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Sex on a train
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
OK then. As you've wanted to try a mutual fantasy, I have
an idea, or scenario if you will.... I'll write something to set
the stage, then you have to respond, to see if we can go any-
where from there. See if you can arouse a response====>>
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Scene: This is the Simplon Express, a famous old European
train which daily leaves London for the long trip to Trieste,
Italy on the Adriatic (Yugoslavian) side of Italy, and then goes
further south into modern Yugoslavia, to Belgrade. The time of
departure from London's Victoria Station is 9:53 A.M., and the
route is through Paris (arrive 6.03 P.M.), then Lausanne (arrive
0:47 A.M.,), then Milano (arrive 3:57 A.M.), then Venezia (arrive
7:14 A.M.), next Trieste (at 9:27 A.M.), and finally Belgrade (at
11:03 P.M.). This, by the way, is a real train, and these are
the real times....
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This has been your first trip to Europe. You've had a
hectic, but happy, ten days with your husband "doing" all of the
major tourist attractions available in London. Seeing all of
these things made you feel young, romantic, sexy. But the time
came, too quickly, when hubby had to return home to attend the
semi-annual auto sales business convention in Oklahoma City.
You've seen almost nothing of Europe (you think to yourself), and
are chagrined at the notion of such an early return.... So
you were practically stunned when your husband says to you that
"...there's no reason for both of us to head on back, honey, why
don't you jes' go on and spend a few more weeks...." "But what
would I do, here on my own," you answer. "Dunno," he says, "I'm
sure you'll find something...." "Hmmmmm," you thought.
So you spent a few days in the museums and art galleries,
did a bit of shopping, and then the next three weeks began to
yawn open like some unforgiving void, and you wondered whether it
might not have been better to have been home with the car sales-
men. But no, by God, you think to yourself, for too long I've
had my life run by others, and this time, just for once, I'll
make my own future.... And then you saw in the local paper (the
"Daily Telegraph") that it was possible to buy train tickets for
a month's duration, valid all over the Continent, and so you
did....
And now you've been on the train for almost ten hours,
heading out of London, staring absentmindedly out the window,
bored almost, following the Channel crossing. The train itself
is marvelous, you think, a relic of the past, something from an
Agatha Christie mystery, all polished brass and hardwood. But
where does it lead? As you're in the first class section, you
are alone in a cabin which ordinarily seats six, and you feel
alone, lonely, a bit sorry for yourself. With that thought, you
dozed off, feet propped up on the seat opposite, just an hour
before the train arrived at the Gare de Lyon in Paris....
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Fed up and frustrated over fruitless efforts to mediate a
seemingly endless dispute over British tactics in Northern Ire-
land, I had given up on the chance that the European Commission
on Human Rights would ever do anything more than pay lip service
to the charter which governs its very existence. Fuck 'em all, I
thought to myself, I'm American, and they deserve each other. I
can't be expected to repair every hatred. These angry thoughts
occupied my mind as I waited for the train to take me away from
the cloudy gloom of Strasbourg to my favorite city in the world,
Venice. Oh Venice, how I've missed you, sad, splendid, watery,
romantic Venice....
So I boarded the train when it arrived, crack on time just
after six, though it seemed I'd been waiting forever. Surprised
at how empty it was, I got into the second car (attracted by its
antique look), and entered the cabin wherein you were dozing,
head against the window, legs (nice ones, I thought to myself)
visible almost to mid-thigh as your skirt had ridden up in the
abandon of a fitful sleep....
I tossed my bag into the overhead luggage carrier, settled
into my seat opposite you, thought to myself this is a nice
looking woman and it's been a long time, too long, since you've
been with a woman old boy, sighed softly, tiredly, noticed your
wedding band, and began to have a glance at the two day old copy
of France Soir which I'd been carrying in the outside pocket of
my carry-on: "Reagan sur l'Iran: il nie que cela soit," the
headline blared. Sure he does, I thought....
Through half-lidded eyes, you took me in, careful not to let
me know you were awake, thinking to yourself, I have to spend the
next ten hours with this stranger, in this small compartment. He
looks tired, distracted, alone. Is he French? Is he married? I
wonder where he's going....
Half asleep, half awake, I heard him come into the cabin.
He didn't seem to take much notice of me at first and seemed con-
cerned with placing his bag and settling down. I closed my eyes
again so that he would think I was asleep and glanced at him
whenever I thought he wasn't looking. He was tall and blond and
didn't look like a tourist. In the time I had spent in England
by myself, I had often wished I could just be absorbed into the
crowds and not stand out as a tourist, especially one with a
southern accent. The train lurched and I sat up, then realized
that in my sleep and the movement of the train, my skirt had
slipped up above my knees and I hurriedly reached to smooth it.
As I did, I raised my eyes to see him staring intently at my
every move. "Bon soir. Hello," he said smiling at my embarrass-
ment. "I didn't want to wake you."
"Hello, how are you," I heard myself saying wondering why I
always thought I had to talk to strangers, southern upbringing, I
guess. "I had begun to think I was going to be in here all
alone." I could hear myself jabbering about the weather and the
trip and wondering what he was thinking of me. He made the
typical small talk and then made it clear that he wanted to get
some sleep. Then I had a chance to look him over as I was sure
he had done me while I was asleep. I liked the feeling that I
had had when I awoke, realized that a strange man had joined me
and that we now shared the closeness of the cabin. I had to
admit that I had thought about the idea of meeting someone at-
tractive and having a "fling" while I had this marvelous freedom.
I wondered if he might be the one. I liked the way his hair
was graying at the temples and he looked so European, so intrigu-
ing. I began to build this fantasy in my mind of what it would be
like to have him make love to me.
Pretending to fall asleep again I leaned against the window
and turned my legs toward him, purposely now letting my dress
slip up so that when he looked he would have quite a view. At
home I would never think of going without underwear but something
about this trip had made me reckless and unconcerned about the
normal restrictions of my life. I waited for him to wake. It
was dark now and I felt a bond, a closeness with this strange
man. Then I realized that he was awake and looking at me. I
raised my eyes to meet his and knew that he was aroused. I
moaned and yawned as if I was also just waking up, and as I did I
moved my legs so that he could get a better view. I realized
that I was very wet and aroused just at the reaction I was get-
ting from him.
"Did you have a good nap," I asked without changing my
position. I was enjoying his discomfort and it was obvious that
he had an erection. Surprised at my boldness, I found myself
staring at that hardness. "Are you usually this unselfcon-
scious," he asked as if he were trying to be nonchalant about the
effect I was having on him.
Smiling, I half turned again so that my legs were further
apart. "Well," I said laughing, "no, I'm not usually unselfcon-
scious but it's been a long trip and I guess I'm feeling a little
crazy. How about you?"
"Well, I'm wondering if you're just a tease or if this is
really some type of an invitation. I can't say that I've had an
abundance of female company lately," he said with an intensity
that surprised me. What had I started now?? I straightened up,
realizing that I was making a fool of myself. "Well, actually,
what I need is some advice on some other places I should visit.
Could you look at my map and perhaps give me some direction. I
have two weeks to spend doing whatever I want." I said this
hoping that I could now change his attention. But I was feeling
incredibly sexy realizing that I was wanting to seduce this
stranger. I felt like he could see the desire in my eyes.
He moved over to the seat beside me and now as we looked at the
map, his arm and leg brushed up against me. Then I felt his hand
on my leg and I turned to look at him. "I'm not usually this
bold either, but I think you've made it clear what you want and
maybe we should pursue that," he said smiling as he turned to-
wards me so that he could push my legs apart with his hand.
It struck me that this was all rather like a delicate pas-
de-deux, as, both intrigued and at the same time a bit wary, we
sought to understand what was going on in each others heads. Of
course, I know now that you were just feigning sleep. Did you
realize that I had begun scheming how to have you even from the
moment I entered the compartment? It seemed absurd, improbable,
here in this "public" place, but I nevertheless gave rein to my
reveries. At the same time, I had pushed myself forward, as if
better to read my France Soir, until I got your legs well between
mine and very gradually pressed them purposely. Peering at you
over the top of my newspaper, you seemed still to be sleeping,
but I know I felt a responding pressure from you. At that mo-
ment, I felt certain - instinct told me - that you knew I wanted
you, so I set about kindling your desire. I had read somewhere
that "...lust is stirred in a woman, by knowing that a man wants
to fuck her."
It was then that my cock began to swell. And just then, I
saw that you had opened your eyes, and were staring me full in
the face. Ostentatiously, I dropped my hand to my groin, as if
to adjust my clothing, and I watched your eyes follow my hand.
And I also watched as you slowly parted your legs, saw that you
were bare beneath your skirt, and your eyes told me that you
were, if not quite ready, at least interested. So when you asked
me to help you with your map, I hesitated not at all in moving
over to your side of the compartment. Boldly now, "Yes, indeed,
I can help you to plan the remainder of your trip," I said, "but
there's something else you want before that, isn't there?" Your
answering silence was all the response I needed.
I moved my hand down to your lap, and up under your skirt.
You looked up at my face, and our lips met. The ferocity of your
kiss surprised me (how long has she gone without?), and you
turned half sideways, pulling my face to yours. At the same
time, I moved my hand higher, up to the inside of your thigh,
stroking, petting, and you opened yet wider, pushing yourself
forward on the seat. Slowly, slowly I moved my hand higher
still, touching lightly the fringes of your bush, already dewy.
"Yes, just there" you whispered as at last my fingers reached
your pussy, and I parted the lips of your cunt, gently, like the
petals of a flower. Moving my fingers gently up and down, I felt
how wet you were. Writhing on the seat, you pushed into my hand,
seemingly wanting to impale yourself on my teasing fingers. But
I held off, until you yourself took my hand, and pushed my index
and middle fingers inside you. Then I began to stroke you, in
and out, at the same time, pressing your swollen clitoris with my
thumb, and your breath began to come in gasps. "God, that feels
so good," you said, "don't stop, make me come, make me come."
Even as I did, and you came, you were fumbling at the outside of
my jeans, pushing your left hand into my groin, squeezing my
cock.
Owing to our awkward position, you weren't able to undo my
belt buckle and fly. Finally, almost a little frustrated, you
said "Stand up, here in front of me...." So I did, and then you
had no trouble at all with the belt buckle, the button, and the
zipper.... You pushed my jeans and shorts down to my knees, my
freed cock stood erect before you, level with your face, and you
began to caress me, fondling my balls in one hand, stroking me up
and down with the other, and my excitement mounted. You moved
yourself forward to the very edge of the seat, and pushed your
pussy into my knee. And I pushed back. When a single, clear,
pre-come drop of crystalline fluid oozed from the tip of my cock,
you licked it off, and then slowly took me into your mouth,
licking all around the engorged head, then up and down the shaft.
I got even harder, and put my hand at the back of your head,
pulling you onto me, onto my inflamed organ.
The motion of the train seemed to increase the motion of
your mouth on me, as faster and faster you bobbed up and down,
all the while gently squeezing my balls almost as if to coax me
on. Stopping for breath, and to change the pace, you again began
to rub my uncircumcised cock (it seemed to delight and fascinate
you) up and down with your hand, covering and uncovering the head
with my intact foreskin, licking my balls, and taking them one at
a time into your mouth.... Feeling myself moving toward the
brink, I warned you that "...it's been quite a while, and if you
keep on as you are, I'm going to come in your mouth...." And I
loved the look in your eyes, when you looked up at me, smiled,
and drawled, "But isn't that the whole idea?"
Serious now, again you took me into your mouth, rimming me
with your lips, held taut over your teeth. I couldn't believe
how hard, how excited, you had gotten me, and I thrust myself
forward, pushing deeper into your mouth, watching intently as my
cock slid in and out, shiny with your saliva, its whole length
probing your palate and throat. "Come on now, come in my mouth.
I want to taste you. Come in my mouth. Fuck my mouth...." And
your sexy talk pushed me over the edge; I came a torrent, and
still you kept at me, sucking, licking. I felt myself weak at
the knees, forced to hold onto the overhead luggage rack to keep
from collapsing. At last relinquishing me, I told you "That was
wonderful. But do you really like that? So many women
don't...." And you said, "I love it!" I kissed you then, and
tasted the traces of my own come on your lips.
Determined now to return the favor, I knelt down on the
floor before you, pushed your legs wide apart, then put them over
my shoulders. As I did so, you leaned back into your seat,
looked at me dreamily and sighed "Now what are you going to do?"
And I answered, simply, "Now it's your turn," and dove right
in....
"It is my turn now," I said catching my breath as you
pulled my legs around your neck and looked at me letting me know
that you fully agreed.
I had slipped down in the seat and I enjoyed the look and
feel of your towering over me. As you leaned forward to lightly
run your tongue up the inside of my pussy, I found I was holding
my breath waiting for your mouth on me, waiting for your tongue.
I reached out to touch your face, to feel you as you began to
lightly kiss me, letting your tongue trail in and out of me.
This is what I liked - the teasing, the anticipation. Your touch
was gentle and I liked that.
You began to move your mouth on me, slowly, insistently. My
hips began to undulate with the movement of your mouth. "I love
this," I said, moving my hands to pull your head closer to me as
I pushed my pussy to meet your mouth. Again the motion of the
train and the motion of your mouth on me and my hips as I pushed
at you over and over was too much. "Oh, oh, don't stop, don't
stop." I heard myself talking to you as I closed my eyes and lay
back against the seat and then I felt that feeling and I didn't
care where I was. As you brought me to orgasm, I heard myself
saying, "oh.....oh.....fuck me.....fuck me......I can't get
enough."
I lay there feeling completely exhausted and opened my eyes
to see you smiling at me. "Well, at least we know where you are
most vulnerable," you said with a devilish look in your eyes.
You stood up and started to pull your pants up but I stopped you.
"No," I said. "Move here beside me but leave your pants down.
I'm not through with you," and I returned your devilish smile.
Then with you in the seat beside me I started talking to you
about the weather, about the map, about all sorts of things
without making any reference to what had just happened. While I
talked I reached over and took your cock and balls in my hand. I
began to move your cock back and forth while all the time I asked
you questions about your trip. I kept this up until I felt your
cock grow in my hand. It was very hard. Then I turned to look
at you and it was clear to you that my thoughts were no longer on
trips and the weather.
"You want me to fuck you," I whispered. "Want me to fuck
you real good?" And you smiled. "Sure, I'm always a good
sport."
Then I stood up in front of you and raised my skirt to my
waist, spreading my legs out a little so I could show you the
wetness of my pussy. Your eyes moved from my eyes to my pussy
and watched every move as I slowly lowered myself onto your hard
cock. "This is what I like," I said. "I like to be the one who
has control."
Her cool stroking hand had revived my half erect cock faster
than I would have thought possible. Now it stood again, throb-
bing, hard as horn, almost painful. So when she stood before me
and raised her skirt, I was ready, more than ready.... I stared,
transfixed almost, at her blond pussy hair, wet with desire and
anticipation. She smiled at me, licked her sensuous lips, took
me in her hand, and said "Now I'm going to fuck you, luv."
Somehow she had intuited one of my favorite fantasies, a
kind of role-reversal thing: the aggressive seductress. It
occurred to me that I was about to live it out, so I pushed
myself forward on the seat to accommodate her. She straddled my
lap, reaching down with her other hand to hold herself open,
using my cock to stroke herself up and down, between the lips of
her sex, not yet fully in. Still smiling, eyes shining, she
asked "You like that, don't you? You like me in charge?" "I
love it," I answered, a salacious half smile on my face.
Then she lifted herself a little, and moved me further into
the entrance (God! she's so wet), and slid down, hilting herself
fully. Leaning forward now, her arms around me, lips nuzzling my
neck, she whispered "...this is what I call 'slow fucking,' and
it's what I like best." She was fucking me, not the other way
'round... she wanted that understood. Pressing into me, yet
scarcely moving, I could feel her cunt contracting, hard, around
my cock, releasing, then contracting again, over and over....
She had incredible control, and when her hips began a kind of
slow undulation, she gasped raggedly "Now. Now. I'm going to
come now," and she pressed harder into me and down, so that I
felt myself at the very entrance to her womb. Her whole body
shuddered and convulsed with the power of her orgasm, and she
sank forward, but remained atop me, her lovely thighs still
locked around mine while she "recuperated." My yet hard cock
remained encased, a willing captive of her fiery pussy....
Soon I again felt her contractions, weakly at first but
gaining in strength. "Still there I see," she smiled coquettish-
ly, "let's see what we can do for you now." Then she began to
fuck me slowly, very slowly, expertly easing my cock all the way
in, then all the way out, at a maddeningly slow rhythm. I pushed
her back so that I could see the progress of our lovemaking in
the dim half light of the cabin (the sky had begun to lighten in
the east, ahead of us). I watched intently, as my cock disap-
peared inside her, and reappeared, glistening, as she eased
herself up and down, in and out, over and over...and the sweet
sensations began to take effect.
From deep inside myself I felt the beginning of my own
ending. She sensed it, and quickened the pace. Again her lips
curved into a smile, staring at me as I began to come. "Togeth-
er, this time, luv, together, give it all to me, come inside
me," she urged me on. I was no longer able to control the
movement of my own hips, and thrust up into her, a stallion now.
She met me thrust for thrust, frantic almost, her head thrashing
from side to side, moaning, begging me to keep it up: "Harder!
Harder! Make it hurt! Fuck me!. Oh God, fuck me hard...."
From some deep recess it rumbled up, and I could feel it pulsing,
so hot, each shot triggering another, and she felt it too.
"Fill me, fill me up with that hot come," she rasped, her eyes
wide with excitement, surprise, amazement.
Later, after I had slipped from her, she was still gasping
and panting. I looked down at her splayed legs, wide open, cunt
and ass soaked, and cupped her in the palm of my hand. Opening
her eyes, she murmured in my ear "It's never been like that for
me. I felt so full, so satisfied. My God, I'm drenched, warm
and wet and soft. Feel it. I can hardly move. Oh, that feels
soooo good...." I smiled as I slid my middle finger into her,
through the still puffy lips "You seem to bring out the best in
me," I said, "but I wonder who was the fucker and who the fuck-
ee." "A dead heat," she laughed.
I lay there exhausted enjoying the feeling of satisfaction
from our lovemaking. It was true. It had never been this good
for me before. I couldn't understand but I knew that part of it
was the excitement and abandonment I felt at being free to do
whatever I wished. And the other part of it was that this strange
and attractive man had managed to know exactly how to please me.
Now here he was looking at me and slipping his finger in and out
of my wet pussy as I lay there completely submissive to him.
"When I told you to fuck me, you really took me seriously,
didn't you?" I said laughing. "That was wonderful, you know."
"Well, just a routine trip so far," he said smiling devilishly.
"I'll have to admit that I haven't had such an active trip be-
fore, but I always try to do what I'm asked."
There was that little twinkle in his eye again. It was
certainly obvious that he was enjoying this unexpected diversion.
"I'd better let you get yourself together, hadn't I?" he asked
reaching to move my skirt down.
Exhaustion had finally gotten to me. I curled up on the
seat beside him looking forward to trying to get some sleep. I
knew that I needed to give my sexy seatmate a rest from my amor-
ous advances. I glanced over at him and saw that he too had
closed his eyes. I still didn't know where he was going or how
long we would be together. I wondered how long it would be
before he was revived. Smiling I closed my eyes and planned my
next seduction....
By then, the rays of the risen sun had begun shafting
through the window, so I lowered the shade, and sank into my seat
utterly fagged out. I must have dozed for an hour or so, for
when I woke, my watch told me it was just a few minutes before
seven. Getting up, I went to the washroom to freshen up, notic-
ing in the mirror that my face, surprisingly, bore few traces of
the night's exertions, even though I'd managed less than two
hours sleep in the last thirty-six. Must be good for the con-
stitution, I mused....
When I got back to the cabin, she was soundly asleep,
breasts rising and falling rhythmically with her deep breaths.
Looking at her face, it seemed to me that the care lines at the
corners of her eyes which I had noted the night before seemed now
to have vanished, and she slept as profoundly and innocently as a
child, the hint of a smile playing about her lips. When the
train slowed for its approach to Venice's Stazione Mestre, I
thought about waking her, about taking her with me across the
Adriatic lagoon to the main island of Santa Lucia. Instead, I
leaned over, brushed the hair from her forehead and kissed her
lightly there.
She stirred but didn't awaken when I retrieved my bag from
the overhead rack. Quietly, I slid the cabin door closed behind
me, moved to the end of the car, and disembarked when we were
finally stopped. Even before I had gotten to the end of the
platform, the gracious old Simplon Express had begun to roll
again, taking her on to Trieste, and then to Yugoslavia. For me,
the four mile twelve minute connecting ride across the causeway
was uneventful, and I stared out the window, unseeing, lost in
thought. Only upon arrival at the Stazione Centrale Santa Lucia,
after walking a mile down the Lista di Spagna, only then did I
notice that the early bright promise of the day had soured ab-
ruptly. It had begun to rain softly but persistently, and the
voluptuously multi-domed church of San Marco was shrouded in gray
fog, barely visible in the distance.
Venice, the maritime republic, mistress of the Adriatic, had
always moved me, filled me with contending emotions. The city is
almost unspeakably beautiful and romantic. But it is also a
sweetly sad place, a decaying dowager now, no longer a princess,
a pale remnant of what it was in the full blush of youth. And in
the midst of this bittersweet reverie, it occurred to me that we
had never even learned each others names....
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