An Encounter On the Train00:20 Nov 04 2010
Times Read: 999
A short story, for Adults
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I was sitting with my back to the driver, in the right hand aisle seat, while reading Nemi, the three-panel comic strip about a cantankerous Goth babe, in The Metro, when he got on the train at Green Lane.
A little taller than me, with a full head of thick wavy hair, that clung to the sides of his face; and, dark penetrating eyes, that quickly surveyed the compartments to his left and right, before he chose to enter the one on his left, where I sat.
He wore a charcoal grey suit and, a white shirt, that almost shone, it was that white.
And, as he sat across the aisle from me, facing me, the fellow gave me a wide smile and, a nod of his head.
“Wow,” he said, “you haven’t changed much.”
I might’ve said the same, but I couldn’t place his face, not whatsoever.
“Erm,” I began, having shaken and released his proffered hand and released his hand, “where did we?”
He laughed.
“We never did. But I think the guy you left did…”
Now I was puzzled and perhaps the frown showed that.
“We passed each other in a cottage, just off new Chester Road about twenty two years ago,” he told me in a voice just below a conversational level.
And, my interest was piqued.
“About twenty two years ago seems very exact,” I began, elbow’s on my thighs, my hands clasping my knees, “how can you be so sure?”
He just smiled a moment, and then reminded me, “The police bust the place shortly afterward.”
And, he was right. That’s what had happened the last time I went to that particular cottage.
“So, I often wondered, did you get it on with the guy you left with?”
I grinned.
“We’d just gone behind some bushes off the path: seems he had to get back to his girlfriend. As it was, he hadn’t lasted long…”
I recalled kneeling there, satisfying him with my mouth, before he’d zipped up hurriedly, then left me there on my knees, my mouth full of his cum, so much in fact, that some of it had trickled down from the corners of my mouth.
“Did he enjoy that ass of yours?” he asked, leaning forward a little.
“Nah,” I replied with an airy wave of my right hand, “just gave him head. Like I said, he had to get back to his girlfriend.”
“A pity..”
“Yeah,” I muttered, “it was. He had this beautiful cock, and boy had I want it up me.
Heck, the fella even liked my pretty stuff...”
“Huh?” He queried, “Pretty stuff?”
“I liked to wear women’s lingerie, back then,” I answered, with a smile.
“And now?” He asked, briefly checking his watch.
“Nowadays I still wear it sometimes,” I admitted quietly, “but I haven’t been with a guy for ages..”
“Really?” He quizzed, seemingly very interested all of a sudden.
“Uh-huh,” I responded, my hands grip on my knees tightening, as I flushed a little, at the image that passed through my mind; wherein I lay there in ‘pretty stuff’, as this fellow lay over me, pumping his length deep into my needy hole.
“Well, my wife’s out at her Mother’s and my stations next. You could come back to mine, for that fuck you want..”
Eyes open wide I asked, “Really?”
“Yeah, why not?” He replied with a grin, “If you want?”
‘If I wanted?’ I mused; ‘Goddamnit,’ I thought, as I looked into his eyes, as he rubbed at the growing bulge in his trousers, “I want.’
And in a quiet voice I’d asked, “Can I wear something pretty of your wife’s?”
“Yeah sure,” he responded with a broad grin, as he stood and straightened his clothing, “So you’re going to come with me then?”
I stood in answer and nodded, as the train pulled into Bebington.
The train slowed to a stop and the doors opened and I followed, as he led me down the path, past the ticket office and out the station.
Then following his across the road I asked, “Is it far?”
“No fella,” he told me, “just round the corner, then we’ll be there.”
We took a left turn, into Brancott, and then walked on a few houses, until we got to a green wooden gate, then he opened.
And, I’d followed as he led the way up the path, to the front door, which he opened with a set of keys that seemed to materialise in his hand.
Once the door was open I entered, then turned to look at me: and with a grin on his face, the fellow said to me, “Enter, said the spider to the fly.”
I returned the grin, as I followed him in to the hall, his right hand on my back as he guided me inside.
He closed the door and then turned to me, “Do you want the grand tour, or shall we go upstairs?” And if anything, his smile had got wider.
“Straight upstairs,” I answered, very aware of his hand still on my upper back, the fingertips of his right hand brushing the nape of my neck, above my collar.
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say,” he said, momentarily caressing my skin, before removing his hand and, leading the way to the stairs.
Following him, taking each step slowly, I said aloud; “I like my nipples played with...” And, I don’t know where that had come from.
“Well maybe I’ll play with them then,” I said to me, looking briefly over his shoulder, as I blushed madly, at my nervous admission.
At the head of the stairs he pointed out each room, finally saying, “That one is ours and the bathroom is across the way, if you need.”
And he smiled briefly, before saying, “Dig yourself something out. I’ll be downstairs with a drink…”
A drink? ‘Any chance?’
He looked suitably abashed, for not offering earlier; for all of a second, or so.
“Yeah sure,” he responded, “What do you want?”
“Do you have whiskey? I asked.
“Uh –huh,” he responded, “Glenfiddich alright?”
“Yes please,” I told him enthusiastically: it is one of my favourite whiskies.
“How do you like it?” He asked, one hand on the banister, as he was about to go back downstairs.
Turning to his bedroom I called back, “Straight up.. is good, for me.”
Then, as I entered the room I heard him laughing as he made his way downstairs.
And, finding his wife’s underwear draw quickly enough, I began to rummage, for something pretty to wear.
Undressing hurriedly, having found something I liked, I quickly slipped into an apricot coloured slip, self-support hose, and some purple nylon lace-edged panties, that I wore reversed, so all would hang loose, as it were.
Then padding across the landing, entered the bathroom, where I applied some lipstick I’d found, that neared a shade of red I like.
Looking in the mirror over the sink and deciding I liked what I saw, I got hold of some hair gel, slicked my hair well back from my scalp and over my ears and decided I looked slutty enough, to be fucked.
And then, it was as I was about to leave the bathroom that an idea struck me; and pulling my panties down to my knees took a glob of Vaseline from a handy tub on the shelf near the toilet and prepped myself well, with first one, two then three fingers.
Finally I was ready, so pulled my panties back up, straightened out my slip and went out the door and onto the landing, enjoying the feel of the thick carpet beneath my nylon clad feet.
Being dressed as I enjoy was liberating, with the prospect of a fuck: and, that I had not enjoyed for years.
“Fella, I’m ready if you are,” I called down the stairs, prior to re-entering the bedroom. And, I lay face down in the middle of the bed, he shared with his wife.
As I lay there, expecting my host and, the promised whiskey, suddenly realising that I didn’t know the man’s name.
That said, ‘what did it matter?’ I was there to satisfy his desires and, my own of course.
So I lay there, my arms folded on the pillow, my chin resting on the back on the right, the uppermost hand; waiting for my whiskey, and his fuck, if he wanted.
And, much as I’d thought as I had, the first thing I did when he entered with a smile, was to say, “Please, before you fuck me, what’s your name?” Then I’d added, “And, you are going to fuck me, aren’t you?”
“My names Peter,” he informed me with a smile, as he set the two glasses he’d brought with him on the locker to my right; adding, “and sure, I’ll be fucking you sweetie, after all that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
And, as I nodded my agreement, Peter sat on the edge of the bed facing my feet: and he began running his right hand gently over my right nylon clad calf.
I was going to tell him my name in return, then his hand glided up my stocking-clad leg, to the bare flesh at the top. And, I couldn’t help but shiver a little as it reached there: and suddenly it occurred to me that my name hardly mattered, as I was there to be his fuck-toy, no more than that.
He’d turned and leant forward a little and held the hem of the slip up over my buttocks. Then, as he’d grasped my right cheek in hand, he’d pulled at the panties crotch.
Easing the material away from my well-lubed anus, he slid the middle finger of his left hand past my sphincter muscles that I relaxed with a sigh, as a second finger joined the first.
It’d felt good and a portent of things to come, I hoped.
And, as I revelled in his touch and the pleasure he wrought with his fingers inside me, he slid his right hand beneath me and began teasing my left nipple into hardness.
Then, he squeezed harder still.
“How’s that sissygirl?” He asked me, “like having your nipple played with.”
Squirming, I groaned: “Oh yes…”
Then he stood, leaving me feeling empty and my nipple tingling and blood surged back into it: and, as I turned my head, to look at him, Peter undressed quickly.
And boy was he fit, with a cock that stood proud, as he fisted it, getting onto the bed to my right with a grin.
“Now for the main event,” he told me, as he leant over and pulled my panties down my legs and off, and then I spread my legs.
That all happened just yesterday and, now I sit here and write about it all, wearing just that ever-so pretty slip, still cum-stained from our encounter: after all, he could hardly leave that for his wife to find, now could he??
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