Late for the Train -

Eleanor Andrews slammed the door of the train carriage, panting with the exertion of running down the platform, her chest very much heaving. And it was a chest that could heave!

She was late catching the train. Not her fault. She had planned the journey carefully, but everything had gone wrong. Holdups of one sort and another. Her plan to change into her frock in the Ladies' Powder Room had gone out of the window as she crossed London. Things going so wrong and making her later and later. Just to catch the train became her object and she had made that -- just. A booked ticket and so a train she just had to catch. Hopefully she could find a compartment, she was travelling first class, either an empty compartment or one with just a lady or two sitting within it where she could swap jeans and tee shirt, all now rather damp with perspiration, for her frock, jewellery and so on.

But again, her luck was not in that morning. The train quite crowded and so she had to settle for a compartment with four besuited gentlemen seated within. Not even one lady. That was going to be a problem and one not easily resolved. Could she change at the wedding itself? But where? The vicar might be a bit surprised at a young lady wanting to use the vestry to change! She could hardly go to the hotel she was staying at as there would not be time. Her planning had been careful and had allowed for some holdups but, even so, had gone awry. Her appearance in the compartment galvanised the gentlemen into action. Immediate help with her large case up onto the metal rack with its string netting. She had lugged it across London and run up the platform with it so it was not as if she could not have done the action, but it was kind of them, and she thanked them.

Eleanor sat in the compartment looking both out of the window and at her travelling companions. Clearly businessmen and successful ones at that, reading the Times or else open folders of papers on their knees.

"Going home, going to see your parents?" enquired one of the gentlemen, bearded and a little portly. It might have been the case, going home from university for a few days, but it would have been completely the wrong direction. Eleanor was not doing that and said 'no', and that she was going to a wedding.

"Not dressed like that!" He meant it jokingly, her blue jeans and yellow tee shirt clearly not wedding attire. No doubt he expected she would have plenty of opportunity to change. Indeed, the wedding might not be until the morrow.

Eleanor grinned, "Not really, I've a frock to put on and so on. Same colours though, yellow with a blue sash."

"That will look delightful. I hope it won't have got crumpled in your suitcase. A spot of ironing perhaps?"

"Not much chance to do that. I've got to change by the time we reach _______. "

"On the train? It's going to be a bit of a squeeze in the 'loo' at the end of the carriage, isn't it?"

And Eleanor was pleased to talk and explained how her best laid plans for the morning had gone awry, how she should already be dressed ready for the wedding. "I was hoping for an empty compartment, a ladies' only compartment or at least one with just ladies in."

"Quite."

"I just haven't time to get to the hotel. The 'Unicorn', and then on to the wedding. I've got to go straight to the ceremony. No time. I'd it all planned."

There was a pause and then the gentleman ventured again. "It's not as if we are not married men, and with young daughters like yourself."

What was he suggesting?

"You could, I suppose, still change in here. We could keep watch, and not look, of course." And he introduced himself and his companions, all heading for a meeting.

To Eleanor the 'and not look' seemed a little improbable, but she did not have too much choice. She needed to change -- had to change.

"That would be most awfully kind."

Her suitcase lowered once more and placed on the spare, cushioned seat. Eleanor opened it. Understandably the men looked and there, right on the top, neatly held by two criss-crossing straps were the items of rather fancy underwear she had brought. Brides sometimes enjoy the idea of really nice underwear under their bridal gowns, perhaps but only perhaps also for the later pleasure of the groom. Only perhaps because that presumes women dress for men rather than for other women, or their own pleasure. Nice to feel pretty all over. Pretty gown, petty undies! Eleanor felt the same. Had decided white stockings and a lacy suspender belt along with matching knickers and brassiere would be 'fun' under her yellow frock. And, you never knew, perhaps she might hit it off with a nice young man at the wedding and... well, things sometimes happened!

Of course, all this meant, Eleanor's change of clothes was going to be a complete change. Not simply down to her bra and pants and then the yellow frock pulled over it all, but she would need to take everything off. Indeed, be momentarily, she could be quick, stark naked in the compartment with the four gentlemen. And to imagine they would not look? Pull the other one! Eleanor was tall, blond and shapely. Moreover, she had a rather fluffy and generous furry patch -- not that the gentlemen could know that in any detail, but they might already be wondering.

They were all looking at her underwear in the case as she undid the straps. But where to put things? The problem of changing in the train 'loo' so immediately becoming apparent. It was going to be hard enough in the compartment. Could she get her frock out and hang it up on the luggage rack? She had a coat hanger. That was the easy part, though moving her undies and trying to make them stay on the inside of the lid of the suitcase when it was propped up against the seat's back was none too easy. Had there been a nice lady there she could have handed them to her, and she could have placed them in her lap. Not really appropriate to ask one of the gentlemen to hold her 'smalls'.

Frock hung up, the rest of her suitcase on display. Her pretty shoes, her washbag, her other clothes, her knickers for the day after the wedding and so on. Luckily she had not brought Mr. Williams, her intimate 'massager' with her. Not good for the men to have seen that nestled there on her knickers. They would then have had more than a shrewd idea what she liked to do before sleep!

"Lovely frock. What can we do to help, or do you just want to sort yourself out? Perhaps the blinds?" He did not mean those over the window. Who was going to see in as the train rushed through the countryside, but those to the corridor. Limiting who might see to... just those in the compartment. It did feel more private, and the gentlemen were being so very helpful.

The gentlemen were all nodding and smiling as they looked across at her. Helpful faces; concerned faces; all reassuring.

"You have make-up and lipstick to go on?"

She did. Ordinarily she would apply all that before putting her frock on, best not to have colourful pigments out and about with that on. "If you don't mind. If I could impose, I rather fear I'm going to monopolise the compartment a bit. Well, here goes then."

She reached for her tee shirt to pull It off. Pull it off in front of all those gentlemen. It sort of required courage. "I'm awfully sweaty. I'd thought I'd have so much time, but I just had to run for the train."

"Glowing," smiled one of the gentlemen, a sandy haired gent with round, silver glasses. "Ladies don't sweat, they just glow!" Suitable and friendly chuckles all around.

"Feels more like I've been running around the Netball pitch. I certainly, um, glow a lot then. I mean..." Eleanor lifted one arm, the wet patch under her shoulder was... rather glowing -- wetly.

"If it would help, and I can very much see why you might not, but I've a new sponge in my case and a bottle of water. You could take a quick sponge bath."

The idea appealing, but with all those gentlemen there. It would be a bit like being in the men's showers! Not that that was something she had not thought about -- but in bed!

"Here, in front of..." she left that hanging.

But the sandy haired man got the sponge and bottle out of his bag. "In case..." he said.

Again, Eleanor reached for her tee shirt and this time pulled it upwards, exposing her tummy button. A very neat tummy button, she thought, all very recessed. Like so many things on bodies they did vary considerably, from protruding, through rather large to discrete and tucked away. Rather the same with ears really!

The gentlemen all politely looked away. Up went the tee shirt over her ears and head. Were the gentlemen suddenly looking back whilst her face was obscured, taking a quick look at her tummy and bra? She paused for a second, her head hidden in her (sweaty) tee shirt, to give them a chance to look away again, and then it was off. Eleanor Andrews standing in a railway train compartment in bra and jeans with four mature gentlemen around her. She dropped the tee shirt on the vacant seat behind her, where she had been sitting and reached for the brass zip of her jeans. In a way this was more of a 'thing' than taking her shirt off. There was something rather more sexual in undoing a zip to jeans. An easy thing to do, though. Or so you would have thought. The zip stuck a third of the way down, caught in her knicker material. Had it actually got caught when she first put them on that morning? She had not had the chance to go to the 'loo' since then, what with all the transport difficulties. Eleanor tugged and tugged but the zip was stuck. Given the snug fit of the jeans around her quite wide hips they were not going to come off without the zip being lowered. Even undoing the brass button did not help. And her sighs of crossness and frustration caused the gentlemen to cease looking politely out of the window and, instead, look at her -- at her navel, at her green knickers now appearing in the rather limited vee shape of the third opened jeans.

"The trouble with zips," remarked the first man, quickly gathering what the problem was," a lot to be said for old fashioned buttons. Slower but more reliable."

Were all the gentlemen's flies done up with buttons rather than zips? It was an unusual thought to come into Eleanor's head. It was the 1980s -- just -- after all, did men still use buttons on flies?

"Can I help?"

It was not something Eleanor had expected to ask any of them. She had not at all thought to asks something like, 'could you gentlemen help me get my jeans off?' But she had little choice. The jeans were not coming down. An unusual experience, permitting a rather mature and greying gentlemen to more than touch her zip. One hand to that but the other the other side of the denim, in the opening, down inside, between the green cotton knickers and the jeans, tugging at the material, seeking to release it. Surely, he could not miss the spring of her curls under the green cotton, him rather pushing against her and those springy, blond curls rather pushing back? The tugging at the knicker material rather pulling them upwards, pulling them into the crack, up between her labia. A lot of tugging and pulling but success! The gentleman carefully lowered the brass zip all the way down. The man might well have daughters, but he would not have lowered a young girl's jean's zip for a long time, if at all. Would girls have worn jeans when he was a young man. This was the 1970s, after all. Things were different. The modern world, up to date and different.

Eleanor was effusive in her thanks. The gentleman saying it was 'nothing', 'happy to oblige'. Eleanor could not help wondering if he had enjoyed the experience. Had it caused a considerable hardening behind his own fly -- whether buttoned or zipped? The jeans could now be lowered. And with all the commotion and difficulty - some of the other gentlemen had even offered advice - they seemed to have forgotten to look away as she now lowered her jeans, tugging them down her legs and off. One of the gentlemen even reached out to take them from her, folding them neatly and placing them on her vacated seat. She reached down and pulled off her socks.

Eleanor Andrews now in just bra and panties in a railway compartment trundling through the countryside together with no less than four mature businessmen. She knew her bra was not terribly obscuring, that the pigmentation of her areolae and the pointing of her nipples would not be fully hidden. Her green knickers normally were not much different from bikini bottoms, but she could feel the tugging with the zip had rather pulled them into her, very possibly blond hairs or even the outer pussy lips might be a little showing. She neither dared check nor adjust her knickers and extract any material that might have become rather 'inserted'. Such things excited men and all the gentlemen were looking. It gave her a bit of a funny feeling. Such masculine attention, albeit mature masculine attention. Was it having an effect on all of them? Were their penises erect within their trousers -- zipped or buttoned?

But did she not feel sticky? All that hurrying and running. Could she really take up that offer of a sponge bath? Even remove her bra and knickers to make the washing rather more complete, as she would need to, anyway, in order to put her wedding things on. Could she simply leave on her existing bra and knickers? Not really. Stockings needed a suspender belt and suspender belts go on before knickers. A necessary thing so knickers could be lowered to take a pee! Suspender belt then knickers. There was no option to keep the existing undies on. They would have to come off! And if off, then why not the sponge bath like that?

"I'll take up your offer, if you don't mind. The sponge bath. I'm really rather... you know." She did not like to say 'damp and sticky'.

Eleanor reached for her bra clasp and, as one, the gentlemen turned to look out of the window. Was she reflected in there? She did not think so but if she were, they would see rather a lot but the semblance of decorum would be maintained. The gentlemen would see, but could pretend to have seen nothing and Eleanor could maintain the pretence as well, despite knowing. The appearance of modesty and privacy without the substance.

The bra removed and discarded on top of the jeans. A bare breasted girl in a railway compartment. Only one thing more and she would be fully naked. Had such a thing ever happened before in that compartment? And if so, then the circumstances would, no doubt, have been very different. A boy and a girl on a perhaps nearly empty train sneaking into a first-class compartment for a bit -- or rather a lot of -- nookie. Or something a little more unsettling. A young woman there for the entertainment of a group of travelling men. Undressing for them, displaying herself and no doubt being used to their satisfaction. So many men and one young woman! So many cocks and one vagina! So much cum in that one little hole! A rather unsettling scenario, though much better if she imagined the girl willing, though if she was paid then... clearly she would be willing, after a fashion. It was just the idea, but perhaps she was paid well. Many men to one girl. Not something in Eleanor's experience but, as she lowered her knickers, her full blond bush appearing, she was rather conscious she was in rather the same position. Four besuited businessmen with her, albeit not looking at her. What if they took it into their heads? Who would believe her when she said she had no intention of that sort of thing when she had taken all of her clothes off?

Somewhat damp green knickers dropped on top of her bra. Eleanor naked.

"Um, the sponge, please." A definite stiffening of the men, their shoulders slightly jerking as they realised Eleanor must be naked with them. The sandy haired man seeking to hand her the sponge and the bottle without turning from his contemplation of the passing countryside. No doubt not at all what he wished to examine. Was he stiff in his trousers? Eleanor looked. She could not help herself, her interest aroused. She looked at four pairs of trousers, could even see fly buttons due to the obvious distortion to the material caused by the material being pushed upwards. Yes, all had reacted. It gave Eleanor a pleasant feeling -- a satisfying feeling that she could have such an effect on men, indeed these four mature gentlemen. She had 'stiffened' them all!

"Thank you," she said. The gentlemen could no doubt hear the sound of the bottle opening. Eleanor wetted the sponge and started to wash. Would the tee shirt do as a towel? It was a light wash, not oodles of water.

The gentlemen were being very good about it, looking out of the window even if, she was sure, they were just aching to take a peep. The sponge under her arms and then onto her full breasts. It was just at that moment that Eleanor's poor luck with her travels struck again. The water bottle just slipped from her hand, crash down on the floor. Perhaps it was instinctive, but the sandy haired man turned at the sound and grabbed for it. Rising with the retrieved bottle he came face to face with Eleanor's generous triangle of blond curls. Not so much face to face as face to pussy! His hand with the bottle kept rising and Eleanor took it.

"Thank you," her voice a little strangled.

But it was all too late. Eleanor's mistake. It was not the gentlemen being bad. They had been so good looking out the window as she undressed but now the sound of the falling bottle had caused them to turn to see what the noise was. A further three pairs of male eyes were getting -- yes -- an eyeful of naked and, moreover, partially wet girl. They were seeing her entire -- naked limbs, naked bottom, naked breasts and naked pussy. If they had not been stiff in their trousers before, they were going to be stiff now! Not a thing men can help, an instinctive reaction, quite out of their control.

"Sorry," she said, "I didn't mean... I didn't mean you to see... I didn't mean to disturb you."

A funny choice of word -- 'disturb' -- but to Eleanor that seemed just what she had done. Not just intruding into their compartment but now unsettling them, causing a male sexual response, getting them all 'hot under the collar', no doubt, disturbing them from serious matters in their newspapers and papers. All due to the somewhat frivolous feminine requirements of dress.

What to do? Eleanor just carried on, the sponge going from breasts to stomach, her eyes on the gentlemen. Clearly they were embarrassed, if no doubt delighted at what they had seen. They had turned as one back to the window.

"I don't mind. I mean you've seen..." They had indeed and did it really much matter now and what with finishing her wash, drying a bit and then applying make-up and dressing in firstly her new, pretty undies and then pulling the frock over her head, it was all going to take quite a time. She did not want the kind gentlemen to get bored looking out of the window, just on account of her.

Slowly the gentlemen turned from the window, eyes flickering over her. Eyes growing wider as she leant forward to reach down to wet and wash her long, smooth legs. As happens when women lean forward, it makes their breasts (if they have much in that department, and certainly Eleanor did) change shape and rather hang. Hang and wobble around. And that was exactly what Eleanor's were doing, her nipples describing little circles as they moved. A no doubt captivating sight for the gentlemen. Their eyes moving from her sponge going up and down her legs and back up to her freely moving breasts.

Rising she added more water to her sponge, turned a little and reached up over her herself to try and sponge wash her back. That of course drew her breasts upwards, a tautness coming to them, a cessation of movement. She squeezed and rubbed. A trickle of water escaped, and she could feel it making its way down, just beside the bumps of her backbone, a little rivulet making its way down and into the crack of her bottom. With the way she was turned the gentlemen could see and Eleanor noted how their eyes, in unison, were following the passage of the run of water into her crack. She had the men absolutely captivated. A funny feeling indeed.