my imagination, I know, but I could almost feel my FUCK-powered brain analysing her scent and working out how to synthesise the right pheromonal response. But surely I did not imagine the sensation of sweat beginning to seep out from my armpits and groin. I inched closer. She shifted a little away; was it coincidence? She had given no explicit sign, but I sensed she was aware of my nearness and felt crowded. I was in an agony of suspense. If I made another move toward her she might leave altogether, then what should I do? To try to show I was merely another customer I picked a couple of books randomly off the shelf in front of me, then moved a little away from her.

That her shift had not been coincidental was shown when she responded to my move away by edging back to her original position. But it was a fatal misstep. She could not have dreamt that by that tiny adjustment of place she had changed the whole course of her young life. For it meant that the innocent act of replacing the books I had removed would involve reaching across in front of her face. Watching her mighty chest rise and fall, I waited until she had breathed out and then, almost trembling with excitement and desire, I reached over and replaced the books just as she inhaled.

My timing was perfect and the response was immediate. She took a normal inward breath but then, as I pretended to have some trouble slotting the book back into place so that I could stay leaning towards her with my arm extended in front of her face, she suddenly, without exhaling, drew in air greedily until her lungs were full and her chest rose so high that it seemed to extend horizontally in front of her. She held that breath for a long time, and when the exhalation finally came it was like a slow longing sigh.

It was all I could do to stop myself from punching the air with a yell of triumph. The indications were tiny — no one else in the shop would have noticed anything unusual — but I knew that I had hooked my fish. She slowly turned her head to look at me as if for the first time. Her sulky expression was replaced by a nervous faraway smile that improved her appearance enormously, and in her eyes was that tell-tale sparkle. I pretended to be unaware of her while she started to edge closer.

She was almost touching me now, picking out books and pretending to look at them while inching still nearer. I could easily hear her breathing, which was very slow and very, very deep. When she removed a book I saw her hand was shaking. To confirm that she was mine I abruptly left the boring Business Studies section and headed for Science, where there were some interesting-looking books on astronomy. I could see out of the corner of my eye as I walked across the shop that my departure seemed to leave her at a total loss for a moment; then she too suddenly discovered an interest in the stars and hurried after me. As I browsed she again took up position as close as she decently could (rather closer, in fact) and the same thing happened when I switched my attention to Modern European History.

My train was due soon. To give her plenty of notice of my intention to leave I very deliberately retraced my steps and like a conscientious customer I returned the various books I had collected to their proper places. With a look of alarm she hastened over to Economics where she engaged in a hurried whispered conversation with a young black man, apparently also a student. This was a surprise; I had not realised she was with someone. He was a big strapping lad, too, well over six foot and powerfully built; almost certainly he was the original owner of the rugby shirt. "Lucky boy," I said under my breath, thinking of the pleasure that incredible bosom must have been giving him. "But," I added, "your luck's just run out."

Obviously she was giving him some excuse for suddenly leaving and he did not like it, but in the end with an irritated gesture he dismissed her not only from the bookshop but also, had he known it, from his life. I left the shop and took a slow walk to the station so that she would have no trouble keeping up.

When the train arrived she got on the same carriage but at the opposite end, sitting so she could keep an eye on me. No one else would have imagined there was any connexion between us but we were joined by an invisible chain. At London Bridge I transferred to the tube, again taking my time, and once more she boarded the same carriage.

When we got to my station I walked slowly home, glancing back every so often to see a top-heavy black girl following at a safe distance through a part of London that was presumably entirely strange to her. As I opened my front door I saw her standing on the other side of the road, watching me. I hurried to an upstairs window to see what she would do next. It did not escape me that Alicia had said she would have behaved like this, but she had not been able to say what she would have done if she had succeeded in following me home; maybe now I should find out.

The poor confused girl merely stood there for a long time, staring at the house. Eventually she sat on someone's low garden wall and still she stared. I was just beginning to think I ought to go out and talk to her when she slowly stood up and, after another long look at the house, terrified me by taking a couple of hesitant steps back in the direction of the station. I was about to rush out and intercept her when she changed her mind and sat on the wall again.

Long minutes passed as I watched her. Then she abruptly stood up, with much greater resolution this time, and marched briskly across the road directly toward the house. She had made her decision.

I rushed downstairs and opened the door the instant she knocked. When she saw me she looked overwhelmed; I stood elaborately to one side and gestured her to come in. She complied, stumbling on the step. Her head lowered and held to one side, she would not look directly at me, and she seemed to be hyperventilating. Still no word had passed between us.

Now that I saw her so close her incredible chest seemed huger than ever. Almost without conscious thought, more in obedience to the rampant erection that told me I had to have her, I took three steps up the stairs. She made as if to follow me. Needing no more encouragement I went upstairs and she more hesitantly followed.

In the bedroom I started to undress. Now she did look at me, her eyes wide with fear and confusion, but she made no move either to remove her own clothes or to leave. When I removed my trousers her eyes fixed on my massive throbbing cock and opened yet wider. Her breathing was now even more laboured. She shook her head slowly back and forth and for a moment I thought she was about to speak.

Then, slowly, never taking her eyes off my cock, she bent down to manoeuvre her feet out of the black boots she was wearing, the unbalancing effect of her tits forcing her to put a hand against the wall to steady herself. Then she stood upright again and unfastened her jeans, easing them past the curve of her buttocks and down to the ground. The huge rugby shirt now hung free, its front dangling far in front of her belly. As I removed the last of my clothing she gathered up the enveloping shirt in her hands and lifted it above her head.