Non-Strangers On A Train

Night was starting to envelope the French countryside. The spectacular sunset was gone, and the first stars were starting to peek out. The shadows lengthened, covering the vineyards that stretched across the hills, and few and far-between, centuries old stone buildings nestled in those hills. Some looked abandoned, but as lights winked on here and there, others proved to be occupied. I watched the light fade from our 2nd class train car. I glanced at my companion, who was curled up beside me on the seat, dozing off, a travel guide precariously poised to slip from her fingers at any second. Eyelids closed, covering those beautiful eyes. Clear face calm, a little smile curling her lips, like she was reviewing the past days’ adventures. I gently brushed a lock of hair that had fallen over her forehead, and her smile seemed to widen almost imperceptibly. It’s funny what you notice at times like that, the tiny little scar on her brow, which I’d noticed dozens of times, usually while lovemaking or during conversations in restaurants, but somehow had never asked about. Some childhood injury? She wore a simple summer dress, not too touristy. Our backpacks would give us away as tourists right away though. I watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. That delightful body, which the dress molded. I could see the outline of her bra. Her delicate hands were in her lap, and the tour book seemed to be slipping more visibly by the second, so I removed it from her grasp and slid it into the narrow gap between us. Looking downward, her dress normally covered her knees, but it was starting to ride up from the way she was sitting. Exposing those great legs, slender but just a little plump in all the right places, until they disappeared into her soft boots. She was leaning back against the side of the train, by the window. I wished she had fallen asleep the other way, her head against my shoulder, but this way I could study her in repose. She looked very demure. Soft. Innocent. A far cry from the way she had looked in our Paris hotel room late yesterday afternoon. After a day of watching lovers clinging together, smooching in the various parks, we arrived back, sweaty and horny, and she had in seconds pulled the same outfit she was wearing now over her head, placed it carefully on a chair, followed by her bra and panties, and then jumped back onto the bed, spreading her legs wide, naked but for those boots, and without saying a word, gave me a smile that had little innocence in it. The warm sunlight played across her exquisite body, as it did for so many wanton girls, ready to be painted nude by one of the great Impressionists more than a century earlier. That same Paris sunlight warmed her body. I was already rampant, and, no doubt considerably less elegantly than she, tore my clothes off clumsily and climbed onto the bed, into her waiting embrace. Usually we spent a lot of time in foreplay, but this time her hands rested on the small of my back, her legs curled around me and linked behind my ass (And I momentarily wished she’d taken her boots off), and I slid into her, pumping furiously as our mouths devoured each other, so ravenous that we almost knocked heads in our frantic coupling. The bedsprings rocked, and her delicate cries and my less musical grunts soon filled the air, wafting out of our open 4th floor hotel window. Our bodies, already sweaty and dusty from our day’s exploring, were soon shining as our sweat mingled, pooling on her belly and between her breasts. Usually we were fairly gentle in our lovemaking, but we both were more forceful, my thrusts deep inside her causing her to slide backwards on the bed, until finally she unwrapped her arms behind me and instead grasped the metal headboard to keep her head from being knocked into it. Her strong arms locked, the muscles becoming distinct as she gripped, her knuckles whitening as she held on tight, pushing back against me to keep equilibrium with my thrusts, harder and harder and faster. Her expression had that look of fierce concentration, like during a hard workout – almost one of pain, though I knew otherwise. Her mouth was open, her lips curled back, almost a grimace, and her breathing was fast and heavy. At one point, I pulled back on one of my back thrusts, and glanced down between our bodies, past her breasts, where my cock was half inserted into her hungry little pussy, until I slid all of the way back in, closing the gap between our bodies until all was dark to my vision, and all was tight wet warmth below. I closed my eyes, my face in her damp hair, and kept thrusting, until we both came, crying out in a way that made us self-conscious later when walking back down the spiral staircase, wondering if the other residents had heard our passion. As had been our game, we tried not to talk in English, using only our pitiful French. “Mon Dieu!” she cried out again and again, until we both collapsed in a fit of giggles, which seemed both odd and wholly appropriate. “Formidable!” I gasped. Afterwards we lay on the bed, in the warm sunlight, tracing circles on each other’s bodies. She murmured, practicing her French, of which I could understand one word in ten, but I could tell she was practicing talking dirty… She grinned with the smile of a whore. Now, she looked as innocent as a child, asleep on the train. The beautiful body was the same, now more demurely cloaked, but it quickened my pulse, and I could already feel my cock twitching as it started to become erect, at the thought of what lay beneath this innocent exterior. I looked across the railroad compartment, and noticed the Frenchman sitting across from us was staring at her with a hunger that either saw through her innocent look or was fueled by it. Normally I might have felt a flash of jealousy, but instead I felt a childish pride… “Look what I’ve got!” I thought. I grinned across at him, and he gazed back at me, uncertain and uncomfortable, when he realized he’d been caught. He became more circumspect with his glances, but I could tell he was still mentally undressing her. I resisted the urge to pull her dress down over her knees, and wondered how much was visible from where he was sitting; could he see her panties? At least she was wearing them today. I think. Was she? Oh well, let him enjoy the show. I was feeling territorial, but generous. I got tired of locking eyes with him, so I closed my eyes as well. The train cars click-clicked monotonously but in a regular soothing rhythm. Less soothing were the occasional screeches of metal as something rubbed the wrong way. Occasionally too another train would come barreling by on the other track, causing a suction effect that buffeted our train car. Looking out the window as the other train shot by in the opposite direction, it was hard to believe it was far enough away that the two trains wouldn’t sideswipe each other. As we got further into the countryside, sometimes we’d zoom into a tunnel, and the air pressure would cause my ears to pop. My companion seemed to doze right through all of this. Now it was so dark I could hardly see her. I could still feel the gaze of the man across the compartment. Not on me, but on her. He wore all black, typical French fashion, and had about a week’s worth of beard growth. I imagined what he was mentally doing to her in his thoughts. She was probably being mentally buggered up the ass. In his thoughts, I had probably been pushed out the window, hopefully on a bridge over a river, to plummet to the water below, in one heart-stopping moment, only to hit the water and come up sputtering, shaking my fist and swearing revenge. Meanwhile, he had her on her knees on the filthy railway car floor, his hands twining in her hair as he fed her his cock. Her dress was pulled down to her waist, exposing her bare back and breasts; her bra was quickly torn off. Her hands were bound with a fashionable scarf she’d bought in Paris. Tears ran down her face, and yet, some part of her seemed to be enjoying this, as her eyes looked up at him, her mouth full. I clenched my fists in jealousy. Making my way across the French countryside, still sopping wet from my fall from the railway bridge, I commandeered an old World War I biplane from a nearby airfield. Soon, I found the silvery glint of the railway tracks in the moonlight. Following them, I leaped from the biplane onto the moving train, watching the plane veer off, pilotless, to explode in a brilliant fireball on the side of an ancient abandoned castle in ruins. I entered the access hatch from the roof to the toilet (Movies have taught me all European trains have access hatches in the toilets). I hurried along the corridor, desperately trying to get to her rescue before he entered her third and final orifice. By this time he probably had her bent over the seat, while he entered her from behind, fucking her pussy doggy-style. His hands reached around and squeezed her tits hard with each thrust, while her face was buried in the fabric of the seat. Leaping into the compartment, I prepared to fling him out through the same window, this time not bothering to open it. “Unhand her, get your member out of her, and give me the microfilm, you swine!” I snarled. But wait, I must have landed on the wrong car, this was a compartment full of French nuns, who looked at me agape as I burst in, rage in my eyes. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was only two nuns…young and attractive, but nuns nun-the-less. In their charge were a half dozen girls, high school age, all in pert schoolgirl outfits. Stifling giggles, they exchanged glances, and seemed to come to a consensus. Rising as one, they pulled me to the floor, and quickly begin stripping off my clothes, preparing to take their pent-up desires out on me. I drowned in a sea of female bodies, their hands running all over me, tugging off my clothes and exploring me fully. I weakly tried to protest, knowing I needed to get back to my compartment to effect the rescue. But I was soon pulled under the pack and ravished. I was jolted from my reverie as we screeched to a halt in some train station. The distant hiss of hydraulics could be heard. The Frenchman got up and left. Ok, maybe I have an overactive imagination. I peered through the darkness, trying to read the signs. Lights from the station illuminated our car, but I couldn’t spot any signs from my vantage point. My companion woke up. “Are we there yet?” she said teasingly. “No, far from it, we haven’t even crossed over into Germany yet.” She seemed to almost instantly go back to sleep, even before the 5 or 10 minutes passed before the train screeched and shook to motion again. I looked at her serene face, that hint of a smile soon curling her lips again. I can’t believe you let him do all that to you. And enjoyed it! I thought jealously. Illogically forgetting my own indescretions in my half-dream. Soon the train started up again, and we pulled out of the station, losing our light. It was now quite dark. I thought I’d try a little mental telepathy of my own. I concentrated on the shape of her face. Could I influence her dreams? I imagined plugging into her subconscious, my thoughts zooming down her neural pathways, firing off synapses, like some sort of cyberpunk loose in a computer network. Constructing a theater of the mind for her. I imagined invisible hands, tracing across the material of her dress, lifting it up, delicately tracing up her knee, her inner thighs. Until I found her panties, and my fingers burrowed under the elastic. Telekinesis now. I mentally lifted her ass up in the air, sliding her panties off, easier as they got to her more slender legs. Then sliding down to the floor, until I removed them from one foot, then the other. I mentally tossed them out the window; she wouldn’t be needing them anymore. My invisible touch traced back up her legs, lightly, like a whisper. To that beautiful pussy, shaved a few weeks before our trip, now growing back so far trimly and neatly. My invisible fingers worried around her, tracing the skin all around her pussy, inner thighs, her belly right below her naval but above the V of pussy, that tiny bit between her pussy and her asshole. I scratched lightly, teasingly, the way that drove her crazy. Now one invisible hand pushed the skin on either side of her pussy, spreading her lips apart. Now, at last, my other hand traced the folds of her pussy, teasing at her clit, fingers making light probes inside of her. Now I mentally placed my face between her legs, my teeth nibbled at her clit, my tongue teased along her pussy, tasting the familiar wetness of her inner self. I did this for a while, mental foreplay, wondering if I could be firing off anything in her dreams. About the time I was mentally sliding my cock into her, grasping her ankles and pushing her folded legs until her knees were pressed up against her breasts (Never mind that this was a gymnastic feat worthy of a Wallenda on the narrow padded railway seat), I drifted off to sleep myself. I don’t know whether I influenced her dreams, but I sure did mine. The next few hours were confused by half-sleep. Once a French conductor shook us awake, to see our tickets. Another time it was someone speaking German, wanting our passports, so we must have passed over the border. There was a couple in our car at one point, maybe for an hour or so, but they got off. Neither of them, as far as I know, telepathically made any mental advances on my companion, although I’m pretty sure the woman wanted me. Chortle! Sometime around midnight I woke up, and found her reading a novel by the dim light that could be switched on. Her beautiful, calm face, fixed in a look of serious concentration as she read, was illuminated. We were not alone in the car now; there was an older man in the far corner. It was noticeably cooler, and she had gotten the blanket out of my backpack, the one I had grumbled about packing. Right now though she was just using it as a loose shawl, part of which spilled over onto me. My fingers stole up under the blanket, and slid under her dress, where I had been mentally exploring before. She gave a surprised glance at me, but didn’t react, due to the audience. However, her body language beneath the blanket encouraged me; she tilted her body and spread her legs slightly, giving me better access. I changed position and leaned my head up against hers, like I was sleepily snuggling. Beneath the blanket, my fingers slid under her panties. I wished I could remove them, but I couldn’t. So I had to make do, trapping my fingers between the elastic and her pussy, sometimes pulling at the material to cause a delicious little friction, which I worked back and forth across her pussy and clit, like a carpenter using sandpaper in slow motion. It was getting to her, and she was trying not to react visibly; I could see her holding herself tighter, biting her lip, and closing her eyes with concentration. She continued to pretend she was reading, but it was not a very convincing effort. I must have kept this up for a half hour, and I could tell it was driving her crazy, she squirmed a little and looked straight ahead. My finger would trace around her pussy, around her clit, find her entrance and give her a little frig. I couldn’t go very deep, but it was tantalizing. She was succeeding in being silent, but I could tell she was fighting to keep from making all the little delightful noises she usually makes when I do this kind of stuff to her. Finally she gasped and stood up quickly, artfully pulling down her dress before the blanket exposed her and pulling away from my questing hand. “I…have to…use the bathroom, you know, be back soon…”

she murmured as she headed out. I looked over at the man, he was awake, and was watching us out of the curiosity of being the only thing to watch in a railway compartment, but I couldn’t tell if he knew what we were doing or not. I could smell her sex now. Or at least I thought I could. My hand felt warm, tingling with being so recently at her gateway. Caught red-handed with my finger in her cookie jar. I chatted with him a few minutes. My German was fairly terrible, but he knew English well. He was a businessman, traveling. Returning home after a business trip. Soon my companion returned, looking a little flushed. Although she’d tidied up a bit. She smiled prettily at the stranger, and joined our chat. Gradually we ran out of things to say and lapsed into a comfortable silence. I tried to steal my hand back her way, but the blanket wasn’t covering enough now. After a few minutes, the man smiled, said goodbye, and departed our compartment. I wasn’t sure if he knew what we were up to, or just figured we wanted some privacy. As soon as he left, she playfully bit my ear, and whispered into it. “You jerk, you had me about to come screaming. Then you made me have to pee so bad. I did that, and then had to frig myself off in the bathroom.” There was no real anger in her; she enjoyed the sexual predicament I’d placed her in. I raised my fingertips, that until recently had been gently probing inside of her. I put them in my mouth and sucked on them, tasting her faintly, and smiled. Then I took her fingers of one hand and lightly ran my tongue across them. She closed her eyes. Then she took my hand and began sucking my fingers. We were like two lovers entwining arms to sip at each other’s wineglasses. After a few minutes she switched off the light. I could see her silhouette in the darkness, against the window, where some light shown in. She slid up to me, and whispered fiercely in my ear, “Now, you warn me if another conductor comes looking for tickets or passports or whatever!” Then she slid down under the blanket. I could feel her head in my lap, and she first teased, running her mouth across my crotch, rubbing her head on my cock, with my pants still on. I could feel my cock harden. In short order she had unzipped my zipper, and fished my cock out through my boxers. I could see the shape of her head through the blanket, as her fingers grasped the base of my shaft, and her mouth took the head in. My balls were still inside my pants, but she worked the rest of my cock that she could access. I could feel her kiss up along the underside of my cock, then she’d suck on the head, and then her tongue would trace up and down the shaft, like she was painting a fence. I hoped she decided to give it a lot of extra coats. Her clever fingers all the while kept things interesting. After my earlier evening’s activities, I was already pretty worked up. It didn’t take too terribly long before I gasped and whispered to the shape of her head beneath the blanket, “I’m going to come!” She made a little muffled sign of approval and sucked harder, her fingertips stroking up and down my penis, coaxing my semen out, and making it clear she wanted it in her mouth. I watched in the darkness, where her waist and legs came out of the blanket, and wished I could reach that part of her. But I couldn’t, so I just sat back, watching her head bob under the blanket, and enjoyed the sensations. Finally I erupted in her mouth. She swallowed it down, and slowly my spurting subsided, and in the calm afterwards, as my breathing and heartbeat settled to something approximating their normal rates, she gently continued sucking for a few minutes, long after I was spent. The head of my cock was so sensitive now that it was like exquisite torture, pleasurable but just a little painful. My hand traced up and down her back. I could just reach where the blanket ended, and a bit of her dress, but not her ass. It wasn’t terribly long before I was erect again. She surfaced beneath the blanket, and switched the light on. She looked flushed and disheveled, beautiful but nervous, like someone after they’ve lost control, trying to figure out if she’d overdone it. Her face was shining, but her eyes were wild; she seemed a little jumpy. Embarrassed after the fact, wondering if she’d gone too far in a public place; fearing her earlier innocent facade was now gone; would she look to anyone who saw her like a wanton slut? Her hands rubbed together, then her fingertips traced over her lower face, like she was checking to see if she was still sticky. “Do I, you know…” she said, asking if she still had traces of my seed on her face. I took her face in my hands and kissed her. She had swallowed it all, but I could still taste the saltiness of what I had produced on her lips. Not something I particularly like doing, but I tried not to react, I didn’t want her left feeling like she had done something dirty, nasty, to please me. I wanted her to know that I accepted, and wanted her to accept, this side of her, so different from her sweet innocent air, yet so delightful. My hands slid down her dress, rubbing her breasts through the material and the bra beneath. She seemed to get her second wind, and I could see the desire in her eyes. “Do we dare….you know….” she said. As wanton as she can get, she sometimes gets shy about speaking about it. And the sudden changes can be mercurial. I find this paradoxical, and sexy. This reserve, which can blossom into such an animalistic sexuality. “I don’t think anyone is around to see.” I said. She rose up and kissed me hard. Then, surprising me with her force, she put her arms on my shoulders and pushed me down on the padded seat. She got up, and closed the curtains to our car. “If that doesn’t keep them out, it’s their own damn fault!” she said. Returning to my side, where I still lay with my back to the seat, she reached under her dress and pulled her panties down. Hiking the dress up, she straddled me on the seat. Pulled my pants down a bit more. I admit I felt a little nervous, now I was on the modest defensive; I was now more exposed than she was; if someone burst into the car, she could simply stand up and pull her dress down, I was the one with my pants down to my knees. She covered us with the blanket, offering maybe a few seconds of reaction time if someone did open the door, and then she was on me like a hungry tiger. I was about 3/4th’s erect, not due to any fault of hers, maybe just losing a little momentum due to the possible public spectacle we might cause. She slid her dress down and removed her bra, and then rubbed across me, taking my cock between her breasts. She vigorously rubbed, creating a delicious friction as my cock nestled between her tits. In short order I was fully erect again. Her teeth playfully nibbled at my belly.

Now she was in control. Without much further ado, she straddled me again, after suiting me up with a condom she’d dug out of my backpack, impaled herself on my cock, and commenced to ride me. I just lay back and enjoyed every minute. She was like a wild animal as she bounced herself atop me, taking her pleasure from me, fucking me hard. We both tried to keep the noise down. Her hands were on my shoulders, and I had one hand on her breast, more a vague touch, because she was really bucking me too hard for me to really hold on to a nipple. My other hand traced her chin, and gently touched her lips, urging her to keep them closed and relatively silent. Her hands were on my shoulders, steadying herself as she rocked atop me. Her boots dug into my lower legs. I made a mental note: the next time we made love on this trip, she was going to be barefoot. We were both breathing hard, but she was biting her lip (and almost, my fingertips) to keep from crying out too loudly. I could see her form in the darkness as she rode me. She still made wonderful little moans and peeps, almost even sexier in her attempts to muffle them. We came to the rhythm of the ceaseless click-click of the cars as the train rocketed down the tracks into the darkness. The distant engine’s whistle gave a mournful wail as we crossed a road.

Afterwards, we both made ourselves more presentable, but still snuggled up under the blanket. It was hard to find a comfortable position, but I made due with a little discomfort, nestled together with my arms around her, with most of her atop me. So it was cutting off my circulation, and my arm would fall asleep. A small price to pay. “Formidable!” she giggled into my ear as the train sped into the night.