Intimacy in the Age of Steam Pt. 01

Part 1

Years and years ago, before the time of computers and mobile phones, people still made daily journeys to work by train. Commuting is not at all a new thing with men and women getting up early to catch the train to town and then returning again in the evening. A daily ritual. Back and forth. And whilst mostly silence would reign in the carriages as they swayed on their way and newspapers were read, this was and is not always the case. Sometimes friendships are struck up when the same people sit with each other day after day.

Hector Stubbs was a successful businessman with wife and grown-up children, a man of note in the City and a man who looked every inch the part. Greying, besuited, indeed in striped trousers with waistcoat and watchchain over his comfortable stomach. It went without saying that he carried an umbrella and wore a bowler hat. His habits regular, including catching the same trains morning and evening. For some years he had shared the first-class compartment at the very front of the train in carriage 'A' with three other gentlemen of similar standing and habits. Four bowler hats sat upon the string luggage rack together with four black umbrellas. Four newspapers open, but sometimes there was conversation. It was not that other passengers did not enter the compartment and sit and read but, on the whole, despite being a commuter train, they sat alone and together.

It was a surprise, then, one evening for a schoolgirl to turn the handle and pull open the door and hop in just as the train was pulling out. A smile from Hector as she settled herself next to him. It was unlikely she had a first-class ticket, but he was not going to comment on that, though the conductor might well later. It was somewhat later and well on into the journey that Hector put down his newspaper and spoke to her. She had been sitting, clearly engrossed in a schoolbook. He noted it was the 'Annals of Tacitus' and in the original Latin. Hector had Latin and asked her about it and her studies.

It was during the conversation that the conductor appeared and Hector, and the other gentlemen as well, were surprised to find she did indeed have a first-class ticket.

"Daddy likes me to travel first class. He says it is safer, a better class of people for a girl travelling alone."

Well, maybe. Perhaps not how it would be put these days, and Hector and his commuting acquaintances were still men, red blooded men and Zephyrine Saunders was a rather pretty, but young lady, in school uniform. A pleasing enough sight to warm them, indeed in those particular, perhaps unusual, and certainly tucked away places we will be hearing more of later.

An unusual name for a young lady, indeed, but perhaps less unusual learning that 'daddy' was a classicist at Cambridge. The four commuters found it rather pleasant being trapped with Zephyrine in their railway compartment and were a little sorry when she left at a station. The compartment seemed less bright and cheerful. And they said so. It was not that they said anything untoward, but they might have thought it. A mature schoolgirl very much dressed as such. A dark grey pleated knee length skirt, dark green striped blazer, and cream blouse with neatly knotted dark green and cream striped tie around her neck. A dark green beret to her head and lace up 'sensible' shoes upon her feet. White knee length socks, not nylon stockings. A badge to her lapel probably indicating her a prefect. Long dark hair neatly plaited down her back and a dark brown leather satchel with brass buckles with her books and things. What also might be appropriate to mention was that Zephyrine was all of eighteen years old.

What became rather pleasing for the mature City men was Zephyrine took to joining them every day at the terminus railway station, choosing to go into their compartment over other places on the train. Normally she would be 'just in time' to join whereas Hector and the others got to the train early. They did not say it, as such, but that was essentially to reserve 'their' seats and compartment. It had been their habit. It now became more and more their usual way, as well, to chat with Zephyrine and spend less time with their evening newspapers, learning about her; and so a rather nice friendship developed between the schoolgirl and the mature gentlemen. Perhaps 'daddy' knew of it and approved, knowing there were men of his own age who would look out for his schoolgirl daughter and ensure her safety.

It was one particular evening, when the train was rattling through the dark countryside, that the pleasant conversation turned to sex. It was a surprise and certainly not something that Hector or the other gentlemen initiated. It came from Zephyrine

"What does this piece mean?" she asked, opening a page with a bookmark in one of her Latin books. "Veneri servit amica manus."

Hector looked thoughtful for a moment, "Thy hand serves as the mistress of thy pleasure. I should think."

"Yes, but what does it mean?"

"Ah!" Hector paused at that. For a man who had been in the army and served abroad he was not exactly unworldly wise, but this question from the schoolgirl in her blazer and grey pleated skirt rather threw him. He looked at his fellow businessmen. They looked away. "It, um, alludes to um, masturbation."

"Oh, what boys do." She said brightly.

"And girls too, I should think," Hector let the words slip from his mouth too quickly, "... but differently, of course," he added, not really improving things much.

"I know I do," said the girl, "and my friends. I expect men grow out of it when they have wives and do things properly with ladies. Do boys do it every night like I do, except..." She looked up at Hector.

"I... I... wouldn't know, I expect... it varies." It was all a bit too personal perhaps. It veered in the direction of what he might have done -- or indeed, on occasion, do.

"Yes, some of my friends don't much. It's nice." And Zephyrine talked on about her masturbation and her thoughts. Gaily talking away about things -- about her bed, about her going to bed and 'that'. She was so very open, and the gentlemen listened spellbound but, alas, Zephyrine's station stop arrived too soon for them. The thirty minutes of the journey had passed, and the girl had to step from the halted train, leaving clearly aroused men sitting there in silence.

"Oh," ventured Frederick Trowse, "that was um..."

"Stimulating," finished James Marlston. "I rather enjoyed that."

"Interesting what young girls get up to."

"Alone in bed."

"She really shouldn't have told us all that. I mean..." Frederick Trowse did look rather perturbed, if a bit red faced.

"I should think she will be quite a cracker when she gets to be.... not alone." The fourth man joined the conversation. Thomas 'Tom' Headman, his hands moving in the air as he spoke.

The subject had, indeed, been of more than a little interest to the businessmen. To hear talk of what a rather lovely schoolgirl got up to -- yes, between her legs - was not just a passing interest but an abiding one with all four of them. A shared interest it transpired, though not one they had mentioned before. They talked rather more about Zephyrine. The next evening found the five of them once more in the compartment and the conversation perhaps rather quickly returned to the previous day's subject and, indeed, not very long after they had left the station. It was James Marlston who smiled and enquired whether, perhaps, Zephyrine had pleasured herself in her bed the night before? It was a very direct and remarkably personal question to make from a middle-aged man to a schoolgirl.

"Yes, it's how I get to sleep. Get all nice and..."

"Wet?" ventured James Marlston.

"Mmmm," the girl's head went up and down. "All sort of cosy and nice, a cuddly sort of warmth and I just stroke with my fingers and imagine little stories and drift off to sleep."

"Do you wear pyjamas or a nightie?" asked Hector.

"Pyjamas mostly."

"Do you pull them down, do you unbutton your top so you can easily touch your breasts?" asked James Marlston leaning forward and unashamedly looking at the girl's blouse and blazer where it was thrust forward by her rather womanly 'assets.'

"Sometimes. My pyjamas don't have a draw string like Daddy's. They're not all stripey but, the pair I was wearing last night, are white with little yellow primroses on them and have an elasticated waist so I can easily slide my hand down inside."

"And your top?" asked James Marlston.

"You are inquisitive, sir! Same. I have to pull it up, no buttons. Off and over my head if I want to take it off. No buttons to undo. Do your pyjamas have buttons?"

"Err, yes."

"And stripes?"

"Like Daddy's then!"

And at their instigation Zephyrine went on to describe how she had, indeed, pulled her pyjama bottoms right down and off her feet the night before and how she had pulled her top up to her chin and that was how she found herself in the morning. She had to burrow down the bed to find the bottoms. That certainly conjured up in the men's minds the image of Zephyrine in her white with yellow primroses top pushing her head and shoulders, and most of her pyjama clad upper body, down into the sheets and under the blanket and leaving her round and pink bottom up in the air, perhaps with her legs a little parted so, had they been there they could have noted pink lips, perhaps hair covered, poking out, perhaps even seen a hint of dampness from her play before sleep. Or it might have come as a bit of a shock for 'Daddy' had he come into her bedroom at that very moment.

The thought of her naked bottom was very stimulating to the gentlemen. It was the more so when she described playing with wide-spread thighs and hard nipples. Was she aware of the four hard penises straining at suiting, was she aware that no less than eight testes and associated glands were responding to the stimulus and readying themselves, if they were needed, for ejaculation -- that four fertile and heavy loads being made ready to fire? Did she have any idea?

"Do you have sensitive nipples, I know some women are more sensitive than others?" Did James Marlston indeed know that, though he asked the question, and if so how? Was it true? Or was it somewhat of a conversational gambit?

"I think rather sensitive. Why do men have nipples too? Daddy... it seems so silly. I mean you can't make milk can you?"

"Not like... no, certainly not! Vestigial only. But, of course, nor can you. Well, not yet. Not until you are married and have babies. But I expect your nipples get hard and big when you play don't they."

Pleasant conversation about breasts, about nipples, about wet girls -- or more specifically about Zephyrine. A particularly interesting topic to the men. They were all leaning forward to catch her words, evening newspapers folded and quite forgotten. Folded upon laps indeed. The talk particularly revolving around and returning to the girl's breasts. The men could see they were not little, she had not stayed flat fronted. She had budded and grown.

"I suppose... I could show, if you like?"

Four pairs of mature eyes, some through spectacles, stared as Zephyrine slowly began to unbutton her blouse. The girl had not waited for one or more of the men to say that he or they would 'like.' There was merely heavy breathing but no speech as button after button was undone. The schoolgirl looked up, "Should I show, would you like to see?" The question asked again. Hector and the others nodded.

Zephyrine tugged her blouse out from her skirt and reached inside to unclip her bra.

It was Hector who glanced towards the corridor. It was unlikely any other passenger would walk along it. They would already be seated in their own compartments. But there was the ticket collector who would come along checking tickets, moving along the corridor, and sliding back the glazed door into the compartment with a cheery 'tickets please.' He would be along, but they would hear him coming.

Hector looked back and already the bra was undone and hanging a little forward showing more of the schoolgirl's cleavage. Slowly Zephyrine lowered the material exposing her 'apples and cherries' to their gaze and to their delight.

"They are very pretty, Zephyrine," said Hector and the others agreed. Delightfully rounded, somewhat two halves of oranges in shape, firm and probably succulent! Pale pink with cherry red nipples, quite small, really, but most definitely hard, all set in quite generous areolae, light brown pigmented.

"Do you think so?" Her fingers reached to tweak her nipples -- squeeze them between finger and thumb. "Are my nipples big enough?"

Hector did not say they were just right for a man to take between his lips, just right to take between his teeth and give a little bite. Nor did he mention the size of the erection in his trousers, though it felt as if it had rarely been so large. Instead, he said they were 'just right' and 'lovely.' James Marlston explained that breasts and nipples changed shape especially with breast feeding and afterwards. "They will be larger but for now they are just..." he smiled, "in my opinion, perfect."

Along the corridor came 'tickets please.'

"I think you should cover yourself up a bit, my dear."

And when the ticket collector arrived there were four gentlemen reading newspapers and a girl in school uniform with blazer tightly buttoned, reading a book.

"Evening Stan," said Hector holding his season ticket for inspection.

"Evening gentlemen, miss."

And after he had disappeared back down the train it was not surprising that the gentlemen asked to see Zephyrine's breasts again. And that was easily done simply by opening her blazer. Things had not been buttoned up and reclipped.

"I feel funny showing them to you."

"Funny in what way?"

"A nice way. Like when I'm in bed. I think I'm getting wet."

"How easily do you orgasm?" What a joy to be able to talk to the girl about such things. Ask intimate and very interesting questions. It was James Marlston again who asked the question. But the answer a surprise.

"I don't think I do. My friends..." and it was very interesting to hear about her friends. Very interesting indeed. The descriptions well formed, the more so when James Marlston casually asked if she saw them naked in the showers.

"After Netball? Oh yes. Just girls changing."

Just girls changing! Not 'just' at all to the gentlemen, They had her describing. Perhaps the scene and the smell of exercised body (and feet) little different from the boys changing rooms at the schools of their youth after rugger or maybe hockey or cricket but not quite the same sight. Not half undressed or fully undressed schoolgirls with boobs and furry patches. James Marlston was quite insistent about her describing each of her friends' lower hair.

"Oh, Jane is just a bit wispy but Sam, she has a real riot. Dark and tangled."

"And what about you, my dear," asked Hector, "what about you?"

"Oh, more like Sam really. It's been growing away for years."

Hector might well have liked to ask when it started growing but he was stopped by Zephyrine's cheery, "Would you like to see?"

Would the men -- would they! Zephyrine stood and reached up into her skirt and down came her knickers, down around her knees and then she bent and undid first one and then the other 'sensible' brown lace up shoes and tugged the thick grey knickers, a wool/cotton blend, clearly a uniform requirement all the way down and off. Hector offered to hold them whilst Zephyrine retied her shoelaces. Delightfully clear that when she left the train she would be going knickerless. Like a Scotsman under his kilt, though without the male 'equipment' obviously!

Thick grey knickers all warm in Hector's hand. And he was not the only one looking at them, looking at the oval wet patch in their centre. Wetness from Zephyrine's young and aroused sex. Clear she was indeed aroused by her talk and perhaps the exhibitionism of showing her breasts. Maybe even the gentlemen's interest in her had helped.

"I feel a bit funny showing... I mean I've never showed to a man before. The doctor of course and Daddy but he doesn't count. We don't worry at home. You know, going from or to the bathroom. Mummy and Daddy in the bath or me in the bath. But not another man and now four of you..."

"We really would like to see."

Zephyrine stood again, and reached down for the hem of her skirt, her grey pleated skirt, and started to lift. Knees bared and then more: soft looking lower thighs, the gap between them starting to narrow as the skirt was lifted higher. Upper thighs, pleasingly plump and then...dark curls, just a hint appearing underneath the hem. A glimpse only. The girl paused and the men looked up at her, their attention momentarily leaving the slow revelation of the girl's sex. She was biting her lip.

"I feel a bit nervous."

"Stop if you want, Zephyrine. Another day. We would like to see -- see what a big girl you are but another day... it's not that we haven't seen before. We are married men, some of us with daughters of our own. Think of us as doctors..."

"Are you?"

"Well, no."

But the skirt continued its journey and the dark curls were all revealed. A full triangle with delightful slit clearly visible not least by the thickening of curls just there. The men were spellbound. A jolt of the train caused Zephyrine to sit back down still with skirt raised.

"When you were at the doctor's, did he ask you to open your legs?" It was James Marlston.

"Yes. Should I?"

"I think you should."

The excitement, the delight on the businessmen's faces as slowly the schoolgirl parted her thighs, wider and wider, exposing her private parts fully to their undoubtedly prurient gaze. Their interest was not merely medical. Clitoral hood, clitoris, pee hole, vaginal entrance, even a hint of her brown star. All visible there in the moving railway carriage, the electric light revealing so much. Young and clearly moist pudenda, younger than perhaps any of them had seen before.

"May I," asked Hector, reaching forward, so clear he wished to touch.

"The doctor did, sir."

The other men watched as Hector's thick fingers moved forward between the girl's thighs, stroking a little as they went, intent on reaching their goal. The fingers touched, tips gently stroking the soft, damp pinkness. Caressing outer, hair covered, lips before venturing further. Feeling the inner lips in turn between finger and thumb before slowly stroking them up and down. Not a sound from his fellow commuters as Hector poked a single finger forward, not a sound as they watched it disappear into the girl. Not a sound as a second finger inched in until, and that was from Zephyrine, there was a long, drawn out shuddering sigh.

"Oh, that is so much better than touching myself. Oh no!" The train was slowing. "My station!" Already the girl's hands were at work behind her, refastening her bra, then doing up her buttons. All done with two of Hector's fingers moving in and out of her sex, the girl regaining modesty and decorum above, whilst below all was still on show. Her spread thighs, her wet sex, her gorgeous dark triangle -- and the hand, the man's hand. The fingers were still inside the girl's moistness as Zephyrine stood and her skirt fell covering her and Hector's hand.

"I've got to go. So frightfully annoying. Tomorrow perhaps?" She grabbed her satchel and reached for the door handle as Hector withdrew his hand. The door opened and then closed and there on the platform was the schoolgirl almost skipping away, dark grey pleated skirt swishing, satchel swinging.

Inside the compartment still silence. Not a word said until the train began moving again. Slowly Hector Stubbs raised his fingers to his nose and smiled, "Well, that was quite something, chaps!"