One short note about trains and their cars. This story took place in France, where for the "Corail" trains, two types of cars exist. Some cars are split in two, each half seating about 50 passengers. Other cars, that are older, are divided in compartments that seat 8, separated from the corridor by a glass-paneled sliding door fitted with curtains.
One year ago, I got promoted. Everything was fine, and still is. I enjoy a better salary, new responsibilities, but my new office is 80 km (50 miles) from home, so I have to take the train every day, for a 60-minute journey.
At first, it was quite boring, spending my time reading, but quickly, I learned to know other travelers and soon we were about 10 people of roughly same age, both men and women, taking the same train every working day, twice a day. Among them was a woman in her early thirties, about 1.75m (5'6), tall, with shoulder length light brown hair, deep green eyes. She was well built, but her best features would have certainly been her breasts, a nice pair of 95C (38") cups that she liked to emphasize by wearing tight fitted sweaters or low cut blouses that revealed her deep cleavage. Her name was Catherine; she liked to be called Cathy.
One evening, I thought I would travel alone, as I had taken the train later than usual. I was on my own, reading "An Unforgettable Evening" a porn-novel I had just bought at the station kiosk. Suddenly, as the train had just left the station, Cathy was there, catching her breath.
"Wow, I nearly missed it. I had to run to catch it," she said, while taking place next to me. I could smell her perfume, with a slight hint of fresh sweat. It was late summer, she was wearing a black knee-length skirt, and tightly fitted around her hips, with an assorted jacket under witch she wore a white blouse.
"Yes, you would have had to wait for an other hour till the next train," I answered, trying to hide the cover of the book, that showed a picture of a model wearing only stockings and high heels.
But she saw it, and before I could do anything, she had read the title. And seen the cover photography.
"You like this kind of stories?"
I was sure she would comment badly about it, and I could have pretended I just found the book on the train, but I decided to give her a frank answer:
"Yes, I do, it's quite relaxing..."
"And tensing at the same time, no?" she answered, smiling at my, giving me a flash of white and event teeth.
This conversation might become interesting, I thought, and maybe risquΓ© too, and I decided to pursue, even if it could soon become tricky.
"And you, have you ever read such books?" I asked her.
"Yes, when I was younger, I've been reading a lot of cheap erotic literature by older brother bought. Later, at college, I read classic literature, like Marquis de Sade, Apollinaire, Georges Bataille, some classic Chinese novels and so... I prefer books to films or pictures, it's more, how could I say it...."
"Exciting, may be?" I suggested.
"Yes, exciting, and more stimulating for your imagination. You can build you own images in your mind, and imagine that you are part of the scenes."
She was obviously teasing me, this was getting hot. She had crossed her legs, causing her skirt to go up over her thighs, obviously she was wearing stockings, as I could see a small bit of the lace-band that was on top of them. She noticed my glance but did nothing to hide her nicely shaped legs.
"It's strange," she said after a short silence, "I thought men preferred movies."
"Well, I don't really like movies, I prefer pictures, or books, or... the real thing, you know," I answered, looking at her straight in the eyes.
She didn't flinch. She was telling my with all her body language that she enjoyed the conversation, and the kinky path we were taking.
"And what do you like, in the "real thing" you are talking about?"
"Ohh, A lot of things, some quite simple, some more complicated, or more perverse... Depending on the mood of the moment, the person I'm with... I have a lot of imagination, in this domain..."
"Have you? I like imaginative men..." she said with a sexy smile, the tip of her tongue licking her glossy lips. " Would you tell me a nice story, please?"
I thought for a moment, then choose to tell her the last time I had made love, something quite simple, not too weird that could have afraid her, selecting carefully my words, trying to avoid crude words. I was whispering to her ear, careful not to be overheard. She had closed her eyes, I saw her chest move faster up and down, and she was nervously crossing and uncrossing her legs, revealing more of her thighs. She was obviously enjoying the moment, and so was I. My cock was getting hard, and I had to shift position once or twice to ease the tension that had grown in my pant.
When I finished my story, she kept her eyes closed, not saying a word for a while. The train was entering the station, the journey was over. Without a word, she got up, grabbing her things. We exited the car, walking silently down the platform. Before our ways parted, she said:
"It was a nice story you told me, Philippe... I really enjoyed this moment we shared."
"So did I, and may be we will have an opportunity to do it again..." I answered hopefully.
"Yes, I hope we will... See you tomorrow"