Night Train: Slow Movements

Great thanks for editing the story to GAhornynurse1976 and EloquentTemptress.

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There were only two of us, on a small platform in the proverbial middle of nowhere, waiting for the late night sleeper train: myself and a girl with curly hair wearing a black coat. In the dim light of the platform, I couldn't see her face, but she looked slim and youthful. Tired and sleepy, we did not attempt to communicate. We just stood there, several steps from each other, looking nervously at our phones.

When the train arrived, we both headed for the same car. The conductor, as sleepy and tired as we were, hurried us along, offering no assistance as the girl struggled to lift her large suitcase over the gap between the platform and the train. I wordlessly maneuvered the suitcase onto the train's vestibule. In its bright light, I finally got a good look at her face. It was pretty and heart-shaped, with full lips and an open smile. She wore thin glasses. Her demeanor was slightly childlike, yet confident at the same time.

Our train was an old Soviet era sleeper train, still the most popular type here. The cars are divided into a number of sleeping compartments, and no effort is made to divide passengers of different genders into different compartments.

After quickly glancing at our tickets, the conductor gruffly directed us both to the same compartment. I stepped aside to allow my companion to enter first through the narrow compartment door. As I followed her inside, I saw the usual layout -- two bunks on each side of the compartment, one above the other, with about two feet in between. The top bunks on each side were occupied by sleeping travelers, so we left the lights off and tried to make as little noise as possible. As I quietly stowed my luggage and made my bed, I saw my compartment-mate pull a small bag out of her suitcase.

I had had a long day, so sleep was the only thing on my mind. Quickly and with no concern for my audience, I stripped off my shirt and trousers and slipped, clad only in my underwear, between the sheets. As I did so, I saw my fellow passenger slip out the compartment door, carrying her small bag.

As too often happens, my sleepiness disappeared the instant my head hit the pillow. When it failed to return after several long minutes, I began reading a book on my smart phone, hoping it would help me to fall asleep.

When I saw my compartment-mate leave, I assumed she was headed for the restroom to change from her tight jeans and white blouse into something more fitting for sleep. Now she returned, confirming my expectations. She was dressed in something that I assumed was a type of pajamas. Pretending to concentrate on my book, I glanced at her surreptitiously -- and then could not look away. I adore moments like these, seeing the contrast between the competent, polished image a woman projects during the day, and the vulnerability she exposes when her uniform is stripped away for sleep. My compartment-mate wore loose boxers and an equally loose undershirt, both white with some green or blue pattern on them. She stood for a moment in the open door, with the bare skin of her legs and shoulders almost glowing in the dim corridor light.

Finally, she took a step forward. She pulled the door almost shut, leaving a narrow strip of light illuminating her bunk. As she stowed her bag and prepared the bed, I continued pretending to "read" from my smartphone. But I continued to observe her motions, turning the phone this way or that way so that I always had a sight line to where she stood, sat, bent over, etc. By the heaviness of her undershirt as she bent over, I already knew she had nothing on underneath it, and I couldn't help wondering whether she had anything on under the boxers. As she bent toward the furthest end of her bunk, she unwittingly answered this question for me. Her waist was mere inches from my face, and in the light from roadlights outside the train, I saw the dark lace of her panties under the thin white boxers.

(I assumed the show was inadvertent, but sometimes I wonder who we are trying to fool with our "innocent" glances, and maneuvers to see what should remain unseen. Girls are not fools, nor careless. So if something is seen, perhaps she MEANT it to be seen....)

There was nothing indecent in this scene, but it was very erotic. I didn't want anything from her. I was neither aroused nor in love. But as a man in my 30's, it already seemed likes ages since I had felt the smooth skin and lightness of touch of a truly young woman. I was full of tenderness, excitement, and nostalgia for the time when I was her age. Without any greed but with a strange melancholy, I observed as she finally laid on her back, took off her thin glasses (making her face appear even more childlike) and carelessly covered herself with a thin sheet. Presumably because the compartment was warm and stuffy, with no ventilation from outside, she pulled the sheet up only to her stomach.

I continued trying to read for several more minutes, but my mind kept wandering in the direction of my youth-- the girlfriends I had in those days, and the way we played together with no inhibitions or concern for the future. Finally, I gave up reading, took off my own glasses, turned off my smart phone and decided to try to sleep. Before closing my eyes, I cast a final glance at the opposite bunk. The girl was still beautiful. She appeared asleep already, lying flat on her back, mouth slightly open. She had one hand on her stomach under the shirt, and the other was somewhere under the sheet, near her thigh.

She looked pretty, natural and peaceful, and I spent what I thought would be my last moment before sleep imagining how soft her skin must feel under her hands.

Then I noticed something. At first, I thought it was my imagination or some accidental movement of her sleeping body. But as seconds and then minutes passed, I became increasingly sure that it was happening: with very slow, small, almost indistinguishable movements, she caressed her stomach under the shirt. While slow, her movements were regular, and it was very unlikely to be unconscious, dream-induced behavior. No, she caressed herself deliberately and confidently, as if nobody were there. Or was she just indifferent to the presence of others? She did nothing "improper", nothing that couldn't be done even on a public beach...at least not yet.

Despite the dim light in the compartment, I started to enjoy watching her. The compartment door remained slightly ajar, and at times light from outside the train would briefly add illumination. I could not see every detail, but I saw enough to notice as her movements, with the same killing slowness, became wider and wider. Soon her hand under the shirt was up to the lower part of her breasts, and it even looked like she caressed the underside of the breast with her fingers. The lower edge of the shirt, pushed up with the movement of the hand, bared almost her entire stomach. Then her hand started to move lower and lower at the bottom of each circle. She traced her navel with delicate, tender movements, and her fingertips occasionally slid under the edge of the sheet -- but still only grazing her waistline.

The entire path from the bottom of her breasts to her waistline took something like three or four minutes, so everything was slow, almost still. If the person from the top bunk had woken up at the moment and looked down at her, she'd have looked deeply asleep, with slightly raised shirt, but again - nothing clearly indecent. Only I, observing thoroughly and thankfully this gift, had seen the change of speed and amplitude of her movements, and wondered with trace of hope and fear, how far it could possibly go. And I couldn't even guess what was in her head because what I was seeing didn't look like showing off, teasing, or invitation. She just looked like she was enjoying herself, as calm and relaxed as could be.

Also it did not seem like the bedtime masturbation session of a desperate woman. She was in no hurry, and was not, strictly speaking, masturbating. Yet after several minutes I realized that at the topmost point of her hand journey she almost grabbed her entire breast now. And, even more surprisingly, her other hand, which was closer to me, was not lying calmly at her thigh. It was almost still, straight, and tense, and as far as I could see under sheet, it was now stretched at least to the insides of her thighs, or even just to inside of her panties. "Despite all things, she IS masturbating", I assumed, "and this strange show-and-caress game was just a prelude, maybe her way to get in the mood".

Next, she pulled the sheet up from her waist. I interpreted this to mean that the show and the night were over, but soon I realized that was not the case. Instead: with the same hand, the same caressing motion, she slowly pulled up the edge of the sheet to cover her belly. Then, when her hand (and the sheet) met the edge of her pulled up shirt, she continued to pull both up in tandem, above her breasts. I saw it very clearly, and I even glimpsed her nipple for a moment - just as something slightly darker, slightly protruding from her white skin, in a small space between the edge of the sheet and the edge of her shirt.

She finished this slow continuous motion just at her throat, somehow tucking the corner of the sheet under the folds of the shirt, which was now scrunched around her neck. The tissue of the sheet became stretched between her chest and slightly bent knees, forming a bridge, so there couldn't be seen any movements of her lower hand between her thighs and beneath the bridge. But what definitely could be seen was her upper hand, and now it was undoubtedly playing with her breasts and nipples.

All the movements remained incredibly slow; at any given moment I might have guessed my young neighbor asleep...but the entire situation progressed without any interruptions. I saw clearly as her palm confidently (yet slowly) grabbed her right breast -- the one closest to me -- and did several tight squeezes and rolls. Then it looked like she raised her hand in the air over the breast (still under the sheet), and pulled her nipple, very hard. From this moment, her demeanor and the look on her face started to change. Everything was still slow, yet she had obviously given up pretending that nothing untoward was happening and that she was asleep. She started throwing her head back on the pillow, opening and closing her mouth, and licking her lips. Her knees also started to move, with the same deadly slowness bending more and more, opening wider and wider.

At some point, I noticed a small movement of her knee, and then saw that something had slipped from under the sheet and fallen to the floor. It was her boxers. As I had not seen anything in the previous few minutes that looked like undressing below the sheet, I inferred that she had taken the boxers off right when she settled in bed. I was fascinated, but the falling of the boxers seemed to frighten her: her hands suddenly stopped even their slow movements, and rested motionless on her body.

Several minutes passed with me waiting patiently, still watching. Honestly, that time I was pretty sure everything was over, but I hoped to catch a brief glimpse of some part of her body as she rearranged her clothes and bedding to prepare for sleep. But it turned out she eventually decided to resume doing what she wanted to do -- and possibly had planned in advance to do. So she resumed her activities with more confident, more bold movements. The hand on the breasts definitely tried to grab both breasts at once, leaped from left to right, and her cover had shifted so I could see some lifting of the left breast, and sometimes her fingers, dancing and grabbing and pressing. The "sheet bridge" between her chest and knees collapsed on her, and now I could see what her other hand was doing. Now (in case there had remained any doubt) it was clear she was masturbating herself, and I even could guess how. It was apparent that she just rubbed her clitoris with several fingers, every now and then dipping them for a moment lower, between her lips or even into herself.

Her knees continued to spread, and at some point, with a tiny jerk of one leg, I saw something fall to the floor again. This time, it was a pair of lacy black panties. Yep. I was excited, surprised, thankful and...slightly frightened. I realized she must have been lying there naked from the waist down the whole time. And this small jerk of the knee -- did she do it on purpose? Did she drop those panties to show them to me, to expose herself more, though indirectly?

Only once before had I been in a similar situation. About two years before, in the same sleeper train, there had been a pair of young students on the bunk opposite mine. How they had ended up sharing one bunk, I don't know. While there was light in the car, they just sat there, and hugged, and looked through the window, and whispered some compliments in each other's ears. But once everyone got to their beds, and the lights were turned off, I definitely heard moist sounds from where they huddled on one bunk together. I saw the silhouette of the young boy's hand, definitely masturbating his lover, and I heard her soft girlish moans.

That time I also had felt tender, and thankful, and nostalgic, but those students definitely saw only each other and could think only of one another. This time, with this girl with curly hair and white pajamas, was different. And I wanted it to be fair. I could only suppose she was aware of my awakened presence, and all of a sudden I decided I didn't want it this way, even if my decision would ruin a moment entirely.

So, I just casually took my phone from the table near the bunk, as if I were checking the time, and I also grabbed my glasses as if I couldn't see anything without them (in fact, I could see the smartphone screen, but I knew I would see the girl better with my glasses on). Then I put smartphone back on the table, but didn't take off the glasses, and rather deliberately settled myself at the best angle for an unobstructed view of her entire body.

How did she react, you ask? She did nothing. Or rather, she continued doing what she was doing, still very slowly, but with shameless obviousness: one hand on her breasts, another between her parted legs. At first she gave no indication that she was aware of me (for the first five minutes I even doubted whether I had been obvious enough, or whether she still thought she was unobserved), but at some point she half-turned toward me and half-smiled, as if to say "Hey, do you like it? I do!"

I stared at this pretty, daring girl with delight and a huge, heavy excitement. Sometimes it seemed nothing changed that I could see, yet my mind was busy noticing the smallest details: how her erect nipples were visible under the sheet, when she sometimes dropped her hand from them to rub her belly and thighs; how her breathing gradually became fuller and heavier; and how her knee slipped from under the sheet. In general, while time passed in her slow, passionate work, the sheet became more and more useless. Bits of her sides and belly were exposed here and there, and the upper part unwrapped itself from beneath her shorts and slid down, showing off the very tops of her breasts. And below, the leg nearest to me was bent so that the sheet slipped down to the center of her body and crumpled around her lower hand. I observed the pretty act and waited for something, not clearly imagining what it would be.

Suddenly, I realized that somehow I had managed to pull my cock from my underwear and was holding it tightly in my fist. Even though I wasn't moving, I found myself at the edge of coming. I could think of no objection to masturbating myself simultaneously with this gorgeous girl, but I didn't want to come ahead of her, so I attempted to make my actions less bold, and at the same time more obvious. Somehow it felt like the right thing to do, like it would make us players in the same game, instead of "actor" and "spectator."

Abruptly, she stopped. I stopped too, ashamed and worried that my actions had been too overt or intrusive for her. Then I thought perhaps she had come already, silently and without much energy. Then she sat up on her bunk, with the sheet falling to her waist, and her undershirt sliding back into place to cover her chest (but not before I'd received an eyeful of not-so-small young breasts with small, protruding nipples). Then she put on her glasses, turned on the small light above her bed, and pulled a small bottle of water from her bag.

For a several minutes she just sat there, smiling silently at her thoughts, sipping water and apparently resting. I laid still, in my awkwardly obvious viewing position, trying to pretend I wasn't there, still staring at her.

"That was cool", I thought. And already I felt almost nostalgic about the events of the night, which I imagined were over.

All of a sudden, she stretched her arms, lowered them, and then just casually took off her undershirt. And sat there naked from the waist up, still with her bottle of water and dreamy look. And then, she just slipped down on her bunk into a half-reclining position, slightly parted her legs and dropped one hand between them. She didn't turn off the light above her bunk, nor take off her glasses, and her face was half-turned toward me again. Apparently, she not only had decided to continue, but to raise the stakes much higher. Now, there was no way the people from the top bunks could miss what was happening, if they were suddenly to awaken.

I could hardly decline her invitation. So I, too, semi-reclined comfortably and, without hesitation, removed my underwear under my sheet. While I did that, she parted her bent legs wide. One knee now lay on the bunk, another against the wall; her sheet was coiled around them, finally exposing her private parts, which captured my full attention immediately. She was completely unshaven, which can look untidy on older women, yet on those girls with milk-white smooth skin and the roundedness of youth, it sometimes looks preciously natural. With her legs positioned as they were, I could see her hot pink lips also parted widely, and her not-so-small clitoris dancing under her poking fingertip.

I somehow tore my gaze away from her private parts and saw that her gaze was now fixated on my nether regions, and that a wicked smile had appeared on her face. Deciding to play fairly, I tossed my sheet away and tried to behave like a grown-up doing a perfectly natural thing (which in fact I was, but it didn't feel like it in the moment). My touches to myself became very light, almost decorative; I was afraid I'd come at any moment, but I didn't want to! I just wanted this night to continue and continue, with more strange and open and candid actions, and the calming sound of train wheels on rails, and the friendly smiles of naked strangers.

The next thing I noticed was her small water bottle. All this time she had held it in the hand that was not busy teasing her clit, and this hand for the time just laid on her open thigh. Then, with the same slow movements as before (there was no sign of subterfuge now, but the movements remained slow and delicate) the hand with the bottle started to move closer and closer to her bush. I observed in disbelief: was she really craving more? Was I destined to see something even more incredible than I was already seeing?

And she did. And I was. The hand dove between her open thighs, and I almost moaned or cussed listening to the moist sound of the bottle lid touching her (apparently very wet) sex. Concentrating on the sensations, she even stopped rubbing her clit. She took the bottle in both hands and placed it carefully, lovingly, and exactly to penetrate at the right angle. Or so I supposed, as from my position I couldn't see the entrance, just guessed what was happening by her movements and facial expressions. Finally, by her attention returning to my man parts I assumed everything was settled. And indeed, one of her hands had returned to clitoris, and the other was now placed on the bottle bottom, pressing it inside.