Strangers on a Train

Hands full, I force my way along the carriage of middle-aged pinstripes attempting to store items in the overhead rack, or perform a hesitant dance to claim the correct seat. It would help if they weren’t so fucking over-fed! No charming young men here. I do my best to squeeze through. It might be a pleasant squeeze if they were young and fit. Still, I’m no waif of a woman but there’s no gallantry on the 1700 GWR from Paddington.


“Fuck!” (oh, that was out loud…) A flash of bra scarlet in the lower fringe of vision. I realise that the top button on my favourite red blouse, the one I couldn’t be bothered to reattach properly last night, has given up. It pings under one of the seats. There’s no way I’m going to find that in this crowded carriage, even if I was minded to bend over, or get on my knees. Not in this skirt. Well, not here anyway, not for them! I do like to show a bit of cleavage, but not all of it. Not enough to tell which shop I got my bra from. Well, not publicly. Well, not these days. According to my daughter I’m supposed to be a grown up! I’ll just have to keep my tweed jacket pulled over when I sit down. Eyes down and push on.


Typical I get towards the end of carriage and now there’s a well-dressed dark-haired woman coming the other way. She obviously knew which end the numbers started at. She looks just as flustered as me. Perhaps a few years younger. Her dark mane and belted white summer raincoat appeal to my monochrome aesthetic. Her raincoat covering a low-cut black silk blouse, and she is seriously cute. I’m surprised at how rapidly my mind leaps to my guilty pleasure. She smiles. I become aware of my own gaping blouse, feel my cheeks challenge the colour of my bra.


We squeeze past each other’s slightly awkward smiles.


I sit, straighten my short tweed skirt. Looking up, she’s at the table diagonally opposite me, staring at me, still smiling. Raincoat stowed, her tight black ensemble of heels, tights, short skirt and blouse says young professional but appeals to my inner goth. I mentally discard the image of her dressed just in her heels and raincoat. Our eyes meet, and she averts her gaze, the black curtain of her fringe hiding alluring green eyes. I find myself warm and grinning like a teenager.


The train lurches into movement and builds to a steady rhythm.


Each time I glance up from my laptop she’s looking again. Such a stunning colour. Each time she glances down, reengages with her magazine. Her mouth is beautifully shaped, painted scarlet. It’s her mouth that distracts me from my report, that compels me glance up. Thinking about what those lips would feel like against mine. They draw my gaze up. Then her green eyes embrace mine.


Lips. Report. Eyes. Report. Red lips. Green eyes. I drank too much coffee at the meetings today. God, I have to pee!


Closing my laptop, I stand. So does she.


Trying not to stare, I turn and sway along the carriage to the automatic doors. They don’t shut immediately behind me. Trying the loo handle it doesn’t open. I know she’s behind me. I’ve never felt so conscious of someone standing behind me. A disembodied voice appeals “Just a minute.”


As I turn she’s smiling at me. I feel a tightness in my breasts. My heart beating in my throat, my mouth opens, “looks like we’ll have to wait…”


I see the surprise in her eyes.


“…I meant…” I don’t know what I meant. She almost looks frightened. No, obedient. Delightfully submissive. Fuck! Those bright questioning green eyes, those needful lips – she’s has my heart pounding in my chest!


The door opens behind me. I’m still wallowing in her eyes. Someone apologises their way past. The door to the carriage swishes twice and it’s just the two of us again.


“After you,” I smile with more authority than I expected.


She’s smiling, head slightly bowed, but she doesn’t move.


I take her upper arm, feeling her warmth for the first time; pull her towards me. She doesn’t resist. Her beautiful green eyes fall towards the blue of mine as I draw her into the booth with me. She offers little resistance. My mind flashes back to my life in Edinburgh. Does she just need a woman who knows what she wants from her? To tell her, to show her what to do? Someone who’ll make her enjoy being filthy? Will I make her my little toilet slut?


The door clicks shut. I pin her against the wall; raising her arms above her head. I press myself against her delicious heat.


“It’s Ella…”


“Shut-up Ella. I’m going to kiss you…” I silence any reply with my mouth. Kissing her hungry and hard. Ella responds without hesitation, dancing fluidly with my lips and tongue. Seeking more of what I can give her as I keep her pinned to the wall.


Without breaker her delicious kiss I pin both her slender wrists above her head with one hand. I’m stronger than you are… or is she just relishing my control?


My free hand running through her hair as I explore and bite her lips, her neck. Finding her beautifully full breasts through the fabric of her blouse. Caressing, squeezing, and pulling; enjoying the whimpering moans this stirs, Discovering her already swollen nipple. Tugging cruelly on it through the silky fabric, hearing Ella’s shuddering gasp in response. Knowing a gasp that says ‘more please mistress’ when I hear it! Naughty Ella does like it rough…


One last hard squeeze, then I yank Ella’s blouse open and for the second time today am rewarded with a ping of buttons. Pausing from her lips and those pleading green eyes I admire her now exposed breasts. Their softness heaving. A delicate mesh brazier fails to conceal them now I have ripped her blouse open, her swollen nipples and broad dark areola tantalisingly visible through the fabric.


I meet Ella’s gaze again. Is she pleading with me? I take the hem of the left cup and yank it down. Relishing as her released breast lurches and judders beautifully. She can’t look away from my gaze. She’s mine.


“You’re a naughty little Ella, aren’t you?” My lips not giving her the chance to reply. Feeling rather than hearing her say ‘yes’


I use my hand to slap her exposed breast. Her eyes widen above a shuddering gasp. I kiss her, squeezing her yielding tit. Finding her nipple and pulling. Enjoying the enthusiasm of her mouth against mine in response.


Pausing to slap her tit again. The sound, the tingling heat in my palm, the pink blossom on that softness. Again, and again…


Placing my lips against her ear I give Ella her instructions, “get down your knees Ella!”


Released from my grip she quickly obeys. I like that.


Kneeling in front on me now. Between, rather than at my feet as now I lean back against the wall. Ella’s short black business skirt has ridden up enough to reveal stocking tops. I wonder if she’s wearing panties… is she a naughty girl? I realise I’d been so taken by her that I hadn’t realised she was wearing fishnets. Oh, my favourite… Again, a brief flash-back to my goth lifestyle in Edinburgh. Bodies writing in warmthyou’ll do anything for me Ella, my own little toilet slut, won’t you?


Ella kneeling between my splayed calves. Right where I need her.


Without breaking eye contact I raise the hem of my skirt and accept her obvious appreciation of my covered mons. I tug my red lacework panties to the side to expose myself properly, so she can see how aroused she’s made me. A hand on the back of her head I draw her inflexibly to where I want her mouth. Where I know I’m already wet and blossoming. She doesn’t resist much. She wants my cunt. I place her firmly against me. The joy of her lips and tongue working enthusiastically on my cunt. Encouraging deeper exploration by grinding myself against her mouth. Feeling her tongue thrust into me; good girl Ella!


Finding my clit-hood piercing, always a useful signpost, her enthusiasm now focusing on my clitoris. Feeling my already heightened arousal begin to flow through me. Something entering me. Her fingers penetrating, rubbing me, curling up as she flicks at my pleasure nub.


I can feel it swelling up, filling me. Taking over. Ella – you might get a surprise. But I am gone. I can’t hold it back. The sensation rises and fills me.


I let go.


Aware that I am releasing a flood of warm fluids into Ella’s mouth, soaking her face and beautifully exposed breasts. When I squirt I deluge my lover. Oh to have had a camera set up to re-watch how I drench my little slut! Her efforts splashing and running down my own exposed legs. Pressing her mouth more forcefully against my cunt. Her tits must be soaked!


Feeling Ella’s enthusiasm double on my cunt. Drinking down my juices. Feeling my legs shuddering as she alternates between lapping and tongue fucking me. Ella, my own dirty little toilet slut, you know how to give.


I don’t believe it. I feel a second orgasm rising already.


As it washes through me I find myself sliding down the wall. Losing the attention of her mouth but not her thrusting fingers. My pulses of pleasure only interrupted as my naked bum cheeks splash into a warm puddle of my own making on the carpeted floor.


I look up at her, braced against the wall above me. Lipstick now gone from her smile, her face and swaying breasts glistening delightfully with my cum. Both of us pausing to gather our breath. I wonder how I look, wet, fucked and dishevelled, on the floor below her. Below her?


“When did I tell you to stand Ella?!” In response to her confused look I dig my heels into the wet carpet and push myself up the wall. Ignoring the complaints of my calves, thighs and abs, but grateful for my weekly palates torture.


Taking Ella’s shoulders, I twist her round to press her against the wall again. Oh that feels better. The smile in her eyes tells me Ella has no objections to me taking charge of her.

Ella closes her eyes as I kiss and lick myself from her slick face and neck. Her boobs hot and slippery under my hands. If anything, the mix of my piss and cum tastes better from her gorgeous tits. Taking the left one firmly. Squeezing. Slapping her teat against my extended tongue.


I give Ella my fingers to lick, appreciating her enthusiasm as I slide two of them in and out of her mouth. Finding it difficult not to get lost in those beautiful hungry eyes.


“I think it’s time you came for me Ella!”


I pin her stunning body against the wall. Using my left hand, I pin her wrists above her head again. Ella isn’t going anywhere.


Removing my fingers from her mouth, I trace them down her skin, never breaking eye contact. Her breathing is ragged and shallow.


Down across the fabric of her mini-skirt. Slowly raising the damp hem. The fabric stays where its drawn to. My hand moves down again, Ella’s eyes widening.


Without looking I make contact with the top of her holdups. Stretching lower to stroke her thigh through the wet fishnet. Drawing my hand up, savouring the changing sensual texture of the fabric, the stocking top, her soft slippery thigh. Higher.


My fingers grazing a lace gusset. Pressing against it, sliding down, feeling Ella’s heat. Stroking her through the moist fabric. Pressing into her arousal.


Sliding my fingers up. Taking hold of the fabric and pulling up. Knowing that the fabric was lodging hard between the petals of her sex. Pulling up in a rhythm, her eyes now closed. Her breathing shallower and faster.


Tugging. Testing the fabric.


Feeling the miniscule wet garment give. Letting it fall part-way down her thighs.


Seeking out her wet cunt with my fingers. Finding she has widened her stance to give me easier access. My fingers sliding effortlessly inside her. Relishing the wet heat as I begin the fuck her with my fingers. That wet smacking noise I find so erotic, as my upturned palm slaps into her mons. Again and again. I feel her begin to shudder around my digits.


Ella gasps silently as her cunt pulses fluidly around my fingers.


I kiss her softly, “good girl Ella!” But she’s not done yet.


Curling my fingers upwards, I begin to frig mercilessly at the nub of her g-spot. Hoping that my efforts with this changed sensation will extend her delight. Harder and harder I force my fingers into her. I briefly wonder how many fingers I could get in, if I had longer.


Instead I frig her harder. Pinning her to the wall. Revelling in the wet spanking of her cunt with my palm as I drive my fingers up into her. Harder and harder. Ella whimpers. Again her legs are beginning to tremble. I know she is close and redouble my efforts. God, her cunt is going to be tender after this punishment!


Her cunt squeezes around my fingers in trembling waves. I kiss her trembling lips again and again as the waves subside and I find myself able to move my fingers again.


The sensual sound of them plopping out of her, a light whimper.


“Ella…” She opens her eyes, “you are delicious!”

4 thoughts on “Strangers on a Train

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