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Night...Too

By: ladyphoenix



Night slipped in.

Cool and welcome, it moved up my thigh. I leaned into him—what to call him now? my lover?—and he tried to transform the anxious tension in my body to something he would give me that approving murmur for. I had already opened the door, but there was something more he wanted. What?

Compliance.

Obedience?

That felt right. Obedience. And the thought didn't shake me. Rather that, and the reassuring sweep of his hand chasing that cool slip of night along my thigh, settled me; gave me some curious strength.

I knew there was another chapter, perhaps a whole catalog....a library full of warm, sweet and dark fantasy where I might pour my body out in a worship of indulgence. 

Were those the voices again, outside...nearing...the boys he said would use me? One laughed and then I knew that they were real; the sound of rough and thoughtless anticipation, and my heart broke its rhythm.

"Will you go?" he whispered against my hair. "Will you give yourself...if I demand it?"

"Would you be with me?" I breathed back, voice as unsteady as my momentary composure.

His fingers tightened on my thigh, a reflexive declaration of possession. "Such things would be for my pleasure," he answered. "Never without me."

I closed my eyes; rested my cheek to his heart. "I will. For you."

My bland, boring world had just been torn down to nothing and rebuilt again on a foundation of freedom. There was no shame in it, nor regret, nor fear. Just an overwhelming sense of freedom and anticipation of more pleasure, something I had denied myself for so long in a world where I was the constant bastion of control. Lying there against him I felt complete in ways I had never allowed myself to dream were attainable.

"Vous êtes les miens, l'ange. Et pour ce cadeau, je vous honorerai."

And then he leaned toward the door, and closed it again. I felt his hands smoothing across my thigh; my back, and I drifted, eyes closing, the beat of his heart an erotic and comforting lullaby.

"Sommeil, ange. Vous aurez besoin de votre reste pour le Club"

I fell into sleep barely grasping that I had understood the last of that: 'rest for the Club'.

And then sleep took me as he had: wholly, without hesitation or resistance.

I woke in pieces, like an odd succession of movie scenes clipping disjointedly through my brain. The car stopping. More of the night's cool air bathing me, only to be replaced with a blanket. Being moved. His voice, whispering "sleep" and something that sounded like "baby", but in French. Then more sleep.

I woke the last time in bed. Not mine. It was too large by half and the bedding much too slippery; too silky. I slid beneath the feel of that silk on my skin and was smiling before I opened my eyes. Then the smile widened. I was naked, in a strange bed in a strange room. I had no idea who might walk through the heavy wooden double doors some thirty feet from where my toes flexed under pale silk sheets, and the very idea that someone might do just that....and the thought that they might demand something of me...made my cunt ache with wicked, wet need. 

The thought had barely enough time to slip through my brain before the doors slammed open and despite my fantasy I made a harsh sound of surprise. A man did come in, and he was a stranger, weaving fantasy and reality together in my head. I slid up the bed, sheet held before my naked breasts like some pasty virgin in a romance novel, pushing up until my back was flat against the cold headboard. I didn't see his face; like that untried virgin I was keeping my face down. I could only see his torso when he reached the side of the bed; he was fit and smelled faintly of spice and was wearing a very expensive black suit. With one hand he took the sheet and tore it from me; it billowed out prettily before slumping into a silk puddle behind him.

"Are you afraid?"

I looked up. He was tall, obviously American, probably in his mid forties and he looked rather unthreatening, like a history professor I'd had in college. I shook my head and looked him in the eyes.

"Etienne said you had fire." Stepping back, he offered me his hand. 

I took it.

"Would you care for a robe?" he asked. 

It seemed rather odd, to be walking across the room naked with a man who was fully, and so formally, dressed. "Will I need it?"

He chuckled and said no. 

I took a deep breath and said no.

When we reached the doors, I heard soft music playing. Chopin, I thought hazily as I was led out and into a hallway. The feel of thick carpet warmed my feet; another bit of sensation added to my Lady Godiva stroll. As we reached a stairway I froze, pulled back, and my hand slipped from his. He took a step before turning to look back at me. There was no anger in his expression, no frustration; just curiosity.

"Is it....will it be....only you?" I asked, my voice cracking a bit on the whisper.

He gave me a moment, perhaps to prepare me. "No," he said. Etienne invited four of us this evening."

Four. Five, with Etienne, whom I assumed was my lover. Five men.

He must have read panic in my expression but again, he showed no sign of frustration with my delay. Instead, he took the step back toward me, sifted a hand through my hair, watching it as it fell back over my shoulders. "No one is going to hurt you, little girl," he murmured. "Etienne is not that sort, nor are we. We are simply going to...enjoy you," he said huskily, moving a bit closer, slipping my hand back into his again. "And it would please us very much if we can give you pleasure."

He took his place to my side again, my hand in his protective one, but he didn't take a step.

I did.

The stairway was beautifully curved, a sweep of dark, well-polished wood. I moved down each step, closer to the sound of a mournful violin, as if I were moving in dreams. The staircase ended in a wide hall. Only the music disturbed the quiet, and as we neared the base of the stairway, voices—these were deep, rich and cultured; slightly muted, a sharp contrast to the voices on the street.

'still,' my thoughts whispered, 'they are going to use you, just the same'.

A room at the end of the long hall was the only source of light. Buttery yellow, it found its way through cracks in the doorway because the door itself was ajar, spilling onto marble tiles. We walked across them in silence. 

At the doorway he released my hand, leaving me to squeeze my fingers around empty air. Moving in front of me he opened the doors, bathing me in the buttered light, and silence fell.

I saw my lover—Etienne—and kept my eyes on him where he leaned against a massive fireplace. The fire burned there...and in his eyes...and in me. I went to him, barely hearing the sound of the double doors being closed and locked behind me. Etienne put out his hand for me, and I pressed myself against his side; he wrapped his arm around me.

"I am so proud of you, cherie," he whispered, kissing my temple. "Did you sleep well?"

I nodded, slipping my arms around his neck.

"Do you want a kiss?"

I nodded; lifted my face for him, but he only smiled. "Remember," he whispered so that only I could hear, "for my pleasure." 

I nodded; waited for the kiss, but he took me by the waist and turned me to face his guests. They were all in their late forties to early fifties, I guessed, and all dressed similarly: formal black suits or tuxedos. Two held snifters, one sipping leisurely as he watched me, smiling faintly. Another in a far corner leaned insolently against the edge of a heavy bookcase, paused in conversation, lifted a cigar to his mouth and took an appreciative draw; his expression was rather cold, his eyes direct. 

Standing exposed, my back to my lover, I felt something terrifying—and wholly erotic.

"Jason," Etienne said, drawing the attention of the man who had escorted me downstairs, "My sweet girl would like a kiss."

That's how it began. A kiss. Jason smiled, giving Etienne a small, formal nod of acknowledgment. Slipping off his jacket he folded and laid it neatly across the back of a sofa before he walked to me. This was to be no hasty, clothes-ripping orgy...this would be slow and careful. 

Jason took me into his arms as Etienne released me and I went from one to the other in liquid-smooth transition. He bent his head and took my mouth, kissing me deeply and slow. My arms around his neck, Jason kissed me harder, his hands sliding down my back to cup my ass and pull me into the feel of his erection, only the barrier of his clothes between us. 

That kiss was my release. I could be this woman now; I could live this need and take this desire—his, and then the others. I was ready. I was not polite; I tore at his shirt, the studs popping and falling silently on the carpeted floor. In a moment his bare chest was hot against my breasts and I was lost in the feel of heat and flesh. 

A second man came up behind me; splayed his hands across my back, and I moaned. He put his mouth to my neck; let me feel his teeth against the sensitive spot on my shoulder blade, making me shiver. Four hands on my body; Jason's on my ass, kneading; my second lover sliding his hands to my breasts, cupping their weight before squeezing and softly pinching my nipples, making me shift and push my hips harder against Jason's cock.

Jason moved his hands down to my hips; the man behind pushed forward and I was squeezed between them, feeling the hard ridges of two ready cocks pushing at me from the front and behind. I had lost the reality of the room, of those who watched; even of my fear that Etienne would leave me alone. I lost everything but the thought of these men, their need, and my own hunger. Pushing Jason back I raised my hands and, without supporting my own weight, went to my knees, their hands supporting me as I slipped to the floor. 

I worked Jason's black belt loose, the leather warm and sensuous in my fingers. I left it in place, the edges of it gaping lewdly open; the sound of the metal an erotic counterpart to the strings of some orchestra playing Mozart. And while Jason's hands in my hair were caressing, they were also firm and demanding, pulling me forward while I worked the button and then the zipper of his trousers, opening him; finding his cock and bringing it out for my hands; for my mouth.

I slid my fist around the base and he growled, his hands fisting in my hair. The man behind stepped away but it was a faint realization. I heard the music; the crack and pop of the fire; the murmur of male conversation, and I saw them watching me, from the corner of my eye. I didn't care. I had this thick, hot, aroused cock in my hand and I was lost in the glorious need of this man and my own wanton passion; the feel of him pulsing in my hand and the soft contrast of his cockhead as I slipped it into my mouth and it slid, wet and perfect, along the roof of my mouth. I lifted my tongue to run along the underside of the head and he jerked involuntarily, pulling my head forward and forcing his cock to the back of my throat. I gagged a little and he pulled back, only to have me lunge forward again. I wanted him in my mouth. 

"Such hunger," Etienne addressed the room as he walked by, stroking my hair as he passed. "And such a pity that no one had seen it before." 

"Perhaps not," another of the men responded. "It is our good fortune, after all."

"An excellent point, Blake," Etienne murmured as he continued to the sofa. 

I was riding Jason's cock with my mouth. He was moaning, hips moving forward and back as he mimicked fucking it, hands tangled in my hair. When he pulled away I had no time to plead for him to come back; someone else fisted his meatier hand in my hair and pulled my head back a little painfully. He smiled, almost cruelly, and even that made my clit spasm a little with need. I whimpered and he pulled my head down again. His dick was in my face. I opened my mouth, nearly an instinctual response, but he only made a deep, masculine sound of dominance and stroked himself, teasing me as I squirmed. My hands grasping for leverage found his bare thighs. 

"She's a little whore," he smirked, sliding the pre-cum slick head of his cock over my lips and watching me lick them; lick hungrily at the underside of him. "Open your mouth, whore," he demanded.

I did, and he filled it; the taste and size and thickness of him more than Jason; his hands hard on my head, his fucking deliberate and deep.

"Don't be such a skeptic, Scott. There are whores and there are women who simply enjoy giving pleasure. She is...a bit of both." Etienne and his company laughed; I could see them watching, Jason a few feet away, still partially dressed, stroking his cock, Etienne seated on the sofa, fully dressed, simply watching...but his eyes told me that he was enjoying this as much as he would have if it had been his cock in my mouth. The flash of that—recognition—between us was unspeakably erotic. 

The other two men were watching as well, one seated at the far end of the sofa where Etienne sat, the other standing a few feet away. Both were dressed, but both were stroking themselves through their dark trousers.

"Let's see if she can manage two," the one who was seated said. "Jason, why don't you offer her a little more. If she is a whore, she should have no difficulty."

Jason stepped back toward me; I reached a hand out before he was close enough to reach him, sliding my fist over his dick as he came closer. 

"You're right, Porter.....she definitely wants more."

Porter, who was seated, unzipped his tuxedo pants and pulled his cock out; it was average in length, but impressively thick. He stroked himself with one hand while he lifted his snifter and sipped with the other.

Scott pulled out of my mouth, only to push my head back toward Jason. I needed nothing to encourage me; in an instant I was moving back and forth between them, sucking one then the other, stroking the cock I didn't have in my mouth. 

"Fuck!" Jason growled, pulling hard away from me. I fell forward onto my knees and one palm; the other hand was wrapped around Scott. "I want to make this last a while," he said, moving to a side table for his drink. 

"Bring her here," Porter ordered. I'd like my meat in that pretty mouth."

"Go on," Scott ordered, shoving me away. "There's another cock that needs a whore."

On my hands and knees now, I had gone beyond myself. Not bothering to rise I crawled across the carpet, past Etienne. But instead of easing Porter's need, I reached out to the fourth man, pulling him toward me by his waistband. I ignored his slight hesitation and opened his pants.

"You must be gentle with our new member, cherie," Etienne murmured. "This is his first party."

I didn't care. I took out his cock and kissed the head, licked all along the underside, making him shiver and whisper "Oh god..." When I had him in my mouth I sucked him hard and fast for just a moment before looking up at him and saying "fuck me". Then I went down onto my knees again, my face in Porter's lap. The older man used his hand to direct his cock into my mouth before releasing it.

"Oh, have some pity on the girl," Porter moaned as he stroked my hair. "Fuck her good and hard, Blake."

I felt Blake moving behind me; the sounds of his clothes falling on the floor. I spread my knees and moved my hips restlessly. Porter took two fingers and slipped them into the brandy snifter before dribbling the alcohol around the base of his cock. I licked at it, laved his balls with the flat of my tongue and he gave me pleasured moans in response. While I worked my tongue over and around his balls he took his cock in hand again and stroked.

Blake...or someone....was kneeling behind me. I felt the head of him push at my pussy lips, at first almost timidly and then more forcefully, until he found me. He shoved forward and I pushed back, taking his whole length. He pulled out and slammed harder, then harder again, and I moaned with my mouth and my cunt filled.

"Geeez...us...." Porter managed between clenched teeth. He was looking into my eyes; the feel of being fucked hard and deep distracted me from his cock for just an instant, but I started on him again, taking him in my mouth and bobbing my head in rhythm with the fucking. The snifter rattled as he tried to set it right on the side table; I could feel his hands shaking as he put them to the back of my head, urging me.

"Oh....fuck....yes......suck harder, darling." He pushed his hips up from the sofa to get deeper. "You need this, don't you pretty girl?" he rasped. "You need to cum for us. Put...your...fingers...in that...hot little...cunt!"

I wanted to. But before I could move, Blake's hands turned to painful fists on my hips; he began to slam into me without mercy and he came, hard, groaning his pleasure over the civilized sounds of piano and cello. He collapsed on my back for a moment, catching his breath.

"Such a tight little pussy," he heaved. "I'll give you better the next round," he assured me, slapping my ass as he rose.

"Come up, cherie," Etienne directed. Fuck Porter and let him have a taste of it...we have others waiting." 

I rose to my feet between Porter's knees, his prick standing up, wet from my mouth, and slid into his lap. Even as slick as I was, it took some pressure to get him inside me; he was thick as a fist. Then I sat up and rode him. His hands went to my breasts, then his mouth, biting softly at my nipples while I bucked and writhed atop him. I came. Once, and then again almost in succession, my cunt squeezing him hard and wringing a hoarse shout of almost agonizing pleasure from his throat as he strained upward, throwing his head back against the sofa, pinching my nipples hard.

I sat there a little slumped and a little more dazed as he smiled up at me. 

"Good girl," he murmured. "But you aren't finished yet, are you?"

"Not by half," Etienne interjected smoothly. Rising from his place he reached his hand out to me, steadying me as I rose. "Gentlemen, the table."

Table...it sounded like some sort of torture and yet even the idea of being bound and whipped made me hungry. I followed Etienne where he led. The table was rectangular, with two extensions jutting out at angles at the bottom. Lifting me up he kissed the slope of my breast. When I would have offered my mouth, he only smiled and urged me to lie back. 

"Later, angel," he promised. "First, this."

I sank down into the thick, warm table. Etienne took my ankles in his hands, spreading my legs onto the two lower extensions. Then he moved forward, his hips between my open thighs, and I could feel the heat and hardness of him, even through his trousers. The table was only long enough for my torso. With my legs spread I was in perfect position to be fucked...and I only had to tilt my head back a little for another cock. He and I shared a moment there, my naked body laid out for pleasure and he, fully dressed, not taking it. And yet he did.....

He slid his palms up, over my thighs, his thumbs teasingly close to my cunt; I arched off the table; closed my eyes; Etienne's hands moved over my belly to my breasts. 

Jason said "Finish me, little girl," as he took the place at my head, tilting my head back to feed me his cock. Etienne's hands left my body for an instant, then returned. In another instant his cock pushed easily past my swollen, wet folds and deep inside me. As his hands turned hard on my hips he spoke, but it was Scott's voice.

"There, whore," he growled, pushing into me before grinding his hips hard into mine. "Another cock...and another...and how many more before you're satisfied?"

'Never' I whispered in my head. Never. But I could only answer with my body, working my mouth and tongue over Jason's cock, lifting my hips to take more of Scott's angry fucking, my hands desperate to move. I touched myself—my mouth, as Jason's flesh moved with almost desperate gasps of air between strokes, wrapping my fingers around his shaft to stroke as he pulled out; squeezing the base of his cock when he thrust forward and into my throat. I touched my breasts, my belly. Sliding my left hand down to spread my pussy lips, I exposed my clit with two fingers, sliding my right middle finger around it and rubbing it; teasing it. When I came again it was hard, my body stiffening; I made a choking sort of sound around Jason's cock and at that moment he cursed and shot his cum into my mouth, his prick spasming on my tongue. When he was sated he pulled from my mouth, leaned down to kiss my forehead, and whispered how he would pleasure me with his tongue before fucking me when he had a turn at my cunt. 


Night...Too



I had a second or two before Blake came to my right side, his cock hard again. He didn't insist on my mouth; instead, he played with my tits with one hand, smiling, showed me a little wand vibrator that he immediately put to my clit.

I screamed. Or something like a scream. My body came up, halfway off the table, back arched and I came hard on Scott's pounding cock and stayed there, legs spread, hands behind me to prop me up, shoving my hips against him and against that delicious, purring vibrator. Blake kissed me, deep and hard, then bent his head to my breasts and sucked and licked at my nipples until I was grunting with every stroke of Scott's cock into my pussy.

"Whore......little WHORE!" Scott raged, finally cumming hard and long into me, head thrown back, he emptied himself into me....and yet I felt nothing close to full. I wanted more....more.

"Fuck me!" I demanded, even as he drew back, smiling that cruel smile. 

"Come on and fuck the little bitch, Porter," he chuckled. "I have to hand it to you, Etienne," he added. "The last one didn't have enough for two of us....this one might have us calling in a few more men to get her sufficiently fed."

Porter was already moving over to the table, still in his suit, his cock jutting out from his open trousers. "Lower the table, Blake," he said.

Blake turned off the vibrator, leaving me rubbing my thighs together in frustration. He leaned down and reached for something; I heard a click, then a little whir, and the table lowered smoothly down another foot.

Sliding one fist up and down his prick, Porter ordered me onto my hands and knees. I obliged, turning over and immediately putting my head down; my ass in the air, legs spread. I wanted this; to be fucked from behind, hard. To be used. Another cock inside me; another man to use...another cock...another toy. All for my pleasure.

Porter didn't slam into my as I'd hoped. Blake came around and offered his cock up to the worship of my mouth; I took him as he stroked my hair, my back. Porter shoved a hand between my thighs; found my clit. He worked two hard fingers over it, quickly flicking it back and forth; massaging and pushing me.

"Cum for us again, little one," he cajoled. "Show us how ready you are. How much you want another cock in your cunt. CUM!"

And I did, for a second time with my mouth stuffed full of cock; I pushed back on his hand and whined like an animal while I shivered helplessly in pleasure. Then he took me again, pushing his dick into me and fucking me hard and steady, pushing me forward with every stroke onto Blake's cock. 

My body was alive. I was myself, and this other woman..this creature who was wholly a woman and wholly a whore, and not ashamed or surprised by either. I was wanted and wanting; feeding and fed. I was whole. I took Blake's cock until his fists in my hair were tight and hurting me; I didn't care. I took his cum; I fucked Porter, squeezing and letting him ride me hard until he, too, was crying out and shaking beneath the force of his own pleasure. I came with him, a last, deep, incredible orgasm taking me as the men had taken me.

I lay, belly down, on the table, warm and well-pleasured, unaware of the sounds of the room or the men dressing leisurely as they shared a last glass of Port or brandy and some masculine expressions of appreciation. I felt a hand slap my ass lightly; another slid softly, caressingly, along my calf. Emotionless goodbyes.

After a while I might have dozed. Etienne came to me, led me by the hand to an ornate bathroom, where he coaxed me into a deep, hot bath and knelt by me, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt to bathe me slowly until I was nearly asleep again. And then he wrapped me in towels as large and soft as velvet blankets, dried me as he whispered sweet words of appreciation, and lead me back again to the room where he had let me be everything I had wanted to be tonight. The room was empty, the men gone; music and lights off. The fire was still boldly alive and before the fire a big, soft bed had been laid, piled deep with pillows. He laid me there, leaving me only to stand and slowly undress.

I lay naked in that bed as I had in the bed upstairs, my fantasies....still not complete.

I thought they were. But as I watched him undress and then kneel over me, I realized there was still one to be fulfilled....and only he could do that.

"Vous êtes les miens, l'ange. Et pour ce cadeau, je vous honorerai."

He had said that before, in the car, but I didn't understand. And then he smiled, poised over me, and gave me the translation. "You are mine, angel. And for this gift, I honor you." Then he came to me; kissed me in a way that was not sexual yet still stirred in me the most powerful need of all.

He took me in his arms, he and the fire giving me warmth; he touched me—my hair, my face, my back, my thigh—all without asking for what I wished to give him more with every touch. And we sighed, and smiled, and laughed. We whispered of our pleasures; of what I had given in this room tonight and what other needs and wants had, until tonight, lay dormant in our heads. We came together, in every way that a man and a woman could without being joined physically, and I knew that this was the last fantasy. The best fantasy.

And that this would never end.



Night Train



You are not surprised that the car is empty on this, the last subway train of the night. You are used to travelling home alone this late at night.

You have been out on your usual Friday night prowl, hitting the bars. There were lots of guys out tonight and you only had to pay for your first drink. After that there were no shortage of men (and a few women) who were only too happy to oblige the little blonde in the red dress. Too bad that none of them seemed good enough to take you home. You have learned from experience that only the best are capable of giving you what you want. As highly sexed as you are, you know that you can have a better time by yourself (with a few toys) than you can with any of the fumbling young boys who are so eager to get you drunk and into the back seat of their daddy's Caddy. You have no time for amateurs. You took the drinks, but car sex is for kids. You are twenty now, a woman, and you gave up screwing in Chevys and Dodges when you got your own place three years ago. The drinks were fine, though, and they kept coming. It would have been rude to turn them down and although you can hold your liquor like a stevedore, you have had more than a few and you know it.

You don't mind that you are alone on the subway car. The past four or five hours have been spent artfully deflecting the attention of over-eager young men through the haze of increasing inebriation and the clamour of honky-tonk bars. It feels good to sit alone in the relative quiet of the subway and relax your mind and body. But your solitude does not endure for long. The train stops, the doors slide open and a man gets on. The doors close and the train moves off again.

The man does not look around, but walks directly to the seat opposite yours. You are facing the front of the car, he the back. His knees almost touch yours. Shit. Out of fifty or a hundred seats on the car, he has chosen to invade your space. He sits down and looks at you. This is no surprise; men have been looking at you all night.

You have dressed so that they will be compelled to look at you. You are wearing a very simple dress of your own design. It is simply a tube of stretchy material that is just as easy to step out of as it is to step in to. Folded double above your breasts, it is strapless; all that holds it up is the snugness of its fit as it embraces your body. It hugs every curve and shows off the firmness of your ass and the flatness and definition of your belly. And your tits, of course. It is good that your tits are large and firm. If they were not, you would have to keep tugging the dress up, and you would hate to look like you were playing some kind of dopey teenage flirtation game. 

The dress is short enough to show off your smooth, firm legs. Short enough to make those legs appear longer. Short enough that you have to be careful how you sit. Short enough to attract all the attention you need. But not so short as to reveal the tattoo on your ass, the tattoo of a broken heart. On your feet are black high-heeled pumps. They exaggerate the muscles of your legs and ass. They contribute not only to the illusion of longer legs, but give you four extra inches of height, which you know you can use. You call these shoes Joan-Crawford-Fuck-Me-Pumps. (Does everybody?) Your black leather biker jacket shows anyone that might be fooled by your baby-face that you are a woman who can handle herself. 

Too bad the damned thing is so big. You wear it over your shoulders to make its size less obvious. You have night-time makeup on. A bit too much, maybe, but it helps to make you look less like a kid. Besides, the bars you go to are dark. The bright shiny red of your lips is exactly duplicated on your fingernails. You look good, really good, and you know it. Your scent is a musk, originally intended for men. You wear it because three years ago your first landlord, the first man you ever slept with more than once, simply said; "It smells like sex". You know that your look is exactly what you want it to be. You are small and very feminine but you are as tough as you need to be. And then some.

So let this asshole look if he wants to. At first you ignore him. Maybe he will bugger off and leave you alone. But after a while, you can no longer look out the window at the blackness of the subway tunnel rushing past. You look at the man. Maybe you can stare him down.

He is wearing brown boots, kind of like cowboy boots but with square toes and lower heels. Motorcycle boots maybe. Well worn jeans. The kind with brass buttons instead of a zipper at the fly. Tight, too, and you cannot help notice the nice big bulge in the crotch. A black leather motorcycle jacket. Like you own, but his fits him properly. A plain white T-shirt underneath, tight across his chest. He is clean-shaven with blond hair. His face seems to be formed of all straight lines; no curves. He wouldn't be bad looking except for his eyes. His eyes have almost no colour at all. They are the colour of snow high up in the mountains and in shadow. Snow that is white, of course, but that seems to be blue. His eyes seem to have no colour, but of course they must be blue. But a clear, crystal blue. If he had bought you a drink or two at around midnight, and it hadn't been for those eyes, then who knows what might have happened. But those eyes are too much. They are not frightening, but only because you do not let yourself get frightened by that sort of crap. Between the hair and the eyes, he looks Scandinavian or something. Aryan maybe.

After you have been staring back at him for a while, you realise that he is not looking at your body, just at your face. There is a first time for everything. Most guys spend most of their time looking at your tits, legs or ass, depending on their personal preference. But not this guy. He just stares dispassionately at your face. And he doesn't blink. He seems like some kind of machine.

He makes you nervous. Not that you would ever admit that, even to yourself. But nobody, man or woman, has ever stared at you the way he does. It makes you squirm. You look away, back out the window again. You can see his reflection in the glass. Does he know that you are watching him? Maybe he will behave like a normal guy and steal a glance at your tits or your crotch while he thinks that you are not looking. Then you'll be the one in control, as you should be. But no, he just stares. Against your will, you shift your ass around on the seat. 

This has the unfortunate effect of riding your dress up your legs. You cannot even tell how far up without looking. And if he isn't going to look, you'll be damned if you will. Damn. It's one thing to play peek-a-boo with some guy in a bar. That's just to establish who is pursuing whom; who has the control. But it's another thing altogether to have your quim hanging out in front of some maniac who does not even have the common decency to look. And you can't just push it down. The last thing you want to do is look coy. You cross your legs. Your dress rides up further. Damn.

You look back at the man. Maybe you can break his eye contact with your own. But no. That does not work any better this time than it did the first time. You look down.

But wait. There in his crotch, the bulge is bigger. Firmer, too. Now you can definitely see the outline of his dick under his jeans. His balls, too. Maybe this situation is not so out of control as it seems. You look back into the window to see if you can see the reflection of his crotch. You can. You become aware that you are sweating. Never mind. You can rattle this bastard's cage yet. 

You uncross your legs. Even if you were not exposed before, you certainly are now. You know exactly what he can see; you have chosen your under-garment as carefully as you have chosen the rest of your clothing. It is a very brief g-string made of black lace so thin and fine that while it is clearly visible against your pale skin, at the same time it hides nothing. You have even removed the cotton panel that was in the crotch. Your pussy breathes better this way and has a much more appealing aroma and flavour. (A little trick that you learned from your one female lover.) You look at his reflection in the window. He still has not taken his eyes from yours. Very well. You know that with your legs held close together the man can see only the narrow triangle of your panties and the wisps of hair covering your pubic mound. You know how to make this bastard look. Gently and slowly you increase the distance between your knees, being careful to make it appear unconscious, as though only the movement of the train were responsible. As your knees open, the hem of your dress rides further and further up your thighs. 

Tension in your mind has made your skin hyper-sensitive and you can feel the fabric rub like sandpaper. You watch the reflection of his face in the window carefully, looking for the reaction that is sure to follow. But no. Jesus, do beautiful blondes flash this guy on subways every night? You watch the reflection of his eyes as carefully as a man disarming a bomb. He must react. But no. Just the same steely blue gaze. Your legs are open wide; your dress is almost to your waist. You are as fully exposed as the silk of your panties permits. You up the ante by moving your hand to your crotch; perhaps the movement will catch his eye. As your hand touches your pussy and you feel your own wetness, you realise that perhaps you have invested more into this situation than you had intended. Never mind. After coming this far, you can not let him win now. You draw the fabric of your panties aside.

If, last night or earlier this evening, somebody had told you that you would be masturbating in front of a stranger on a subway train just so that you could make him look away from your eyes, you would have told that person that his mind was gone. But now, the next step comes so surprisingly easy. You stare hard into the stranger's bottomless eyes, bring the middle finger of your right hand to your lips and suck it deep into your mouth. Then, looking down upon your exposed nakedness, you slide that same finger slowly and deliberately all the way into your quim. Then, with your left hand, you home in on your clit, stroking it up and out for the stranger to see. An involuntary muscular spasm radiates from your centre up through your belly to your shoulders, arms, and to your fingers. And from your thighs all the way down to curl your toes. As if in a dream, you spread your knees as far as you can and lift your feet to place them on the seat opposite you, on either side of the stranger.

He can see more than your panties and your mound now. He can see the white skin of your lips and the deep pink of the inner folds of your cunt. He can see the sheen of your juices flowing from your quim onto your thighs. He can see your fingers diving deep into your slit. He can see your nipples standing up proud from the thin material of your dress, becoming more and more erect with each breath that rubs them against the fabric. He can see your clit, as red as the nail polish on the fingertips that stroke, rub and pinch it. As red as the blood it is engorged with. He could see it all. If only he would look.

But look there. Finally, you are winning. The stranger is still staring at your face, but you can see that his cock is growing in his pants. It is becoming longer, thicker and harder. Nice, big cock, you think. It can't be long now before he is forced to pay as much attention to what you are doing as you are. But the tension and the passion are conspiring against you. What began as an exercise in power and control is taking on a life of its own. You try to separate your mind from your body, but find it impossible. Your heartbeat becomes faster and your breath rasping and ragged as you watch the stranger's erection grow. 

Are you really winning? He still has eyes only for your face. As you tug your dress down from your breasts you try to convince yourself that it is for his benefit. You take advantage of these newly exposed weapons in your conflict, pinching and pulling your nipples. And it feels good, really good. You are staring at his crotch as hard as he is staring at your own eyes now, and when you see a drop of his lubricant seep from his cock and darken the fabric of his jeans, you can control yourself no longer. Your orgasm carries you away utterly. You are not aware if you call out or scream, if you thrash about or any other thing that would be told to you by your senses. You are only aware of the crushing, consuming climax of tension followed by the warm glow radiating out from your cunt to every cell, every pore, every nerve in your body.

After awhile (you are not sure how long), you catch your breath and look up. The man is still there. As soon as your eyes come up, his gaze is again locks onto them. His expression has changed. He is no longer so distant, but looks at you with a smile that is kind and concerned...or amused and condescending. All right you bastard, you think, I'll teach you to ignore me when I put on a show like that for you.

His erection is still clearly outlined in his jeans. You slide to the floor, tear open the buttons of his fly with as much force as you have left and without hesitation you suck his cock into your mouth. You are good at this and you know it. You were taught by a master (the landlord's wife) and have refined your technique for almost five years. You can get all but the thickest cocks down your throat and you love the taste of semen. Swallowing is not a chore for you, it is a pleasure. Maybe it's all those extra hormones you swallow that make you like to screw so much. The way you suck, if this guy does not respond, he must be made of wood.

Sex is power. Power is sex. There is no act of sex that proves this as much as the one you are now engaged in. Any man who believes that he has control over the woman who is sucking him is a fool. In this act alone the woman controls the pace and the pressure, the teasing and tension, the pleasure and even the pain. These are the reasons you like so much to suck. 

But if the power is for you, the pleasure is not all for him. After giving his balls a squeeze and the head of his penis a bite (just to make sure you have his attention) you reach down to again stroke and caress your pussy. You love every sensation that is yours when you suck. The musky taste of his dick mixes with the leftover flavour of cheap vodka on your breath. The smell of his crotch would be offensive anywhere else, but you have learned to associate that aroma with pleasure and power. 

To you it is sweeter perfume than Chânel. The hardness of his cock is well known to you, as is the softer river underneath. It is through this river that his semen will flow, flooding your mouth in a torrent of sweet, salty, stickiness. His hardness reaches all the way to your throat almost, but not quite, making you gag. You never suck gently. Your style is to give (and take) everything that you can. You suck, you squeeze, you bite. You stroke his cock in your fist while sucking his balls. And you do yourself with all the energy and heat that you do him. Your knees are spread for balance as the train rocks and sways, and to open your quim with your probings and pinchings as you make love to yourself with your hands.

You look up at him, and he looks down at you. How can this bastard do it? He's getting a blowjob that no two women could deliver, and he looks like he's reading the funnies. You bear down harder on his cock and begin to snake the middle finger of your right hand toward his anus. With that, his dick begins to pulse in your mouth. The place, the time, the scene (and your hands up your pussy) have all brought you to the brink of control again. And the increased pressure in your throat is more than you can bear.

You grab the wisp of silk covering your crotch and rip it away. The satin ribbons about your hips bite into your skin but you don't notice or care. You climb his body like a mountain and grasp his cock, dripping with your saliva, aim it at your cunt and impale yourself upon it. Your knees are on the seat on either side of him as you ride him, up and down, harder and faster. You feel that the train itself is fucking you as the subway car shudders and groans, the brakes act to draw the pillar of flesh from your quim and then fills you up again as the car accelerates. As the train stops at another station and the car screeches to a stop you do not think that you can resist the orgasm that is so near. The doors of the car open and the rush of cool night air caresses your nipples into stark missiles of erect flesh. It is as well that no other passengers get on. You could not stop if you wanted to, and you do not want to.

It is not the train that you want to fuck you. It is him whom you want to fuck. You want to feel thrusting into you, stroking into you as you stroke onto him. You want to feel his hands on your ass, his fingernails cutting into your flesh. You want his lips on your neck, his teeth on your tits, his tongue in your mouth. You want him to fuck you as hard as you are fucking him.

With no more warning than an enormous pulse of his enormous cock, he unloads inside you. You feel his semen spurting inside you not with your cunt, but with your guts, your heart, your soul. You milk his cock with the muscles of your pussy, drawing every bit of him into you, wanting all of him. You have not come, but you do not care. You climb off his body and again take him into your mouth. You want to taste his the juices of his cock, seasoned with those of your sex. Even as his come seeps from your quim and oozes down your thighs, you lick and suck every drop from him. Only as you taste the last bit of come to escape his penis do you collapse in orgasm.

And that is how he leaves you; sitting bare-assed on the floor of that last subway train of the night. The hem of your dress is drawn up to your trim waist, where you have pulled it so you could see his cock invading your cunt. Your breasts are exposed to the cold night air, your chest heaving with the exhaustion of your climax, glistening with the sweat of your passion. Your nipples are soft now in your post orgasm glow. He walks slowly toward the exit. Perhaps he is encouraging you to come with him. As if you could. He stops at the door; turns for one last look and says "You have the most beautiful face I have ever seen. You steal my heart away." Then he is gone.



Night Train



I was taking the night train from Paris to Perpignan. There were no sleeping compartments left, and, as the train pulled out of the station at 7 p.m., I was resigned to spending the night dozing upright in my seat. 

That was annoying enough, but what irritated me more was that I had eaten an unpleasant hamburger on the way to the station. I watched enviously as passengers made their way to the restaurant car. I should have been more patient, because eating on a train is a wonderful way of passing the time. A couple of attractive women caught my eye as they came down the aisle. Leading was a short blonde-haired woman, in her early thirties. She had large eyes, a voluptuous figure and a sexy, dissipated face. She was followed by an older woman, perhaps in her early forties, pale skinned, lean, dark haired, her face sensitive, slightly equine. From the snatch of conversation I overheard as they passed me, I guessed that they had just met, sharing a couchette, perhaps. "Bon appetit" I muttered to myself, enviously.

An hour later, the effects of the MSG that had been the main ingredient of my hamburger had given me a raging thirst, and I made my way to way to the buffet carriage. I sat on one of the high stools and poured the first Perrier down my throat. While sipping the second in a more decorous fashion, I noticed the two women returning from the restaurant. They were closer together than they had been when I had seen them before, their acquaintanceship obviously having been deepened by some over-dinner conversation; that, and the wine that they had no doubt enjoyed with their meal. 

That they had been drinking was clear, since their slightly unsteady steps were more than could have been explained by the slight swaying of the TGV. As they approached, the dark-haired woman stumbled and might have fallen, but for the arm that she put out and with long, musician's fingers clutched at her companion's arm. The blonde steadied her, and whispered in her ear. The dark-haired woman nodded vigorously, and, releasing her hold, made her way past me down the carriage. 

The blonde brushed past me and stopped. She slid up onto the stool next to mine, and said,

"Bonsoir, monsieur."

This I did not take as a come-on. Unlike in Britain, strangers in France are courteous to each other, and I just mumbled a "Bonsoir" in reply. Though my French is good, my accent is not, and the blonde asked, 

"You are English?" 

I replied that I was, but I spoke French, and, indeed, in France at least, preferred to do so. The blonde replied that this was fortunate, because her English was rusty. 

She went on, 

"My friend is an excellent linguist, though. She has to be. She is a cellist, and travels all over the world. We are sharing a couchette, and we have been learning about each other over dinner. Can I buy you a coffee?"

The question came as a surprise. There was an intensity in the way that she asked it that had an erotic quality, quite out keeping with the banality of the words, though even the invitation seemed somewhat unusual.

Before I could reply, she had ordered a coffee, and a cognac. As the barman fetched the drinks – and real coffee, not the powder and warm water combination that British railway catering thinks its customers deserve – I explained that did not have a couchette, and coffee would keep me awake. 

The blonde said, 

"But that is good, we will need you awake tonight."

My surprised expression made her laugh.

"Let me explain. I said that we had spent dinner exchanging stories. My friend told me about her life as a musician, about her travels around the world. I told her about my adventures. For me, train travel is the sexiest thing imaginable, and when I travel, I always have exciting exploits. At the end of the meal I suggested that we return to our compartment, but my friend hesitated – she said that my stories had excited her, so I asked her if she wanted someone to share the compartment with us. This suggestion aroused her so much that she could barely stand. We had noticed you on our way to dinner, and I asked her if she would like you. I sent her back to our compartment, and joined you here. So drink your coffee, and let us pay her a little visit."

I did as I was told, and watched as she swallowed her cognac in one gulp. She slid off the stool and I followed her down the train to the couchette. She slid the door open, and entered behind me, closing and locking the door behind her.

The two beds in the compartment were made up and the musician was half sitting, half lying on one with pillows propping her up. She hardly seemed to notice us entering, and the blonde slid across the bed to sit next to her. She waved at the opposite bed, a wordless invitation to sit down, which I did.

The blonde draped her arm across the musician's thigh, her fingers casually caught in the hem of the musician's skirt, which ended an inch above her knee.

"I was saying, over dinner to my friend", the blonde was addressing me, but her gaze was fixed on the musician's face, which seemed to be filming over with a gloss of perspiration, "that trains are the most exciting places in the world. Sex in a train is like no other. The rhythm, the intimacy of this small space, the speed, even the smell, is redolent of lust and sex."

She continued to talk about the way that train travel excited her. As she spoke, I watched in fascination as her hand travelled up the musician's leg, carrying with it, as if by accident, the hem of the skirt. Stocking tops came into view, then a bare stretch of marble thigh and finally black lace knickers. 

The musician was immobile at first, but I noticed that her chest was rising and falling more quickly. Her lips parted, and I could see a rosy flush rise up her elegant neck. She reached a hand to the top of her plain white blouse, and, as though it was a huge effort, unfastened the top button.

The blonde had by now exposed the whole triangle of the musician's knickers, and the dense black pubic hairs that curled out from the edges made a stark contrast with her milky skin.

Looking at me quizzically, the blonde asked rhetorically, 

"I wonder if she is ready?" 

and, with her index finger extended, slid her hand down the inside of the musician's knickers. Although the material was opaque, I could see that the questing finger was making its way unerringly to the musician's sex.

"Yes, she is ready. Very ready."

In one fluid movement, as though this was a rehearsed act, she slid the musician's feet to the floor, turned the woman over and raised her bottom. Although seeming passive, the musician was co-operating; she knew what was going to happen and she was participating.

Now the musician had her feet on the floor, her head and upper torso on the bed and her bottom in the air. Her dress had fallen to conceal her legs modestly. Not for long, though. With a sweep of her hand, the blonde threw the full skirt over the musician's back, and with another sweep had the black knickers lying in a puddle on the floor. The musician was exposed. I was staring at this incredible sight. I was transfixed. It had happened so quickly, it was so graceful and so – choreographed, that was the only word for it. It was like a ballet, a dance of sex performed for an audience of one. 

In a way, I literally could not believe this; it was like a dream, the kind in which one wakes just before anything really happens. The musician's bottom was white, a perfect contrast to the darkly-pigmented skin of her anus, below which a pair of swollen vaginal lips were parted invitingly. As I watched, a drop of fluid fell from her vagina.

It seemed as though we were holding our poses, the exhibitor, the exhibited and me, the spectator, for an eternity. 

However, it could have only been seconds before the blonde spoke again, 

"Very, very ready. I have not seen anything like this before. To work, monsieur". 

She leaned across the carriage and palmed my raging erection. I stood, as she did, and waited passively as she unbuttoned my jeans, and pushed them and my pants down to my knees. My liberated penis stood erect, throbbing with desire. The blonde daintily encircled it with forefinger and thumb and tugged it, with delicacy and determination, so that I took a step forwards. With precision, the blonde guided me unerringly till the head of my penis was resting between the outer lips of the musician's vagina. The pungent aroma of her arousal wafted to my nostrils, causing me to gasp with lust. I wanted to bury myself in this secret haven, to immerse myself in the turgid folds of hidden flesh. 

Out of my sight now, the blonde had moved behind me, and placing her hands on my back, pushed firmly, so that my engorged penis slid inexorably its full length into the musician's vagina, like a train entering a tunnel. The sensation was indescribable. It seemed mere seconds ago that I had been sitting alone on my bar stool, the prospect of a long and uncomfortable night stretching before me. Now I was embedded to the hilt in the hot wet darkness of the vagina of a strange woman. I did not even know her name, but she had welcomed me into her like a long-lost lover. I wanted to move, to begin the thrusting that would bring my release, but the pressure on my back suggested that the blonde was still orchestrating this dance of sex, and that she had other ideas.

"Wait, monsieur!" she commanded sharply.

I waited. The musician, who until now had been completely silent, started to make a vocal contribution. A little sigh. Then a moan. 

Then words, 

"It's so good, so very good." 

Then her words became incoherent and she started crying out. Together with these sounds came movement – but not mine, I was still being gently restrained, impaling the hot turgid petals in front of me. No, the movement came from the blonde woman behind me. Her left hand maintained its gentle, controlling pressure on me, sliding down so that her palm was flat on my buttocks, bridging the cleft between them. Her right hand snaked around to the front of the musician. 

I could see little other than the swan-like neck of my lover, but I could sense that the blonde was dancing her fingers in the groin of her friend. She responded by making a keening sound, eerie, but devastatingly erotic. The blonde was moving her hand more vigorously, because I now could feel something. A tiny but rhythmic stimulation started at the base of my penis; though as gentle as a butterfly alighting on a flower, it was rocking my world. I desperately wanted to plunge and plunge into the warmth and wetness that was sucking me in, but the restraining hand seemed to warm me that me time was not now. 

I sensed that the blonde knew what she was doing, and I trusted her. Though every fibre in my body wanted to thrust, I forced myself to hold back. I knew that the blonde was stimulating her friend harder, because I could feel her arm moving across my hip. The musician was making loud music now, sometimes moaning obscenities, sometimes squealing. Then I could feel the walls of her vagina twitch around my penis, alternately clutching and releasing it with powerful contractions. She was howling now, incoherently releasing her passion. 

The blonde was encouraging her, "Yes, come for me, let yourself go, that's good, it's good having a big cock in your fanny, squeeze his cock with your fanny." 

Even though I had barely moved my penis, the contractions, the rank sweet smell of sex and the whole situation threatened to make me explode into my own orgasm – I wanted to pour out myself into the dark stranger in front of me. However, the blonde sensed this; her right hand slid down from my buttocks and grabbed my testicles. She gripped them with enough force to cause bring my impending orgasm to stop in its tracks. I cried out, not with pain as much as in surprise. This was enough tip the musician over the edge – I could feel her whole body tense, and she cried out,

"Oh my God, I am coming, I am coming, oh my God, it is too much." 

A warm wetness flooded over my groin, as she ejaculated her orgasm.

For what felt like an hour, but could only have been a second, we held our positions, locked into the sexiest tableau imaginable. Then the musician collapsed face down onto the bed. She lay there, shoulders heaving. I stared with fascination at her dark engorged labia, much larger than any I had ever seen before. Then, my eyes panned down to my penis, glistening with the vaginal juices that coated it, and had made a small puddle on the floor.

The blonde broke the spell.

"That was most satisfactory, monsieur. You are most patient. Not all men would have restrained themselves." 

I smirked inwardly, but of course, it was not my patience, but the blonde's control that had been responsible for my restraint. 

The blonde released my testicles and sat on the bed opposite the musician, who was still face down, her swollen genitals exposed, her heaving subsiding. The blonde patted the bed and motioned me to join her; which I did. For several minutes we sat side by side, contemplating the satiated musician in front of us. My penis detumesced, and I started to feel self conscious. I reached for my waistband and started to try and pull my clothes into a more dignified shape. 

The blonde looked me, 

"Are you cold, monsieur?" she enquired with solicitude. 

"Oh no," I replied, "It is quite warm in here." 

The blonde laughed, "Admit it, monsieur, it is quite hot, and I hope that it will get hotter. It is my turn next, if you are agreeable." 

I blushed, her directness - starting with her propositioning me, and leading to her helping me bring a total stranger to the most powerful I have ever seen a woman have - still taking me by surprise.

The musician appeared to respond to our voices. She rolled over and stretched out on the bed. Her skirt was still hitched up, but her display of nudity did not seem to concern her. She lay there with her eyes closed, and a trace of a smile playing on her lips.

The blonde asked me, "Do you like hair on women?"

I replied, "Well, sometimes I do. It adds an air of mystery when it hides the sex." 

"You mean like our friend here?" 

"Yes", I replied, "She is very beautiful."

This was so bizarre, we were talking intimately about a woman that we had just brought to orgasm, we were talking as though she could not hear us. Yet, she obviously did not mind, as she continued to lie there, smiling. Equally bizarre, I was sitting next to a gorgeous and well-dressed woman with my trousers around my ankles, and my flaccid but still glistening penis draped across my thigh. 

Then the musician spoke, for the first time, 

"That was amazing. I have never come that hard in my life. I do not think that I will ever need to come again." 

"No?", said the blonde, teasingly, "So, what would you like?" 

"I think that I would like to watch you two do it." 

"Yes, and what else?" 

"I think," said the musician, and I could hear the lust rising in her voice, "I might like to help."

The blonde grinned, "I think that I could find something for you to do."

The musician's chest was rising and falling somewhat faster. That she was becoming aroused again was confirmed by the faint flush that was rising up her neck. 

The blonde put her hand gently on my lap.

"Monsieur, please would you take off my clothes? I have something to show you."

... to be continued



Night Train



It was a series of firsts for Jenny.

The petite redhead was off to start her basic training with the Air Force.

It had taken Jenny close to a year to go through the signing-up and acceptance process and finally she was on her way.

Her basic training was to be conducted at #1 Manning Depot located in St. Jean, Quebec, about thirty miles south of Montreal.

The recruiting officer had supplied her with train tickets to get her from her hometown to the Manning Depot.

The trip involved three trains, one to Toronto and an overnight trip from Toronto to Montreal where she would get the local milk run to St. Jean.

Her parents saw her off at the station as she boarded the Toronto-bound train at the local depot. She waved her good-byes from the coach window as the train slowly left the station

Switching trains at Toronto's Union Station went without a hitch. Jenny had ample time to have a coffee before she had to board the Montreal bound overnighter.

The Montreal train had already been made up into Pullman berths when she boarded. She sat in the Club Car until the conductor came around and assigned her a berth.

While waiting in the Club Car she met Paul, another trainee also bound for the Air Force Manning Depot. As they chatted the conductor came by and assigned them neighboring bunks in the same coach, Paul getting the upper and Jenny the lower.

It was shortly after ten o'clock when the train left Toronto to begin its journey to Montreal. The newly acquainted couple sat talking until almost all the passengers had left to bunk down for the next six hours. 

Knowing it would be an early morning wakeup as the train pulled into Montreal they finally decided to find their assigned bunks.

The coach's sway side-to-side as the train sped eastward making walking down the narrow aisles difficult. Jenny felt like a drunken sailor trying to keep on a steady course. Paul was right behind her with his hands on her waist helping stabilize her. She knew she shouldn't have had that drink but as the bar steward hadn't asked Paul for her I.D. and it was her first alcoholic drinks she had thrown caution to the wind.

Arriving at their designated births Paul pulled back the curtain for the top bunk and climbed up in.

With Paul safely in his bunk Jenny pulled open the curtain on the lower bunk and climbed in closing the curtain behind her.

The space was cramped but she found that she could talk to and hear Paul quite clearly just a few feet above her. She hoped he didn't snore in the night.

In the confined space she struggled out of her pullover and bra slipping on her pajama top. Her jeans and panties were a bit more difficult having to raise her ass to slide them off her hips and down her legs. Eventually she had successfully changed into her pajamas.

"Good night." Paul said from above.

"Good night." Jenny answered closing her eyes.

Jenny was uncertain how long she had been sleeping when she awaken noticing the train had stopped. 

She heard the conductor walking down the aisle softly announcing it was just a routine crew changing stop.

The coach fell silent once more and Jenny heard strange noises coming from Paul's bunk above her. He was masturbating!

Jenny had an older brother and she knew all about boys masturbating. She had caught Darrel at it.

"Is that all you do?" she had chastised him when she walked into his bedroom when he was lying on his bed with his clock in his hand.

"Come her and I will let you touch it." He tempted her.

The curiosity was too much and she had walked over to his bed and took it in her hand.

It felt strange, soft and hard at the same time. She could feel it throbbing as the blood pulsed though its veins,

"Stroke it." Her brother asked.

"What?" Jenny asked confused.

"Move your hand." He coached.

Jenny began moving her hand up and down his shaft as she had seen him doing when she walked in.

"Faster!" he urged.

Jenny increased the speed of her strokes and watched the look of pleasure on her brother's face.

Suddenly sticky white stuff began spurting out from where she had seen him pee This was not pee though, it was thick and creamy and run down his cock onto her hand.

"Ewwww!" she cried out quickly removing her hand.

"It's just jism, it won't kill you." Her brother tried to calm her down.

Now here was this boy she had just met jerking off a few feet above her.

"What are you doing up there?" Jenny asked to let him know she could hear his grunts and moans.

"Can I come down there and show you?" Paul answered.

It was a combination of the booze, freedom and excitement that caused Jenny to invite this stranger with the hard cock into her bed.

Paul hastily descended down to Jenny's bunk crawling into to join her.

He was wearing only a pair of briefs with a very obvious bulge where they cove red his erection. 

The space was so confined their bodies were pressed together face to face I the narrow bed. Paul's hand immediately slid under the back of her pajama's elastic waist band cupping her left buttocks. Jenny's right hand slid under the waistband of his underwear gripping is cock.

His tool felt just as her brother's had when she jerked him off, perhaps a bit bigger. Slowly she began milking him as if it were some enormous utter.

They kissed as Jenny stroked him and he caressed her bare ass.

As they became more passionate Jenny felt an undeniable urge to have this hard cock in her.

"Fuck me." She moaned.

They struggled as Jenny wormed out of her pajama bottoms peeling them down to her ankles and then pulling them off her feet. She was now naked from the waist down and steered Paul's mushroom cockhead into the wet slit beneath her ginger bush.

As Paul's erection began to enter her wet tunnel she thrust her hips forward impaling herself onto his sword.

"Oh God yes!" Paul moaned as he gripped her ass and pulled her onto him like an old familiar boot.

His cock fully penetrated her now and she felt his balls kiss her pussy's lips.

Jenny's arms wrapped around her lover's back as she began to gyrate her hips on Paul's spear. 

Jenny's fucking experience was limited and most of her orgasms had been achieved by masturbating. Her brother had taken her virginity and been her only lover until she was seduced by George Thompson, a neighbor who she babysat for.

Darrel had fucked her about half-a-dozen times even though he had a steady girlfriend of his own. When they were alone in the house her brother would come into her bedroom and screw her on her bed.

A couple of times she came with Darrel but fucking Thompson had been an ordeal for her. 

Now she had her third cock in her and was trying for an orgasm.

Jenny could feel it growing deep inside of her around the area of Paul's cock, that fuzzy sensation that blossomed into a fully marvelous rapture that would take her to that special place she crave to be. 

"Fuck me harder!" she pleaded.

Occasionally the speeding train would thunder across a level crossing. Red lights would flash through the coach windows and the brief sounds of the warning bell. Jenny was oblivious to the world around her as she ascended to the peak of her orgasm.

"Oh yes! Give me you cock!" she begged. 

Paul was on fire driving his cock into Jenny's unquenchable cunt. Summonsing all of his ability each stroke took him further into Jenny's womanhood.

"Oh yes, that's it!" she moaned bucking her hips upwards to receive his intruder.

It was if Paul's cock becomes an eighteen thousand volt bolt of lightening striking her clitoris, the orgasm shot though her body making every bit of her tingle.

"Oh my God!" Jenny screamed loud enough for the adjoining passengers to hear her ecstasy. 

It was a more intense climax than any the young girl had experienced during her brief sexual life. The clickty-clack of the train's wheels rushing along the tracks became the metronome of her orgasm. 

Jenny's endorphins were flooding her system causing her pelvic muscles to contract on the cock bringing her such great pleasure.

It mattered not whether she was fucking a genius or a dolt, all that matter was the hard cock about to pump the cum into her which would extinguish the raging inferno consuming her.

The throes of her mega-climax seemed to last forever, causing her body to tremble uncontrollably until mercifully Paul's sperm quenched her spasms. 

Paul kissed her as his cum drained into her receptacle. 

"Montreal, Montreal in thirty-minutes!" the conductor chanted as he walked through the coach.

In berth "12L" Jenny and Paul slept in their deep post-conjugal sleep. 



Night Train



There's only one good thing about getting a late train from London Waterloo -- you're pretty much guaranteed a seat. And after a bitch of a day at work, even a small victory like that was something. As he climbed into the carriage he registered that something was slightly unusual but his tired brain dismissed the though and focussed instead on getting comfortable before opening the ice-cold can of lager he'd just had time to purchase before boarding.

Two good swallows later and the conscious brain offered up the earlier subconscious observation -- this was one of the old style carriages. The train company had taken them out of commission two years ago but they emerged from mothballs occasionally if there was a problem with the newer rolling stock. These old carriages had seen service since the 1960s and had been a feature of his commuter life for many years. No wonder he hadn't immediately registered their presence: it was like travelling back in time. A smile started to spread across his face as he let the carriage and the rhythm of the train wind back the years to another late night journey from Waterloo.....

He'd been with Dianne for 18 months but unlike other women he'd been with, there was no cooling of those initial flames of passion that mark the start of a relationship. Being apart for most of the week ensured that they were hot for each other on an almost constant basis. Most of the time when they met they didn't even make it upstairs -- as Dianne used to joke to her friends, 'the second bang was the suitcase hitting the floor!' From the start their sex life had been intense, their drives equally compatible, and they used the time they were apart to imagine new ways to delight each other.

One summer evening they had met friends for a few drinks after work. They hadn't seen each other for nearly ten days and the tension was apparent to almost everyone in the pub. Smouldering looks, frequent physical contact, whispered promises of what was to come.... Their friends teased them knowingly when eventually the couple decided to leave, the urges becoming both too obvious and too great.

At that time in the middle of the week the train was predictably empty and they were able to settle themselves in a prized spot near one of the few opening windows. Grinning at each other like teenagers, they spoke of how much they'd missed each other over the past few days and how they were going to take each other to new peaks of sexual delight during the course of that night, almost competing over who was going to pleasure who more. This was a regular game of theirs, building the tension on the train or in the car on their way home so that the loving was even more frantic when they got back, a way of making Dianne so wet that if he wanted to he could thrust into her the moment the front door closed behind them. Tonight was no exception, with the alcohol and balmy summer night air doing nothing to decrease the heat that Dianne felt building in her pussy. A wave of sheer lust coursed through her body and he sensed it. The laughter died on his lips as he recognised the signs -- the flush of red at the base of her neck that always accompanied extreme arousal, the swell of her nipples, and the deep desire in her eyes reflecting that in his own..... He gazed intensely at her beautiful face, that oh-so-perfect mouth and moved forward for the kiss.

The moment their lips touched they were lost. No dam was going to contain this flood of passion. Soft, melting kisses would come later, when they held each other in the night, but for now the kisses were intense, born of longing, with their tongues writhing and their mouths pressed hard against each other in a way that was almost brutal. His hand slipped to her breast, his fingers releasing buttons on her shirt to allow him inside her bra. They both loved her breasts -- full, rounded, firm and so sensitive that she could sometimes orgasm just by having her nipples sucked. It was to one of those beautiful nipples that his fingers now moved, stroking and gently squeezing. Sometimes he would take an age stroking all round her neck, chest and tummy before getting to her breasts, which drove her crazy with desire. But not tonight. Feeling her nipples respond and swell almost immediately made both of them let out low moans of pleasure. Undoing the remaining buttons of her shirt, he reached around her back with his left hand to slip the catch of her bra and simultaneously freed both of her breasts. Pausing only to kiss her neck on the way down, he lowered his mouth to one straining nipple and began to use his tongue in just the way he knew she wanted -- swirls and flicking alternated with soft suction. Dianne's low moans confirmed his intuition and the finger pressure at the back of his neck suggested that she might cum quite quickly, even by her usual remarkable standards. He moved one hand to her other breast, cupping and squeezing it before offering a tongue-moistened finger tip to the nipple. He intensified the actions of his mouth and tongue, and was rewarded for his efforts two minutes later by Dianne reaching orgasm. Her body bucked in the seat and she hauled his head up to kiss him as the pleasure continued to ripple through her body.

As she came down from the high, Dianne gasped, with a mixture of reproach and astonishment, "You just made me cum on a train!" 

Suddenly aware of her exposed breasts and their surroundings she made to cover up. Holding her hands to her sides he kissed her softly and responded "We're at least 30 minutes from the next stop and it looks like we have this whole carriage to ourselves. I think we should have a bit more fun!" 

With that he slipped his hand up her skirt, gently stroking the inside of her smooth thighs, gradually working higher and higher until he reached the elastic of her knickers. The hot pulse in the pit of Dianne's stomach was starting to intensify again and though she tried to protest, she didn't sound convincing even to herself and when he used his hand firmly to part her thighs she didn't resist. Once he touched the lips of her pussy through the sheer material of her underwear, what little was left of her willpower retreated. Her legs fell open and she only registered him kneeling on the floor between them and lifting her skirt to her waist as a frustrating moment when his hand was no longer stroking her pussy. A few seconds later when his mouth covered her pussy and slowly exhaled hot breath, she ceased to hear even the noise of the train. She had no knowledge of the point where her knickers were finally surrendered, just a dim awareness on some level that the sensations in her pussy had intensified to a point where she could barely breathe. She'd always loved the way he went down on her but this was something else again. Later she wondered whether the vibrations of the train had added to the sensations pulsing through her clit but for now she knew only that she was approaching one of the most powerful orgasms of her life. Full strokes of his tongue, running the whole length of her slit, were alternated with random patterns drawn softly on her clit just using the tip; then a deep tongue probe inside her before flicking her clit firmly from side to side. Just when she thought it couldn't get any better, she felt his fingers start to tease the outside of her pussy. As they thrust in, pushing against the spot on the front wall where she liked the most pressure, Dianne came hard, the muscles of her pussy contracting so forcefully that his fingers were almost ejected, along with much of her wetness. She gasped, let out a strangled cry and almost doubled over with the intensity of it all, falling into his arms as he sat again beside her, his mouth planting soft kisses on hers.

But the fire inside her was not going to be quenched so easily. While Dianne had always quite liked the mild sense of being dominated that came with being mostly naked while he remained fully clothed, it was most definitely time to take back control. Subtly pressing back with her thigh against the hardness of his cock, Dianne slowly ran her hands down his chest and stomach until she reached his trousers. For a while she stroked the length of his cock through the fabric, knowing how much that turned him on, but her own need was too great and she deftly undid his belt before dealing with the button and easing down the zip. He wasted no time in raising his hips and in a single movement Dianne slid his trouser and boxers down to his ankles. Now he was hers....

Looking directly into his eyes she reached out with one hand to encompass his cock, savouring its heat and hardness, and then slowly licked her lips before lowering her mouth. Carefully working her tongue around the tip, she used her other hand to cup his balls. Tilting her head slightly to one side she was able to see his face and the look of intense sexual pleasure on it as he watched her working on his cock. At first it had unnerved her, the way he watched when she went down on him instead of closing his eyes, but she had quickly grown to love it almost as much as the sense of control that came with having his cock within her mouth. She never tired of discovering different things to do with her mouth and her tongue, varying the degree of suction, teasing the sensitive area around his fraenulum, taking him as deep as she could... Usually once Dianne had started a blowjob she would see it through all the way, as much for her pleasure as his because she loved doing it and she loved the feeling of him cumming in her mouth or all over her breasts. She also knew that she was bloody good at it, and she could feel from his response that he wouldn't be able to hold on for very long tonight. For a moment or two longer she savoured the feel and taste of him in her mouth before making up her mind that good as this might be, what she needed right now was the feel of his cock in her pussy.

Moving swiftly Dianne, knelt astride him, her knees on the seat either side of his thighs. Both of them gasped at the heat of the other as she lowered herself onto him, her pussy opening to the familiar feel of his hard cock. Dianne sank all the way down and paused, kissing him while savouring the sensation of him inside her, unsure whether the pulse she felt throbbing deep inside her was from his heartbeat or her own. Then they began to rock together, two lovers who had such a sure knowledge of each other's needs that they fell naturally into the rhythm that was just right for that precise moment. The sensation of his cock slipping slowly in and out of her, with the gentle pressure on her clit, meant once again that the butterfly sensation Dianne felt deep inside her began to spread -- a tingle, a glow that somehow began to flow out from her centre gradually reaching all of the extremities of her body. She clasped him to her as hard as she could and covered his mouth with hers as the contractions in her pussy reached the point where orgasm consumed her, the physical intensity combining with an emotional one to an extent that she almost blacked out.

As Dianne slowly opened her eyes again she was aware of two things. Firstly, he hadn't cum -- his cock was still hard and twitching inside her. Secondly he had a huge grin across his face and she couldn't fathom why. 

She smiled back at him. "Darling, that was incredible but we have to focus on you. I don't think I can take any more just now so I'm going to finish you off in my mouth and swallow every last drop as your gorgeous cock explodes inside me." 

He just grinned more broadly and replied "You have to trust me, honey, because I know what's best right now. I promise you that you have another orgasm inside you and that it'll be the biggest one yet. That last one made you feel satiated temporarily but I am going to show you something that will have you begging me to fuck you hard and not stop until your hot little cunt is cumming all over my cock again." 

Whenever he started to talk dirty to her it heralded especially intense, frenetic sex. The look of sheer lust in his eyes seemed to back the claim he was making and despite herself she could feel her desire building; the swelling of her nipples and the motion of her lower body beginning to betray her stated position of wanting no more. He knew he'd won and he became more forceful, at the same time using a finger tip to begin sending bolts of pleasure through her clit. 

"When I tell you to, I want you to change position so that you are still on top of me but facing away so that I can look at your gorgeous bum and cup your beautiful breasts. I will then start to fuck you but at my pace, not yours. At the same time, you will use your finger to play with your clit. And one last thing -- throughout all of this you will keep your eyes firmly closed until I tell you to open them." 

He seemed to know instinctively when she was up for domination, often, like this time, before she even knew it herself. Moaning softly in anticipation of what was doubtless to come, she closed her eyes and began to comply, keeping her eyes closed and being guided by him until she was in the position he'd specified.

As he started to thrust slowly in and out of her, her pussy responded willingly and she sought to speed things up, hoping that there might be a penalty for disobeying his instructions. He saw through the ruse.

"Don't think I don't realise that you want me to smack your bum. You're not doing as I said but if I try to punish you by smacking you, you'll just enjoy it. I know how much you like that when we're in this position so instead I think I'll just slow down even more. AND I'll only allow you to stroke your clit at the same slow speed."

This was torture but he knew what he was doing. Any earlier thoughts of needing some rest were completely banished. Instead Dianne's pussy and clit were throbbing with anticipation. She needed a hard, filthy fuck: she knew it would happen eventually but first he would tease her to get her even more worked up. Her pussy was absolutely drenched and she could feel the hot liquid running down the slit and onto her clit -- slyly she used some of it to let her other fingers stroke across his balls as a more subtle way of getting him to give her what she wanted. Two could play at the teasing game!

"That's cheating!" he said, though making no move to stop her. "Just for that I'm going to turn you on even more by telling you one of your favourite fantasies! Hmmm, I wonder which to choose..."

That got her attention. Dianne loved his stories. Sometimes he'd tell them to her as foreplay and once she'd almost cum just listening to him without any physical contact, but she liked it best when he told her stories while he was inside her. Listening to the fantasies he wove intensified the feelings and made the sex explosive. And when she heard which of her favourites he had in mind this time, she almost came on the spot.

"Keep your eyes tight shut so you can picture this honey. We're exactly where we are now, on the train and I'm buried inside that hot, tight little hole of yours, feeling you fondle my balls while you play with your clit, wondering just how hard I'm going to be fucking your cunt when you finally cum and what it's going to feel like as my cock explodes inside you. Only now imagine that the noise from earlier attracted the attention of another couple who were in the next carriage. Imagine they walked through here in time to see you cumming on top of me just now, and that was why I was grinning at you. Then they watched you turn around, saw you slide back onto me and begin to finger your clit while I played with your breasts. Maybe they got so turned on watching you that she started to rub his cock through his trousers. Maybe they both found you and the show we were giving so horny that she started to suck him off and he started to finger her sopping wet pussy. And when that got too much, maybe he knelt down behind her and started to fuck her although neither of them was able to take their eyes off you the whole time, watching the pleasure on your face, admiring your amazing breasts, watching your gorgeous pussy getting fucked and your horny little finger playing with your clit in a desperate attempt to make yourself cum. All the time my cock would be getting faster and faster, pounding into your hot little cunt...like this!"

As he began to speed up she could feel the orgasm within her grasp, this was going to be soooo good! As always when they had raw sex and she got close to climax, she began to vent some of her passion verbally.

"Fuck me you bastard....fuck me hard now..... pleeeease fuck me! I want to cum, I want to cum so bad, I want your cock to cum in me. Keep talking to me, please keep talking!" 

"Open your eyes!"

It took a second to register the command and another for the connections in her brain to make sense of the scene in front of her. On the bench seat across the aisle a naked woman was kneeling, facing them, her eyes glued to Dianne and a look of utter ecstasy across her face. Behind her a man was fucking her hard, clearly close to orgasm but, like his partner, focussed solely on Dianne. 

As the other woman started to cum she gasped to Dianne, "It's you making me cum! You are so fucking horny and I love watching you get fucked!"

That was just too much. As her own man's tempo inside her hit maximum and she felt his balls begin to tighten, the thought of being watched caused wave after wave of contraction to hit Dianne's pussy. Letting out a long wail, she came hard, her spasming pussy drawing his cock right into her as she felt his cum spurting out hot and hard, spraying her insides. For several moments they just rested there, saying nothing, relishing the contact and the particular feeling of well being that comes with only really great sex.

"Guildford. This is Guildford. Change here for Wanborough, Ash and London Gatwick."

He woke from his reverie with a smile across his face and wondered if he should give Dianne a call tonight...



Night Train



The platform was filled with people saying goodbye to their family and friends. The air filled with the steam from the engine, the smells of coal, the sweat of the engineer and driver, and the flowery smells of the first class passengers as they were lead by their personal valets to the front carriages.

The front carriages was a tradition going back to the beginning of train travel, where the more influential sat close to the engine so as not to get covered in soot. Obviously standing on a platform for extended periods in a busy station was not part of those thoughts.

It was spring in New York, and with the spring weather came morning rains. Today had not been any different. The rains had come this morning, cold and heavy, washing away the detritus of life in Manhattan. Cold enough for overcoats, but not so cold as to need a muffler. That is how you could find me, leaning against one of the support posts on Platform C, leaving New York for a new job writing for the Chicago Tribune. 

I had enjoyed working for the Times, but being a junior writer just wasn't my thing. This was my own weekly column. The crime blotter. I looked the part of a detective, other than instead of the felt fedora, I had a Dover hat, one with a narrow brim, and a center crease, not the fancy fedora style. Detectives and Private Dicks wore fedora. I was a paper man. Simple style, simple life.

At least it was simple until she walked into it. People were loading the train, I was going to get on myself. Pushing off the post, I shrugged my hands into my trench coat, feeling nothing but bits of lint in the linings of my pockets. The engine let off a bellow of steam. It was loud, sudden and startled anyone still on the platform. The conductors started herding the last of the passengers onto the train, and I was moving to the stairs myself when a staccato of heels striking the tile platform rung out over the sound of the soon straining engine.

They say that for some, that love at first sight is a matter of perspective. Obviously my perspective was just right. She was of average height, and had obvious curves exactly where they should be. Her dark skirt showed shapely stocking covered legs. Black and white heels, long grey coat and the hat on her salon styled hair. A short veil obscured her eyes, but there was no mistaking her ruby lips.

"All Aboard!" The conductor called and I was being once again pushed onto the train, and that was when I lost her as I climbed the first step into the car.

It didn't take long for the train to begin to pull out of Grand Central Station, headed north first toward Connecticut and the Hudson Valley, then west to Chicago. As I began to move my way through the train looking for my assigned compartment, I could see the skyline of Manhattan slowly beginning to pass by, As I reached the fifth car, the first of the cars with compartments, we were nearly out of the city.

The train was a long one, with four first class cars, and both a lounge car and dining car, then several general seating cars, and three pullman cars at the end, all with sleeper sections. I had seen very few passengers after leaving the general seating cars, the lesser dining car had a few seated about, but now it was myself and the stewards moving about. I moved carefully up the car as the train had begun to gain some speed as we left the city limits, and watched for the compartment number on my itinerary and ticket. 

Finally only two cars from the first class lounge I found the right compartment number. I slid open the door and moved inside, turning as I did so to slide the door shut.

"Can I help you?" I hear from behind. Her voice was slightly husky, not annoyingly like some of those breathy dames in the village, and definitely not as heavy. It had no discernible accent, so she was obviously not from New York.

I turned toward her, an inquiring look on my face. Her hat was removed, and placed neatly in an open hatbox on the seat beside her. Her gloves and coat also folded neatly to the side. I could see now that she was wearing a navy suit dress. The skirt hugging her thighs to the knee with a four inch slit at the right side. The jacket was fitted, and five buttons to the collar. A blouse could not be seen at the sleeves nor at the collar. And finally as I moved up her body, the survey of an African explorer, I met her eyes. Green like Jade with a golden halo around the pupil. That along with her peach complexion made her a stunning beauty. One I would expect to see on Vogue magazine.

"I'm not sure" I replied. I felt my throat go dry, and my pulse began to quicken. I could almost feel beads of perspiration forming on my brow. "Compartment 3F right?" I fumbled for my ticket, my coat now on my arm, and my suit buttoned and hat in hand, slightly rumpled. She reached for a handbag, navy like her suit, the brass clasp clicking smartly as she opened it.

Delicate manicured hands and painted nails held the ticket. Through either fate or some other act of divine intervention, the two tickets placed together read identical numbers. My mind racing I looked first at the date and time of departure. Was it possible that there were two total strangers supposed to share a compartment on an overnight train to Chicago?

"It seems that we are both assigned to this compartment ma'am. There must be some mistake." And I turned back toward the door, thinking to find a porter or conductor to straighten this out. My hand had barely brushed the dull brass of the door pull when this angel spoke again.

"Maybe mistakes happen for a reason. My name is Isabelle." She was sat back on the bench, arms to either side but slightly behind her, and stretched out such that her chest was slightly pushed forward, her back slightly arched. Her legs crossed at the knee left over right. "Might as well get comfortable. It is a long overnight trip, and I wouldn't mind the company."

Opposite her, near the window was a wing chair, and I made my way to it, draping my coat over the back and perching my hat on the wing. I undid my suit jacket, revealing the pressed white shirt under it and my black tie. Business, strictly business.

"I suppose you're right" I said as I attempted to relax into the chair. "Name's Rick by the way. Sounds like you've done this trip before?" She smiled and glanced out the window. "Family in Chicago, so yeah I've made this trip a few times. Always alone before, and it can be so boring." 

For the next couple of hours we made small talk. I told her I was moving to Chicago for work, and asked questions about the city itself. She was vivacious talking about growing up in the city and about the museums and galleries and nightclubs. I asked about her work, and she said that she made the trip to New York several times a year for between two or three weeks. The trips were partly business, but mostly pleasure, shopping being an indulgence. By the time the train stopped in Albany, three hours had passed, and it was now mid afternoon.

"Would you like to get a drink in the lounge?" I asked. "Not that the conversation isn't wonderful but maybe a change of scenery?" My feet were now resting on the bench seat near the window. Isabelle had shifted and had her feet curled up under her, the skirt riding up slightly above the knee. The weight of her upper body supported by her right arm as she had been using her left to gesture and to run along her shapely calves. I needed the drink if for no other reason than to stop myself from staring at those gams.

Once we straightened ourselves, her using the small cabin lavatory, and I straightening my tie and replacing my jacket, we headed back the three cars to the second class lounge car. As we moved along the passageway, twice the train seemed to take a sudden lurch, which had me placing a steadying hand at her elbow. After the second lurch, I was tempted to leave my hand on Isabelle's elbow just in case.

The lounge for second class wasn't as nice as the first class parlor car, but still it was all dark wood, green velvet drapes, comfortable chairs at small tables, and a long wood bar with a brass rail and stools to sit at. There was little space at the bar as the businessmen had already taken their accustomed positions and were beginning to boisterously tell stories to each other of their latest successes. Isabelle asked for a red wine, and I requested scotch on the rocks. She moved off to find a table, her hand brushing my arm as she passed.

It took a few minutes, but the drinks were finally made, and I made my way to the corner that she had found, again away from the crowds. I passed her the glass, and our fingers brushed, again just lightly, and only for the briefest of moments. Maybe it was the rocking of the train, maybe it was the green farmlands with their freshly plowed fields and expanses of trees rushing by the window, but those slight touches made my head swim, and that was before I added any alcohol to the mix.

It was three drinks and the stop at Rochester later that we both thought it an idea to make our way to the dining car. By this point she and I had been sitting very close to each other, and getting up to change cars had found us both using the other for support, her arm laced through mine, and her body close against mine. We moved through the now packed Lounge car, another group quickly taking our small table, and into the dining car.

When asked if we were dining alone or with someone else, Isabelle giggled slightly from the wine I am sure and stated clearly "Oh most definitely alone." I smiled at her and was taken off guard by the dazzling smile on her beautiful face.

The Maître d' lead us to a table for two with pressed white linens, sparkling crystal and shining silverware. Fine china with a green and gold motif and the railroad's sign banded the plates and coffee cups. Several tables had animated couples or groups laughing and talking over trivial events, the latest gossip, or even the upcoming spring sports season. I assisted Isabelle into her seat before taking my own, her eyes gazing smokiness at me over the top of the menu. Things had become a bit flirtatious as we enjoyed our cocktails, and her eyes sparkled as she stated in a sexy way "Oysters. I understand that they are quite the aphrodisiac." Not to be outdone I commented back "Maybe we should get a couple dozen." When the waiter approached we both started with chilled wine, and salads.

After the meal, which did include the oysters, but because it is difficult to get fresh seafood in Chicago, we made our way through the train to the observation lounge. The chill of the night kept off by the amount of alcohol we had consumed. We stood together looking at the stars back east as we raced into the night. Isabelle had an almost sad look upon her and brought her hands to her arms cradling them from the cold. I pulled off my jacket and draped it over her shoulders while placing my arms around her from behind. "Warmer now?" My lips close to her ear, my breath whispering across her skin.

"Mmmm, a bit." She moved her hands to mine and brought them to her fabric covered breasts. "Now that is better!" Her hands floating over mine. She leaned her head back placing kisses along my jaw. My hands responding to her, gripping and holding her boobs. I could begin to feel the stirring as my cock gained the blood which was rushing through my body. My own lips seeking hers. "Isabelle" I whispered as I claimed her mouth.

She tasted of the chocolate mousse dessert, and the wine, sweet on her lips, lingering as I ran my tongue along asking for entrance. Her mouth eagerly opening, tongues battling for dominance. Isabelle reached a hand around between us, rubbing my growing cock and rubbing her round ass into me. Luckily there was no one around as my one hand moved down across her stomach and fingers dipped into the waistband of her skirt. I then heard and felt the zipper of my pants lower and felt her hand reach in to my boxers.

She twisted into me my hand moving to cup her bottom, squeezing her cheek as my hand already at the top of her skirt pushed downward, her skirt unforgiving in its tightness. Her free hand came around to unzip the skirt, giving more access as our tongues continued to battle for dominance. Her hand now stroking my full length, my boxers pulled down from the front.

I nipped at her lip, moving my head further as her own fell back to give more access, and I nipped at her pulse point. Her aroma, a smell of vanilla, her own scent, and her perfume, with a spicy edge to its fragrance intoxicating me. I whispered her name against her skin again, feeling the goosebumps it generated and then warming them with my breath and tongue.

"Oh Rick, I need you so badly!" Isabelle moaned into the night. My Isabelle, or at least that is what my mind told me, that I needed to claim this vixen and mark her as my own. Noises in the car behind us letting us know we were about to have company, we both quickly straightened our clothing, and with a chaste kiss I whispered "I'll meet you back in the compartment." There was a stop I wanted to make first.

By the time I got back to the compartment, the porter had been by and converted the bench into a double bunk. Warm sheets and blankets were arranged, and the lights had been dimmed with the shades drawn down. A light was on in the small lavatory, I could see it under the door. I set my surprise down out of the way, far enough from the door, but close enough to the berth for easy access.

Not seeing my overnight, and then again, knowing I would not really be needing it, I sat on the edge of the bunk and removed my shoes and pants, leaving me in my boxers, braces, socks and shirt. I padded over to the door and tapped lightly. "Isabelle?"

I heard the latch on the door, and stepped back to the edge of the berth. The door opened and the light spilled into the room from behind her. She was a stunning silhouette clad in her bra, panties garter and stockings, her suit top still on her shoulders, and her skirt in hand. Isabelle still wore her heels, accentuating her long legs.

"You are beautiful." My voice barely a whisper, but enough to be heard over the clacking of the wheels. "Stunning Isabelle. Why for me?"

That sadness crossed her face briefly. When she spoke it was a voice filled with sorrow. "I was married young, right from High School. He was a football player and he went to war." I realized then that the man she had loved dearly was lost. Her eyes filled with tears looked into mine. "In the past ten years I have been with no one. You are the first man to even come close enough to break down my barriers." She stepped forward, the top now dropping from her shoulders. "My barriers are gone. I am yours to see, and yours to use. Take me to bed Rick. Fuck me hard." I was sitting on the edge of the bed, and she was now standing between my legs.

I leaned forward, lightly brushing my lips across her stomach. Planting a kiss and tasting her skin, smelling her perfume. "You are a petal. A flower blooming. I want to cherish you. I am yours." I reached forward, grasping her ass cheeks pulling her to the edge of the bed, both hands gripping and squeezing, kneading while my mouth found her navel, nipping and scraping my teeth over her stomach.

She wrapped her fingers into my hair, massaging my scalp while encouraging me to explore more. She reached down to my neck, trying to loosen my neck tie when inspiration struck me. "Isabelle do you trust me?" She replied throatily "With my body and soul." I sat back slightly, taking her wrists in mine, then with one hand slipped my tie from my collar, and slipped it over her wrists, and snugging them together. A look of wonder crossed her face, then something I can only define as feral appeared in her eyes. 

I stood and held the tie up over her head, raising her hands and began kissing down her arms and across the exposed part of her breasts where her bra did not cover. There was a bar for the storage area just above the seating area, I wrapped the tie around this to hold her hands in place. With both hands free, I moved then to her bra, releasing the clasps at the back, and lifting the garment up over her head and resting in the overhead luggage bin.

Rosy areola with pert nipples stood out on her large and proportional chest. I lifted her boobs feeling their weight in my hands, running my thumbs across the rock hard nipples which elicited a deep moan of contentment from Isabelle. "More Rick! Love me! Lick me! Suck me!"

"Patience love" I said, and leaned down to flick my tongue across her nipple before rising back up and starting along her neck, kissing across her collarbone and down the valley between her breasts before lolling my tongue up to her right breast first, and rolling the nipple with my tongue, then grazing it between my teeth. Isabelle arched into me, desire driving her into motion, her body almost convulsing from the interaction.

Not to be forgotten, I paid similar attention to the left breast as well, eliciting yet another loud moan of contentment. I moved up to place a kiss on Isabelle's lips, but her mouth had other ideas, as she drove her tongue past my teeth, battling and ravaging my mouth as my own attempted to plunder and control hers. I pulled away giving her a hard look and a smack with my hand to her ass. Instead of the expected whimper or outrage I got a growl of desire.

"Are you a bad girl?" I pinched both nipples a bit hard before palming them while gently squeezing her sizable boobs. I dropped my one hand down between her legs where the fabric of her panties was dripping. "You are very excited aren't you?" I then slipped one hand down her thigh to her garter belt, and released the clasp holding the front of her stocking, then slipping my hand around I did the same at the rear. Slowly my hand slipping down Isabelle's thigh, dragging the stocking along with it. Reaching her foot, I slipped her heel off, and then the stocking, while placing kisses on the inside of her knee.

Repeating the same process with the other leg, now left Isabelle in a state where I could remove the very wet garment from her body. But not yet. I reached up, removing the tie from the rod, and bringing Isabelle's hands down so that the blood could flow into her limbs again. I sat down at the edge of the berth and invited her to sit upon my knee. Her hands resting between her legs, her fingers just able to reach and stroke my now rock hard dick through my boxers. When her fingers strayed a bit too much, I snapped my hand on her bottom again and I felt her squirm in delight.

"If you want to touch you must ask first." I stated, and without meeting my eyes she nodded. I touched her chin, bringing her mouth to mine. As our lips touched I whispered "Please touch me." as I loosened the tie from her wrists.

Immediately she pounced upon me, driving us both back so that she was now grinding her wet cunt against my bare thigh as her hands nearly ripped my boxers from my body. Her hands also made quick work of my dress shirt leaving my chest exposed, but surprisingly, my arms still in the sleeves to my elbows. She raked her nails, beautify maintained down my chest, followed closely by her hot mouth and tongue swirling around my nipples. Her hands then moved back to my now throbbing cock, finger tips dancing around the purple head.

Her cum was coating my leg, and her movement were becoming less rhythmic and more sporadic. She was approaching her first climax and it was against my leg. That would not do at all. I rolled us pulling her under me as my arms, still trapped by the sleeves dropped my weight onto Isabelle's chest. My mouth hungrily searching for her hardened nipple. I found it and bit down, then starting there began my decent along her body. As my teeth made contact with the cloth which covered her dripping pussy, I gripped and dragged the fabric down. She raised her bottom allowing the panties to slide away more easily.




Night Train



With Isabelle's clothing removed, my head was now placed at the opening between her two legs. With wanton abandon and now with two free arms, she brought her hands to either side of my head, and holding my head, pulled me toward her dripping cunt. I extended my tongue out, tasting the cum on her lips, the muskiness making me nearly dizzy with lust. I lay my tongue flat and licked up from her canal up to above her swollen clit, and repeated a few times slow then fast, measuring her response.

Her hips bucked, pushing my face further into her quim, gyrating her hips keeping my tongue in contact with the engorged bundle of nerves. Swirling the nub with my tongue, and hearing the moans Isabelle was making was getting me so hard I just wanted to slam her right then. I could feel pre-cum dripping from my cock onto the floor.

I sucked her clit into my mouth, my teeth clamping down. My arms behind me thrashing as I worked my hands out of the shirt. Wrenching my hands free finally, I buried one finger deep into Isabelle. Pumping furiously I continued to suck on her clit, her excitement building, her hands filled with the sheets clamped enough to drive those manicured nails into the palms of her hands. Her cunt becoming slick with juices as her tunnel began to pulse around my fingers.

"More Rick! Fuck my pussy harder!!" She was riding close to the edge, and I slipped a second finger into her, hearing her gasp as I began to stroke and pump the inside of my sweet darling Isabelle. I looked up and could see the ecstasy on her face, knowing that she was so close. With the hand already pumping furiously into her, I stroked her clit with my thumb and it was her undoing as her juices flooded over my hand, onto the sheets. Before she could completely come down from the high, I moved up and plunged my throbbing cock into her. Isabelle's voice screaming out in absolute pleasure as my cock drilled deep into her.

"Yes! Fuck Me!!" she cried between clenched teeth, pushing herself up onto her elbows, watching my cock drive deep into her. She wrapped her feet up over my pistoning ass, pulling me in with every stroke. I leaned forward on one hand, the other moving up and taking a grip on her breast squeezing and driving her over the edge again. I had to withdraw not to blow my load right then.

Isabelle lay twitching, her eyes heavily lidded, filled with lust. Shakily she got on her knees in front of me before grabbing my ass and shoving my cock down her throat, taking my length completely. Her throat constricted around me, and I was done. I emptied my load into her throat, and she eagerly swallowed every drop. She continued to massage my cock with her mouth and tongue, rubbing my balls. "Isabelle..." I gasped, the blood already returning to my dick with the attention it was receiving.

She turned, shaking her ass in front of me. "Take me" It was all she needed to say. I reached over to the ice bucket I had brought in earlier, pulling the champagne and removing the cork with a pop. I moved behind her, moving down so that my mouth was again at her entrance. I lifted the bottle to just above her ass and allowed the bottle to dribble down onto her ass, running down to my tongue now lapping at her entrance, probing softly with my tongue.

Isabelle reached over to the bucket next, taking ice and popping it into her mouth, again she turned toward me and took my cock into her now icy mouth. The mixture of heat from her mouth, and the cool wetness of the ice was incredible. I reached into the ice as well, running a single piece down her back as her head bobbed keeping the head of my cock inside. I reached around and ran the ice around her already hard nipple, the coldness puckering and pulling the nipple taught even more.

She pulled her mouth from me, growling in desire, before swinging me on the bed face up. My own tie made a re-appearance now twisting around my wrists and fastened to the frame of the bed. "Now I will ride you my Fuck toy" She knelt straddling my stomach, my cock just touching her ass. Isabelle leaned forward, taking my bottom lip between her teeth, biting lightly and pulling my lip up. Sliding back I can feel my cock resting between her pussy lips, the wetness slicking my cock, it jumping against her, twitching in anticipation.

She sat back settling the head of my dick just inside her dripping cunt, and raking her nails down my chest leaving red trails as her thighs shake trying to control herself not to impale her pussy on my member. As her hands reached my abdomen she shifted and forcefully down, taking my full length inside. Taking a moment to adjust to the fullness, she then began to roll her hips, her pelvis bucking with my throbbing cock inside. Isabelle threw her head back enjoying the feeling, riding the building burning in her core.

I could do little with my hands tied, but enjoy the vision of her gliding up and down, the noise of her wet flesh on mine, watching the juices flow where our two bodies joined. I strained my head forward, hoping to bring her attention back to my lips, have her lips tasting mine, but her pace began to pick up, my head flopping back as the pleasure began to build in my own body.

Her pace became frantic as her hips slammed against mine, I wanted to cum so bad inside of her. Then she stopped, just crashing down, burying me to the hilt again. "Oh I'm not done yet." she leaned forward, her tongue licking from my chin to the end of my nose. That was when she raised herself up off of me, taking me in her hand and stroking a few times.

She took her other hand and as she turned her body away from me, stuck her hand between her legs, rubbing the wetness there and moving moisture from front to back. I could see her slide her first finger slowly into her puckered ass. Then a little more quickly, and a little deeper. She kept stroking me in time to these motions.

I watched her add a second finger, spreading her ass making it wet and ready. Then she drove the head of my already pulsing cock onto the ring of muscle, pushing me into her ass. The friction almost made my head explode. She began to move, slowly taking more and more inside herself, I could feel her fingers moving on the front, rubbing her clit to bring her closer to yet another mind shattering orgasm.

I had never experienced anal sex before, and the sensations of this different set of muscles working my cock from the base to the tip was just too much, but I had to hold back, Isabelle's breathing was in short rasps, Her head thrown back in ecstasy. Sweat covered both our bodies as I pounded into her. Finally I felt her body convulse as her orgasm hit, bucking and rolling. Her anus pulsing around my cock as I too succumbed to the moment and had the most intense orgasm of my own life. Pulsing and sending hot strings of white cum deep into her round firm ass.

Coming down from the high we had both experienced, she lay back, arching to reach the place that my hands were still tied and released me. We fell onto our sides, my cock still deep in her ass, my hand cupping her breast and my other draped over us as we fell into slumber.

I awoke to the sound of someone at the door, stating that we would be arriving in twenty minutes in Chicago. Looking around the compartment I found myself alone. There was no trace that anyone had been in the room with me other than, well myself. I couldn't even smell her perfume. It was as if she never existed.

I stumbled into the lavatory and splashed water on my face. Had it all been just a dream?

As the train pulled into the station, I still had not found Isabelle. She seemed to have vanished completely. I spoke to the hostess and the waiters from the night before, and they didn't remember anyone fitting her description, in fact they didn't even remember me. Could I have just imagined it all?

I disembarked from the train, the platform as crowded as in New York, not only with those of us leaving the train, but of course those planning for the return trip to Manhattan. I tried to see her, I was sure that she was more than just a dream. But she was not there. I was sure I saw for just a moment a navy suit, and heard the click of heels before steam from the engine obscured my vision, but was it just a mirage?

Soon the platform was clear. It was just the porters moving baggage, and the maintenance crew sweeping down the platform. It was time to move on, and move to my new life. Eventually I would forget her.

I don't know what time it was, but it must have been late. What I do remember was being shaken awake and looking up into the darkness and seeing her silhouette from the light of the kitchen.

"Rich, come to bed! It's almost three A.M." Bella was dressed in a light robe, she rarely went to bed in a nightgown. We both preferred to sleep nude.

I glanced at the television which was now grey static. I guess the old movie I was watching was over, maybe sometime around one. Was it all a dream? I stood up from the couch, using the remote to turn off the set. I turned toward our bedroom where Bella was standing, her hand loosening the tie on her robe. "Come to bed and make me your Fuck toy" she said.

Maybe it wasn't all a dream. Where is my bucket of ice?



Night Train and "Eau de Puss"



Riding the train home outta Chicago, it was almost empty except for one woman who sat in the way back and a few ladies in front. 

The woman in back had a pleasant look on her face as she looked straight ahead while riding home.

I'd seen her a few times before on the train, but generally I made it a practice not to talk to others on the train, because I didn't expect anyone, including a cute woman like her, to speak to me.

She and I did happen to catch the other's eye; we smiled quickly, but our eyes snapped away going different directions. 

I did happen to notice, she was wearing a low cut top and I wanted to peruse the exposed cleavage, but I told myself not to because I didn't want to appear as typical impolite male.

While, I didn't look, I heard lots of coughing coming from back that way. I looked towards her way. She had a coughing spell that wouldn't quit. I offered gum to her. She looked down as she covered her mouth and said no by using her hand.

At that point, I was able to catch a glimpse of her supple cleavage. It was ecstasy to me. Yes it was. 

God her breasts were beautiful; at that point, it was my goal to be apart of that wondrous area. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow or soon I hoped.

Her cough subsided and I looked back and we smiled at one another. I turned to mind my own business, reading my paper most of the way home.

All of a sudden, I smelled something! It was a familiar odor and for some reason, my sense of smell was acute that evening. 

It smelled out of place too. I lifted my head into the air to smell that peculiar scent. I couldn't place my finger on it yet. 

"What was that, I asked myself? Still, I couldn't figure it out. 

Then a comforting smile came to me as I discovered the origins of the fond, memorable odor sitting in the back of my brain.

This wasn't some body spray. It wasn't someone's perfume. It wasn't a hand cream! It definitely wasn't exhaust fumes.

That scent I caught wind of was the effervescence of a female! Yes, it was the scent of a woman! Not just any scent, mind you! This was a scent procured due to juices developed by a specific action.

Not just any action I discovered. That was an escape of odor from juices produced when an orgasm is ensuing. Just prior to orgasm, when climax is in progress almost and one is just short of that pinnacle, that scent releases from within! 

That climatic odor is emitted and it isn't bottled! It is just adored by those who know its scent!

Nobody here on the train, that I saw, was doing it. There were only six people on it and I was the only man! 

Unfortunately, I was not having sex or anything even remotely close to that, except enjoying that astonishing odor, nicknamed by the French, "eau de puss" I believe. 

I don't know if it's ever been categorized, but I knew that distinct odor.

What woman, I wondered, was doing that to her own self then? Who was fragile enough that she had to break down, pleasure herself at this time, and try to have an orgasm on a barren Chicago train? I looked at the people in front of me.

One older woman, close to 75, wasn't the culprit. Another woman coddling two young children wasn't the 'perp'. No, she couldn't be it. 

A young woman carrying three bags of groceries home, she was looking around also. She didn't give me any clues either.

Then I decided to turn and look. I looked back at the woman, approximately 37 or 38. 

Beautiful, sexy, supple, and she had suave silky hair. She was adorned with a smile that when I looked towards her, she winked at me. She knew that I knew. I knew the odor and I knew it well!

Her hands were down by her sides and I could see movement of arms that suggested she might be fingering herself, possibly into an orgasm. Yes trying for orgasm as she was heading home.

I looked back again, suspiciously, and she was doing herself, that was for sure! She did smile at me purposely. She did want me to be aware that she was finger fucking her pussy. 

She did want to let me know, she was enjoying herself. She almost giggled as she teased herself and me.

Then I turned away, but I heard a clearing of a throat, from behind me. I turned around again; she smiled and her arms moved more forcefully. She was almost there, it seemed! 

Her face was focused as she headed towards the end-result of orgasm. It showed all over her. She was there. I was here. She looked at me, signaling for me to come and be with her actually.

"No way, I thought! Like what the heck, now, me really?" I pointed to myself. 

She nodded yes and as she did, her face became tenser. I stood up, walked back discreetly and she motioned that I disappear underneath the bench. So I did and her legs spread apart as I let my head shovel its way between her thighs.

She pushed it into her pussy even deeper. Obviously, it was my task to finalize her objective. 

I did so gladly and a scream, a loud piercing scream, almost shattered the eardrums of everyone on the train. 

Was I in Heaven? You bet your sweet garden I was. All one-hundred ounces of canned "eau de puss", I was; that's for sure!

She looked ahead at the other ladies and smiled. She wiped her pussy with her bare hands and licked them off! She wiped any excess on my shirt and her skirt also. 

Then I received another surprise! She wrote her name and an address on a piece of paper, handed that to me, and said thank you, quietly. She winked and smiled at me as if she was forever grateful. 

She didn't say anything else. After she gave me the information, she pulled up her underwear, collected her things, and kissed me on my head. 

She patted my shoulder and only mouthed the words, "I hope to see or hear from you soon!"

She quietly got off the train and headed away. Later that evening, I was at her home. That night, when I rang the doorbell, she came up to answer the door in a nice looking robe, but with tears in her eyes. Behind her was a dude who turned out to be her husband.

He was in a t-shirt and knit shorts with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. I didn't know their situation; however, I turned and left right away.

I saw her two days later with a nice outfit on again. Her hair was pulled back in a nicely tight fit ponytail. What stood out though was a noticeable bruise on her face just below her eye.

I sat down and gave her my name. She reintroduced herself and said, "Sweetheart, all I want right now is a good orgasm. That's all; can you do that for me again? Right now too?"

I thought "here, again on the train?" She said yes; I disappeared underneath and she pulled her panties down again. The rest, well you know what happened. 

We figured out another location soon enough too, since my wife wouldn't think my home would be a good spot for this, of course.

Her name was Andrea, and she was in an abusive relationship. She married for lust. He married for sex only. She was working on a divorce secretly and a legal separation. 

There wasn't love between the two ever! Besides that, there wasn't love between us either we just enjoyed good sex. 

No strings were attached, we agreed to it. We stuck by that. It was good for both.

The only gratification she got from him was an unusually large cock for a white man. He was suave and seemingly sophisticated. 

After 3 years of marriage, he wasn't the same man; hence, she looked for a good satisfying orgasm elsewhere.

Thus, the night train home was her satisfaction. It was mine as well because she produced a great scent of "eau de puss" and I was the only lucky recipient of that odor.

Of course, this evolved into meeting at a hotel. They were short lived rendezvous', but gratifying at the time for both of us!



Night Train: Slow Movements



Great thanks for editing the story to GAhornynurse1976 and EloquentTemptress. 

---

There were only two of us, on a small platform in the proverbial middle of nowhere, waiting for the late night sleeper train: myself and a girl with curly hair wearing a black coat. In the dim light of the platform, I couldn't see her face, but she looked slim and youthful. Tired and sleepy, we did not attempt to communicate. We just stood there, several steps from each other, looking nervously at our phones.

When the train arrived, we both headed for the same car. The conductor, as sleepy and tired as we were, hurried us along, offering no assistance as the girl struggled to lift her large suitcase over the gap between the platform and the train. I wordlessly maneuvered the suitcase onto the train's vestibule. In its bright light, I finally got a good look at her face. It was pretty and heart-shaped, with full lips and an open smile. She wore thin glasses. Her demeanor was slightly childlike, yet confident at the same time.

Our train was an old Soviet era sleeper train, still the most popular type here. The cars are divided into a number of sleeping compartments, and no effort is made to divide passengers of different genders into different compartments.

After quickly glancing at our tickets, the conductor gruffly directed us both to the same compartment. I stepped aside to allow my companion to enter first through the narrow compartment door. As I followed her inside, I saw the usual layout -- two bunks on each side of the compartment, one above the other, with about two feet in between. The top bunks on each side were occupied by sleeping travelers, so we left the lights off and tried to make as little noise as possible. As I quietly stowed my luggage and made my bed, I saw my compartment-mate pull a small bag out of her suitcase.

I had had a long day, so sleep was the only thing on my mind. Quickly and with no concern for my audience, I stripped off my shirt and trousers and slipped, clad only in my underwear, between the sheets. As I did so, I saw my fellow passenger slip out the compartment door, carrying her small bag.

As too often happens, my sleepiness disappeared the instant my head hit the pillow. When it failed to return after several long minutes, I began reading a book on my smart phone, hoping it would help me to fall asleep.

When I saw my compartment-mate leave, I assumed she was headed for the restroom to change from her tight jeans and white blouse into something more fitting for sleep. Now she returned, confirming my expectations. She was dressed in something that I assumed was a type of pajamas. Pretending to concentrate on my book, I glanced at her surreptitiously -- and then could not look away. I adore moments like these, seeing the contrast between the competent, polished image a woman projects during the day, and the vulnerability she exposes when her uniform is stripped away for sleep. My compartment-mate wore loose boxers and an equally loose undershirt, both white with some green or blue pattern on them. She stood for a moment in the open door, with the bare skin of her legs and shoulders almost glowing in the dim corridor light.

Finally, she took a step forward. She pulled the door almost shut, leaving a narrow strip of light illuminating her bunk. As she stowed her bag and prepared the bed, I continued pretending to "read" from my smartphone. But I continued to observe her motions, turning the phone this way or that way so that I always had a sight line to where she stood, sat, bent over, etc. By the heaviness of her undershirt as she bent over, I already knew she had nothing on underneath it, and I couldn't help wondering whether she had anything on under the boxers. As she bent toward the furthest end of her bunk, she unwittingly answered this question for me. Her waist was mere inches from my face, and in the light from roadlights outside the train, I saw the dark lace of her panties under the thin white boxers.

(I assumed the show was inadvertent, but sometimes I wonder who we are trying to fool with our "innocent" glances, and maneuvers to see what should remain unseen. Girls are not fools, nor careless. So if something is seen, perhaps she MEANT it to be seen....)

There was nothing indecent in this scene, but it was very erotic. I didn't want anything from her. I was neither aroused nor in love. But as a man in my 30's, it already seemed likes ages since I had felt the smooth skin and lightness of touch of a truly young woman. I was full of tenderness, excitement, and nostalgia for the time when I was her age. Without any greed but with a strange melancholy, I observed as she finally laid on her back, took off her thin glasses (making her face appear even more childlike) and carelessly covered herself with a thin sheet. Presumably because the compartment was warm and stuffy, with no ventilation from outside, she pulled the sheet up only to her stomach.

I continued trying to read for several more minutes, but my mind kept wandering in the direction of my youth-- the girlfriends I had in those days, and the way we played together with no inhibitions or concern for the future. Finally, I gave up reading, took off my own glasses, turned off my smart phone and decided to try to sleep. Before closing my eyes, I cast a final glance at the opposite bunk. The girl was still beautiful. She appeared asleep already, lying flat on her back, mouth slightly open. She had one hand on her stomach under the shirt, and the other was somewhere under the sheet, near her thigh.

She looked pretty, natural and peaceful, and I spent what I thought would be my last moment before sleep imagining how soft her skin must feel under her hands.

Then I noticed something. At first, I thought it was my imagination or some accidental movement of her sleeping body. But as seconds and then minutes passed, I became increasingly sure that it was happening: with very slow, small, almost indistinguishable movements, she caressed her stomach under the shirt. While slow, her movements were regular, and it was very unlikely to be unconscious, dream-induced behavior. No, she caressed herself deliberately and confidently, as if nobody were there. Or was she just indifferent to the presence of others? She did nothing "improper", nothing that couldn't be done even on a public beach...at least not yet.

Despite the dim light in the compartment, I started to enjoy watching her. The compartment door remained slightly ajar, and at times light from outside the train would briefly add illumination. I could not see every detail, but I saw enough to notice as her movements, with the same killing slowness, became wider and wider. Soon her hand under the shirt was up to the lower part of her breasts, and it even looked like she caressed the underside of the breast with her fingers. The lower edge of the shirt, pushed up with the movement of the hand, bared almost her entire stomach. Then her hand started to move lower and lower at the bottom of each circle. She traced her navel with delicate, tender movements, and her fingertips occasionally slid under the edge of the sheet -- but still only grazing her waistline.

The entire path from the bottom of her breasts to her waistline took something like three or four minutes, so everything was slow, almost still. If the person from the top bunk had woken up at the moment and looked down at her, she'd have looked deeply asleep, with slightly raised shirt, but again - nothing clearly indecent. Only I, observing thoroughly and thankfully this gift, had seen the change of speed and amplitude of her movements, and wondered with trace of hope and fear, how far it could possibly go. And I couldn't even guess what was in her head because what I was seeing didn't look like showing off, teasing, or invitation. She just looked like she was enjoying herself, as calm and relaxed as could be.

Also it did not seem like the bedtime masturbation session of a desperate woman. She was in no hurry, and was not, strictly speaking, masturbating. Yet after several minutes I realized that at the topmost point of her hand journey she almost grabbed her entire breast now. And, even more surprisingly, her other hand, which was closer to me, was not lying calmly at her thigh. It was almost still, straight, and tense, and as far as I could see under sheet, it was now stretched at least to the insides of her thighs, or even just to inside of her panties. "Despite all things, she IS masturbating", I assumed, "and this strange show-and-caress game was just a prelude, maybe her way to get in the mood".

Next, she pulled the sheet up from her waist. I interpreted this to mean that the show and the night were over, but soon I realized that was not the case. Instead: with the same hand, the same caressing motion, she slowly pulled up the edge of the sheet to cover her belly. Then, when her hand (and the sheet) met the edge of her pulled up shirt, she continued to pull both up in tandem, above her breasts. I saw it very clearly, and I even glimpsed her nipple for a moment - just as something slightly darker, slightly protruding from her white skin, in a small space between the edge of the sheet and the edge of her shirt.

She finished this slow continuous motion just at her throat, somehow tucking the corner of the sheet under the folds of the shirt, which was now scrunched around her neck. The tissue of the sheet became stretched between her chest and slightly bent knees, forming a bridge, so there couldn't be seen any movements of her lower hand between her thighs and beneath the bridge. But what definitely could be seen was her upper hand, and now it was undoubtedly playing with her breasts and nipples.

All the movements remained incredibly slow; at any given moment I might have guessed my young neighbor asleep...but the entire situation progressed without any interruptions. I saw clearly as her palm confidently (yet slowly) grabbed her right breast -- the one closest to me -- and did several tight squeezes and rolls. Then it looked like she raised her hand in the air over the breast (still under the sheet), and pulled her nipple, very hard. From this moment, her demeanor and the look on her face started to change. Everything was still slow, yet she had obviously given up pretending that nothing untoward was happening and that she was asleep. She started throwing her head back on the pillow, opening and closing her mouth, and licking her lips. Her knees also started to move, with the same deadly slowness bending more and more, opening wider and wider.

At some point, I noticed a small movement of her knee, and then saw that something had slipped from under the sheet and fallen to the floor. It was her boxers. As I had not seen anything in the previous few minutes that looked like undressing below the sheet, I inferred that she had taken the boxers off right when she settled in bed. I was fascinated, but the falling of the boxers seemed to frighten her: her hands suddenly stopped even their slow movements, and rested motionless on her body.

Several minutes passed with me waiting patiently, still watching. Honestly, that time I was pretty sure everything was over, but I hoped to catch a brief glimpse of some part of her body as she rearranged her clothes and bedding to prepare for sleep. But it turned out she eventually decided to resume doing what she wanted to do -- and possibly had planned in advance to do. So she resumed her activities with more confident, more bold movements. The hand on the breasts definitely tried to grab both breasts at once, leaped from left to right, and her cover had shifted so I could see some lifting of the left breast, and sometimes her fingers, dancing and grabbing and pressing. The "sheet bridge" between her chest and knees collapsed on her, and now I could see what her other hand was doing. Now (in case there had remained any doubt) it was clear she was masturbating herself, and I even could guess how. It was apparent that she just rubbed her clitoris with several fingers, every now and then dipping them for a moment lower, between her lips or even into herself.

Her knees continued to spread, and at some point, with a tiny jerk of one leg, I saw something fall to the floor again. This time, it was a pair of lacy black panties. Yep. I was excited, surprised, thankful and...slightly frightened. I realized she must have been lying there naked from the waist down the whole time. And this small jerk of the knee -- did she do it on purpose? Did she drop those panties to show them to me, to expose herself more, though indirectly?

Only once before had I been in a similar situation. About two years before, in the same sleeper train, there had been a pair of young students on the bunk opposite mine. How they had ended up sharing one bunk, I don't know. While there was light in the car, they just sat there, and hugged, and looked through the window, and whispered some compliments in each other's ears. But once everyone got to their beds, and the lights were turned off, I definitely heard moist sounds from where they huddled on one bunk together. I saw the silhouette of the young boy's hand, definitely masturbating his lover, and I heard her soft girlish moans.

That time I also had felt tender, and thankful, and nostalgic, but those students definitely saw only each other and could think only of one another. This time, with this girl with curly hair and white pajamas, was different. And I wanted it to be fair. I could only suppose she was aware of my awakened presence, and all of a sudden I decided I didn't want it this way, even if my decision would ruin a moment entirely.

So, I just casually took my phone from the table near the bunk, as if I were checking the time, and I also grabbed my glasses as if I couldn't see anything without them (in fact, I could see the smartphone screen, but I knew I would see the girl better with my glasses on). Then I put smartphone back on the table, but didn't take off the glasses, and rather deliberately settled myself at the best angle for an unobstructed view of her entire body.

How did she react, you ask? She did nothing. Or rather, she continued doing what she was doing, still very slowly, but with shameless obviousness: one hand on her breasts, another between her parted legs. At first she gave no indication that she was aware of me (for the first five minutes I even doubted whether I had been obvious enough, or whether she still thought she was unobserved), but at some point she half-turned toward me and half-smiled, as if to say "Hey, do you like it? I do!"

I stared at this pretty, daring girl with delight and a huge, heavy excitement. Sometimes it seemed nothing changed that I could see, yet my mind was busy noticing the smallest details: how her erect nipples were visible under the sheet, when she sometimes dropped her hand from them to rub her belly and thighs; how her breathing gradually became fuller and heavier; and how her knee slipped from under the sheet. In general, while time passed in her slow, passionate work, the sheet became more and more useless. Bits of her sides and belly were exposed here and there, and the upper part unwrapped itself from beneath her shorts and slid down, showing off the very tops of her breasts. And below, the leg nearest to me was bent so that the sheet slipped down to the center of her body and crumpled around her lower hand. I observed the pretty act and waited for something, not clearly imagining what it would be.

Suddenly, I realized that somehow I had managed to pull my cock from my underwear and was holding it tightly in my fist. Even though I wasn't moving, I found myself at the edge of coming. I could think of no objection to masturbating myself simultaneously with this gorgeous girl, but I didn't want to come ahead of her, so I attempted to make my actions less bold, and at the same time more obvious. Somehow it felt like the right thing to do, like it would make us players in the same game, instead of "actor" and "spectator."

Abruptly, she stopped. I stopped too, ashamed and worried that my actions had been too overt or intrusive for her. Then I thought perhaps she had come already, silently and without much energy. Then she sat up on her bunk, with the sheet falling to her waist, and her undershirt sliding back into place to cover her chest (but not before I'd received an eyeful of not-so-small young breasts with small, protruding nipples). Then she put on her glasses, turned on the small light above her bed, and pulled a small bottle of water from her bag.

For a several minutes she just sat there, smiling silently at her thoughts, sipping water and apparently resting. I laid still, in my awkwardly obvious viewing position, trying to pretend I wasn't there, still staring at her.

"That was cool", I thought. And already I felt almost nostalgic about the events of the night, which I imagined were over.

All of a sudden, she stretched her arms, lowered them, and then just casually took off her undershirt. And sat there naked from the waist up, still with her bottle of water and dreamy look. And then, she just slipped down on her bunk into a half-reclining position, slightly parted her legs and dropped one hand between them. She didn't turn off the light above her bunk, nor take off her glasses, and her face was half-turned toward me again. Apparently, she not only had decided to continue, but to raise the stakes much higher. Now, there was no way the people from the top bunks could miss what was happening, if they were suddenly to awaken.

I could hardly decline her invitation. So I, too, semi-reclined comfortably and, without hesitation, removed my underwear under my sheet. While I did that, she parted her bent legs wide. One knee now lay on the bunk, another against the wall; her sheet was coiled around them, finally exposing her private parts, which captured my full attention immediately. She was completely unshaven, which can look untidy on older women, yet on those girls with milk-white smooth skin and the roundedness of youth, it sometimes looks preciously natural. With her legs positioned as they were, I could see her hot pink lips also parted widely, and her not-so-small clitoris dancing under her poking fingertip.

I somehow tore my gaze away from her private parts and saw that her gaze was now fixated on my nether regions, and that a wicked smile had appeared on her face. Deciding to play fairly, I tossed my sheet away and tried to behave like a grown-up doing a perfectly natural thing (which in fact I was, but it didn't feel like it in the moment). My touches to myself became very light, almost decorative; I was afraid I'd come at any moment, but I didn't want to! I just wanted this night to continue and continue, with more strange and open and candid actions, and the calming sound of train wheels on rails, and the friendly smiles of naked strangers.

The next thing I noticed was her small water bottle. All this time she had held it in the hand that was not busy teasing her clit, and this hand for the time just laid on her open thigh. Then, with the same slow movements as before (there was no sign of subterfuge now, but the movements remained slow and delicate) the hand with the bottle started to move closer and closer to her bush. I observed in disbelief: was she really craving more? Was I destined to see something even more incredible than I was already seeing?

And she did. And I was. The hand dove between her open thighs, and I almost moaned or cussed listening to the moist sound of the bottle lid touching her (apparently very wet) sex. Concentrating on the sensations, she even stopped rubbing her clit. She took the bottle in both hands and placed it carefully, lovingly, and exactly to penetrate at the right angle. Or so I supposed, as from my position I couldn't see the entrance, just guessed what was happening by her movements and facial expressions. Finally, by her attention returning to my man parts I assumed everything was settled. And indeed, one of her hands had returned to clitoris, and the other was now placed on the bottle bottom, pressing it inside.




Night Train: Slow Movements



With both of her hands in that area, I couldn't see much, but I sincerely enjoyed the situation, the openness and surrealism of everything happening before me. But for her, it seemed not enough. She appeared to want even more open, more candid, more shameless feelings. So, she took her hand from her clitoris (and never touched it again, obviously she was already as close as I) and turned on her bunk slightly. One of her hands now was grabbing her breasts, greedily now (though she still tried her best to do everything as slow as possible), the other was behind her back, touching and pressing the bottle bottom from behind. Now I could see clearly her small inner lips stretched around the bottle's top half, and how her vagina pushed the plastic back out after each press, and despite that sight (and despite the sight I presented myself) our eyes finally met.

Next, she started to come. Even at that moment she tried to be slow, and mindful, and aware and through my own excitement I appreciated that as much as the candid show. She moved to lean her back on the wall facing me, and hugged her spread knees, trying to spread them even more, and she gripped her nipples and pulled them. The small bottle with water danced inside her, set against the bunk, pushed in further and further. Her eyes were fixated on me, leaping wildly from cock to face, from face to cock, and she rocked, breathing heavily, and moaned very low but never closed her eyes. She was there, with me, through the entire orgasm, so long that I had time to sit opposite her, and do my final movements and spurt my semen into the air and on my lap, all of the while, looking at the gorgeous girl I'd never seen before. I felt proud, and grateful, and now truly nostalgic, as I knew these were the last moments of our adventure.

Finally, her face became calm and sleepy. She still sat with her feet on the bank, her knees parted, resting and peaceful. Then she pulled the bottle out of her, and despite my post-orgasmic indifference I was amazed by the combination of the casual gesture with the openness of her position and the moist opening between her legs. She took the lid off and sipped some water. I hoped she would offer the bottle to me, and she did exactly that. Our fingers touched on the bottle as I took it from her -- our first and only touch during this night. I drank slowly, trying to catch her smell, her taste, and I sort of caught something subtle yet distinguishable.

Without any shyness, she put on her boxers and undershirt again, tossing her panties into her bag. I was tender and sad while she dressed, as I knew I would never see her naked again. Without any words, she remade her bed, and slipped back under the sheet, smiling at me with one last smile, looking almost apologetic.

When I woke up from the morning sun, there was nobody else in the compartment, and no luggage left behind. Besides my things, nothing remained but a small bottle of water on the table.



Night Train to Istanbul



It takes about seven hours to drive the distance from Sofia, Bulgaria, to Istanbul, Turkey, though to do this of course you must have a car. I didn't. I took the night train, which takes closer to thirteen hours to cover the same ground.

Fortunately, this was no regular train; it was a night train. I've had adventures enough on night trains, though never anything sexual. I travelled from Varanasi to New Delhi sleeping on top of my backpack to keep the thieves and cockroaches at bay - though it must be said that there were none of the former, only many of the latter. I travelled from Kiev to Lviv in Ukraine on another overnighter, and was having a great time talking to an old Russian lady until her son got tired of translating and put on his headphones, and then she started an argument with me about where the Russian border lay. Evidently she had missed the memo informing Russians that Poland had won its independence.

On the way back to Kiev I met a fascinating young American girl. When the ticket inspector came he asked to see our passports, which was irregular but understandable given that we were scary foreigners. Later, when we compared visa stamps, I looked at her details and discovered that we shared a birthday. I hoped at the time that this would lead to some growing intimacy; perhaps she would like to come and sit with me on my side of the carriage; perhaps she would like to rest her head on my shoulder when she grew tired; perhaps she wouldn't ask me to look the other way when she got undressed for bed. The possibilities were limitless, in my head, though in reality we got no further than talking. I believed her when she told me she'd once been mistaken for Miss Bosnia - she was certainly beautiful enough, though I knew few Bosnians with whom to compare her.

When I got on the train to Istanbul I wasn't expecting anything to happen. For a start, I found myself alone in a twin bunk compartment, and frankly I was glad for the space. I'd spent the previous month in hostels across Eastern Europe, and to have some room to myself, however limited, was a thrilling novelty.

I unpacked the food I'd brought with me for the journey, and before the train had even left the station I'd worked my way through half of it. I took my shoes off and wiggled my toes. I finished the book I was reading - you may find it ironic to learn this was called 'On Writing Well.' I lay on my bunk, turned off the light, and thought about sleep.

My mind turned, inevitably, to women, and in my relaxed state I considered playing with myself. I was growing hard with the thought of the girls I'd met in the last few years, whose kisses were still fresh on my lips. I missed the excitement of flirting, especially on those rare occasions when my flirting worked. It really had been too long, and the more I thought about it the less excited I was. I pulled my hand out of my trousers just in time to hear the conductor knocking on the door, waiting to collect my ticket.

After a couple of hours the train stopped. I didn't see the name of the station, and it's possible that there wasn't one; this was Bulgaria, after all, and not all the stations were named. A few people got off, carrying bags full of groceries, and I wondered why they hadn't just taken a local train instead as it would surely have been quicker for them.

I watched through the window as a backpacker struggled up the steps onto the train. I heard footsteps in the corridor, and then a knocking on my door, and then she was there, in my cabin, lifting her pack up onto the top bunk. The ticket inspector took the cigarette he was smoking out of his mouth and said some strange combination of the words 'billet' and 'ticket', as if by mixing the words together he could make his meaning clear. In a moment he was gone and we were left to ourselves.

We exchanged hellos and I was met with one of the most pleasant smiles I have ever seen, a smile full of warmth and sincerity, a smile that comes from meeting a fellow traveller after a long time isolated among the locals.

We talked for a while, about the usual things that travellers talk about. I noticed she was rubbing her shoulder as we talked, and she noticed that I had noticed. She smiled a little half smile, and I saw a flash of something in her eyes.

"Can I suggest something?" she said.

"Of course. What?"

"Well, it's clear that I'm in dire need of a massage. I'd love one, but I don't want to just assume you'd like to give me one, so I want to suggest a trade of sorts."

"That sounds reasonable," I said, imagining running my hands over her skin, caressing her muscles; it didn't much matter to me what she wanted to give in return.

"It's clear you like reading," she said, pointing to the book on the side table. "But you can't exactly read if you're giving me a back rub. So, how about I tell you some little stories I've picked up along the way, to keep you entertained whilst you work on my muscles?"

"A bit like Scheherazade, only kind of the other way round?"

"Precisely."

It sounded like a very good deal, a win-win situation. I like giving massages, and I like hearing stories. She took off her shirt, leaving just a tank top showing; I don't think she was wearing a bra. Her hair was long and smooth and very, very black, and fell down a long way. I was turned on immediately -- long hair does something to me that I will never fully understand. She sat on the edge of my bunk, looking out through the window at the darkness outside, and I took up a position just behind her, pressed close but not oppressively close, with my legs either side of her.

I began my massage, at first just running my hands and fingers gently over her skin, and then beginning to probe for tender spots about her muscles.

"My first story is about a man I met in Romania a few weeks ago. I remember him very clearly, even though we spoke only for a few minutes. I noticed him in the lounge in the hostel, and he looked miserable. I'm often interested by misery, especially when I see it in a handsome or beautiful person, because I always have to wonder what has made them so sad.

"I went up to him and we started talking, and it became clear to me that he wanted to unburden himself. He looked anxious to tell me something, so at a suitable moment in our conversation I remained quiet. It's amazing what unexpected silence can do. He told me everything.

"He had just met the woman of his dreams. She was, he said, a beautiful woman, more beautiful than any he had ever met before. She was tall and long-legged, and had an amazing grace about her. She could have been a model, but she gave the impression that modelling would have been somehow beneath her. Her voice was like water running over well-worn rocks in a stream -- his words, not mine -- and that when she smiled you could feel yourself melting inside. She was also the only woman he had ever met who had made him laugh out loud with the things she said."

"She sounds wonderful," I said.

"I know! That's exactly what I said to him, and then he just stopped and stared out of the window again. A minute later he told me what the problem was, what was making him so unhappy. He had met this woman just then, there in Romania, and she was on her honeymoon."

It was an excellent story, and I liked how the girl had told it to me. It had also taken my mind off our close proximity, and if she hadn't been distracting me I'm sure I would have been hard by then.

I asked her to tell me another tale. She told many, about men and women and their various loves and disasters. All the while I was rubbing her muscles, and occasionally she would let out a delighted gasp as I found a particularly knotted area, or a sigh of satisfaction when I was softer and more delicate. I let my hands drift, massaging first her upper back and then her sides, and my fingers grazed her breasts, so carefully that I'm not even sure she noticed.

Her stories became more and more intimate, and she began talking about sex. I inched closer to her. My cock was growing larger in my jeans, and I felt constrained. I wanted her to feel the reaction she was causing in me, and I began to wonder if she was turned on herself.

"Ok," she said. "This is my last story for now, and then we'll have to take a break. I'm running out of stories, and your hands must be getting very tired. This story concerns myself, and I want you to promise never to tell another soul about it."

I promised.

"I was in Serbia a few weeks ago, and I met a guy in a bar. We started talking, and he gave the impression of being a very liberal and enlightened man. He seemed to have shed all those outmoded and old-fashioned ideas of men being breadwinners and women being mothers and housewives. I told him about my career aspirations and he encouraged me in them. He said that meeting me was like a breath of fresh air, and that the women he was used to meeting were only interested in marriage and starting a family. He had big plans and wasn't ready for that sort of commitment, but also knew one day he would want to settle down and make a life for himself with the right woman.

"When I look back I think I was rather naïve to have fallen for it all, hook, line and sinker. The inevitable happened. We kissed, and we kissed a lot. He was really good. He was passionate but restrained, and I got the idea that his kisses would just get better and better. And they did. I wanted more and more, and I ended up in his bed.

"We shared one night of passion, and it was unforgettable. He really knew his way around a woman's body, I can tell you that! And you'd be surprised at how few men really have that skill. He was patient and paid a lot of attention to me in all the right places, and I had a thrilling orgasm."

She paused. Her voice had dropped to almost a whisper, and I was now leaning in close to catch every word. My massage barely deserved the name, because now I was just gripping and pressing her shoulders as I in turn pressed myself close into her. I lowered my head to the nape of her neck and considered kissing her, but decided now was not the time. I did not want to confuse myself with the image of the Serbian in her thoughts.

"We made love again and again and I slept the most peaceful sleep. But then in the morning, when the alarm clock woke us at about eight, he turned to me and spoke with horrible morning breath. I was disgusted: he was telling me to go and make coffee and breakfast. I couldn't believe it! We had an argument after that, and he told me everything. I don't know if it was an excuse for an unenlightened philosophy, or that he was used to dealing with a different kind of woman altogether. He just said that the women he usually brought home were simultaneously attracted and horrified by the independent vision of themselves that he presented; that they were happy to go to bed with this man thinking they were liberated, but by the morning the cold reality had settled in that they wanted nothing more than the marital bed after all.

"The worst thing of all this was that I had thought I was somehow exceptional, whereas really he told every woman he was with that he found them challenging and unique. This affront to my uniqueness was intolerable and I left."

"That's a sad story," I said, not knowing what else to say, and wishing that I'd remained silent. She stood up then and turned to face me, her eyes bright and determined.

"Well, I at least left with my head held high. And I didn't even feel tears welling inside me. He had tricked me, but I suppose I had wanted to be tricked. It's a shame that it all happened that way, because the night had been wonderful. I feel as if the memory of the night has been stolen from me by the revelation of the man."

Just then we heard the screeching of brakes, and of the carriages bumping and grinding into one another. We had reached the border.

The girl reached for her jacket and passport and without saying very much to each other we left the train and went to sort out our visas for Turkey.

The crossing was my first introduction to Turkish bureaucracy. The engine was uncoupled from the carriages and left for another track. It came back two hours later, though sorting out visas only took twenty minutes.

For the remaining hour and forty minutes I hardly saw Scheherazade. She spent most of the time socialising with the other tourists on the train. I felt a little down. We had had a good time together in the carriage, and I thought that we had reached a certain level of intimacy. Had she had her fill of me already? Was she now flirting with those others? Would she even join me back in my compartment or, since the train was half-empty, would she instead go off with somebody else?

I had been in this situation before and I never like it. I am not one for uncertainty. I saw myself watching her more and more, and the demon of jealousy began tapping my shoulder. I hate this, I thought to myself, and so I hastened back onto the train and went to my compartment. I found another book to read and sat on my bunk staring absently at the words on the first page for the rest of the time we were stopped there.

And then she walked back in.

"Wow, it's so warm out there! It's gone midnight, and it must be fifteen degrees at least. And it was practically freezing in Bulgaria!"

I was instantly won over by her charm once again, and the blue clouds around me disappeared. I looked up at her and smiled, and then closed my book and put it down.

"How are your shoulders?" I asked her casually. She stretched a bit, and felt her muscles carefully.

"Much better," she said. "But I was kind of hoping for a bit more, if you're feeling up to it." Then quickly she added, "I mean, if your fingers haven't cramped up or anything." Was she blushing?

"Sure," I said. "I don't mind. But I thought you were out of stories."

"Out of stories? Never! But I will take a break from telling them. I'm glad you had something to listen to whilst you helped me with my back, but the thought occurs that I'm losing myself in the past when really I should be concentrating on the present."

"That seems a reasonable thing to say. I loved your stories, but I take pride in my massages and I'm happy for you to give yourself over to them if you prefer."

"Thank you. But this time, let's get a bit more comfortable," she said as she took off her walking boots and climbed up onto her bunk. "Sorry about the socks. Oh, and lock the door will you?"

"Can I ask a small favour if I'm going to climb up there with you?" I asked, looking up at her and wanting terribly to give her a kiss. Her lips were so full and red, and it had been too long since my lips had last met another's.

I explained that my jeans were not exactly baggy, and if I was going to get comfortable they were just going to get in the way.

"Well take them off then," she said easily. And then with a wink, "I trust you."

I took off my trousers and climbed up onto her bunk. I straddled her body, taking a moderately comfortable position with my knees either side of her bottom, and there I rested my weight. Fortunately I was in control of myself and didn't have an erection.

"Start with my shoulders again," she said, and she pulled the straps of her tank top to the side of her arms, giving me better access to her beautiful skin. I couldn't see much in the dim light of the cabin; the only light on was the one over my bunk, and so we were there together in the glowing twilight of the night. She looked incredible.

I ran my finger tips over her shoulders in circles and figures of eight, and she moaned contentedly. Otherwise we were quiet, neither one of us wanting to break the mood we were quickly establishing. I worked my fingertips into her flesh, clutching and pressing, going to the places that still felt like they needed attention.

After a few minutes, with Scheherazade and I rocking gently from side to side with the motion of the train, I decided that her shoulders were suitably massaged. 

"What's next?" I asked her. She pointed at her lower back. "You know, I can do a better job if you take off your top." Was that really me saying this? It seemed like a risky move, and yet without saying another word she shuffled her top up and then over her head, all without affording me even a glance of her breasts.

The sight in front of me was glorious. In taking off her top her hair had fallen down the length of her back. It reached almost as far as her waist. I took it in my hands and let it fall loose a few times through my fingers, delighting in its softness. She giggled.

I repeated my earlier hand movements, running my fingers all across her skin, resisting the temptation to let my hands slide down and stroke the sides of her breasts again. I am not a particularly imaginative masseur, but what I lack in creativity I make up for in thoroughness. I didn't rush. I listened to her breathing, and concentrated on trying to make her as happy as I could.

"That's really good," she said. I finished my massage of her lower back and then flexed my fingers and rubbed my wrists. I was getting tired and needed to change positions because I could feel the cramp seeping into my legs. I wasn't used to kneeling like this for so long, and I'd tried my best not to put my full weight on her.

"You can do my legs now, if you want," she said, and straight away she started to undo the buttons on her jeans. "Help me with these," she said, tugging at the top of her trousers. She didn't want to turn too much, it seemed, and I could understand why: if she turned more than a couple of inches I would have had a great view of her breasts, even in the half-light. I pulled her jeans down further and further, and slipped them off past her feet. This was heaven.

Although the light was bad, I could still make out little details as I looked. I tried not to be too obvious checking out Scheherazade in her underwear, but now that her jeans had been removed she had rested her head back on her pillow and wasn't looking at me, so I was safe. Her legs were slightly parted: not much, but enough to suggest comfort as well as a trace of seduction. I peered in close, and was sure that there was a dark spot at the centre of the crease where her pussy lips pressed against the cotton. Was she excited? Was she enjoying my attentions that much? Or was it just that it was a hot night, as she had already pointed out?

I decided to start at the feet and work up. That way I could rest my legs a little whilst also taking in the marvellous, improbable sight in front of me. I took her left foot in my hands and pressed my hand into the sole. Then I tried a trick I'd learnt from a Thai masseuse: I wiggled each of her toes, and then pulled them hard one by one, and every time there was a crack, and Scheherazade giggled. It was nice to hear that little laugh.

When I took her right foot I dropped her left, but it rested on my lap. In fact, it rested on my crotch, and when I started pressing my fingers hard against the foot I was massaging, I noticed that her left started twitching and moving. It didn't look like a deliberate movement, but it could have been. Her toes seemed to be seeking out my cock, which grew to meet her caresses. She seemed to be focusing on the massage I was giving her, but my mind was elsewhere, on what she was doing to me. At first the movements seemed random, but soon I could tell that she was giving me a foot job.

Just as I was really beginning to enjoy myself, her foot dropped back on to the mattress. I put down her other foot, and started on her calves, first one and then the other. I imagined Scheherazade in high-heeled shoes. Only high-heeled shoes, nothing else; completely naked, and standing away from me, her long hair falling away to her waist, her bum and her calf muscles taut and firm, her feet placed shoulder-width apart. The vision did terrible things to me: I was in danger of coming.




Night Train to Istanbul



I moved my hands up to her hamstrings. I ran my fingertips from the back of her knees all the way up to the start of her underwear, and then back down but on the inside. On each pass I went closer to her mound, waiting to see if she said something as a warning or to make me stop. Her legs separated further and further, granting me an even better view of her crotch. There was no mistaking it: the wet patch had gotten bigger.

I straddled one of her legs and started to concentrate only on her upper thighs and hamstrings, using both hands and letting the tip of my little finger graze against her panties. I listened to her breathing change, becoming a little shallower and quicker. Then I touched her there, exactly where her pussy lips were under her panties. I felt the moisture, her wetness, seeping through the fabric. Then I moved my hand away, and continued rubbing elsewhere. Then I went there again, teasing her with my fingers, never rubbing her pussy directly, always making it seem like I had only touched her by accident.

This went on for a while, and I slowly became more brazen in my attempts to touch her pussy. My hands went closer and closer until eventually I noticed that she was lifting her hips up to meet my fingers. That was my permission, and I gave myself over to rubbing her explicitly. She started moaning. I pressed harder. I used two fingers and ran them delicately over her pussy lips, which I could make out through her panties. There was the unmistakable scent of sex in the air, that intoxicating perfume. I was desperate to lean forward and use my tongue, or to pull her panties to one side and finger her, but I resisted the urge. I wanted her to make the next move.

When that came, I was surprised. Suddenly, she clamped her legs together with my hand caught cupping her pussy in her sopping panties. She bucked wildly for a second, squeezing tight around my hand, and then she was still. She loosened her grip on me and I took my hand away; I couldn't stop myself from holding my fingers under my nose for a moment and taking in more of the beautiful flavour of her sex.

"Wow. Sorry about that," she said. "I think I got a bit too relaxed, if you know what I mean!"

"Don't worry about it," I said as casually as I could, which was probably not at all. "I'll take your reaction as the greatest praise for my massaging skills. Speaking of which, how do you feel? I mean, in your muscles?"

Scheherazade contemplated her answer for a moment. She lifted herself up to rest on one arm for a moment, holding her other arm across her breasts.

"I feel really good, thank you. In my muscles. But, I'm afraid my shoulders might need further attention. I think I might have strained them, lying on this hard bunk. Does that sound possible?"

She wanted me to continue the massage, so of course I said that it was possible. But why did she want me to attend to her shoulders again? I'd spent more time easing her sore shoulders than anything else. The reason soon became clear.

"Sure, I'll look at your shoulders again if you wish. I've still got a bit of energy left myself, and I hate to leave a job only half-finished."

"If you're getting at all tired in the legs, don't worry about resting more of your weight on me," she said. "After all, I'm quite used to the weight, and I'm a strong girl you know. So don't worry about crushing me or anything."

I did as I was told. She lay flat once again, her arms moved up so her chin had something more to rest on. This new pose made her breasts stick out even more prominently. It was clear that she didn't want a serious massage, so I decided to just run my hands around her back, enjoying the feel of her skin.

I straddled her, my weight and consequently my crotch pressed down on her bum. I was still hard. With every circle my hands drew on her back, my weight shifted forward, and then backwards, and then forward. My cock worked its way into the gentle valley of her ass.

"Mmm, that's nice," she said. "If you want, I don't mind if you give me a little kiss on the neck."

I leant forward and kissed her where she suggested. It was just a little kiss, as she'd asked for, but by leaning forward I felt my cock press even harder against her. I shifted back a touch so that my cock, when I reached forward for these kisses, sat against her pussy. I had to work hard not to come.

My kisses grew longer, so that I could spend more time with my cock pressed up against her. I took off my top too, saying that it was hot in the compartment. Really I just wanted to feel my skin against her skin and to further imagine that we were having sex. I rested my hands against the sides of her breasts for a second, feeling their incredible softness. They were irresistibly delicate.

I nibbled her ear, biting her ear lobe and tugging it gently, and touched the inside of her ear with my tongue. The desire in me for her, for her body, for her sex, built within me an unstoppable force. I could hold myself back no longer, and I whispered to her, "I want you."

She nodded.

I stopped what I was doing and pulled down my boxers, letting my cock stretch free. I pulled her panties down to her knees, and she lifted her legs up so I could take them all the way off. The smell of her sex was intoxicating.

I sat back over her as I had done before, though now we were naked and I could feel my cock rubbing against her vulva. I dropped my body forward to kiss the side of her mouth; our tongues darted together and I pushed against her and felt my cock enter her. She let out a gasp and the corners of her mouth lifted into a smile.

I took long deep strokes, my cock entering all the way and then pulling out until I was just touching her lips with the head. She lifted her ass to receive each thrust, and then shifted her body so that I could pass my hands over her breasts. I cupped each one and took her nipples in my fingertips.

We started bucking more wildly. I pressed in deeper and harder and squeezed tighter on her breasts. We kissed more and more. I felt my body sliding against hers, a thin film of sweat covering us. My cock felt so good inside her, so warm and wet and tight. She squeezed her legs and I passed mine outside of hers so that she was tighter still, and the sensations became too much for me and I started to pump my cum inside her. The strength of my orgasm overcame me. I felt like I was hurtling down a tunnel towards blinding light, as if my sight had foreshortened and all I could see was her in front of me. For those few seconds, Scheherazade was my world.

I held her tight and we kissed. I moved a hand down under her body, cupping her mound and feeling my cock still inside her, still hard. Her pussy was smooth and shaved, and her clitoris stood out like a little nub, and I started touching it with my fingers and making circular movements over it. I started moving against her again, thrusting as hard as I could despite the enormous, angry sensitivity of my cock.

We moved into a crouching position, doggy style. I still had my hand on her clitoris, and I sometimes let my fingers slip down and rub the side of her pussy, caressing her lips. She moved her hand down to guide mine and to apply more pressure. We kissed longer and harder, our tongues exploring mouths and meeting and twisting around.

I was now fucking her again, harder and more vigorously. I moved my hand from her breast to the mattress to better support our weight and kept my other pressed against her clitoris. Her hand was tight against mine, urging me on with this new massage. Soon I felt her body stiffen and force itself even harder back against me, and I stopped moving my cock in and out of her and started to flick my fingers over her clitoris, hardly touching her. She shook, and then we collapsed forward.

"Wow," she said under her breath and between kisses. "Wow."

"I know," I said. "I wasn't expecting anything like that. I was just happy you smiled when you said hello to me a couple of hours ago."

We kissed and held each other for a long time before Scheherazade spoke again. "We've still got at least six hours before we get to Istanbul. What shall we do now?"

But that is a story for another night and another place. 



Night Train to Paris



It's late, nearly 11, on an early November night. The chill on the platform of the Hamburg train station is penetrating, a damp, German cold that soaks up through the soles of your shoes, no matter how stout, and ends up in your bones. The cold air is only accentuating the typical train station smell--that smell of electricity, cigarettes, cinders, cheap food, all lightly overlaid with the weariness of travelers. They're waiting for the night express to Paris and as they wait, they size each other up, hands thrust deep in coat pockets, and noses buried in mufflers. Who will they end up sharing a compartment with tonight? Whose snores or cries in the night will they hear before they find themselves in the City of Light in the morning light? That man over, there, the one hastily consuming a Bratwurst, before the train arrives, is he going to be a companion of the night? Or the woman who is smoking unfiltered Gauloises, is she going to end up scenting the air you have to breathe? And whom would you choose, given the choice? Go the safe route, and hope for the matron in the loden coat, or be a bit racier, and wish for the slender, dark-haired man, wearing a dark trench?

The headlights of the train finally appear, well before schedule, to the relief of all. Bags are gathered up, purses hoisted onto shoulders, snacks and magazines tucked away, cigarettes extinguished. A general bracing of shoulders takes place; train travel is still at least a little athletic, and some small degree of preparation is necessary. L. sighs, pulls her coat straight, picks up her red bag, and sizes up the crowd for the door she's waiting near. It doesn't matter anyway, she has an assigned berth, but she still wonders. She checks her ticket one more time, to make sure she knows where she's going, and then, with the usual hiss and screech, the train pulls in, the doors open and the passengers begin to enter.

She's sprung for a two-person berth, but saved a bit of cash by not specifying the sex of her berth-mate. (To share a compartment with another woman costs more. She's willing to take her chances on her ability to defend herself, if it comes to that, and if it really comes to that, on her ability to pull the brake cord). After 30 years of travel on German trains, off and on, she's aware that it's a crap shoot, she can get anyone from a shy teenager to a sodden businessman, but since she's only planning on sleeping, she's not too concerned.

Into the train, down the corridor, checking numbers against her ticket. Three cars on, this is the place, 47, her home for the night. Oh, and she's reached it before her partner for the night, one M. Kuhn. Well, there's a name that doesn't say much, it could be anyone. What has she been assigned, top or bottom? She sincerely hopes for the bottom, since the notion of crawling over someone in the night en route to the bathroom is less than appealing. Ah, yes, it is the bottom, how nice, she's hit the jackpot. Her coat hung up in the tiny closet, she removes her necessities--passport, toothbrush, what will be her pajamas for the night. As she's doing this, the door opens, and the man in the trench coat from the platform enters. She greets him in German, only to receive a blank and somewhat nervous stare. She asks him, again in German, if he's Mr. Kuhn, and only at the sound of his name does his face clear at least a little.

"Do you speak English?" he asks. "I have a German name, but I don't speak any German." He is really exceptionally attractive--warm brown eyes, black hair flecked with silver, and a truly winning smile. 

She smiles back, almost in spite of herself, it being her practice to hold back as much as possible in situations like this, and says, "Well, in fact, I'm American, too." He looks at once relieved and as though he wants to seem too cool to need to be relieved, and asks how the whole thing with the sleeping compartment works. He is extremely engaging, and she finds herself in laughing conversation with him.

The train begins to move as L. is saying, "So, we have a couple of options now--we can leave the seats as they are, and sit here and peruse our respective reading matter. We can make the seats into berths, say goodnight and climb into them, and then listen to each other breathe until we fall asleep, or we can go to the dining car and see if they have any wine for us." She can't believe those words came out of her mouth--she's not in the habit of even semi-propositioning strange men on trains, but old M. Kuhn here seems to bring it out in her. As she watches him consider the options, she hardly breathes, so anxious is she for him to choose three. Or even two. Or one, for that matter, because no matter what, she realizes, with an internal giggle, he's hers for the night.

"The dining car thing sounds good," he says, finally, with a smile playing about his excellently cut mouth, "but maybe we can find some beer. I'm really not much for wine." She allows as how he might be in the right country, and, after stashing their luggage, heads down the swaying corridor.

As they totter along, bracing themselves against the movement of the train, L. manages to glance out the window. They are passing the docks, with all the lights of the ships, and of the bridges. She tugs at his sleeve to stop, and made him look at them as the train rocked past. "Hamburg is one of the great ports of Germany," she tells him, "and one of the old Hansa cities." Then she realizes that not everyone shares her passion for the poetry of industry, and, shaking her head, says, "and I'm sure you're infinitely more interested in getting a beer." He smiles warmly at her, and assures her that anything he could learn was good, but added that, yes, a beer would be nice and they could still look at the lights from there.

The dining car us open till midnight, and two beers are speedily served. And then there they are, two strangers on a train, sitting opposite each other, with nothing to do but drink and talk, with the knowledge that they would be spending the whole night together between them.

L. had once been shy, but has long since decided that it was a luxury she could no longer afford, so she sets about drawing him out. M. Kuhn (she still doesn't know his first name) has clearly never been shy a day in his life, and doesn't take much drawing out. In fact, his barrage of questions remind her of nothing so much as a six-year-old, just discovering the world, and wanting to know EVERYTHING.

L. has something of a horror of hearing her own voice going on and on, and so she is indeed horrified to hear herself announcing that her husband was killed in an industrial accident, her children were grown and leading their own lives, and so she had taken her settlement and moved to Stade, a town she had loved her whole life, and was attempting to write a novel there. In fact, she's so horrified that she closes her mouth with a snap and says, "And now tell me how you came to be on this train."

He looks abashed. This is a man who asks the questions, not one who answers them, but she sees something click in his head and understands that he's decided to tell the truth, no matter how jumbled, odd and difficult that might be.

He was recently divorced, he tells her, after nearly twenty years of marriage. A fairly acrimonious divorce, he adds, and leaves it at that. When it was finally done, he wanted to do something he'd never done before, so he decided to look into his own past. Not his own past, exactly, but the past of his family.

"I'm Jewish," he said to her, earnestly. "Every Jew in the world wants to go to Israel, and so do I, but one of my cousins is into genealogy, and when I asked her, she said that our family had lived in Germany for nearly 400 years before they came to America. So I decided to go there first." She asks if he found anything, and he says not much, there was not much to be found, but that it was interesting anyway. 

"But that didn't get you onto the night train to Paris," she says.

"I'm going to Paris to spend a little time by myself,and then my children are going to come meet me and we'll having Thanksgiving in Paris." He pauses, takes a drink of his beer, then says, "Their mother isn't very happy about that, but she wasn't very happy for the last 15 years, so I'm used to it. Why are you going to Paris?"

"To meet an old friend," she tells him, and wonders why he looks marginally less twinkly. Even telling the story of his divorce hadn't taken the glow out of his eyes quite the way that did. "Oh!" she says. "A girlfriend. One of my oldest friends is in Paris on business, and I'm going to spend a long weekend with her." He has an "Ah!" look on his face, but neither one of them can think of a thing to say for the moment.

As L. is casting about for something to say, she notices the waiter, who is standing with his arms crossed, giving them the international, I'm glad you're having fun, but I have work to do look. "I think he wants us to leave," she tells M. Kuhn, then says, "What's your first name, anyway?" 

"Matt. My name is Matt. First find out if the waiter will sell us some more beer to take back with us to the compartment, and then tell me your name." 

"I don't think there's a soul in Germany who's not willing to sell you beer at any hour of the day or night," she tells him, "and my name is Liz."

Armed with four more bottles of beer, and two beer glasses--the waiter insisted, so pleased was he to be getting rid of them--they head back to the compartment. This time, she fancies, Matt is staying a bit closer to her. The train is on a long, smooth section of track, so there's not a lot of swaying, but there is some accidental touching and bumping anyway. She feels rather as though she imagines a dog who chases cars might, if he caught one: I've got him, now what do I do with him?

The berths are not yet folded down, so they can still sit up and drink. As they sit, he pours the beers for both, then finds the switch to lower the lights in the compartment. "It's nicer like this," he says. "And we can look at the lights outside as they go by."

With the lights out, it's easier to talk. His voice is warm and deep, and she finds herself thinking, I could wrap that voice around me just like a blanket. They talk about everything, it seems....their childhoods, their children, American politics, the funny things that happened to him as an American in Germany with a German name, but no German comprehension.

It's 12:30 and the beer is gone. "They wake us up at about 7:30," she tells him, and reaches for the glasses and bottles at the same time he does. Their hands touch, and neither one of them pulls away. In the half-light, he holds her gaze, and then slips his hand over hers. It's big and warm and feels very familiar, somehow. 

"Let's just sit a little longer," he says, and so they do, holding hands in a sleeper compartment of a German train en route to Paris.

Time has passed. Five minutes? Ten minutes? His hand has moved, and he's now caressing the inside of her wrist, something that feels amazingly seductive. Her heart is pounding--what now? What on earth do you do now? Make love with a stranger? Pull your hand away as though shocked? Lean over and kiss him? Her whole being feels centered in her wrist and between the beer, the late hour, the steady rhythm of the train on the tracks and her amazement that this is happening at all, she feels quite disoriented. Things like this don't happen to me, she thinks. I was going to meet Sarah in Paris, stuff myself on croissants, walk miles and giggle like a teenager, I wasn't going to meet a tall, dark stranger on the night train. That doesn't happen.

"Things like this don't happen to me," she hears him say, and he stands up, not letting go of her hand, and pulls her to him. It's harder than it seems, to hug someone on a train, let alone someone who is little more than a stranger. 

"Not to me either," she says, "but it's happening now, to us." 

"Yup," he says, rather prosaically, and then kisses her.

A knock at the door interrupts them, and he looks very startled and slightly guilty, as though he's been caught at something. It's the conductor, wanting to turn the seats to beds. Liz tells him to come in. He does so. They step out into the corridor while he works his magic. Neither one of them knows quite what to say, or to do with themselves. As he leaves, he looks them both up and down, touches the brim of his hat and says, "Now get on with what you were doing," and winks. They look at each other with smothered grins, and step back into the compartment.

It's a bedroom now, amazingly enough. The seats are gone, and there are bunk beds, with real sheets and plaid blankets and pillows, and it has that industrial bed-linen smell, too. Now what?

He answers that question by pulling her to him again, and murmuring against her hair, before he kisses her again, "How convenient." And then it's as though nothing had happened at all, he's kissing her again, and she's loving it. He slides his hand under her sweater at the back, rubbing up and down her bare skin, and then moves it around to the front and to her breast. She pulls her mouth slightly away from him and traces his bottom lip with her tongue. It's his turn to moan. Emboldened by this, she moves on to that most sensitive spot, where the jawbone ends, just below the ear, and begins to lick and gently suck there. A sharp exhalation tells her she's doing it right. The exhalation and the way his hand tightens over her breast.

Then it's his turn to pull away, and say, "Take off your shoes. And put your jewelry on the table, so I don't end up swallowing an earring or something." To her surprise, she enjoys being ordered like this, so she does it. He takes his own shoes off, and then sort of indicates that she should get into the berth. 

"What are we doing?" she asks, confused.

He looks exasperated and says, "I'm not making out standing up all night long if there's a bed. And I'm trying to be a gentleman and let you in first so if we take sharp curve you don't fall out--!"

The light dawns, and she climbs in, and he follows. There's the usual awkwardness of arms and legs, and then they relax into the pure luxury of what's happening. They're still fully clothed, but negotiating undressing at this point is more than either of them feel capable of. They begin kissing again, neither one of them initiating it this time, and now, relaxed, lying down, with the rhythm of the train working for them instead of against them, it feels less urgent, and much more sensual. When he slips his tongue into her mouth again, she begins sucking on it hard, taking it as deep as she can and he participates fully by moving it in and out. Tongues get tired, though, so they move on to other, less vigorous lingual activities.

She traces the length of his neck, ending at his collarbone, which requires a bit of rummaging, so he obligingly takes off his shirt. Now she's able to trail her tongue down his chest, flicking at a nipple, then returning there for more than a flick and then going back up to his mouth.

This time he's voracious. She feels as though she's being consumed, and she clings to him for dear life. He's trying to get her sweater off her, and she helps him, thanking God as she does so that a trip to Paris has inspired her to wear matching underwear and to shave her legs. Her sweater gone, for a moment, he runs his hands up and down her bare back, then is clearly annoyed by the barrier of her bra, so he unhooks it, one-handed. (Shades of the Fonz). She disentangles herself from it, thinking not for the first time, that it is as undignified to get out of as it is useful. His hands close over the soft abundance of her breasts, his thumbs caressing her nipples. Her moan is so heart-felt that he whispers, with some urgency, "Did I hurt you?" 

"NO," she answers, "just go on..."

She's in it now, there's no going back, no saying, I think you were mistaken about what this night was going to be like, no pretending to be a virtuous widow, or whatever it was that she thought she might end up doing. She wants more, she wants to be greedy and wallow in skin and scents and textures and feelings, she wants to pounce and be pounced upon, she wants to rush, then linger, then rush...and maybe scratch and bite a little while she's at it. She feels herself trying to pour all of this into Matt's head, because for one thing, her mouth is occupied, and for another, she can barely remember where she is or why, much less make a coherent thought. He must have caught on to something, or he's thinking the same thing, because suddenly, his voice is in her ear, so close that it buzzes, 

"Tell me you want me to do everything...say it, say, do it all, Matthew." Whoa, what? Okay, fine. 

"Do it all, Matthew," she says in a voice that would have made Linda Lovelace proud. Except she's not acting. 

"I hope we never get to Paris," he says.

In the spirit of more, she reaches down to undo his pants. Buckle, button, zipper. She has always loved the sound of a man's belt buckle being undone...it's definitely intimate, you don't undo your belt in front of just anyone, and it promises such good things. It's like the sound of the bow being undone on a package. She manages to unfasten it, and hears the welcome "clink" as metal hits metal. 

"Go on?" she whispers. 

"Of course," he answers, somewhat urgently. So she does. Ah... she traces with her hand what she finds there, more than pleased with the measure of the man.

It's been a while for this, too, and a long, long time with anyone other than her husband. New territory, then. She wound her hand around, and then slid it up and down...ah....how nice. A visit to the boys, also nice, but all this still relatively chastely through his boxer briefs. And she's half-naked, but wearing a skirt, and that feels very overdressed right now. "Hold on," she whispers, and performs the complicated maneuver of getting out of a skirt and pantyhose in a train bunk, with another person. It works, though, she's down to her underwear, and inspired, he takes off his pants.

It feels amazing, warm skin on warm skin, scent and texture, and more than anything, closeness. No wonder a euphemism for sex is "being intimate", this feels more intimate than anything she's ever done, including what had been a perfectly adequate married sex life. Their hands are sliding everywhere on each other, their mouths are everywhere. She starts licking her way down one of his arms, pausing at the crook of the elbow, sucking and kissing there for a while, then moves down the length of his forearm, and to his hand. Slowly, leisurely, she takes each of his fingers in her mouth and slowly sucks on them, and then moves back up.

He's inflamed, electrified, he's not being rough, but he's certainly not being overly gentle. And that's fine. Right now she's intoxicated by his very maleness, by the flat angularity of him, by the scrape of his beard, by the feel of his muscles. And by his big hands, which are, in fact, gentle, occupied as they are now, somewhere indeed very intimate.

The train stops. It startles them both, the cessation of motion, and they cling to each other more tightly, if that's possible. There's a definite feeling that they might get caught, unlikely as that is, and then a sudden feeling of naughtiness. Because here they are, naked, or nearly, in a train berth, while other passengers tramp down the corridor, sighing and muttering, and looking for their own homes for the next hours. "If only they knew," she whispers, and this strikes them both funny somehow, and so there they are, clinging to each other, stifling their laughter on each other's shoulders.

When the train starts again (mercifully!) he goes on with what he was doing, and then for her it's not enough, just his hand, no matter what, is not enough, so she begins tugging at the waistband of his underwear. "Are you sure?" he asks, "because we don't have to, if you're not sure." 




Night Train to Paris



This strikes her as extremely gentlemanly, given the circumstances, but she's sure, oh, she's sure, and so she whispers, "I want to."

The last garments, the last fig leaves of modesty are stripped off, then an awkwardness of knees and elbows and what goes where, and the adjustment of two sets of proportions to each other--but it works.

It works, and the sensation is incredible. Filled, completed, surrendered, yet an equal partner in pleasure. Almost as soon as he is fully in her, she feels herself approaching her climax, that place filled almost solely with mindless ecstasy. Her hands are clenched on his biceps, his arms are under her, his hands holding on to her shoulders, they are locked together in almost every way. Every shudder of delight that passes through her, brings an answering shudder in him. Her legs lock around him and she locks around him elsewhere, in waves. Every time he thinks she must be done, she begins again, until finally she carries him with her. He could swear that his begins at the base of his spine. When she feels him explode inside of her, it triggers one last answer in her, and then they're both done, utterly spent, sweaty, panting, and completely satisfied.

When they're both slightly recovered, he kisses her deeply, then gently strokes her cheek. She smiles at him, feeling more connected than she imagined possible, and at the same time slightly shy. After all, she barely knows this man, and she just had not one, but several, head-banging orgasms with him--a bit dislocating. 

"That was nice," she finally manages to whisper, and he smiles back at her. 

"More than nice, I think." She nods, infinitesimally, and then it becomes clear that however sad it may be, they have to go back to being two separate people again...for at least a while.

They both deal with the necessities of afterwards as best as possible, and then she says, "Are you going to go sleep in your bunk?" This makes him laugh, and he says, 

"Oh, you mean your place or mine?" and this sets her to giggling. 

"Do you mind if I sleep here with you?" he asks her, gravely and politely. 

"As long as you stay on the outside, it's fine," she tells him, and he finds her t-shirt for her to sleep in, and his own underwear, and so, in a simulacrum of domesticity, he climbs back into her bunk, and they settle themselves together for sleep.

The sweet feeling of a man's arms around her, combined with the rocking of the train, lulls her off. For his part, he's enjoying having her in his arms, and as he dozes off, too, marvels at all the turns of events that have brought him here, in this rackety train, with this woman sleeping with him, warm and soft and real, and completely unexpected.

They sleep, lightly and uneasily. Too much is new, too much has happened, on top of being shoehorned into a space barely big enough for one. In that strange hour before dawn, they make love again. This time it's slower, more exploratory, more tender. She can't imagine how she's going to look her friend in the eye after all of this; he can't imagine how he's going to deal with a silent hotel room, with nothing but French TV for company. Each wondering, they sleep again, this time near exhaustion (long, sleepless, sex-filled nights are easier when one is younger) until the conductor rattles the door and tells them they have to get up.

"Oh, my God," she groans. "I never thought a train bunk would be the bed I didn't want to get out of." 

Matt asks if they have to. 

"Of course we have to. They have to change the bunks back...we can't stay here, half-dressed, people get on and off the train--" She sighs, and shakes her head. "Dear God."

He says that he'll get dressed first and step out so that she can have some privacy, and he's as good as his word. Liz stands there, climbing into underwear, tights, the clothes that, she reflects, she put on yesterday afternoon in her tidy little north German house in Stade, before she met a tall dark stranger on a night train. She actually pinches herself to see if it's real. It is.

Once dressed, she steps out into the corridor. Matt is looking out the window at the French country-side. She touches his arm to let him know she's there. The look of happiness on his face as he turns toward her melts her heart. It seems to have been all right, then, what she did. She might not be the Arch Tramp of the Universe, at least not in his eyes. 

"Good morning, darling," she says, surprised at how the words roll off her tongue, as though she's been greeting him this way for years. 

"Good morning, sweetheart," he answers her, and kisses her lightly.

The conductor has arrived during this exchange, and gone inside the compartment for his housekeeping duties. He steps out and motions for them to step inside. The scene of the lust is gone. He knows everything, of course. Oh, well, they'll never see him again. Then he reappears, with a refreshment cart. That's not right, she thinks, the conductor doesn't do that. In very poor, very French-accented German, he tells her that the German conductor asked him to bring them breakfast, since he had a feeling they might need it after their night. He lifts a tray holding coffee, croissants, and all the trimmings, off the cart, and puts it down on the table. He winks, and leaves.

"What was that?" asks Matt. Liz is laughing as hard as she can. 

When she can finally speak, she just tells him, "The world is on to us, and they don't care. Have some breakfast."

They take their time with breakfast. Matt says he wishes he had a newspaper, Liz tells him he can get a Herald-Tribune in Paris. The coffee is strong and hot, the croissants flaky--"This is pretty good," she says. She finds, to her relief and pleasure, that the morning after, often so complex, feels easy with him. They have three more hours to Paris, and they pass it reading their respective books (a German novel for her, a spy thriller for him), looking out the window, and with desultory chat. "Tell me again how long you're staying in Paris?" he says to her. She tells him that she was planning on going back on Monday morning. He nods reflectively. 

"Stay another day." She looks at him quizzically. "Stay another day, at least, and spend it with me. Take the train home the next day." 

"Where will I stay?" 

"You can stay with me." She raises her eyebrows. "I'll get you your own room, if you think it's too soon to move in together," he grins at her.

She can't think of what to say. There's no real reason not to, but there's not really anything speaking for it, either. It seems to her that it's just lending itself to a great deal of uncomfortableness. 

"I don't know," she finally says. "Give me your phone number at the hotel and I'll call you on Sunday night and tell you what I've decided." 

He looks none too thrilled at this, but pulls out his itinerary, and gives her the name of his hotel and the number. 

"How will you call?" he asks. 

She looks at him as though he's gone crazy, and says, "With my cell phone. How else?" 

"It works here?" he asks. 

"I live here, remember?" she retorts, and then thinks, dear God, we might as well be married, listen to us. "Good point," he says, and then says, 

"You'll really call?" 

"Yes," she says shortly, and as that hangs in the air, "Yes, I'll really call."

They say very little until they finally reach the Gare du Nord. It's the end of the line for that train. The reverse of the night before...coats put on, covering the traces of the night, traveling companion better known than ever seemed possible, but much the same, in that questions still remains and possibilities are still open. As they pull into the station, Liz sees her friend on the platform, and wonders how she's going to act even remotely normal, while she tries to process all that's happened. She looks enviously at Matt, buttoned back into his trench, and looking as though he had slept soundly from Altona to Reims and with nothing to do but suit himself for the next however long. From now till Thanksgiving. She sighs deeply. 

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asks her, which touches her heart. 

"Tired," she says, and he grins.

He's ahead of her getting off the train, and he reaches for her bag for her, then helps her off, which she doesn't expect at all. Her friend has spotted her, and is making her way down the platform. Liz can't think of what to do, so she falls back on her favorite position when in doubt, formality. She holds out her hand to Matt and says, 

"Well, Mr. Kuhn, it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope our paths cross again one day." He takes her hand and shakes it and says good-bye, his eyes inscrutable. Liz walks off with her friend. 

"Who was that?" she asks, finally, when nothing is being volunteered. Before Liz can open her mouth, she hears running footsteps behind her. She ignores them; they get closer. She looks back, and it's Matt. When she turns, he stops and opens his arms wide to her, looking imploring. She hesitates, biting her lip, then goes to him. He wraps her in his arms and they kiss, much to the approval of passing Parisians. When they finally stop, he says, 

"Will you call me now?"

"Yes," she sighs, "Yes, I'll call you, darling. I'll call." And then she does walk off down the platform.



Night Tremors



After such a long day at work, Meghann was more than glad to have the weekend off. It was the first weekend off she'd had in six months. She was so eager to get home and relax, she didn't even turn her desk light out as she left the office. She raced down to her car and hurried home.

She got up to the bedroom and jumped into bed. She stretched out and rolled around, moaning at the idea of lying in bed all weekend. She sat up and kicked her heels off while undoing the bun in her hair. She tossed her heels into the closet as her red hair dropped around her face. 

She pushed her back and started to undo the buttons of her blouse. She got the last button and immediately pulled the blouse off. She laid it on the bed next to herself while removing her bra. She put the bra on top of the blouse and arched back and groaned from the sensation of her perky globes bouncing freely in the open air.

She tossed her blouse and bra into the corner of the room and stood up to pull her skirt off. Her soft B cups jiggled as she shimmied the skirt down and over her curvy hips and thick thighs. Her thighs were so thick, she had to press her knees together just to get the skirt over them. She let the skirt fall to the floor before kicking it into the corner with her blouse and bra.

She caught a glimpse of herself the mirror and admired her soft, tight frame. She ran her hands over her wide hips and complimented herself on the contrast of her blue panties and lightly milky skin. She winked and blew a kiss at herself before pushing her panties down and kicking them into the corner.

She walked over the lamp lighting her room and glanced at her natural Euro beauty in the mirror one last time before turning the light out. She slowly made her way back to the bed and climbed under the covers to start her weekend of sleeping.

It didn't take long for her to fall asleep. With her apartment completely still, her unconscious mind stirred up a dream to keep her slumbering. She first flew across the Pacific Ocean like a bird, only flapping to gain speed. She started to dream of floating on the clouds, but her surrounding changed as a shadowy figure manifested on top of her.

She was now lying on top of a bed made of soft feathers and silks. The figure kissed and nibbled on her neck and lips. She could feel her lower extremities heating up and the figure knew that. It slid its hand down her body, over her navel, and to the little bush over her clit. She moaned and whimpered in her sleep as the figure's lips moved down to her breasts.

She put her hands on its head and held it there as it licked and sucked on her nipples. She bit her bottom lip and arched her back as the hand glided over her aching labia. Her body quaked as it brought its finger up to her mouth and she tasted herself. She and figure continued tasting and kissing one another until the figure slid its body more in between her legs.

She couldn't exactly make out what the figure was doing, but she leaned her head back and waited in anticipation. To her monumental delight, her walls began stretching farther than she thought humanly possible. The long, thick rod of the shadowy figure tore into her pussy with pure pains of rhythmic ecstasy.

Their bodies rocked and shook into one another as they both tried to cope with the pleasures being created. Meghann's eyes rolled and her hips bucked harder with each soft thrust. The figure grabbed her waist and rested its arms on her wide hips to grind its thrusts deeper. She let out a strong groan as she felt her body filling with elation.

Her body started bucking and her hands reached out for anything to grab onto. Just as she felt her pussy exploding, she opened her eyes. For a brief second, she thought she had just ruined the greatest dream of her life. But she suddenly realized the long, thick rod of her shadowy figure was real and was really thrusting into her hotness.

Her eyes strained to make out the figure on top of her, but the room was pitch black. It was so dark that she thought she may still be dreaming. If it wasn't for the feeling of his hands on her hips and his throbbing rod sliding in and out of her, she would've just closed her eyes and thought she had an orgasm in her sleep.

She started to scream for help, but he covered her mouth and nose with his hand while continuing to thrust into her. She scratched at his arms out of desperation, but eventually her overly stimulated pussy began conquering all other urges. The instant she remembered she was on the brink of cumming, her body released every pinned up sensation she was holding in.

Her scratching turned to holding onto his arms for dear life. She shook and trembled underneath him as he ground deep with every motion. Because his hand was covering her mouth and nose, she couldn't breathe as her orgasm washed over her. The lack of oxygen mixed with her orgasmic bliss and excited fear, unleashing a sensation of infinite euphoric pleasure.

He felt her walls pulsating around his shaft and her mouth opening under his hand. He slowly slid his hand off her mouth and groaned as she let out stuttered moan after moan. He slowed and softened his thrusts, letting her quiver underneath him.

She slid her hands off his arms and down to his abs. She groaned as her fingertips glided over his muscular frame. Her hands made it down to her stuffed pussy, and she finally realized the true extent of the damage being done to her tightness. He softly pumped into her, leading her hands down to his monstrosity.

He slid out of her and let her feel how bulky his throbbing rod was. She closed her eyes and moaned while stroking the shaft back and forth. A glob of hot precum jolted from his monster, landing on her messy bush. She gasped as she felt the steamy, hot goo seep onto her skin, making her hotter.

He leaned down and placed his lips above hers, leaving the decision to kiss to her. She wasted no time in leaning up and kissing him. She stroked him harder and moaned in his mouth as he moved his hands back onto her body. He massaged her waist and hips while grinding into her stroking hands.

Her thumbs stretched up and played with the tip of his member. She could feel the wide head sliding back and forth in its foreskin. She giggled at the new discovery about her passionate intruder. She slid the foreskin down as far as possible and furiously rubbed over his head. Every pass over his tip made him jerk and spew a little precum.

He groaned harder in her mouth as the hand play intensified. He moved his hands from her waist and took her hands off his monster. It throbbed onto her puffy lips and she squealed as she felt the hot tip on her clit. He pinned her arms next to her head and held her down while grinding himself against her dripping lips.

She wiggled around underneath him as he teased her. Eventually, their movements positioned him at her entrance, and her wiggling slid him inside. She gasped again as she felt her wall stretching back out to their limits. She wrapped her legs around his and began pulling him into her.

He went along with her rhythm, only adding power when she wanted more force. She fought to get her hands free and placed them on his hips as her building sensations began to lessen her rhythm. He took control of the thrusting and continued to follow her desire.

The bed rocked and bounced as her moans and screams encouraged him to intensify. She heard his hands gripping the headboard as he rammed harder and faster. Her eyes bulged and strained to catch a glimpse of the masterful blackness that was giving her such pleasure. She dug her nails into his hips and squeezed as hard as she could as he continued working her towards another orgasm.

She arched her back and let out passionate, stuttered moans as she quaked in the dark. Her legs violently shook away from his, and her hips bucked and tightened under the vigorous rhythm. Her mind flooded with exhilaration and thrill, causing her eyes to roll into the back of her head.

He slowed his motion, drilling deeper with each slowed thrust. He put his hands back on her body, massaging her through her orgasm. She moaned and whimpered in his mouth after finding his lips in the dark. He buried himself in her curves and softness while savoring her passionate kisses.

Their bodies smushed together; she felt his entire muscular form on top of her. She slid her hands to his tight ass and laughed with delight.

"Shhh," she whispered to him in between kisses. She started to roll him onto his back, but he fought back. "Shhh," she whispered again while rolling him over.

He lied back and cautiously kept his hands on her. She positioned herself with her wet lips opened around his shaft. She rocked back and forth, sliding on his shaft, teasing him as he did her. She felt his throbbing jolt for a second and knew he just oozed more precum.

She let her fingertips find their way down her body to his throbbing and wiped up the precum. She sucked it off her fingers as loud as possible to let him hear her enjoying his taste. She leaned up and rubbed her wetness to collect a palm full of slick juice. She stroked her juice into his monster before rubbing his tip on her opening.

She teased herself and him, mixing their urges into one desire. He slid his hands up and down her body, trying to get her to impale herself. She let go of his rod and moved his hands up to her chest. He immediately cupped her soft breasts and rubbed her nipples in between his fingers. He softly pinched her nipples while massaging and rubbing his breasts.

She moaned and rocked back and forth in his lap as he leaned up and kissed her. She welcomed his tongue into her mouth while rubbing her pussy with one hand and holding onto the back of his neck with the other. They moaned in each other's mouths as the need for release increased in them both.

She broke the kiss and moved her wet hand to his lips to push him back down. He sucked her fingers into his mouth and cleaned them of all juice. She slowly pulled her fingers from his mouth and grabbed his throbbing member. He was throbbing much harder and groaned even harder as she stroked him.

She raised herself up and slowly impaled herself with him. He moved his hands down to her plump ass and kept a grip on her. He groaned as she slid down his entire length. She rested for a second to catch her breath, and he enjoyed the softness of her ass while waiting.

She put her hands on his chest and began bouncing on his shaft. She could feel his head bobbing in and out of his foreskin, adding to the deep, thick sensations. He began helping her bounce as she struggled to keep the pace. Her thighs were jiggling against him, adding to his obsessive desire.

She let her hands wander on his chest, still trying to see anything about him but the darkness kept her mind wondering and rushing. His throbs hardened and his breathing was getting heavier. He was holding back his explosion in anticipation of her releasing a flood of her own pleasure.

She leaned back and put her hands on his thighs and bounced her G-spot against his pulsating monster. Her walls stretched in new ways, sending surges of hotter heat. Her mouth hung open and her eyes rolled as they bounced together, over and over again. She nearly fell back onto his legs, but he slid his hands up to her waist.

She sat straight up and dug her nails into his chest as her pussy gushed and squished around his shaft. Her moaning and whimpering got louder and her breathing quickened as she came on top of her intruder. She felt his stomach tightening and listened to him groan as he finally released his load.

He gripped her hips and held her on top of him as he released thick, hot stream after stream into her. She could feel her spasming walls getting even hotter as they were coated with his thick gooeyness. She softly bounced and squeezed her pussy around him to milk out every drop of him.

After feeling his monster pulsate the last drops into her womb, she collapsed onto his chest. Her orgasm still softly rushing through her head, she was barely able to remember that she was lying with a complete stranger. She could feel him softening inside her and realized how full of cum she was.

He slowly rolled her over onto her back and began pulling out. Just as his rod slid out, he put his hand over her pussy to stop the cum from leaking out. She knew what he wanted and moved her hand down to replace his. As he started to move his hand away, she stopped him.

"Only if you come back again tomorrow night," she propositioned him.

He pulled his hand away from her overflowing pussy and kissed his way up her body to her lips. They shared one final kiss before he climbed out of bed and all noisy evidence of him disappeared.



Night Tremors Ch. 02



After a long day of much-needed rest and much-desired anticipation, the sun started to go down. Meghann had stayed in bed all day, only getting up to use the bathroom or to get something to eat. She spent the entire day massaging her cum filled pussy. Every time she got out of bed she left a trail of cum drops.

By sunset, she was empty and massaging herself without mercy. She could still feel his girth stretching her walls to the extreme while gushing hot cum inside her. She moaned at the thought of him returning that night.

She looked out the window at the night sky and started thinking of what she should do to get ready. She jumped out of bed, still naked, and rushed to the hallway closet. She grabbed her bucket of cleaning supplies and cleaned the entire bedroom. She never knew where he came from, so she didn't know whether she should clean the rest of the house.

She finished around eight o'clock and went into the bathroom to shower. She thought he might appear while she was showering, so she left the bathroom door open. She took her time showering, but he never showed up. She came out of the bathroom, still drying off, and stared at herself in the mirror.

She admired her sex-starved body, thinking about what would happen to it and how sexy she would look afterward. She shook with excitement as she threw her towel in the dirty clothes basket. She continued to shake and whimper while rubbing lotion on her body.

She started with her beautiful face and moisturized her way down her neck to her perky chest. She moaned as she imagined it was his hands rubbing the lotion into her skin. Her ordinary routine began to turn into a sensual self-massage.

Her hands glided over her breasts, massaging and pinching until she let out a soft moan. She massaged her waist and hips, struggling to reach her back. She had to sit down on the bed to arch and bend to reach the hard to reach places. Contorted on the bed, she looked down at her slightly shiny labia.

She reached down and felt how hot and wet she was making herself. She wanted to stop, but her imagination had convinced her that it was his hand rubbing on her pussy. She gasped as her middle finger slid into her wet hole, but she quickly pulled herself out of her daydream. She sucked the juice off her finger and caught her breath.

"I have to stop," she thought.

She ran her hand through her hair and continued to rub lotion on herself. She finished with the lotion and put it back on the dresser before skipping back to bed. She jumped in and only covered herself with a see-through sheet. She bit her bottom lip and turned the light out, leaving her entire house pitch black.

She tossed her hair around and made herself look pretty in anticipation of her guest. She lay for what seemed like hours. She was starting to get sleepy but was too horny to just drift off. She started to get more and more frustrated as her pussy's yearning started to feel painful.

She reached down to massage herself and relieve some of the tension. Her pussy pulsated under her hand as she began rubbing the tense spots. Her opening especially ached as her fingers grazed over it again and again. She started getting light headed and rubbed herself in more particular spots.

Her imagination once again took over, and her hand had become his hand. Her thumb rubbed her clit as her middle and ring finger teased her trickling hole. Her middle finger glided in and lazily found its way to her G-spot. She rubbed against her palm as her finger stroked at her hot spot.

She arched her back and took a deep breath while sliding her other down to her pussy. She used one hand to stimulate her clit and the other to tantalize her G-spot. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing while continues to excite herself. She felt jolts of pleasure every few seconds as she tried to maintain her composure.

Her hands quickened and more accurately hit their spots. Her breathing quickened for a few seconds repeatedly, but she always managed to regain control. Her mind seemed to warp as her pussy convulsed in her hands. As the pleasure became too much, she reached out and grabbed the edge of the mattress.

Her back arched and she let out a series of squeaks and squeals as her fingering hand continued its mission. Her pussy trembled and squished in her hand as she came. She bucked and screamed, but she couldn't stop fingering. Her heart raced and her breathing became a series of long moans. She gripped the mattress harder as her orgasm intensified, causing her to gush squirt all around her hand.

She started to get light headed again, but her hand continued to torment her. By the time she finally stopped fingering herself, she had gushed all over herself. The lower end of the mattress and sheets were completely soaked. Her head rolled around for a few moments before she passed out.

She was immediately swept into a continuation of her orgasmic bliss. Suddenly, she was lying in an enormous hot spring in the mountains. The cold snow around her chilled her exposed skin while the hot water kept her more than relaxed. She leaned her head back on a rock while running her hands up and down her body.

Her hardening nipples ached in her hands as she massaged her breasts under the water. She could feel the heat in her pussy mixing with the heat of the water. She started to slide her hand down her soaking bush, but the water suddenly began bubbling around her labia. One of the spring's geysers had erupted underneath her.

The bubbles began floating up her pussy, riding her labia to her clit before floating to the surface. She let her hand rest on her navel as the bubbles increased. They began jetting up into her pussy, vibrating her labia and clit with their sliding and popping. She arched her back and grabbed onto some of the rocks underneath the water.

As she arched and squirmed around, some of the bubbles began jetting into her twitching hole. They filled her pussy with air as they collided with her walls and popped. Because she was lying and arching at her angle, the bubbles began popping deeper inside her walls. The mixture of the bubbles popping and her pussy releasing built up air increased the vibrations.

She moved her pussy over the jet more, causing most of the stream to shoot inside her. The few bubbles that did slide up her labia, popped and teased against her clitoris. She softly bounced on the jet stream while continuing to position herself for the most thrill. She found her spot as the bulk of the jet stream began pounding against her G-spot, and the leftover bubbles popped against her clit.

She whimpered and squealed as the bubbles tickled and massaged her G-spot harder. Her hips bucked and she moaned as the bubbles thickened and intensified. She felt her clit heating up and getting more sensitive. She started to reach down to shield herself a bit, but her clit and G-spot erupted simultaneously.

She opened her eyes and sat up, trembling and trying to catch her breath. She quickly looked around the dark room before her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Her hips bucked and her legs started to viciously shake. She reached down and grabbed two handfuls of hair.

As he sucked on her clit and fingered her hot spot, she came all over his face. She felt herself squirt a tiny stream as he ate his way through her orgasm. He stopped sucking her clit only to lick up the juice while still tortured her G-spot. She smashed his face into her pussy more and rocked on his face as he savored every drop she gave.

She pulled his head off her pussy and leaned back, pulling him on top of her. He pulled his finger from her pussy and slid both his hands up her body. He massaged her perfect tits while grinding his massive dick against her sloppy pussy. They groaned and whimpered in each other's mouths as their throbbing combined.

Her aching pussy could finally feel its lover throbbing against it. Her puffy lips wrapped around his shaft as much as possible, inviting the tip to penetrate her wanting hole. She passionately rubbed on his muscles while greedily sucking the taste of herself off his tongue. They took their time kissing and tasting each other's mouths.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pinned his hips against hers. She moaned harder as she felt her hole trying to stretch around his shaft. His throbbing felt bigger as he smashed their love parts together. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeper while sliding her pussy up and down his thick rod.

Their mouths gave way to moans and whimpers every so often. They humped against each other for what felt like hours of constant pleasure mixed with the pains of over excitement. He oozed precum all over her pussy and tiny bush as she swirled her pussy against his grinding.

She stared up into the blackness, wishing she could see her magnificent lover's face. Before she could start imagining her perfect man, she felt her cervix convulse. His lips pressed against hers as her moans started to turn into screams. She dug her nails into his neck and held onto him as her body shook.

He softly bounced her against his dick with faster grinding while muffling her orgasmic screams. She involuntarily bucked into his grinds, making him smash against her clit harder. He continued sliding his shaft against her watering pussy until she curled up, hiding her now sensitive pussy from his thrusts.

She slid her hands down his back and grabbed his tight ass. She squeezed his cheeks in her hands and moaned as her orgasm lingered in her body. He leaned off of her but let her continue squeezing his ass. She could feel his throbbing rod softly grazing her labia as it dangled over her. She moved her hands off his ass and slowly teased her way to grabbing his shaft.

She immediately played with the tip of his foreskin while stroking him for precum. He oozed onto her hands almost as soon as she started to pump him. He groaned and jolted as she quickened her pace and squeezed him harder. She suddenly stopped as a larger gush of precum landed on her hand.

Scared she was going to make him cum too quick, she massaged what she hoped was precum into his shaft while softly moaning at him.

"If you treat me right, I'll give you something extra naughty," she seductively whispered.

He reached down and grabbed her hands and slowly pulled them off his shaft. He licked both her palms before kissing her, filling her mouth with his light taste. They moaned in each other's mouths again as his girthy head bounced against her pussy.

As she started to put her hands on his neck, he rolled her over onto her stomach. She let him move her into position, resisting only when she wanted to feel his dominance. He manhandled her onto her knees and pulled her against his chest. She reached out and found the top of the headboard.

She gripped the headboard just as he forced his wide dick into her tightening pussy. She was barely able to stay conscious as he powered his way to the depths of her pussy. Her mouth hung open as she let out hard groans as he stretched every wall to her cervix. Once she felt his crotch against her ass, she sighed at the fact his entire length was inside her.

He let his dick throb inside her to physically remind her what his dick does to her pussy. She leaned her head against the headboard to catch her breath. She could feel his shaft pressing against her G-spot and knew once the thrusting started, she'd cum fast and hard. She took another deep breath and quivered as she felt her pussy pulsating around his massive monster.

He grabbed her hips and softly started pumping into her just as hard as he forced himself inside her. She squeezed the headboard harder with every thrust. Her pussy swelled and shrunk as he used his length to massage every hot spot. He stretched her depths past her cervix, hitting her G-spot more and more with every push and pull.

Her pussy watered and sloshed around him as he began pulling her into his forceful thrusts. She ached and moaned with a mixture of pleasure and pain as his pace intensified. She held onto the headboard as hard as she could as her arms shook. He started rocking the bed back and forth, using his knees to push him against her G-spot more.

The pitch black room echoed with the sounds of the bed rocking and Meghann moaning. The feel of her perky tits wildly bouncing on her chest added to the sensational force he was thrusting into her with. Her back arched more and her legs moved further apart so she could feel his sack ramming into her labia. The squishing of her pussy was all she could hear as she convulsed around him more and more.

He reached up and grabbed her jiggling tits and squeezed them while leveraging himself into her harder. He held her body as still as he could as he began ramming into her pussy as hard and fast as he could. Her pussy responded in kindness by watering more and squeezing his shaft harder.

The loose tip of his foreskin rubbed and teased her depths over and over again. She felt her G-spot pulsating and her cervix constricting. She leaned her head down and moaned and screamed as loud as she could. Her breaths quickened and hardened until she couldn't breathe anymore. Her body tightened and froze as he slammed away at her pussy.

The blackness seemed to get darker as she struggled to keep her eyes focused. Her head rushed with every sense of euphoria she had ever felt. Her body twitched from the explosive orgasm and vigorously shook from the power of his thrusting. She continued holding onto the headboard as she came harder and longer. She started to black out but managed to stay awake and feel every orgasmic twitch.

She reached down with both hands and felt how swollen her pussy was getting. Her pussy felt twice its normal size as he rammed his thickness balls deep. She trembled against his body as he held her against himself more. Her tight, quivering frame made his dick harden even more, and he groaned from the throb.

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as her orgasm continued lingering. She felt numb all over and could only feel her pussy stretching and tightening around her lover's enormity. She laid her head on his shoulder and moaned in his ear as she nibbled on her ear and neck. She slid her wet hands up her body and held onto his muscular arms as he massaged her perfect globes.

She felt overwhelmed with ecstasy as her head rushed with wave after wave of lingering orgasms. Just when she thought her body had reached its limit, her pussy exploded even harder. She let out one loud, long scream until she ran out air and couldn't scream anymore. Her body bucked one hard time and tightened against her lover.

He continued holding onto her while sliding his girthy dick out of her. Her pussy convulsed even harder as she released a waterfall of squirt. She sprayed all over her thighs and the bed, even wetting her pillows and the headboard. She let her eyes close and whimpered as her pussy continued squirting and convulsing.

With every vaginal twitch, a stream of squirt sprayed onto the bed. She groaned during every squirt and tried to stop, but he reached down and ferociously rubbed on her clit until she squirted more. She bucked in his arms and grabbed his hand as he continue rubbing for more juice. He finally stopped as her pussy stop squirting and she started breathing instead of screaming.

She turned her head and kissed at his ear and neck until he turned and met her lips with his own. They kissed and groaned with each other until they needed to breathe. She collapsed on the bed and felt how wet it now was. He quickly lay on top of her back and laughed at how wet everything was.

He rubbed his rod against her soft, bubbly ass cheeks while massaging her thighs and hips. He groaned at her thickness and curviness and massaged her harder. She moaned into her soaked pillow as his massage got rougher. She knew he was begging to explode, but she let him suffer so he would take his frustration out on her body.

As he was positioning himself to slide back into her, she rolled onto her back. She rubbed on his body until she found his throbbing member straining from the built up tension. She softly maneuvered him onto his back and seductively rubbed her body against his while moving in between his legs.

He laid his back against the wet headboard and grabbed the pillows next to him. She stared up into the blackness and smiled as she lowered her mouth onto the throbbing dick in her hands. She licked and sucked on the tip of his foreskin before pulling it down and tasting his bare head.

Her sensual teasing was immediately met with a blast of precum down her throat. She softly gagged but was too hot for cum to take her mouth off his dick. She slid as much of him into her mouth as she could before needing to come up for air. She felt the slimy blowjob strings linking her mouth to his dick hanging from her lips.

She licked her lips clean and moaned at him before taking his dick back into her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down while stroking and squeezing his shaft. He could feel her hair tickling the inside of his thighs as she got faster. She sucked and moaned on his dick as hard as she could, pumping him for his hot cum.

He squeezed the pillows while listening to her slurping and sucking. She pushed more of him into her mouth with each bob until he was touching her throat. She slid his entire monstrosity into her mouth, lightly gagging as he moved into her throat. She held him there to softly throat fuck herself.

She pulled herself off of him to take a breath and felt him swelling in her hands. She put her mouth back on his shaft and stroked and sucked him as hard and fast as possible. He let out a groan and arched his back as the first blast coated the back of her throat. Her eyes got bigger and she nearly pulled off as the thick goo exploded out.

She gagged on his dick while continuing to suck and stroke him off. He put his hand on the back of her head and held her there while cumming in her throat. She sucked and swallowed every drop of cum out of him like a pro. He pulled on her hair and groaned harder as he shot thick rope after thick rope. She continued pumping and sucking his cum out until he was empty.

He pulled her mouth off his sensitive dick, but she continued licking and kissing his slimy member. She leaned her head back and gargled the last few ropes of cum in her mouth loud enough for him to hear. She swallowed the mouthful as loud as possible before leaning down to kiss him. They found each other's lips and sucked the tastes out of each other's mouths. She sat in his lap and massaged his softening dick while he squeezed her bubbly ass.

They stayed in that position, kissing until he started getting hard again. He laid her back on the bed and pinned her to the bed with his hips. She moaned as his hardening dick grew against her pussy. She kissed him harder and pulled him on top of her more while positioning her pussy underneath his monster.

As he moved his dick against her opening, he slid out of bed. She playfully tried to stop him from leaving, and he punished her by slapping her swollen pussy lips until she let him go. She rolled onto her stomach and listened to him vanish into the blackness.

"Oh fuck, I can't wait until tomorrow," she moaned while rubbing her sore pussy.



Night Two of Domination Week



James had just wanted to stay in for the second night of Domination Week, having had a tough day at work and feeling tired. Sarah wouldn't have it, however. She picked out a nice casual set of clothes for him and told him to get dressed. When he was finished, she shooed him out of the room so she could finish as well. To James' surprise, he only had to wait about ten minutes for her to emerge from the bedroom, ready to go in one of her casual long dresses. 

James picked up the keys to his car and headed for the door.

"Leave them. I'll drive," Sarah told him.

"Why?"

"It's my night, and I want to drive." James tossed the keys onto the table where they had been laying, and headed for the door. Sarah was there ahead of him, and opened it and gestured for him to go through first. James hesitated, then shrugged and went through and out to the driveway. She further discombobulated him when she insisted on opening his car door and helping him in, a reversal of their ordinary roles. She likewise insisted on opening the door and helping him out when they arrived at their destination.

They went to a local Thai restaurant, one of the many places in the neighborhood that they frequented. Sarah was relishing her food more than usual, engaging all of her senses to enjoy it fully. She brought the fragrant Pad Thai to her mouth, stopping to breath in the aroma, then sensually slid her tongue out to capture it from her fork, lingering there to feel it on her tongue before bringing it back to her mouth to chew. The smile never left her face throughout the meal.

Sarah was, in fact, nearly on sensory overload. The food was delightful, as always, the smells and texture and taste more vivid than she could remember them being at any time they had been here. But there was more. She was practically writhing with the delightful anticipation of the surprises she had in store for her husband when they returned home. She was going to enjoy every minute of blowing his mind tonight. And for good measure, the special garment she was wearing under her long dress was also bombarding her senses. The feel of it against her bare breasts and nipples was as sensual as a lover's soft kiss. It was also snug against her naked pussy, delightfully rubbing against her whenever she moved. She could already feel herself getting wet.

They finished the meal, both leaning back in their chairs, satisfied. The waitress brought the check. When James reached for it, Sarah gently slapped his hand and pushed it away. James looked at her, his brows knitted in anger and surprise.

"Remember, darling…tonight, I'm in charge." She reached into her purse and pulled out money to pay the check, leaving a tip so large she knew it would further dismay her husband. Then she made a point of pulling his chair out for him so he could get up.


They walked to the car and she opened his door for him again. She walked around to her side and got in. She slid her seat belt into place, then turned to him. "Are you ready to go have some fun?" she asked, with a mirthful expression. She was going to enjoy this, she knew.

"Do I have any say in the matter?"

"Not tonight, you don't. None at all." Sarah pulled out into traffic and began the short drive home. She was getting more excited by the moment, and was squirming in her seat.

"Ants in your pants?" James asked.

"You'll find out," she replied, smiling and keeping her eyes straight ahead.

Sarah led the way and opened the door, gesturing him past her and into the foyer. She was in a completely different state of mind than the one she had been in 24 hours earlier, when she had barely been able to get her key in the lock for her nervousness. Her attitude was completely different tonight. Sarah was calm, composed, confident, and most definitely in charge. She tossed her keys on the foyer table casually and walked into the living room. She sat down on the couch and tossed her small purse next to her.

"Come and stand here," she said and pointed to a spot a few feet in front of her. She had the tone of someone who expected to be obeyed: easy and confident. James walked in and stood where he had been told.

"Take off your clothes for me, darling," she said, leaning back casually. "Get completely naked for me. And fold your clothes neatly and put them in the chair. I don't want you leaving a mess I'll have to clean up later." James quickly began to unbutton his shirt.

"Slowly," Sarah said. "Put on a show for me, darling."

James slowly undid the remaining buttons on his shirt, and pulled it open so Sarah could see his bare chest and stomach. He slid his hand up his torso, slowly stroking his chest and stomach, then back down again.

"Mmmm…nice," Sarah purred.

James then kicked off his shoes as he unbuttoned his pants. Slowly, he slid the zipper down, then pulled the front of the pants open to reveal his boxer shorts. His cock was threatening to poke through the slit in the front, but he made no move to either hide it or bring it out. He looked Sarah in the eyes as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the pants and began to push them down his hips. Once past his thighs, they slid to the floor all by themselves and landed in a pool at his feet. He reached down and picked them up. He folded them along the crease, doubled them over, and laid them neatly down into the chair. 

"There now, you see? That's not so difficult, is it?"

"Ha, ha. What do you want me to do next? Change the roll of toilet paper in the bathroom?"

"I'll ask the questions. As for you, keep stripping." 

James slid his shirt off his shoulders and allowed it to slide down his arms and off. He folded it and laid it on top of the pants. He was now standing a few feet from his wife in only his boxer shorts and dark socks. . Sarah purred her approval as he turned his back to her and slowly bent over to remove his socks, giving her a perfect view of his ass. He rolled the socks together and added them to his pile of clothes. Then he turned to face her again.

"Shall I continue with the grand unveiling?"

"Oh, by all means. Things are just getting good."

James grabbed the shorts by the waistband and slowly slid them down his hips. He stopped just before his dark brown pubic hair was going to come into view. He then ran his hand up the front of the shorts to stroke his still soft cock through the fabric. Sarah's eyes were glued to his crotch, a dreamy expression on her face, as he continued to stroke the front of his shorts. His cock began to spring to life, and she could now see the bulge beginning to form there.

"Ready?" James asked.

"Yes. Take them off."

James turned sideways to her, and pulled the shorts down the rest of the way. They also fell to his feet after they were past his thighs. His half-hard cock sprung up, pointing straight out away from his body. He bent over in an exaggerated slow fashion and picked up the shorts. He folded them, and was about to lay them on top of the pile when Sarah stopped him.

"I'll take those," she said, holding out her hand for them. He tossed them to her. She brought them to her face and inhaled his manly scent, taking a deep breath. "Hmmm, they smell like you, baby," she said, and laid them on her lap. "We'll just save those for later."

"All right, now, darling, turn around. I want to see your ass again." James turned around, facing away from her now, his hands at his side. "Mmmm…very nice." James felt Sarah's fingertips just brush his buttocks and realized she had leaned forward to stroke him. He shivered a little.

"OK, it's time to get started. Put your hands behind your head, darling, and lock your fingers together." James brought his hands up and put them behind his head, his elbows now pointing away from his body on either side. He locked his fingers together. "OK, now move your feet a little wider apart." James moved his feet to shoulder width. "There, that's perfect darling."

Sarah opened her purse, then stood up and walked over to James. She cupped his ass in her hand and planted a small kiss on the back of his neck as she squeezed his nether cheek. 

"Very nice, darling…" she whispered in his ear. "Now I want you to hold very still." She slid the blindfold over his head and down over his eyes, leaving him in total darkness. "There now," Sarah whispered in his ear again. "Stay just like that. I'll be right back." She walked into the bedroom.

Now it was nearly time for her own grand unveiling. She quickly slid out of her long dress, and went to hang it up. She brought her box of goodies out from the dim recesses of the closet. She grabbed several items from the box, leaving only a small leather bag she'd come back for later. She sat down on the bed and slid on her boots, zipping them up. She took a look in the mirror, turning to each side and then turning her back and looking over her shoulder.

The view was stunning, she knew. Clad in the long boots, and the tight fitting leather, she knew she would have James' eyes popping out of his head. Satisfied that everything was in place, she grabbed the other items and went back in to the living room.


Sarah walked up behind James as silently as she could and placed her hands on his waist. She reached around and began stroking his chest and stomach. She pressed against his back as her hands roamed over his body, causing him to shiver. Sarah knew James could feel her outfit against his bare skin now as she rubbed up against him. Her hands slid down his rib cage to his hips, then around to his ass, then up his back to his shoulders, sending shivers the whole length of his body. She caught the unmistakable smell of leather, and wondered how it must feel against James' warm skin. Sarah removed the blindfold with a quick tug. Then she stepped back, and was no longer touching him.

"You can turn around now, darling," she said. 

James turned around, and his jaw dropped. Sarah stood before him in full Dominatrix regalia. She wore black patent leather boots that rode up to her thighs, and shone and gleamed even in the dim lighting of the living room. Her body was sheathed in a skin-tight black uniform that was all leather and zippers. It hugged her tight ass, and ended in a corset that pushed her breasts into cleavage that she had only dreamed about before. There were zippers running up the entire length of either side of the gaudy outfit, and one down the middle that didn't stop until the navel. There was even a zipper at the crotch. 

In one hand she held a riding crop. The crop had a loop in the handle at one end, for Sarah to slip her hand and wrist through. On the other end, the business end, was a small leather strip, doubled over and attached to the crop at both ends. The strip hung loose and swiveled as the crop moved through the air. In Sarah's other hand was a collar. Sarah wondered briefly if James had identified it as such yet.

"Oh my god, Sarah," he stammered. Sarah stepped forward and put her fingers to James' lips.

"Shhh…quiet darling. Don't speak unless I tell you," she whispered.

She tossed the riding crop behind her onto the couch. She slid her fingertips up his bare stomach and chest, coming to rest at his neck. She wrapped the collar around his neck and snapped it into place. She went back for the leash, and attached it the metal clasp on the collar. She stepped back, leash in hand, picked up the riding crop, and stood there surveying him

"Oh, darling, if you only knew how sexy you look right now…" she said, smiling evilly at James. "Maybe I should snap a couple of photos to remember you by."

"What? No, no pic--" James began. He was interrupted when Sarah brought the riding crop up and pressed it against his lips.

"Now, now, darling. Remember what I said? Don't speak unless I tell you it's OK." James stood there silently. "Now, did you have something you wanted to say?" James nodded. "All right, then…go ahead."

"You can't take pictures of me like this. We aren't taking pictures."

"Oh, did we say no pictures? I don't remember agreeing to that." Sarah contemplated for a moment. She stuck out her lower lip, striking a pouting pose. "All right darling, if you insist. I won't take any pictures. I don't think I'll have any trouble remembering tonight anyway."

She walked towards James, wrapping the leash around her hand as she got closer in order to keep it taught. She stood right in front of him, looking up at him. She leaned towards him and licked his lips with her tongue. When James leaned forward to kiss her, she pulled away. She gave him a deep, throaty laugh.

"Not unless I say, darling. Remember that. Now, you can put your arms down. Just let them rest at your sides." James did as she said.

She unwrapped the leash from around her hand, and then started to walk around him, using the riding crop to stroke him as she looked him over. She started at his stomach, then slowly slid the cool leather down over his hip to his thigh. She brought the crop up his inner thigh. James sucked in his breath as she got close to his semi-hard cock. Sarah slid the crop under his scrotum and used it to lift his balls up and away from his body. James stood on his toes and gasped as she did it, then went back down to his feet as the crop pulled away from his body.

Sarah stepped behind him then, and began stroking the back of his thighs. She stroked slowly up one and then down the other. Then she brought the crop up between his legs and slid it between the cheeks of his ass. James jumped as he felt the leather part the cheeks of his ass. Sarah pushed forward, and he felt the crop against his balls once more, this time pushing them forward. Then she slid the crop back and up, traversing the entire length of his crack. 

"Mmmm…very nice," Sarah said, and came to stand beside James. "I love playing with your ass," she whispered in his ear. "Bend over for me, darling. Bend over and grab your ankles so I can get a better look at your ass." James obediently did as she said.

Sarah couldn't believe how much she was enjoying the feeling of being totally in charge. Her skin was tingling and her pussy was sopping as she totally controlled her husband's every move. Nothing before this had brought her such a sensual charge, like a touch anywhere on her body could bring an orgasm. And she wanted even more.

She began stroking him again with the crop. She started at his calf muscle and moved slowly up his leg. She lingered on the back of his thigh, sliding over to also cover the inside. Then she moved up to his ass, covering it in small, slow circles. She stroked his ass with her other hand as well, still holding the leash loosely.

"Now, hold still, darling, this may hurt just a little," she said. She brought the crop down hard on his exposed buttock, the leather strap making a resounding slap against his bare skin. James jumped a little bit, but stayed where he was. Sarah knew from experimenting on her own skin that the crop didn't hurt much. But the sensation of striking her husband, of his submitting totally to her, as well as the delicious friction of the leather against her aroused pussy, nearly brought her to an orgasm as she spanked James. After a couple of slaps from the crop, she had to stop for a moment to catch her breath. But remembering how James had spanked her the night before, she resolved that she was not finished yet.

Sarah struck each cheek of his ass several times, alternating between the two. She thoroughly enjoyed the sound of the slap of leather against his skin, and the pink shade his pale skin was turning. She stopped swatting his exposed ass, then began gently rubbing it with the crop. Then she stepped back and pulled up on the leash.

"OK, stand up now darling." James stood up. Sarah stood in front of him. She reached up and stroked his face, then planted a light kiss on his lips. "Time to go to the bedroom and really have some fun." She walked ahead and tugged on the leash for him to follow. James turned and started walking, but Sarah stopped.

"Down on your hands and knees, darling. That's how we do it with the leash." James' eyes bored into hers, and just for a second Sarah wasn't sure he was willing to continue. Then he dropped to his knees, then down to all fours, and began crawling. Sarah walked slowly in front of him, keeping the slack in the leash. When they arrived in the bedroom, she patted the bed.

"Up you go. Now come down here and face me" she said, taking a position at the foot of the bed. James faced her now, at the end of the bed on all fours. Sarah put the riding crop down on the dresser, then took hold of the leash again. She unsnapped the loop at the end of the leash, wrapped it around the bed's foot rail, and then snapped it closed again, limiting James' movement.

"There we go. We're almost ready to get started." She turned and walked towards the closet. Once inside, she poked her head back out for a second. "Now, don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

Sarah returned a moment later, carrying her bag. She turned her back on James and set it down, blocking his view of the contents. A moment later she turned to show him what she had brought. She was holding a vibrator, about 7 inches long and a little less thick than the toy James had used on her the night before. It was made of a clear plastic, with a realistic looking cock head that flared out to just a bit wider than the shaft. At the base it looked like there were marbles inside, and there was a long handle with a black knob at the bottom. In her other hand, Sarah was holding a bottle of lubricant.

"This is the most wonderful little thing, darling. Watch." Sarah turned the black knob and James could hear the vibrator hum to life. "Look at the head, darling." James saw then that the head was rotating in a circular motion at the same time that the rest of the cock was vibrating and humming. "Isn't that wonderful? It's called a 'squirmy vibe'. I'll bet it feels amazing inside." 

Sarah squirted some of the lube onto the plastic cock, then slowly slid her hand up and down like she was jerking it off to spread the lube along the whole length. She lifted her left leg and placed her foot on the mattress next to James' hand. James watched as she reached down and opened the zipper at her crotch. Sarah's pussy was now open and inviting, only a few inches from James' face. She placed the vibrator between her breasts, then slowly slid it down her stomach. She shuddered as she slid the vibrating phallus between her legs, rubbing it the length of her slit. She did this several times, then placed the rotating head against her clit.

"Oh, darling, it feels so good. I have to feel it inside me for just a minute." Sarah used her free hand to open her pussy lips, and slid the head of the vibrator into her wet pussy. She was gasping and moaning now, her hips moving in little circles. She would slide it all the way inside her, and then pull it out until just the head remained inside, and press the cock against her clit. 

She stopped after a few moments of the stimulation, pulling the vibrator out of her pussy and turning it off. She held it to James' mouth and brushed the head across his lips.

"Taste me," she said. James licked his lips and tasted the juices that had been left behind there. "Now, suck it," Sarah said. She pressed the cock head to his closed lips. James hesitated for a moment, then slowly opened his mouth and let the head pass through. Sarah knew she had coated the cock with her juices, and that James would taste her more fully now. She pushed the head and about an inch of the cock into his mouth. He sucked and licked it for a moment, and then she pulled it back out.

Sarah picked up the bottle of lube and walked around the side of the bed to get behind James. He felt her weight on the mattress as she climbed on the bed with him. She laid her warm hands on his ass, spreading his cheeks apart and exposing his tight brown hole to the air. She watched it pucker as the air hit it, and James' hips bucked just a little.




Night Two of Domination Week



Sarah had never licked James' ass before. It wasn't that she was repulsed; it was just something they hadn't talked about or done. But now she wanted to lick and suck his ass, and make him wet for what she had in mind next. And this was what their week was all about: trying new sensations and sources for pleasure. She pulled his cheeks even further apart to stretch his hole, then dipped her head down and began to lick the sensitive stretch of skin just behind his balls. James moaned, and his hips and ass dropped a little. Sarah pulled her tongue back.

"Hold still, darling," she said to his ass. James stopped moving. She once again licked behind his balls, then slid her wet tongue up to his asshole, where she licked around the rim of his anus with the tip of her tongue. Sarah could feel his sphincter close to stop her invading tongue from making it inside. She licked him like that several more times, from balls to anus, until his hole was wet and slick with her saliva.

The musky aroma of James' ass intoxicated Sarah and made her want to press on. She was making James squirm with her tongue sliding around his ass, and she loved the power of it. His breath was ragged and he was clutching the sheets. But she also knew he was enjoying the intense feelings. She touched the tip of her tongue to his hole, and felt it clench to keep her out. She pushed hard, using her tongue like a cock to penetrate him. She slipped past his sphincter muscle and into his ass, and she felt James pull his head up until it was stopped by the leash. He let out a loud moan, and slid forward. She slapped his ass hard and pulled him back towards her by his hips. Then she began sliding in and out of his ass, fucking him with her tongue. Soon James was pushing back against her face instead of pulling away.

She pulled her tongue out of him, and lifted her face to plant soft kisses on his ass. She stroked his cheeks, then his hips and the back of his thighs. She laid her head down on his ass and smiled.

"Someone was starting to enjoy that," she said. "I bet you'll love what's coming next.

She picked up the bottle of lube, and coated her fingers with it. She massaged it in to his anus, making small circles around his hole until the skin shone. She squeezed more of the lube onto her fingers, and very gently inserted just the tip of her index finger into his ass, her other hand on his hip holding him in place. She slid it in and out of him, going a little deeper with each stroke, until she had her entire finger inside him. Squirting more lube on her middle finger, she inserted that into him as well. The second finger slid in all the way to the last knuckle with almost no resistance. James held absolutely still. He was holding his breath, and Sarah was sure it was to stifle a moan that he didn't want to admit she had caused.

Sarah continued sliding her fingers in and out, and spread more lube in his ass. When she felt he had been loosened up enough, she slid her fingers out and picked up the vibrator. She placed it at his hole after coating it with a liberal amount of lube. Then she grabbed him by the hip and pulled him back onto the head. 

"Relax, baby…let it inside you," she looked up and said. She watched as James relaxed his sphincter, and the head of the plastic cock slid inside him. She pushed it into him slowly, giving him an inch then stopping to let him get used to it. She had the cock in about 4 inches when she turned it on low mode. Then she slid it in the rest of the way until the shaft was buried in James' ass. She gave him a moment to get used to it, then turned on the rotating head, and turned the vibration up to the next setting. Now James could not stifle his groan, and it exploded loudly from his mouth. To Sarah, it was like a standing ovation. She began slowly pumping the cock in and out of his ass, delighting in watching it appear and disappear into him again and again. Finally, she slid it in all the way and left it there.

She got off the bed and walked around to face him. James' head was down on the mattress, and his hands were grabbing the metal rail. She could hear the muffled vibration of the cock, and the sound excited her, knowing where the cock was buried. She reached down and stroked the top of James' head, then pulled him up by his hair.

"Oh, darling, that was so exciting sliding that cock in your ass. It got me so turned on that I need you to eat me now." Sarah pulled James' head to her and smashed his face into her crotch. "Lick, darling. Lick me," she said, and began to grind her hips against his face. She could tell she was soaking him with her juices, which had already wet her thighs and begun running down her legs. 

Sarah could think of nothing but her intense need for an orgasm as James began licking her with his thick wet tongue. Her hand was tangled in his hair, holding him against her as she slid her slick crevice all over his face. She placed him where his tongue could lap at her throbbing clit and then held as still as she could to make sure that he wouldn't stop. She could feel the orgasm building in her toes and working its way through her body, still distant but getting closer. She mentally willed James to keep going.

Sarah lost track of time. It might have been three minutes or three hours before she felt the orgasm rip through her body, leaving her knees weak and her body in spasms. She held James in place while she came, and he kept licking her until she finally pushed him away. She had to lean back against the dresser to stay on her feet.

"Oh, darling, that was so intense. Mmmm…I'm still cumming a little," she said, pressing her hand to her stomach. She leaned against the dresser until her breathing returned to normal, then looked over at James. She couldn't help but smile at his face, glazed and shiny with her juices. He was laying down now, looking at her to see what she would do next. She remembered then that the cock was still buzzing away inside him, the head squirming in his ass. The thought excited her all over again.

"I need you inside me James. I want to feel your cock in me," she said. She went to the bed and unsnapped the leash, freeing him to move. "Get on your back, and slide up the bed," she told him, holding the leash. James complied, and she re-attached the leash to one of the slats in the bed's headboard.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I have one more toy for you," she said, and walked back to delve into the bag. She brought out a small leather strip with a snap on it. She picked up the riding crop and climbed on the bed. She laid the crop down and bent over James' crotch, studying his hard cock. "Mmmm…very nice," she said, pinning it against his stomach and sliding her hand up and down on it. She pulled it up until it stuck straight up in the air and slid her mouth over it, deep-throating him for a second before pulling off entirely. His hips rose to meet her, and his hands reached out to grip her shoulders, but she sat back on her haunches out of his reach 

"Hold still, now, darling, while I put this on." She wrapped the leather cock ring around his cock and balls and snapped it shut. She grabbed the riding crop and climbed up the bed to straddle him. "There we are," she said, smiling down at him. "Now we know you won't cum until I let you."

Sarah reached between her legs and grabbed James' engorged cock. She didn't know if it was the stimulation or the cock ring, but he felt larger than she remembered. She rubbed the head of his cock across her wet pussy lips a few times to get it lubricated, a nice bonus being the intense sensations she felt. Then she placed the head at her opening, and slowly slid down the whole length of his cock until she felt her clit against his pubic bone. They both moaned loudly simultaneously. Sarah felt James arch his back and raise his hips, and saw that his eyes were closed and his head was thrown back in ecstasy. 

She didn't move for a moment, getting used to the feel of his cock filling her up. Then she began to slide up and down slowly, holding his shoulders for leverage. She put her hands on his chest and pushed herself up so that she was sitting on his cock and it was buried in her as deep as it would go, then pulled down the zipper running down the middle of her outfit, exposing her breasts to him. She began rolling her hips and grabbed James' hands and brought them up to her breasts. He began fondling and squeezing them, rolling her hard nipples between his index finger and thumb. She quickly felt another orgasm building inside her. She took the riding crop and began lightly swatting James on the chest and stomach, then reached behind and slapped his thighs. James was bucking like a stallion, mauling her tender breasts with his hands, and moaning. She slid the crop between his legs and stroked his balls, and Sarah knew that if it weren't for the cock ring James would be filling her pussy with his hot sperm at that moment.

"Oh…now, James…now," she screamed as she started to cum again. She rolled her hips and ground her clit against him as it washed over her body, making her skin prickly and hot. When it was over, she fell forward onto James' chest, her head resting just below his chin. "Oh my god…I can't move," she said. She lay there motionless for several moments before sliding off him and lying next to him, her head on his stomach. 

She looked down and saw James' cock, looking bigger than she'd ever seen it, the head an angry swollen red. She reached down and slid her index finger down the length of his shaft and up again, feeling her wetness clinging to him, and eliciting another groan from James. She reached down and cupped his balls in her hand, feeling their fullness, and squeezing them gently. She pulled his cock up and away from his body, then let go of it and watched it slap back against his stomach. Remembering the vibrator, she reached down and turned it off and slid it slowly out of his ass. James let out one long continuous moan as it slid out.

"Oh, please, baby, let me cum," James begged her. He put his hands on her head and tried to push her down to his cock. She pushed his hands away, and put her fingers to his lips.

"Shhh, darling…not until I say you can." She lay there for several minutes, idly stroking his thighs and stomach and occasionally 'accidentally' brushing up against his balls or cock. She knew she was driving her poor husband crazy, and she was loving every minute of it. She slid down a little further until her face was only an inch from the head of his cock. James moaned, expecting to feel her warm mouth wrapped around his aching cock. But Sarah just inhaled deeply, taking in the musky scent of his masculinity mixed with her own juices. She was aroused all over again by the intense aroma. She reached down and stroked herself gently between her legs for a second, feeling the wetness that remained there, and felt the need to cum one more time.

She sat up beside James and pushed his head back onto mattress. Swinging her leg over his chest, she straddled him, her pussy a few inches from his face and the leather sliding across his hairy chest. She reached over and picked up the riding crop, and then slid forward until her pussy was against James' chin. She reached down and spread her lips open, her pink wet inner folds now exposed.

"Lick," she commanded. James looked at her for a second as if to say 'what, again?', but saw her lift the riding crop, and obeyed. He cupped her ass in his hands and brought his face to her pussy. He began licking the entire length of her slit, then sucking and nibbling her clit, the way she loved to be eaten. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him into her, riding his face. She began to swat him on the stomach and chest with the crop, careful not to hit his painfully erect cock. In no time, she was close to cumming again. Once again she came on his face and soaked him with her juices, crying out. She sat back on his chest for a moment then rolled off him and laid down beside him on the bed.

Sarah couldn't even speak. Her skin was humming with electricity, and her lips felt like they belonged on someone else. She lay there, not moving, for several minutes, lost in the dreamlike afterglow of her third orgasm. James brought her out of her revelry. 

"Darling, please, can I cum now?" he pleaded. She looked up at him and smiled.

"All right, darling. I think you've earned a reward." Sarah said. She slid her hand down his stomach and stroked his cock in her hand up and down once. She reached behind his balls and unsnapped the cock ring and removed it, tossing it to the side. She brought herself to a kneeling position, her legs underneath her.

"OK. Sit up and lean back against the headboard." James did as she asked. His cock was large and hard lying against his stomach. Sarah thought it looked wonderful. "Stroke yourself for me, darling. Slide your hand up and down your cock so I can watch you."

James grabbed his cock in his hand and began pumping it furiously. Sarah placed her hand over his and stopped him.

"Slowly, darling. I'll tell you when you can speed up." He grabbed his cock again and began jerking off, slowly this time. His eyes were glued to Sarah, watching her. She was raptly watching his hand move up and down.

"OK. Go faster now James."

James started to pump his cock a little faster each stroke. Soon his hand was a blur as it slid up and down quickly on his cock. The head was turning a bright red and Sarah could see that it was swelling. With his other hand James was stroking his lower stomach. His head was leaning slightly back, and his mouth was open. He seemed oblivious to everything around him except his impending orgasm.

But Sarah had other ideas. She reached out and grabbed James' hand and pulled it away from his cock. His head snapped forward and he looked at her with a shocked expression.

"What…" he asked, looking at her for an answer.

"You don't get to cum tonight," Sarah said forcefully.

"Well…why not? What did I do?"

"Nothing. You performed marvelously, darling. But I've decided not to let you cum."

"But Sarah…please, baby. I was so close. I did everything you told me to…"

"Yes, and now I'm telling you not to cum. I told you before that I didn't want you making a mess. Now go and take a cold shower, and let's go to bed. You can cum all you want tomorrow night. But not tonight." Sarah reached to his throat and unfastened his collar, freeing him. Then she gestured for him to go.

"Boy, you're really asking for it…"

"Yes, I am. And you can give it to me tomorrow night. But not tonight." She smiled inwardly as James jumped off the bed and headed for the bathroom, his rock-hard cock jutting angrily in front of him and bobbing as he walked. She heard the shower come on. She unzipped the sides of her outfit and pulled it off. The cool air began to dry the sweat on her body, and she felt a delicious chill.

She unhooked the leash from the bed. She gathered up her toys and her outfit and threw them under the bed, deciding she could put them away in the morning. She unzipped her boots and slid them off, stroking each leg from thigh to calf as she did so. They went under the bed as well. 

Sarah didn't remember ever being so tired and satisfied after sex. She laid down, and by the time James returned from the bathroom and threw himself angrily into bed next to her she was already asleep, dreaming of what was to come next.