2 comments/ 17606 views/ 1 favorites Dragon Lady By: Hornyman69WithU When I was much younger, in the early part of my career at a well-known Fortune 50 company, I worked for a lady named Joyce who was a total and complete bitch. She was the type of manager who enjoyed making her subordinates feel insignificant, never allowing them to make even the smallest decision. Our administrative assistant, who had worked for her for years, called her Dragon Lady, a perfectly fitting nickname. Joyce was a red head in her mid-40s and had a very nice figure, though her bitchiness effectively negated her good looks. One evening we were alone in her office working late together and she was in a rare good mood. She actually broke a rule--first time I'd ever seen that--and lit up a cigarette at her desk. Was that ever unlike Mrs. Policy & Procedure. We're actually enjoying working together for the first time ever. She was seated at her desk, and I was standing beside her. I used the tool to remove a staple from some documents and it snapped off, going I didn't know where. A few moments later I glanced down to some documents directly in front of her on her desk, and I could not help but notice that the top three buttons on the peach silk blouse she wore were undone. A professional woman, she'd never before had more than the top button unfastened. I could see her large 36DD breasts straining against the sheer material of her bra, a front-clasp type so sheer that I could also clearly see her large red nipples. Something twitched in the vicinity of my penis. Then Joyce leaned forward to tap her cigarette into the ashtray I had just fashioned from an old ink stamp pad when I discovered where the staple went. There the little fastener lay on the bare part of her left breast, just above the edge of the bra. Another twitch in my crotch. Should I say something to her about the sharp object? It could potentially stick her. No. Saying anything would indicate I'd been looking down her top, which was inappropriate. Let it go. We continued working, I still standing in the same place and handing her papers as she chatted pleasantly away, so out of character for The Dragon Lady. The next time she leaned forward, it was to extinguish the cigarette, and as she ground it out, I looked down her blouse again to see that this position caused the top edge of the bra to gap a bit away from her breast and allow it to jiggle more freely. The jiggling caused the staple to slide down into the cup of the bra. As she leaned back, I just glimpsed that the shiny staple had lodged right over her nipple, before the blouse obscured it. Twitch, twitch. We continued working, and I took a seat in a chair facing her desk. I had never seen Joyce in such positive spirits. She was being such a pleasure to work with this evening. She lit up another cigarette and offered me one. I rarely smoked, but I took it, and she lit it for me. She leaned way back in her executive desk chair and stretched her arms back. "Ouch, something's bothering me," she said, grasping at her breast. What was I to say now? Certainly not, "Oh, that's just the staple I lost a few minutes ago. I noticed it was stuck in your bra over your nipple, but I didn't say anything." Apparently, grasping at the site of the pain only poked the staple in deeper. "Oh my God, A spider or something is biting my breast!" She snatched the remaining buttons loose on the blouse, revealing both magnificent breasts nestled within the sheer bra, as she tried to locate the problem. Twitch, twitch, twitch. Obviously in considerable pain, she cried out again and unsnapped the bra. Her big, full breasts tumbled out like two ripe cantaloupes and, oh, they were picture-perfect, so firm, so nicely shaped, with the brightest, fire-engine-red nipples I've ever seen. Stuck on the left one was the staple. Twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch. In all the confusion, we had left our cigarettes burning in the stamp pad, which caught fire and was now making like a combo smoke & stink bomb. At first Joyce tried to pull her blouse together, but then she shrieked (that pesky sharp staple again), and tore off the blouse and bra together in one motion just before I knocked the smoldering stamp pad into the garbage can, which, full of paper, promptly made for a bigger fire. Now completely topless, she ran into my adjoining office, grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall, and discharged it into the now flaming garbage can. I'd never seen such big, nice tits bounce and jiggle and sway and bounce some more as Joyce's did in that one minute. Twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch. With the fire out, Joyce dropped the extinguisher and plopped back into her big chair, breathing heavily and boobs heaving. "Well, here I've been bitten by a woman-eating spider, stripped half-naked, caught the office on fire, and acted like a fool," she said, we both laughing hysterically. Although she did not seem particularly concerned now about being topless, and I was certainly enjoying the view, it was nevertheless awkward for me, so I looked around for her blouse. It was not on the floor or on top of or underneath her desk. She stood up and looked behind her chair. I checked the garbage can. Ah, there was what was left of the silk blouse and bra, a crispy brown mass of ashes and extinguant, ruined. I picked them up between thumb and forefinger. "Care to slip these back on?" I teased. She and I both cracked up in hysterics again, she leaning into me. My hand brushed her big, laugh-vibrating breast, the big red nipple thumping across the backs of my fingers. It felt good. Correction, very good. On the top of that sizable nipple, I noticed two tiny drops of blood centered in little whelps, presumably caused by the errant staple, that veritably begged to be sucked clean. Twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch. "I don't know about you, but I could use a couple or three strong drinks right now. Wanna join me?" she posited, jutting her bare tits up and out. She could have not made her intentions more clear had she said, "Let's go fuck, sonny boy." OK. Decision time. "Good idea, but look at the time. I gotta get home to the wifey. I've got an extra company golf shirt in my desk you can wear home." When I pulled out the bottom drawer to get it, there lay the company Polaroid camera, loaded with film, ready to go. Looking back at Joyce through the doorway, I saw her with a freshly lit Benson & Hedges 100 in one hand and the other cupped beneath her left breast as she gazed down at the wounded nipple, her lips pursed in a sultry expression. Would that have ever made a priceless photograph! But, alas, the camera actuated the flash whenever the shutter was clicked, and I, of course, could not take a pic and incur her certain wrath. Damn, had I not been married, I would have gone for her, despite her being my boss. Sexual harassment? Since Joyce was my supervisor, it was she who was taking all the risk, and I could have held that sword of Damocles over her to completely change our working relationship. But, then again, maybe a little young cock (not to be confused with a young little cock!) would have altogether cured her bitchiness. Besides, I'd never done a Dragon Lady before. Twitch. Dragon Lady It had a been a really dull morning's work sitting in a seemingly never-ending meeting listening to people I didn't really like arguing about things I really didn't care about. The only redeeming issue was that someone was paying me handsomely to be there, so I stayed, and ultimately it turned out to be a good deal more interesting than I expected. The purchaser's solicitor was, to my way of thinking, being particularly and unnecessarily difficult about a host of minor details involved in the transaction at issue. My client had at best a peripheral interest in the matter, so I had been instructed to simply observe and not to enter into the debate, which was good because, as I said, the purchaser's solicitor was being an utter bitch about things and actually having to deal with her, as opposed to merely observing, would have been most unpleasant. To be honest, I would have to go back to my notes to dig out her name, because very early in the proceedings I began to think of her as "Dragon Lady," and that name stuck in my mind to the exclusion of whatever her real name was. One thing I did observe from the outset of the meeting and throughout its dreary and painful course was that Dragon Lady, although a royal pain in the ass, was quite attractive. Admittedly, she was likely a good ten years older than me (perhaps forty, although I would never have had the courage to suggest that to her), but it appeared to be a well-preserved forty years. She was tall, with dark brown hair, even features, and long, trim legs. She had large brown eyes and wore just enough make-up to accentuate her attractive features. Now I know that sounds like the beginning of an all too common description of a stereotypical attractive woman, but I swear it's accurate. Unfortunately, I can't provide the rest of the details that I am sure you crave, because she was dressed in the typical female solicitor's dark blue suit. I swear those suits were originally designed by some sadistic bluenose (perhaps a Calvinist minister?) to hide just about every attractive feature a woman could have. In the afternoon my mind had begun to wander, and the only thing it wanted to think about was sex. In particular, I was focused on speculation about the size and shape of Dragon Lady's breasts, which were of course thoroughly encased in her ultra-conservative business suit. Nonetheless, my imagination created a set of most attractive breasts that it endowed Dragon Lady with, and my mind kept wandering back to how much fun it would be to fondle this hypothetical set of breasts and tease the nipples that capped them with my tongue. My mind wandered onward from there to speculation about her legs and the playground at their top. While I could only speculate about her breasts, there was a bit more of her legs on display. Her dark blue business suit included a matching skirt that was hemmed just above her knees, exposing a very attractive pair of calves and ankles clad in a pair of black stockings. When she was seated the hemline of the dress crept further up her legs exposing a little more of her thighs. Her calves were firm and perfectly shaped (a runner perhaps?), and she wore a pair of black pumps with heels that were perhaps half an inch or an inch taller than would be called for by the strict, conservative dress code the rest of her clothes conformed to, but did wonders for the shape of her calves and the angle of her butt to her tightly-pinched waist. My attention returned repeatedly to her pumps and their stiletto heels (I wondered if perhaps I might have a minor shoe fetish?). I couldn't help but speculate on why a woman as strictly and conservatively dressed as the Dragon Lady would elect the extra height in her heels. She had to be at least 5 foot 8 without the heels, so I doubted it was simply a need to appear taller. Being an eternal optimist, I let myself conclude her shoe choice was a manifestation of an inner, perhaps sublimated, desire to project her sexual self. As I pursued that line of thought, I let my mind spin out a fantasy in which she stood before me, her back to the conference room table, slowly stripping off her conservative external appearance. First she removed the dark jacket and dropped it to the floor near her feet. As soon as the jacket was removed, I could see that her bosom was a full one, but the details remained tantalizingly out of sight, hidden by a stiffly starched white blouse that buttoned all the way to her throat. Then Dragon Lady began to shed the blouse, starting at her throat with each button slowly opened until only the tails of the blouse tucked into her skirt kept it from falling completely open of its own accord. She pulled just enough of the tails from beneath the skirt to allow me to see the swelling of her breasts above the lacy bra she wore. As she did this her large brown eyes stared intently at mine, telling me that I was the only thing of importance to her at this moment. She slowly peeled off the librarian-style reading glasses and dropped them on the jacket near her feet. Then she paused the removal of her conservative exterior to reach behind her head and release the clips that kept her long chestnut hair stacked in a knot atop her head. Her hair was thick and luminous, almost like a model for a shampoo commercial. She shook her head, and the hair fell to her shoulders, obscuring much of her face at first. She raised her hands and pushed the hair back from her face, pressing her creamy white breasts forward as she did so. That pulled a bit more of her unbuttoned blouse from its moorings at the top of her skirt, exposing more of her swelling breasts and lacy bra. I could just perceive the slightly darker circle of her areolas and nipples through the minimal opacity of the bra's lacy fabric. They were tantalizing. Once she had let her hair down, her attention returned to the blouse as she pulled the tails from her skirt and then slowly removed it completely, letting it slip to the floor alongside the jacket. Now she was standing before me naked above the waist except for the lacy bra, which covered only the bare minimum of her breasts necessary to provide support. She raised her hands to her breasts and cupped them, rubbing the nipples through the thin material with her thumbs until they were fully erect and pressing firmly outward beneath the thin fabric of the bra. Looking straight at me, she hooked a pair of fingers into the top of each bra cup, stretched the fabric away from her breasts and pulled it down so that her breasts were still supported by the bra but no longer covered. Having now fully exposed her breasts, she resumed her fondling of them and escalated her assault on her nipples by pinching each between a thumb and forefinger and pulling them firmly away from her breasts. As she did so, she closed her eyes briefly, and I could hear her suck air through her pursed lips in response to the sexual pulse that her abuse of her nipples sent through her. Having fully exposed her upper body she turned away from me and stood for a moment, her dark-hose-clad legs spread broadly, still balanced on her black spike heeled pumps. She slowly released the catch holding her bra in place. With her back to me I took the opportunity to adjust my trousers so that my now rigid erection was in a more comfortable, albeit obvious, position. Eventually, she fully released the bra and then slowly dropped it atop the blouse and jacket at her feet. Now she was naked from the waist up, still with her back to me. Her hands appeared to have returned to massaging her breasts. She leaned sharply forward at the waist until her hands touched the floor with her legs straight and still widely spread. This pulled her dark wool skirt a bit farther up on her legs, exposing the beginnings of what appeared to be a very long, trim pair of thighs, but not high enough to answer my question of whether she was wearing thigh-highs or panty hose. In any case, her thighs appeared to be as trim and shapely as her calves. The posture also fully displayed her still fabric bound, but nonetheless shapely, ass. It was rounded and full but not so broad as to be excessive. She held that position for a moment and then rotated slowly at the waist so that one side of her nude upper body began to appear from beside her leg. Her long beautiful hair hung down so as to completely obscure her face, but I could clearly see one of her tantalizing breasts hanging down beneath her chest. She reached up with one hand and pushed her hair aside so she could look at me, and she slowly and sensually licked her lips while she maintained her stare at me. The hand that had cleared her hair was now pinching the nipple on the breast that her position was showing me. So fucking erotic! My dick twitched involuntarily beneath my trousers. Then she stood fully erect again, with her naked back still facing me. She pulled her feet together and then wiggled her hips back and forth a couple of times in a motion I assume was intended to focus my attention solely on her shapely ass. It was a move I thoroughly enjoyed but was, I can assure you, totally unnecessary. Having satisfied herself that she had my undivided attention, she released the button at the back of her skirt and then slowly dragged the zipper downward. She held the skirt closed for a moment and then, shaking her hips seductively, let the skirt fall to her feet, using one foot to add it to the pile of previously shed garments. Oh god, her legs were fabulous—long and lean, but well muscled and a creamy white above her thigh high black stockings—the same creamy white as her breasts and the rest of her upper body. Her skin was flawless. She wore a belt to hold up the stockings, but no panties. My suspicions confirmed! The cold bitchy external face Dragon Lady had presented to the deal group throughout the day was a cover-up for what now appeared to be a smoldering sexuality. The tall heels were a hint. The lack of panties was confirmation. Once she had kicked the skirt to her pile of clothes, she again bent deeply from the waist, with her legs spread widely. Her posture exposed her fully shaved pussy. She was obviously aroused, her lips swollen, red, and glistening with secretions from her cunt. After giving me a long look from between her widely spread legs, she stood and pirouetted so that she again was facing me. She again spread her legs widely and then leaned back against the conference room table, her hands on the table and her hips and sex thrust forward at me. She had resumed her stare, but now it was at the bulge beneath my trousers. She ran a finger up her glistening slit as her long tongue snaked out of her mouth to again lick her lips. Dragon Lady gasped when the finger grazed her clit. She continued to stare directly at me. My dick twitched again in response. Dragon Lady pulled her hips up on the table, so she was sitting on it, one pump dangling tantalizingly from a toe, and the other leg spread lewdly to the side with its spike-heeled pump resting on the seat of a chair. Now she had both hands free to play with herself, and she used them to spread her outer pussy lips and fully expose her glistening inner lips. Then she began to slide two fingers into her pussy while the thumb of the other had lightly and repeatedly grazed her now-protruding engorged clit. At that moment, someone in the real world of the conference room rudely interrupted my erotic fantasy. I realized belatedly that someone had asked me a question. My boss had assured me that since I was simply there to observe, this would not happen. I was to be more or less invisible. But nonetheless, it had occurred, and now I was faced with having to figure out what was going on. Everyone was waiting politely for my response. Fortunately the individual was kind enough to repeat the question, as he and everyone else were obviously aware I had been paying no attention whatsoever. However, I had to mumble something largely nonresponsive, because my fantasy about Dragon Lady had caused me to miss not only the first rendition of the question, but also the prior fifteen minutes of the proceedings. Fortunately, my client was really irrelevant to the matter under discussion at this meeting, so no one in the room really cared what I thought. At this point the lead lender's solicitor tactfully suggested that we take a short break. Everyone but Dragon Lady murmured their assent and quickly exited the room to gain a respite, albeit brief, from Dragon Lady's assault. As the room emptied, I realized the Dragon Lady was staring daggers at me (presumably for somehow upsetting the rhythm of here negotiation). I quickly followed the lead of the others, casually holding a file folder before me to hide the remnants of the hard-on generated by my erotic daydreaming. Although my boss had assured me that I wouldn't have to participate in a meaningful way in the meeting, I was sure that did not include a license to ignore the discussion in its entirety as I fantasized about Dragon Lady. I paid attention to the rest of the meeting, painful as it was. I even took notes, just to make sure my mind remained focused on the right issues. After the meeting broke up I grabbed a cab to the station in hopes of catching an early train back to London, but no such luck. The best I could do was a train leaving at 10:30, which wouldn't get me in until almost midnight. I grabbed some dinner along with a couple of drinks and sat in the station watching the few people still around milling about. Nothing particularly interesting there, except for one tall leggy brunette who was wearing what looked distressingly like the same dark lady's business suit that Dragon Lady had been wearing. I guess it was the drinks, but it looked a lot better on her than it had on Dragon Lady earlier in the day. Maybe it was the four-inch, black, fuck-me pumps she was wearing, which were a bit taller even than those Dragon Lady had been wearing that set me off on my ill-timed fantasy. She wandered off, and I went to the magazine rack to get a read for the trip home. I bought a pocket mystery, without enthusiasm, and then on a whim I bought a copy of Penthouse Letters. Maybe the train would be empty and I could then at least have something interesting to read. I got on the train and realized I had been ticketed for a compartment, apparently to myself. I flopped my briefcase on the seat next to me in hopes that if no else joined me I could read the Penthouse. It had been a dull day (aside from my brief foray into sexual fantasy about Dragon Lady and my resulting embarrassment at having my inattentiveness exposed to the whole group), so I thought I deserved some interesting reading. Just before the train pulled out, the door slid open and the tall brunette I had seen in the station stepped in and sat down across from me. She really was stunning but, to my dismay, she totally ignored me. Not so much as even a brief look so far as I could tell. A thought briefly crossed my mind. Was this tall brunette the Dragon Lady? No. Impossible, I thought. Even Dragon Lady would have said something to me, wouldn't she? And yes, the similarities were striking, but there were differences. Yes, the clothing was the same, but the stiletto pumps—they were definitely higher. And this woman looked younger, closer to my age. The makeup seemed different. Stronger, with darker eye shadow a much redder lip-gloss. It couldn't be Dragon Lady. But could she simply have changed her shoes and touched up her make-up after the meeting? And age, well that is always a hard thing to gauge. As she sat and crossed her legs, the suit dress pulled up well above her knees revealing a really outstanding pair of legs clad in black nylon. She peeled off the jacket, and I could see a really respectable pair of tits straining against the conservative white blouse and what appeared to be a lacy bra beneath it. They were at least as large as those I had imagined on Dragon Lady. I began to read my mystery book, but my focus was really on her. When she had entered the compartment she had put her briefcase on the shelf above her seat, withdrawing a newspaper from it before she sat. Now she was reading the newspaper, and I could just see the top of her face above it. She was wearing half frame reading glasses, just like Dragon Lady's. Nonsense, I thought. Those reading glasses are available everywhere for just a few dollars. It's not her! I couldn't see those luscious looking tits anymore, but I could certainly enjoy her long legs and fuck-me pumps. Every once in a while she shifted her position, and it seemed to me that her dress kept riding higher on her legs. This was confirmed when I realized could see the lace tops on her nylons. Very sexy! My dick was beginning to stir, and I had no idea what my novel was about. After about ten minutes she stood up, laying her newspaper down, and stepped out of the compartment, turning towards the loo as she exited. When I looked at her newspaper, I could see that there was a magazine folded in it. So she wasn't reading the Financial Times after all! My curiosity got the better of me, and I carefully lifted the newspaper so I could see what she was really reading. It was a piece of really lurid pornography, complete with the most explicit pictures of couples fucking, sucking, etc. I quickly and carefully placed the magazine back in the newspaper and retook my seat. I decided that if she was going to read that kind of stuff, I could read my Penthouse, so I got it out and was reading it when she returned. She looked at my magazine with a little start as she sat down and then quickly looked away from me. As she looked away, I thought I saw a smile on her lips. She knew she had been caught. My fear was that she would be pissed and get up and leave. She seemed to think for a moment, picked up her newspaper, and then set it back down on the seat alongside her leaving it unfolded and fully exposing the lurid material she had been reading. Standing, she retrieved her briefcase from the overhead rack, setting it on her seat as she opened it with her back to me. As she bent over her ass was only about a foot and a half from my face in the narrow compartment. It probably wasn't strictly necessary for her to bend over just the way she did (or for me to lean slightly forward, as I did), but I wasn't going to complain, especially because I thought she was doing it on purpose. God she had a great ass. Even nicer than Dragon Lady's ass, or was it Dragon Lady's ass? Couldn't be! She turned and sat down again, with another magazine in her hands, but as she sat she managed to cause her dress to slide much farther up her legs than it had been before. This time she made no pretense of hiding the raunchy pornography she was reading. She even folded the magazine in half so I could see the pictures on the page she wasn't reading. My cock had grown to rock hard by now. After awhile she moved the magazine far enough to her left so I could see that she had unbuttoned most of the buttons on the blouse. Still ignoring me, she slipped one hand into her blouse and began massaging her left breast through her bra. She occasionally changed hands so she could easily reach the alternate breast with the hand that had formerly been holding the magazine. Marvelously ambidextrous! She could masturbate her tits with either hand. After a few more minutes she reached up, unhooked her front clasping bra, and pushed it and her blouse away to the sides, giving me an unfettered view of her breasts and her unfettered access to them. The magazine was now lying in her lap, freeing both her hands to fondle her tits and ensuring my view was not blocked by her reading material. She continued to totally ignore me, focusing instead on the magazine in her lap. Occasionally, she briefly released one of her hands from their ministrations to her tits to turn a page. Dragon Lady By this time my cock had formed a tent in my trousers. I tried to adjust for more comfort, but I had to admit after a few tries, that what I was really doing was simply fondling myself through my clothing. On about my fourth effort, I realized that she was watching me fondle my cock. Busted! What the hell! I thought about it for a minute and began to fondle it more openly while I watched her play with her tits. Now that I was masturbating, she apparently found me more interesting than her magazine. She was starring openly at the lump in my trousers. Still she said nothing. After a few minutes of this kind of juicy foreplay, she upped the ante. She set her magazine on the seat along side her copy of the FT and pulled her oh-so-conservative black suit dress up around her hips. Just like Dragon Lady, she wasn't wearing any panties (well, like my fantasy of Dragon Lady). Had she shed them when she stepped out to the loo? No way to know. She slowly spread her legs and pushed her hips forward on the seat to show me her fully-shaved pussy. All pretense of ignoring me was gone as she stared directly at me, and I returned the eye contact. Then she took one hand off her tits and began to slowly drag it up and down her now glistening slit. As she did that, her outer lips swelled and pulled back, disclosing the treasures within. Each time her fingers reached the top of her slit she grazed her clit, which had enlarged so as to poke out from under its hood. Eventually she slid a couple of fingers into her wet gleaming pussy. She slid her hips farther forward so that she could get her fingers deep into her cunt. As she finger-fucked herself, it looked like she was raking her g-spot each time she withdrew her fingers. She closed her eyes each time she withdrew. "Well, if she's shown me hers, I guess I better show her mine," I thought as I undid my belt, unfastened my trousers and zipper and slid my trousers and boxers from beneath my hips. My cock sprang to attention; its tip glistening with pre-cum. Her eyes widened a bit as she realized how big my cock was, but beyond that, she gave no indication that anything had changed. I began to slowly stroke my cock, as she continued to finger-fuck herself. She kept her eyes wide open now, watching my fisting of my cock. When a large drop of pre-cum emerged from my cock, I used my fingers to swirl it about the head while I stared directly at her eyes. She smiled ever so slowly and then licked her lips as she held her fingers in her cunt, apparently pushing hard on the sensitive spot in its front wall. Things went on like that for about ten minutes with neither of us hurrying to reach our climax, until we heard our London station announced with a three-minute warning over the train's public address system. At this point she began finger-fucking herself much harder and faster with her right hand, while the other hand began rubbing her clit. I could see from the strained expression her face that it wouldn't be long before she climaxed. In response, I began stroking my cock much harder. Not wanting to make a mess, I reached across for her newspaper and set it on my knees to catch my cum. As the train began slowing, I could see her contract in a furious orgasm. She remained completely silent, but it seemed to go on forever. As soon as she began cumming, I felt myself begin to do the same, and I emptied an enormous stream of cum into her Financial Times. We both fell back in post-orgasmic stupor for a moment, but by then we could see the train was coming into the station so we quickly buttoned up to respectability. She flipped open her briefcase and returned her porn magazines and the FT to its interior, quickly closing and latching the lid. Then, apparently thinking better of her actions, she reopened the case, seemingly reorganizing its contents until satisfied whereupon she removed the FT and closed and latched the lid again, setting the folded newspaper atop the case. I likewise returned my magazine and my woefully ignored pocketbook to my briefcase. Neither of us said a word, although I did see a trace of a smile on her face as she put her hand atop her defiled FT. When the train stopped, she rose and left the compartment with the briefcase in one hand and the FT in the other. Being a gentleman, I let her exit the compartment first and followed her down the aisle and onto the platform. As we walked up the platform, she let me catch up and then linked an arm in mine, lightly pressing her breast against my upper arm. Her perfume was intoxicating. Still she said nothing. We walked through the station together and not a word was said, although she continued to lightly brush her breast against my arm. Finally, as we were about to exit towards the taxis, she turned to me and handed me the FT. "I think you'll have more use for this than me," she said with a smile. It was the most pleasant voice I had heard Dragon Lady use all day, but then, was it really Dragon Lady? Then she turned, stepped up to the first cab in the queue, ducked quickly through its rear door and, after a quick word to the cabby, drove off into the night. As the cab bore her away, I stood holding the FT. Never saw her again. It had been an extraordinary day, but I was becoming unsure which parts of it really happened and which were all in my mind. It was then that I noticed a very brief pair of sex-stained panties folded up in the Financial Times. I also noticed that the FT smelled faintly of her perfume, so perhaps some of it was real. Was it Dragon Lady in my train compartment? I'll never know. The deal cratered a couple of days later, and I never saw her again. I heard Dragon Lady moved to Australia.