On the train to Saragossa

It had been a terrible weekend, the weather, which was supposed to have been wonderful, had been overcast and really depressing.  It had got really cold, which here in Spain is not normal, even for the end of September.  But more than just the weather, things really hadn’t worked out.  I had planned a sort of fun romantic weekend with Sylvia, a weekend that would have… should have led us to more than the friendship we had been enjoying up till then. 

She had come down from Saragossa, where she studies journalism, to stay the weekend with me.  We had met there when I had attended a conference and coincided with her.  At the conference we had hit it off immediately and had had a lot of fun.  The conference had been a bit of a drag but she had volunteered to show me the fun side of Saragossa.  Now she had come to Barcelona to allow me to return the favour, but the foul weather and other things had really cast a shadow over the whole weekend.  Finally on the Sunday afternoon I had gone with her to Sants station by Metro to put her on the train back home.  We were waiting in the station, both of us quiet and a little down.  There weren’t too many people about and we had about twenty minutes before her train came in.  I remember she was dressed in some dungarees, quite loose on her small frame, with a sweatshirt underneath.  She had a sort of Indian silk scarf wound up in her hair and some nice elaborate drop earrings.  But all of this was hidden under a large, heavy, military type coat, oh yes, she also had big heavy military type black boots.  Her hippy type image belied her slight, delicate body and her beautifully perfect face, but she liked deceiving people that way.  At that time I was also into the same sort of thing and I was wearing a long, deep red, cotton skirt with beadwork and tassels on the bottom hem, together with a cotton shirt and a rough jacket under a long hippy type coat.  My long blonde hair was fastened up with a couple of paintbrushes, I remember.  We were very typical student types. 

Sitting on the bench there in the station wrapped in my jacket and my thoughts, I could feel her next to me, pressing up against me.  Our thighs, arms and shoulders touching.  The platforms at Sants are underground and we only had the harsh neon lights to illuminate the cold darkness.  Time crept on.  Finally on the board it said the train would arrive in five minutes.  I sighed heavily.  She heard me and asked what was wrong; I hardly knew where to begin.  How can you explain that nothing had gone right and nothing about the weekend had lent itself to the plans I had had for seduction and passion?  I said nothing, but sighed again. 

She insisted.  “What’s the matter?” 

Finally I told her that I had wanted it to be different, to be memorable, fun, like it had been in Saragossa.  She was really nice and said she had had a great time anyway and we could always try again.  I was sitting on the bench with my legs pulled up in front of me, my knees pulled up against my chest.  She turned towards me and seemed to want to insist on the conversation. 

“I wanted it to be different too, you know,” she said.  “I wanted to talk to you about so many things and never found the moment.” 

“You did?” I answered.  At that moment the train thundered into the station from out of the dark, obliterating all talk.  We got up and she got her bags.  We headed over to the nearest door and opened it.  She heaved her bags into the train and got up onto the lowest step.  She turned to me, doubt written all over her face.  She was chewing her lower lip when she leaned down and almost shouted, “If I had had the chance to talk to you I would have told you just how much you excite me.” 

“How much what?”  I shouted back. 

“How much you excite me!” she said again.  “How much I desire you.”  The train lurched and started moving.  I could hardly believe what she had just told me.  I started pacing alongside the train, keeping pace with it.  Her eyes were riveted on me. “Please don’t be angry or offended,” she said. 

“What?  Angry?  Are you kidding? That is just what I have wanted to tell you all weekend.” 

Her anxious expression dissolved, a big grin spreading across her face.  “You too?  God what fools we are.”  The train was gathering pace and I was almost running; a guard started waving at me.  Sylvia was smiling at me idiotically, then suddenly she reached down and pulled me up into the train with her.  She fell backwards with me on top of her.  “I am not going to waste any more time,” she said emphatically.

Behind us the guard slammed the door shut as the train passed him, we had to lift our legs out of the way to avoid it.  We picked ourselves up off the floor just as the train emerged from the darkness of the station into the dull light of a rainy Barcelona afternoon.  Rain started lashing the windows of the carriage.  On our feet now, I asked her quickly, “So I excite you, is that true?” 

“Yes,” she answered.  “Right from when we first met.  Come on, let’s sit down and I will tell you about it.”  We pushed the button to open the door and headed into the compartment.  A few rows down there were a couple of empty seats.  Someone had pushed the other seats forward to make a group of four so these two had no one in front of them, just the back of the chairs in front.  I took off my coat and so did she, then I sat down first, next to the window, and she sat down next to me.  We were both bubbling with a sort of schoolgirl excitement.  We piled our coats on top of us to keep us warm and she took my hands in hers.  “I think you’re gorgeous,” she said.  “When you were with me in Saragossa I was dying to tell you what I felt then, but you kept talking about your ex boyfriend and I couldn’t find the courage to say anything about what I felt.”  I had been on the rebound from a boy when I had been there but I hadn’t realised that I had said so much about him.  “When you didn’t stop talking about him I thought there was no way you would be interested in me.”  She paused then asked me straight, “Are you gay? Or bi? Tell me.” 

I smiled back at her. “I don’t really know,” I said.  “I like men but I also like girls, is that ok?”  She smiled at me and we both smiled at each other, the foolish silly smiles of two people discovering they like each other.

“I excite you?”  I asked again. 

“Oh yes, you do.  Everything about you excites me.  Your voice, your lovely hair, your sense of humour… your body.”  The last she said looking at me coyly from beneath her eyelashes, having dropped her eyes from mine briefly.  I leaned across towards her and kissed her lightly on her soft unpainted lips.  Her eyes jerked open wide and then closed slightly as she relaxed into the kiss.  A man sat in the seats across the aisle from us was looking at us so I broke off from kissing her and whispered into her ear, “That guy is watching us.”  In a way I was worried she would say what the hell and want to go on kissing and then also in part I was worried she wouldn’t.  Instead she looked over her shoulder at him and then simply leant in towards me, leaning up against me and resting her head against mine.  We pulled our coats up close under our chins and our hands found each other and held on fast.  We sat like this for quite a while, I spent my time marvelling at my good fortune and enjoying the smell of her hair, the smoothness of her skin against my cheek and the warmth of her body against mine under our coats.  Outside the poorer areas of Barcelona flashed by in a blur of graffiti and concrete, the rain still kept falling.

Our silent communing was interrupted by the ticket inspector who came through the door at the end of the carriage.  Sylvia rummaged in her pocket and found her ticket and then continued searching as he came up to us, “I am sorry,” she blustered, “I had both our tickets here, it has to be here somewhere.” 

He waited patiently and then stopped her searching with a gesture. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back later on, I am sure you will have found it by then.”  He moved on.  I was impressed with her quick thinking but still wondered what we were going to do when he came back later on. 

I pushed my coat down into my lap, as the carriage was getting warmer now.  I peeled off my jacket and bundled it up at my feet on the floor.  Sylvia was looking at me as I did this. My shirt was simple cotton, quite fine and I suppose slightly transparent, in keeping with my “hippy” image I had no bra on.  She reached across and pulled my coat back up to under my chin pulling me against her under it.  This time, instead of reaching for my hand under the coat, I felt her place her hand on my stomach.  Her hand felt hot to me, her touch electric.  Her cheek was against mine again and she turned slightly. “Don’t move,” she said to me.  I was wondering what she meant when I felt her hand slip down to the bottom of my shirt and then under it onto my naked skin.  I stiffened slightly and she purred, “Keep still,” into my ear.  Her hand started tracing lazy circles on the skin of my stomach, wide soft circles that went from one side of my stomach to the other and brushed the top of my skirt and almost the underside of my breasts.  I sat up a little straighter and slipped my right arm out from between us to place it around her shoulders. She was now leaning up against me, her head on my shoulder.  As I slipped my arm around her I inserted it inside her dungarees and down the right side of her body.  My hand came to rest on her right hip.

The circles she was tracing now became ovals and each time came closer to the underside of my breasts, finally she stopped the movements and started to delicately stroke the bottom of my breasts.  She used the tips of her fingers to trace their curve, first one then the other and then back to the first one.  Her touch was tantalising, provocative and calculated.  My breasts were tingling, nerve endings alight.  My nipples were hardening, I could feel them against the cotton of my shirt and the weight of my coat.  She scratched my skin with her nails and then with just one finger she traced a line around the curve of my left breast, up the right hand side, and in a circle around the top to my cleavage.  Then she extended this to a figure of eight around my right breast as well.  She was exciting me terribly, her caresses inflaming me and making me want more.  I started to have that ache in my nipples of needing to have them touched, caressed, pinched a little and even sucked on.  My own hand on her hip was not still; I was tracing patterns with my fingers around and over the angular bone of her hip.  My busy fingers found the top of the elastic of her panties but whilst I could slide a finger under it I could go no further as the angle was impossible.  Sylvia had turned her head and was now breathing warmly into the crook of my neck.  She even flicked the hard point of her wet tongue against the skin of my neck.  I felt she was playing me like an instrument, gauging her actions to my responses.  She licked me and I jumped just a little.  Her fingers came closer to my nipple and I gasped quietly.  I could sense she was enjoying herself enormously. 

Finally her fingers brushed my aching nipple for the first time, one brush but it seemed that having found it she couldn’t keep away.  Suddenly after having been teasing me for so long she focused her caresses on my nipples, circling first one then the other, caressing them, flicking them lightly and squeezing them too.  My chest heaved under her hand.  I pushed up against her and sighed and even moaned under her ministrations, my right arm pulling her in against me, seeking more.  I was so hot, I could feel how my arousal had spread all over me, how my sex was getting hot and wet.  I couldn’t help squirming in my seat as she manhandled my breasts, pinching my nipples lightly and cupping my whole breast with her fingers caressing the nipple at the same time.  She was driving me crazy. 

“Stop, for God’s sake,” I hissed at her. 

“Oooooohhh,” she breathed back at me, “don’t you like it?” 

I really couldn’t answer her.  I flexed my arm, trying to reach parts of her and perhaps wreak my vengeance, but with her snuggled against me it was impossible.  Our fight went on invisible under our coats, only revealed perhaps by our flushed faces and my almost silent sighs and moans.  In my struggle to reach her she did indeed stop torturing my breasts, her hand went back to rest on my stomach.  I stopped my efforts and we both paused a moment. 

Then she whispered to me, “Are you noisy when you come?”  She said it so quietly that at first I didn’t hear her, she understood this and then repeated her question but at the same time slid her hand into the elastic waistband of my skirt.  I gasped very audibly and jumped in my seat as I realised what her intentions were.  The man just across the aisle looked over at us again, a quizzical look on his face.  I smiled at him weakly. Sylvia (the witch) had her head on my shoulder, eyes closed, feigning sleep. 

Her hand forced its way down. Fearing a real scene (I am noisy when I come), I actually grabbed her wrist with my left hand and stopped her progress.  “Ahhhh come on,” she whispered, “you know you want me to.” 

She was right, part of me really did want her to and part of that was precisely because we were in the middle of a train full of people and also because I do make a noise when I come and all that together made me even more excited.  “No way,” I hissed back at her. 

She insisted. “Listen, if you let me do this, then when we get home I will let you do anything you want to me, anything at all.  Fancy that?” 

“Sylvia please, you have to stop, I can’t take this.”

“Let me and I will let you tie me up and spank me.”  This I had confessed as one of my own personal fantasies: to tie someone up and spank them.  I knew I was sunk.  I let go of her wrist and I could hear her chuckling.  Her hand continued its journey down, down my stomach, to the top of my panties and then slipping delicately under their elastic to the start of my pubic hair.  Then I didn’t shave, I only trimmed; even so I was hairy enough for her to twirl her fingers in the hairs over my sex.  She pulled on them tantalisingly.  She ran her hand out through the leg hole of my panties and down the top of one of my thighs and then down the other one.  Finally she traced a finger along the crack between my mons and thigh, forcing her finger down.  I felt like I was melting, so hot was I.  I couldn’t resist opening my thighs slightly, so easing her explorations; she chuckled again.  Her inquisitive finger came to rest at the top of my slit in the hairs just over my clitoris.  She didn’t exert any pressure on my clitoris but started to run her finger down the outer labia of my hot sex.  I parted like the skin of a ripe fruit under her finger; I could feel how the lips of my sex, which before had been just about closed, finally, in a last rush of sexual arousal, peeled open.  Inside my lips I was liquid, molten.  Her finger slipped into me, awash in my own juices.  She continued running it up and down me, caressing my inner labia and rejoicing in the wet heat of my aroused pussy.  With my sex now gaping open I could feel how my own wetness now spread.  How the area around my sex, my pubic hair quickly became soaked.  I could even feel how my juices ran down to between the cheeks of my arse, pooling there a little. I squirmed even more under her touches.  She used two, then three fingers to play with my pussy, caressing my lips inside and out.  She slipped the end of one finger inside me, making me jump again.  Thankfully the angle wasn’t good for her either and she couldn’t finger fuck me properly.  Realising this, she slid her fingers back up to my clit.  It hid there at the top of my sex, hard and wanting.  Her slick finger found it and very delicately rubbed around it.  I breathed in sharply and my groin quivered at her touch.  With a very light touch she used my own wetness to lubricate my clit and then started to run her finger up and down it very gently.  Even more warmth spread out from my clit to my pussy and my nipples and even deepening the flush on my cheeks.  I too was feigning sleep now, my eyes closed, though for me in concentration.  I was biting my bottom lip in an effort to keep quiet.  She slowly established a rhythm.  Sliding her finger over my clit, up and down.  I started to tremble; I could feel the tension building in me, every few strokes she slipped her finger down between my lips and quickly in and out of me.  I started to shake, my muscles going rigid as I strained against my own orgasm.  I wanted to come but I also wanted to make it last longer, to enjoy the sensations for as long as possible.  I could feel how her whole hand seemed to have been bathed by my pussy, the wetness of it on my stomach.  She rubbed my clit with more urgency now and I knew that I was going to come real soon.  My orgasm then started to break over me like a wave.  I clenched up and strained against her, she lifted her head and bit hard on the lobe of my ear.  I came urgently, the pleasure engulfing me just as we entered the tunnel of La Garaffe; the inevitable loud moan that escaped me was fortunately swallowed in the noise of the train going through the tunnel.  As we exited it I was still gasping and jerking, my thighs squeezed together and her hand trapped between them with two of her fingers inside me.

“So, found that ticket then have we?”