27 Minutes

It was true. I was that girl. The horny, loud-mouthed slut who would beg for cock in the heat of the moment. The girl every boy's mother warned him about. The one who was truly happiest when the man she loved was thrusting inside her body. My skin flushed but there was no respite from Adam's lust-filled descriptions. No sanctuary where my mind could take stock of his words.

"First I'd make you come against my face of course, because the way your juice dribbles over my chin makes me rock hard. The taste of you, the sweet smell of your intoxicating nectar drives me wild with lust. Once is never enough. I have to lick you over and over again until you can't take any more. Until there's almost no friction between us; just a slick film of clear sap that is constantly replenished from inside you."

Oh, that was insanely hot. The combination of his syrupy voice and loaded words, along with his fingertips wandering over my silky smooth legs were having a profound effect on my body. The fact that someone could look up and see us at any time, or breeze past, or be listening in; it all heightened the fantasy.

"There's something about the noises you make when your orgasm grips you. It's so erotic. The way your pussy flutters against my lips when you come gives me such pleasure. I'm addicted to your taste. I'd be compelled to slide my fingers around from your bottom to your naked, wet pussy lips and push them inside you repeatedly, hear you moan, coat my fingers with your juices so I can suck them and savour every drop of your delicious sap. No doubt there would be too much for me to handle so I'd have to glide my fingers back inside your drenched tunnel, scoop out your nectar and drift my hands up your body so you could lick it from me. I know you love the taste of yourself almost as much as I do."

That was also true. He knew me so well.

"After we've both had our fill of your scrumptious cream I wouldn't be able to resist pulling you down to the floor on top of me. I'd be so revved up I'd have to plunge my cock straight into your wetness; to feel you from the inside. I want to watch you wearing nothing but that sexy little skirt; head tipped back; your hair tickling my legs; my hands kneading your breasts as you ride me from this orgasm to your next. And the one after that. I love the way you do that little belly dance and grind against me, wiggling and writhing as our bodies crush together and you start to come again. There's nothing more beautiful than watching the joy in your face as you lose control. The way your lip trembles a little and your breath stutters just before you groan deeply at the onset of your orgasm. It makes me want you more than anything in the world. It tips me over the edge, making me fire hot come deep inside your spasming body, to mingle with the juices that flow from your tight, heavenly slit, the mixture drizzling out between us as you scream to the rafters."

He paused, probably for effect and to gauge my state of mind, which I guessed was easy to read. "Would you like to feel that?"

Ask a stupid question. I nodded emphatically, mesmerised by his fingers tracing up and down my legs, nerve endings fusing parts of my body as I half expected him to slide out of the seat and either go down on me, or grab me by the hand and drag me to the train's toilet where he could ravage me.

But he did neither. He sat there, watching me, stroking me. Enjoying the discomfort his words had inflicted on both my body and mind. His masterful imagery had me internally panting; yapping like a puppy at the sight of its lead. And I suspected that was exactly how he wanted me to stay; bouncing around the hall trying to snatch the lead from his grasp; ready to bolt to the field at his command.

Expectantly I raised my eyebrows, signalling that it was ok for him to take me. He just smiled. "Do you think the people up the carriage can see you squirming like this? Do you think they'd start to take notice if I let you touch yourself?"

I shot him a surprised glare, as if he'd overstepped the mark, but it wouldn't fool him. He knew part of me wanted to do exactly that. Knew what a tangled mess of hormones I was. Knew that touching myself was the third most exhilarating experience in my world; the second being when I touched myself for his benefit and could see the effect I had on him. In first place was being eaten out by him.

He also knew I was rarely about the quick fix or the shortcut to Big O. Certainly there have been times when the moment presented itself, and I've been swept away on a wave of passion that startled even me. From zero to a white hot explosion before I've had a chance to realise it's my body shaking and my underwear that's soaked.

But, given a choice, I'm a long haul girl. The slow build up, the drive through sexual hills and valleys, the smouldering glances, the prolonged tension in my body and twisted realities in my mind bringing me to fever pitch; making those precious flashes of release all the sweeter. Whether this situation was the former or the latter was too soon to tell. It could go either way depending on the next few minutes; and either direction was a win for me.

My stillness made him chuckle. "That's what I love about you. Resilient to the core. Never take the path of least resistance if the other track takes you to new heights."

"You've made your point. I'm all hot and bothered. What do you want?"

"Proof."

"Of?"

"How much you want me."

As thoughts began to take shape and a rough plan appeared in my head, a slow smile formed. It was going to be fairly easy. Shortcut time; or so I'd make it seem.

I gazed at him and slid my legs side to side in his lap, feeling his erection straining against the material of the shorts, desperate to touch my bare flesh. My feet wiggled in the aisle as I teased him. If he wanted to play hardball, so could I.

Tipping my head into the crook of the seat against the carriage wall I closed my eyes, bringing my hands to rest once more in my lap. Ever so slowly I ran my fingers over his, then drew my hands together and moved them upwards over the lightly bunched skirt, skimming my tummy and top, before they converged just below my breasts. I bit my lower lip and touched the base of my 36Cs, brushing fingertips over the soft fabric, feeling decidedly naughty at being so blatant. I shivered and traced my fingers around their circumference a few times, the circles gradually becoming smaller as I neared the peak, like following a series of contour lines on a mountainous map. As I reached the summit I grazed nipples that stood to attention and longed to be sucked. Bonds formed between pleasure receptors, rushing me with warmth that swirled around my tummy on its journey to my sex. It reached my core and I involuntarily opened my legs a little, hearing Adam take a short breath. Ha! Who was in control now? Moi.

My eyes snapped open as a businessman nudged my feet, lurching by our seats and continuing unsteadily up the aisle carrying a brown paper bag stuffed with goodies from the onboard café. If he saw up my skirt or noticed me touching myself he didn't show it. But he could hardly have missed it. Maybe later he'd let his mind wander when he reached the privacy of his home or hotel room, wondering what had possessed the girl on the train to be so bold, as he stroked himself to sticky release.

Adam was smiling at me. I could see the outline of his cock trying to burst from his clothes. Peeking across the aisle and up ahead at the glass canopy I saw nobody was paying us any obvious interest and reopened my legs. Just an inch. Then two. Adam's gaze shifted to my lap and he sneakily lifted the skirt a further tiny amount. From that angle he would have been able to see the beginnings of my panties; the delicate combination of pale blue cotton and lace stretched over my dampening mound; maybe even catch a whiff of my arousal.

It was exciting. Dangerous. One glance from Laptop Guy and he'd get an eyeful. Another inch of motion from Adam and my skirt would be bunched enough that our antics might begin to draw attention. Anyone else passing by the seat would easily see my open legs and have their eyes poked out by my prominent nipples.

I liked this game.

It was new. And it turned me on.

Brain-induced chemicals rushed through me, spiking my alert levels, making every soft hair on the surface of my skin stand on end; imagining what might happen next; what he'd have me do. Or, more wickedly, what he'd do to me as I pretended it was against my will. If we made it as far as the toilet cubicle I envisioned he might well issue me with a sharp spanking for dressing in such a provocative manner and trying to seduce him. The trouble with being spanked when I was in this mood was that I enjoyed it way too much. The distinctive cracks of palm meeting reddened buttocks and my subsequent cries of pain laced with pleasure would no doubt travel outside the cubicle to anyone passing who dared listen.

I sighed at the thought and Adam's voice hardly registered, floating in the background of my consciousness. "Take them off."

Blinking, I focused on him. "What?"

He briefly adopted an American accent. "Take off your panties, sugar."

"What?" I repeated.

The Englishman was back: "They're the proof that you want me. Take them off."

"No!"

"Yes."

"I can't... you're crazy."

"You can, and I know, in that order. Now take them off." He was quietly insistent but I didn't comply. I was thinking of the ramifications. And the possibilities. Then of the logistics of how I might do it undetected. Then what would happen if I was caught.

Adam spoke calmly, evenly. "When we get to the hotel, if you want me to treat you to everything -- and I mean everything -- I said earlier, you'll take them off."

Argh! Maybe this was long haul after all. He'd made me think I was running the show when I wasn't. Coiled me up like a slinky at the top of the staircase, knowing he had control of exactly when to send me head over heels from stair to stair. I gave him The Look; one that he knew well. Defeated yet defiant. Subservient yet willing. Desperate yet trusting. He always dubbed it my Oscar-winner because it conveyed so much in a single expression.

I knew I had to do it. Despite every thought to the contrary I knew I'd regret it if not, or would always wonder what could have happened if I'd just been that little bit bolder. It was insane really, yet recent history indicated that similar acts of insanity were the ones in which I gained most; all of them part eccentricity, part trust and part leap of faith.

Whether his threat of withholding services was real or not, there was no doubt I wanted his touch later and didn't want to risk losing out, so it had to be done.

The decision made, I sighed again -- rather theatrically like I was beaten, while I back-flipped inside. More hormones coursed my veins as I slid my hands down the sides of my body, mindful of any external signs of discovery yet striving to act naturally. As if there was such a thing as acting naturally when trying to take off underwear in public.

Reaching the hem of my skirt I weighed up the options. Slow, hoping to keep movement to a minimum to avoid detection. Or fast to try and get it over with in the shortest amount of time.

Slow or fast.

Long time; short time.

It was risky either way. I slid my fingers up beneath my skirt and hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, feeling the elastic give a little, then raised my hips slightly off the seat using Adam's legs as a pivot. Was I really ready to do this? To undress in public? What would it make me? It didn't bear thinking about.

Last chance to back out; to call his bluff. But a look into his eyes convinced me he was telling the truth, and I knew it would ultimately be worth my while, whatever the short term cost. My pussy leaked a little to offer substantiation, staining the underwear I was about to remove, so I solidified the plan: the quick approach.

I inhaled deeply and in a flurry, yanked my panties down, immediately feeling the coolness of the air conditioning drying my damp, bare lips. My body temperature rose to compensate, and the butterflies jostled wildly inside me as the material rolled and slid quickly down my smooth thighs. The knickers caught momentarily on my knees and I didn't have the reach to carry on, so I had to lean forward and draw my legs up out of the aisle to continue the garment's descent over my shapely calves. Mere seconds later at my ankles, I rejoiced inside at being home free and wrestled the panties over the straps of my sandals. They snagged on the heel and I frantically fought to pull them off.

And froze.

Laptop Guy was staring straight at me. Well, not into my pupils. The atomic bomb had landed, its epicentre between my thighs. With my legs raised and me hunched forward trying to release the underwear from my shoes he had a clear view right up my skirt.

A sinking feeling of dread took over; probably enough embarrassment for both of us. Why hadn't I swung my legs down into the footwell and done it discreetly in my seat? It seemed so obvious now. So fucking logical.

I cursed myself under my breath, unable to move and unsure whether it was out of terror or from the cold, hard realisation of what I'd done. For what seemed an eternity, I stared at this stranger like I was the proverbial deer in his headlights, his gawp locked and unwavering on my puffy nether lips; all his birthdays arriving at once. Common decency dictated he should look away, even though I was far from decent, but he didn't. Just kept on staring, becoming visibly hard beneath the table.

By rights I should have been utterly mortified, but something didn't add up. Something inside me buzzed and it took a few beats to figure it out. Maybe what I was feeling wasn't alarm at all; maybe that prickle was... excitement? Perhaps deep down I'd subconsciously wanted to get caught; wanted some third party to lust over me.

That thought rocked me. It couldn't have been one of my thoughts... could it? Was I defective? Wired wrongly: a bad model from the production line awaiting recall. The fact I was now tingling all over in the face of discovery seemed to corroborate the evidence, and the change of state caught me off guard. I was somehow disgusted at myself for not taking more care, yet elated at the thrill of exposure.

One thing was clear: there wasn't much point pretending it hadn't happened, so when my motor functions restarted I demurely continued to disengage the material from the heel, handed Adam his prize and settled back in my seat with my legs closed across his lap, smoothing my skirt down in the process.

Open-mouthed and clearly very aroused, Laptop Guy's spreadsheet was a distant memory. I smiled sheepishly at him, electrified inside from the rush. Poor bastard probably never got anything like that. He looked the type of person that constantly missed out while all the good stuff happened to everyone else. Like he was always in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Or right place and right time for once.

I went light-headed, delirious with lust, unable to comprehend every emotion that was battering at the gateway to my mind. Nothing and everything made sense and my elevated heart rate wasn't helping. In that instant of turmoil I felt a surge of wildness bubble up and inundate my very being; maybe I wanted to verify that what I'd felt moments before wasn't a fluke, or that I'd interpreted the signals inside me correctly. Either way, this guy's luck would change today.

Almost on autopilot, I flirtatiously batted my eyelashes at him and let my knees drift apart. Slowly but surely, inch by sordid inch I revealed my sex, this time deliberately. He looked like he was going to pop from excitement as he returned to staring straight up my legs at my pussy, traces of my obvious arousal surely glistening on the smooth outer lips in the flickering sunlight.

God it was such a turn on, flashing this poor stranger. My skin shivered and a lump caught in my throat as I realised my mouth was suddenly very dry and my nipples wanted to burst through both layers of clothing. The extra oxygen and hormones flooding my head gave me immediate clarity and fired wake-up messages to every corner of my body, which glowed as if I'd just eaten a piece of the Merovingian's chocolate cake. My heart hammered so loudly I half expected the people three rows ahead to turn in their seats and tell me to keep it down.

I stayed that way like still life, each passing second heightening the pleasure as my body fuelled itself on the sheer rapture in Laptop Guy's features. I was being revered: Lady Godiva to his Peeping Tom. His gaze fixed squarely on my rapidly moistening cunt, no doubt etching the image in his mind so he may relive the memory in private. Such thoughts filled me with an intense heat. I was his personal centrefold; the object of his night time fantasies. And right then it suited me perfectly.

Letting him bask in my innermost secrets a few moments more, I broke the spell and brought my finger to my lips to quietly make a "shhhh", then closed my legs. His wistful expression lingered but he soon realised the show was over and self-consciously returned to his spreadsheet, rearranging his underpants in the process. I bet the figures on-screen now seemed dull in comparison, but the damage was done. He glanced over our way a few times just in case I changed my mind, before concluding that truly was it.

Adam smiled at me when he was sure I'd finished, shaking his head and whispering, "You fucking hussy."

"Stop complaining! You got your proof. So I got a little... carried away."

With my insides far from returning to normal, he pulled the tray table down over my legs and placed my panties on it, spreading the material out so we could both see the crotch. I noticed Laptop Guy sneaking another glance in our direction to view the unmistakable wet spot; off-white, translucent and sticky. Adam proclaimed, "I present Exhibit A. Does the lady have anything to say in her defence?"

"A scoundrel seduced me with promises he'd better keep."

"Oh he'll keep them. Along with these." He snatched up my knickers from the table and stuffed them in one of his pockets.

I protested half-heartedly. In truth, the possibilities were back, running ideas through the forefront of my dirty mind. And those corrupt thoughts, along with the fact I was now travelling without underwear, kept me aroused for the remainder of the journey through the French landscape.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was still early when we reached Paris -- too early to check into the hotel near Gare de L'est -- so we picked up a carnet, ditched our bags at the station and went sightseeing.

Being just the right side of Bastille Day, the city was baking and heaving. Within two or three weeks it would become a comparative ghost town as the locals flocked south for the holidays. But today the throngs of indigenous Parisians and tourists gave Adam plenty of opportunity to show off his chattel. He took full advantage.

We did all the touristy things: ate crêpes; wandered the sun-drenched Rues hand-in-hand; watched street artists making silhouettes and caricatures of passers-by; sidestepped hawkers trying to sell us novelty statuettes of the city's most famous landmarks; and shopped.

Despite the hordes, Paris somehow retained a laid back atmosphere. Maybe the heat slowed people down enough that they took time to enjoy the environment; admire the stunning architecture; sit and drink in cafés, content to watch the world go by instead of hustling. Even those in suits who clearly had a destination, moved with a grace and poise that seemed incongruous to the busy surroundings.

The place also had that indefinable smell about it; as if the very act of the sun beating down on the buildings and uneven pavements that bordered the backstreets released some pheromone that bound people. It made them hold hands, smile, laugh, kiss, belong. As with every other time I'd visited, I wasn't immune and was very much under the city's hex. But this time it was different -- invigorating -- because of what I was wearing. Or rather, wasn't.