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This story is based on a real incident. It happened – most of it anyway. If by any chance the real Sabine reads this and remembers I would like to hear from you. I’d love to hear from any woman who finds it a turn-on or has experienced any exciting incident on a train journey. I welcome your feedback …
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Midnight. A hot August night. Koln Hauptbahnhof. Gleis 5. Cologne’s main railway station. Platform 5. The last local train down the line. A slow.stop.at.every.station.on.the.line.train. Engine shut down, everyone quietly waiting for the hands of the large station clock suspended above the platform to click round to 00.05.
I have boarded. I am sitting on one of the end bench seats of a carriage. There are six pairs of high backed bench seats facing each other, three pairs on each side of a central passageway. The seats are covered in moquette. Everything is clean and functional. This is Germany.
The lighting in the carriage is suitably muted for the late hour. It is the fag end of the day. The sands are draining fast from the weekend hourglass. Tomorrow everyone is back to work. Early. This is Germany.
There are only three other people in the carriage. All singles. All sitting silently, waiting. I have my end of the carriage to myself. The seats across the aisle are empty.
I gaze out of the window. Outside on the platform a man and woman while away the last few minutes before the train leaves. He in dark, swarthy, medium-build, middle-aged, moustached, a foreigner, but neat, urbane and well-dressed. She is dark haired, in her thirties, wearing a thin jacket over a light summer dress. High heels. Their conversation is friendly, smiling but polite.
I idly consider their relationship. Newly acquainted, not-yet-lovers after a first date? A minor diplomat and a newly acquired mistress. A clerk in a small embassy and a call girl he has been enjoying for the evening? They are certainly not brother and sister.
She is slim and attractive, shoulder length hair fashionably crimped and highlighted. Everyone seems to be going for the same style these days. Even Ginny.
Virginia Richards, Ginny, is a woman on the management course I’m helping to run in a suburb of Bonn, to which I’m returning after a weekend away. She’s a buxom woman in her late twenties. Large shapely arse, big soft breasts, wide, full mouth and a jutting jaw with a pushed out lower lip. Long brown hair crimped with blonde streaks, parted in the middle and falling down either side of her face. When she talks, she tilts her head and sweeps her hair away from her face with her hand. The action draws attention to the pushed out lower lip. Occasionally the ends of her hair catch on the wetness of that lower lip and the tip of her tongue comes out to touch the hair before blowing it away. It’s a habit which gets a man thinking …
Ginny is married – unhappily married – to Bernard. She doesn’t know whether to leave him or not. She sighs when she talked about it. She has taken to hanging around me.
The first week of the course ended on the Friday lunch time to let those who wanted get away leave for the weekend. It had been a tiring week. Too much alcohol-fuelled socialising. Too much work. Too little sleep. I was nervily, jumpily shattered and had refused to eat anything for lunch. I sucked on a beer, intending to flake out in bed for a couple of hours before a shower and my trip to Cologne where a second course was taking place.
Big soft domestically troubled Ginny with her big soft backside, her big soft eyes, her big soft mouth with its pushed out lower lip cornered me after lunch and asked to speak to me. I invited her to my room. To discuss her problem. I was well aware of mine.
Ginny came into the single room taking one of the hard-backed chairs next to me at a small table and began unburdening herself about her problems with Bernard. She lit cigarette after cigarette. She shared my bottle of beer, She sighed and looked unhappy. Should she cut her losses and leave him? Should she give him one last chance?
I watched the big lips mouth her discontent. I murmured sympathetic noises. I watched those same red lips open to pull on another cigarette. I listened to her voice drone agreeeably on. I watched those fleshy, full lips part to slide the over the top of the bottle as she sucked in the beer. Then, finally tiring of the game, I pulled her head to me and kissed her full on that fleshy mouth. Her lips felt as good as they looked – full, soft and lush. Her mouth opened. We pushed tongues together. Then, sensing the weakness of her protests, I forced her head down towards my hastily unzipped and bared prick, pushing it up with my right hand while my left hand on the back of her head forced her mouth down to meet it.
As soon as her lips touched the tip of my prick her token resistance ended. She relaxed, opened her mouth and began sucking me. The troubled, unhappy spouse became a miscievious-eyed, sly vixen, glancing up at niğde escort me in delight as she slurped her wet lips and extended tongue along the spongy underside of my stiff prick. I raised the beer bottle to my lips, shifted my lower body forwards in my seat, spread my legs and let her spoil me.
She was wonderful. She licked every exultant pore from the bottom of the thick shaft to the tip. With her finger tips she squeezed the reddened, glistening head, dilating and deepening the hole and pushing the tip of her tongue into it. She gently took first one testicle, then the other, into her mouth. Turning her head sideways she made a warm wet cushion of her mouth and tongue and ran it up and down my shaft pressing it with her hand against the moist delight of her moving mouth. She opened her mouth wide and took the bulging, bulbous end deep inside, her lips stretching half-way down the shaft, all the slippery-juiced, silky-pink, inner flesh and tender, pressing tongue pleasuring my taut-stretched, straining, paper-thin skin. She teased me slowly out of her mouth and cradling my balls in one hand and circling the base of my prick with the palm and fingers of the other she began to lick the underside of the top of the glans with little purring cat-licks, her eyes meeting mine and laughing and sparkling with the wicked enjoyment of it all. She kept up the variations for ten minutes as I slowly squirmed, groaning softly, clenching my buttocks and pushing with my thighs to chase the ecstasy of it. And then led by her lush lips to the brink for the umpteenth time I could hold back no longer and went plunging over the edge after her, groaning ‘NOW!, and she, glorying in the wild-eyed helpless madness her sucking and licking had built in me, fastened her mouth on my pulsing prick and bobbed and sucked in feverish excitement and greedily and noisily swallowed the scalding, spurting jets of come which her lusty, sexy art had brought to the boil.
We had no time to do anything more. Bernard was arriving in ten minutes to pick her up for her weekend with the family but when she returns on Monday morning something tells me it won’t be long before I’m fucking Ginny.
I close my eyes and imagine Ginny on the floor, thighs spread in welcome to her cunt, spread open above her splendid arse, skirt up round her waist. I lower myself into her and sink my prick fully inside. Her cunt folds round my prick like a velvet glove. Will she still be sighing and thinking of leaving Bernard when my prick is ploughing in and out of her sopping cunt? Or will her sighs mean she is eager for me to spurt hot sperm up inside her?
My fantasies are interrupted by the guard’s whistle. Outside the window the couple kiss briefly and she turns and boards the train. She stands by the open window in the carriage door waving as the train pulls slowly away. Then she closes it, turns and walks into the central passageway.
A quick discreet look at me and she sits down opposite me in the middle of the empty bench seat. She crosses her legs, opens her handbag, takes out a cigarette and lights it. She looks out of the window.
I consider her closely. Nine out of ten women would have sat on the benches on the other side of the aisle. Very few would have sat directly opposite me. I am intrigued.
She has a pleasant face, wide and slightly freckled. Her eyes are large, the whites clear as she stares fixedly out of the window. She puts the end of the cigarette between thick lips, inhales and then, leaving her mouth open in a small pout, lets the smoke drift lazily from her mouth. It looks very sexy. Hazy blue-grey smoke exhaled from pouting dark red lips, the tips of her teeth just showing behind her lips.
She shuffles her body, pushing against the back of the seat to snuggle deeper down. The action pulls her skirt back to the top of her knees. She has good legs, long with rounded knees, the sheen of her stockings shimmering even in the low light inside the carriage. As I watch she uncrosses her legs and then recrosses them the other way. I catch a quick glimpse of dark stocking top, white thigh and black strap. She is wearing suspenders. Without moving her eyes from the window she adjusts the hem of her skirt. It hardly moves. It’s as if she is drawing attention to her legs. I like her legs. I look at them and begin to lust after them … I want to reach forward, slide her dress up her thighs, kneel on the floor in front of her, push her thighs apart and lick my way up into the warmth and wetness of her cunt.
While I look at her legs and fantasise about burying my mouth in her cunt I drop my hands onto the bulge of my wakening prick and massage it slowy with the tips of my fingers. I do not want to draw her attention to my surreptitious masturbation. I widen my thighs slightly to put pressure on my prick, making it move against my fingers. She does not move. I get slightly bolder, pressing down on the tip of the growing bulge … I imagine the shiny feel of her stockings nişantaşı escort as I move my lips over her legs, my tongue traces its way across the sleek dark band of her stocking top and then as my lips move higher her warm bare thigh presses against my cheeks and my open mouth comes to rest on the sopping wet material of her knickers … I put my fingers round my prick and squeeze, hoping she will not look round. For some time now she has not moved to draw on her cigarette. I glance up at her face. To my surprise she is smiling gently. What on earth is amusing her out of the window? I turn quickly to see. I catch the relection of her face in the window smiling back at me, before she looks quickly away. The image is as clear on this pitch black night as in a mirror.
I am startled. She has been watching me lusting over her legs. She has certainly watched me squeezing my prick through my trouser front. Her smile signals approval. More, she has almost certainly encouraged my interest by crossing and uncrossing her legs to show me her underwear. The lady wants to play.
Still with a smile on her face she takes a last drag at her cigarette, uncrosses her legs and reaches forward to stub it out in the ashtray by the window. The action slides her dress back up her thighs. She takes her time, making a thorough job of stubbing out the butt, giving me plenty of time to admire her thigh. As she reaches further forward to drop the butt in the cup of the ashtray her near leg falls away exposing her inner thigh and a wide dark band of stocking top.
She leans back, takes off her jacket and settles it round her shoulders. She turns her body slightly towards the window and crosses her legs again, but this time her calf rests on her knee leaving the hem of her skirt high and giving me an open view of her inner thigh. She stares pointedly out of the window again. Then just in case I haven’t got the message she pulls the handbag on her lap towards her drawing the skirt higher on her thigh. Her hands go round her bag and her finger tips start moving minutely, almost absentmindedly, against the outside of her exposed thigh. She looks steadfastly at the window.
The train speeds on through the night.
The message is clear. Her casual touching of her leg is telling me I should stroke myself too. She wants me to continue masturbating. And she wants to watch.
I am shaking with lust. I push back against the seat and spread my thighs, pushing my crotch towards her. My prick makes a huge bulge in the front of my trousers. I watch her slowly moving her finger tips as she runs the pads gently back and forth over no more than a centimetre of stockinged thigh. I stroke my prick openly, squeezing it and pushing it forward by flexing my thighs. I base the speed of my fingers on the speed of her own. I will take my lead from her. The ankle of her upper leg flexes and she starts moving her foot up and down to stir the sexual tension between us. Is she masturbating too now, using the gentle pumping of her thighs to put pressure on her cunt?
I move my fingers to the top of my prick and pull on it through the cotton of my trouser front. Her foot skews a wide, slow circle. I manoeuvre my prick so it is as near vertical as it can be in the restricted space of my trousers and massage the tip of it slowly and deliberately, moving my fingers down over the end of my prick, bringing them back up again and repeating the movement. I tear my eyes and from her legs and look at my lap. My fingers are stroking the head of the huge bulge in my trousers.
I want to signal my thoughts to her, to let her know how much I would like to lick her cunt. I part my lips and start licking round them with my tongue. I concentrate on her white thighs … In my imagination my mouth is once more on the sopping wet silky material of her knickers. They are loose and scanty, hardly hiding her thickly fleshed cunt lips. I pull her sodden knickers to one side and her cunt is waiting for my tongue – all pink folds of flesh and glistening juices … I put my tongue out towards my nose and lick my upper lip vigorously with the tip.
My message is unmistakable. I want oral sex. Giving and getting. Her response is not long in coming. She uncrosses her legs, unsnaps her handbag and reaching inside takes out a smell mirror and a lipstick. She takes the top off her lipstick, opens the hand mirror and settles back in her seat again. She crosses her legs, again leaving her skirt high on her thighs and starts to put fresh lipstick on.
The performance is mesmerising. She licks round her lips and taking a tissue from her bag dries them. Then she stretches her mouth in a tall ‘0’ shape and begins to apply the lipstick. It is impossible to watch and not think of pushing my prick into her wide open mouth. I pull on my prick ever more boldly. Her body is still angled towards the window, a position which gives me a clear view of her moving, pouting mouth and ankara olgun escort means she can see the effect of her coquettry by changing the focus of her eyes and staring past the hand mirror into the window to watch me masturbate.
She presses her lips together and then starts on the bottom lip stretching her mouth again so it is perfectly shaped for accepting an erect prrck. I groan quietly but audibly … I want to stand in front of her, take the back of her head in my hand and force my bare erect prick into her mouth. I want to fuck her mouth … I close my eyes and my fingers squeeze my bursting prick. I watch through hooded lids as she takes the tissue folds it in two and gently bites her lips on it. I nearly come inside my trousers.
Suddenly the train is losing speed and coming to a halt. A man stands up and takes his case from the luggage rack. He looks at us. The sexual tension of our erotic game must be tangible. I feign tiredness, rub my eyes and stretch my arms. My prick is huge. I dare not look at it. She moves quickly in her seat, covering her legs and reaching for her bag to put her lipstick and mirror away. She takes out another cigarette and lights it, ignoring me.
The man moves down the aisle giving her a quick glance as he passes. He knows something is going on. He alights and shuts the door behind him. I look at her face. Our eyes meet briefly before she looks away. She is quietly smiling again, her eyes twinkling. What now?
The train is stationary for a moment, then moves off. She reaches again for her bag and takes out her purse. Very slowly she unzips the top of the purse, raises it to her face and looks in, puts her fingers in and moves things about as though she is looking for something. Then without zipping it up again she puts it back in her bag and leaves the bag open by her side. To make the message even more obvious she puts her hand down half into the bag and pushing out her fingers and thumb stretches it to the limit and peers in. Then, leaving her bag gaping wide she leans back again facing the window and crosses her legs again, leaving the skirt so high the whole side of the thigh nearest me is now exposed. She is waiting for the second half of the window show to start. And she it telling me what the act should be. She wants to unzip and show my prick to her.
This is going to be dangerous. I don’t know what the penalties for exposing yourself on German trains are. But I am now so excited I am past caution. I take my jacket off and drape it on my right thigh. If the ticket collector comes I want some cover.
To provide more cover I take out a large hankie and pretend to wipe a small mark on my trouser front, then leave it lying on my lap. She reaches forward again to put out her tab. While she is doing it I reach for my zipper and pull it slowly down. There is a low rasping noise which she effects not to hear, but a slight smile crosses her face. She settles back in her seat, snaps shut the bag, puts it on her knees and closes her eyes. Her hand moves in her lap. The hem of her summer dress makes responding movements. She is unbuttoning her dress. Then all movement ceases. She is still. Eyes closed. Waiting.
I reach inside my fly and pull out my prick. Since our game was interrupted by the man getting off, my erection has subsided. My prick is thick but only half erect. I open my thighs to give myself more room and as my right knee moves towards her knee, she quickly moves to avoid contact. She is not asleep. She is watching everything through partly closed eyelashes. I put my left hand under my balls and openly masturbate with my right hand, pointing my stiffening prick towards her. Her arm moves and the hem of her dress trembles slightly. She is also masturbating, but more discreetly than me. I look at her face. Her lips part and the tip of her tongue moves out to touch the underside of her top lip. My erection is huge. I put my fist round the shaft and squeeze. The end bulges and goes a deep red. I want to get up and push it towards her mouth.
Then, breaking the intense silence of the carriage, the door at the far end of the carriage clatters open. The inspector walks through, turns, closes the door and announces: Fahrkarten, bitte.’
There is a ripple of activity through the carriage. I cover my erection with my jacket as best I can, reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet and ticket.
By the time the inspector reaches me I am almost respectable. When he punches my ticket and returns it I feel her eyes on me. She is grinning hugely. The train slows again and the carriage is flooded with light from outside. She looks briefly out of the window.
She turns to me. ‘Ist hier Bonn?’
‘Tut mir Leid.’ (What a shame), she says, gathering her things together. As she gets up to go out of the door, she stops, smiles and says, ‘Wiedersehen.’ (See you again)
Then she leans forward and pushes something into my hand before leaving quickly through the door.
It is the tissue. I open it. Displayed in deep red lipstick is a perfect outline of her open mouth. My prick hardens in an instant.
I look up through the window and watch her walking away. The train takes off and as it passes her, she turns, puts her hand to her lips and blows me a kiss.
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