Why I Miss My Wife Pt 02

Before my wife died from cancer, we had many years with a satisfying sexual life, because we both were honest about our likes, dislikes and fantasies. We delighted in surprising one another with impromptu sex when the opportunity arose. I have fond memories of some things she did to make me feel special.

Why I Miss Her Hands

During one vacation, we were in Colorado Springs, and I wanted to take the train ride through the Royal Gorge. Before we left our car in the parking lot, I did not notice when she took the small bottle of lube out of the glovebox of our car. Between the trunk and glovebox, we always had what we needed for impromptu sex.

The ride consisted of a thirty minute trip up the edge of a mountain, a stop for an hour at the top so that tourists could visit the gift shop, and then the ride back down the mountain.

One side of the track was the edge of the mountain, literally a foot from the edge of the train cars. On the other side was the Colorado River. We had lunch in the dining car, and at one particular point in the trip down the mountain, several groups of people in colored inner tubes were sailing down the river, visible from our train.

Each group of about ten tubers had a different color of inner tubes for their group. Everyone on the train was on the open air car, smoking cigarettes and watching and waving to the people tubing down the river. My wife and I stayed back, supposedly so she could finish her dessert.

Suddenly she reached into her purse and brought out the small bottle of lube.

"Pull it out," she said quietly.

Sneaking sex in a public setting was something that excited the both of us, and we had often risked getting caught, like in an elevator. But when I unzipped my pants, I voiced my concern that the lube and my cum would make an obvious mess on my pants.

"Give me your handkerchief, and then slide your pants down," was her answer.

When I was naked from the waist down, she dribbled some lube down over the tip of my cock and then slipped the bottle back into her purse. I felt fairly safe from being seen because there was nobody else in the train car and I was seated.

"Stand up," she said, as she started stroking me.

"What? No, I can't, if somebody sees..."

"Stand up, or I won't let you come for a week."

I stood up, keenly aware that anybody could come back into the train car at any moment. But she already had my cock hard.

She jerked my cock slowly at first as I stood in the aisle facing her. I put my hand on the back of the seat and the situation soon took me closer to the edge than I had expected.

"Look at me," she said, "don't look away."

Her grip became firmer and I was getting closer. My mind was reeling. What if someone enters the train car? Will she stop? What if she doesn't and somebody sees what she's doing?

Without breaking eye contact, she reached into her purse and pulled out my handkerchief. She held it in her hand near the tip of my cock.

"You can come in my hand in ten seconds," she said, and began counting.

"Ten.....nine.....eight....."

I tried to sneak a glance over at the train car entrance, knowing that I was going to come soon, whether I wanted to or not. She saw my eyes dart away for a second.

"Look at me! Eyes on mine when you come!"

"Seven.....six.....five....."

Now I was struggling NOT to come until she counted down. If I came too soon or didn't come when she said so, I knew she would punish me by denying me pleasure later, possibly for days.

"Four.....three.....two...."

I knew better than to trust her and to anticipate hearing "one". This was a trick she had played on me before. I stared into her eyes, defiant in maintaining my own control.

She waited another three or four seconds, smiling as she saw me struggling to hold back. And then she let me go.

"One."

She wrapped the handkerchief over the end of my cock as I spurted a warm creamy load into her covered fist. She stroked and stroked until my knees almost buckled under me. She squeezed the last drops from the tip of my cock.

I quickly pulled up my pants and sat back down next to her, panting like a race horse. She kissed me passionately and I moaned into her mouth, partly still aroused and partly from exhaustion.

"Good boy; I'm going to reward you later."

She rolled up the soaked handkerchief and stuffed into her empty coffee cup on the table. I raised my eyes to question that, but she just smiled.

"When they clear the tables after we're all gone, I wonder if they will guess what's in the coffee cup?" She whispered with a giggle.

She wiped her hand on her cloth napkin and left it on the table.

This was the second time she had given me a hand job on a train, but the other time was right in the middle of several people on the train. She didn't let me come, she just rubbed my cock through my pants and kept me hard during the whole train ride.

The fun she used to have and the pleasure she used to give me is why I miss her hands.