No sign of the train. I have a while yet. Open emails. Click New:
“Meet me at the station. Let me feel your fingertips brush my waist as our eyes lock for that brief moment and we walk past each other, pretending we are strangers. Guide me to the car, you unable to contain your excitement, me unable to avoid noticing how your trousers pull tightly across your hips and you fill the front, hard and desperate. I want to feel the burn of your palm on the inside of my thigh just once before we begin our journey, filling me with the heat of your desire as it slides higher, seeking out the lacey edge of the French knickers—the black ones, the ones you know and love. And in the seat next to you, let me thrust my hips forward and pin my knee against the door so it hurts, making it easy for you to touch me while you scan the road for friends who might see us.
“As we drive along the motorway, your hand cradling my crotch, your thumb strumming gently against the material that separates you from my swelling arousal, I want to touch your arm, your face. My finger strokes its cheekbone, trailing down to your neck; your lips open and you glance at me with dancing, flame-lit eyes that lap at the edges of my desire for you. Let me slide my hand on your leg, delight in the way your body tenses in
anticipation of my touch against the hardness that fights to be free from the confines of your clothes. It will be, soon. I promise.
“I want you now. Pull into the dusty little bay you told me about, the one that tucks itself into the trees along the road through the forest. What a wonderful place: a bedroom of green. Except the mosquitos are everywhere because nothing is perfect, so we stay in the car, my body pressed into yours as your tongue circles my lips and my mouth closes over the urgency of your kisses. Your hands tremble, so eager to unhook the back of my bra; your desperate, expert palm moving the lace aside until it cups my breast, squeezes, and I moan into your mouth. You let me breathe a moment, lifting the hem of the floaty skirt I wear, just for you. Your fingers slip underneath my knickers, and your gasp to find the crotch so wet makes me smile against your kisses. Sliding inside, your fingertips find my folds ready for you. Gently at first, but quickly you press harder, push further until the cool of your evening fingers begin to warm inside me. Faster, deeper, and it becomes so easy for you.
“My gasps become moans, yells, too loud, and you cup my mouth with the hand warmed by my breast. And I want to scream, “Let me come!” But you stop. We mustn’t be heard. Fill my mouth, then. You know how to push my head where you want me. It needs me so badly, doesn’t it, that hardness of yours? And I need to be quiet. Just soft moans now, mine voicing seconds and yours something resembling minutes. But you hold me still; I feel you soften. You said there would be no-one driving past. I look up at you, and grin. Take my face between your palms, pull me to you and kiss me, as you always do, so you can taste yourself on me.
“Take me now to our final destination. Let me sit beside you, your pre-cum lingering exquisitely on your own lips as you drive. Your fingertips brush my knee every now and then as you glance over and see me watching you, so assured, driving me, us, the whole time we have together. I entrust myself to you: your secret obsession. We say nothing; vibrations from the road flow into my feet and take their pleasure trip to my pelvis. They lay there, throbbing between my damp, eager folds, and the anticipation in the air inside the car smothers us; it is almost too much, and I feel your fingers dig into my knee as you struggle to keep your speed and your breath steady. My fingers trail across your inner thigh through your clothes and I want to stroke your cock, tell it that it won’t be long now, but the thought of it makes my juices flow and I squirm in my seat. You notice, I know you do, and your cock grows hard again, even as your watchful eyes scan the approach road to ensure that we are alone.
“Draw me in through the door, quickly. There is no-one but you and me now. Why are you being so polite, showing me round? You have no need to be. Yet my breathing becomes heavier as I sense your eyes on me wherever I walk, your fingers on my back as you guide me, showing me where you want me to be. Will we make it to the bed? Your hands are where I want them, now. Slide them under my top, yes, like that, so you can kiss the lace preventing your lips touching my breasts. Kiss the flesh above my bra, trace kisses to my collar bone and let your mouth linger there a while. I breathe in the scent of your soap, my hands caressing your head as your expert fingers work their magic on my clothes, and I stand there, naked, before you. I look up into your face and you know, don’t you, that I’m yours for the taking. And your eyes change.
“Push me through the door, to the bed that awaits us. Lay me down and spread my legs so your eyes can feast on the desperate cunt that pushes itself up to entice the mouth that refuses to lick its delights. Your lips are red, your breath is heavy—I know you want to, so take me with your tongue; let me feel its hot roughness slide over my drenched, aroused pussy lips. Do that magic with your clothes, too, as my eyes close in the wonders of your mouth between my thighs. Show me now, let it stand over me, proud—that glimmer at your cockhead, the wetness on that silken purple skin, that crown of yours which commands me, always. It will be inside me soon…I can feel it against my begging entrance…any moment now…you push…now…it fills me…right now…oh…
“I want all of this. I want that secret arm of yours around my waist, your hand clutching at my breast as I press against your skin. I want your lips against mine as you lead me to that deep, dark place where no-one sees and that is ours alone. Because the moments we share, so fleeting, leaving me burning and wanting more of you, all of you—they must be better than being without your touch. I need you tonight. I need your body against mine. Meet me at the station. Please.”
It’s here; the carriage doors are opening. Click ‘Send’ into silence. And hope.