There are things in life we do, have tremendous urges to do, and then, silence.
We have all felt these urges, they are momentary and communicated by a simple glance, encouraged by a simple act of kindness, and devoured to hide the fact that two people just did something very, very, wrong together, an act culminating in swallowing another’s humans forbidden body fluid, an act that helps to shape who you are and what you do.
I was nervous as I walked towards the train. I imagined the men in uniform were looking at me and would stop me and find I could not afford the ticket back home.
My nervousness was tinged with fear, I was in the city and it was the last train back home, my parents would be frantic if I did not turn up and all hell would break out.
The clock on the platform rang out 11pm and the guard blew his whistle. The carriage jostled and the train began to move slowly picking up speed as I walked unsteadily down the row of small compartments, mostly empty, bar one, where an old man sat looking out into the darkness, that was the one I went into, I don’t know why, somehow I felt secure with old men, and if I was confronted by the guard, I was sure he would intervene.
I sat down at the entrance where the door was, he looked at me and smiled, and I could see his eyes traverse the length of my body, especially my legs, suddenly wearing netted stockings with a short mini skirt, made me look hooker like, which must have confused him, my pretty face and flawless skin, haute coiffured hair, which was long and stylish, conflicted with my dress sense, but above that most of all, there was an attractive innocence, that some men detect, something that both tells them and frightens them, here sits a forbidden pleasure that only few men dare sample.
I reached up and put my small bag into the netted shelve, not that I needed to, but how else could I draw his attention to my assets that were my long legs. I have always believed men adore long legs, Scandi girls have their’s tanned a golden hue, we don’t have that sort of sunshine, so I get my attraction from a packet, in our local video store, where the owner turns a blind eye, for a 10 minute sleight of my hand, as I pick up the packet and put it in my pocket, another one of those unspoken acts, between the desperate and the willing curious girl.
I looked down at my legs as I sat there, my hemline suddenly felt short, and I gave a sidelong glance to the old man, who was looking out into the darkness, studying my reflection, even I could see myself, surely he was looking at me.
‘Do you mind if I put my feet onto the seat’. I could hear my voice break the silence, it sound nice and educated, polite and respectful, he turned and looked into my eyes, his face creased as he gave an ever so slight nod of his head to me, I was happy he did, ‘As long as you take your shoes off first’, he replied, his voice was warm, deep, soothing, like a grandfather talking to his granddaughter, and as I bent over with my long hair cascading over my face to hide mine from his continued view, I saw his eyes drop down to where my fingers were undoing the ties of my shoes, I was subconsciously removing an item of my clothing on his command, was this the start, I felt funny?
I raised both my stocking feet onto the cushioned seat in which he sat and wiggled my toes, now they were free from the constraints of the leather.
The diamonds in the stockings were as stark as they were large, and I allowed myself to slide further down my seat, the warmth, the dim light, the rhythmic clackity-clack of the rails made me relax, and I could feel my eyes getting heavy, as tiredness enveloped me, it was late, and there was a two hour journey ahead of me.
‘What stop are you getting off at’. He must have repeated himself before it registered and I awoke, bewildered and confused, my eyes blinking in rapid succession, ‘What’?
I had slid further down until my short hem had ridden high into my crotch, I could see my bl**d red satin thong poking its camel-toe contents, just under it, for his viewing pleasure, even the skimpiest of thongs, can still ride high between the bum cheeks, when you slouch, and a soft satin moulds and creases into the smallest curves, it was as if I had just applied a coat of red emulsion over my hairless cunt, for all the protection my choice of knickers did.
But the really naughty thing was the 1/2" of white thigh afforded at the tops of my stockings, another 1/2" black band of elasticated ‘stay-up’ material, that dug-into my fleshy thigh, not meant to be seen by men.
‘What time is it’, I asked him, without rushing to readjust my dishevelled look, he had been staring at me, and I wanted him to look a little more.
’11:45′, he replied, his eyes flitting from his wrist watch to my satin knickers and stocking tops, he was that obvious.
This was where you have to clinically cut the umbilical chord of pleasure, as I now readjusted myself and closed down the curtains of over exposure, they are still there, but he has to convince me he wants more, and he Had just over one hour to do it.
‘What stop are you getting off at’?
‘Oh sorry’, I apologised, ‘The second station’, and I mentioned it name to him. ‘I was going to wake you up in case you overslept’, his dulcet overtones made the small hairs on the nape of my neck stand up.
‘Are you a Doctor, Teacher’, I asked him, feeling my dreamlike sensation sweeping over my body.
‘I’m a chiropractor’, he replied, glancing at my legs again, ‘I have been admiring your feet’, he continued.
‘You have a foot fetish’, I giggled, and wiggled my toes again, which made him look at them.
‘You would never think that’, he retorted, ‘if you saw some feet I have had to content with’.
He stood up and reached for the bag in the overhead netting. As he stood up stretched, my eyes followed his form down to his waist, the unmistakable bulge told me instinctively, I was appealing to him, I was getting to him, and that made me feel warm inside.
He sat back down and I brazenly asked him if he would like to examine my feet and give me an approval rating.
‘I would love to’, was his curt reply, and I decided to cross that dangerous line and reward him with a different view, so I got up and walked in my bare feet and sat down opposite him, and raise my left leg and put me foot on his lap, my heel resting on his tell tail bump in his pants, I pretended not to notice my connection.
He held my foot with both his thumbs pressing into my instep, ‘Your feet are perfumed’, and I nodded my acknowledgement of his correct assessment, ‘Anais Anais’, I replied, my favourite since my twelfth birthday, when a received a bottle as a gift, so feminine and alluring, with old fashioned visions of pubescent girls in early twentieth century dresses and cami-knickers, the way I used to dress, amazing the change in the last two years.
‘Beautifully manicured, and painted shell pink toe nails’, he continued, ‘slim ankles, delicate and well formed calves’, this last sentiment of my examination saw him take the liberty of running his hand along my calf, and rub gently behind my knee, a well know erogenous spot for a girl, it was like turning on the faucet for warm silky sweet body fluid, especially as he scratched teasingly with his fingernail.
I was melting, giving way and felt my right leg lose rigidity, and fall away to reveal those naughty bl**d red thongs and more, the spreading wetness and lips, swollen and contracting, as if drawing in air, but I was not want air, I wanted cock, and as he pulled my leg his hand traversed my open thighs, until the shocked of being touched so intimately, made me gasp.
I lay on my back with each foot either side of him as he rose and released his weapon of love. I responded by arching up to meet him midway, the redness of protection was gone, ripped into oblivion and lying in a very small bundle, to his left.
I arched even higher, like a human crab in gymnastics, seeing only my ‘m’ on my pubis, his view saw considerably more, open lips, a dark hole above my anus, and then his thick cock.
We met midway and connected, he went right inside as I sank back down feeling him stretching me as he collapsed on top and my skinny legs crossed his back. I gasped as I clung around his neck, so this was what it was like, and he started humping as the light from the station poured through the window.
This was his stop, but he could not leave the girl he was inside. There could never be another moment like this for him, he could never talk about it or admit to it, but feeling the youth of my squeezing him, smelling the youth of my sweat, and cupping the youthful flesh of my buttocks as he humped me, he had to finish and plant his seed once more inside the spirit of the girl, with her ankles bathed in ‘Anais Anais’, wafting his senses, either side his head, and my youthful voice moaning, ‘I’m cumming, I’m cumming’.