Strangers on a Train

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The porter struggled behind me with my luggage as I neared the train. People streamed left and right while the long sleek train sat purring at the platform, ready to carry us on our journey.

I took the conductors hand, adjusted my tight skirt and stepped up onto the train as people bustled past. “Bonjour, Madame,” he said and, as he checked my tickets, I checked my hair in the glass door. The conductor led the way to my compartment while the porter followed us, banging into the compartment doors with my luggage. The conductor opened the compartment door and a young woman seated on one of the two bench seats, looked up from her book.

“Qui êtes-vous? I demanded and she looked back and forth between us and shrugged as the porter sniggered in the hallway.” Je ne comprends pas,” I said icily to the conductor who nervously explained the train was full and even though I had requested to travel alone, it was necessary to share the compartment. Somehow my reservations had been confused and now I had to share my sleeping compartment with a stranger.

I glared at him for a long moment as he wiped his face with a grubby handkerchief.” Que tu es emmerdant!” I hissed and stormed into the compartment, arranging myself on the bench seat opposite the young woman while the porter stored my luggage. As they backed out of the compartment, apologising profusely, I ignored them and settled into my magazine while seething quietly with my anger. When the train jolted and started to move, the young woman squealed with delight and leaned against the large window to watch the station roll slowly past. “God in heaven,” I thought bitterly to myself, “she is but a child!”

After a while, she lost interest in the passing scene and settled back with her book. Surreptitiously I tried to see what she was reading, expecting some tawdry romance novel but it was covered in a plain loose cover so I slyly examined her instead.

I guessed she was perhaps eight or ten years younger than myself, fresh faced with long blonde hair in a silly ponytail and dressed in a bulky light blue sweater, pleated gray skirt and pink sneakers with white sox. Obviously, no sense of fashion, I thought and as it appeared she was hiding large breasts in that ugly sweater, I guessed she was American.

As I crossed my legs and pushed the hem of my skirt down to my knee, her eyes flickered over me and come to rest on the curve of my thigh. “Interesting,” I thought idly to myself, flicking through the magazine, “Very interesting”. I tested her again, slipping my shoe off to adjust my stocking around my toes and saw her eyes were fastened to my leg as I straightened the stocking.

Moments passed and we read in silence until, with a sigh, she placed her book onto the seat beside her. Smiling brightly, she leaned forward and asked, “Do you speak English?” My guess was correct; she was American with an accent from the west or somewhere just as provincial and I watched her impassively. “Do you speak English?” she repeated slowly in that loud voice that Americans use when speaking to foreigners.

We sat in silence until she rummaged in her handbag and produced a small yellow covered book. “Sweet Jesus, no,” I groaned silently. “Please, not çanakkale escort a phrasebook,” I thought as I watched her flick through the book, a slight frown on her pretty face as she concentrated.

Apparently, she found the page she wanted and started to read slowly and loudly in an atrocious accent. “Est-ce que vous parlez anglais?” She smiled at me hopefully but when I didn’t respond, the smile slipped and she tossed the book back into the handbag. “Arrogant bitch,” she muttered under her breath but I heard her quite clearly.

I put my sunglasses into their case and dropped them into my handbag. “Of course, I am arrogant, I am French,” I said with a slight smile and she had the good grace to look embarrassed.

“I thought you didn’t speak English?” she spluttered, colouring prettily. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was waiting for you to say something interesting. I feared it was going to be a long wait.” Puzzled, she wrinkled her brow and I thought she appeared to be rather cute in a soft way. “You must have connections to someone wealthy. I would have expected you to be using a Euro Pass and seated in economy.” I tilted my head to watch her and she seemed a little flushed.

“Well, this is a nicer,” she said awkwardly. “My name is Jenny,” she added after a moment and my anger began to fade away at her smile.

Smiling, I patted the seat beside me. “Sit here, Jenny so I do not have to shout. And bring your book, I would like to see what pretty young women are reading these days.”

Jenny rose and as she began to sit, I gently placed my hand on her arm to stop her. “The book?” I reminded her and blushing deeply, she retrieved the book and sat beside me. I took the book from her and my eyes widened when I slipped the loose cover off to see it was ‘The Story of O’.

Jenny was a deep red, trying to see something of interest out the window as I flicked through the famous book. “You adore Pauline’s story?” I teased. “This book appears well read, little one.” Laughing softly, I tossed the book back onto the opposite seat and smiled at her.

Jenny smiled weakly and cleared her throat. “I didn’t get your name,” she said huskily.

“I did not give it but, after seeing the book you read, you should call me Madame, perhaps?” Her eyes widened, she blushed again and I smiled coldly. “Perhaps?” I repeated and she lowered her head. We waited and I knew the first one to speak would give up control so I waited while the last suburbs of the city rushed past the window.

“Yes Madame,” Jenny whispered and I felt that tremor of triumph when the first reins of control are tightened.

“Perfect,” I said softly, reaching behind her to remove the elastic band from her ponytail. “Let us see how pretty you are.” Her long blonde hair fell free and I tickled it into place to frame her pretty succulent face. ” Beau, epatant,” I breathed and I heard her inhale sharply as I stroked her hair and then ran my long red fingernails down her throat.

I sat back and inspected her and was pleased with what I saw, especially the deep flush and the ragged breathing. “You dress like a student but I suspect you are older than that. Now,” I said, all businesslike, “remove that ugly sweater, student girl, I want to see what surprise you have for me there.”

“Madame!” she protested. “I have no bra and people can see through the window!”

“No bra?” I raised an eyebrow and smiled. “For comfort on such a long journey, perhaps, or you enjoy the freedom, the sensuality?” I waved her protests away. “The train is moving so fast, no one can see. Come on, little one, we are both women here.”

“But,” she said weakly, “what if the conductor comes back? Or anyone?”

“Pst! Il importe pas! I am waiting,” I added calmly, relishing the range of expressions running over her face and waited for my next triumph. Slowly, she pulled the sweater over her head and revealed her large breasts, full and tempting, swinging free and her face scarlet as she sent worried glances to the compartment door.

“American women have such large breasts,” I said. “In France, the perfect breast is one that fits into a champagne goblet.” Her eyes grew round and her mouth gaped as she watched me cup my own left breast through the rust brown silk of my dress. “I have the perfect size,” I said proudly, enjoying the look of desire on Jenny’s face. “My breast fits snugly into such a glass. Although,” I added softly, releasing my own breast and slowly stroking hers, “I have a weakness for the larger ones. So easy to lie against, so easy to bind and to kiss.”

Her legs moved under her skirt and I guessed she was squeezing her thighs together in a rush of desire. Her breathing was loud in the room and her throat was flushed to her breasts as I fingered the hem of her skirt. “A rough cloth,” I said half to myself and she jumped as my hand slipped under her skirt to rest on her thigh. “You feel hot, little one. Should I call the conductor to fix the air-conditioning?” I teased and gently stroked her skin. “Now,” I said not waiting for an answer, “show me your secret prize. Remove the skirt.”

“But Madame,” she stuttered, eyes big and round.

“No excuses,” I interrupted. “Quickly!” I watched her inner turmoil so openly displayed on that innocent and beautiful face, waiting for my next victory. Slowly, she reached behind and unzipped the skirt, rising from the seat to let it puddle around those awful pink sneakers. “Kick those shoes off as well,” I commanded, my eyes fixed on the rich globes of her ass half hidden in the white cotton briefs, the material stretched taut over the crack.

Jenny stood in, naked except for her plain pants, eyes tightly shut, face glowing and her hands clenched. I relished the sight and drank her in, her large breasts rising and falling quickly as her ragged breathing echoed in the compartment.

I imagined the thoughts racing through her head as she stood there, the embarrassment and the humiliation, mixed with her mounting desire. Humming to myself, I rummaged in my luggage and produced my special cord. Gently, I turned her around and bent her down so her hands were resting on the chrome bar running under the window and lashed her wrists to it. What a wonderful sight she was, bent over from the waist, her ass high in the air and her beautiful face almost pressed against the window glass, the countryside rushing past before her eyes.

Bending down to her and looking deeply into her fluttering eyes, I said softly, my mouth so close to her ear. “We both know you want to give yourself to me.”

My lap pressed against her ass as I stroked her back as her breasts hung down, the nipples large and sensitive. “Let us hope, little one,” I murmured, “the train does not slow down.” I did not think it was possible for her blush to deepen but it did at those words.

Her panties came down easily and I left them around one ankle as my fingers took ownership of the pink bottom. “So sweet,” I murmured as my fingers slipped easily into her hot cunt, “and so wet, a wet little chatte.” She moaned loudly and her head rocked from side to side.

“It is a strange feeling, is it not?” I said as my fingers tickled and teased. “Such humiliation, such embarrassment but such powerful desire.” I removed my fingers and slapped my hand hard against the cheeks of her ass, time and time again until she was moaning and her ass was red from my spanks.

It was exhilarating, my sense of power, control and possession rose with each slap to this sweet wobbling ass, her moans and cries driving me on until I was hot and as flushed as she.

I leaned against the compartment door to catch my breath, my forearm across my forehead. “Such thirsty work, cherie. I must go to the cocktail carriage and take a drink. I hope no one comes to see you spread so wide when the door opens.” Her head jerked around in horror, her red bottom wriggling, wet cunt lewdly open for display and her mouth opened to desperately object. “Perhaps we may reach the next station soon,’ I added with a smile. “We may roll to a stop in front of schoolboys or soldiers on the platform. They will enjoy the vision of your teats, perhaps? Let us hope I return before then.” She gave a strangled cry of protest as I slipped out of the compartment and strolled to the bar for a welcome drink.

What a wonderful sight she was when I returned, her face red as she thought I might have been the conductor. I locked the door, pulled the blind down and unlashed her and she collapsed to the floor with a moan. Calmly I slipped my skirt around my waist and sat on the edge of the seat and enjoyed the look on her face as she saw my naked pussy, trimmed and wet for her.

“Now, I will enjoy your tongue, yes? Lèche-moi le clito.” With a low moan, she crawled to me and began her task. My fingers toyed with my nipples through my silk dress and the thin lace of my La Perla bra while she skilfully lifted me to each platform of my building desire. Her tongue knows me so well, a little lick, a little flick of its pink tip and I am soaring, pressing my thighs around her eager head.

Later, after we had washed and dressed, she smiled up at me as I brushed her hair. “Mistress,” she said softly. “Can we travel by plane next time?”

I laughed as I brushed. “You do not like my games, little one? I thought you played your part well and I, of course, am a great actress, am I not?”

Jenny giggled. “You do have a natural talent for that role, Mistress.”

I unlocked the door. “A plane, eh? My mind is working, pet, what game will I think of now? Perhaps you could be a naughty little stewardess on the Concorde?”

“Oh Mistress,” she murmured, laying her head on my shoulder as, holding hands, we walked to the restaurant car.

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