Late Train.

With thanks to every_horizon for the encouragement and editing.

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The train is late. I look out of the window and see... nothing. The hiss of the rain sounds louder than the engine so we must be moving very slowly, the small rickety carriage rattling quietly along. The late summer evening that had tempted me out in a skirt had broken into a thundershower, carrying all of the pent up heat of the day and throwing it down as white noise. I have no idea how long I have been on the train; it feels like hours, but might have been minutes or weeks.

The carriage is quiet despite the rain. The handful of passengers clearing their throats behind their papers refuse to make eye-contact. For a minute I consider standing up and singing a song to see what their reaction would be, but I dismiss the idea when I realise they’d just politely ignore me and go on with the crosswords, terrified they might have to make converse with another commuter.

I might have an ally though. There’s another bored person on the train; he’s looking out of the window and fidgeting too. He opens his phone, looks at the display and snaps it shut again with a sigh before repeating the process. The small snick sound of the case closing has irritated the man in front of me, and my comrade hears the tut. This time, as he closes the case, the snick is louder and I see a hint of a smile as he does it.

I take the time to look at him properly whilst he is engaged with the enemy; it’s a nice smile, easy to induce I suspect, and makes him look younger. Not that he is old – about my age, maybe less, probably not more. He’s better dressed than the rest of the carriage too; just as smart, but less rigid or drab. As he turns to ensure that he still has the attention of the tutting man, I see that he has a thin line of pale skin between his hair and his tan, exposed by a new hair cut. I feel a momentary pull to get up and run my finger along the line and I smile.

How would I do it? I’d walk past him, pretending that I am getting away from the rain dripping though the broken window seals by my seat, and sit in the row behind him. Then, when he has forgotten I am there, I’d lean forward and use the tip of my finger to trace his hairline and the newly exposed skin.

He smells of laundry powder and an undefined aftershave and the vanilla smell of unwashed skin. I move my face closer to my hand so that I can smell more and kiss the hollow at the base of his skull. He leans his head forwards as I slip my hands around his chest and start undoing his buttons. Encouraged, I keep kissing and nibbling at his neck, softly so that everywhere I touch the hairs stand on end and he is unsure whether I actually touched or blew on him.

A sudden breaking-jolt of the train brings my attention back to reality as I crash into the seat in front. Tutting man is not impressed by the intrusion and unleashes a snort of defiance before snapping his paper and turning the page. As I slide back into my seat, I look up to see whether my conspirator has noticed. His eyes are closed, but the smile has broadened into a grin. I realise that despite the heat my nipples are erect and there is a warm glow between my thighs, pulsing in time to the rocking of the train.

I cross my legs tightly at the thigh to feel the benefit of the movement and wriggle slightly in the hope that he might notice the extra inch of thigh it reveals. I watch him for a minute, hoping that he will open his eyes and make the most of the extra time to scrutinise him. His chest looks inviting and, reluctantly, I return to my fantasy world to be able to touch it.

As I slide my hand between the buttons I encounter soft, dry, supple skin over a hard layer of muscle. His breath quickens in response to my touch and I press my breasts against his back so that he can feel that this is turning me on too. He runs his arm around the back of his chair and places his palm onto my calf. He grips it tightly for a minute before running it up the outside of my leg, pushing my skirt up. I lean into him more and part my legs slightly so that he can run the back of his hand up the inside, feeling the heat and moisture already building-up there.

I moan slightly as he turns his hand over and I feel his thumb graze against the crotch of my pants. The rush of electricity it generates between my legs means I cannot return to my own seat. Instead I walk around to face him and slowly unbutton my blouse. His eyes never leave my hands as each button pops and reveals more of the white lacy bra I wear underneath.

His hands rise from his sides and slide back up under my skirt, gripping my thighs firmly as he moves his head forwards to gently kiss my cleavage, nuzzling against my breasts. I slide my fingers into his hair, messing it up and feeling the short strands slide between my fingers. I pull my hands down behind his ears, around his throat and gently push him back into his chair as they reach his chest.

I continue undoing his shirt, slowly, running my fingers down inside his shirt to get to each button. I kneel down to undo the last of them and as they part, I lean in and kiss the muscles just above his belt. I taste salt and smell the vanilla-musk of his skin as I lick and kiss my way back to his chest. The hard muscles twitch as I move my mouth against them. I reach his nipples and gently tease them with my tongue and lips, trying to get them as hard as mine. He leans forwards and slides his hands under the fabric of my bra, cupping my breasts and reciprocating the actions of my mouth with his thumbs against my own nipples.

The static Hiss-Crackle of an announcement disturbs the thought and I listen for the latest excuse. The train is delayed. No further information is available. Despite that irritation that it will take still longer to arrive, I am not dismayed by this thought and settle back to see where my imagination will lead me.

Before I close my eyes I realise that he is watching me; it seems my skirt has caught his attention and I stare hard at him, meeting his gaze. Blue eyes burn into me before flicking attention to my chest and back to my face. I feel the burn of a blush rising up my neck and break the look before he notices. I turn my head away, get comfortable and think about looking into those eyes at closer range.

I look into them as he slides his hands up over my buttocks. His hands are warm and soft and the feel of them pulling me up to stand before him sends shocks through my body. He leans forwards and flicks a hot, wet tongue across my belly button, then follows the line of goose bumps down to the waist-band of my skirt.

He can see the moisture gathering on my panties and hooks his thumbs under the elastic waist-band without removing his fingers from my buttocks. He looks into my eyes, smiles and slides my underwear to the floor, tracing a line of sparks down my legs. The shudder I give makes him smile harder. His palms are flat against the front of my thighs and he slides his thumbs along the outside of my lips, feeling how wet they are.

Still looking into my eyes, he gently pulls me open, exposing my clit to the cool air of the train. He leans forward and blows gently on it, sending a new wave of heat through my pussy. Gently he lets it close and runs his fingers along the inner lips, feeling me get wetter as he does it. Again, he uses his thumbs to open me up and blows on my clit. This time the sensation is of ice and it makes me moan with the cold hot heat and pain. He slides a finger back between the lips and runs it along again, missing the clitoris, but that doesn’t matter as already the juices are trickling down his finger and onto the back of his hand.

I want him to slide the finger inside me, but instead he opens me up with his thumbs again. I brace for the cold air, but this time he flicks his tongue over my clit as he moves it towards my pussy and back, lapping at the wetness which increases with each delicious stroke. I want him to continue, but realise that he is still wearing his trousers. I force my hands to his face and gently drop to my knees so that his mouth is level with mine.

I kiss him and with his tongue comes the salty sweet musk of my pussy. I run my tongue over his teeth, taking as much of the taste into my mouth as I can. I undo his belt and trousers, spreading the fabric open to release his cock. It is very big and very hard and very erect and I feel the soft skin pulse slowly under my grasp. Looking into his eyes again, I trace my fingernail up the shaft to the tip, his pupils dilate and I feel his balls twitch as I pass my fingertip over the head.

I lean forwards and lick off the bead of pre-cum that rises as I squeeze gently. His breathing is heavier and faster, a sudden intake of air as I run my tongue around the rim at the top. Taking the first inch between my lips he shudders and I pull his trousers down to his ankles before forcing his legs apart with my hands. I work my tongue against the hard flesh as I slowly rock and suck at the head. My hands grasp a ball each and I play with them, gently rolling them between my fingers and the palm of my hands.

I feel his hands at the back of my head and he winds his fingers through my hair before gently pushing at my head, pleading with me to take more into my mouth. I wait for him to stop before I part my lips a little, allowing in only the rest of his head. Slowly I slide my mouth up and down, constantly swirling my tongue around the tip, letting a vacuum form on the up-stroke. I increase the pressure of my hands on his balls, gently pulling and squeezing with each stroke. When he begins to thrust at my face I open my mouth further and lets the whole of his shaft slip between my lips. I grip tighter and hold onto his hips to maintain control.

Moving faster as he struggles against my hands I begin to growl, taking as much as I can with each stroke and working in time to the movement of his hips. A moan slips from his mouth and another and I work harder, ensuring that I take every inch. I get ready for him to cum when he moans “No” and urgently grabs my head to stop the movement.

He slowly releases his grip and slides his hands down and over my shoulders; his left to my breast, the right to the small of my back, guiding me back to my feet. He takes my right nipple between his thumb and finger and gently pulls at it between them. He leans forwards and licks the left one gently, feeling it rise to his mouth before he parts his lips and sucks at it gently. The fire in my pussy re-ignites as he works at them, getting hotter and more painful with each touch.

I ache for him to slide his cock into me, my thighs are wet from the moisture he is creating and with each movement of his tongue I feel the muscles deep inside me clench. I push him back into his seat, pull my skirt up to my waist and straddle him. The shaft of his cock pushes against my pussy so I open my legs and let it grate against my clit. He grabs my waist and pushes me down so that as I slide back and forth the pressure against my clit increases.

Unable to bear it any longer I lift off the hard cock and slide only the tip inside me. Resisting the urge to fill my aching pussy, I hold still so that he can feel how hot it is against the cold air. A drip of juice trickles down his shaft and he twitches as it tickles. I know that he is ready for it and I slide down. It fills me completely, pushing against the tight muscles. I begin to thrust in time with the rocking of the train, feeling the vibrations of the engine as I push down to take it all. I look at his face and he nods so I begin to move faster and harder, increasing the pressure and tempo as our excitement rises.

Leaning backwards to rest my shoulders against the seat in front I reach forward and begin to rub my clit in time with the strokes of his cock, letting him watch me masturbate. He pushes up off the chair, straining to fill me and get as much as he can into the hot, wet, tightness. I don’t want to cum yet, I want this feeling to last, but I can’t control it any longer. Heat radiates through my stomach and pussy, muscles squeezing and grabbing at his cock with every thrust. I feel a gush of fluid run down to his cock and he grabs my waist again, pulling me hard down onto it. I cry out with every stroke, unable to bear it, but unable to stop.

Finally I begin to regain control of my breathing and I try to clench against him as tight as I can, wanting him to cum as hard as I did. He responds by moaning and pushing harder and further inside me. The increase in pressure threatens to force me over the edge again and I struggle to give him the best that I can, unwilling to let go until he does. Finally he cries out and releases me. I keep moving, my pussy clenching with each spray of his hot cum and I let myself go. As the burn spreads I cry out again, my pussy the centre of my body, unable to resist as I slide over the mess of our juice.

Startled, I open my eyes as I realise that I cried out-loud when the rocking of the train replicated the actions of my fantasy. A red flush has spread across my face and chest, telling the world why I moaned and what I had been dreaming about.

Dreading what I might see, I turn to face the man who had inspired the outburst to see if he noticed. He is staring at me with the blue eyes I had been imagining for the last half hour, this time with a broad grin across his face. I groan again, this time with embarrassment and drop my head to my chest. He knows that I just came. I close my eyes tight, hoping that he will stop staring and go away. I hear footsteps approaching and hope that it is the guard. A whiff of after shave makes me open my eyes and there he is, sitting next to me. He turns to me, smiles, and says “Hi, I’m Matt. Can I give you a hand?”