February 9th. Train screeches into Paris station. Suitcase thuds down steps, wheels rattling on concrete. Exhausting ride. Dozed on banquette, eyes shut against boredom. Old lady’s stare burned holes. Flipped ’20 Ans’ magazine, dozed again. Draught chilled wagon, foulard adjusted. Phone vibrated. His voice, laugh. ‘I want you.’ ‘What are you waiting for?’ Whispered back.
Crowd surges. His gaze locks mine. Smile hooks. Takes my hand. Anonymity pulses – no one knows us. Hotel lobby hums, near tracks. Mag card beeps elevator. Afternoon light slants. Door clicks shut. Tongues clash wet. Pins me to wood panel, hands glide over curves he’s craved. Body heats.
The Stopover
Frenzy builds. Caresses pinpoint nipples, thighs. Sighs echo. I spin front, grab his hands, plant on my tits. Hips sway languid, my tempo. She decides. Urgency spikes – flight tomorrow.
Bedroom view: tracks snake cityscape. I lay back, let him kiss, lick trails. Take reins. Foulard blinds him. Strip slow. Cajole skin, saliva slicks chest, neck, balls – skip tensed cock. Tease edges.
Straddle thighs clamp head. Dive between his. Tongues explore full. He probes folds, teeth graze clit. I lick shaft, suck deep, pump gentle then hungry. Titillate tip. He nods thanks. I quiver, woman reborn.
The Transit
Toilet break memory: train halted, old lady blinked. ‘Technical issue.’ Grinned stupid.
‘I want you to fuck me.’ Yank foulard. Guide into drenched pussy. Filled, taken. Missionary deep, but bored. Flip him. Impale cowgirl. Up-down, grind circles. Vary – laugh bubbles pleasure. Train restarts in mind. Phone: ‘Sorry, late. Save the best jump for later.’
Pull off. ‘Not a man. Feel nothing.’ Provoke. Belly down, sigh. He mounts doggy raw. ‘Slut, feel this!’ Ram like pistons. Pivoine flush. Moan crescendos. Four paws instinctive. He senses climax. Pound harder. Orgasm rips – bury face in pillow, muffle screams. He pauses. ‘Suck me to end.’ Pupils blow wide. Mouth owns cock, throat full. His face twists ecstasy – gift. Swallow hot spurts. Lick lips clean.
Dawn. Keycard slides desk. Corridor clatters – trolleys, voices. Suitcase rolls out. Tracks gleam below window. That orgasm grimace etches memory. Back to tracks, anonymity fades. Old lady wipes mouth on platform, eyes distant – her echo?