Strangers on a Train

I’ve caught them glancing at me a couple of times now. Although, I’ve only caught them because I was doing exactly the same thing. 

I can’t help but look at them. I’ve tried not to, because no one wants to be that creep on a train, but they are the most astonishing person I’ve ever seen in my life. And they’re sitting right there, in front of me, the other side of this plastic table on the 17:56 InterCity. I’m quite certain that I haven’t done anything notable in any life to deserve this, having this person sitting within 100 miles of me. 

Fuck, our eyes just met. Fuck, their eyes are stunning. Fuck, they definitely know I’m looking at them now. Fuck, there was something just then though, when our pupils connected, like time slowed a little. Fuck, my cunt clenched when they saw me. 

Luckily, there’s a confident smile on their face as they look back out of the dirty window at the crawling countryside. I’m trying to be discreet, by looking at a very important message on my phone that doesn’t exist, but my eyes are drawn to them again, as if their face is magnetised. It is the most beautiful face, all curves and soft skin and long lashes and pink lips that have a little dry patch from where they’ve been nibbling them. The peachy fuzz around their cheeks catches the sunlight every time it peeks through a cloud. I would look at their face forever and a day. 

They stretch their neck up to the side, and my eyes follow their hand, coming up to rest lightly on the skin between their shoulder and breast. This is the first time I’ve considered their body, the first time I’ve noticed the swell of their glorious tits above the neckline of their dress. I absent-mindedly lift my own hand up to mine, mirroring them. Their eyes are still fixed out of the window as their fingers slowly travel downwards to the very swell that I am mesmerised by and trace a tiny infinity sign over their skin. I have to swallow all the saliva that’s pooled in my mouth. 

I lift my eyes back up to their face, and our eyes snap together. They are looking at me, looking at them. And their fingers are still lightly caressing their tits as they smile at me; a smile that is sweet and luminous and utterly filthy all at once. They know, they know exactly what I’m doing and thinking. Without breaking eye contact, their fingers move further down and find a nipple, starting to harden through their layers of clothing and underwear. As they pinch their fingertips around it, their next breath is heavier than the one before. I allow myself the fastest flick of sight to check that none of the other passengers are watching before I do the same. 

I shift slightly on the scratching seat material, as my cunt grows even warmer. I think they notice, judging by the way they’re nibbling at their lip again. Their fingers make way for their palm, sliding over their nipple fluidly before slowly massaging their entire breast. While looking at me. In response, I cup my areola and squeeze. 

Someone suddenly walking past down the aisle stops me, and I lift my hand up to nonchalantly brush through my hair. They suppress a giggle; they didn’t stop for a second. 

They nibble their lip once more as their hand continues to travel downwards, beneath the rim of the table. My mind suddenly whirs, because I desperately need to work out how I can look. I desperately need to look. Fuck, they’re looking at me now as if they’re expecting me to look, their eyebrow slightly raised. I lift my bag from the neighbouring seat and go to place it on the floor next to me. As I bend down and look across, I’m greeted by the most glorious sight; their thighs. 

Specifically: their thighs, parted; their feet on tiptoes in their Converse, to angle their pelvis up; their hand stroking up the inside of one thigh, and lifting their skirt along with it to reveal the delicious, soft flesh there. I can feel my heart in my mouth, my underwear beginning to soak. Their hand continues its route, achingly slowly. In my head, I am screaming for them to go faster, but at the same time, for this to last as long as humanly possible. They eventually reveal a triangle of white lace covering their puffy mound and I know right then, that I am going to taste it. 

The blood has poured into my head and, with such regret, I have to return to sitting upright. There’s that sweet, luminous, and utterly filthy smile again, lighting up their face. Fuck, they know; they know they have me. 

Abruptly, their face is ripped from my eyeline as they stand. I’m left staring at the back of the seat where their head once rested, as they glide past me. Their hand briefly presses into my shoulder as they pass. Fuck, they have me. I take a deep, deep breath and stand to follow them down the aisle, heading for the toilet two carriages down. 

They don’t even wait for the door to close behind me before throwing their arms around my neck and pulling my body onto theirs. The older guy sitting opposite the door shoots us a knowing smirk as the mechanism pulls it shut. They kiss me as if we haven’t kissed in a thousand years. It’s a kiss of lust and familiarity and hunger, and it makes every single hair on my body stiffen with electricity. Their tongue forces itself into mine, tangling together in a dance, as our hands run through each other’s hair. 

My hands push between us to squeeze their tits the way they did earlier on, only greedier. They mewl into my mouth, their nipples re-stiffening under my thumbs. Their hands find my arse, lifting up my dress so they can feel the bare skin spilling out from my underwear, and they dig their nails into it. The brief stab of pain only makes me kiss them harder. 

After minutes, maybe months, they push me back from their lips and away. Spinning me around to face the sink, the mirror, their reflection appears behind me and kisses the back of my neck. My hand gently strokes their cheek and theirs roughly pushes between my thighs from between my arse cheeks. My gasp fogs up the mirror as their fingers probe into my wet cunt. My eyes flicker closed as they begin to roughly fuck me, pushing my stomach onto the edge of the sink. I’m so wet, we can both hear the sucking of my hole as their fingers breach it over and over. 

Their thumb pressing into my arsehole causes me to bite down on my fist so I don’t scream, but a groan still manages to squeeze out. They gently shush in my ear, before kissing my lobe. Another hand pushes in front between me and the sink, reaching down between my lips in search of my swollen clit; my climax begins as soon as their fingertips make contact with it. I bite down on my fist so hard to suppress my sobs, I taste blood. It’s as though I cum for years, my entire body stiff, their fingers inside me, their lips on my neck. I then melt into them, as my cunt finally stops clenching. 

I meet their eyes in the mirror as their fingers slip out from between my legs. Very deliberately, they bring them to their lips and suck my juices from them as I watch, whimpering. 

Sitting on the toilet seat, they raise a foot up to the rim of the sink, spreading themselves out for me. Not caring what’s on the floor, I immediately collapse onto my knees so I can press my face into them. Holding their hips in place, I slowly lick up across their underwear from between their cheeks to their mound, fulfilling my promise to myself to taste it. They look down at me, eyes glazing over. 

I push the lace aside with my tongue and delve inside them. Their hands grab frantically at my hair, pushing me further in. Fuck, they taste delicious; sweet, musky, salty, rich. I lick at the inside wall of their cunt, catching every drop of moisture there, before travelling out and up to their clit, dragging the moisture along with me. Every time my tongue catches their pearl, they shudder against my mouth. Every time I suck on it, there’s a muffled cry. Every time my tongue delves back into their cunt, it’s wetter. I can tell from the movement of their hips, becoming more urgent and frantic, that they’re close. Close to spilling into my mouth. I become so excited at the thought that I groan into them. 

Suddenly, they cry out, physically not able to quieten themselves. Staccato moans rain over my head as they climax into my face. I clamp my lips around their clit and suck hard, riding out their orgasm. As they go limp beneath me, I release and gently lick the drops from their hole. 

We find each other’s faces again, lips crashing together to taste everything we’ve done. Pulling apart, they look at me and giggle, before straightening my hair from where they’ve messed it up. There’s one final kiss, one deep with gratitude and understanding, before we leave together. The older guy pretends to be asleep as we pass. 

We’re only sat back at the table for a minute before the train pulls into the station. We reach for our bags simultaneously and grin at each other, before they follow me this time, out onto the platform. As we walk towards the station car park in the dark I ask them, in the corny way, whether it’s my place or theirs? They let out a snort of laughter and snake their arm around my waist, a reaction that’s become so familiar over the years. 

“Come on, let’s get home.”

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