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The Pictures
The Journey Begins Part I
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At a quarter to seven one dark November Friday night, Michael settled himself in the only second class compartment on the train at platform three, Paddington, London. He was tired, cold and miserable. Michael hugged his shabby overcoat around his thin shiny suit. He had been at the office since 8.00am checking the final draft of an urgent contract. At 6.00 p.m., just as he was getting ready to leave, and thinking with pleasure of a pint at The Plug and Socket on the corner, Mr. Boswick, his senior manager requested his presence in the inner office. The contract was needed by 7.00am Saturday morning at the branch office in the town of N______ in L_____shire. Would Michael be prepared to go? Mutterings of prospects, overtime, 'greatest urgency and discretion' by the persuasive and powerful line manager had propelled Michael with two large A4 packages and five crisp £20 notes for accommodation, dinner, toothbrush etc.., straight from the City office - via a taxi - no time to return home first - to this drab under-heated carriage.
British Rail's successor had apologized in a tinny inaudible Jamaican accent for the absence of the expected Intercity train - no reason given - so old rolling stock in use - the journey would take a little longer - apologies for inconvenience caused. The train filled up with a multitude of London workers, grey-suited City types, family men with heart attack potential who clutched their samsonites heavy with weekend work; young sharp suits stinking of cigarettes and lager and joshing each other loudly. Secretaries with short micro skirts and legs mottled blue and pink from a refusal to believe that November could be any colder than August.
The train lurched forward - late - just past seven - the many bodies pressed together, some standing, swaying, hanging onto the rail of the overhead luggage rack, warming the compartment considerably, and Michael, clutching his packages, and egg and ham triple decker sandwiches, slipped into a light blissful doze, as he dreamed of Ruby, the blonde Australian barmaid, who would be smiling and pressing her breasts together as she pulled pints in The Plug and Socket for some other lucky customer. Over the next hour and a half the train stopped every fifteen or twenty minutes as it rumbled into the suburbs. Michael was half-conscious of people getting on and off, until slowly the train emptied out.
Michael opened his eyes, his dozing had briefly entered into a much deeper sleep, where Ruby's ample bosom had been replaced by the fantasy of catching sight of Carole, his mother's lodger, naked in the bathroom. Michael had just adjusted his erection before a jolt from the train track had brought his mind back to consciousness from the deliriously warm space it had just occupied. Sitting opposite Michael and the only other occupants of the compartment were two people whom he couldn't recall having got on. The man was thin and weasel-like from the sharpness of his nose to the angularity of his cheekbones. He wore an expensive-looking black wool overcoat and a black homburg hat. He had a thin pencil line moustache, which gave the impression of a spiv, circa 1940. He must be in his early twenties, Michael thought, and when the man reached inside his coat pocket and brought out a hipflask, Michael noticed a quantity of chunky gold jewelry in the form of signet rings and a heavy, man's bracelet. Both he and his female companion wore black Ray Bans which seemed incongruous to Michael in the gloom of the November evening.
The woman accepted the proffered hipflask and took a sip from it. She was taller than the Weasel, as Michael had termed the man, and had a quantity of glossy black hair piled high on her head. But what immediately arrested Michael's attention was the colour of her skin, she had the most incredibly white skin Michael had ever seen, it was particularly striking framed by the black halo of her hair and the red slash of lipstick on a full and sensuous mouth. Michael could tell that her skin was bare, no makeup or foundation could ever produce the luminosity of skin as white and perfect as hers.
The woman's coat was made of a heavy, tapestried, embroidered satin, rich in it's swathes of orange and red; the coat was such a luscious garment, Michael could not imagine such a woman, with such a skin wearing anything less magnificent. As she drank for a second time, the woman's coat fell open to reveal a dress of such minimalist proportions it hardly covered the her nipples or the area at the top of her thighs. In ochre and magenta shades that complimented the staggeringly beautiful coat, the dress was held up by two shoestring-thin diamonte straps and was made of a sensual material that hugged every curve of her fabulously proportioned body. The woman wore no bra, and Michael could see her heavy rounded breasts thrust the material out. Her nipples, erect from the cold, formed prominent shadows at the edge of her neckline, then the dress dropped away into nothingness as it outlined the contours of her tiny waist, which, even from a sitting position, Michael could see led onto perfect curvaceous hips.
As the woman shifted again in her seat to pass the flask back to the Weasel, and to pick up a bag at her feet, Michael saw her dress ride up even more. He let out a gasp that was clearly audible - he had realized he could see the dark curly velvet triangle of hair clearly outlined between her creamy white thighs. The gasp drew the Weasel's attention, he looked at Michael sharply, and somehow Michael had the sensation that the Weasel's eyes glittered behind his Ray Bans.
"Cold Innit?" The Weasel proffered the flask, "Want some?"
Michael assented gratefully. The woman seemed to briefly fix her gaze on Michael, but said nothing and proceeded to touch up her lipstick with the aid of a mirror that she had drawn from her bag. However her legs stayed in the same parted position, and Michael sitting directly opposite her felt his gaze drawn back to that distinctly visible dark triangle of hair.
The Weasel then turned and whispered something to the woman, who nodded and smiled slightly, he continued to whisper, but was interrupted by the compartment door being opened by the guard who somberly checked their tickets. As the guard came in from the corridor the woman drew her coat tightly around her. The guard checked Michael's ticket and said, "Change at K____ for N______, Sir, this isn't a through train." Michael nodded, although he hadn't a clue where either K____ or N______ were. The guard looked briefly at the tickets offered for inspection by the Weasel, he nodded, clipped them and left. The Weasel then handed one ticket to the woman, who stuffed it into her coat pocket.
The train rumbled on, track over track, through the darkness, the dim light showing three people sitting silently in the chilly second class compartment on the long North-bound train.
Michael began to doze again - but then he was aware of movement happening opposite him - he watched the couple through half-closed eyes and tried to ignore his growing erection.
The Weasel had taken the woman's chin in his hand and had pressed a long tongue-searching kiss on those sticky red lips. His other hand had reached under her coat, which again had fallen open, and was now cupping and massaging her furthest breast. He pulled the material of he dress down so that her breast fell out, and Michael could see it in all its round whiteness, the areola and nipple large and pinkish-brown. The Weasel leant over and licked the nipple, then taking it full into his mouth he transferred some of the lipstick that had passed to his lips, until her nipples hue changed to a pinkish-red. The Weasel's hand was now stroking its way up the woman's inner thigh, she parted her legs more, and gasped as his fingers found her clitoris and the tender inner folds of her vagina.
For some time they remained thus, his hand moving gently, his fingers probing, while his tongue flicked and his lips kissed her breast, before he moved - a little heavily - to transfer his attentions to the other breast which he had also pulled out from her dress. The woman half-sat, half-laid on the seat, with her head back and her mouth smudged and smeared with lipstick, parted ever so slightly to reveal a pink tongue and a top row of tiny white teeth.
After a little while the Weasel took his hands away from the woman's genitalia - she tried to put his hand back - she was gasping more deeply now - but with an aggressive movement he grabbed her great wealth of hair and despite his smaller frame half-turned her towards the outside window so that her face was pressed against the cold pane of the glass. She had had to move her body so that her uncovered breasts had also followed and were pressed between the ridge of the couch and the wooden frame of the window.
As she faced in this direction, one leg now on the couch, the other almost vertically on the floor with her back now facing the Weasel, he flung her coat up over her head and pushed up her dress to expose her bare behind. Her haunches were more beautiful than Michael could have imagined hidden in the folds of her clingy dress, and as white and smooth as the skin on her face. The Weasel gently caressed the shape of her hips and stroked between her legs, plunging his arm from the very front to the parting of her anus. Clearly aroused, the woman did nothing about having been put in this position, and simply moved her body with his hand, pressing herself against him.
Michael opened his eyes wider, but the couple took no notice of him. The Weasel continued to thrust his fingers back and forth, rubbing her clitoris, sinking his fingers into her vagina, probing her anus, until the woman's heavy panting confirmed that she was rapidly approaching orgasm. Hearing this, the Weasel stopped pleasuring her and sitting back a little, watched with a smirk of satisfaction as she moaned for him to continue.
Suddenly, without warning, he brought his palm down, slapping her across the buttocks. Her moaning turned to a little stifled cry, but still she pushed the great white mounds of flesh upwards and towards him. He spanked her again and again. Michael, his eyes transfixed, sat up now to see better, but still they took no notice of him. After twenty slaps or more, the Weasel released the zip on his trousers and brought out his erection. Neither of them seemed to appreciate any necessity for underwear.
The Weasel took his throbbing pink penis tenderly in his hand, and poked it playfully against her anus. The woman reached around to clutch it away but her heavy coat, which had obscured her face and much of the top half of her body prevented her from reaching. The Weasel then unceremoniously plunged his penis down into her vagina, and clutching her haunches as she bucked towards him, rode her with a steady and protracted rhythm, until a gurgled cry drew Michael's attention to his flushed face and he lurched forwards over the woman's back. Both became still.
Michael took this opportunity to quietly get up and leave the compartment. He found his way down the narrow corridor to the toilet, where he had to unbutton his suit trousers extremely quickly, and massage his pulsating penis to orgasm into the toilet bowl, before he could relieve his bladder which had also been demanding his attention for some time past. It was therefore some ten minutes or so before he felt himself sufficiently recovered to return to the compartment. Before he could do so, however, he heard someone bang on the toilet door and the guard's voice shouted, "N____wich, five minutes to N____wich."
Back in the compartment, the couple sat in their former positions as if nothing had occurred. The woman's coat was now tightly wrapped around her and she was looking out of the window into the darkness. Both still incongruously wore their dark glasses and the Weasel was drinking once more from his hipflask.
The train pulled into N____wich station and wordlessly the Weasel took a large carpetbag from the luggage rack above their heads. Michael noticed a similar bag in the rack above his head. The Weasel looked at the woman and chucked her under the chin, she jerked her head away irritable and continued looking out of the window. The Weasel paused for a moment as if unsure what to do. Then, with a smile playing across his thin and - Michael now thought - somewhat cruel lips, he shrugged almost imperceptibly and opening, then slamming the train door shut, disappeared along the platform towards the 'WAY OUT' sign and out into the darkness of the night beyond.
The train's engine began, faltered, then began again and the occupants of the second class carriage felt themselves jolted forward as the train once more moved off, slowly at first and then gathering speed.
The atmosphere in the carriage had distinctly altered with the Weasel's departure. Michael had somehow expected a lessening of the tension, but the air between them seemed charged, electrified, but by what? Michael's sexual tension had dissipated with the spurting of his semen into the unsteady toilet some half an hour ago, but as he watched her furtively, he felt the twinges of the return of that familiar sensation, a tightening in his balls and his penis jerking occasionally with the rushes of blood.
He watched her furtively and felt her eyes furtively resting on him from time to time. He realized that if he looked out of the window he could see her face reflected back to him. He could not tell what she was thinking or feeling, the dark sunglasses obscured all processes of thought, but he noticed the tension in her knuckles, which stood out prominently from her hands as she fisted them into a ball in her lap. Michael was surprised to hear her moan slightly, then she heard herself and turned stiffly to gaze unseeingly into the darkness once more.
At one moment, as an act of extreme irritability, she unfastened the clasp that held her hair and let out a deep sigh as she tossed her dark tresses down. Michael was stunned at how long her hair was. It reached to her waist, no, fell beyond her waist in heavy curls and folds. She rubbed the back of her neck and pulled the locks that had been caught between her back and the seat forward, until she bent over, head between her legs, with the great weight of her hair hanging in front of her. Michael could detect a musky scent, which emanated from her flowing locks, like Seville oranges or dark marmalade. He breathed in deeply to draw as much of the odour to him as possible. It intoxicated him, sensitized him, so that at once he was even more charged up and more relaxed that he ever thought it possible for him to be. He forgot how cold it was, or how tired he was, his misery having lifted some hours before.
The woman must have heard him sigh, because she tossed back her mane of hair and taking off her dark glasses for the first time, stared at him intently. Michael was unnerved; her eyes were like two glowing black coals fallen from some intense searing fire. There was a flicker of what he almost took for pleading and she took a little gulp of air as if she were about to speak, but just as quickly changed her mind.
The guard banged by and stuck his head past the door, "We'll be at K____ in under ten minutes, all change there please." Michael nodded impatiently at the guard's efficiency without unlocking his gaze from the woman. She looked back luminously and he felt a shiver tickle his neck, arms, back, legs, toes. Then she was looking at her watch and tapping her fingers, suddenly she was standing up, her hair falling past her hips - It must be a good three and a half feet long - Michael thought, moving towards him the woman reached up to grasp the bag from the luggage rack above his head.
At that moment the train sounded a whistle and gathered momentum, which threw the woman off balance and onto Michael's crossed legs. The woman's legs straddled his and her pubis mound bumped the top of his knee. She groaned and fell forward onto Michael, her head resting on his so that her breasts pressed into his face and his nostrils were suffused with the scents of oil of bergamot and neroli. She pressed forward onto his knee, rubbing her clitoris frantically backwards and forwards along his leg - backwards and forwards - Michael reached through her heavy draped coat and under her short orange dress to clutch her backside and feel the softness of her skin and the hardness of the contracted muscles beneath.
She rubbed ever more frantically and Michael squeezed her buttocks as she moved them back and forth as he felt his erection trapped uncomfortably between his crossed legs. The train went through a tunnel and all was pitch black as the dim light briefly went out and all Michael could feel was her hot heavy body pressing down on his legs, his knees, as he was entirely cocooned by her coat and her hair. He felt a hard nipple press his cheek and turned his face to take it tenderly into his mouth and suck and lick it as he had seen the Weasel do earlier. He took courage and worked one of his fingers around until he could insert it into her anus. She cried even more deeply, as the train came out of the tunnel and the lights came on again it began to slow down, she grew ever faster, ever more frantic until a shout blasted Michael's ear and she shuddered to a halt. She lay over him, collapsed for what seemed like an eternity. The train, Michael realized had come to a standstill and he could hear voices and the slamming of doors.
The guard poked his head around the door, "ALL CHANGE! Oh I beg your pardon, uhum, all change…" and Michael was glad that he was shrouded from view by the mass of this woman's hair and coat as he heard the guard hurry away. As the guard left, the woman swiftly stood and reaching up for the carpetbag and then down for her handbag, collected her belongings in two deft movements. Before she left, she pressed her mouth briefly on Michael's, and then licked his face from the corner of his mouth to his ear. "Thank you," she said in an accent as thick as a Russian spy's, "The bastard never lets me come!" and with that she disappeared into the night.
Michael sat there in a daze, until he recalled that he had to change trains. Picking up his A4 packages, which were now somewhat crumpled, and smoothing down his suit, he noticed ruefully a heavy stain from his knee to his thigh on one trouser leg. Just as he was about to leave, he saw the silver glint from the top of the Weasel's hipflask, accidentally left on the opposite seat. Without stopping to question his actions, Michael picked it up and slipped it into his inside pocket, before leaving the train.
By A.D.
1998
Home printing is acceptable, but copyright and publication rights remain with the author
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