Lust on the Orient Express

Count Karl Bohm walked easily along the corridor, ignoring the swaying movement with the ease of a man used to train travel. The clickety-click of the rails was so familiar to him that he no longer heard it. Entering the dining car, he paused and surveyed the passengers at their evening meal.

The head waiter bustled up and inclined his head slightly, in the manner of one who was not just a servant but an old acquaintance. He whispered a few words in the Count's ear, then led him to his usual table. As they got closer, the Count could see that his companion at the tiny table was a woman with a mass of curly brown hair, casually dressed unlike many of the other women who were had obviously spent a lot at dressmakers and hairs stylists before boarding the train in Paris.

The Count greeted his dinner companion in German and took his seat. She replied in the same language, without any trace of accent. The head waiter hovered, taking the Count's order himself. "And to drink, your excellency? Your usual?" The Count nodded and he scurried away.

The woman across the table smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Your title obviously carries some wait. He was very attentive."

The Count laughed. "I suspect it is more because I am a director of the line than any reverence for the aristocracy." (Did her eyes widen a little?) He looked at her and said "When I was told I would be dining with the esteemed scholar Professor Song, I am afraid I expected some wizened old gnome with a pince-nez. May I say that I am greatly relieved."

"You are very gallant, Count. My friends call me River."

"And I am Karl. What university do you inhabit?"

"Ah!" she laughed. "You would not know it, it is small and very far away."

They chatted together while they ate, though their conversation never touched any deep levels. She explained that as a student of history and cultural key-points, she had hoped to stop at one of the Balkan cities en route, but she had misread the timetable and the train would not be stopping there.

The Count inclined his head sympathetically. Many travellers were caught when the timetables changed every quarter. Alas he could do nothing to aid her.

"Perhaps I could give you a guided tour of the train as some small apology from the line," he said blandly. She nodded and raised her glass.

"That would be most enjoyable, I am sure. Your health, Karl."

When they rose from the table, he went to take her arm to guide her, and raised his eyes when his hand brushed against her hip.

"Forgive me for noticing, Professor, but ..."

"You're quite correct," she said calmly. "I am wearing neither corset nor girdle. I often need to move quickly, and in any case Queen Victoria has been dead for about 15 years."

"Quite so," said the Count. "I imagine that when you are out observing archaeological digs you would have to .. ah..."

"Wear trousers?" She smiled. "Correct again. I seldom wear a skirt when examining ruins and relics. Scientists are not easily shocked."

"I should like to see you in your professional outfit one day," he said. "I imagine you look quite fetching in jodhpurs."

She smiled. "Shall we continue our tour, Count?" He led her to the far end of the train and then walked back, pointing out features of interest, some technical, other almost like gossip column trivia. Eventually they passed the dining car and ended up at a dimly-lit baggage car where crates, boxes and luggage of all descriptions were piled up.

"Count, is there no way I can get off the train before the next official stop? I don't like to ask for special treatment, but it is important to my work."

"My dear River, if I could do it, nothing would please me more. But just because I could do it does not mean I should do it. An express train is just that. I can no more stop it than an ocean liner can change its sailing date because a..."

Before he could finish speaking, she put her hands against his chest and pushed. She was surprisingly strong and he found himself leaning against a packing crate. She stepped forward and placed her hands on the crate, pressing herself against him. "Perhaps I can change your mind," she said in a calm and decisive voice. The Count was used to being in charge, and having a woman take command was an unusual experience for him. Also, he was somewhat distracted by feeling her unfettered breasts push into his chest. Good heavens, the woman seemed to be wearing no underwear at all!

There was a sharp intake of breath as he felt one of her hands move downwards, rubbing against the front of his trousers. He though this woman was an intellectual, a scholar, and here she was behaving like the most brazen hussy he had ever met. In spite of that, or perhaps because of it, he felt his manhood becoming engorged, swelling up to meet her touch.

"Just lean back, Karl," she said softly. "Let me do the rest."

His mind raced with comments about the inappropriate nature of her actions and the place, he even thought of suggesting they go back to his cabin if she insisted on such familiarity, but his mouth seemed to have gone numb.

She dropped to her knees with the flexibility of an uncorsetted body, and deftly unbuttoned his trousers. Before he knew it, she was fondling his erect penis without shame or surprise at its size and stiffness. Nothing seemed to put off this woman.

"Steady now," she whispered. Karl shook a little as he felt her lips kiss the head of his cock. He was now so erect that the head was bright red and so hard it was almost painful. The best he might have hoped for was a kiss and a few intimate embraces in the darkness, but never would he have expected things to go this far.

River grabbed a discarded piece of cloth from somewhere and knelt on it. She leaned forward, opened her mouth and slowly enveloped the Count's swollen penis.

The Count could not believe what was happening. All his previous encounters with oral sex had involved either whimpering chambermaids or stoic courtesans. But this woman seemed to be fellating him because she wanted to. Her eyes were wide open and looking up at him as her head bobbed up and down. Never had a woman kept eye contact with him while sucking his dick.

Again and again his penis went in and out of her mouth. Once it went do deep he imagined he could feel her tonsils cradling its head in a moist embrace. He began to moan softly as the sensations travelled through his trembling body. Her hands were holding his hips, controlling the speed and depth of his thrusts. She was in complete control of an act that most women would not even have spoken about to their intimate friends.

"Oh... oh... ahhh..." he began to sigh, closing his eyes shut as his entire being seemed to tremble. His hands grabbed at the crate him for support as his legs began to wobble uncertainly.

"YES!" he groaned loudly, then he lost control of his voice and of his entire physical body. All he could feel was the pulsation of his cock as the semen shot forth from it, again and again. He could see or hear nothing, only feel the shuddering effects of his climax.

When he opened his eyes again, River was still on her knees, looking up at him as his exhausted dick began to shrivel up. It occurred to the Count that he could see no clue as to where she had disposed on his load of cum. Perhaps she had ... no, no woman of her grace and intelligence would have done THAT.

While he was catching his breath, she had risen to her feet and was dabbing gently at her lips with a linen handkerchief. When she spoke, it was as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "I have done something for you, Count, perhaps you might do something for me."

The next morning, just before dawn, the Express pulled in at a station. There was nobody there to greet it except two sleepy porters and an old man in a stationmaster's uniform. His eyes showed no surprise at the arrival of the train; he had his orders.

The Count watched as the two porters manhandled River's luggage, muttering to themselves in Serbian. They wheeled it away to a carriage waiting at the side of the road while he turned to her. "Will I see you again? I would really like to see you in your riding jodhpurs one day."

"Never say never," she said lightly and kissed him on the ear.

"I still don't understand why you want to get off here," he sighed.

She smiled and said "Spoilers, sweetie" then clattered down the platform towards the waiting carriage. A man in a fez held the door open for her.

Karl watched her being driven away. It still made no sense to him. What was there of interest to see at this time of the year in Sarajevo?

THE END

[With apologies to Agatha Christie and Alex Kingston}