Plunged Into Darness

'I know that jacket' I thought to myself. I'd seen it somewhere before - leather with fake fur around the collar and half way down the sleeves. Not perhaps the nicest piece of fashion you're ever likely to see, but certainly distinctive.

I racked my brains trying to think where I'd seen it, and was almost at the point of giving up when I saw the legs of the woman wearing the jacket. Those I most definitely remembered. Last Tuesday - delayed train, she was sitting opposite me wearing a pink dress made of some sort of scrunchy material, and her legs were remarkable in their tanned smoothness. They were the sort of legs you just wanted to run your hand up, knowing that it was just the owner's will, not friction, that would put an end to the journey.

It was perhaps the first time ever that I'd been happy for a delay to my train. The line I lived on was notorious for late, or cancelled trains, but this time I left it up to my fellow passengers to endure the impotent frustration - I just focused on not being caught looking at those legs. When I heard her speaking into her mobile phone, I was surprised - it was a half posh accent - either a well bred person trying to be a little 'street' or the other way around. Either way, when I looked up I noticed that she was attractive, with the added bonus of dimples and very sparkly eyes. She was telling her friend that she was hung over like never before, giving the usual speech about not drinking ever again, and that she was going home to 'die.'

As she got off, I tried valiantly to get a look up her dress, but to no to no avail, yet when she got up t leave, I was afforded a look down her impressive cleavage - and it was enough to keep me smiling for days.

Anyway - so - here she was again, and I relished the prospect of sitting near her once more. Thing was - the station was teeming with people, and I had no clue which of the ten carriages she would get on. So - I made my choice and sat down near the front of the train, craning my neck to see if she was anywhere to be seen. She wasn't. Not immediately, anyway. Two minutes later, the connecting doors opened and she walked through our carriage, glancing at me briefly before moving further to the front of the train.

Cursing my luck, I opened my book to get my mind off what might have been. I hadn't even got past the first paragraph before my attention was wrested away - by a pair of glorious legs, gorgeous dimples, and very naughty eyes - sitting dead opposite me. I glanced up briefly, only to see that she was staring straight at me with a half smile playing across her mouth.

'You were on the train the other day, weren't you?' She asked.

'Yes' I replied. 'The delayed one'.

'I remember you', she said simply.

'And I remember that you had the hangover from hell, and that you were going home to die - which obviously never eventuated.' I ventured - throwing whatever caution I had firmly into the teeth of the roaring gale.

'You listened in to my conversation! God, that's so bad - that was a private chat with a friend!' She was mocking me now.

'Yes, private for your friend, very, very public for you.' I defended myself - even when I knew she was joking.

There was a silence for a minute or so, when I could think of nothing to say, and she looked as if she'd said all there was to be said.

'So, did you see what you wanted to see?' She asked me.

'I'm sorry -' I answered, genuinely unsure as to her meaning.

'You were looking at my legs for most of the trip, and I was wondering if you saw anything of any interest?'

I never blush, but right now I think I came very close.

'Um - Everything I saw interested me greatly.'

'But you never got your glory, did you?'

'Meaning?'

'You never got a flash of my knickers, did you?'

I was struck almost dumb. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was glad of the fact that I was on the late train which meant fewer people to be embarassed in front of. I wasn't sure if she was working up to a very public humiliation of her victim, or whether she just wanted to play.

'I - no - I may as well be honest, I saw no knickers.'

'Shame, she said, because at one point I offered you the perfect opportunity, but you were too busy trying to convince me that you were reading.'

'That is a shame' I said. 'But I made up for it by getting the most amazing view down your top as you stood up to leave.'

'So you should have', she replied - 'I took my time over that manoevre.'

I wasn't sure how to respond to her frankness, so I just offered my genuine gratitude.

'Thanks'.

'Pleasure'. She replied.

Another silence, another awkward moment.

'So, do you often look up skirts?'

'And down tops' I reminded her.

'Yes, and down tops, do you often...look?'

'Not especially', I said. But sometimes I feel like I'd be letting the male species down if I didn't.'

'So, let me get this straight' she said. 'You were trying to see my knickers and nipples not just for you, but for all manhood?'

'In a way, yes.' I replied, to which she threw her head back and laughed a very pleasant, very musical laugh.

'Men' she said. Can't live with 'em'.

It was my turn to laugh - a saying adopted by thousands of males had just been used to turn the tide, and it was delivered to perfection.

'So' I said. 'Do you often show strangers your knickers?'

'Only the cute ones.' She said, and we settled back into a pause so pregnant it very nearly gave birth. She seemed to be deep in thought looking out at suburban London slipping by.

'Were you just taking pity on a dreadful pervert?' I asked, giving voice to the nagging fear that had been stopping me from really playing the game for all it was worth.

'No' she replied. If anything, I'm the dreadful perv. I think you're gorgeous, and I wanted to let you know in my own special way.'

She didn't nearly blush, she glowed to the point where she had to revert to the view from the window which suddenly turned black as we disappeared into a tunnel. I sat there wondering how far this could go, thinking that I could stop now and have a lifelong fantasy, or I could do my best to have one realised. The train had stopped and as can sometimes happen on trains in England - the lights went out.

Plunged into total darkness, some passengers started chatting nervously, hoping to get things moving. Just then, my thoughts were interrupted by a movement - something I sensed rather than felt. I reached out slowly, tentatively, and wasn't at all surprised to feel the warmth that radiates from human skin.

When my hand touched down, it was the inside of her right leg, she was facing me, legs slightly apart. I felt the slightest tremor run through her, but knowing that the lights could come on at any moment, I began my ascent. It seemed to take forever, and I realized that I was holding my breath.

Finally I felt the landscape change. Her breathing was louder, and I swear I could feel the blood racing just beneath her skin. And there was a brand new kind of heat - and as I moved my hand slowly to the source, I felt the first jolt of pure lust, because I'd come into contact with the soft, downy hair. Not being able to see, my imagination went into overdrive to conjour an image that would do justice to the sensation of the drops of moisture clinging to her.

Rotating my hand so my palm was facing up, I used my index finger to find her opening, and then - as softly as I could manage - I traced the line of her lips - parted, wet, and welcoming. She began coming the moment I touched her cunt, and by the time I'd reached her clit, she'd beaten me to it, and was pushing herself through barrier after barrier of pleasure.

She pushed her fingers down and into herself, and then her hand disappeared. Hungry, sucking noises told me it had found its intended destination. And then her tongue was in my mouth, and her hands pulled at her top, forcing her boobs out of her bra - and into my mouth. Lost in her own world, she muttered - almost to herself. 'I...want..to...come...again.

And it was as she was coming again - all over her fingers and my hand, that I noticed that we weren't alone in our play. Someone else was exploiting our darkness, taking their opportunity to be decadent, to seize a moment the likes of which may never come again. And I couldn't tell if I liked it, or not.

This wasn't about anyone else, it was about her and me - our attraction, our flirtation, and our pleasure. But as I ran my hand up towards her breasts, they were being cupped by these uninvited hands, and her nipples were responding to the squeezing and pinching by someone even more unfamiliar than me. So I gently took one of the hands in mine and squeezed it hard to get a reaction. All motion stopped, as did my breathing upon the realisation that the hands was small, smooth, and very, very feminine. This time the squeeze I gave was gentle, one that conveyed that all was well.

Then she turned, this woman whom I'd shared so much with in such a short time, and I heard the unmistakable noises of lip on lip, tongue on tongue, and the lust coursing through my blood reached a feverpitch. An announcement over the intercom warned us that the delay shouldn't be for too much longer, but in my experience of the railway in Britain, this could mean anything from three minutes to three hours.

I had to be involved in some way, so I reached out and once more located those incredible legs and wasted no time in going for glory. When I reached her totally saturated cunt, two fingers were already very busy. The uninvited guest had one hand wrapped around her bottom, and the other performing miracles inside the main attraction.

I slid my fingers down to the very bottom of her opening, and pushed gently, knowing that this was that no-man's land between safety and strange - right hole and wrong hole. But considering that I'd got it right going for wrong so far, I wasn't stopping now. With my fingers slick from her juices, I slipped down to her anus, and to my surprise found my partner in crime holding her buttocks open. I slid my middle finger over and around her opening, feeling it clench beneath my touch. Not wanting to hurt her, I very gently pushed the finger past the final defense, and was rewarded with contractions bordering on violent as she came. The most impressive thing of all? It was all carried out in total silence.

She extricated herself from the nefarious huddle we had formed, and I detected the sounds of clothing being rearranged. I leaned back into my seat, doing a bit of my own arranging - namely my thoughts. I was almost at the first stage of rationalisation when I felt hands on me, working me, finding my zip. This achieved, it wasn't long before my cock was out and then being engulfed by the most amazingly full, soft lips.

For me, a woman going down on me has always been a poor substitute to the real thing, but this was different. She was gentle, yet insistent, soft, but remorseless as she milked me - mouth coming to the tip then plunging down with silken smoothness. Next to me, another hand was searching, and I can't describe the feeling when her hand found mine and just held it as I had the most intense orgasm of my life.

I was in a reverie, still holding her hand, and just trying to make sense of what had taken place. I sensed more movement, and steeled myself for another sensual onslaught, but what I felt was the softest of soft kisses on my cheek. The same must have happened right next to me, because I heard a muted 'thankyou'. And then there was the hiss of the electronic connecting doors opening, closing, and then total silence.

'I'm Kate'. She said.

'I'm Jack', I replied.

We were still holding hands when the driver announced that we were on our way once more, and his announcement was seemingly answered by some higher power because the lights flicked on throughout the carriage.

Kate rested her head on my shoulder, like a couple who had shared a thousand years worth of love and loss, and it felt somehow right, despite all the evidence to the contrary.

I was aware of some inquisitive looks coming from passengers in seats nearby, but it didn't bother me in the slightest. If I was going to be known as 'that guy' from now on, then I'd earned such a nickname in truly triumphant fashion.

'What are you thinking?' Kate asked.

'Nothing worthy of note' I answered quite honestly. 'Certainly nothing to do justice to what just happened.' I added.

'What did just happen?' she asked with a hint of wonder in her voice.

'Our imaginations combined to create one amazing fantasy'. I ventured.

'I like that'. She said. 'Works for me.'

The train pulled into Charing Cross Station, and we took our time disembarking - being sure to take all of our personal belongings with us, of course. On the platform, we faced each other, and rather than enduring an awkward silence, we instinctively hugged like the oldest of friends. My body - fresh from its recent sensory overload - was still acutely aware of her breasts pushed against me, her legs touching mine, and her deeply personal scent.

As we embraced, she said nothing, but pushed something soft and delecate into my hand. I didn't need to look to know that they were her knickers, and that soon, at long last, I'd get to see them afterall.