It had started out just like any other Friday, rush hour was well under way and Molly Frith had already picked two pockets by the time she arrived at Victoria Station. She worked the main concourse for twenty minutes or so, before jumping into a black cab and heading over to the city where the richest pickings were to be had. She always took taxis, unless she was following a mark, because the public transport system was full of criminals.
Molly had been dipping professionally, in her own inimitable way, since she was fifteen and she had it down to a fine art. She had honed her skills on the Paris Metro where she was known locally as ‘la main d’or’ until she had her heart broken by a French Lothario and moved back to London.
Meanwhile, south of the river, Nicholas Sackworth was running late. He had slept in for the second time that week and he had an important meeting at ten that he hadn’t even begun preparing for. He was also suffering from a splitting headache caused by one too many tequilas the night before and he wasn’t sure, because his memory hadn’t sobered up yet, but he thought he’d argued with his wife at some point in the last twelve hours because when he woke up he was on the sofa. Despite his thundering migraine he’d had to run for his train and only just managed to slip through the automatic doors as they were beeping shut. There were no seats left so he leaned against the glass partition and closed his eyes while the train cut through South London towards the City.
As Molly sped along The Embankment in the back of a hackney cab, she was planning the rest of her day. Brunch with girlfriends at The Ivy, shopping at Harvey Nichols for a new outfit and a gallery opening at seven for yet another YBA. It was a lot to fit in and, unbeknown to her society friends, it was all paid for by crime. She did not look like a pickpocket. Her clothes, amongst other things, reeked of money, they had to, they were a tool of the trade and they allowed her to melt seamlessly into the crowds of commuters that she worked five days a week. They were also her get-out-of-jail card. As on the rare occasion that she did get caught, what overworked, stressed out, ex-public schoolboy could resist her raven black hair, five inch Louboutins and custom made, seamed stockings? None so far, that’s for sure.
Nicholas spent his fifteen-minute journey, as usual, drifting in and out of a waking dream where he was tied to a bed by a beautiful woman, naked bar silk stockings and stilettos, who explored his body at her whim. It was only when the train pulled into the station and the doors jolted open that he woke up with a start, his dream was long gone but a throbbing erection in his pants was still there to remind him.
Against his will, he was herded onto the platform by a wave of commuters. His hard-on was still burning into his hip and work was the last thing on his mind, until he caught sight of the time and the real world came crashing down on him. He still had not prepared for his meeting and he was running late. His erection subsided and he desperately wanted a cigarette. As soon as he was through the barriers, he headed to the nearest shop and bought ten Marlboro. A tinge of guilt hit him but his wife would never know and he could always give up again tomorrow.
London Bridge was still heaving when Molly arrived, just the way she liked it, overcrowded and anonymous, perfect pickpocketing territory and popular too. Molly had already spotted three other run-of-the-mill dippers working the crowds, hiding their intent behind a folded jacket or unread newspaper. They stood out like sore thumbs and she knew the police would be watching them. So for her own good she moved to the other side of the station, positioned herself under the announcement board and kept her eyes peeled.
Nicholas lit a cigarette on his way out of the shop. It was his first of the day and he savoured every drag. It was the fags that he had argued about with his wife last night. Something about sperm counts and starting a family. This last bit made him laugh because they would have to be fucking to start a family and they hadn’t done that in weeks. And it was nothing to do with smoking or sperm counts, it was her constant bickering that was putting him off. It wasn’t a nicotine patch he needed; it was a Scold’s bridle to shut her up. They had only been married two years and both of them knew they’d settled for each other out of desperation because the inevitable onslaught of the big four-o was bearing down on them and all their friends were married. Then, by a process of elimination, they had ended up sitting together at some party. The next thing he knew they were engaged, then they were married, and now she wants a baby and he has no idea how he got stuck in such a big rut. Nicholas took a drag of his cigarette and drew the comforting, rebellious smoke deep down into his lungs.
Molly scanned the station and within seconds she had found her mark. He was standing at the nape of the escalators hungrily smoking a cigarette. Experience told her that he had other things on his mind and would be an easy lift. He was tall, in his mid-thirties and well dressed, just Molly’s type and she watched his every move with the eyes of a hunter.
Nicholas checked his watch out of habit, time was getting on so he threw his cigarette butt away and headed into the tube.
When Molly saw him disappear into the underground, she knew she had picked well. Instinct told her to follow him, but she had to move fast. She trotted across the station in her spike heeled Louboutins, stepping over his discarded dog end and tailgated him down the escalator.
That morning’s argument with his wife was beginning to come back to Nicholas and it all sounded so familiar. He knew having a baby would be a big mistake and he knew his wife only wanted to fill the gap left by the job she gave up when they got married. He knew something else too: he didn’t love her. They had nothing in common and this thought swam round and round his head as the escalator plunged him deeper into the tube network.
Molly followed him down into the surreal depths of the Northern Line, thanking her lucky stars that he had bypassed the Jubilee Line because there were far too many security cameras on that platform for comfort. A sea of heads stretched out in front of her but she was focussed and never lost sight of his dark brown hair bobbing above the crowd. She felt at home weaving through the subterranean network of tunnels that connects London. The tube had always been her favourite hunting ground. It did half the work for you because people expected to be bustled and pushed up against, especially in rush hour, so her deft hand could easily go unnoticed as it slipped in and out of unsuspecting men’s pockets.
Nicholas squeezed through the crowds banking up on the northbound platform and waited. He should have used the down time to go through his notes for the meeting but fleeting glimpses of the girl in stockings and hardcore bondage kept infiltrating his minds eye and he couldn’t concentrate on anything else. His cock was stirring in his pants again and he threw willpower to the wind and let the fanciful Lolita have her wicked way with him for the second time that day.
As Molly entered the platform a train pulled in and she only just managed to squeeze into the carriage behind her mark. She fanned him without anyone noticing and decided that his wallet could be in either of his two front trouser pockets, both were carrying something of comparable size and she had a fifty-fifty chance of entering the right pocket first time.
The doors closed and as the carriage jerked off she tipped forward onto her toes and jutted her breasts into his back. She felt his feet adjust, strengthening his balance and he leaned back into her, increasing the pressure between her nipples and his shoulder blades. First contact had been made and in five seconds he would be used to the pressure of her body against his.
Nicholas was oblivious to the young woman pressing up against him, the tube was always overcrowded and he was used to being jostled every morning. Besides, by that point his fantasy was in full swing and he was too busy wishing he were somewhere else, somewhere private where he could give his erection the attention it demanded, to notice anything happening around him.
As they entered the tunnel and darkness swamped the train Molly’s hand entered his left trouser pocket. Her touch was light, the lightest, and she was sure that he hadn’t felt a thing. She had expected her polished, carmine fingertips to find his wallet straight away and whip it in a split second but she was momentarily thrown when they rested on his erect penis. She knew she had to be professional about this but his cock was throbbing hypnotically beneath her fingertips and there was no way that he could have failed to notice her hand cupping the tip of his erection. Yet, he hadn’t even flinched.
Nicholas had noticed but the shock of feeling someone else’s fingers on him, on the tube, at twenty past nine in the morning, made him freeze. He knew he should have turned round and demanded to know what was going on but something was stopping him. The touch was so charged that his blood ran through his veins like electric. He was putty in her hands as succumbed completely to her touch.
When Molly sensed his submission it set her pulse racing. As she gently squeezed him and his breathing deepened, she realised that she had complete control. With this free reign, Molly started to run her nails over his cock, the lining of his trousers was as thin as silk and she could feel every ridge and vein as she probed deeper and deeper into his pocket.
For months Nicholas had fantasised about an anonymous encounter like this to liven up his dull existence and now his dream was coming true.
Molly had him in the palm of her hand and she basked in the sense of power it gave her. It was electrifying and she could feel her cunt throbbing against the lace of her pants. She squeezed her thighs together putting gentle pressure on her vulva. The rocking of the carriage masked her movement as she worked her hand up and down the length of his cock. She allowed her blood red nails to play over the marshmallow softness of his glans as it strained against his trousers and she dragged at the inside of his pocket with her hundred pound manicure, desperate to feel his naked flesh.
Nicholas desperately wanted to see who was touching him so exquisitely but he was scared that if he turned round it would stop and she would disappear into thin air. Eventually, unable to resist, he strained his eyes to the side as far as he could without moving his neck and caught a glimpse of her shoes and stockings reflected in the door. It was enough to send his libido hurtling into orbit. He lifted his briefcase to waist height providing her with a shield to work behind as she pushed his foreskin to and fro with energetic relish.
Molly pulled him towards her and picked up the pace. She pushed herself into his back and parted her legs, forcing her pudendum into his gyrating arse as it buffeted backwards and forwards. She gritted her teeth and wave after wave of unrestrained pleasure started to swamp her body as she hungrily allowed her other hand to wander round his waist and over his taut torso.
Nicholas could feel her thrusting and the more she thrust the more disengaged he became with the world around him. His heart was pounding against his chest. He started moving with her, swaying his hips in time with her strokes while rapid, rhythmic contractions swirled round the base of his penis and his pelvis contracted. He had reached ejaculatory inevitability and there was no going back now.
Molly was unable to control herself any longer and she slipped her fingers down the waistband of her skirt and cupped her cunt tightly in her hand. She was already slick and needed only the slightest bit of pressure, expertly applied, to tease out an orgasm. She came easily, without batting an eyelid or missing a stroke and as the train hurtled through the tunnel her mark hurtled towards his orgasm.
Nicholas felt his whole body tense in anticipation as he lost himself in the moment. The last thing he remembered before he was hurled into the vortex of his own climax was her body spasming against his and as the train pulled into the station he came, and came, and came.
Molly felt his warm cum as it seeped through his pocket and as his cock went limp she silently withdrew her hand. The train came to a standstill and Molly slipped out quietly. She knew that it would have been awkward otherwise, and anyway, what else could she have done? Introduced herself, made small talk, exchanged phone numbers. No, she was sure she had done the right thing.
Nicholas was spent, and it took a moment for him to compose himself. Part of him felt cheap but his heart was pounding and his mind was racing. He couldn’t make sense of anything that had happened but it had been exhilarating and he was hooked. He wanted more, to follow her, to thank her, to see her again perhaps, but she had already disappeared and he knew it was over.
Molly opened her bag on the escalator and took the wallet out. Black leather, soft, expensive. She stroked it before opening it up taking out his Visa card. Nicholas Sackworth, he had a name now. There was a photo too and for some reason she couldn’t put it down. She stared at it all the way up the escalator, memorising his face, desperately looking for clues to his life but it was just a passport photo and the orange backdrop told her nothing. Nevertheless she kept it and the eighty quid that she had found but threw the rest away in the nearest bin before stepping out into the road and hailing a taxi.
Illustration by Michael Faraday.