Two Strangers on a Train

Two strangers on a train, seated in different aisles. They're both on a long commute. Although they've never spoken before, they've both noticed one another with curiosity having shared the same journey for the past couple of months. Both are dressed in sharp, professional business attire - a sign they have great responsibilities in their working lives.

This train journey is no different; a monotonous series of stops in non-descript towns. Amid the noise of the train and scattered voices, in their own private cocoons of boredom, the couple occasionally steal glances at one another. At first, they're tentative and shy but before long their eyes both lock as if attempting to discern what the other was thinking. They look away as if betraying inner thoughts but soon their eyes meet once more, this time as if in recognition of a shared understanding. Gradually, they dispel their earlier feelings of uncertainty, and now both comfortable in the feeling they have one another's approval, a sense of mischief begins to creep in.

The woman bites her lip, smiles and then looks away, and without anyone noticing, slowly lets her pencil skirt ride up her thighs, exposing her hold-ups to the man's gaze. The man grins back mischievously, this time staring a little more intensely, the way a predator eyes up its prey. The woman glances over again. This time she deliberately drops a chocolate bar wrapper into the aisle. She bends down to pick it up, this time exposing the fullness of her cleavage as she leans forward, inviting the man's hungry gaze. While she does so, she notices the bulge pressed against the fabric of the man's pants. Their eyes meet yet again as she grabs the wrapper in a lingering gaze which tells them both one thing: that they're both dying for a fuck.

Finally, after a series of playful glances, their hearts both thumping with anticipation they reach their stop. It's now or never for them. The woman, secure in the knowledge she has the guy's attention, and by now hopelessly wet at the thought of the impending chase, gets off the train. With the image of his rudely jutting crotch framed in her mind, she can sense his willingness to hunt her down. She weaves between crowds of shoppers and commuters. Her high-heels ring sharply on the tiles of the floor as if announcing her lust as she makes for the exit. Every now and then, she gives a backward glance over her shoulder just to check the man is following her.

Does she really want him to follow? Her backward glances tell him, "Yes!" and a frisson of lust and adrenalin mingles pleasantly within his stomach. He keeps her just within sight, enjoying the backward view - the lightness of her tread, the way her tights shape her calves and thighs; her whole aura of feminine vulnerability framed by her figure. By now he's conscious of his erection swinging from side to side, his imagination fired at the thought of ripping her clothes off, throwing her to the floor and giving vent to his now savage lust.

She continues to beckon him on with the tempo of her walk as if conscious of her irresistibility - she glances behind again, this time her lip curling triumphantly. Knowing he won't give up the pursuit, she feels a lurch between her thighs - the pleasant engorging of her clitoris. She decides to test his hunger yet again. She turns sharply down a side street. Before long they've left the damp, overbearing grey of the town-centre behind. Where is she taking him, he wonders... She turns again, now into a couple of suburban side streets and soon she disappears into a patch of rough ground framed against the darkness of a wood - he notices her now faint silhouette climbing over a stile. His cock, now stiffened into a thick rod of lust nudges almost painfully against his pants and he follows her into the murky twilight of the trees.

He can just about make her out now as the light begins to fade. She glides almost pixie-like, her delicate flame flitting between the branches. He quickens his pursuit - she quickens hers; tempting him like a siren to the verge of madness, one moment forbidding him and then tempting him the next. She then pauses inside a clearing - she now has him just where she wants him as if hunted had become hunter - the kill is assured. They both face one another, their chests heaving in expectation. Their eyes lock once more, clear and full, dilated with a black, primal intensity and communicating an almost inhuman lust.

Her gaze, defiant and fierce as a cornered tiger, holds his as she begins to silently peel off her clothes. She kicks her expensive shoes off, then unbuttons her suit-jacket and throws it down into the dirt, contemptuous of the civility it reflects. She unbuttons her silk blouse hurriedly, then deftly unhooks her bra, not for one moment taking her eye off the stranger.

With a wicked smile, she hitches up her skirt, biting her lip as she slides her panties down her thighs. She can feel the coolness of the evening air contrasting pleasantly with the heat building between her thighs. With just her open blouse offering fleeting glimpses of her soft, round, milky breasts she slides down the rough, sinewy bark of the tree behind her, her bare buttocks resting on a cushion of damp moss. She then pulls up her skirt even higher, abandoning all pretence of her ladylike demeanour as she exposes the ripeness of her vulva to his gaze; knowing the effect it will have on him. Maintaining eye-contact, she greedily wets two fingers slipping them inside her mouth, and as if obeying the urgings of her lust, reaches down with them as she begins to tease the nub of her swollen clitoris.

The man, almost no longer in conscious control of himself, stands transfixed and intoxicated at the sight of this woman - the picture of professional respectability on the train. His eyes, are drawn to the movement of her hand and the contours of her wrist as she unashamedly and boldly traces her fingers around her clit in slow, languid spirals; she will only obey the needs of her own body. In turn, he takes off his suit-jacket, almost hypnotised at the spectacle unfolding before him. He removes his belt, flinging it down with hers on the dirt, kicks off his expensive brogues and takes off his pants. His erection is smoothly outlined and moulded against the fabric of his nicely tight boxers. He begins to remove them, exposing his bare shaft inch by inch until the head catches on the waist band. He lowers them further, and in one swift motion, the entirety of his cock - proud and erect, potent yet vulnerable, the head beautifully mushroomed and glistening with lust, springs forward. The woman savours the sight eagerly and fixing her eyes on the fleshy stalk, quickens her rhythm.

In turn, he rests himself against a tree stump, only a few feet opposite her so that they face one another. Their legs are splayed instinctively wide apart, the attitude of their bodies a mirror image of the other. Goaded almost beyond endurance, the man draws his fingers tightly around his dick. His first touch is a soothing relief to his wild anticipation. He begins to rub eagerly back and forth, the foreskin gliding rhythmically over the head as he watches the woman. Open-mouthed, his face contorted with desire he glances alternately at the woman's face and the motion of her fingers which betray her need.

And in spite of all this, both of them remain strangers to one another, having never so much as exchanged a single word; having never so much as touched one another's flesh yet so overcome with lust and the random wicked momentum of their situation that neither can resist masturbating openly in front of one another; they both study one another, eyes fixing here and there on the tautening of an inner thigh, the curling of a foot or the firmness of torso, as if silently communicating a mutually agreed curiosity. Letting go of all inhibition, their fingers blur into a synchronised, aching rhythm as they pleasure themselves in the dying light. Almost too wrapped up in the sight of one another and the fulfillment of their mutual need. They both know this but it only serves to spur them on as they near the point of release.

It's quiet. Just the sounds of their stifled moans and breaths mingling with the bird-song as their fingers rub and jerk in a now frantic matching rhythm; performing something they'd only normally do in the privacy of their own bedrooms; something they had both done thinking of one another before they had the courage to signal their mutual attraction; something they are doing illicitly in the present, their mutual display feeding one another's lust. Another minute and they reach a crescendo - his cock and her cunt and clitoris, swelling to the point of no return. They can no longer hold back, their bodies about to give way to an impending surrender; both knowing they're about to give in. They both cum intensely, their bodies jerking spasmodically with the pent-up shock of their release - the guy spraying his stomach with a fountain of hot, watery cum and the woman crying out amid the silence like a vixen. Her eyes capture the look on the man's face, savouring those precious seconds of vulnerability in which he is lost to his own pleasure and she in hers; brief moments of weakness overshadowing of his strength and vigour which attracted her. Almost simultaneously she watches his cock pulse with delight, his spasms matching her own.

They both lie back, panting and sated, almost unaware of one another's presence as the spasms gradually subside, their eyes closed as they get their breath back. As the moonlight creeps across the glade, they glance at one another shyly, each now conscious of the intimacy they've just exchanged. They both gather their belongings, too spent and light-headed to even utter another word. Both dressed, their eyes meet a final time, neither having touched or spoken. They both head off in separate directions into the night, wondering what tomorrow's train journey holds...