Strangers on a Train

He: 48. Pin-striped suit, blue patterned tie over a light blue shirt. Clean shaven, light brown hair. Quite good looking. Leather document wallet. Business man. Family man. He has a daily paper, carried like a sword, used like a shield, an excuse to not have to make eye-contact.

She: 19. White embroidered blouse under a thin fawn jacket. Light blue pleated skirt, maybe once intended for school wear, but too short now. Or maybe not too short, if you like that kind of thing. Her legs are gorgeous, long and graceful and, no doubt the reason that she wears such a brief skirt. The shortness of the skirt and the way she is sitting makes the panties important: white cotton, short lace frill at the edges and decorated with a small powder blue flower print. Fair brown hair, almost blonde.

Late night. On a train somewhere between the suburbs where the houses are closely huddled and the outer suburbs where the richer people live in the space and manner they can afford. Not many people come this far this late. When the carriage had left the city, there had been more people, but now many had disembarked to their suburban dwellings. The coach was almost empty and they were left at one end sitting facing each other. Facing is not quite the word: he is looking at his paper folded before him. It is a simple ruse; by glancing up imperceptibly, he can appreciate the young woman's thighs and follow the exposed light pink flesh up the inside of her leg to where it disappears tantalisingly behind the lace frill of her panties. She looks out of the window, seemingly oblivious to the display she makes. It is dark outside and little to see but the streetlights and the dark shapes of trees and houses. But the movement of the shadows holds some interest and she likes to think of the many things that may lie concealed there, right in front of her eyes and yet hidden where she cannot see them.

She looks away and focuses inside the carriage once more and catches an almost imperceptible movement of the man's head. She becomes aware that maybe she has been showing rather more than might be politely decent (and her such a nice girl), but why not give the poor guy a bit of a thrill? This guy is safe – too many responsibilities – too much to lose. It's there to see in his whole demeanour - it might as well be written across his forehead. She can tell he's embarrassed by her very proximity but, nonetheless, he likes to look. She turns her head without changing her position to look out of the window again and the train continues to clackety-clack into the night.

Clickety-clack. Clackety-clack. Clickety-clack. Clackety-clack

Turning around, she sees the carriage is almost empty – just her and this man up this end – two women and three men up the other end sitting quietly as if hypnotised by the journey. Her eyes move back to the man. He is still pretending not to be looking.

'You like that, do you?'

He reddens, but pretends not to hear.

'C'mon! I know you were looking. I don't mind, but be honest.' She is direct, his pathetic attempt at evasion boosts her courage, makes her feel strong. She is in control.

He realises that he cannot avoid the question, no more than he can avoid the guilt he feels. He swallows … time to fess up.

'Yes.', he says. 'I'm sorry, but it is a distracting sight.'

'I'm sorry.', he says again, feeling awkward.

'You like looking up little girl's skirts, do you?'

'Look! I'm sorry! I just couldn't help myself and, anyway, you're not a little girl, are you?'

'No. But I bet you'd like me to be. I used to wear this skirt to school, do you like it?'

'It's very nice.'

'You mean it's very sexy, don't you? I think so.'

'It's very sexy. I wish you wouldn't tease me.'

'You think I'm teasing?'

'Aren't you?'

She paused, reflecting. Yes, she was teasing – she felt a bit guilty. She wasn't normally like this. She felt less in control now the man was starting to take the lead in the conversation.

'I don't mean to.', She said, and wondered if she believed that herself. 'I really don't mind you looking, but I'd kind of like to share what you're thinking. Do you know what I mean?'

'Look, young lady. I really don't think we should be having this conversation. I'm old enough to be your father and, to be honest, I really don't like the way this conversation is going.'

'Because it's getting interesting?'

Strange how conversations can pivot on single words, how a world of meaning can be communicated through a handful of syllables. That one word 'interesting' from the young girls lips flew through his thoughts, flicking switches and turning lights on and off inside his head. Erotic and exotic, some other young and carefree universe had somehow appeared within his thoughts hovering tantalisingly close to the boring commuterland in which he normally lived. He saw himself through the eyes of this young girl, old and boring because he lacked the courage to be otherwise. The word had a strange sexual potency, as well: his voyeur role was now becoming something more interactive and he could feel stiffening of a more lustful 'interest' within his trousers.

'Yes,' he admitted, 'because it's getting interesting.'

She sensed she'd won some battle … and it was time to collect the spoils.

'You mustn't touch.' She said, 'and I don't want to know who you are – I'm certainly not telling you who I am … and I know it's very unlikely that we'll see each other again, this journey is unusual for me. Do you promise?' As she said this she lifted her skirt, allowing him more of a view of her long bare legs and her pretty frilled panties.

His mouth felt dry. 'I promise.'

'Do you like my panties?'

'They're very pretty panties.'

'They are getting wet in the crotch. That's because I'm enjoying showing them to you.'

'I can see.'

'Would you like them?'

'I don't know.'

'I think you do. If I took them off, you would be able to see my pussy … or perhaps you would prefer to see my cunt. I want you to talk crude to me. I want you to get me excited.'

'I want to see your pussy. Please show me your wet little pussy.'

'Mmmm … I don't know. Does your cock get stiff thinking of my hot wet little pussy?'

'Yes, it's very stiff. Show me your pussy.'

'Will you show me your cock?'

'I can't, not here!'

'What are you afraid of?'

'There are other people around. I could be arrested and how do I know you wouldn't report me.'

'I could always report you anyway, but I wouldn't want the hassle and I want to see what effect I am having on your cock.'

'And I will take my panties off.', she said. She turned her head sideways, indicating the other end of the carriage, 'They won't notice.'

'I don't know.'

'Oh, come on. Lets see it. How big is it? Do you like to wank? I bet you'd like to wank off looking at me. Would you?' Get it out. Show me how stiff it is.' She pulled her panties up tight, stretching the fabric over her pussy so the crease of her slit was clearly outlined. Her pubic hairs also made an imprint, cushioning the material away from her mound, others peeked tantalisingly around the outside.

It was far too much for him. His cock was too hard to be comfortably contained and begged for urgent release. The young girl was charming his cock from his trousers, giving him no option but to release it. Opening his belt and undoing his zip he fished it out awkwardly, it's length and stiffness catching in the folds. Once freed it stood proudly erect curving gracefully upwards from a nest of dark pubic hair, displaying unambiguously to the young girl just what its opinion of her was. It was as hard as he could ever remember it being, the thick purple head looking rich and fruit ripe.

'Mmmm. Now that's nice!' she said. 'but I mustn't touch.'

She slipped her fingers inside her panties. He could see her fingertips moving over her pussyslit as she looked at his cock standing thickly before her. 'Do you want to stroke it?'

'First,' he said, licking his lips and looking at her teasing him, 'I think it's your turn. Show me your hot little pussy.'

She looked at him, then, closing her legs, she hooked her thumbs into the tops of her panties and grinning mischievously wiggled them down over her hips. Slowly, still looking at him, she moved them down her thighs, over her knees, then lifting both legs together out of the small cotton garment, she placed it beside her on the seat. She brought her legs down together, hands resting on her knees and grinned.

'If I show you, will you stroke your cock for me?' But she didn't wait for an answer, gently opening her legs with her hands and then moving her hands back to lift her skirt.

He looked down the end of the carriage, guiltily. The other passengers seemed oblivious to what was going on here. His hand moved to the barrel of his prick. It felt good. Moving his hand over the cockflesh knowing he was masturbating in front of the girl felt deliciously wicked. He knew he could never tell his wife about this.

The hair on her pubis looks soft and curly. It is neat and looks trimmed. Her pussy is showing signs of arousal, the inside starting to flower visibly, moistly opening from within.

Her hands moved either side of the outer labia pulling them wider and then, moving her fingers between the more tender inner lips, exposing her delicious pink centre. He was sure that he could see droplets of juice beading inside on the walls of her vagina. She slipped a finger inside, where he wished his tongue and hot stiff cock could go, and moaned quietly for his benefit, whilst moving her fingers slowly in and out.

'You like my cunt, Mister?'

'Oooohhh yess!', his fingers couldn't stop themselves working along his shaft, 'Oh Yes' he said again, momentarily getting overaroused and then struggling to control himself, remembering that he was still in a railway carriage.

'I like your cunt.' He whispered. The whisper accentuated the excitement he felt and his hand moved faster, up and down.

Her fingers had now moved up to her clitoris and were working on the swollen nub, which he could see so clearly protruding. His hand moved harder up and down his thick cock as he felt himself becoming excited by the arousal and mounting excitement of the masturbating girl. She watched him stroking his cock, knowing that he was wanking for her and willing him to cum, so she could see his release from her spell.

They whispered crudely to each other, not wishing to alert the other passengers, but building the sexual charge between them, their fingers working visibly, openly displaying how they each were satisfying their overwhelming desires and carnal lust.

'You'd like to fuck my hot little cunt, wouldn't you?'

'You dirty girl slut, I'd fuck your cunt so hard your ears would pop.'

'Dirty old man, jerking off in front of a little girl.'

'Cock teasing bitch, showing your wet open pussy to strangers.'

'You want to cum all over me, you filthy pig.'

'I'll splatter my hot cum all over your pretty little face.'

'Ohhh … cum for me … cum for me!' She came quietly, but as noisily as she dared.

Flushed and sticky, she looked all done. His cock jerked and spurted thick white cum in three messy arcs and then just oozed white cream. The first arc of semen managed to clear the gap between the seats landing neatly almost in the middle of the little triangle of pubic hair. She scoped it up with one finger and held it to her nose. 'Ooh Nasty!' she said, grinning naughtily at him.

'You liked that, didn't you?', she said.

'Yes,' he said, 'but I really wouldn't like to do that too often.'

'Our little secret.', she said and winked at him. 'That's probably the most exciting and naughtiest thing I've ever done.'

She tossed him her panties. 'A little souvenir! Think of me.'

He wiped his sticky cock against the wet crotch. 'I'll certainly do that.'

She laughed. 'Will you tell anyone?'

'No,' he said. 'I couldn't.'

'Oh, I think I will,' she said.

And she did.