Tuesday evening. A quarter past eight. It’s dark out. As the train eases out of the main station, the interior of the carriage reflects in the window. I’m right at the front of the train, my back to the driver’s cabin. There aren’t many people in this carriage, since most can’t be bothered to walk the full length of the platform. Nevertheless, I have two people in close proximity. On my left, next to the aisle, is a man dressed in a shirt and a jacket. He’s taken his overcoat off and laid it on the seat opposite.

Opposite me is a woman. She too has removed her coat. I don’t look at her directly. Instead I regard her reflection in the window. I recognize her, or rather I half recognize her. I haven’t seen her face before, only images of her from other angles. She looks nice, a little preoccupied. Her dark hair would tumble down over her shoulders if it wasn’t pulled up and fastened with a bulldog clip. She’s sparing with her make-up; lip-gloss rather than lipstick, just a hint of drama about the eyes. If her cheeks look a little red, I doubt that it’s rouge. I imagine her as a receptionist or something, effortlessly efficient, always friendly.

I don’t know, you see. Even though I half recognize the woman, I know very little about her. I’ve never met her, never seen her in the flesh. As we trundle further out from the metropolis, I turn away from the window to focus attention on the rest of her. A tight red sweater gives her boobs a nice shape. They’re not enormous, but they look just fine. Her legs are crossed; shapely legs, emerging from the black skirt that reaches half way down her thighs, black nylon accentuating their desirability, as do the heels that top (bottom?) things off.

I make no attempt to hide the trajectory of my eyes, and the woman’s cheeks grow a little redder under my gaze. She averts her eyes, glancing instead at the man sitting next to me, as if for support. I sense an almost imperceptible nod from the man as I stare at the woman’s bosom, enjoying the way it moves as she breathes; breathing perhaps a little uneasier than she might. The woman turns her eyes back to me; half looking, half not, as I lower my gaze, admiring the fullness of what I can see of her nylon thighs.

As the train picks up speed, the woman turns to stare out of the window, which really means she is staring at the reflection of the carriage, at the two men opposite her. A hand lands on her thigh; a slender hand with long, thin fingers and immaculate red varnish on her nails. Fingertips fiddle with the hem of her skirt. I watch her bosom rise and subside, watch as she nibbles nervously at her bottom lip. As she stares resolutely out of the window, her fingers slowly grip the hem of her skirt. She’s wearing her nerves on her sleeve as she inches the skirt higher up her thigh.

Slowly, slowly the skirt rises. Agonisingly slowly, until deep black appears; the elasticated top of her hold-ups. Slowly, slowly the skirt rises a little more, until a slither of skin is revealed above her stocking-tops. Still the woman stares out of the window, but I know she can see me staring as I lick my lips.

I grope her with my eyes, enjoying the way she hurriedly avoids my eyes as she turns to look at the man next to me. When he gives another nod, the woman turns back to the window. The same agonizing slowness repeats as she uncrosses her legs, once again using fingers with red nails to arrange her skirt, making sure that both stocking-tops are visible with tiny slithers of naked flesh above them, but keeping her legs tightly pushed together.

Now she looks directly at me, with eyes full of question marks. I nod, keeping my eyes glued to those little slithers of flesh. I adore the doubt, the nervousness in her eyes, but more than that I enjoy the long, slow, painful unfolding of events. I enjoy holding myself back, groping her with my eyes when every fibre of my body wants to grope her with my hands; contenting myself with looking when I’m aching to do more.

The woman sits like that a little longer, her cheeks hot and flushed, her eyes nervous but fixed on me. Then slowly, slowly her legs part. Slowly, slowly I see more of her milky white thighs. Slowly, slowly she opens up, putting more of herself on show. I slide my eyes along those milky white thighs, searching, scanning, and then finally, as the woman’s legs part in tiny increments, I catch sight of the dark at the top of her legs, the fabric guarding her private entrance – intriguingly just as the train itself plunges into a tunnel.

The woman’s cheeks redden. I read the question in her eyes and nod. Her hands rest just above her knees as I gaze upon the black nylon, the white flesh above stocking tops, and the black of her knickers just about visible inside her skirt. We sit like that for an age, or what feels like an age. The woman looks at the man sitting next to me, then back to me, then out of the window. She gnaws at her lip, and then finally she rises from her seat. She turns. I stare at the window, seeing the reflection of her profile there, making out how insecure she looks. It seems to take forever before she moves. It’s only when a shake of the train, darting through dark countryside, causes her to stumble that her hands move to her skirt.

Her fingers grip the dark fabric, and slowly, slowly the skirt is pulled up. Stocking tops, white milky thighs, and now silky black knickers covering her nicely rounded buttocks. She pulls the skirt up to her waist, then turns, even redder now as she resumes her seat. Her legs are pushed tightly together again as she looks at me. There are real question-marks now, betraying how unsure she is of how to proceed.

So far my instructions have been carried out to the letter; the ones I e-mailed her husband, the man sitting next to me, beforehand. Now we’re entering new territory; territory where neither husband nor wife knows what is coming. Neither do I. A little bit of planning goes a long way, but at some point improvisation must take over. Not now though, for the husband stirs. “Conductor’s coming,” he says.

The conductor is indeed on his way. The woman starts and crosses her legs, grabbing her coat and arranging it over her bare flesh. We rummage for our tickets, and when the conductor arrives he looks us over suspiciously, as if anyone seated this far forward at this time of night must self-evidently be fare-dodging. Rather grudgingly he has to concede that our tickets are in order. Then he bumbles back the way he came. I’m pleased. If he’d have slipped into the driver’s cabin for a chat it would have complicated things.

The woman’s staring at me, once again as if asking what she’s expected to do. I nod at the coat and she lays it back on the seat next to her, but remains with her legs crossed. I grope her thighs with my eyes; the nylon, her flesh, licking my lips as I do so. The woman looks down and I take the opportunity to slide forward, arriving on my haunches. I slide my hands round the top knee, lifting and moving the leg to one side. There’s a flicker of shame in the woman’s eyes, but also of anticipation. I revel in the feel of the black nylon against my hands, placing my hands round the other leg, just below the knee, pulling it to one side so that she once again sits with parted legs.

There’s a tiny gasp as I take the woman’s hand. I can feel her tremble slightly as my other hand moves in. I’m sure she thinks I’m going to touch the spot between her thighs, but instead I grip the top hem of her knickers, pulling the garment out and pulling the woman’s hand to the spot. She looks at me with bashful eyes, yet eyes that also give her consent. She understands what I want from her. I release my hold and resume my seat, watching the woman’s hand slide down inside her knickers.

I’m not really bothered about the husband, as long as he knows not to interfere. He does nothing but look. We both look. The woman sits there, staring at me, black nylon giving way to milky white thigh, and at the top of her legs, black silk, now moving as her hand moves inside her knickers. The movements aren’t very intense, but they are hugely arousing. The woman sits there with parted legs, a hand inside her knickers, touching herself, stroking herself. She looks at me, and I return the gaze. Her eyes betray her. Though she is still flushed and slightly shameful, there’s a new urgency in her eyes. She’s coming to enjoy this. She’s gradually coming to enjoy showing off to a stranger, touching herself, stroking herself inside her silky knickers.

The train dashes on, through small towns and villages and stations where it has no intention of stopping. The woman’s hand moves, her cheeks are red, her breathing visible. I grope her with my eyes; from her thighs all the way up to the spot where her breasts are held in place by the tight sweater. She shifts slightly in her seat. I have an intimation that she might have a finger inside herself as her hand moves inside the silk knickers.

I could sit and watch her all night; watch her shy but increasingly animated demeanour, the way her knickers shift as her fingers move. Her eyes betray her some more. I get a sense that she too could just sit like this until she reaches a climax, but I also sense that she’s expecting something more; that she wants something more. If her husband senses it, he gives no indication, but his body is tense where he sits, watching his wife touch herself in the presence of a total stranger.

The woman’s body heaves where the tight sweater clings to her breasts. Her lips part slightly as her hand moves, stretching the knicker fabric. I watch intently, coming to the conclusion that she very definitely has a finger inside herself. My cock strains. To touch or not to touch, that is the question. But I don’t, not just yet. Instead I stare at her just about parted lips, thinking how delightful it would be to have her on her knees in front of me.

My cock twitches at the thought, and as if by some magical sympathy, the woman gives a little gasp as her body gives an involuntary shift. Her eyes lock on to mine as if asking, ‘Is this all you want?’ Then they close, her breathing audible even above the noise of the train, a slight wheezing as if she’s building up to something.

I slide off my seat, ending up on my haunches in front of her. The woman’s eyes open, looking a little shocked as my hands land on her thighs. ‘What is it you want?’ she seems to be asking as she calms down. Her hand has stopped moving. I carefully take hold of her knickers, pulling them to one side, exposing her pussy.

The woman’s cheeks redden some more. Her hand slides up to rest on her mound. She looks embarrassed, but she’s glistening where it counts. I gently take her hand and move it back down before resuming my seat. The woman gives me a shy look, appearing ashamed. But then she spreads her legs a little more as her eyes close.

Her lips part, and she begins moving her hand again, a circular rubbing causing her labia to shift. Then a finger slides in between her pussy lips. She sits, just sliding the finger inside herself as she breathes heavily, her bosom rising and falling. I glance to the left, where her husband is staring in something approaching disbelief. Staring at his wife as she exposes herself to a total stranger; as she fingers herself for my pleasure.

I doubt very much that she’s going to be able to cum like this, but for the moment it doesn’t matter. I could sit and watch her like this all night. The shy ones are always the best. It’s such a turn on when it becomes impossible for them to hide their true feelings behind their inscrutable veneer. The woman’s breathing comes with tiny squeaks as she works her finger. Even with her eyes closed she exudes a ravenous hunger for something like this; something kinky, forbidden, a bit risky. Her lips part a little more as she sits, doing something she never thought she’d dare to.

Her eyes open. She looks at me, and only at me. It’s as if her husband doesn’t exist. She’s looking at me and I read her eyes. ‘What do you want?’ she seems to be asking. I have her, I know I have her. Right now she’d do anything I asked of her.

But right now I want nothing more than this, to watch. I nod, indicating the spot between her thighs. Shame and arousal fill her eyes before she closes them. She brings her other hand into play, using the fingers to spread her pussy lips and hold them in place, giving me a delicious view of her juicy pussy.

Now I can properly see how wet she is. Tentatively she lets a second finger join the first inside her moist tunnel. The fingers move but slowly, but there’s no doubting that raw lust is making it impossible for her to hold back. Her bosom heaves. I look at the tight sweater bringing out the shape of her breasts. To touch or not to touch, that is the question. But it’s no question really. All in good time.

The train begins to slow. The woman opens her eyes, looking to the window, then to me; nervous eyes asking questions. There is a station coming up, but not yet. Normally the train doesn’t slow down here, so I merely nod at the woman’s wet pussy. She looks a little uncertain, but keeps moving her fingers, now glancing at her husband as if for confirmation. I can just about sense the man’s silent nod, urging his wife to carry on, just as I want.

The train speeds up again. Enough to calm the woman. With big eyes and parted lips she stares at me, working her fingers slowly; holding herself open, exposing herself as she fingers herself. Her own speed increases a little. A little more eagerness lights up her eyes as her fingers move back and forth, back and forth. She looks ashamed and shameless as she masturbates openly in front of me, the stranger. She doesn’t look at her husband at all, only at me.

Then she glances out of the window. Beyond the reflection of the carriage, there are other lights. We are entering a major town. The woman’s expression changes to anxiety. Her eyes dart questions at me. I nod at her pussy, indicating that I want her to continue. She bites her lip, glancing out of the window.

Then the train slows again, and now a voice comes over the tannoy, announcing that we will be arriving at the station shortly and providing information about connecting trains. The woman looks at me with eyes clouded by anxiety and doubt. Outside there are more and brighter lights battling the reflection in the window. The woman stares and stares, and then her hands move away as she attempts to close her thighs.

That decides things. I make my move, standing up and stepping forward. I stand between her legs, preventing her from closing them. I take her hand and move it back down to her pussy, making sure she understands that I want her to keep going. She looks very nervous, but moves her hand against her pussy lips.

The question is no longer whether to touch or not to touch. As a new announcement comes over the tannoy and the train slows yet more, I reach out and grab the woman’s tits. I fondle them, feeling the soft, pliant flesh through the tight sweater. The train slows yet again. We are entering the station. The woman’s hand stops moving, just resting between her thighs. Her other hand is on her coat, in case she should need to cover up.

As the train grinds to a halt people further down the carriage rise and head for the doors. I continue groping the woman’s breasts, squeezing and rubbing, adoring the feel of her soft, womanly anatomy. She looks up at me, nervous, anxious. She can hear the people moving, the sliding of doors, people exiting and entering. But she has nothing to fear. I can see what’s happening, see the other people as I continue squeezing and fondling the woman’s delightful bosom. More people exit than embark, and those that get on the train don’t come anywhere near our end of the carriage.

The doors slide shut and the train begins to move. Once a new announcement has listed the coming destinations and the train begins to pick up speed, the woman becomes less anxious. She gives a little sigh as I continue squeezing her breasts, my thumbs searching for a swell of nipple under her sweater. I bend forwards and whisper in her ear, “You’re doing just fine, doll.”

She reddens a little. I kiss her on the neck, removing one hand from her breasts. Her own hand is still lingering between her thighs as mine slides up the inside of one thigh, across the stocking top, all the way up. There’s a little gasp as I ease my finger between her pussy lips. There’s plenty of lubrication and as I find the entrance, I don’t hesitate to slide my finger inside her.

I turn my head sideways on, pushing my ear up to her mouth to catch her breathing. Her hot breath eases inside along with soft sounds of arousal. I pull away and rest on the edge of my seat. With red cheeks but an unmistakable gleam in her eye, the woman parts her legs a little more, resuming her previous stance; one hand holding her pussy lips apart, two fingers on the other hand pushing up into her.

Once again her eyes fall on me, as if her husband wasn’t here at all. The train picks up speed, dashing through the once more invisible landscape. It hardly seems to matter where we are. The people further down the carriage don’t matter. The woman’s husband certainly doesn’t seem to matter. He might as well be air as the woman’s ashamed yet shameless eyes lock onto mine, then glide downwards, searching for the bulge in my trousers.

Well, why not? I unzip and pull my aching cock from my trousers. I’d be tempted to ask if she likes what she sees, if her eyes weren’t answering the question already. Her fingers work slowly inside her, but now she uses her other hand to make circular movements on her clit. I stroke my cock gently, enjoying the reluctant arousal in the woman’s eyes. Shame and shamelessness mix. Her lips part a little. I sense a slight moan, but the noise of the train drowns it out. Surely I have her now? Surely my wish is now her desire?

Yes. Her eyes are on my swollen cock. She is like an open book. Her arousal is too great for her to stop now. I rise and step forward, holding my erection with one hand and placing a finger on the other hand on her lips. She glances at her husband. I can’t see how he reacts, but he has already acquiesced in e-mails to me, and he acquiesces now, as the woman leans forward and extends her tongue.

I use both hands to squeeze her breasts where the tight jumper accentuates them. The woman uses both hands to stimulate herself. But her tongue, her tongue flicks against my shaft. I turn to look at the window. All is dark beyond the train, only the reflected carriage can be seen, the reflection of the woman’s tongue sliding over my hard rod, my hands squeezing and fondling her soft breasts.

The woman breathes heavily.

Soft moans are there at the back of her throat. Her hands are working faster; fingers rubbing against her clit, fingers pushing up into her damp hole. I have a surprise for her too, and she deserves it for her willingness. I give her breasts an extra hard squeeze before reaching into the inside pocket of my jacket. I have a slim dildo there.

The woman’s eyes light up when she sees it. Ashamed and aroused, but more willing than anything. She leans back, her tongue coming away from my shaft. I don’t care. I hand her the dildo. It can be set to vibrate, but the woman doesn’t do this, perhaps afraid of making too much noise. But she doesn’t hesitate to use it, pushing it inside herself as she continues rubbing her clit.

A juicy squish can be heard above the sound of the train. She stares at me with grateful eyes. I resume my seat, stroking my cock slowly as I watch the woman push the dildo back and forth. Her eyes close as she pulls a leg up. Her lips part, her bosom heaves. She moves the dildo swiftly. She looks as if it won’t take much more for her to climax.

I could sit there all night watching her; watching her hand work its way to a blur against her clit, the way she works the dildo inside her. Next to me her husband watches too, and I sense his inner conflict. They’re always like that when they get what they want, suddenly not quite sure they want it at all. ‘Be careful what you wish for,’ I feel like saying. For now there’s now turning back.

All those e-mails back and forth, and now here we are. The husband watching as his wife masturbates openly on a train, fucking herself with a dildo, rubbing her clit, perhaps more aroused than she’s ever been, and with a complete stranger watching, wanking, the taste of the stranger on the wife’s tongue.

Then a marvellous thing happens. The wife’s eyes open, she stares at us both and smiles. No shame, no anxiety; just lust and shamelessness. She pulls the dildo out of herself, only to stand up and turn around, bending over, steadying herself with one hand on the seat. The hand with the dildo reaches back. Her knickers shift and she has to make an awkward movement to get them to one side again. Most of her bum is still covered by the silky black, but it is lovely and firm.

Oh to get my hands on that! But I restrain myself, stroking myself gently as the woman slowly slides the dildo back inside herself. The dildo moves, briskly, swiftly. This is a moment I could use, to stand up, pull the dildo from the woman and replace it with my cock. Right now I could take full advantage; while she’s standing there, bent over, openly shoving the dildo into herself.

“Conductor’s coming!” the husband says. He sounds panicked, as well he might.

The woman spins round, resuming her seat, dragging her coat across herself to hide the naked bits. She just about manages to hide the dildo from view, just as I just about manage to stuff my cock back in my trousers, before the conductor’s there, eyeing us suspiciously. But we’re just three people on a train, and we’ve already shown him our tickets. He lumbers back down the aisle with the air of someone disappointed that he had no reason to pick a fight.

The woman gives her husband a funny look, perhaps suspecting that he cut it a bit fine warning her. He did too, for whatever reason. This time, when she looks at me, there are no questions, just a big smile. The coat is replaced on the seat next to her. The knickers have fallen back into place, and this time the woman clearly doesn’t want the hassle. She lifts her buttocks and pulls her knickers down and off, stuffing them in her bag. Her legs part, and she slowly slides the dildo down between her pussy lips.

Whatever anxiety may be there, it’s overtaken by other feelings. She twists the base of the dildo. There’s a gentle hum, harmonizing with the sound of the train. Her head tilts back, her eyes close, her lips part. She moves the dildo, rubbing, vibrating her clit.

I bring my cock back out, wanking slowly as I look at her. She continues to tease herself, vibrating herself. Soft sighs emerge, developing into fuller moans. When the woman finally opens her eyes, they look glazed over. She’s now fully in that world where only the rules of lust apply. Her other hand comes up and she begins squeezing her breasts through the tight sweater. The sight is breathtaking.

She looks at me; she looks at my cock. Her eyes are asking questions again. I nod at her pussy, urging her on as I wank my cock slowly. The woman angles the dildo, sliding it inside herself, her other hand coming down to rub her clit. She breathes heavily; each breath now a soft moan which can be heard above the sound of the train. She stares at my cock as she fucks herself, but her eyes are far away too, as if she’s seeing but not seeing.

She slides forward, her hands working faster. The dildo is deep inside her as she breathes heavily, her body moving, controlled by lust. Surely she is close to cumming. Do I want her to cum? It doesn’t really matter. If she cums she cums. I continue my own slow masturbation, watching the amazing sight, hearing the woman’s excited moans.

The train dashes through yet another of the smaller stations it’s not stopping at. The woman switches the dildo off, bringing it out of her pussy. She’s staring at my cock as she brings the dildo up to her mouth. All that shyness has evaporated as she slides the dildo between her lips. Two fingers slide into the cavity the dildo has vacated. It’s truly breathtaking the way the woman has become transformed in such a short space of time.

I smile at her; she smiles back. She sucks on the dildo, frigging herself as her eyes once again lock onto my erection. I point it at her, and her eyes dart to one side, to her husband. Is she asking permission, or does she just want to see how he’s reacting to this?

Not that it matters. She’s not going to stop now, and he’s not going to stop her. That much is obvious. Her eyes close once again as fingers emerge from her pussy; creamy fingers, rubbing her clit.

The familiar tones ring out from the tannoy. The next station is approaching. The train slows. There are lights beyond the immediate reflection in the window. This time the woman appears not to care. Her eyes remain closed as she moves the dildo from mouth to pussy. It’s back deep inside her as she continues rubbing her clit with her other hand. Her mouth is open. She’s gasping. Her eyes open, asking questions of me. I nod. Why not?

As the train rumbles into the station, the woman’s body spasms and shakes. I sense that she only just manages to control her orgasmic cries, her climax audible as a series of exquisite moans. Everything about her tenses, and I enjoy the outline of hard nipples beneath her sweater. The dildo slides out, the woman looking just a little embarrassed now, cheeks reddening as she pulls the coat across, covering her naughty bits.

People further down the carriage are moving as the train comes to a halt. The doors slide open. People exit, but only one person boards the train, coming nowhere near us. The doors close. Slowly the train starts moving again.

The woman looks at her husband. I can’t see him, but her eyes tell me everything. Even if I wasn’t calling the shots, it wouldn’t be over. She doesn’t want it to be over.

I’m still sitting there, holding my cock, pointing it at her. She looks at it, at me. The train picks up speed, charging into open landscape that cannot be seen in the dark. I rise, step forward. The woman looks up at me with smiling eyes. Her hand reaches out to grab my cock. She works my cock slowly, looking at me, asking questions with her eyes. Asking me what I want.

I reach out to pull the coat off her, to reveal her nakedness. I lay a hand on her thigh, stroking the black nylon as she strokes my cock. My other hand squeezes her breasts, just feeling, thinking that they look so superb beneath the sweater it would be a shame to lift it. My other hand leaves the nylon, tracing a path along naked thigh, moving upwards. The woman’s eyes are still asking silent questions of me as one of my fingers slides inside her tight, post-orgasmic vagina.

Her body responds with a little shudder. I let a second finger join the first. She gives a little moan. I finger her tight pussy as she continues stroking my cock. Our eyes meet, hers still asking questions. What do I want?

I’m not going to answer, because I love seeing the want in her eyes. We stare into each other’s eyes, my fingers surrounded by her tight moistness, her fingers clutching my stiff cock. Behind me the husband clears his throat, but his wife and I only have eyes for each other. Anyway, what he wants or doesn’t want is neither here nor there. We agreed beforehand; what will be will be. I dig my fingers as far into his wife as I can, squeezing her breast hard at the same time.

Then it happens. The woman’s eyes lock onto mine, still asking what I want. When I still don’t give any indication the wife shifts a little, looking very embarrassed, a little ashamed. Her cheeks fill with blood as her lips move. “Do you want to fuck me?”

My smile gives her all the assurance she needs. She moves her body, our hands leaving each other’s bodies for a moment. She turns, bending over, leaning forwards so that her face rests on the seat, her shapely arse in the air. I turn my head, seeing my own reflection in the window as I grip my cock and point it at the spot. The moment has arrived.

I toy with the idea of toying with the woman, but then decide against it. I guide my cock to her pussy, where puffy pussy lips smile invitingly. My cock enters, sliding slowly all the way up the woman’s tight, moist vagina. I shove my hands inside her sweater to grab hold of her tits, feeling her swollen nipples through the bra. The woman breathes heavily, and I can sense her impatience; her desire to feel me thrust my cock inside her.

So I do just that. Not long ago she was a complete stranger, looking shy and embarrassed. Now she is still a complete stranger, but also a wanton, lustful woman, giving little gasps as her pussy is stretched and pounded, allowing herself to be taken from behind as her husband looks on.

Over the top of the seat I can see the passengers further down the carriage. There aren’t many, but any one of them looking up and seeing me might get a good idea of what’s going on. As it is they’re fixated on their gadgets, or just dozing.

I turn my eyes back to the window, watching the reflection, regarding the delicious sight of my long, hard cock working in the woman, driving back and forth in her eager cunt. I squeeze her breasts hard and she moans out loud. Loud enough for her husband to hear, but not screamingly loud.

I up the pace, thrusting hard inside her, feeling her wet walls cling to me. The woman breathes heavily, short sharp moans coming from her as her pussy also finds its voice. She is so wet that her pussy can’t keep quiet, the moisture bubbling loudly with every thrust; every thrust producing an excited moan from the woman’s throat. I squeeze her tits with all my might and she whimpers a little, but she also thrusts her arse back at me, as if urging me to go deeper.

How delicious it all is, having this once shy and anxious woman at the mercy of my cock, my hard thrusts. How delicious it is having her turn into this wanton creature who just wants to be fucked. How delicious it is to get to fuck her in the presence of her husband. I feel like I could fuck her all night. She’s a find, and even now, in the middle of our first meeting, I know I want her again.

Oh what a find she is! She’s fumbling for the dildo. She locates it. She turns it on. I thrust faster inside her, forcing her to take my cock harder and harder. The dildo hums as she reaches back between her legs. Looking at the reflection in the window I can see her tease her clit with it. The thing moves between her labia as she uses it on herself. My cock works back and forth; reflected in the window, nothing but a blur. Occasionally the dildo comes into contact with my cock, and I feel the vibrations stimulate me as they stimulate her.

The woman breathes hard. She seems completely lost to lust. I get the feeling that even if someone other than her husband did chance to see us, she wouldn’t stop. Not now. She moans and moans as I drive my cock back and forth in her sopping fuck pit. The dildo hums. She sounds like she’s gasping for breath as the doors at the far end of the carriage slide open.

“Conductor’s coming,” I warn.

“So am I!” the woman gasps.

With only the one new passenger, the conductor doesn’t have much to check. I bring my thrusting to an end, feeling how the woman tightens round me. “Uh, uh, uh!” she exclaims, her body shaking, as the conductor advances through the carriage.

I pull out of her, stuffing my cock back in my trousers as I resume my seat. In the nick of time the woman spins round and covers herself, looking flushed and not quite all there as the conductor eyes us. There’s a strange look in his eye, but he says nothing, merely extracting a bunch of keys and unlocking the door to the driver’s cabin.

The door slams shut. The woman locks eyes with me, a naughty gleam there. “That was so hot!” she gasps.

Indeed. There’s movement beneath her coat as she parts her legs. I don’t have to be able to see to know. The woman has gone from being shy and easily embarrassed to virtually insatiable. I lean forwards and pull the coat to one side. There she is, legs spread, one hand rubbing her clit, the other pushing the dildo back and forth in her tight pussy.

Even I am amazed. She’s only just climaxed, and here she is, in the market for another. I lean back in my seat, just watching as the woman’s mouth opens. She stuffs herself with the dildo, her whole body shifting as she looks at me with liberated delight. There’s nothing in her eyes but utter shamelessness. Her breathing is loud enough to be heard above the noise of the train. Her body heaves and she begins to moan again; short, sharp expressions of delight.

She looks wonderful. She has given herself to lust and married into the ranks of the shameless and insatiable. “Oh, oh, oh!” she gasps as she stares at me. To my delight it’s as if her husband is of no more interest to her than the abandoned crisp packet in the corner. She works the dildo hard and fast, the hand against her clit no more than a blur. Her breathing is strained, the little moans sounding cracked and desperate.

Then she’s there, gasping and whining. I wonder for a second if the door’s thick enough to prevent the sounds from transmitting themselves into the cab. The woman doesn’t care, though. She’s in a world of her own as her body is seized by orgasmic tension. Her whole body is a bundle of sexual compulsions as she gasps and gasps and gasps.

She’s thrown caution to the wind, and as she slumps into a post-orgasmic near-trance, I feel it’s only right to reciprocate. She looks so delicious with her face glazed over with delight in her own daring and sexual abandon. I bring my cock back out into the open, staring at the woman’s still parted thighs as I do so. Moving my gaze to her eyes, I see that she’s staring at my erection, consciously or unconsciously licking her lips as she does so.

I rise and step forward. The woman’s lips part, but she remains completely still in other respects. I slide my hand in behind her head to bring her forward, to bring her mouth to my cock. Her lips close as I insert my hard meat. Then the woman remains passive, allowing me to move my cock in her mouth. Further down the carriage I see the other passengers, still absorbed in their own little worlds. Behind me I can sense the husband’s nervousness. He shuffles his feet on the floor, no doubt thinking of the conductor in the little room behind us.

The woman looks a little nervous too, but the chief impression is one of submissive eyes staring up at me as I slide my cock back and forth in her mouth. As my free hand moves down to grope her tits, I see her shyness start to reassert itself too, which lends a new dimension to proceedings. Her mouth is soft and moist and accommodating. I could fuck her mouth all night and never tire of it.

The train slows, one of those mysterious changes of speed even though we’re in the middle of nowhere. Anxiety reasserts itself. The woman jerks her head back, and I let my cock slide out of her, understanding she wants to say something. “Please cum quickly,” she breathes nervously.

How can one deny such a request from such a delicious lady? So far I’ve been nice, but if she wants it quick, that has to change. I stuff my cock back in her mouth, and this time I grip her head between both hands; holding it as if in a vice. Speed is of the essence, so I thrust my cock swiftly in her mouth. I can see in her eyes that she can just about take this level of face-fucking. Behind me the husband shuffles his feet again. Well, you want to see your wife with another man, this is what you get.

The train speeds up, and I do the same. The woman’s mouth is awash with saliva as I thrust and thrust, working up to my own climax as quickly as I can. The woman sits there, passive with submissive eyes, letting me fuck her face until I can feel myself coming to the boil.

Beyond the reflection in the window, specks of light become visible. We’re approaching a larger urban area. I pull my cock out. A few hard tugs are all it takes. Large spurts of semen fly out of my cock, splattering the woman’s face. I wank and wank as she gasps out loud. More cum shoots out; ropes of the stuff adhering tantalisingly to the woman’s skin. As I milk the last out of myself, drips land on her thigh, a string of the stuff drops from her face to her sweater, providing a nice contrast with the red.

The woman looks ashamed; ashamed yet very much alive as I back off, popping my cock back into my trousers, resuming my seat and enjoying the sight of her cum-splattered face. As the train slows, the voice comes over the tannoy, announcing the next station. Then there’s a sound behind us.

The woman’s face registers shock. She grabs the coat, pulling it over herself, twisting her head to one side and lowering it, as the conductor emerges from the cab. He closes the door and stands in the aisle looking at us. “You do realise there are cameras on the train?” he says. When none of us respond he continues, “It’s lucky for the lady I’m a happily married man, or I might have been wanting some of that action.”

Then he ambles off down the aisle as the train slows some more. I turn to look at the husband, who’s looking shell-shocked. “Well this was fun,” I say. “We must do it again sometime.”

The husband looks at me as if I’m mad, but then the woman says, “Yes, let’s!”

I turn to look at her cum-drenched face, ropes of white on top of very red cheeks, but also a huge smile beaming at me, and at her husband, as the train pulls into the station.