Her forehead pressed against the cool windowpane, she watches the landscape rush by in a gray-green blur. The train rattles, a steady rhythm that lulls her into a light trance. Next stop in twenty minutes. She should sit down, but she prefers to stand, legs slightly apart to balance the swaying. The handbag hangs heavy on her shoulder, the book inside still unopened. Beneath her skirt, she feels the pantyhose stretching tight around her thighs, and between her legs it begins to get wet—a reaction to nothing, only to the memory that suddenly rises, like a wave she can’t control. She presses her thighs together to suppress the feeling, but it only intensifies.
“Mara?”
The voice is deep, a little hoarse, and it jolts through her like an electric shock. She turns around. There he stands, two rows away, a smile on his lips that she hasn’t seen in fifteen years. Linus. His hair is shorter, streaked with gray at the temples, but the eyes. Those same green eyes that looked at her back then as if she were the only one in the room. His gaze wanders over her body, from her legs up to her breasts, which are firm under her blouse, nipples hard against the fabric. She feels her heart pound, a flutter in her chest that shoots straight into her cunt. She’s instantly wet, a flood of moisture soaking her pussy.
“Linus? You’re on this train?” Her voice sounds thin, disbelieving, but also hot, full of unspoken desire.
He steps closer, his shoulders broad under the dark coat. “I got on in Stuttgart. Business trip. And you? You live in Munich, right?” His voice is deep, rough, as she remembers it when he whispered her name back then, while he took her from behind, in the shed behind the sports field.
She nods. “I was visiting my sister in Frankfurt. Heading home now.” She feels her pussy pulse, a feeling of emptiness that can only be filled when she has his hard cock deep inside her. “Sit with me.” The words are out before she can think, an offer she doesn’t want to take back.
He hesitates a second, then smiles again, that smile that used to make her knees weak. “Gladly.” His hand brushes her arm as he passes her, and the touch is like an electric shock that shoots straight into her clit. She trembles, her breath catching.
They go to her seat, a four-person compartment, the other seats empty. He sits down opposite her, takes off his coat and lays it beside him. Underneath, he wears a light blue shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His arms are muscular, the veins standing out, and she thinks of those hands that once explored her body, brought her to climax, again and again. She swallows, her mouth dry, but between her legs it’s anything but dry—her pussy is now really wet, the pantyhose sticking to her labia.
“You look good, Mara,” he says, and his voice has that familiar sound that immediately arouses her. “Really. Not a bit changed.”
She laughs softly, but it sounds like a moan. “You’re lying. I have wrinkles, and my hair isn’t as blonde as it used to be.”
“I like the wrinkles. They suit you.” His gaze wanders over her face, lingers on her lips, then drops to her cleavage, where her breasts rise and fall under her blouse. “Tell me what you’ve been up to. Are you happy?”
The question comes unexpectedly, too direct. She takes a sip of water from the bottle to buy time, but the water doesn’t cool the heat burning in her lap. “I’m married. For ten years. My husband is… reliable. We have a house, a garden. It’s good.” The words sound hollow, even to her ears, because she thinks of how her husband last fucked her—months ago, hastily, without feeling, without getting her properly wet. It felt like a duty, not the desire that now burns inside her.
Linus leans forward, elbows on the table. “But? I hear a but.” His voice is gentle, but she knows what he wants. She wants it too.
She bites her lower lip. “No but. It’s just… routine. You get used to each other, to the patterns. The passion…” She falters, because she feels her pussy clench, empty, yearning for something real.
“The passion has fallen asleep?” he finishes her sentence. His eyes are dark, and she sees how his pants strain at the crotch, a bulge that reminds her of his hard cock, which she once took in her mouth when she was still inexperienced, but eager to learn everything from him.
She nods, her gaze lowered, but she can’t stop staring at his pants, at the bulge that keeps growing.
“You know,” he says quietly, “I’ve often thought of you. Of our time. How we kissed, in the shed behind the sports field. How your skin smelled of rain. How you moaned when I fingered you until you came.”
A hot wave floods through her. She remembers. His hands under her shirt, his mouth on her neck, his fingers in her cunt, bringing her to her first orgasm. She was seventeen, inexperienced, but eager. He touched her as if she were something precious, and he fucked her so hard that she still felt his hands on her skin days later.
“Me too,” she confesses, and the words are a whisper that echoes between her legs. “I’ve thought about it too. Every time my husband didn’t satisfy me, I thought of you. Of your cock, how it felt when you took me.”
The train races through a curve, and her body is pressed against the backrest. Linus reaches across the table, places his hand on hers. His fingers are warm, the touch like a promise that shoots straight into her cunt. She feels her clit pulse, her labia part, as if inviting him in.
“Mara, I don’t want to embarrass you. But I have to ask you something.” He looks into her eyes, his grip tightening. “Have you ever regretted that we split up back then?”
Her mouth is dry, but between her legs it’s wet. “Yes,” she says, and her voice is hoarse with desire. “Every day. I regretted letting you go. That I didn’t come with you when you moved away. I regretted that I was never fucked again the way you fucked me.”
It’s the truth, and
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