Ticet to Ride

If I were to tell you to "Fuck off" you'd be offended. And rightly so. Yet if I said "Sex and travel" it wouldn't be a problem. One of our foremost sexual fantasies is to join the Mile-High Club. The two main ingredients necessary to join it are of course sex and travelling at a fair height. Joining is near the top of the ordinary Joe's sexual bucket list and I when I found out that a U.S company can make your dreams come true for the knockdown price of $2,000 I leapt at the chance.

But when I turned up, I discovered that you're expected to provide your own partner. So, in fact, three main ingredients are necessary to join it. I decided to lower my expectations for sex on the move to near ground level. Trains may not travel as fast as planes but they're pretty damn sexy. In all the old movies when a couple were about to do the deed, the director would cut to a clip of a powerful locomotive thundering into a dark tunnel at full throttle.

I figured that all I would need to pull off the feat would be a ticket inspector's gendarmesque peaked cap, the stereotypical dark shabby suit, and a clip board. I travelled to the nearest main line station wearing the suit and carrying a plastic bag. I purchased a ticket and boarded the train. Once inside I ducked into the nearest lavatory, removed the cap and clipboard, and carefully folded the bag in order to put it back into a trouser pocket. There was room enough because my trousers were quite baggy So far, so good. And I hadn't broken any laws because I was careful not to actually use the toilet while the train was standing at the station.

Now understanding that there were three main ingredients I knew that I now needed to locate a glamorous and ticketless young lady seated in an otherwise empty First Class compartment. I'd been cunning enough to travel off-peak, so my chances were greatly enhanced. I waited until the train set off and sure enough, in the third compartment I checked I found a great looking blonde.

An elegant lady, probably in her early forties. She wore a short, tight skirt, and high heels. She had fabulous legs. Like a dancer's and although she was wearing a capacious blouse I could tell that she had a great rack. If she hadn't bought a ticket, success was certain. The pressure was on literally and metaphorically. And if you don't know what I mean, let me say it was just as well my trousers were baggy. I made my entrance and cleared my throat.

"I'd like to inspect your ticket Miss."

"Mrs."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Your ticket please?"

She blushed.

Yes! It was my lucky day. I would've liked to run into the corridor and punch the air but cool would be key now and it would have been difficult with boner regardless of the bagginess of my trousers. I looked down at her, her mouth agape in horror.

She began to speak; hesitantly and with a rather plummy accent.

"I'm afraid I don't have it. Erm I was running very late and I simply didn't have time to purchase one... But I'll be happy to pay now."

I could have said.

"I'm afraid that's not going to work madam. Fare avoidance is a serious offence punishable by a hefty fine."

She would then slowly draw her tongue across her lips whilst parting her legs slightly and reply.

"Surely we can come to some arrangement?"

I would become exasperated by her flagrant disregard for the rules of the rail and demand.

"Are you trying to bribe a rail official with sex even though he's performing his professional duties?"

She would answer.

"Yes."

And I would say

"Just as long as we've got that straight, I'll lock the door and pull down the blinds."

All being well we would then add the sex to the travel. But whilst her clothes were plain, they were clearly expensive and her accessories like the compartment were first class. Her shoes and handbag were genuine Prada, her perfume was Chanel, Mademoiselle I believe, and her hair, nails and make-up were immaculate. She was a woman of class who had not had time to buy the ticket that she could easily afford. I would need to be at my devious best to charm the pants off her. So instead I smiled and said.

"Just a moment. You may be entitled to a substantial discount."

Her face brightened up. She looked radiant and replied

"Oh really. That sounds interesting. Tell me more."

Good answer. I now had hope and told her that

"There's 10% off today for ladies with large breasts."

Unfortunately, this didn't have the desired effect. She was clearly affronted and informed me that.

"That's a terribly sexist policy. As an ardent feminist I couldn't possibly take you up on it."

But I was quick to retort.

"Network Rail look on it as positive discrimination."

She was back on track, smiled and asked.

"Why didn't you say? Now you've made me sound like a hysterical women's libber. Obviously under these circumstances I'd be happy to take the 10%.

I frowned and explained that.

"Unfortunately, it's difficult to tell if you qualify in your case because your blouse is quite voluminous. My guess is that by the way its hanging you're very likely to be able to benefit. Am I right?"

With the prospect of a useful saving she was only too happy to come clean about her breasts.

"I try to disguise the fun bags as much as possible because I need to be perceived as a serious businesswoman, but I must confess you're absolutely correct. They're whoppers alright. So, what's the damage after the discount?"

I refused to be rushed and said.

"Not so fast, Madam, you'll need to provide some proof."

She looked at me glumly and replied.

"I'm afraid my husband insists that my exposed breasts are strictly for his eyes only."

But I was ready and demanded with some authority.

"Who said anything about needing to see them both? Just produce one and I'll take your word about the other."

She was delighted with the compromise and exclaimed.

"That's very trusting of you. I'm sure he wouldn't be concerned about merely revealing one for your inspection."

She casually unbuttoned her blouse and produced a huge but perfectly formed tit from her oversized brassiere. I somehow managed to remain composed despite the stirrings in my pants and replied.

"I'm sure he wouldn't. I expect he'd feel very proud to be married to a woman like you. It's a magnificent specimen, more than worthy of the discount. You'd be surprised at how many other ladies wear padding to qualify."

She considered this for a moment and asked.

"Do some of them have breast augmentation?"

I felt that this would be quite a lot of trouble to go to in order to save a few quid on rail fare but needed to come up with something. All I could manage was.

"Yes, though man-made mammaries are still entitled to the 10%."

She appeared to be taken aback and stated indignantly.

"But this is natural."

Music to my ears. I feigned amazement and announced.

"I'm shocked. It's so large, but firm looking. Naturals are entitled to 20%."

She had been concerned that silicon might be valued as highly as flesh but was now reassured and stated delightedly.

"That's fantastic!"

I was growing ever harder and in confidence as well and punned humorously.

"Racktastic in fact. However, according to rail guidelines I would need to feel one to make sure."

She cupped her exposed breast and presented it to me, saying.

"No problem; I've already got it out."

It was all I could do to ignore it, but I shook my head and responded.

"No, not that one madam."

She looked embarrassed and asked.

"What was I thinking? I'm so stupid. Let me take my bra off completely."

She was now topless, and I fondled her more recently exposed breast for as long as I felt I could get away with before proclaiming.

"That's marvellous madam. As an expert I can verify that these breasts are 100% free of silicone-based filling."

She asked rhetorically.

"So, I qualify for the full 20%?"

But I was far from finished and suggested.

"You may be entitled to more. You have blonde hair. That's another 10%."

"Great! So, after the 30% discount how much do I owe you?"

I refused to be drawn and pressed on.

"Not so fast, Madam, you'll need to provide some proof."

"Do you think I dye my hair?"

She was becoming self-righteous again. that was a bad sign. If I was going to fuck her, I knew that I had to regain control and stated.

"Of course not, it's just company policy. All you need to do is remove your panties and hitch up your skirt."

I'd regained the upper hand and she was now offering only token resistance.

"But my husband only likes me to remove my panties and hitch up my skirt when we're alone together."

I was confident and dismissed her concerns easily.

"I'm sure, but not if it was done tastefully and in private. I'll lock the door and pull down the blinds."

Yes, it had taken me five times as long to get to this point than the direct route, but her resistance was practically at zero and she declared this to be.

"A masterstroke. He never stipulated that I couldn't remove my panties and hitch up my skirt for another man in a tasteful manner behind closed doors."

She duly slipped off her knickers and presented her bushy blonde cunt for close inspection. I reassured her by saying.

"And just as well, because if you had a repressed chap as a husband you wouldn't have qualified for the 30%. As it is, I can see immediately from the hirsute nature of your pubic zone you're blonde all over. It's just a shame you're so lush down there as I can't give you a further 10%."

She misunderstood, asking.

"You mean that if I'd had time to wax this morning, I could have received another discount?"

As she stood before me with her knickers at her feet, holding her skirt up and topless I decided I had the upper hand and exclaimed.

"Certainly not madam that would be preposterous. 10% off for every bikini wax? Absurd! There's just the standard 10% moisture bonus."

"Does that mean that if I spread my legs to show you how wet I've become down there I'd get a further 10% off?"

She asked so hopefully that I decided to add to the pot.

"In addition to the 10% slim, shapely legs bonus that I've already noticed that you qualify for."

"But I'm afraid my husband would definitely object if I spread my legs to show you how wet I've become no matter how slim and shapely you perceive them to be."

A lesser sexual predator could have been beaten, but I was on top of it.

"I'll raise the seat rests and all you'll need to do is lie down. "I suggested. "Surely, he would only object if you spread your slim and shapely legs to show you how wet you've become if you allowed me to make mad, passionate love to you?"

I could tell she knew I was right, and I raised the seat rests so that she could lie down in comfort. As I was doing so, she answered my question.

"Yes, you've probably guessed he has this thing about being the only man to make mad, passionate love to me. So as long as that idea hasn't entered your head, a quick check should be acceptable."

I was almost there. I just needed to maintain my cool a little longer. It was my turn to be indignant.

"I can assure you that the idea of entering your body per se has never entered my head. All I'm required to do is insert a couple of fingers."

She was apologetic

"I'm sorry, you're just making sure I'm not trying to hoodwink the rail company."

I agreed and added

"Of course, and I wouldn't want to raise your husband's ire."

Maybe my voice was quivering, or perhaps she just misheard

"You probably couldn't, it was raised higher just before I left."

Fortunately, she wasn't able to see the broad grin on my face because as she made the remark, she turned her back on me in order to lie down across the vacant seats. By the time she had made herself comfortable and parted her legs I was back in command. I duly eased in first one, then another finger. To my dismay I found that her husband had not used a condom. I waved my sticky fingers in front of her pretty face and exclaimed.

"That explains the tackiness."

She was mortified and contrite.

"I do apologise, he likes to give me something to remember him by before I leave home."

I was irritated and sarcastically observed that.

"A peck on the cheek normally suffices."

"What can I say? He's a passionate man."

"What a thing to happen on National Make Love to a Ticket Inspector Day."

I thought I'd lost her as she demanded.

"Really? You expect me to believe it's National Make Love to a Ticket Inspector Day?"

In a last-ditch effort to go all in I went all in.

"Would it be proof enough if I told you that anyone who makes love to a ticket inspector today qualifies for a further 40% off?"

"Of course, it would, but my husband absolutely insists that he and he alone makes love to me." She was there for the taking as I asked.

"But surely he and he alone has just made love to you?"

This was true and she announced.

"It would be a terrible shame to miss out on such a substantial discount."

I commended her decision

"Very sensible. Now you'll have to unzip me because it's illegal for an inspector to remove his uniform whilst on duty."

She did the honours with my fly and pulled out my engorged penis whilst stating.

"That's just as well because my husband doesn't like me to be in the proximity of naked men."

I eased myself inside her gaping twat and slowly eased the full length of my rock-hard dick all the way in. She may have been getting a substantial discount, but my attitude was that she was still paying for the ride and deserved First Class servicing. And good manners is part of that level of service, so I agreed.

"He's very fussy."

She had started to sigh deeply but when she momentarily caught her breath she continued to talk.

"It's suffocating sometimes. If he came in now and saw me naked with my legs wide open and you straddling me, thrusting gently, I'd be worried that he might read something into it."

An obvious cue. I was really getting into my stride anyway and moved up a gear. She began to moan deeply, and I asked.

"Even when you told him it was National Make Love to a Ticket Inspector Day and that you were getting a 90% discount?"

Although as I mentioned in a matter of fact and non-boastful way that she had started to moan deeply she again momentarily caught her breath and so was able to continue the conversation.

"More than likely. Now do you mind me asking how much I owe you. Owe you. Owe you! Owe you! Owe you! Oh yessss!"

I was too focussed on the way her mammoth jugs were oscillating as I fucked her to answer but I finally managed to blurt out.

"Of course not! Even though we're actively celebrating National Make Love to a Ticket Inspector Day, I'm still on fucking duty."

"Oh God! You're so rude! Rude! Rude! Rude! I'm going to report you as soon as I arrive!"

Well, I could tell she was posh, but I didn't know she'd start screaming 'I'm arriving!' when she orgasmed. And sure enough, she didn't. As I started to pound her with full force she screamed.

"I'm cumming! I'm cumming! I'm cumming!"

So was I and I unleased a great volley of spunk inside her. I kept on going until the vinegar strokes and then withdrew, put myself back and zipped up my fly. She sat up and asked.

"So, what's the damage?"

My heart was racing. I was light-headed and my knees almost buckled, but I managed to reply.

"As it's also National Travel Off-peak for a Pound Day, with the discount, it will come to 10 pence in total."

She reached down allowing her breasts to hang and began to rummage around in her handbag. She looked up and caught me admiring them.

"Young man! Are you looking at my breasts? If my husband thought you were looking at my breasts he'd have you horsewhipped!"

"No, of course not. I would never dream of looking at a First-Class passenger's breasts even if they were as fine as I imagine yours might be. Here, let me help you back into your bra."

I picked it up and held it out to her as she eased her breasts back inside. She put her bouse back on and put her hand back inside the bag.

"Just 10p you say? That's fantastic. My husband will be delighted. I'll charge it to my business account."

"I'm afraid we only accept cash."

"I'm afraid I don't have any. I was running very late and I didn't bring my change purse."

I began to tut.

"I'm afraid fare avoidance is a serious offence punishable by a hefty fine."

She looked at me imploringly, slowly drawing her tongue across her lips whilst parting her legs slightly.

"My husband would be furious if I were given a by a hefty fine. Surely we can come to some arrangement?"

I become exasperated by her flagrant disregard for the rules of the rail and demanded.

"Are you trying to bribe a rail official with sex even though he's performing his professional duties?"

She blushed and answer.

"Yes."

I drew a deep breath and replied.

"Just as long as we've got that straight, I'll lock the door and pull down the blinds."

Some of you will see me as a hero. A rebel whose knob has struck a mighty blow for freedom. But not all. Are you seething with self-righteous indignation? I wouldn't blame you. I distinctly admitted that "I cleared my throat." I can hardly deny it. It's there in black and white. The final sentence of paragraph 4. I coughed.

Alright, so she wasn't old and appeared to be in tip top shape. But how could I actually know? I'm not a doctor. I'm not even a proper ticket inspector! She could have been very well preserved. Had some work done. She may have had an underlying condition. I could have given that poor woman the Corona if I had it.

I've clearly got some explaining to do. Well, it's like this. I said, "One of our foremost sexual fantasies is to join the Mile-High Club." Look it up. I'll help you. Try sentence 3, paragraph 1. See!

It's a fantasy. Her husband is not at home but playing the ticket inspector role to his wife's passenger. That's right! The husband's not some poor cuckold self-isolating while his wife is performing an essential duty with a complete stranger.

In short, I'm the husband and the fake ticket inspector and the glamour blonde is my wife. The train is my den expertly re-arranged to resemble a railway compartment.

What can I say? The variety in our sex life has been compromised recently. We used to enjoy the outdoors. On the beach, in parks, the Ghost Train. Those sorts of places when it was safe and legal to do it. Well, at least when it was safer and less illegal.

I'll admit I've taken her dogging on numerous occasions, but that went up in smoke recently. I'm as open-minded as anyone and if fellow doggers want to watch her being porked, I'm all for it. But it's me who'll be fucking her. I adopt the Paul Newman attitude. My wife is prime steak and no-one else is getting a bite.

Today the chance of being detected is overwhelming. I love the risk but the likelihood of being approached by an officer of the law, nightstick in hand is simply too great now. I'm a pillar of the community. I couldn't afford a scandal. So, before you know it any red-blooded boy in blue would be in the back, giving her a damn good seeing to with his unsheathed weapon. And I'm not talking about his nightstick now.

You may be thinking that a highly moral officer would never do such a thing, but you haven't seen my wife. True, she's past 40 now but she'd still make the Cowboy's cheerleading team. Well, she would if her jugs weren't way too big. But that's a plus, surely?

Anyhow, in recent weeks she's been defiled by her personal trainer, her masseur, a tennis coach, a headmaster, a bishop, a pilot, 4 doctors not including various gynaecologists, a knight in not so shining armour, a couple of pirates and Ronald McDonald. And you wouldn't have to be a master of deduction to work out that she's in for a grilling from a corrupt cop tonight.