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Premier Classe - Premier Fuck

"My first sexual adventure on my South African trip"

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I opened my eyes, stretched, and looked at my phone. I’d only dozed off in my compartment for half an hour or so, but even during that short time, the landscape had changed completely. I’d closed my eyes on endless rows of ramshackle, corrugated-iron-roofed, single-story shanties on the outskirts of Johannesburg, and opened them to equally wide vistas of flat uncultivated scrubland. There were now no signs of human habitation; just short, twisted trees dotting the landscape, along with random mounds of yellowish soil that I decided must be anthills. The train was clearly in no hurry, rumbling along steadily through the veldt, and I decided it was time to leave my compartment and explore the rest of the train.

I walked through two more carriages of sleeping-compartments, then found myself in a comfortable-looking lounge furnished with sofas, tables and a bar. It was already quite busy, with groups of travellers sipping cups of hot drinks and chatting politely. I’d already worked out that the routine on the train revolved mostly around eating and drinking, presumably to help the passengers pass the time on the leisurely thirty-hour journey from Jo’burg to Cape Town. I ordered a rooibos tea and established, while waiting for it to arrive, that the dining cars and kitchen were in the next few carriages, with more sleeping accommodation beyond that.

There were no empty blocks of sofas in the lounge, but I excused myself and sat down on the end of one that was already occupied by a woman who I estimated to be in her mid-thirties, and a youth of around twenty who was engrossed in some sort of electronic game on his tablet.

As I sipped my tea, I passed the time trying to work out their relationship. The obvious assumption was mother and son, but she looked a bit young for that, or maybe he looked too old. Being congenitally inquisitive, I’d already decided if I was going to spend the next thirty hours on this train, I might as well get to know a few of my fellow passengers, and these two seemed as good a place to start as any.

“Excuse me, but can you remind me what time they serve lunch?” I asked (a feeble opener, but better than nothing).

“Officially, at 12:30,” she answered with a friendly smile, “but it’s a good idea to get to the dining car a bit early. For Africa, they’re surprisingly keen on good time-keeping, for meals at least. The train itself is another matter. It’s never once arrived less than two hours late all the times I’ve used it.”

“It’s my first time,” I admitted. “I was going to fly down to Cape Town, but my friend told me I just had to take the Premier Classe. She lives there, and she says the train’s a great way to see some of the country in comfort.”

“That’s true. If all you do is fly from one airport to another, you don’t see much of the real South Africa,” she agreed. “From the train, though, you can see just how empty most of it is – all this land, mostly unused.”

She paused, then went on. “So, is this your first visit to South Africa? You said you had a friend in Cape Town, is that right?”

So I explained how it all came about. How I’d made friends with Janet at university in London, though she was a year ahead of me, and we’d kept in touch after she left and come back to South Africa. I missed out the bit about how we’d shared a brief but intense sexual relationship while I was in my second year and she was in her third, both of us going through a lesbian phrase at more or less the same time. The sex was great, but it quickly became clear to each of us that we were never going to give up men completely, so it seemed best to end the relationship by mutual consent before it all got messy.

Anyway, I’d always promised to go and visit her, but it never seemed to happen. We both had busy jobs now, and we just couldn’t find a time that worked for both of us. Then, out of the blue, a work-related conference in Johannesburg came up, and my boss suggested I should go. Normally, he’d get to do most of the good jollies, but he’d just got back from one in Sydney, and couldn’t really spare the time for another. But I’d had a good year, and this was an easy way for the company to say thank you.

I jumped at the chance, especially as they agreed that I could take some holiday afterwards to visit Janet in Cape Town. As I’ve mentioned, she told me I had to take the Premier Classe train service from Johannesburg to Cape Town, saying it was one of those South Africa things that visitors really should “do”, “like going up Table Mountain and seeing a giraffe”, as she put it. I looked it up on the internet, and it did look wonderful: a bit like the Orient Express (but cheaper, and hopefully without any murders). I booked, and here I was.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it,” said my new friend. “I don’t go down to Cape Town much these days, but I like to do it this way, taking my time and getting some rest. And Hansie doesn’t really mind, as long as he’s got his computer games, do you, bokkie?”

Hansie looked up and grinned. “Of course not, ma,” he replied. He looked at me.

“She hates flying,” he confided, “but this is too far to drive, and pa’s using the car anyway.”

I then found out more about them. Her name was Maria, and the boy, Hansie, was her step-son. His biological mother had died in a car accident when he was ten, and his father, Pieter, had remarried a few years later. She was thirty-four, and Hansie was now eighteen. Pieter worked for one of the big mining corporations based in Jo’burg, although he spent much of his time travelling the world advising other companies. Hansie went to school locally but had just applied for a place at Stellenbosch University, not far from Cape Town. That was why they were going there now, to see the university and visit some old family friends. As Hansie had explained, Maria hated flying, which was why they were taking the train.

“Pieter thinks I’m silly,” she smiled, “but since he can’t come, I choose to go my way.”

“Isn’t Stellenbosch where all the vineyards are?” I said, keen to show I’d done a bit of homework. “I think Janet’s got a day trip planned out that way. There’s a minibus that drives you round some of the best ones, so you can do lots of tasting without someone having to stay sober.”

Maria laughed. “Yes, there are a few companies that do that sort of thing. I hope you have a good day for it. Some of the big estates are a bit commercialised, but hopefully, they’ll take you to a couple of the smaller family businesses too.”

“It sounds a great place to study,” I said. “I had a wonderful time at uni. I’m sure you’ll love it, Hansie. And I’m really looking forward to seeing Cape Town. Janet’s going to show me all the touristy things, like Table Mountain. And I really want to see the penguins.”

Maria laughed. “Boulders Beach, yes, that’s just south of the city, at Simon’s Town,” she said. “We took Hansie when he was small. All the tourists go there, and I mean all; it can get awfully crowded. But don’t let me put you off. There are some nice beaches too. Where in Cape Town are you staying?”

I explained that Janet’s family lived in Newlands, just east of Table Mountain, but that her uncle had an apartment in Kalk Bay, right by the sea, and Janet was house-sitting while this uncle was away for a few months. So I was staying with her and planning to spend a lot of time relaxing on the beach and topping up my tan.

“Ah, you’re lucky; Kalk Bay is beautiful, and just along the coast from your penguins,” she said with a smile. “I can recommend some good places to eat too, although I expect your friend knows most of them already.”

We chatted on for quite a long time. Maria told me lots about her life in South Africa: how she’d been brought up on a farm near a place called Grahamstown, in the days of apartheid, which she agreed was an evil system, though she assured me that the politicians were if anything even more corrupt now, and the poor people were still poor, despite the opportunities available to them in theory. It was fascinating to hear a first-hand account of things I’d only previously read about (Janet had never wanted to talk about it much), and in no time at all the train manager came around and called us through to lunch.

I was pleased when Maria insisted I joined them at their table so we could continue our conversation. Away from his game, Hansie joined in with our chat, and I couldn’t help noticing him casting an occasional glance at my breasts. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and my shirt was tight enough to show off the curve of my tits, and the little buds of my nipples. I didn’t mind; if he hadn’t been with his step-mother, I might have undone another button or two to give him a bit more of a view.

The meal was delicious, though I needed to go back to my compartment for a rest afterwards; I wasn’t used to a full three courses at that time of day. In the end, I dropped off for a couple of hours, and then spent some time reading and looking out of the window at the flat landscape going past outside. I was excited to see a real-live monkey by the side of the track at one point, as well as a small herd of what I thought were probably springbok. No giraffes, though I assumed they were mostly confined to the game reserves along with the other exciting things like lions and elephants. Janet had promised we’d see some of them later in the holiday, so I wasn’t too bothered that they weren’t exactly lining up by the railway track just for my benefit.

There was apparently “high tea” at 5:00, but I stayed in my compartment during that. If it was anything like the “high teas” I’d read about in Enid Blyton books it would be too much to cope with so soon after lunch, especially as I needed to leave room for the five-course dinner that had been promised. Maria had insisted that I should join them again, and I was more than happy to do so.

I also thought dinner required something more formal than shorts and shirt. I’d bought one long sleeveless dress that was simple but elegant, with a high neck but cut quite low at the back, making it nice and cool on a hot evening like this. Because it left my back bare it was best worn without a bra, which suited me just fine. It’s so much nicer being braless in warm weather, and the dress was cut close enough to give my 32Bs all the support they needed, while the high neck meant that I wasn’t likely to give Hansie any flashes of bare tit if I bent over; however much he might have enjoyed that.

Both Maria and Hansie seemed genuinely pleased to see me again when I joined them, and she even complimented me on my dress, saying how much it suited me.

“I only wish I still had the figure to wear something like that,” she said with a smile.

“Nonsense, you’ve got a great figure,” I said, truthfully. “You’d look terrific in it.”

She laughed. “Anyway, I think Hansie likes it too, don’t you?”

Hansie blushed bright red. “Oh, ma,” he said, “But you do look nice, Annie.”

Compliments over, it was time to eat. Maria ordered a bottle of wine which she said would go well with the meal. She let Hansie have a small glass, and the meal passed very enjoyably. Maybe because of the wine, Hansie became quite talkative, and we chatted happily about his experiences at school and how much he was looking forward to going to university. He asked questions about England, which I did my best to answer, and all things considered, it was a thoroughly enjoyable meal. Every now and then I caught him staring at my breasts again, which I found flattering rather than offensive. I wondered if he was thinking about what I would look like underneath the dress, and this thought made my nipples harden with excitement, giving him even more to look at. Even so, as Maria and I lingered over our coffee and finished off the wine, he began to get restless, and seemed grateful when she allowed him to leave the table and go back to their cabin.

“He likes his games,” she smiled, “and this journey can seem tedious after a while. I’m happy to just relax and enjoy the ride, but boys his age seem to get bored so quickly.”

She sighed and took a sip of wine.

“Ah, Annie, what it is to be a mother. Hansie, he’s a good boy, but I worry about him sometimes. I love him very much, but I can never replace his real mother; it’s just not the same. And it’s not good for a boy his age to have a father who’s away so much. He needs advice, guidance, on things that really need to come from a man. He has needs, desires; I’m sure you know what I mean.”

I assumed she was talking about sex. If South African teenage boys were anything like English ones, he spent most of his nights masturbating into a sock, fantasising about his teachers at school, or the unattainable girl next door. Perfectly normal behaviour in most circumstances, and something he’d grow out of as soon as he found a girlfriend who’d give him somewhere else to sow his seed.

“I’ve done my best to talk to him about it,” she went on. “But there aren’t any girls at his school, so how is he supposed to meet them? I try; I’ve shown him what a woman likes, and I’ve helped him out, just with my hand. He enjoys that.”

Whoa, I wasn’t expecting that. Had she just admitted to jerking off her own step-son? That was a bit more than just explaining about the birds and the bees, and how to use a condom.

She noticed my surprise and blushed a little.

“Ah, yes, I admit I have gone a bit further than most mothers would with their sons. But when it first happened his father had been away for several weeks, and I was missing his attention. Women have needs too, as I’m sure you know. Talking to Hansie about his penis had aroused me, and I offered to stroke it for him. He enjoyed it, and so did I, and since then I have done it for him many times. I have shown him my breasts, and let him touch them.”

She paused again and took a large gulp from her wine-glass. “I’m sorry, I’m embarrassing you. I know it’s not usual, but it is nice for us both. It relieves him, and it gives me pleasure. But I have drawn the line there, Annie, and have never allowed him to go further. Sometimes he has put his hand on my leg and pushed it up my skirt, but I have stopped him there. I have thought of what it would be like to have sex with him, to feel his penis inside me, but no; I may only be his step-mother, but it would still be wrong. I don’t think his father would understand.”

She was becoming visibly agitated as she made this confession. I still wasn’t sure why she was telling me all this. I assumed she’d been wanting to get it off her chest for a long time, and I was the perfect audience. We’d never meet again after tomorrow, so she’d never have to worry about her guilty secret getting out among her friends.

She took a few deep breaths and went on.

“But I do worry about him. He is going to university in only a few months, and he is still a virgin. Of course, he will have sex there, at least I hope so, but I am afraid that if his first experience is not good, it will spoil everything for him. I would hate him to miss out. I remember what it was like for me; I had fun, I learnt a lot. But I was already experienced, and he isn’t. I wish he could at least lose his virginity before he goes away.”

She gave a wry smile and drained her glass.

“I expect I’m just fussing over nothing,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

It was at this point that an idea entered my head. It was a crazy idea, and if I’d had time to think about it I’d probably have dismissed it outright, but for some reason, I just opened my mouth and let it out.

“I could do it,” I said. “Tonight, on this train. I could initiate him, let him fuck me. Then it’d be done. We’ll probably never meet again. He fancies me, I can tell. The way he was looking at me this evening in this dress, without a bra; I bet he was fantasising about my body. Given more time, he’d probably even make a pass, if I led him on a bit. What do you think?”

Maria didn’t even look shocked, just relieved.

“That is such a wonderful idea. Would you really do that?”

I shrugged. “He won’t be my first one-night stand, and I’m sure he won’t be the last. But I’d like to do...

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