Train Encounter

Authors Note: This is a rewrite of the story "Train Encounter" written by the_new_guy_234 who is now one half of the couple who write on this account. This was one of his favourite stories and I really enjoyed it too, but felt it could use a woman's touch in the re-edit and a few details could be changed or tightened up, as well as a much needed change from 1st to 3rd person. Please feel free to read and rate the original. If this version seems popular we may make it into a longer series. We hope you enjoy.

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The wheels began to creak into action, screeching and steaming against the rails as the train shuddered to life, like a waking beast. Peter hopped onboard just as it started to pull away from the station, pulling the door closed behind him. It jolted suddenly, causing him to lose his footing, he stumbled and grabbed hold of the rail, steadying himself as the pace increased and the train left the station behind.

He checked his ticket and headed towards the back of the train towards the first-class carriage -- there were at least some perks to his job -- it would be a long journey, but at least it would be a comfortable one. He hoped that he would be alone, first-class was great, but sharing a compartment with a stranger was often awkward, he was no good with small talk and hoped desperately that he would be saved from engaging in any.

His heart sank as he looked through the glass pane of the compartment door and caught the shape of someone shoving a case on the rack before sitting down on the leather bench. With one last look at his ticket he turned the handle and let himself inside. The compartment itself was tidy and well-kept. Two leather benches sat opposite each other, bookended by the window on one side and the door on the other. It was spacious enough for four passengers but would be tight with six. Hopefully, they would be the only two.

Peter placed his suitcase down on the seat next to him and sat down in the opposite bench - he was seated nearest the door while his companion took the window. He looked back at her, clearly pleasantly surprised by her appearance, perhaps he would have a better view than expected. They shared an awkward smile as they both turned to their books, the secret language of the commuter -- I'm reading, do not disturb!

Initially he found it easy to concentrate, his book was fairly engaging and in the last week he had found himself picking it up at every opportunity. He had never really been one for thrillers, but this one had lived up to the hype and was genuinely quite good. He read happily for a few minutes, turning each page eagerly.

Before long, however, he realised that he was struggling to concentrate. Certain passages he found himself reading two or three times. He would catch himself at the end of a chapter and realise that he had no idea what had just happened, his reading was mechanical, the automatic action of his body, but his mind was not engaged in it at all.

He kept looking up, stealing glances at his co-commuter, there was something about her that was driving his unconscious self to distraction, even though he didn't know exactly what it was. She was an attractive woman for sure, mid-thirties, ten years his senior, or thereabouts, but somehow this made her seem more attractive to him, as though she knew better how to carry herself than women his own age might. She had long, silken red hair and pale, alabaster skin, her eyes were jade-green and striking, almost impossible to look away from. She was slim and athletic, but more importantly she knew how to dress, her body was framed perfectly by the clothes she had chosen. A thin white blouse, open just enough to hint at the dark bra she wore beneath, accentuating her perfectly formed breast. Her skirt was made of a dark material, thicker than her top and more rigid, highlighting the rigidity of her well-toned legs.

He realised, though, that it was none of those things which drew his eyes away from his book. It was something else entirely. He followed the line of her bare leg, down her shapely ankle towards her flawless feet. She wore a pair of high heeled black sandals, one strap around her ankle and the other where her toes met her foot. Beside those two strands her feet were bare, seductively naked, her deep red toenail polish the perfect cherry on top of an enticing looking cake.

The woman began to shuffle, she had noticed his attention. It was not lost on her that he seemed unable to go a single minute without looking up from his book. He had turned pages backwards at least three times to re-read something which had obviously not kept his attention as much as she had.

The seat was uncomfortable, her heels bit at her feet -- the price of fashion was often pain, she needed to adjust herself. She turned her body slightly, allowing her legs to straighten and point towards the compartment door. Her movement caught his attention, although this time he did not look away so quickly, "these seats are so uncomfortable," she said, adjusting herself.

He smiled warmly at her, but was not in the mood for small talk. He turned back to his book, but found himself even more distracted than before. Her legs were now on display more than before, her toes pointed towards forwards, red and perfect, as though challenging him to look away from his book.

She began to shuffle once more. In normal circumstances it may have been irritating, but for Peter it was a blessing, her movement gave him another excuse to look up at her, to glance at her striking features, to exchange a smile.

"I'm so sorry," she said timidly, "These seats can just be so uncomfortable, I don't know where to put myself."

Peter smiled at her once more, "I know what you mean," he said, making a token effort of adjusting his own position, a minor act of solidarity.

She smiled warmly back at him as she continued to shuffle in her seat. She let out a huff of exasperation, she couldn't quite get comfortable, the compartment was just too small to properly stretch out. "Sorry," she said again, "would you mind if I rest my feet on your seat?"

Peter was puzzled, "On my seat?" he asked.

"If you don't mind," she nodded towards the vacant seat opposite her, to Peter's left side.

"Oh, sure, that's not a problem," he replied, trying to effect a nonchalant tone, hiding the fact that this was quite an exciting prospect for him. He grabbed his suitcase off the seat and stood to put it in the luggage rack before sitting back down.

"Sorry to be a pain," she added, as she stretched her legs out, placing her heel-clad feet on the leather bench at his side.

"Not at all."

They smiled at each other once again. They had exchanged a few words but there was still that air of uncertainty. In the end it was not Peter who decided to cross the barrier from strangers to acquaintances. "You know, it's going to be a long trip, so I'll say hello properly, I'm Alice," she extended a hand out towards him.

Peter took her hand in his and shook it firmly - "A firm handshake," his father had always said, "is the best first impression." He returned the courtesy and introduced himself, "I'm Peter, pleased to meet you Alice."

Another smile and they returned to their reading. At least Alice returned to hers. Peter was struggling to concentrate even more. Her feet were right beside him, perfect in every way, impossible to ignore. He tried to modulate his behaviour, one glance per page, then one per paragraph, one per line, he needed to control himself, there would be nothing worse than being discovered as some kind of foot obsessed gawper. He tried his best to concentrate, to look straight ahead, to ignore the vision of beauty and femininity at his side. He felt an inevitable rise in his trousers.

Suddenly, the door slid open, giving Peter a fright. A man in blue uniform stepped into the cabin and regarded them with an almost painfully bored expression on his face, "May I see your tickets please?" he managed to say, almost sighing the words out.

Alice obliged immediately, handing him the ticket which she had sensibly stored between the pages of her book. He punched a hole through it and wordlessly turned his attention to Peter.

He panicked, his ticket was in his back pocket. He stood up as quickly as he could, half stooped over in an attempt to conceal any telltale bulge at his crotch. Luckily the ticket slid out of his pocket with ease, he handed it to the inspector as he sat back down, hoping that he had not moved so fast as to draw attention to himself. With any luck she was too busy reading anyway.

The inspector glanced down, clipped the ticket and returned it, "thank you," he yawned as he stepped out of the compartment, closing the door behind him.

The train rattled on towards its destination as the two travellers returned to their reading. With each passing minute Peter was finding it harder and harder to concentrate as he tried desperately to refocus his attention on his book.

Every time he felt as though he was back in control he would notice the slight wiggle of a toe and his concentration would be broken. It was like a spell was cast upon him and he could not control himself. She scratched the top of one foot by rubbing it against the other, normally a mundane act, but to Peter it was infinitely enticing, he had resigned himself to getting no further in his book, he just needed to make sure that he wasn't caught.

Despite his surrender to his libidinous thoughts he knew that he needed to maintain the air of someone reading. For every look down at those perfect feel he tried his best to studiously examine the page in front of him, he had to keep control.

On occasion he would glance up on her face. Alice seemed to be having no such trouble concentrating on her book, but she had no reason to be distracted. Every now and then, as she turned a page, she would look up, catching his eye. Sometimes he would look away, almost as though he'd been caught staring -- nothing could be further from the truth though, as beautiful as her face was he was definitely staring in that direction, his attention was elsewhere. On other occasions their eyes would meet briefly and they'd exchange a smile before returning to their books. No matter what happened, though, Peter's gaze would eventually always settle on her feet.

She shuffled her feet, crossing one ankle over the other. Immediately he was drawn to the sight, like a moth to a flame. For a split second he thought he heard a giggle, quiet but still discernible over the metallic rumbling of the train carriage. He looked down at his book, hoping that he had been wrong, before slowly -- ever so slowly -- raising his eyes towards her, checking to see that it had been his imagination.

To his shock, she was looking directly at him, a grin growing on her face. He tried to look back down but noticed that she was not looking away, she had rested her book down in her lap, her thumb keeping the page, but her attention was firmly focused on him.

He felt uncomfortable, but there was nothing he could do. He looked up again, they locked eyes once more, her gaze was unrelenting, the silence of the room deafening.

It was Alice who broke the silence. "Excuse me," she said, her tone not revealing any hint of the coming question.

He looked back up at her, he knew he couldn't just ignore her. He lowered his book.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" she asked.

"A question?" he asked, seeking some kind of clarification. Had he been caught? Or was he just being paranoid?

"Yeah, a question," she confirmed.

Peter furrowed his brow, "I suppose so," he replied, "I don't see why not."

Alice smiled once again, but this time there was a caution in her face, "It's maybe a little personal," she continued, "you don't have to answer."

He nodded, "Well, there's no harm in asking," he said, intrigued as to what she would ask.

Her smile softened, she was a little more relaxed, but her tone betrayed a lingering uncertainty, "Do you..." she winced at the thought of her own question, "I can't believe I'm asking this, sorry, forget about it."

Peter was too intrigued, "It's okay, you can ask it."

"You don't have to answer," she repeated, "but do you -- I mean -- are you?"

He laughed, her shyness was charming, disarming, "Go on."

"Have you got a fondness, for..." she paused again. Peter raised his eyebrows. She continued, "have you got a fondness for feet?" she said finally.

Immediately Peter's body betrayed him, even as he stammered his denial his cheeks flushed red and he could feel the heat of embarrassment burning in his neck. "F-Feet?" he asked, as though he hadn't heard her properly.

"It's okay," she said, "I'm not annoyed or anything, it's just I've noticed you looking at them. My feet I mean."

"Your feet?" he asked again, not knowing what to say.

"Yes, my feet. I've seen you looking at them, I've been watching you and I you can't keep your eyes off of them."

"I- I-" he didn't quite know how to respond, he knew he had been caught but wondered if he could possibly get out of it, the whole situation was mortifying.

"It's okay," her voice was soft and reassuring, "It's nice. It's a compliment, I know you've been looking."

Peter looked up at her, it was clear she wasn't worried by his actions. Her face was calm, her eyes were disarming.

"I have," he admitted, "I'm sorry." His embarrassment was doubled, but he felt a small sense of relief at having unburdened himself.

"No need to apologise. Like I said, it's a compliment, who wouldn't like to be ogled by a younger man?"

He looked back down at the floor, he was too ashamed to hold eye-contact for long, "probably lots of people." he said.

Alice laughed, an innocent giggle, "true," she admitted, "but don't worry, I like it."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, "I didn't mean to stare."

"Stop saying you're sorry!"

"Sorry," he said once more, they both laughed. Some of the tension in the room seemed to escape with their laughs, as though they had exorcised some demon which had cast a darkness inside the cabin.

"I like how much they distracted you," Alice said, uncrossing and then recrossing her feet. Peter, who had managed to avoid staring since he had been caught out felt himself drawn back in, he couldn't resist. She detected the apprehension in him, she knew that despite his best efforts he was aware that he shouldn't stare, "It's alright," she said, "You can look at them."

For a moment he did, before turning back to her face, "Thank you," he said, not knowing what else to say, "You know... it's not just your feet which are beautiful," his redness returned, almost saying the word 'feet' seemed to cause him embarrassment now, "you're very attractive."

"Thank you," she said, taking the compliment as it was meant, "You're not so bad to look at yourself. What else about me do you find attractive?" she asked.

Peter was sure she was teasing him, but she deserved an answer, "Everything, you're very striking, your hair, your eyes, any man would be lucky to have you."

"To have me?" she said with a wry smile, "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, no, I didn't mean-" he realised what she was doing, she was toying with him. He looked up and saw her laughing to herself.

"Your face was a picture," she laughed.

Peter couldn't help but laugh too, this woman clearly had him right where she wanted him, an embarrassed mess.

She looked at him inquisitively, as though sizing him up, trying to work something out about him. "You know what?" she said, "I think there is some way to make it up to you, I have been unnecessarily cruel after all."

"Really, there's no need."

She ignored him, she was about to give him an offer she knew he wouldn't refuse, "I've been on my feet all morning, it really would be awfully kind of you if you wouldn't mind giving me a little massage."

"A massage?" he asked, he couldn't believe his luck, but also knew he couldn't accept, "No, I-"

She cut him off, "It would be a good way for you to say sorry for staring at my feet for the last hour, you got your eye-candy, I get a massage, everyone's a winner."

"I'm not sure," he said, despite his deep desire to fulfil her request, he just knew that he couldn't.

"What if I insist?"

His interest was piqued, perhaps he had refused for long enough to save face? "Well if you insist..."

She didn't wait for him to finish, she knew he was going to say yes. She slid herself along the bench so that she was opposite him and rested one of her heel-clad feet in his lap.

He could feel the leather on his inner thigh, the heel pointed dangerously close to his groin. He looked up at her one last time, waiting for a look of approval, a signal to begin. She nodded.

He slowly unclasped the shoe, lifting it away from her foot and placing it down gently beside him. To a normal person this would be the most mundane thing in the world, but to him it was as erotic as removing her bra. Through the thick summer air he could just make out the briefest note of her scent, the slightest feminine musk, intoxicating and exciting.

He ran a single finger softly down the length of her sole, letting it brush against it with a feathery light touch. She shifted at his touch, "Play nice," she said, her tone a mock reprimand, "I can be ticklish."

He smiled and continued wordlessly in his task. He cupped her foot in his hand, small, delicate and warm, the skin so soft and perfect, smoother than silk. His thumbs pressed down into her soles, this time with more pressure. From heel to toe he applied pressure, slowly, steadily easing the tension from her muscles, letting the agony of the day move away from her body under his tender touch.

He circled his thumbs around her heel and back up the sole between the toes, noting how her toes fidgeted beneath his touch. He looked up at her for approval, hoping he was making the right moves; her eyes were closed, her head tilted back in a state of pure relaxation.

Her breathing slowed, but became more pronounced, she was beginning to embrace the sensation, becoming accustomed to his touch. He changed his attention to her toes, gently squeezing each on in turn between his thumb and index finger, squeezing out the stress from each one. As he did this he became aware of his own body for the first time, he could feel his cock pressing awkwardly against the front of his boxers. He shuffled slightly, hoping to hide the bulge beneath his arm. Alice's eyes opened, she had seen him.

He was ready to turn his attention to the next foot. Not wanting to put her delicate bare foot down on the wooden floor beneath them, he placed it gently on the leather bench between his legs, careful to make sure he had given himself enough space between her bare sole and his manhood that he wouldn't brush it by accident. He lifted her other foot into his lap and slowly undid the clasp, removing the shoe, uncovering his prize.

He continued with his efforts, returning to the same technique which had seemed to serve him so well with the first foot. Massaging her soles with his thumbs, long, strong strokes, before turning his attention to each of her five perfect toes.

She shifted again in her chair, "You're really good at this," she said, almost sleepily, "You must've done this a lot."

"Not as much as I'd like," he replied, knowing full well that there was no denying his particular fondness for feet now.

She exhaled, a chuckle of sorts, "I imagine you're probably enjoying this almost as much as me?"

There was no going back now, they were clearly speaking openly about things, "Well I wouldn't say that," he said, "I'm probably enjoying it more."

Alice smiled widely, she liked that. She liked it a lot. Without warning she withdrew her feet from his lap and hugged her legs against her body. They looked so beautiful against the green leather of the chair, her red toes perfectly painted. "Would you be a dear and close the blind," she said, indicating the small square of fabric which could be lowered to cover the door of the compartment.