The whistle pierced the air, as if the guard were trying to break us apart with the sound. Reluctantly, Eric slid his tongue out of my mouth, drew his finger from my pussy and his hand out of my short skirt, and stepped back.
"Sorry babe, I really do have to go."
I pouted, brought my arms forward to press my tits closer together and enhance my already generous cleavage. "If you stay, I'll make it worth your while." I must have been a picture - I heard a middle-aged couple tutting as they walked past - but I was so horny I didn't care. Damn Eric and his magic fingers; I could feel the cool breeze of the station as it cooled my wet naked pussy lips.
Eric kept stepping backwards. "I know you would. We've been through this. It's for our future. If I get my grades, I get that incredible job, and we're made for life. Just a few weeks, babe. I'll call you."
Weeks? It was hard enough waiting from Sunday nights, when he usually took the train back to London, until he returned the following Friday. I'd killed two vibrators already this year, thinking about him. I couldn't do it.
"I love you!" he waved from the window, as the train pulled away. He was breaking my heart.
"I love you too!" I screamed my pain after him.
As the train curved away and he disappeared from view, I took my phone from my pocket. I'd dialled before he was even out of sight. My heart ached for Eric, but my clit ached for Lee.
"That loser left yet?"
"I need it, bad. Come get me from the station."
Hanging up, I waved as my boyfriend - I beg your pardon, my fiancΓ©, now - disappeared into the tunnel, and walked off towards my lover.
///
It was all Kim's fault.
Firstly she dragged me off on that fateful holiday, out to Sandy Shores, where I met Eric in the first place and we'd fallen so desperately in love; soulmates at first sight, lovers from the first night. I probably pissed her off, jilting her for him all that week. Eric and I spent the week fucking and having fun, and Kim got nothing.
Then it was her who was sickened by how soppy I'd become; tried and failed to break us up by tempting Eric away, and then tried to get me to see other guys. "You know he'll be cheating on you with some tart in London. Why don't you get yourself some, closer to home?"
I didn't need anyone else. I had Eric, didn't want anyone else. And when he wasn't with me, he was on the phone - his voice in my ear as I stroked myself, pretending they were his fingers stretching and teasing me.
Months went by, and Kim and I made up. We always did. She even managed to persuade me to go out with the crowd from work. Just some beers and bowling, a bit of fun one weekday evening.
That's when I met him.
Lee.
Fuck, he was an ugly bastard. You know sometimes you look at someone and wondered what they must have done in a previous life to piss off the gods so much? He looked like a Picasso, and no I don't mean he looked like a million dollars.
And yet... there was something about him. Some animal magnetism, perhaps. He had an unshakeable self-confidence, in the face of everything life had thrown at him. He carried himself like a cheap imitation Fonz, double denim and white T-shirt. Such an arrogant prick.
He walked over to me, looked me over nice and slow, like he knew we'd end up in bed together. Like I'd beg him to make me scream again. Fuck no, said my head. Fuck yes, said my Judas cunt. I hated him. What an arsehole. I was with Eric. "But Eric's not here," said my pussy.
///
My sex life with Eric started out great. That first summer, when we met, we literally hardly stopped touching each other. Our bodies called to each other, perfectly matched, we fitted together seamlessly. We made love, we fucked, we humped, we wanked, we swallowed. We did every move, every position, in every location. I don't think I saw a whole movie all the way through for six months; I'd either be on my knees with his cock down my throat, or riding him facing away from the screen. He'd eat me out in restaurants, in my parents' bed, in the alleyways behind our house. There's nothing we wouldn't do, no holds - or holes - barred. We knew just what each other wanted.
Maybe we should have been more discreet. I often wonder, after the event happened, whether it was my fault. Whether the man had witnessed one of our midnight sessions. "You're my slut now," he'd said, his hand on my throat as he forced himself into me.
Next day, I burned those clothes in the woods.
I had to wait until Friday to tell Eric. His face went purple, and he was so angry he went quiet, although murder burned in his eyes.
That night, when my nightmare woke us both up, he hugged me as I cried. Soon after, when I'd got him ready, I climbed on top of him; rode him hard, taking back control. Feeling renewed. This was our thing, and I wouldn't have it taken from us. Not by that bastard. Not by anyone. I fucked Eric, coming over and over until I brought him powerfully inside me, his semen washing me clean.
The next weekend, Eric seemed a little awkward. We still had a wonderful time, but he was a little tentative with me when it came to getting down. He'd watch my eyes for signs of panic or disapproval as he slid his hand lower.