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Sitting on the midnight train about to leave Paris, I hoped to keep the compartment to myself. Without enough money for a sleeper, I would get only what was available – I couldn’t afford to be fussy. But I needed sleep. And to really sleep, I needed to be alone – I could have no disturbances. On this empty train, in the middle of a winter’s night, I had a good chance of what I wanted.
My hopes were dashed when she entered the compartment.
We nodded a silent bonjour to each other, but I kept reading, and once her luggage was stashed, she took out a book of her own. Initially disappointed at her arrival – I felt sleeping with a strange woman in the compartment would be particularly disconcerting – I was curious why she had joined me. Lone females usually didn’t travel at night on trains, and if they did, they’d have a cabin on the sleeper – for security if not for comfort.
My curiosity led to surreptitious glances at her from over my book. She certainly was a picture. Framed by the long, wavy red hair flowing sensuously down her back, her elfin face was exquisite with large peat-brown eyes, button nose and soft crimson lips. As she opened a leather-bound book, she crossed her slender black nylon-clad legs, giving me quite a show as her little black dress rode high up her perfect thighs to reveal the lacy tops of her stockings.
I thought I saw her glance at me, so I looked away, hiding my focus in the lyrical prose of Mervyn Peake. But I could not keep my mind within the misty walls of Gormenghast Castle for very long. Not with the breath-taking beauty opposite me. The compartment was saturated with her sweet, vanilla perfume, an almost addictive scent that compelled me to drop on my knees before her, that I might possess her.
An Englishman to the core, however, I held myself in check.
And how glad I was that I did hold myself in check – not just so that I did not make a fool out of myself in front of this irresistible creature – but because just then, the compartment door opened and a middle-aged man joined us, sitting opposite me, by the window. The two of us greeted the newcomer with the same muted welcome of strangers forced together. I noticed that a strange looked passed over the redhead’s face at the arrival of the gray bearded man – what was that, some glimmer of disappointment?
My heart jumped slightly, as though a switch had sent a voltage through my veins. Did she like the look of me? I was no ogre, that was certain, but still…it wasn’t as though I had supermodels queuing outside my front door, and it simply wasn’t the European thing to confront strangers, let alone flirt with them.
Shortly after the bearded man had settled down to read the day’s edition of Le Monde, we all felt a slight jolt as the train began, slowly, to move out of the station. My eyes fell once more into my book, but I wasn’t reading any more. Who was she? Where was she from?
A hundred questions buzzed around my mind as the slumbering streets of Paris passed by in a blur. We were on our way to Venice – my favourite city on mainland Europe – and all I could think about was the woman sitting in this standard train compartment.
It wasn’t long before our tickets were inspected. Once over, we would not be disturbed again until morning. The bearded man resumed reading his newspaper, the redhead her book and I mine. I stole secret glances at her. She seemed to be purposely sitting diagonally – leaning in between the seat and the wall of the compartment. Facing me almost directly.
I looked at what she was reading. I could not see the title – her hand was over it. But the author was Anais Nin. No wonder she kept running a hand over her curves like that.
She caught me looking at her. The shock of discovery exploded in my chest and swamped my body – I flushed like a Catholic schoolgirl. I tried to make it look as though I had innocently allowed my eyes to stray towards her, but an impish grin grew across her irresistible face and she held my gaze with those fiery eyes. She licked those divine, voluptuous lips seductively. I was stunned.
Be still my beating heart.
The bearded man rustled his paper and broke the moment. My eyes fell innocently into my book once more. Breathing deeply, I relaxed – it was a long way to Italy. The bearded man turned another page of his newspaper. I looked across at him – he wasn’t at all concerned with his fellow passengers.
When my gaze flicked back to the ataşehir escort classy-looking redhead, I had to double-check. It was incredible – her dress had ridden up so high that I could see her black lacy panties between those slender thighs. Our eyes met once again, and a fiery chemical connection kept our eyes locked. She grinned impishly, and lifted a delicate hand – the one not clutching her erotic book – to insert a finger between those moist red lips.
She gently drew her finger halfway into her mouth. Her eyes dropped for a moment, and I saw that she had noticed my own arousal. She smiled again, even with her finger still between her lips, for it was obvious how I felt by the rising of the material in my lap.
Slowly, oh so slowly, she extracted her finger from her mouth and trailed it tenderly over her elegant jaw-line, down her soft neck, over the black velvet dress that clung to the delicate curves of her chest and down to caress her pale thigh. She looked me straight in the eye – a glance full of dangerous intent – but I couldn’t hold her gaze: I was drawn involuntarily to the tantalising image of her finger as it moved gently up her thigh, under the hem of her dress to meander across the luxurious black lace of her underwear.
I looked across at the bearded man – wasn’t she worried he’d see? Apparently not. She closed her sultry eyes, and her head dropped back to rest against the wall. I heard her let out a deep sigh, and she dropped the book beside her. As the fingers of one hand took up a rhythmical stroking between her legs, the other moved to her breast, encircling, squeezing, pressing, pinching.
Again, I looked to the bearded man. Still, he didn’t notice a thing. The redhead shifted in her seat, sinking down slightly for a more comfortable position. As she did so, her dress moved a little higher up her waist. Her expensive-looking black high-cut thongs were now almost completely exposed.
I watched those delicate fingers caressing her exquisite mound, tracing circles in the rough lace, drawing phantom pictures over her panties, and I so desperately wanted to be there to do it for her. But we were not alone.
Slowly, silently, her fingers slipped under the thin lace. She flinched visibly as first contact was made, a slight shiver travelling up her body. I watched her hand move further and further down into her underwear, sinking out of sight. The lace rippled as her fingers squirmed inside her. She opened those deep cocoa eyes and stared directly at me, communicating just how she was feeling in that one smouldering look. She smiled impudently at my expression of surprise, fear and arousal.
What if she was discovered? What if the bearded man noticed her and raised the alarm? Was she insane? How was I supposed to behave? She plainly knew I was watching – did she want me watching? Did she want me to keep my distance?
It seemed like an age with me sitting there watching her pleasuring herself, with both of her hands now in her lap, those fingers delving into unseen depths. I was sure I could smell something new, blending in with that irresistible vanilla sweetness of her perfume. A slight muskiness, a spicy edge to that scent – she must have been getting very, very wet down there.
But suddenly, the bearded man rustled his broadsheet newspaper and folded it up. As he got to his feet, the redhead sat up straight, pushing her knees together to conceal herself. She innocently picked up her book and looked uncannily casual as the man cleared his throat and walked past her, opening then closing the compartment door as he stepped out into the corridor – presumably to relieve himself.
My heart leapt once again. The two of us were alone together in the compartment. I saw that one of her hands was still subtly buried between her thighs. She looked at me, the fire in her eyes clear that she was up to something.
Another jolt of adrenaline flooded through my veins as she stood up and slowly slinked over towards me. She stood there, right in front of me, looking down. Her scent was very much stronger now, tormenting my very soul. She brought her hand up to my face, and I saw her fingers glistening with her moisture. Gently, she placed her fingers on my lips. Her spicy scent was concentrated now. I felt the stickiness on her fingers before I allowed my tongue to slip out and touch her burning flesh.
Little by little, she slid her fingers between my lips, into kadıköy escort bayan my mouth. I tasted her salty juices, swirling my tongue around, sucking every little bit from her soft skin. I looked up into her eyes and she smiled at me. She withdrew hand, leaving her taste lingering on my tongue.
Her hands dropped to her sides, and right in front of me, between my outstretched legs, I watched them reach under the hem of her dress. Her panties dropped to the floor. I placed my hands on her black nylon covered thighs, feeling the near searing heat through her stockings. I looked up into her eyes and she willed me to touch her.
But it was not to be. A motion out in the corridor warned of the arrival of the bearded man. He rattled the door as he opened it, giving her time to step back and sit down immediately opposite me. I stooped to pick up her thongs, stashing them behind me on the seat. The bearded man said nothing of the redhead having taken his place by the window, but sat down in the very place she had just occupied.
He took out his paper again, and found his place. Had he seen anything? It seemed not. We were in the clear. I looked across at my beautiful co-conspirator. We smiled at each other like naughty schoolchildren, with the redhead hiding her mouth with her hand.
I held no pretence at reading my book now. The bearded man was paying no attention to us. The redhead was actively encouraging my viewing of her. I didn’t even bother to hide my erection now: there was no point.
The redhead looked at the bearded man, checking. A moment in limbo, and she turned to face me again. A bolt of heat shot between us. Her eyes were burning with passion and longing. I glanced over to the bearded man myself. Nothing happening: it looked like the old timer was drifting off towards sleep. I fixed my gaze back on the redhead. She was toying her finger around those luscious scarlet lips, teasing me once again.
I took out her panties, and held them up for her. She smiled. I held the scrap of black lace to my face, inhaling her aroma, bringing back her taste on my lips, my tongue, in my memory. The black lace was saturated in her sweet perfume, with that exotic, dangerous edge of a scent breaking through: not to mention the slight dampness of her arousal still in the fabric.
Looking back at her, she licked her lips. She parted her legs, sliding down on the seat again. The limited light of the carriage fell between her legs and I received a first enticing view of her clandestine treasures. Soft, tender pinkness garnished with a sprinkling of copper down.
She grinned like a Cheshire cat. The moisture on those succulent labia glistened – I just wanted to bury myself in those velvet folds. Her hands moved down over her body, squeezing her curves on the way down, until they reached her thighs. She stroked the small patch of copper curls on her mound and brushed the backs of two fingers over her tender pussy lips.
She dabbed a couple of delicate fingers inside her dripping vagina, gently coating them in her juices. I saw her flinch, drawing in a sharp breath as the two digits made contact with her sensitive little button. As she tickled her slippery clit, two fingers from her other hand slid between her moist labia. She writhed on the seat in front of me, and all I felt I could do in response was smell her damp knickers and stroke my rock-hard penis through the thick cotton of my chinos.
There was a sudden rustle of the bearded man’s paper. We both quickly sat up and looked his way. My first thought was that he’d finally caught sight of the redhead’s antics and was shocked. But it was fairly obvious that he hadn’t. Particularly when he began, quietly, to snore.
We turned to each other once again. She had a cheeky smile on that perfect face, the kind of expression of a girl who knows she’s got away with it. For that moment, we faced each other without sound or movement – there was only the rhythm of the train rattling along through the night. We waited for what seemed like hours, to make sure the bearded man was heading healthily off into a deep sleep. She stared into my eyes, I stared into hers.
This time, I made the first move. I had had enough of her teasing me. The overwhelming desire I felt for her helped me to forget the presence of the sleeping bearded man. I slipped from my seat, kneeling carefully on the floor in front of her. I could feel the vibrations of the escort maltepe train thundering on through the French countryside, vibrations that seemed to echo the tremor of my heart beat.
Placing my hands on her nylon-covered knees, I felt that incredible heat of her flesh through those sheer stockings. I pushed my fingers up her thighs and over the lace trim, to glide over her soft, unclothed hips.
She spread her thighs apart and I ran my fingers through her soft sprinkling of red pussy hair, tenderly opening her rose petal lips and using a tentative finger to explore the centre of her passion. Her eyes were full of fire, looking down on me with an urgent pleading.
I leaned forward and pushed my face up her thigh, brushing my lips over her smouldering skin. My tongue snaked out to trace the edge of her abdomen, creeping down towards her crotch, sweeping through her smattering of cherry curls. I planted gentle kisses on her little hardened button, then down her silky pink labia, and as I did so, she let out a quiet moan. Her aroma saturated the air around me, that exotic spice that drove me wild. I rested my head on her soft mound, her fine coppery down slightly tickling my nose, and flicked my tongue out to dip into her hot vagina. For the first time, I savoured her dripping ambrosia from the source.
My hands swept around her taut thighs, burrowing under her featherweight body to hold her soft behind, pulling her clit tight against my soft, burning lips. I felt her trying to roll and twist from the intense sensations she was feeling, but held her firm, stroking her swollen clit with my tongue, faster, stronger, her juices pouring out of her pussy to soak the seat beneath her.
I looked up to find she was biting her lip to keep from making too much noise as she approached her first orgasm. My tongue darted between her dripping folds and her shuddering climax filled my mouth with rivulets of her sweet nectar.
I heard her gasping for breath as the ecstasy subsided, and, looking up again, saw that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes closed as though she were in meditation.
My knees were aching from the pressure against the floor, so I withdrew, to sit back on my seat opposite her. My lips were sticky with her salty, spicy pussy juice, and I licked them, tasting her once again, addicted to her flavour. A drop of perspiration trickled down my temple: it was hot in that compartment, our body heat combining to make turn the atmosphere in there into a kind of sauna.
At last, she opened those divine chocolate ellipses. What was she thinking? I had no time to wonder, for she sprang forward like a lioness pouncing on some unfortunate prey. But I wasn’t unfortunate by any stretch of the imagination. She was suddenly at my belt, desperately pulling off my trousers, fighting to release my engorged manhood.
We gazed into each other’s eyes as she sank onto me, and my hot, rigid flesh filled her completely. The feelings as my penis moved deep inside her were indescribable. I brushed her copper locks out of her exquisite elfin face and kissed her scarlet lips as she began to set a lingering rhythm with her hips, sliding gently up and down, the finely tuned muscles of her vagina squeezing my firm, burning shaft.
As we tangled at both ends, I pulled the straps of her dress sideways, down over her arms, and she let it fall to her waist. My hands went to her rising chest, and I fished her soft flesh from the black lacy cups of her bra, swirling my fingers around the small, perky breasts to gently pinch those hardened buds.
Our tempo accelerated as a common frenzy took hold of us both. I stooped to take first one, then the other erect nipples into my sizzling mouth, then with my lips locked around her soft areole, my hands were free to reach around and grab hold of her behind, to add strength and depth to the thrusting of my stiff cock inside her.
I heard her moaning begin to become uncontrollable – biting her lip just wasn’t going to contain what she was feeling. I had to stifle her by kissing her mouth deep and long.
At last it all became just too much as a wave of intense fulfillment swept over our conjoined forms, centering on our midriffs, a high more concentrated and blissful than any drug could provide. I completely let go, pouring myself into her with an almost brutal force. We muffled each other’s cry as the power overwhelmed us.
“That was incredible,” she whispered into my ear. An American, then. It was the first time I had even heard her speak.
It would be a long ride to Venice, but a pleasurable one. And then we’d be in the world’s most romantic place, and the sweet little American redhead and I would really begin to find each other…
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