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.

I pumped 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.

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