Stranger On The Chiang Mai Train

It felt like a coffin, especially as there were two of us in there, not just one—and one of us, not including me, was carrying a few too extra pounds. It was so claustrophobic in there that I wanted to hyperventilate and then I

was

hyperventilating in a good way—dancing on the clouds—and it had nothing to do with how close it was in the bunk on the train, wedged into a confined space designed for the standard Thai body—only one standard Thai body—not a German businessman and American embassy wife together.

The sleeping car—the premium-class sleeping car—configuration on the night train from Bangkok to the ancient cultural capital of Siam in the north, Chiang Mai, consisted of double-layer bunks running down both sides of the corridor of the coach, with drapes you could pull across the length of them to shield you from the walkway. The bunks were maybe six feet long, which accommodated me, but not him all that well, and three feet wide, which didn't handle the German's bulk well at all. But we managed—he managed, no doubt surprised it had been so easy.

Who would have known that a pudgy, over-the-hill businessman I'd just met in the dining car could give me two premium

la Petite Mort

—a little death—fucks, which were ones that laid me out totally and had me erupting in orgasms? If Brad had fucked me half this well before he'd revealed he wasn't planning anything for our anniversary and had a CODEL—a congressional delegation—to attend to at the embassy that day, I wouldn't have been such an easy lay for this guy. Brad hadn't even balked when I had said if he wasn't going to be around for our anniversary, I'd celebrate it myself by going north on a shopping expedition.

The top bunk, which was what I was ticketed for, would have been just too confining. The outer metal wall of the carriage curved into the bed space. The lower bunk, mercifully unticketed, had four feet of window looking out onto the passing countryside if you didn't pull the curtains closed there, which I didn't.

He made an adventure of getting me undressed in that space and using his hands and mouth to get me worked up to begging for the cock even before he had managed to strip himself in a space where you couldn't even raise your arm very far over your head without hitting the underside of the bunk above you. He did a great job, his head between my legs, of preparing me—something Brad never bothered with anymore, and it only was our seventh anniversary—and I was whimpering, "Do it. Do it now. Fuck me," as, in darkness punctuated by flashes of passing lights outside the carriage, I heard his belt being released and his zipper lowered. All the time I was embarrassed that I, who considered myself a dutiful embassy wife, had so easily fallen into this position—and with a stranger. But perhaps it was best he was a stranger.

I arched my head back, doing what I could to stifle my groans in a coach that wasn't full but was occupied enough to worry about those in surrounding bunks knowing what we were doing—what he was doing to me—in their midst as his finger entered me, and then another and another, as he explored and I moaned. My legs still bent, I placed my feet flat against the underside of the bunk above me and pressed up each time the fingers invaded. I rocked my pelvis on his hand, whimpering and panting. If the upper bunk hadn't been the one assigned to me, the occupant would have been bounced rhythmically into the ceiling of the coach by the pressing of my feet to the rhythm of his finger penetrations.

"Now. Now. Fuck me now!" I sobbed into the palm of his hand as he slid inside me. He fucked me then—or at least he and the train did. He provided the cock. The moving train provided the friction. I had never been fucked like that—by the combined efforts of a man's cock and a train's motion—before. I turned my head to the window, following the flashing lights of whatever civilization was awake at night outside the lurching train, while he reached me deeper than Brad ever had—than Brad ever could.

Happy seventh anniversary to me.