The train rattled through the black night. An endless, metallic roar. I sat in my compartment, a glass of red wine in my hand, staring into the darkness. The restorer, who always had everything under control, suddenly felt like a loose leaf in the wind. My marriage, which I thought was so stable, was crumbling. My husband, his touches, his gaze – all empty. Nothing but routine, drying me out inside. I took a sip of wine, bitter on my tongue, and noticed my hand trembling. My body yearned for something I couldn’t name. My breasts strained against my blouse, my thighs pressed together unconsciously.
The train jerked to a stop. I looked up. A man got on. Mid-50s, graying temples, a face full of wrinkles that spoke of life and laughter. His eyes, deep brown, met mine. A shiver ran down my spine, straight into my belly. He sat down across from me. I immediately felt that tension, that electric pull between us. He introduced himself as a collector – rare books, art. His voice was deep and rough, it caressed my skin as he spoke about the stars and music. I couldn’t stop looking at him. At his mouth. His lips, full and slightly parted. I imagined them pressing against mine, his tongue sliding into my mouth. My breath became shallow, my blouse tightened over my hard nipples.
The train lurched on. We talked about dreams, about longing. He leaned forward, his hand suddenly on mine. A light pressure, but it burned like fire. I looked into his eyes and knew: This is forbidden. Wrong. But my body screamed for it. “You are beautiful,” he said softly, his voice a scratch in the dark. “I want you.” Nothing more. No games. I swallowed, my mouth dry. “I’m married,” I whispered, but it sounded like a question. He just smiled, a crooked, sensual smile, and didn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he stroked his thumb across my palm. I flinched – a jolt of electricity straight between my legs. I felt how wet I was getting, how my panties tightened around my cunt.
The train entered a long curve. The compartment tilted. He slid closer, his thigh pressing against mine. Hard, warm. I felt the heat of his body through the fabric. My heart pounded. Without thinking, I turned to him, my face close to his. His breath, heavy and warm, on my lips. Then he kissed me. Not gently. Deep and demanding. His tongue pushed into my mouth, explored me, challenged me. I moaned, a stifled sound swallowed by the kiss. His hand moved from my hand to my thigh, under my skirt. His fingers dug into my flesh. I was wet, so fucking wet. I could smell my own moisture, mixed with his scent, the leather and the perfume.
“I want you here, now,” he panted, his mouth at my ear, his tongue licking over my earlobe. I just nodded, unable to speak. He pulled me up, pressed me against the window of the compartment. The coolness of the glass against my back, the warmth of his body in front of me. His hands tore at my blouse, buttons popped off. He pulled the fabric aside, my breasts, heavy and full, fell into my bra. He groaned when he saw them. “Hot,” he murmured, and lowered his head. His mouth closed around my hard nipple, sucked, bit lightly. I almost screamed. My body arched, my pelvis pressed against his hard cock, which I could feel through his pants. It was huge, a hard, warm shadow against my lap.
“Lick me,” I begged. I hated how desperate I sounded, but I couldn’t help it. I needed him. He laughed softly, a dark sound, and knelt down before me. He pushed my skirt up, over my hips. My stockings ended at my thighs, only the thin panties separated him from me. He pulled them aside with his teeth. I trembled all over. Then I felt his breath on my cunt. Hot, moist. “Glorious,” he said. Then he dove in. His tongue stroked through my slit, from my clit to my entrance. I twitched, my pelvis thrusting toward him. He licked me like an animal, greedy and deep. His tongue penetrated me, fucked me with his mouth. I could taste my own wetness on his lips. I grabbed his hair, pulled him tighter against me. “Yes, yes, don’t stop,” I whimpered. The windowpane fogged up. The train rattled beneath me.
I came on his tongue. A wild, uncontrollable orgasm that shook my entire body. My legs trembled, my cunt twitched. He drank me up, his moans vibrating through me. Then he stood up, wiped his mouth. His cock pressed against the fabric of his pants. A hard, thick bulge. “Now it’s your turn to fuck me,” he said, and opened his belt. The zipper hissed. His cock sprang out. Big, swollen, the head dark red and moist. I swallowed. “Put it in your mouth.” I obeyed. I knelt before him, felt his weight on my lips. I opened my mouth, took the head, surrounded it with my lips. His taste – salty, masculine, wild. I let him slide deeper, until he was in my throat. I gagged, but he held my head firmly. “Keep going,” he commanded. I took him all the way, felt him pulsating in my esophagus. He groaned loudly, his pelvis thrusting into my mouth. I allowed it. I loved it. His cock felt like a living animal inside me.
He pulled me up, turned me around. My upper body lay on the seat, my ass in the air. He tugged at my panties, ripped them down. Then I felt his cock, stroking over my wet cunt. “Please,” I panted. “Fuck me.” He entered. A single, hard thrust. I screamed. He was so deep, so full. He filled me, stretched me, touched every corner inside me. He began to thrust. Hard, fast, without mercy. The train vibrated beneath our bodies. The sound of flesh on flesh filled the compartment. My breasts hung down, swinging with each thrust. I grabbed them, squeezed them together, while he took me from behind. “Fuck me deeper,” I moaned. He grabbed my hips, pulled me onto his cock with each thrust. I felt his balls slapping against my labia. We were both drenched in sweat. His breath was hot on my back.
He turned me around, lifted my legs onto his shoulders. My cunt, red and wet, lay open before him. He leaned forward, licked briefly over my clit, then thrust into me again. This time I looked at him. His eyes, dark with lust, his face
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