Desires Pt 02

"If you're going to do that I'm going for a swim." And she had, leaving him on the pool side all erect and frustrated—but she came back. Rather than putting his penis back in her mouth she licked it like an ice cream cone, right to the top.

Sally bit her lip and looked up in the train carriage, pausing in her reminiscence. The guard had come back into the carriage and was walking through. It was lucky he couldn't read her thoughts or know what she'd said next to Jerry. It was so embarrassing what lovers sometimes said to each other, private things; it had been "drinkies time." She winced—baby talk when she was blowing him? But it had set him off. Sally hadn't been expecting it and she was still sliding her tongue up the long shaft and had just touched the smooth head when (out of focus because she was so close) she saw the first shot rush past and felt it landing on her forehead and hair. She had the head in her mouth in an instant and a hand on his balls as she flicked her tongue around the little hole whilst the semen streamed out. Typical Jerry, there was always a lot!

She had opened her mouth to show Jerry the semen, just as in that ridiculous movie he'd got her to watch, and she'd winked before swallowing the salty 'drink.' She recalled thinking at that moment that the holiday was going to be simply a perfect one and, looking back as Sally was now doing, it certainly had been.

The guard walked past and Sally realised she was smiling—not at him but at her recollection.

"Morning Miss," he said catching her smile and eye.

And it was as if a frame or two of a film was missing as her image of him seemed to jump fractionally sideways. It was very odd and stopped Sally's daydream of her holiday. She glanced down at the magazine on her lap—only it wasn't there but on the seat beside her, opened at a different page. How peculiar, she did not remember putting it down and, and another thing, her trousers did not feel right as if, as if she was not wearing panties: but she was, she had only checked minutes before when she had realised she had no bra. Sally looked slowly around her; the people on the seats near her were engrossed in their newspapers or books, so she slipped a hand into the waistband of her trousers—to feel short curly hair but no cotton panties. She was sure she had felt them only minutes before; she was sure of it, but they weren't there now; they could hardly have been removed whilst she sat there, so they could not have been on at all; she must have been mistaken and forgotten to put them on that morning; how very, very strange and not something she could imagine herself forgetting at all. But like the bra it did not matter as she could buy some more at M&S—perhaps they still had that shell pink colour she liked.

It was not a short train journey and they still had to pick up another train before heading on to London and it was not long before Sally's thoughts drifted back to the holiday. They had gone to a little taverna for dinner which had been delightful—even the Retsina had been just about drinkable. That had been Jerry's choice—he said he really had a taste for it—but it was certainly not her choice later in the holiday! The Calamari, Souvlaki and Greek salad with a chunk of Feta had been good though, again, she was not so sure about the small cup of Greek coffee tasting of cardboard.

Back at the villa they had lain on the double bed without a stitch on or even a sheet, trying to stay cool with just an electric fan and no air conditioning. Lying naked and rather sweaty next to Jerry it had not been surprising that her thoughts had turned to sex—she could feel herself getting nicely wet. She'd reached out towards Jerry in the dark towards his groin and found his mind was working in the same direction—his cock was like a rock. She'd not worried about much foreplay, a few tugs and she was astride him pointing his big cock straight up with her hand and letting herself down on it. She smiled at the recollection. The heat of the night, the two of them slippery with sweat in the pitch dark and with the whirr of the fan for company. She had let herself down slowly, filling herself with Jerry's cock until there was nothing left to go in.

"Comfortable?" she'd said, and his hands had come to her breasts, squeezing and playing. She'd lent forward, kissed him and begun to ride.

They'd needed to shower again after, it made them cool for a moment again, and satiated with sex she'd slept through 'til the morning

She had awoken a little bleary and gone to the bathroom for a pee. Coming back Sally remembered she'd stood and looked at Jerry still fast asleep but with a morning erection. She recalled wondering what he was dreaming about and had stood there playing with herself looking at his cock, which occasionally twitched suggesting the dream was a good one! Coming back to herself on the train she bit her lip in amusement remembering that she'd suddenly been worried he would have a 'wet dream' and all that hardness would disappear in a fountain of semen. The image of Jerry's cock spurting without a hand or anything touching it was erotic and her fingers had moved faster, she recalled, but she certainly hadn't wanted to waste the erection and had thought the sooner it was in her the better. It had been soon. She was on the bed, straddling and inserting, just as the night before, in a trice.

Jerry had woken only to complain he desperately needed to pee but Sally had not let him get up and had ridden him to her orgasm as he lay rather unresponsive under her watching as she pulled her nipples by herself, using him.

He'd limped to the bathroom as soon as she got off and she heard the splash in the pan go on and on—she'd felt a bit guilty. He really had been bursting. Even so, she'd laughed at him, she remembered, as he came back to the bed with his penis still very erect, very wet from her and bobbing about. He'd put her over his knee and smacked her like a little girl before planting her back on the bed on all fours and taken her doggy style. She'd reached under and played with his balls. He had not been long in coming!

Sally looked up again with a smile on her face at the recollection to see the man opposite her looking at her. He looked away. Yes, there had been a lot of sex that holiday.

Picking up her magazine again she'd settled down to read. Outside the window the countryside crawled by. She frowned and wondered why the train always, well nearly always, went so slowly at this point in its journey. Surely the signalmen knew it was coming—it did, after all, do the journey every day.

There was a noise behind her and the guard walked past and once again she had that feeling of disconnection and her view of the carriage seemed to jump.

Yes, she had been thinking about sex but it had not got her particularly 'excited', it was just pleasurable reminiscing, not really causing her to get wet, yet all of a sudden she felt 'sopping.' Sally moved her thighs, yes, undoubtedly she was as wet as she'd ever been and no it wasn't wee, she'd have felt herself going and she hadn't wanted to anyway, plus it felt different. How could she suddenly be all wet and ready for intercourse; it didn't make any sense; she didn't just become wet; she had to be aroused and feel the moisture slowly coming and her lips engorge but, as far as she could tell, they weren't; it was if she was ready for sex physically but not in her mind; how very odd. She clamped her legs shut hoping the wetness wouldn't seep through her trousers—why hadn't she got panties on?

The journey was proving something of a trial. First she had discovered she had no bra, then no panties and now all this sopping wetness between her thighs. She wondered if she should go to the train lavatory and take a look. She must have looked a bit worried, or flushed or something because the guard—why was he moving up and down the train so much—stopped and said,

"Are you feeling all right, Miss?"

She'd mumbled something in reply, "Sort of."

And he'd smiled and nodded, whilst looking at her. Again that feeling of dislocation—was she sickening for something but now she felt something different. Her nipples were standing and feeling, feeling like they did when Jerry (or one of her earlier boyfriends) had been a little enthusiastic in his sucking and... and most peculiarly her clit felt the same way, as if it too had recently been vigorously manipulated and she was still feeling as wet as before. But she was aroused now—how had that happened—and there was a jumble of words in her mind—and the word 'attachment' kept coming into her mind.

The train guard was still there, "You're looking a little flushed?"

"No, no, I'm OK really." But she wasn't, certainly not how she normally felt on her morning commute into London.

The train slowed and came into a station. The doors opened and stayed open. Sally knew; knew from regular travel that they had to wait for the other train to join them and it was late—again.

Sally shook her head to clear it. She didn't feel right and wondered if standing would do her good. Perhaps she should cross the platform and go home? Getting up, she moved over to the open train doors and stood looking out at the platform. A few more people got on.

Sally heard the announcement. The announcement that the other train had arrived and was about to be coupled:

"Ladies and gentlemen an attachment is about to be made. Please stand clear of the closing doors."

As the second train was joined to the first there was a jolt as the one set of carriages pushed the other set. Sally felt the jolt through her body but it was as if a cock had pushed hard right into her. She gasped and came in a stunning, jolting orgasm leaving her clutching the carriage partition and half falling to her knees. The woman next to her was looking startled as if she had seen a ghost or something very surprising.

"You... the guard..." she'd said and then stopped and looked away, "...nothing, I..."

Sally staggered back to her seat, feeling confused and very weak at the knees. She could not understand what had happened at all. One did not just come like that and what about the sensation of penetration and the woman looking at her in that way? The woman was still looking at her now with a very puzzled expression. Sally looked away. And she felt even damper, as if that was possible, almost as if a man's ejaculate was running out of her. She crossed her legs feeling very 'squishy' there and stared out of the window.

After a few minutes she got up and holding first one seat, then another walked up the carriage, past the woman, and then into the next carriage to reach the lavatory. She was surprised to see the guard again, right by the lavatory. He'd even opened the door for her as she'd reached it, as if he'd known where she was going—but of course where else would she be going? There was no buffet on board.

Inside, with her trousers down, she found she was not particularly gooey at all. In fact she'd felt drier as she'd stepped through the door. The seam of her trousers inside—where the legs joined—looked damp though. Peculiar, she had felt so soggy walking up the carriage.

Resuming her seat, Sally settled back with her magazine and everything felt quite normal until the train got close to London. Then the strange feeling of dislocation occurred again. She couldn't wait to get off the train.

The walk from the station to the office had been a trial for her. Not only had she all the strangeness of the train including her orgasm to contend with but she had to do some shopping at M&S for the items she had not put on that morning and worse, she had noticed it the moment she'd stood up, there felt as if there was something inside her—yes there!

And there was. Sitting on the 'loo' in the office she'd felt and extracted with a little difficulty a silver coloured cylindrical object, rounded at both ends, as if ideally made for vaginal or even rectal insertion. Sally was frightened. How had that got there? She held it in her hand staring at it. What was it? After a time her fingers moved—the object unscrewed, there were two halves joined by a screw thread, and inside it was a piece of folded paper.

'Once upon a time there was a girl on a train, first her bra went, then her knickers. Was she stuffed - oh, I think so!

I would so like you as my friend and plaything for just a month—but that is all: then you are free and I will let you go. Promise!

So Monday morning it is Pink blouse for yes: blue blouse for no.

Pink blouse to receive instruction in the message box.

Blue blouse, then you'd better have a coat because, sure as eggs are eggs, the blue blouse will disappear just like that!

Oh yes, you can write to me. You know where to leave the message!

Your friend.'

Sally re-read and re-read the message and just sat and stared. What had happened, what had she to do, what was this all about? How had the message been inserted in her vagina without her knowledge? How, what, why?