Erotica
22.3.18

On the Train – HIM

 

I think the first thing I noticed about her was colour. Bright, intense almost electric. Blue. That was her dress – it flowed over her like a slow waterfall, hugging her curves and drawing my eye along her  body. Then there was yellow. Golden, sunny daffodil yellow – that was her silky scarf, as it took turns and gentle folds around her neck. Her oh-so-smooth, soft neck. A different yellow followed up into her blonde hair; it was thick and fell in loose curls down over her shoulders. I was sure that I could actually smell that colour, that texture. I knew instantly that I wanted to bury my face deep into it and find her skin beneath. There was one more colour that I remember. Red. Her lips. Her mouth. Parted over white teeth, ever so slightly breathless as she chatted easily to those around her. It made smiles, it laughed, it invited. I found myself unexpectedly wondering how she would kiss – and at the same time knowing that she would be both the softest and hardest kiss that I had ever known. She’d be soft – and I’d be rapidly hard.

Hey! Snap out of it you idiot!

You’re here to do a job, and she’s a million miles out of your league.

I knew all that, of course. But…. The “but” hung in the air, like some impish Eros giggling invisibly down and beginning to make mischief. I caught her eye across the busy room. She smiled. Inside me, the melting started. I liked it.

That was more than a year ago. I’m a jobbing small-town photographer, and since then I’d gotten to know her a little better as she used me from time to time on all sorts of jobs. Every job, every time our ships passed, every time the spring breeze of her laugh washed over and through me – they all melted me just a little bit more.

As much as I loved it though, it really was contained in a little bubble, a bubble that I kept tucked away, somewhere inside me, where I could keep that little piece of sunshine all to myself.

Because, we both had ‘someone else’. Yes, that old story. Married, partnered. Tied and stuck. Happy and …..bored. But not looking elsewhere. Really.

Really.

It was a job in London, a nice one. We could have driven, but there’s always something about a clicketty-clacketty train journey that appeals. No driving to focus on. You can sit and face each other. And then your knees can touch.

You know how a spark can jump a gap, like in all those schooldays physics practicals where a big fat crackly blue bolt of static energy leaps across a gap? And there’s that ozone-smell. The hairs on your body tingling. The BANG! as it leaps. That’s how it was.

Did her knee touch mine? Or did mine nudge hers? Was it accidental, was it the lurch of the carriage? You see, we touched – and then we didn’t un-touch.

Her head was slightly down, toward the tabletop and coffee cups. Golden hair, a little tousled, wrapped around her beautiful head, tumbled toward her chest, signposted a pathway to her breasts, her softness evident from beneath her blouse. Softness – but also hardness. Fuck. Fuck. I could see the hardening of her nipples.

I realised that my mouth was parted and my tongue stroking my lips, my breathing shortened and deepening. Fuck. I was panting.

Get a grip, for fucks sake get a grip.

This is pure fucking insanity.

And I like it.

Her head lifts a little, just enough for her eyes in all their blue brilliance to lock into mine.

The redness of her lips shows a heat that turns all my settings to ‘Eleven’, her pink tongue flicking into view as she takes a first virtual bite into my reality.

Fuck.

She just looked at my crotch. She just fucking well looked for my cock. Jesus fucking christ.

Well she can’t have missed it, because it’s swelling inside my jeans. I tense it a little and feel the first tingling tiny pump as pre-cum begins to ooze from my tip. It is warm and wet.

And I’ve just realised that I can smell my sex – or is it hers? – actually I think it’s both of us.

WAIT! For fuck’s sake! We are on a train! There are passengers! I glanced around, checked the window reflections, listened. In fact, there were few people in our carriage, and none who could have a line of view below the seat tops.

Check.

Jeez sometimes I hate the logical, methodical side of my mind.

What if someone comes along the train?

We are a distance from the doors, I’ll hear them make their Star-Trek ‘schweak’ if they start to open.

Check.

CCTV. It’s everywhere now. Is there one? Yes. Fuck Shit Piss Bollocks. Hang on. It can’t see below the seat tops. So no fucking. But……

Check.

All that took about as long as it takes for a shooting star to flash and vanish in the night sky. And I knew that we could get away with this.

My excitement controls instantly pushed themselves way into the red zone, like in the movies when the Captain of the submarine demands more power, and the engineer says ‘She’ll no take it!’ and the needle on the gauge pushes to the red end of the dial.

I also sometimes hate the part of my mind that sees these scraps of footage, tangential but also parallel with what’s in front of me.

Oh my sweet Jesus. Her eyes are still locked on mine though her eyelids and lashes flicker as she feels some alternate fantasy wash through her body, making it quiver in almost imperceptible spasms of anticipation and arousal. With one hand she strokes and flicks across her nipple, big and hard. I can see a pleasure spike as she does so. I want it to be my fingers, but for now I’ll make a mind-link through hers. She is running her other hand along her thigh, rucking up the hem of her skirt, sliding it slowly up toward her v…, beyond the tops of her

STOCKINGS!

Fuck!

I just realised I said it out loud.

I just realised I’m stroking my cock over my trousers.

I just realised I’m panting and ready.

There is a boundary between fabric and flesh; one side or the other is just that one thing. But at the line where they join – well, that’s where the magic happens. It’s the edge of the doorway, it leads to places…..

Urgent.

I’m seeing ‘Urgent!’ In her face.

Silently she is screaming ‘NOW!’

So I did it.

I eased my buckle, Slid the zip.

Wriggled.

And got my cock out.

On a train.

In front of her.

And tugged my wet, hard, self.

She almost exploded. I saw the jolt pass through her, her body quiver, her eyes fix on my swollen rigidity. I couldn’t see her fingers, but I could hear them. You see, she was so fucking wet that I could hear them slipping in and out of her pussy, rubbing her clit. And I could smell her musky sex.

I think I might have said something to her about cumming for her; it felt a little obvious, but whatever I said really sparked her up.

I knew I was close, so I told her so.

It was like I’d flicked a switch and – there, on the 10.36 to Paddington, somewhere west of Bristol Temple Meads, she came.

And I came.

How the fuck can ‘came’ describe it?

An entire waterfall of sensual pleasure seemed to flow out of her entire being, along with some more bodily juices. And me? As my balls tightened and my cock grew that tiny bit harder, my cum started to flow. If I time it right and control the pressure – I’ll almost piss spunk then WHAM the first big pump will shoot white cum. It can shoot two metres…..

More waves follow and my balls exhaust themselves in hot splashes.

She gasped. I caught some on my hand.

I smiled. So did she.

Pleasure. Amazement. Satisfaction.

Our bubble.

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