On Board Entertainment

The train carriage empties as the tourists & holiday makers get off, leaving her almost alone.

She's restless; frustrated by the delays; the weather; the lack of decent phone signal.

She takes her earbuds and scours her phone for music, a podcast, and audio book, never pausing long enough to settle in any one thing.

The train sets off. She glances around; a man; mid 50s suited, smart sits three seats facing her. He's got a laptop and is reading and typing.

She fires up a trusted audio. Sent by a new 'friend', really still a stranger; she had not asked him to send it. It just arrived in her mailbox one day; "With thanks for the picture". And it soon became firm favourite in the playlist "Special stories".

With her earbuds in, she starts the audio:

He starts directly. He tells her how he wants her naked; shaved; how he wants to see her tied; wrists bound above her head; ankles cuffed & nipples clamped, not too hard but enough to make each one proud and sensitive to the slightest touch. He wants her anchored tight to each corner of the bed frame, he tells her how he'd look at her pure, raw, available nakedness and tease her with light scratches, bites, kisses; the calm before his all-relenting storm.

The train trundles on; noisy and creaking; old rolling stock, she turns the volume up; she can hardly hear his voice wooing her.

He continues. Telling her how he wants to taste her, feel her slick wetness grow; how he know she wants him, any part of him deep inside her. He explains how she'd gasp as he flicked or tugs the nipple clamps; or kissescher waistline; curves and breasts; almost tickling; making her body writhe and tug against the restraint. "no point struggling... you cannot get away..."

She twists in her seat; the audio creating the same sensations it had, countless times before; a flutter and ache, a yearning to touch herself; desperate to feel her fingers whilst imaging his fingers, tongue, cock, anything close to her.

Pulling her long coat around her she fumbles her hand into her jeans, and instantly finds relief as she slides her index finger between her lips smearing herself, marvelling at how wet his voice makes her.

As he continues his narrative, the train halts. Often the way for these local trains to wait for the faster city to city trains to storm through.

Without the background clatter - his voice is clear now, his intentions continue; he tells her how he'd slowly tease her to orgasm, fingering and probing, licking, savouring; how he'd toy with her puckered asshole; easing himself into her. Preparing her. Feasting his gaze on her. Taunting her.

The audio is raw; not polished perfection; his voice is cracked and breathy. He makes it clear he's wanking.

"I'm looking at you;" the clip continues; "that picture you sent". She recalls the pose; the abandonment she felt by sharing such a raw graphic image with him; a stranger.

Her fingers work harder now; frantically clawing stroking and rubbing; she stares wistfully out of the window; focussing on nothing except the hot wetness he's created between her legs.

His voice deepens, gruffer. "I am going to fuck you; I need to fuck... you" the pause dramatic provides the personal tribute she didn't know she craved. His urgency reflected in the background flacking as he strokes himself.

"I am going to push into you slowly; stretch you; I want to hear your screams and whimpers as I split you wide for me."

She recalls the last time she listed to this clip; alone naked in bed; plunging her largest vibrator relentlessly pounding herself imagining her stranger impaling her so violently, roughly, urgently so that she jerked against metal and leather cuffs and ropes holding her.

She imagines him clawing at her body; nipping, biting scratching pinching and pulling much harder now than the teasing frustrating kisses; so much more carnal, and she releases an light audible moan as she surfs the edge of her climax, gasping in response to the groans he's making in her ears. He rasps that he's cumming, in her, over her.

Her orgasm floods her as she meets his climax with him; again stirred knowing how she would love to feel her self covered and coveted.

The pulses ebb away and she glides a teasing finger across her super sensitive clit, making her shudder one last time before bringing her fingers to her mouth. The train is still stationery.

Her eyes catch the guy sitting three seats away; his laptop lid closed now; and she tries to share a "Trains; huh?" expression; wondering if he'd spotted her. She's been so discreet - she was confident he'd not seen her twitching in her seat. He'd been working. It's all good.,

She glanced at her phone; the train is still delayed; still stationery; her sense of time had been eroded.

She looked at her messages; nothing; and loaded the train times app; what was her ETA. No internet?

Damn rural Wi-Fi; any train internet.

Wait?

Flight mode. The impact hadn't hit her at the point.

She flicked the switch; the Bluetooth and Wi-Fi banner illuminate and her earbuds spring to life "power on connected" chimes the Anglicised digital voice.

Her heart fluttered. The earbuds had not been connected. The wave of panic, was quickly watered down by a strong awareness of exposure. Her face flushes and her skin prickles.

She goes to her music play list. A random tune; she presses play; and the song blasts its familiar beat. It was loud. She recoils as the music jolts her. Unexpectedly loud. Too loud. The earbuds warn her she's reached maximum volume. "Warning high volume".

She switches the Bluetooth off and the earbuds disconnect. "Disconnected" The song continues to play only this time on her phone speaker.

The man across the carriage looks up as the beat fills the silence. Their eyes lock. She holds his gaze; too aroused to speak. Or look away. Her head spinning with a single question. "Did he hear all that?"

The city train breaks their moment as it jolts by; fast and loud, rattling their smaller carriage. She looks away; out of the window. Blushing. Their train trundles into the next station.

The man gets up and gets his coat and bag from the overhead rack, and turns to leave the train. The nearest door is behind him but he chooses to walk past her.

She cannot help but note the bulge in his suit trousers. Looking first there at his heavy cock pressing a clear outline in his trousers and subsequently in her eye line, then up into his eyes.

He lingered by her seat - "I wish I had a copy of that picture" he said as he left the train.