Trains Always Mean Sex
At short one this time. The train ride is only two hours, after all. Enjoy - Emmerson
I had taken to riding the train between Los Angeles and Santa Barbara as an inexpensive excuse to get out of the house in these post-pandemic times. I would climb aboard at Union Station and enjoy the smooth, quiet ride along the Pacific Ocean for two hours. In the upper level of "business class" seating there were few passengers and plenty of seats available. Often my only companions were the conductor who came through the cabin soon after departure to scan my ticket, and a porter who brought complimentary snacks and water. Sometimes, by the time we passed Burbank, I didn't see another soul until I disembarked at the Santa Barbara station.
On one trip to the coastal town, I came across a local liquor store with my favorite brand of bourbon at a substantial sale price. I bought two bottles, thinking I would enjoy one with the smoked cheese and crackers, the railroad provided free of charge.
The next day as I boarded for the Friday evening commute home, I asked the porter for a glass (not a plastic cup) and some ice. I sat in the upper level, facing forward and poured the bourbon over the ice as I prepared to enjoy the view of the ocean alongside the tracks.
One other passenger was in the car; a woman sitting across the aisles and slightly ahead of me, in a seat facing the back of the train. Perhaps in her 60s like me, dressed very sharp as if for some kind of professional or executive event. Her black heeled boots were shiny all the way to her knees, where they stopped at black tights, which disappeared under a tweed skirt about mid-thigh. The upper half of her body was covered by a tweed cape that matched the skirt.
When she opened the small bottle of red wine she had gotten from the porter with her cheese and crackers, the sound got my attention and I realized she had caught me looking up the shadowed hollow between her legs. She gave me a wink and a brilliant smile as she poured her wine.
I lifted my glass of amber liquid to toast her and she did the same with her red as she spread her legs, slightly, allowing me an enticing, but still limited, view up her skirt. It was enough to reveal the pale flesh at the top of what I thought were tights, but turned out to be stockings or thigh-highs.
As I sipped the bourbon, I felt movement between my legs. I put some smoked Gouda on a cracker, ate it and took a deeper drink, enjoying the clatter of the ice cubes. Her slight movement catching my eye, I looked at my cabin mate who had a hand under her skirt, long fingers idly caressing her thigh above the stockings. Her gaze was through the window across the aisle at the sun-dappled ocean.
Setting my glass down and leaning my head against the window, I gave in to a half-dream of her fingers guiding mine, under her skirt to a waiting pussy. The gentle rhythm of the rails soon had me fast asleep. Only a few minutes later (before the announcement of the next stop, which were about 10 minutes apart), I was awakened by the woman sliding into the aisle seat next to me. When I roused and looked at her, I realized my dream had resulted in a significant bulge at the front of my pants. I tried to shift away for the sake of modesty. She held out her hand as introduction. "Katherine," she said smiling. I took her hand in mine, "Jason," I said, "did you get tired of riding backward?"
"Not at all, Jason," she reached for my bourbon, "but since that pitiful bottle of not-very-good Cabernet was gone and you have a nearly full bottle of the best bourbon on the market, I thought I might offer a trade."
I pointed to her original seat, "You left your crackers over there. What did you plan to share?"
"Only this," she lifted the folding arm between our seats and ran her hand over my crotch and unzipped my pants. I was frozen with desire as Katherine lifted my engorged dick from my fly. "I noticed this from way over there while you slept. Since the last thing you saw before you dozed off was up my skirt, I figured I'm at least partially responsible." She quickly had her head in my lap and her mouth around my cock, licking and sucking as I grew across her tongue. "Mm. And worth the trip across the aisle."
I poured two fingers over the ice in my glass. When she lifted her mouth from my lap, I went to hand it to her. Smiling, she took the glass, then, guiding my hand up her skirt, passed the stockings until my fingers, chilled from the glass, found her pantieless pussy. She quivered from my touch as she settled back into the seat and took a long drink of bourbon. Draping her cape over her lap, she didn't exactly hide what my hand was doing, but kept the specifics from prying eyes. Her eye's rolled back and her hips lurched up and down on my fingers.
"I'm so glad we wrapped early today so I caught this train instead of my usual on Saturday morning," she said between gasps.
"Wrapped?" I asked, my thumb strumming her clit.
"I'm an actress. I often come up on Monday and shoot all week, returning home on the weekend. Today we finished in time, I get to sleep in my own bed."
"Every week? What's the movie?"
She leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially as she pushed my fingers deeper into her cunt. "Granny porn."
