by Nikki Magennis
(07/05/06)

I was half-drunk with lack of sleep, standing in the hot white buzz of Central Station while hordes of commuters bumped past me with their sharp suits and shoulder pads and brief cases. I stood there blinking and yawning. What the hell was I doing up at this hour?

The answer, of course, was Sam.

I growled at the thought of his stubbornness, at the selfish way he'd announced he was leaving to make his fortune. Hotfooting it to London like a carefree bird. Not for a second had he stopped to think of how it would screw up our relationship -- four hundred miles between us was a serious blow. The salvation of our bickering, up-and-down love affair was the Olympic sex we indulged in most mornings, afternoons and evenings. We could hammer away for hours, and he took me places I'd never thought possible, body twisted into breathtaking positions, him so deep inside me it felt like blasphemy. After he left, my sex life became a sudden blank. I was left gasping with shock, reeling from the terrible aching loss of his body.

I missed the bastard.

Despite my rage at his pig-headed arrogance, I couldn't resist his sneaky allure. One twitch of his eyebrows and I was hot to trot. I spent my nights dreaming of his hot and swollen cock, of his roving hands. Our late night phone calls left me wound up like a clockwork toy.

I'd woken at the crack of dawn because I couldn't stand another day in the desert of celibacy. Almost against my will I found myself in the station, ready to travel all the way across the country for a good fuck.

The train finally boarded at six a.m. and I settled in for the long journey. The only upside to the hours sitting on a bristly nylon seat was the anticipation of seeing Sam. My body was so sensitized that even the feel of my clothes against my skin made my heart do a drum roll. I had butterflies about turning up unannounced on his doorstep, but half of them were excitement at the thought of holding him again, feeling his body against mine. How I'd melt when he touched me.

I'd dressed with that in mind: my kinkiest underwear, the extreme-cleavage bra, and the split-crotch panties. They cut into me, cantilevered my tits and exposed my ass when I bent over; when I wore that get-up I felt like a concubine primed to fuck.

The outfit was horny as hell, but definitely impractical for traveling. The clever little slit up the front of the panties left my softest skin exposed, and the rough denim of my jeans rubbed against me. I wriggled in my seat. I had another four hours before I'd arrive in Euston, and more hours after that before I'd get to take them off.

Outside, the countryside rolled past in a green blur. I looked round the carriage. Most of the other passengers were businessmen. The man across the aisle, a fat, gristly guy in shiny shoes, was clattering away on his laptop, taking big gulps from a tiny plastic coffee cup. Our eyes met. His were pink-rimmed and baggy, hard little eyes like a bully's. I caught the leer as he looked me over, that licking-the-lips sleaze that makes me squirm. Nothing for it but to turn my back on him and try to lose myself in sleep.

I half-woke with the noise of the train still humming around me, warm sun on my face. The carriage was now the temperature of a hot oven; I felt parched with thirst and cramped from sleeping in the hard, upright seat. When I tried to stretch out, I found my legs trapped. I struggled to open my eyes. Across from me was a young couple. They must have got on at Newcastle while I was asleep. The man, tall and blonde, was stretched out lazily in his seat, his long legs on either side of mine. I'd obviously just kicked him, but he gave me a wide smile.

"Sorry," I muttered, still fuzzy with sleep.

"S'okay," he replied, in a deep American drawl. "We're kinda crammed in here, aren't we?" His mouth curled in another lopsided grin, and I saw a flash of square white teeth.

The girl watched the countryside pass by with a bored look on her face. Also tall and long-limbed, she had the dark complexion that seemed southern European. She curled like a cat across her boyfriend, long brown hair spilling over her shoulders and a thin cotton summer dress barely covering her figure. From the corner of my eye I could see the top of her tanned breasts, full and heavy against the gauzy flowered fabric of the dress. Her nipples were darker shadows through the patterned cloth. The tight pressure of my jeans was cutting into me, and I shifted in my seat, my leg grazing the American's. I wished I'd worn something loose fitting and cool. The underwear was agitating me.

"You goin' to London?" the man asked, his voice lazy and low.

I nodded, aware that my heart was starting to thump in my chest. As if reading my thoughts, he let his gaze meander down my body, though he was looking at my tits rather than my beating heart. I felt my nipples stiffen as though they had been stroked. Under the table, I felt his leg press my knee. I shot a look at the girl, but she seemed oblivious to her lover's little game. His knee was now rubbing insistently against my thigh.

Around us, businessmen read newspapers and talked on mobiles, occupied with the real world. I felt my cheeks getting hot. The American leaned forward as if to look closely at something he'd seen out the window. I felt a hand on my leg. He brushed the inside of my thigh with the back of his hand, casually, as though we were lovers who had known each other for ages. He rested his chin on his other hand.

"All tickets please." The conductor was barging up the aisle, checking each table for new faces. The boy pulled back, searching his pockets.

I exhaled, the tension broken, half-relieved and half-disappointed. I had a brief vision of the girlfriend throwing a Continental tantrum in the middle of the train and a catfight in the aisles, the two of us rolling around pulling each other's hair. But the man had turned me on. Perpetually horny from Sam's absence, it didn't take much to get me going.

To distract myself, I opened the newspaper and scanned the headlines. On the periphery of my vision, I could see the two sweethearts opposite me nuzzling each other. I tried to ignore their display of affection, feeling even more frustrated and uncomfortable. Under the noise of the train, I could make out the man whispering in his girlfriend's ear. She giggled.

"Can I sit next to you?"

I looked up. The girl was standing, looking right at me with wide brown eyes.

"I don't like going backwards." There was the hint of a French accent in her voice.

"Yes. Yes, of course," I said, feeling as though I should apologise to her for sitting on this side of the train, and guilty because her lover had just made a sly pass at me under the table.

She smiled as she slid into the seat next to me. I shifted the newspaper to make room. She wriggled into the seat and leaned into me, looking over the stories, her arm against mine. I could feel her breath on my neck and instantly was surrounded by the heavy fragrance of her perfume. She had the generous confidence of Europeans, and their unconscious intimate way of sitting too close.

"You like this picture?" she asked, pointing to a shot of Madonna onstage at a concert. "Sexy woman, no?" The girl drew her hand back, running her fingers along my arm. Slowly, so it was clearly not an accident.

The atmosphere suddenly crackled with heat, my heart booming in my ears and the train sounds beating in time with it. I looked across at the man. He was leaning back, watching the two of us, grinning that grin of his. I felt like a deer caught between two predators. Trapped in my seat, I felt the touch of her hand linger on my skin and spread over my body. My breasts ached. I could feel my heart beating all the way to the tips of my nipples. In my tight jeans, between my hot thighs, I felt myself melting.

She put her mouth to my ear. "We would both like to fuck you," she breathed, making my head swim and my pussy throb.

Her boyfriend leaned forward to slowly rub the insides of my thighs with his agile fingers. I sat stock still and let him manipulate me, frozen with confusion. Under the cover of the newspaper he pulled at the fly of my jeans, popping the buttons one by one. I felt the cool air rush against my pussy, exposed by the slit in my panties. God, I wanted his fingers inside me. I thought desperately of the other passengers -- the carriage was full. Drunk with desire, I turned to the girl. She leant in to press her tits against me.

She was still perusing the open newspaper on my lap as though reading a story, while rubbing her nipples against the bare flesh of my arm. If we'd been alone I would have reached out to touch her, but I was terrified of drawing attention to our little threesome.

The passengers chattered. The wheels clicked over the rails. Under the cover of the paper, her lover was working his way inside my knickers. I felt his finger strum me, felt ripples of warm pleasure through my body. To onlookers we were just two girls reading a paper and a man looking out the window. Below the surface, though, a thrilling game of hide and seek was going on.

He kept playing with me, his long fingers pushing further inside, building up an irresistible rhythm that moved in time with the train. I thought, briefly, of Sam, and what his face would look like if he could see me now. And with a vicious rush of pleasure, I turned to the girl, looking straight into her laughing brown eyes. I let her see the flush on my cheeks, the wild, urgent look in my eyes that meant I wanted to kiss her. I licked my lips, watching her mouth as she leaned in again to whisper, "How do you like train travel?" The huskiness of her voice betrayed her arousal. I was caught between her dark amusement and her boyfriend's fingers.

I felt my orgasm rushing towards me with an intensity so blinding that I was scared I would scream when I came. Silently I begged for the pressure of his hand to bring me off, all my consciousness concentrated in that white-hot spot of arousal so it was only his smooth fingertip rubbing lightly over the bud of my clit that connected me to the world. Such a slight, circling pressure from his outstretched hand; the glint in the girl's eyes, the feel of her warm flesh against my arm, the underwear cutting into me and the rustle of the newspaper as I spread my legs wider, dying to peak.

And then it came -- an orgasm that shook me so hard I thought I might pass out, cheeks burning, heart thudding, breath spasming in a gasp I couldn't hold back. Waves of pleasure moved through me, overtaking all my fears. The noise of the train receded and I surfed on blissful oblivion.

...and then the awareness of where I was flooded back into consciousness, my awkward perch on the edge of the seat suddenly feeling strange, my flushed face feeling like a flag of guilt. I was gripped with panic that the other passengers had heard me, that I was naked and exposed with a stranger's hand between my legs, and an even greater panic that I had committed a treacherous betrayal of Sam.

But then I turned to the girl.

Her eyes locked on mine. She smiled as though we'd shared something dark and delicious, a secret encounter that could happen only between destinations. As though the fact her lover had just brought me off was simply a divertissement, an act of friendliness between fellow travelers.

Winking, she settled back into her seat, satisfied. Her boyfriend withdrew his hand and carefully buttoned me up again, his movements as tender as if I were a precious gift he was wrapping.

I wondered: would Sam notice that I'd already been opened?

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