I dragged my battered suitcase off the night train into Nice station. Dawn light filtered through grimy windows. The air smelled of stale coffee and diesel. Exhausted from the bumpy ride, memories of her looped in my head. Brunette, short choppy hair. Small white feet in worn sandals. We’d shared a smoky plastic-scented compartment. I stared at her feet, avoiding her eyes. Timid fool at 39. No small talk beyond hellos. Now, checked into the transit hotel across the street. Magnetic keycard beeped open. Room 307 overlooked the tracks. Trains rumbled below. Tried sleeping. Fantasies hit hard. Train delay, her sweaty feet on my seat, me massaging up her thighs to bushy pubes. Or her as actress, script kiss turning real. Or consoling her tears post-breakup. Jerked off alone, cursing my shyness.
Showered cold. Dressed sharp for the job interview. Hotel cafe breakfast: croissant, black coffee from my thermos. Nailed nothing at the office. Back to station bar by noon. Train home delayed an hour. There she was. Two seats away. Short hair tousled. Sandals kicked off under table. Small pale feet flexing. Tears streaking her cheeks. Glass of white wine untouched.
The Stopover
‘You okay?’ I slid over.
‘No.’ Voice cracked. ‘Mouchoir?’
Handkerchief out. She dabbed eyes. ‘Husband left for his secretary. Can’t stand being alone.’
Listened. Her name: Claire. Banker? No, just lied in fantasy. Ordinary life. Feet smelled faintly sweaty, hot day. ‘Walk you home?’ I offered. Half-hour trek.
She smiled through tears. ‘Or your hotel? Need a drink. Comfort.’ Chemistry crackled. Anonymity perfect. I leave tomorrow. No strings.
The Transit
Keycard beeped. Elevator hummed. Corridor noises: carts rattling, doors slamming. Into room. Tracks view. Pulled her close. Kissed salty tears. Hands on calves. Sandals dropped. ‘Your feet drove me crazy on the train.’
Lifted one. Sucked toes. She gasped. ‘Pervert.’ But spread legs. Peeled off dress. No bra. Full tits. Skirt hiked. Cotton panties soaked. Long dark pubes peeked. Ripped them down. Sheer bush, musky.
Pushed her on bed. Springs creaked. Licked from toes up. Calves, knees, inner thighs. Dove into her wet slit. Tasted sweat, salt, arousal. Fingers parted lips. Clit hard. She bucked, moaning French curses. ‘Baise-moi.’
Stood. Pants down. Cock throbbed. She grabbed, stroked rough. ‘Fuck me now.’ On all fours facing window. Trains whooshed by. Slammed in. Tight, hairy grip. Pounded hard. Ass cheeks clapped. She came first, screaming. Squirted on sheets. Flipped her. Legs over shoulders. Feet in my mouth. Sucked heels while thrusting deep. Her nails dug back. Second orgasm ripped her. I pulled out, shot ropes on her bush and belly.
Collapsed sweaty. Clock ticked. Train in 90 minutes. Showered together quick. Soapy hands everywhere. No time for more.
Rendevous clés at desk. Her kiss lingered. ‘One-night magic.’ Walked her out. Station buzz. Boarded train. Seat by window. Her feet, scent, screams burned in. Back to life. Perfect anonymous fuck. Urgency made it epic.