Les Autres Ch. 06

All Sexual Activity In This Story Is Between Characters Who Are 18+ Years Old

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September 20, 1940

"F & C... Farragut Flyer for... SAINT LOO-is... and Chi-CAHHgo... now boarding on Track TWOOO... Last CALLLLL!"

When Arlene Hart heard the Mopac Station loudspeaker announce her train's re-boarding she quickly ended her phone call to Mary Trotter. "Hey! Got to get aboard... We have an hour in St. Louis... I'll call you again, after five... THANKS, Mary!" She slammed the pay phone receiver onto its hook and whirled from the booth. Running was not necessary, but she was far too excited to walk.

Boarding the club car, third in the consist, after the locomotive, and the private coach which Mary was so generously underwriting, Arlene nearly bowled over the steward. The tall thin older Negro reflexively extended his arms, steadying himself, and her, at the top of the steps. His long fingers naturally flexed into her back beneath her armpits and the heels of his hands, inadvertently, but significantly, crushed the outsides of her braless breasts. Not even the thickness of her felted wool fall coat blocked the information from their respective nerves.

The steward immediately withdrew his hands and apologized for his rudeness without acknowledging it. "Ah'm sorry, ma'am," he drawled. "Ah was lookin' left an' walkin' right... di'n't SEE yo'. SO sorry... is yo' awright?"

Arlene blushed at the pleasure she had felt from the black man's accidental intimate contact. Flustered, she replied, "Y-yes, quite alright. Thank you, Dexter." Recovered, she smiled and added graciously, "You saved me from stumbling. It was ME who was in the HURRY. I'm sorry I bumped into you!"

The black man, with thirty years on the F & C line, was still unaccustomed to any rare deference shown by passengers. This thirty-seven-year-old white woman's sincere statement made him blink. Though he truly regretted inappropriately touching her, he could not deny how her soft roundness made him feel. Sighing, he thought about his wife, waiting for him in their Fuller Park bungalow. "Jes' twelve hours, Maizy, an' Ah will FUCK yo' like they's no tomorrow!" Aloud, he apologized again, "No, ma'am... was ME who was clumsy... an' Ah'm sorry."

Arlene dropped the argument and changed topics. "Dexter," she said. "The Halsteads will be in the varnish for the rest of the trip. Please have their personal effects brought up from whatever compartment they were in." As she opened the interior door to the club car, she paused and added, "And please bring another ice bucket, with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, and a dinner menu. I'll order a supper to be served an hour outside of St. Louis."

Glad to be in a comfortable role once again, Dexter maintained an impassive face and answered, neutrally, "Yes, ma'am. Right away." Then he and Arlene turned, in opposite directions, and continued on their way.

Entering Eli Farragut's custom-built eighty-two-foot Milwaukee Road rail car, Arlene heard the Steinway Model S baby grand piano. Nineteen-year-old Tom Halstead, Jr. was banging the ivories while his father, accompanying him on a harmonica, kept the beat with a tapping foot. The Australians were teaching her daughter their unofficial national song.

When Arlene passed through the lounge area, into the main salon proper, she saw her nineteen-year-old daughter, Cynthia, crowding behind Jr., and swaying in her slip, as the young man sang, loudly, if not on key:

"Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda

You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me

And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled:

You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me."

Side-stepping the long rosewood dining set and moving between the pumpkin-and-silver paisley damask ensemble of overstuffed armchairs and the gold silk brocade settee arrangement where they all had played strip-Two Up, Arlene weaved her way to the trio. She slipped up behind Tom Sr. and hugged him from behind. He promptly threw his Hohner on a chair, spun in her embrace and kissed her, hard. Letting her up for air, the elder Halstead winked, grinned and complimented, "THERE'S the sweetest mouth organ I'LL every play!"

Arlene's face colored as she protested, "Are you SURE you're Australian? That sounds like a lot of Irish blarney, to me." She laughed and added, "But you can play it anytime, Holly." Then, proving her statement's truth, she fixed her lips to his and dangled her raised right foot as she leaned into his chest, balancing herself on her left leg.

Young Tom quit playing, pivoted on the piano bench and plopped Cynthia onto his lap. He swiftly slid his right palm along her bare ribs and cupped her breast, while he wedged his left fingers high between her thighs and teased her unprotected twat's tangled brunette thicket. Improvising on his father's impromptu musical quip, Tom said, huskily, "And YOU'RE the favorite instrument for MY top hand and bottom hand to run along."

While Cynthia curled into her new fiancé's chest, nuzzling his neck as he fiddled and tweaked, Arlene broke her kiss and updated the group. "Before we get TOO rambunctious, let me TELL you... I've arranged for us to keep the car all the way to Chicago." Looking meaningfully from one Tom to the other, she went on, "AND porters are going to be here shortly with your things from your old compartment. Also, I've ordered another bottle of champagne and a dinner menu."

Just then the party heard a door-knock at the car's entrance. Arlene looked at the others and shooed them with her hands toward the master bedroom. "Get back in there," she hissed. "I'll supervise the logistics!" The men and her daughter disappeared as she moved back through the coach. Ten minutes later, once again alone, she draped her overcoat around the back of a captain's chair in the front bar. Looking out the panoramic left side lounge window, she verified The Flyer was picking up speed and leaving Little Rock behind.

At the master bedroom door, Arlene rapped twice and called, "All clear!" As the others returned through the observation area to the main salon, she added, "We should be undisturbed for the next four hours, or so. Holly, you want to pop the cork on the champagne? I seem to remember Cynthia saying we should celebrate our engagements." Grinning, she gave Tom Sr. a light swat on his skivvies as he passed by her to do the honors.

Tom Jr. gave Cynthia a peck on her cheek, then stepped to his future mother-in-law. Sweeping her to his torso, he said, "Cindy already has Da's blessing... how about ME? May I start calling you 'Mum'? I'd LIKE that." Impeding her immediate answer, Jr. kissed her deeply, and, in a very unfilial manner, introduced their tongues.

Cynthia stuck her tongue out at her betrothed and rushed to hug Tom Sr., saying over her shoulder, as she moved by her occupied mother, "Well, it wasn't THAT much of a 'blessing'... WAS it, Dad?" He barely had time to put the opened champagne back in the chiller before Cynthia was literally on him. She pulled his arm, torquing his body, then jumped and embraced his neck. As he lowered his hands and supported her bouncing bottom, Cynthia swamped his face with peppery half-kisses.

Sr.'s mouth dodged this way and that. At last, desperately jutting his jaw, he caught her mobile succulent bottom lip between his teeth. Cynthia crawled her nails up her soon-to-be father-in-law's nape. Nipping back at him, she avidly chewed his upper lip as she vised his head in her hands and hooked her ankles below his butt.

Old Tom turned ninety degrees right and then waltzed his matilda, slung in front of him rather than over his back, three feet forward, pinning Cynthia to the narrow wall space between two panoramic windows. Stabilizing her with his broad chest, he hooked his thumbs in his boxers' waistband and popped it over his hips. She drove his shorts further down, past his knees, with her kicking heels. The underwear pooled at his ankles; freeing his stalwart staff.

Returning his hands to Cynthia's bottom, Tom raised her up the wall and danced his hips forward. She shimmied her squashed silken tits across his pectoral plateau as their passionate kissing continued. Her thirteen-week baby bump bumped gently on Tom's slightly soft paunch and fanned the flames in their loins. Lowering her onto his perfectly positioned prick, he pierced her pussy with a single long slow sliding shove.

"UHhhnn," Cynthia moaned into the older man's mouth as his cement cock spread her elastic chamber and took up residence in her nest. The jostling wall of the moving train added a rhythmic side beat while Tom steadily hitched up and in, then pulled back and down. She sucked his tongue and gnarred. Each stroke and retreat built their tension and sent thrilling sparks to her nose and toes.

Angled to the wall, Tom Sr. repeatedly flexed his knees and drove his dick deep into the pregnant teen's vagina. She crunched her ass and collapsed her cunt, gripping his shifting shaft; holding it as tight as she could at the apex of every thrust. Her contractions, as she ground her pelvis to his pubes, pushed him to inspired heights. His nuts shrank. His sack tightened.

Within split seconds of each other, Cynthia and Tom came together. He snarled, lunged and froze. His pulsing prick blew up in her channel, washing her occupied womb with redundant seed. Ecstatic, she squeezed her cunny with all her might, curled her toes and clung to his arched back. Breaking the kiss, as her orgasm rolled, Cynthia whirred softly, "nyyaaahhh, Daaaad!"

At the other end of the salon, in front of the piano bench, Arlene stood writhing in young Tom's coiled arms as his big hands cruised her back and clawed at her pencil skirt's rear zipper tab. Undone, the wool's weight carried the garment to the floor. Holding her ass firmly in his left hand, Tom's right fingers worked open the three pearl buttons at the back of her raw silk blouse's neck while their chests serpentined against each other.

"Don't stop... there... Tommo," Arlene breathed huskily, as she pushed the young man's shoulders down. He dropped to his knees, pulling her silver rayon half-slip with him and baring her brunette bush. Her excited nubbin peered out, unsheathed, at the top of her wet pearlescent conch. While he pulled her hips to his face and nuzzled his nose into her honeyed slit, Arlene, raising her arms, removed her blouse and sateen camisole.

Young Tom foraged voraciously. Arlene praised him with soft words and softer whimpering mewls. With her crisis approaching, she clutched his ears and held him snugly to her snatch. While Jr. drove his tongue through the front gate, his middle fingers divided her globes. With her ass firmly in hand, he double-parked his pinkies in her rosebud. She came when he whistled.

Sensing Arlene's first climax had passed, but that she was still keyed up, Tom Jr. rose to a crouch and pivoted about her hips. Sweeping his father's harmonica from the armchair's cushion, he seated himself and pulled Arlene, faced away, toward his chest. Straddling his knees, she bent and squatted over the teen's turgid tool, greedily stuffing it into her anxious cunt. "Ohhh, MUM! That feels soooo good," Tom sighed, as his six-inch shank sank to its limit in her grasping gash.

He slid his hands from Arlene's hips to her tits and dug his fingers into their resilient flesh. She groaned as his stiff digits mauled her. He chuffed and chunked his hard cock upward while she dropped her ass back and down. Huffing as she repeatedly rose and fell around Jr.'s obelisk, Arlene's first orgasm blended with her second, and her third.

Tom extended and bent his elbows in synch with her knee flexion, pulling her tighter and deeper with every thrust. Arlene puffed and panted as she pumped her legs, bracing her hands on Tom's knees. His system overloaded. At his point of greatest penetration, his nuts exploded. Arlene yowled and Tom howled as he pasted her cervix with shot upon shot of his virile essence.

When he was finished, and Arlene was at rest on his thighs, young Tom kissed the back of her neck and tenderly massaged her midriff with light caresses. She leaned back and basked, covering his hands with hers. She was still semi-recumbent and lost when Tom Sr. and Cynthia crossed the salon, each with two glasses of poured Cliquot.

"Well now," boomed the elder Halstead cheerfully, stepping in front of the chair and offering his glasses to Arlene and his son. "WE'RE ready for a toast... how about YOU?"

Cynthia came around from the other direction, handed Tom Sr. one of her glasses and slipped her free hand around his naked waist. Grinning, she winked at her mother and Jr. "Here's to a perfect family arrangement," she offered, raising her glass. The others chorused, "Hear! Hear!" and sipped their bubbly with smiles all around.

When the glasses were drained, Arlene rose from the chair and stood on Tom Sr.'s left side. "Speaking of 'arrangements' we should probably take a look at the berths in the sleeping compartments..."

"Good on you, Arly, for thinking ahead," the elder Halstead supported. "Let's do that now." Turning from the women, he walked through the observation area to the master bedroom with the others following close behind.

In the compartment, Tom Sr. pulled the oversized single berth from its wall cabinet and remarked, "Well, the length is alright." Standing at the bed's foot he spread his arms and estimated, "Looks like it's about four-and-a-half feet wide... comfortably close for two, snugly sleepable for three... but we're FOUR." Chuckling, he concluded, "No matter how friendly, someone's bound to get bounced to the floor!"

Tom Jr. put in, "What's the other room look like, then, Mum?"

Arlene shook her head. "I don't really know. I've actually never seen the entire car... I only know it was built for Mr. Farragut to travel comfortably in style, with any attendant personal staff he may need."

"It certainly is THAT," Tom Sr. commented. "I peeked in the bathroom... very roomy; nice shower."

Cynthia tugged her mother's hand and said, "C'mon, Ma... let's go see it NOW then." The group followed her through the pocket door to the other side of the train and into the second bedroom. Narrower than the master suite by a foot, this compartment had a commensurately smaller hide-away cabinet. When opened, three pull-down berths, each six feet long by three feet wide, were revealed in staggered tiers. Its lavatory, too, was well appointed, though slightly smaller.

Arlene offered her analysis, "The design is obviously efficient for singles." She sighed. "I suppose we'll have to flip your florins, Holly. 'To the victor go the spoils'... isn't THAT how the saying goes?"

Tom Sr. replied, "We could always do that... or, Tommo and I could take two of these bunks and you and Cindy could share the big bed. It's only for sleeping... just a short night's nap, REALLY... if we aren't UP for the whole trip!" He hugged his fiancée and kissed her forehead. "No worries, Arly, my pet... We'll be in two big suites at the Palmer House by midnight and there's plenty of room on Wikkawurri."

Cynthia stepped up behind Tom Jr. and scraped her fingernails lightly down his bare arms as she cooed coyly, "But, Dad... beds are for NOT sleeping, TOO." Jr. shivered as she added soft kisses at his neck for punctuation.

Sr. laughed aloud, then exclaimed, "Too RIGHT, Cindy!" He pulled Arlene close in to his nakedness. "And, I think the OTHER bed is a perfect size for 'not sleeping.'" Pinching Arlene's bottom, he added, "In fact, I was thinking just now of 'not sleeping'... AGAIN!"

Young Tom whirled like a cat and caught Cynthia. "Me TOO, Da'," he concurred. Pulling Cynthia's tummy bulge against his hard flat gut he asked, in a hoarse whisper, "You want to 'not sleep' with me right now?"

Arlene reached out, tapped her future son-in-law on the shoulder and chimed in, "So, Tommo, are you and Holly going to flip for who'll be first?"

Before his son could reply, Tom Sr. injected, "That wasn't MY thought, Arly... the big bed is plenty big enough, lengthwise, for EVERYONE." He winked at her. "Come and see."

Arlene stepped out of his hug and frowned. "You may not have noticed, Holly," she said, with an even tone. "But, I'm a spontaneous LOVER, not an APPLIANCE."

"Oh, Arly," he replied, with a twinkle in his eyes. "I know you're not a WASHING machine!" Before she could react, Tom Sr. lifted her from the floor, folded her over his right shoulder in a fireman's carry and kissed her naked ass. Moving through the pocket door into the observation area, he chuckled, "How's THIS for 'spontaneous', lover?"

Arlene, pounding a feeble protest on his bare back with her fists, made no effort to escape, but exclaimed, with mock horror, "You are a BRUTE! Is THIS how you'll behave after we're married? Like a... a... NEANDERTHAL?"

Tom laughed as he carried her into the master suite and flopped her on the pulled-down berth. "Not at all," he answered. "I'll be strictly a gentleman... unless you WANT me to be rough." Rolling her over on her stomach, he lowered his broad palm and delivered a solid smack to her bottom. Arlene yelped. "So, TELL me... does Arly LIKE to be paddled?" He popped her once more, leaving a bright red hand print on her other moon.

Arlene crawled to the back of the bed. Her wide eyes showed her surprise. Rubbing her buns, she shook her head and answered, "No, Holly... I like your kisses better." She sat up, with her back to the bulkhead, reached out her arms and asked, "Can I have some of THOSE, please?"

Cynthia and Tom Jr. walked into the compartment just as Sr. sat on the bed beside Arlene and fulfilled her request. They watched while their parents, oblivious to anything else, made up and made out. Cynthia smiled. With a shrug, she pointed to the end of the bed and observed, "They DID leave us some room, Tommo... it seems a shame not to make USE of it." Grinning mischievously, she turned and lay across the berth on her back, throwing her legs high and wide, as she asked with a lilting little laugh, "Do you see anything you like?"

Tom's eyes focused on the small hickey he had raised on Cynthia's navel after brunch. It looked good enough for seconds and he said so. "Oh, yeah, Cindy... everything's edible!" He fell to his knees, plowed between her pale thighs, aiming high, and stabbed her belly button with his tongue as he latched on to its fresh raspberry oval and sucked hard.

Cynthia squealed her delight, but grabbed Tom's armpits and hauled him higher still. "But you haven't eaten ANY thing up here," she pouted, pushing his mouth toward her left breast. "I ACHE so MUCH..." Her voice trailed off into an incoherent moan as Tom palped her tit and took its entire puffy marshmallow top into his mouth.

Beside them, Tom Sr. and Arlene rolled right and repositioned themselves. Now Arlene, too, was on her back. Sr., semi-crouched over her left side, kept kissing her. His right leg was bent flat to the bed, but his left was extended, with its foot braced on the floor. Trapped between Cynthia and the two Toms, Arlene suddenly found her hands naturally gripping the men's proud erections. She tugged them. Both Toms groaned their appreciation.

Young Tom drove Cynthia to distraction as he alternated swift strong sucks across both her plump rubbery nipples while he squeezed her breasts, from their bases to their crowns, as if she might have milk to taste. Tom Sr. also found his focus, on Arlene's bosom, although he was singularly latched to her heart's cone while he probed her open winking wet cunny with his left hand. Rolling their heads with joy, Arlene and Cynthia serendipitously met face-to-face. Their lips locked, and their tongues dueled, as they vented their excess heat into each other's mouths.

The Halsteads, thanks to their avid feasting and Arlene's expert manipulations, swiftly approached their limits of endurance. As their scrotums seized around their tightening balls, and they sensed the pressure rising in their pipes, they each, independently, but with remarkable unity, abandoned their upper story activity. Aligning themselves hip-to-hip, while tucking their trapeziuses beneath the women's knees and calves, the men, in tandem, thrust their ready rods into the Harts' heavenly channels.