The train pulled to a halt and he woke up with a start, he remembered where he was and how crazy he was for agreeing to meet her. The playful, charged chatting had slowly turned into something a little less playful, more earnest as she experimented with her influence over him.
She was surprised at how easy it was to please him, a little chat with him between the usual back and forth with her friends, a topless close up of her breasts with her nipples hard, and he would reciprocate with heartfelt e-mails of appreciation and the odd fantasy, carefully penned which she would read with some amusement and then forget as her real life went on around her.
It was after the last big fight with her boyfriend that she agreed to meet him. She was angry, and decided that the best way to resolve her anger and to break the envelope that he had tried to place around her would be to have a fling. Her thoughts turned to him, his patience and experience and her sense of control over him.
They met at the train station. He was nervous, overly polite, but she would catch him looking at her with a naked desire that made her a little nervous but giddy at the same time. She chose to wear a thin white cotton shirt with no bra, a calculated mixture of innocence and sexuality that she knew appealed to him.
The hotel door closed behind them, and it struck her that this wasn't a game any more. Her heart started to beat a little harder and he sensed her apprehension.
"It's OK," he said, "Come here, sweetheart," as he sat on the edge of the bed.