Late for the Train -

Eleanor had said the word -- 'cum' -- a word Linda and she had giggled over. The thought of all that thick liquid suddenly on her, running down her pristine suspender belt, down the suspenders themselves, down her white stockings. But perhaps, just perhaps, or was it a faint hope, the elastic of the belt would squeeze their penises so much that nothing could come out. Leastways not until the pressure of the elastic was removed. But what then? Could she hold tissues at the ready? The idea of it, the thought -- four penises more than loaded, bursting with semen. Each to go 'off' when the pressure of the elastic was removed. What if she was to unclip the belt? It would be like four taps -- four spigots, four faucets, yes four cocks -- turned on at once, pouring out ejaculations. Ejaculate everywhere.

"Please, please sit down. Please. If you sit down. I'll... I'll make you all... ejaculate... but please, not on my stockings or clothes. Not on me. Please sit down."

One by one, the gentlemen pulled the suspender belt out and away from their penises and sat back down. They looked a little shamefaced. Things had got a little out of hand. But not too much, none had ejaculated. Even Mr Cuthbert had not dribbled more. It was not as bad as it could have been. Things had not got totally out of hand.

"Sorry," said Mr Brent, "I got caught up and..."

"I can see that would have been rather nice for all of you, but my clothes... I mean, I know what your, um, things do... make a mess."

The gentlemen nodded, all of their 'things' did look rather ready to 'make a mess' or, more accurately, four messes. Mess in the plural; considerable mess -- in the plural.

"Where's it all to go? So much easier for women, isn't it? We don't make such a mess! I know it's all a bit liquid." And Eleanor was feeling a bit liquid. "We're so much neater, aren't we?"

The gentlemen had to agree. There tumescent organs were anything but 'neat'. Nor neat when flaccid -- penis and balls prone to flopping around when like that and naked, even less neat and tidy when erect, with their varying length and thickness of poles and prongs.

"Might we see," ventured Mr Cuthbert, "we've seen most everything else. Would you mind if we saw between your legs?"

"Oh," she said, "Oh." The gentlemen wanted to see her little hole. That excited her. Her newfound exhibitionist kink really coming into play. "I suppose... you really want to see?"

They did. They very much did. She had on her bra and her suspender belt, supporting her stockings but nothing to obscure the view, were she to open her legs. Should she just spread them as she stood and let them peer up at her, or really exhibit herself? Eleanor sat on the spare seat opposite her suitcase and brought her feet up and placed them on the edge of the seat thereby splaying knees and thighs, but really opening herself for inspection. Her lips fully opening and even, she felt, her vagina opening up.

"Like that?" she asked, "Is that what you want to see?"

"Oh yes," said the gentlemen all leaning forward or around.

"So neat," said Mr Myford.

"Delightful," said Mr Brent, "might I come a little closer? Not to touch... of course."

The trouble was, Eleanor would rather like to be touched. Not with the gentlemen's penises. Well, maybe, but more thinking of thick, masculine fingers, touching, stroking -- even penetrating. Mr Brent did not touch, but he got very close. An intimate examination certainly, taking a very detailed look, perhaps committing everything to memory. Maybe he was an amateur artist and would draw her from his mind's eye. 'Pudenda of girl on train' or some such title. Might he perhaps modify the scene? Include himself -- his penis doing 'things'. Might he like to imagine and draw his penis stretching open her little hole? Better even to include the others. At least good to imagine an oil painting of the train compartment scene. Young Eleanor there with her knees up, the gentlemen all crowded around with intent looks on their faces. The flesh tones, the contrast with the drabness of the seat material, the polished wood, the erections all carefully angled to effect by the artist, and of course the light. Light so important as Caravaggio, Turner, Renoir, Parish... so knew.

Mr Brent did not touch, but Eleanor was sure he sniffed. His observation, though, was also accurate:

"You seem a little wet, Eleanor, perhaps it is just from the sponge, but..."

Was she perhaps running? Should she be honest and truthful? "Perhaps a bit, you do all have very nice penises. I'm not used to... of course... so many!"

The gentlemen were all getting up to come in turn for a close look. A worry for Eleanor; there she was so open and exposed, so many gentlemen and just one girl. A girl all of nineteen. So many cocks and one vagina. Too easy for one gentleman to get carried away, his cock so at the ready, one push and it would be in. Eleanor knew she was wet enough. And then would the rest of them not follow? Carried away by the moment. Carried away by male lust. Stiff penis after stiff penis pushing into her. So much cum in that one little hole. Her thighs ready splayed as if for so many gentlemen to come take their turn!

One by one they had been getting up from their seats, their erections so sticking up out of their trousers, coming towards her with those little slits very much towards her, getting close. And whilst standing rather than crouching their penises were so much more at her mouth level than vagina level. What if she was to suddenly lean forward and mouth one?

Such careful inspection by each gentleman, taking turns at crouching down, eyes darting. Nostrils even dilating as they all, not just Mr Brent, took in her sexual scent. But no one touched. They were being good. Very good with her, really.

It was Mr Cuthbert she was most concerned about, and his seemingly leaky penis. Yet no thick dollop oozed out of the end as he approached her. Might he have expected her to lick it off? And nor did he drip on the compartment carpet when he arose from his most careful and close examination of her sex. Perhaps he had lost his excitement. It did not look like it, though, his foreskin was well back and the blue veins to his stiff penis were as prominent as before.

The gentlemen were all back in their places, neatly two either side. Neat and respectable but for their male generative organs so upright and visible. Eleanor needed to do something about them. Her mind returned to the question of just what? What to do with the expected outpourings. That did need to happen, she rather thought. Not just a single mess but four. Would it be best if she took them one by one into her mouth and... um... swallowed. Nothing to escape, then. Whilst she was wearing very little there was a risk that errant semen might otherwise go where it was not wanted. She did not mean in her vagina but, if she was to use her hands and fingers, then onto her underclothes or, well, her dress that was hanging up, possibly safely, on its hangar on the luggage rack, but if one or more of the gentlemen was something of a 'shooter', and she understood some men were, then there was a risk of his stuff not being caught but splashing on her frock. A stain she would rather be without.

The gentlemen would no doubt like to be sucked. Of course, depositing in the 'proper place' would avoid 'mess' though she might drip afterwards, especially with four gentlemen's 'spend', though that was easier to deal with -- drips not spurts! But she was not minded to do that. She had, after all, only just met the four gentlemen. The logic all rather pointed to her using her mouth not her fingers.

The gentlemen had been good. They had looked, not touched. But Eleanor thought, as she had before, she would like to be touched. Women and girls had needs too! Touched and opened on that moving train. But letting the gentlemen do that had risks, might they not get carried away? Four men could easily force her, especially with her now being so wet and... lubricated. If they promised not to put their penises in her vagina or anywhere near, then she would let each come in her mouth -- not let, really, it would be more making them do that thing with her tongue and lips.

Her panties were not yet dry. "Might..." she paused.

The gentlemen, the nice, helpful, kind gentlemen looked expectant.

"Might it help... might you like if I was to... um... ease your swelling with my..." she looked at her hands and then back up at their erections before looking straight at the gentlemen's faces. And then she did something rather naughty, she licked her lips. All rather sensual. The tip of her tongue slipping pinkly along her lips, wetting them. "It'd be better, because of all that mess I think you'd... well, I mean, Mr Cuthbert and my knickers... we saw..." Her words a little disjointed.

The gentlemen's eyes turned to her knickers for a moment or two.

"Yes," she said, pulling herself together, and speaking in a more businesslike fashion, "Yes, I think it would be best if I use my mouth and... and... swallow!"

The gentlemen were wide eyed and with their penises twitching. Up and out of Mr Cuthbert's urethra came a bubble of pre-cum, swelling and growing, threatening to run.

"Oooh.... Starters..." and the brave girl jumped up from her seat and licked it right off the end of Mr Cuthbert's knob. Such a sudden movement. He gasped. Indeed, so did the other gentlemen at Eleanor's sudden action. Was he about to ejaculate? Eleanor was quick, her lips and mouth went straight over, absorbing the bulb of his penis, his glans all at once in her mouth. She paused, waiting. Expecting a hot and forceful spurting. The gentleman's hand came down to pat her head.

"Not yet, Eleanor... I'm not about to. False alarm. But this is - so nice."

It was. So smooth in her mouth. So substantial. So firm, yet soft. Eleanor did a few practice movements of her mouth. Drawing her lips up and down. Gosh, It was good in her mouth. It had all been a bit sudden, she had been a bit bounced into... or had she bounced herself into the action? It seemed Mr Cuthbert had not at all been about to ejaculate. It was just his leaky penis. A nice, slightly sweet leak, actually.

Standing, Eleanor licked her lips again. With reason this time. "Could you 'do' me first. Fingers and tongues -- not penises! I might look all open but, please no penises in or touching. You know why!"

It suddenly occurred to Eleanor that one or other of the gentlemen might suddenly produce a packet of condoms. What then? The ostensible reason for 'no penises' removed. Would she have to accept engaging in sexual intercourse with them -- or however many condoms there were. Unless they shared! What would her excuse be then -- 'I'm a virgin' -- not actually true; 'I don't want to' -- not true either, really; 'there'll be mess' -- certainly true; 'I can't take four at one sitting... or standing' -- she had certainly never tried; 'another time... perhaps' -- a good excuse, the promise, but so unlikely she would ever meet them again.

But no packet appeared.

"Shall we, Eleanor?" First to get up from his seat was Mr Bowcock. Coming towards her smiling and, once more kneeling, this time not just to look but touch. He seemed a little unsure, not that such a mature gentleman would not know how to treat a woman, only perhaps not one still so young. Rather than touch straightaway, he took off his silver rimmed glasses and polished them. The better to see. Rubbing his hands together he reached, not for Eleanor's sex but her breasts. His hands enveloped both, but he was not touching directly, just feeling them through the thin material of her bra, so recently put on by Mr Brent. A squeeze, a fondle and then his attention turned lower, to what was between white, suspender held stockings. His fingers resting on the smooth skin of her inner thighs.

"Oh dear," he said, "so pretty, so beautifully framed, so young." His fingers touched, just lightly, her hair strewn outer lips, one finger to each, moving along in parallel.

He was fingering her. Gentle touches. "I really shouldn't be doing this" he whispered. Was he a bit worried, feeling that touching a girl younger than his daughter was just not right, yet unable to stop his fingers moving upon her. So out of the ordinary; perhaps so not right, a mature man touching a much younger person like that. Knowing he really should not; his actions almost forbidden by society. But Mr Bowcock did not stop his 'rude' action, did not stop being so sexual with a much younger girl.

Eleanor bit her lip. This was good. This was exciting. This had got her really worked up and Mr Bowcock was taking it all delightfully slowly.

"So tidy," he said, "neat and tidy."

Not like Linda, thought Eleanor. Would the gentlemen have enjoyed the contrast? Which would they have preferred? Her eyes and teeth closed tightly. Mr Bowcock had moved inwards, the same action but on her inner, now so wet, lips,

"So young," Mr Bowcock said again, "younger than my daughter."

"How old is she?" enquired Eleanor. Almost as if just making conversation. Such a strange thing to be discussing. The gentleman's daughter, as the father was being intimate with another girl. A girl he was about to... A gasp. Mr Bowcock fingers were between her sexual lips.

"Twenty-five", he said. "Mary is twenty-five and just married. Lovely wedding." His finger poked in and out. "A lovely couple. My wife and I so proud," the finger kept moving. "I'm sure the wedding you are going to will be as wonderful."

Six years older, thought Eleanor. Was her sex neat and tidy or a bit wild like Linda's? Married now, Mary would be well used to male fingers and other male things being poked at and into her. Had that worried, upset even, her 'daddy'? The thought of what a man, a young man, would be doing to his daughter, no longer that young but even so, no doubt still his delight and joy, his 'little girl'. The young man on top of her, squashing her. Or even thoughts of the young man's penis in his daughter's mouth. Sexual activity was not just confined to penises in vaginas. His daughter, naked, sweaty and aroused with hard nipples and dripping sex, her mouth open and reaching for her husband's erect cock. Did Mary have a neat and tidy sex -- did Mr Bowcock even know?

Mr Bowcock had been staring, talking and doing a little gentle finger work, but now he brought his thumbs into use to spread Eleanor's sex. And the other gentlemen could all see the spreading and opening. Eleanor was unable to help a moan leave her lips at having herself spread open by a man's thumbs, being made so visible to all those mature men! Her neat but engorged, so wet lips; the pink wetness, the femininity, the gooeyness of her sex. Her leaky little hole, she knew so well, the sexual entrance to her body. All the men staring at her sex so opened for their delectation and delight! Eleanor unable to help leaking more and more. Would it be too much for them? Would Mr Bowcock need to push a finger into that leaky gooeyness? A blunt fingertip dipping in. Eleanor moaned loudly at that thought! What had she got herself into?

The first touch electric. A thick, male finger dipping into her. Invading -- though it was an acquiescence, she was permitting the travel, permitting the finger to worm inside; letting it feel around the sexual wetness of her pussy, her inside - the goo and heat within. Eleanor smiled at Mr Bowcock, sure he was quite unable to stop himself. Indeed, that strangely delicious risk to her that he might just get carried away and do more than just wriggle his finger in there.

Mr Bowcock pushed deeper. How wet and gooey would his finger be getting? Might he suddenly snap and push something very much more substantial than his blunt finger in? Could she even stop him. Eleanor was in heat. Really, she wanted a cock in there. Her mouth fell open with a helpless moan as Mr Bowcock's finger moved in and out. Squelching sexual noises in the otherwise quiet compartment. Was it perhaps just that he had a daughter, a daughter older than himself that held Mr Bowcock back? She would have thought it quite the opposite -- the man quite overcome by the idea of fucking a girl younger than his daughter.

One finger, two fingers -- three -- inside her, very much making the motion of sexual intercourse. Three fingers giving the thickness of a cock, a swollen and hard cock. Eleanor looked down again at Mr Bowcock's penis. Indeed, there it was, a swollen and hard cock. So long, and so straight, rigid with the pointed knob at its top. It would slide into her like a knife into butter. Mmmmm!

"If only..." exclaimed Mr Bowcock.

"Well, you can't..."

They both knew what they were talking about. Mr Bowcock so desperate to push his penis into a girl so much younger than his Mary and, of course, release. Perform the wedding rite. Not the formal one, the ceremonial one, but the one that came later. The consummation. The thing normally left unsaid, though the best man might a trifle self-consciously and a little embarrassingly, allude to it in his speech. To make the bride a little uncomfortable, perhaps even the bride's father, if the thought of his young treasure being taken sexually did upset.

"Kiss me there -- instead."

And Mr Bowcock did, without pulling his fingers out first. Mr Bowcock's fingers in her and his tongue all over the place, especially on her 'little man'. What would Mr Bowcock have thought of Linda's rather bigger 'man'. Quite enough to really get your lips around.

"Come on, Bowcock, give others a chance." The other gentlemen had been watching the proceedings. Fingers 'adjusting' their own penises. Not quite stroking but, even so, they seemed to need a lot of adjusting. Mr Bowcock stepped back, the man sucking on his fingers.

Mr Myford's beard so tickled. His dark curls mixing with her own blond ones. It was sexually very good, his mobile beard and his beard getting into her lips and tickling. It was unhurried, a feast certainly but not rushed. An intimate banquet -- sort of for two. It was only after he had orally pleasured her did he settle back and use his fingers. Clearly enjoying the opportunity to play in her wet sex, slipping his fingers in and generally doing what men like to do. As he stood up to let Mr Brent have his turn, Eleanor stared down the barrel of his 'gun' -- his 'cannon', no, his 'mortar'! What would that feel like pressing at and opening her sex? The head so thick and purple. A stubby thing, but if it got in, she would not half feel it moving. Should she ask for just a little 'poke'. But it would not be just a little poke. Once embedded it would not come out until it had done what penises do. It might even get stuck! The only way to dislodge it to make it come! Eleanor needed to be good. Though she would think about Mr Myford's penis a lot in the future, she was sure.

And scarcely did Mr Myford's fingers leave her hole than another set was ready to take their place! The other gentlemen wanted in! Messrs Brent and Cuthbert wanted to feel a wet pussy on their fingers; wanted to go inside Eleanor's juicy hole and feel for themselves! And then it was a bit of a free for all with all four gentlemen seeking to touch and feel her together.

Eleanor's hips helplessly rocking on the seat, thighs splayed, delighting in the attention, as she took not just the one man, but all of the four gentlemen's curious fingers seeking to fuck her again and again. Perhaps the men were getting impatient, their penises had been turgid for some time. They had started to work together, no longer taking it in turns, pushing deeper, pushing faster, pushing harder. Two gentlemen's fingers going up her at once, eager to feel the goo within her hole, eager to get their manly fingers coated in her femininity. Eager too, to wrap their lips around their goo coated fingers and taste young Eleanor.