by Noel Amos
Tom was troubled. Events were marching on seemingly out of control - Tina's small hand was now inside his jeans wrapped around the stem of his rampant tool - and he was possibly on the brink of blowing the biggest deal of his life.
Tina had his cock out now and had slipped the knob into the hot little furnace of her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down on it eagerly and reached between his legs to palm his balls. From the way she handled him Tom knew she was not experienced in the activity. On the other hand, enthusiasm was intoxicating. At any second he was liable shoot down her throat.
She took her lips from him just in time and sat back on her haunches between his legs. His purple cock wagged in her face, glistening with spit. She grinned up at him. 'Is this what my mother used to do to you?' she said, mischief dancing her eyes.
Fortunately he didn't have to answer for, at that moment, a big black nipple was thrust between his lips as Shani smothered him. Her midnight mane of hair fell around him and his hands closed on her pneumatic flesh. He heard a squeal and a cry from Tina but he couldn't see what was happening for the lights had gone out. However he could guess. There was a moan in the darkness nearby and a sticky kissing sound. Shani lay rigid and unmoving on top of him, his cock in her hand and her tit still in his face. It was as if she was waiting for something to happen.
'God, Tina,' came Chas's voice in the darkness, followed by scuffling, slippery noises.
'Oh, oh, oh.' That was a female voice, small and tender.
'Do you like that?'
'Oh yes.'
'And that?'
'Please, Chas, please...'
'And this?'
'OH!'
On top of Tom, Shani's body began to shake. For a moment he wondered if she were upset. A foolish thought, he realised, as he recognised a fit of silent laughter. On the floor now there were unmistakable sounds: of flesh colliding in ascending rhythm, of complementary moans and sighs and of sticky in-out noises as cock cleaved cunt.
Shani was moving off Tom, pulling him by the hand. They left the room as silently as they could - not that it mattered as Chas and Tina were rattling the furniture. Nothing less than an earthquake would have shaken them out of their stride.
In the hall the pair of them could not contain themselves. Shani pushed Tom into the nearest room and they sobbed their laughter into the covers of a large bed.
Tom recovered first and looked at Shani's long gleaming body quivering beside him. All she wore was a leather corset which lifted her big coffee-coloured tits and left bare the forested tangle of her pussy mound. In the forest her long madder-hued cunt lips gaped and gleamed. Tom's cock still jutted from his jeans, wet and eager and in no mood for merriment.
He slid it into her in one, covering her mouth with his, hugging her sumptuous body tight. At once the laughter died in her throat and the coal-black eyes burned into his. She fought him for a second or two, as if by reflex. Then her long limbs relaxed and a yellow flame, like a distant candle, flickered deep in her pupils. Her loins moved with his and her mouth opened and she drew him in.
She was hot and sweet and intoxicating and, much as he wanted to, he couldn't last long. Fortunately she was primed too. They convulsed and came in succession, him first and then her, swallowing the stiff sword of his cock with her voracious loins, her pelvis dancing against him.
She pushed him off her at once.
'There's millions of guys in the world who'd pay a fortune to do what you've just done,' she said.
'Not forgetting the girls.'
'Them too.'
From the next room there came a high-pitched moan.
'Tina's just tuning up,' said Shani.
'I didn't realise she could be so enthusiastic,' said Tom sliding his hand up a soft-sheened thigh.
'Oh, I did,' said Shani, opening her legs to allow him access.
Tom had no reason to doubt it.
Chapter 31
Petra knew her behaviour was shameful. Standing there on the train, holding her dress high to reveal her nude pussy mound to a complete stranger - that was shameful. Shameful and glorious. She couldn't help herself.
The dark woman simply stared at her bared pubis and Petra came. The strength melted from her legs and she hung on to the luggage rack with her free hand as her pelvis jerked convulsively. She could feel the petals of her cunt opening before the woman's penetrating gaze. She could smell the perfume of her own excitement thick in the air. And she danced like a puppet and orgasmed in the woman's face.
The sound of the carriage door sliding open broke their spell. Petra fell back onto the seat in a confused and blushing heap, pulling her skirt hastily down her thighs.
'Good morning, ladies,' came the sound of a cheerful voice. 'I trust you are enjoying the journey on this delightful morning. May I remind you there is a buffet car on this service, providing a variety of delicacies - though I would recommend from personal experience that you steer clear of the croissants.'
Petra stared at the tall youth in uniform as though he were a man from Mars. The intrusion of everyday reality into this fantasy journey was hard for her to take. Her companion, on the other hand, was not fazed for a moment.
'I suppose you'd like to see my ticket, Inspector.'
'I would indeed, madam, though I'd prefer to be called Phil. We're user friendly these days, especially to attractive ladies travelling in first class.'
The woman flashed Phil a smile as she flashed her ticket. She looked positively flirtatious.
Petra reached for her handbag but the dark woman suddenly grasped her hand, preventing her from opening it.
'It's all right, darling,' she said to Petra, 'I've got yours here.' And she held out her other hand to the railway inspector.
Phil looked bemused as he took the white scrap of material from her. Petra froze, rigid with panic. She knew what he held in his hand.
'Bloody hell,' he said as he unfolded Petra's tiny panties. Then, bonhomie instantly replaced by suspicion, he demanded, 'What's your game then?'
'Just a little user-friendly fun,' said the woman. 'My friend's lost her ticket but she can show you something else instead.'
Petra said nothing, the other woman was in control. She could feel the juice seeping out of her onto the seat beneath her bare buttocks.
Phil was turning the panties over in his hand. He fingered the damp gusset.
'Wet, aren't they?' said the woman. 'She can't help having such a juicy quim. Would you like to look at it?'
Phil was speechless now but the bulge in the grey serge of his trousers was unmistakable and spoke volumes.
The woman had removed Petra's bag from her lap and was looking at her. Petra knew what she was expected to do - and she did it.
'There!' cried the woman in triumph as Petra slowly pulled her skirt up her thighs. Her little black bush, framing two pink-frilled pussy lips, sprang into view. 'Isn't that a pretty sight?'
Loquacious Phil was lost for words. Just a grunt issued from his dry throat but his appreciation of Petra's charms was obvious.
'Perhaps you'd like a closer inspection, Inspector? Why don't you spread your legs, my dear, and let the gentleman have a good look.'
Petra did as she was told, sliding forward on the seat and parting her thighs. Both her inner and outer lips were on full view and at the top of her glistening sex-furrow her impatient clitoris throbbed.
'Play with yourself,' came the order and Petra obeyed. She drew her fingers through her muff, fluffing out the silky hair. She ran a slim index finger around the edge of her gaping hole and up to the pearl of her clit. She nudged it with her varnished nail and her whole pelvis rippled in response. Breath hissed between her teeth. She stroked herself again.
'Put your fingers in.' She did so, one then two. Then the whole of her hand as she rubbed the nub of her clit, ramming her knuckles into her juicy slot and moaning out loud. She couldn't have stopped herself from coming if the entire railway inspectorate had entered the carriage.
'She's a complete slut, isn't she, Phil?' said the dark woman, amusement and contempt in her voice. 'Have you seen enough yet? Or is there something else my friend can do for you?'
Petra hoped there was. Her hand was still between her legs, gently fingering her labia, keeping her raging desire on the boil. Her eyes were on Phil's flushed face - and on the swelling at his crotch. He looked as if he might burst out of his trousers at any minute.
Finally he spoke. 'By Christ, I've got to fuck her!' he growled, and took a step towards Petra's enticing form.
The dark woman seized his arm and held him back. 'Don't touch her,' she hissed. 'I want to look at you first.'
To Petra's surprise, he obeyed her. At the woman's bidding he stripped down to brief blue jockey shorts that barely contained his excitement. Beneath his uniform his tall sinewy body bore the remains of a Mediterranean tan and his stomach was as flat as a board.
'My, we're in luck,' said the woman and pulled his briefs to his knees.
Petra gave an involuntary moan as his cock sprang into view. It was sparsely haired and thick, the flaming-red head gleaming with excitement. For two pins, she would have sunk it between her legs at once. But that was not permitted. Yet.
'Not bad,' said the orchestrator of this bizarre occasion. She peered closely at the bobbing organ through her spectacles and, taking a pencil from her jacket pocket, she used it to lift his heavy scrotum. 'Turn round,' she commanded and the two women surveyed his bronzed back and the tight white moons of his buttocks.
'Do you want him?' the woman said to Petra.
She nodded, her eyes bright.
'Very well. But you'll both have to do what I say.'
She made Petra take off her dress and allowed Phil to fill his hands with her small swaying breasts. She positioned their bodies to her liking, with him standing and Petra in his arms, her legs scissored round his waist, her hands holding on to the luggage rack. Thus, wrapped around each other in a hurtling train, the two of them made intimate acquaintance.
The dark woman took charge of their genitals, pressing the plum of his stiff tool into the hungry vagina suspended above it. And then feeding the fat length of him inside her.
The weight of Petra's body drove her down onto Phil's broad penis. He stretched her wide and she howled as she sat on him, bumping and shifting with the rush of the train. His mouth was on her upturned breasts and his hands held her up by her arse cheeks, his fingers curling into the crack of her behind. Petra felt helpless, suspended in mid air, balancing on a stranger's cock, hanging on to the rail above her lest he should be thrown off his feet by a sudden jolt.
It was incredible. Every judder and shake of the train rubbed their sex membranes together and sent electric thrills jolting down to their nerve ends.
Below them, the choreographer of this erotic pas de deux sat making notes. Petra looked down in amazement to see the woman peering intently at their writhing bodies and jotting things on her pad. What the hell was she doing?
But Petra was no longer capable of rational thought. Her body was one mass of sensation. The difficulty of sustaining the position had delayed her satisfaction long enough - and she guessed her partner felt the same way too. He thrust up into her with carnal intent and bit down on her nipple. As a finger pushed at the dimple of her anus and then sank in to the second knuckle she squealed and rubbed her belly furiously against his. If only he would reach round and diddle her clit...
And then she felt something hard and slim nose into the gap between their lunging loins. With remarkable accuracy it approached the hood of her clitoris and applied the exact point of pressure that she required. Petra looked down and saw the dark-haired woman leaning close to their lunging bodies. With one hand she appeared to be groping between Phil's legs - fondling his balls maybe from the way he was now bucking into her. And with the other she was poking the tip of a pencil onto Petra's aching, yearning clit.
'AAH!' Petra's squeal of ecstasy was drowned out by a shout from Phil that reverberated throughout the carriage.
'Oh God!' he yelled again as he emptied his balls into her and the two of them collapsed onto the floor. At that precise moment, the train began to slow down.
'Oh shit, I'm late!' cried Phil as he disentangled himself and scrabbled frantically for his clothes. 'You're two wild women, I've got to say that,' he added, grinning from ear to ear and hopping into his trousers. Suddenly he grabbed Petra's hand. 'Just tell me one thing, darling - did the train move for you?' And he backed out of the door laughing, his good humour quite restored.
Chapter 32
On arrival at Spilling Grange, Petra accepted the offer of a drink with alacrity. The ice shook in the tumbler as she gulped a generous gin and tonic poured for her by the ever-solicitous Nurse Biscuit.
'Is there a problem, Petra?' asked Tom. 'You look a bit frazzled this morning.' He himself looked a picture of health, lounging in a deck chair on the sun-dappled lawn.
'No problem, Tom,' said Petra as emphatically as she could. What else could she say?
The truth was she had just experienced the train ride of her life and she was still in shock at her own behaviour. She had never done anything quite so outrageous before as fucking a total stranger on a train. But it wasn't so much the hip-hugging pelvic dance on Phil's thick cock that disturbed her, it was the way she had allowed the dark-haired woman to manipulate her, the fact that she had positively gloried in handing over to another person the responsibility for her own insatiable libido.
Well, at least she had solved one mystery about her erotic companion. Her identity. And that was as bizarre a coincidence as any she had ever come across. As they parted the woman had handed Petra a business card with a sardonic smile. It read: Morticia Chekhov, Author and Purveyor of the Erotic Arts. So now Petra was the proud possessor of an authentically autographed and spunk-stained pornographic novel. She intended to put it back on Kelvin's shelf as soon as possible. Let him work it out.
'Another drink, Petra? You look as if you're about to eat the glass.'
'Perhaps you'd like a shower,' suggested Eve Biscuit
'Oh yes,' Petra said at once. The expression 'travel worn' hardly covered how she felt.
Under the splash of warm water she began to feel better. But her mind was still in turmoil and two quick gins hadn't helped. She stepped out of the shower stall and felt giddy. She subsided onto a stool and buried her head in a towel.
'Are you all right, Miss Rosewater?' Nurse Biscuit was at the door, concern on her pretty face.
Petra opened her mouth to say, 'I'm fine' but nothing came out.
The nurse took over, gently towelling her dry, providing a bathrobe and producing a hairdryer. In seconds, it seemed, Petra found herself sitting in front of a dressing table. The small room also contained an easy chair, a portable television and a bed. As Eve dried her hair she said, 'This is where I sleep. It's right next to Mr Glass so I can keep an eye on him at night.'
Petra glanced quizzically at the voluptuous blonde nurse. Who was she kidding? She spent most of her nights in Tom's bed, it was well known.
The bathrobe was open almost to Petra's nipples and Eve's eyes in the mirror were on her breasts. More specifically, they were on the raw marks of Phil's ardent attentions. The nurse put down the hairdryer to examine them.
'That looks sore,' she said. 'How did you do it?'
Petra was caught by surprise. 'My boyfriend,' she said hastily, 'he's very passionate.'
'I can see that,' said Eve, opening a jar of ointment. 'The marks are very recent.'
'Yes. They are.'
There was a silence as Eve began to rub the cream into Petra's abraded tits. Her fingers were soothing and supple. The bathrobe fell to Petra's waist as Eve sought and found further sore spots. Her nipples were red and swollen. There were bite marks on the undercurves of her high pointed breasts.
'Ooh,' cried Petra.
'Did that hurt?'
'No, not exactly.' It was the opposite, in fact. Petra's fles
h was singing, her nerves still jangling from her adventures on the train, from ceaseless application of the Wand, from her constant search for orgasmic release in the cause of Honeydew heaven...
'Oh yes,' she moaned between closed lips as Eve found a sensitive spot on the back of her neck.
'Stand up,' said the nurse and Petra obeyed without a thought, presenting herself nude, every square inch of her sensitive flesh alert to Eve's ministrations.
The nurse found the marks of rough fingers on Petra's bottom cheeks. She saw the fresh bruises on her inner thighs. She noted that her labia were puffed and swollen. 'I can guess what you've been up to, Miss Rosewater,' she said. 'You took a lover on the train, didn't you?'
Petra nodded. Eve was rubbing cream into her bum now and she found herself pushing her arse cheeks back onto the girl's hand. She couldn't help it. It felt delicious.
'I suspected something like that when you turned up all wobbly at the knees, with your hair messed up,' said Eve. 'But I knew for sure when I picked up your clothes while you were in the shower.'
Petra looked at her blankly.
'There were no knickers.'
'He must have kept them,' said Petra.
'How romantic. Was he handsome?'
'Very.' It was true. Phil had been a hunk. She'd been lucky. The mood she'd been in she'd have shagged Quasimodo.
'Are you going to see him again?'
'I hope not,' said Petra, aghast at the thought.
'You're a bit stiff across the shoulders,' said Eve. 'Would you like me to massage you? I know what I'm doing.'
Petra had no doubt of that. As she lay face down on the bed, Eve busied around fetching what she needed and soon those strong knowing fingers were working their magic across Petra's shoulders. She felt as if she were in a dream. So it was a few moments before she identified the weighty kiss of flesh across her back that was not generated by Eve Biscuit's hands. She turned her head to look at Eve and her heart thudded in shock. The nurse was bending over her stark naked. Petra was in receipt of a double massage, from Eve's hands and from the biggest pair of breasts she had ever seen.