First Class Rider

PART ONE - FIRST CLASS JOURNEY

Cancelled. Cancelled. Delayed. Cancelled.

Now she was really fucked off. This shitstorm of a day just got better and better.

No good deed goes unpunished, she thought to herself. It had seemed like such a brilliant idea last night - travel down to London to catch up with her boyfriend, check out his digs at UCL, and have a delightfully dirty weekend together after those long weeks apart.

It was the perfect plan, right up until she walked in to find him balls deep in some slag from Essex. When she closed her eyes, she could still see that bitch's absurdly massive tits bouncing as he pounded his long thick cock into her cheating cunt.

She screamed obscenities at him, slammed the door and ran off. He tried to catch up with her, comically holding his trousers over his groin as he ran otherwise buck naked down the street after her. But inevitably he tripped, and she made her escape.

She'd found a pub, spent her last 20 quid drowning her sorrows before heading back to Euston to make her sorry way home. She had no money to find somewhere to stay, not at London prices, so thank god she'd bought an open return. But now she was trapped in this godforsaken concrete shithole because some drunk fucker had decided to take a walk along the tracks. Her, and thousands of commuters and revellers who just wanted to get home on a Friday night and get on with their weekend. Instead they were rammed in here, balls to the walls, waiting. Fuck, I'm never going to make my connection back out of Glasgow, she realised.

"Wotcher, darlin'" slurred a man's voice on the crowded concourse. A bunch of lads in football shirts, half-cut on their way to a game, leered at her.

"How much do you charge, luv?" another shouted after her. She raised a middle finger at them, not looking back. She heard them laughing. She shivered, partly from the cold and partly out of fear, and pulled the woollen trench coat tighter around her. The mesh top, showing off her modest breasts presented in a plunge push-up bra, hadn't been for their benefit. She wished she had a change of clothes; but when she'd headed down on this trip she hadn't planned on wearing anything most of the weekend. Hadn't intended on getting out of bed at all, except to grab stuff from the Deliveroo guy at the door - and if he got a peek, all the sexier it'd have been.

A train was called, and she bolted for it, trying not to trip in the absurd heels of the thigh-high leather boots. Buffeted around by a crowd of thousands, swept in a wave towards the waiting platform. Eagerly she clambered into a carriage and leant against the vestibule doors, too late to get a seat - it was already standing room only in the coaches. Fuck me, I hope it empties out on the way, 'cos it's a long fucking way to stand to Scotland.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the senior conductor speaking. Apologies for the severe overcrowding on tonight's service. As you know, this was caused by a fatality in the Cheddington area. Please clear all seats of luggage. I am declassifying First Class; passengers in First Class can claim a refund by visiting our website..."

Result! She slipped through the door she'd been leaning on, made a beeline for one of the remaining chairs. It was busy even in here; some seasoned commuters obviously taking the chance this might happen. There was a window seat about a third of the way down; the man in the aisle seat gave her an evil glare but nevertheless let her in. Gratefully she fell into the soft padded seat - practically a fireside armchair! - and started putting the world to rights by bitching about her day on social media.

///

What a bastard. She'd so been looking forward to a weekend of getting fucked senseless, but the arsehole just couldn't wait and got himself a bit on the side. And she'd been such a good girl, hadn't touched her toys for days, just like they'd agreed so they'd be desperately horny by the time they got together.

She couldn't get that image of him out of her mind; his thick cock reaming out that bitch's tight pussy, her nails clawing down his back as she convulsed in pleasure. He was a selfish bastard, but fuck was he a great lay. Despite her anger, she was getting aroused thinking about the things she'd let him do to her in the past. Things that had left her breathless and sore in the best possible way.

If she pushed her hips forward, the seam of her skin-tight jeans rubbed right over her clit. She started squirming in her seat, slowly rubbing herself.

A cough. She opened her eyes. Nobody was looking at her; in fact, the coach had emptied out by now, over an hour into the journey - Londoners bailing out into some commuter town at the first stop. Across the way, a businessman was absorbed in his broadsheet newspaper; there was no-one else in direct sight.

So, as long as she was discrete... her hand fell to her lap, nails scraping over the fine ridges of the denim between her legs, sending delicious vibrations through to her sensitive spots beneath. She switched her smartphone over to podcasts, catching up with some audio erotica she'd downloaded for the weekend - intended for her session with her now ex-boyfriend, but that wasn't gonna happen now.

The dirty tale playing in her ears... the vibrations and motion of the train... the pressure of her fingers through the denim... the chance of being caught. All worked on her mind, already horny from the expectations of the weekend. The orgasm ripped through her, and she had to force herself to stay quiet, although she couldn't prevent her body twitching as the pleasure took her over.

"A happy ending?" asked a voice.

Her eyes shot open; the businessman was looking at her, newspaper folded nearly on the table in front of him. Shit! How long had he been watching her? Long enough, obviously; his lip curled into a smile. She could feel her cheeks reddening.

"Don't worry, I couldn't hear whatever it was you were listening to. But I couldn't help but notice the effect it was having on you." He smiled - a genuine friendly smile, rather than the leer she expected. "It's not every week I get to see an attractive young woman enjoying herself on my long journey home."

Normally she'd've retorted with "fuck off, perv", or words to that effect. But she was still riding the waves of euphoria, her anger dissipated for the moment. And he was, to put it mildly, smoking hot - mid thirties she estimated, chiselled jaw with a hint of stubble, waistcoat and hundred-pound shirt pulled tight over his abs, tie hanging loose, and top button undone. Hair and nails immaculate. Her blush deepened.

"Arthur," he introduced himself, slipping into the seat opposite.

"Steph," she replied automatically. Had he really called her attractive?

She offered her hand for him to shake, but instead he took it to his lips, and kissed it. "Charmed to meet you," he said.

Shit, Steph thought, thirty seconds ago those fingers were dancing on my pussy, bringing me off. He plays at being a gentleman, but did he just want to sniff them? To taste them? Fuck, I'm still too horny, she realised. Danger, danger; alone with an older man in a train carriage. There was CCTV, but even so, anything could happen.

God, how she wanted something to happen. That it was so wrong made her want it even more. Wouldn't that show the cheating bastard - her getting fucked by a stranger as houses shot past outside at a hundred miles an hour.

Embarrassingly, her stomach growled. She realised she'd not eaten since early this morning - fuelled by lust, then anger, then booze. Now, she was hungry; but she'd drunk the last of her money this afternoon.

Arthur came to her rescue. "I was just about to pop to the buffet car. Can I get you anything? My treat?"

"Coffee please, milk and sugar. And maybe a sandwich or something?" She tried to sound a bit pathetic and weak, hoping his sympathy might stretch to something nice; she batted her lashes and pulled her best puppy-dog eyes.

He smiled. "I'll see what I can do." With that, he turned and headed away from her towards the end of the carriage. Her eyes followed his cute butt every step of the way.

///

Another long week done. Every Monday, Arthur slogged down to London for business, heading back home to Scotland for the weekends. It wasn't so bad in First Class, and it was more convenient than flying back and forth.

But oh, how he missed his wife Claudia while he was away. Skype sex was all very well, but he couldn't wait to get home and dive between her thighs once more. To reclaim her from whatever farmhand or labourer she'd been fucking while he was away. Currently he was between mistresses in London, and had to make do with his own company and the dubious delights of the internet.

"Can't wait to tell you about it when you get home," she purred down the phone.

"You bad girl."

"The baddest." She moaned gently. Was she with someone now, or just fingering herself? He let his mind wander. "They're just keeping me ticking over. I need you, my stud, to give me what I need."

He knew exactly what she needed. "I might have a new toy for you," he teased, and proceeded to describe the cute horny young girl he'd just met. "Stacked, hot and needy, just how you like them."

"Oh god," Claudia moaned. "Warm her up for me."

"I was just getting coffee, as it happens."

"You know exactly what I mean."

Arthur chuckled, "Love you, bitch."

"Whatever, fucker," Claudia replied light-heartedly.

Arthur hung up, smiling. Permission to play granted, he stocked up at the buffet car and headed back to where Steph was waiting.

His breath caught as she came back into view. The coat was off now, so he could get a proper look at her figure. The tight netting caging her modest but well-presented boobs; soft white skin barely darker than the painted-on white denim jeans that poured into those fuck-me boots.

He placed the coffees and foodstuffs on the table between them, and pushed a cardboard container across with a hapless apology: "Sorry, that's the best I could do on board."

He saw her eyes flash with need as the burger was revealed. Nevertheless, she tried to play it cool.

"I'm vegan," she lied, pouting.

"Oh really? Shame," Arthur said, reaching across to take the burger for himself.

"Fuck off!" She snatched the carton back, smiling. "As if. Of course I'm not shy of putting meat in my mouth." And she dropped her jaw and took a huge bite.

She struggled to chew such a huge mouthful, but was clearly too proud to admit defeat. He watched, rapt, as some grease and ketchup leaked from the corner of her mouth.

"You've got a bit..." he started, wiggling his finger at her lips.

"Mmmmph?"

"Just here," he said, reaching out with his thumb and wiping it from her face. Her skin was soft, with a fine down of invisible white downy hair. Her lips lush, moist and red. He pressed his sauce-covered thumb to her mouth, and she sucked it between her lips, running her tongue over it, staring into his eyes as she did so. His pupils must have dilated slightly, as the corner of her lip curled into a smile and her eyes twinkled in triumph.

He watched her eat, sipping at his own coffee and nibbling at the shortbread he'd bought for himself while she devoured the burger and fries, inhaling the food as if worried he might change his mind and take it away from her.

She thanked him as she ate, talking through the food about her shitty day and her shitty boyfriend and her shitty life. He listened, patiently and sympathetically, lending her an ear that she clearly needed so badly. Listening was one of Arthur's main talents; he found that simply paying attention and being understanding, offering the occasional encouragement or well-chosen word, got you a lot further in life than just replying with whatever came to mind to fill the silence. This was all about her, her need to unburden. As a result, he learned an awful lot about her; more, probably, than she intended to reveal.

On the subject of being revealing - Arthur was struggling not to gawp at her cleavage. She sat opposite, leaning forwards, arms pushing into her sides, fluffing her boobs forwards. He was sure she was doing it deliberately. Not that he minded one bit, but he was doing his best to maintain the fiction of being a gentleman.

It was an unusual outfit for a long train journey. There must be a story behind it. And if there was a boyfriend at the end of the line, better to know now so he could plan accordingly. "So, who's the lucky guy?"

"'scuse me?"

Arthur gestured to the impressive display between her chin and the table. "Going somewhere special?"

Her face fell, clouded over. "Not fucking likely. Arsehole."

"Sorry, I..."

"Not you! My fucking shitbag of an ex." She told him the whole sorry tale, the nightmare day she'd had.

"Had you been together long?"

"'bout 18 months. He was real sweet to begin with."

"A looker?"

"Ripped as fuck," she smiled, wistfully. She thumbed her phone back open, started to scroll through the pictures. "Here, take a look."

He swapped to the seat beside her, so he could see better as she scrolled through endless reels of photos. Selfies, selfies, selfies; her out with the girls; cute kittens; memes. Lots of pictures of her in sexy revealing outfits. Steph had her hand idly on his arm as she scrolled through album after album. Shots of her with this boyfriend - ripped yes, but if it was possible to look stupid, he'd be the poster boy. But he was easily ignored, particularly in the images of Steph spilling out of her tiny bikinis on holiday. Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat; despite his cool demeanour he'd got semi-hard and his stiffening dick was folded awkwardly against his trousers.

Her hand had fallen to his leg; each time she scrolled with the one hand, the fingers against his leg twitched too. Arthur let out a soft sigh. Who was seducing who, exactly?

Steph stopped pretending to look at her phone. "I want to thank you for the food," she began, sliding her hand up his thigh. When he didn't stop her, she kept going. "But you didn't get me any dessert." Arthur shook his head by way of an apology. Her hand reached his crotch; his cock twitched at her touch. "My mistake, found it," she said, stroking his length as her other hand reached for the zip.

"Jesus," Arthur breathed, resting his hand on the back of her head as she leant over and took him in her mouth.

Her lips had a firm touch, plump and full, holding him tight but gently as she ever-so-slowly rose and fell over his aching cock. She rolled her tongue around his tip, then applied a stroking pressure against the sweet spot under his head. Arthur reached across with his spare hand and cupped her firm arse while his other hand worked into her hair, guiding her over him in a rhythm that he hoped would help him last. It had been a while since he'd had a tight horny twentysomething pleasuring him, all need and urgency. But Steph was no amateur; she had real talent.

"Oh, fuck yeah, that's so good."

"Uh huh," she mumbled round his dick. She started to kiss and lick along the shaft. "Fucking should be, I love sucking cock." She looked up into his eyes; he stared down and watched her lips and tongue and hand make love to his thick hard member. "All my boyfriends said I'm the best cocksucker they ever had." She rolled her tongue around the helmet.

"No kidding." Arthur looked down the length of her; tits crushed against his leg, the curve of her back. Her top had risen up, revealing a rose-and-thorns tattoo across the small of her back. The white jeans clung to her round arse; his eyes followed the seam that pulled tight between the cheeks and round underneath. He cupped her arse in one hand, tracing that seam with the tips of his fingers. He wondered if she had any underwear on; no evidence of any over her hips, and the jeans were so tight they'd surely leave an impression across her arse. He hoped to find out, soon.

She growled, and lightly grazed her teeth along his shaft. He responded by grabbing her arse, hard, and squeezing; his other hand applying pressure to the back of her head, forcing his cock down her throat, cutting off her air. He could feel her squirming, purring and growling in pleasure, rubbing the flat of her tongue against him and working her throat. He shoved her face flat against his pelvic bone, dick buried down her neck, as he slapped her arse hard and then ran his fingers along the seam to her quivering pussy.

The train lurched, braked harshly, and the lights flicked off. Arthur let go of Steph's head as the train came screeching and shuddering to a sudden halt.

"Shit, don't stop now, I was so close," Steph complained.

"Like it rough, eh?" Arthur said, but not really paying attention. He was looking out of the window, into the darkness, trying to work out what had happened. Most of the carriage lights were out, just a couple of dim battery-powered ones marking the exits, so it was easier to see outside. Fields and hills, not a building to be seen.

"If I'm horny enough," she said, stroking his cock and lowering her head back down to his lap.

But the moment was gone.

"Power's out," he noted. "I expect the guard will be through any minute to tell us what's going on." Gently he lifted Steph's lips away from his cock, and - with a little regret - tucked it back into his suit trousers.

Steph pouted, took her phone out and used the camera as a mirror to fix up her lipstick.

Sure enough, the guard came walking through the train, checking everyone was okay. "Overheads are down; they're sending a diesel unit to drag us into Glasgow," he explained. "Hope it don't get too cold for yeh. No hot food or drinks from the buffet I'm afraid."

"We'll manage," Arthur said; Steph snorted.

///

As the guard left the carriage, Steph noticed the red light on the CCTV camera was also out. Her clit was screaming, needing her to finish what they'd started, her pussy aching to be filled.

"Now where were we," she cooed, sliding to her knees under the table and clawing at Arthur's trousers. She needed that thick cock back in her throat; using her, filling her, choking her; making her feel that hot mix of power and fear.

But Arthur had other ideas. "Get up," he ordered. She slipped out into the aisle. "You bad girl," he said, slapping her arse again, sending a shock thrill through to her pussy.

"I'm sorry," she played. "I have been a very bad girl. Showing off my body. Sucking anyone's cock. Letting their cum drizzle down my tits." She leant forwards, against the table opposite. "I need to be punished."

"Fucking right," Arthur said. He grabbed the waistband of the jeans and tugged downwards. They caught on her hips; she stumbled slightly. Frustrated, he reached round and popped the button open with one hand, wrenched at the zip, then yanked at the waistband again, dragging the material down. It caught, mid-thigh, on the top of the leather boots. But her bare firm arse was fully on display. Intending to spend the weekend fucking her boyfriend, she hadn't even bothered with a thong. He gave it another hard slap, bringing a red weal to the skin, before standing behind her and pushing her torso down to lean on the table.

"Oh god," she moaned, dispelling Arthur's concerns he might be coming on too strongly.

Steph felt his breath on her arse; felt him take one cheek in each hand and prise her open. Her legs were clamped together by her jeans. "Nice," she heard him mutter, then felt his strong muscular tongue stroke across her lips. She whined, a needy impatient noise, and wriggled her butt at his face; he gave her cheek another slap for her impertinence, then lay delicate kisses over her flesh where his red handprint throbbed.

His tongue swept again, scooping through her folds, clit to anus in one smooth motion, tongue curled to catch the cream.