Twelve Hours Pt. 01

9.10 - 9.30pm

Previously, I had needed to close my eyes to fantasise and imagine stuff. This was the first time I lusted with my eyes full open.

It didn't take long. For whatever reason, of all the seats available on the train, she took the one opposite the table from where I was sitting. It was not that late, barely just past 9pm, but it felt later; it was late November. Now about 20 minutes from Bradford, the final stop, the trolleys had been a thing of the past and so was the ticket officer. "Is this available?" her voice sounded and I looked up at her from my tablet.

It was a rather silly question - there was no reason why I or anyone else should have said no. She sat down, quite gracefully. This was when I actually saw her.

I'd give her 25 years old. She looked angelic. She behaved angelic. She wore a delicate silk blouse with floral design, quite striking against the dull blue/grey colour of the train seats. The top three buttons were undone, revealing a very smooth, gentle neck, and some cleavage cupped in a black bra. Funny, that, I normally do not start by looking at a female's breasts.

I glided my gaze down her arms. It was warm in the carriage and her blouse was short-sleeved. She was very slim and her arms were long, slim and tanned. For November, rather impressive. They ended with long slender fingers so attractive I practically shivered. I felt a waft of hot and cold air run by my spine.

She shifted in her seat and drew a book from her brown leather handbag. "Sense and Sensibility". Romantic. I lifted my eyes and met hers for just a fraction of a second. The eyes were blue, wide-open, expressive and smiling. Dark eyelines and long black eyelashes, emphasising the depth. Her lips smiled back, too, politely. Thin, delicate lips, with very little make up. A beautiful, small, almost diminutive, upturned nose. All helped by long blonde hair falling on both sides of her shoulders and down her back, swirling and curling on their way down, embellished by a gorgeous braided plait. No freckles or tattoos anywhere whilst. Her face and figure had that picture of fragility that I always responded to so much.

My response was overwhelming enough for me to feel a tingling sensation all over my body. It's odd, isn't it, how, for a male, an encounter with such beauty - in the case of the girl in front of me, practically ancient Greek style beauty - can produce lust and desire to ravage her body so quickly. The first flash was just kissing her lips, gently, respectfully. Although she was now down to reading her book, I could not avert my gaze. Next flash was a passionate French kiss, with tongues. I blinked and drew in breath, rather sharply, although, it seemed, unnoticed by her. My brain was conjuring new images fast: sucking on her nipples was next. Then pressing her body against a wall, fingers interlocked, my penis straining against her bare leg. In the real world, it was straining against my pants and trousers already. Then a second of her, pushing the plait away, on her knees, sucking me off. Then me spreading her folds with her on a table, licking. And a hard cock pushing inside and her in a spread-eagle position. Her moaning - all the bloody time.

"You're staring at my breasts," she informed me tearing me right out of my imagination. Her voice was very melody-like. I had no idea how long I was in dreamland, away, but I certainly was staring, unknowingly, passively, unconsciously. Could have been 1 minute, could have been 10. "I am sorry!" It came out as a grunt; my attempt at politeness failed.

She smiled. "No need. It's nice being appreciated." A row of perfectly white teeth appeared and she laughed. Her laughter was melodious, just like her voice. I wanted to say something about it never happening again, but the words froze on my lips as she proceeded to unbutton her fourth and fifth button. I hoped the CCTV wasn't getting this. "It's nice. Being. Appreciated." She repeated the words almost as if she was a teacher teaching a lesson to a learner new to English, pronouncing every words slowly, carefully and meaningfully. I couldn't quite believe what was being intimated here. I had a tendency to misread women, though, so I couldn't know.

She cleared up any misconceptions; leaned against her elbows on the table towards me in an almost conspiratorial manner. "I did not choose this seat by mistake." Her whisper began the racing of my heart.

She leaned even further, coaxing me to lean in, too. "I love my shaved cunt getting fucked, how about you?"

I withdrew, hear - entire body, in fact - racing and shaking with complete disbelief. This kind of line was essentially out of a rather bad porn vid, delivered by this goddess of angelic features, who was now smiling at me like a character out of "Sense and Sensibility" indeed. The contrast could not be greater. "Go on, mister, I know you want me." The switch from the seemingly shy to powerfully confident was practically outlandish. She turned her head sideways, poising her ear to listen.

I leaned in and she whispered. "Got a large bed or do you prefer a blanket on the floor"?