What I Saw in the Last Car of the Night Train
This happened to me one autumn afternoon that I could no longer place on the calendar, on one of those high-speed trains that cross half the country in a heartbeat. I’m telling it because I still find it hard to believe it was real, and because, if I’m honest, I relive it more often than I’d ever admit out loud, usually with my cock in my hand.
As almost always happens when I have to take the train, I arrived at the station with barely any time to spare. And as almost always, I ended up running along the platform with my suitcase banging against my knee, praying the attendant wouldn’t close the doors before validating my ticket. Thank God for that run, because, as you’ll see, every stride was worth taking that train instead of the next one.
After proving to half the station that I had nothing to envy in an athlete, I came panting up to the girl at the checkpoint, who very kindly approved my ticket and let me through. I looked at the paper: I’d been assigned the last car, the one attached to the cab and traveling backward relative to the direction of motion, and a window seat. I headed there.
I boarded the car, where a readily smiling attendant wished me good afternoon and indicated that my seat was right at the back. I thanked her and walked down the aisle between the rows, occupied by barely a handful of people. This will be a quiet trip, I thought. I dropped into my seat, checked that I was traveling alone, with no one beside me, and leaned back to catch my breath. There were eight minutes until departure.
Then I saw them coming down the aisle, in my direction.
I couldn’t help noticing her. Brunette, with tanned, late-summer skin, shoulder-brushing medium-length hair, and a short green dress that left her long, shapely legs on display. The loose fabric swayed with every step and made it clear she wasn’t wearing a bra: the shape of her nipples showed beneath the cotton with a clarity that dried out my mouth and made my cock swell inside my trousers before she had even reached me. He was a man more or less my age, with his shirt sleeves rolled up and dark trousers, and he was holding her hand.
The guy noticed the way I was looking at his woman just as they sat in the seats parallel to mine, across the aisle. She looked at me and smiled. I smiled back, somewhat embarrassed, and turned my gaze toward the window. I was by the window; she sat on the aisle side, and he was by the window beside her. I started looking outside precisely because they had both noticed my shameless staring.
The train pulled away with that smoothness that makes it seem as though you aren’t moving. As soon as we left the station behind, the sky outside was already black. With the car’s lights on, all my window gave back was the reflection of the interior, sharp as a mirror. And, I confess, I took advantage of it to keep calmly admiring those legs without seeming to be admiring them.
***
As I watched her out of the corner of my eye in the reflection, I noticed I was getting fully hard, but I decided to endure it and behave myself. Until, suddenly, in the glass I saw them begin to kiss. A slow, deep kiss, the kind where two people devour each other’s mouths with deliberate calm. Every so often she pushed her tongue all the way in, and he, not one to hesitate, slid his hand beneath one of the dress straps and began squeezing one of her tits over the fabric, kneading it with his open palm.
I didn’t miss a thing, always through the reflection, pretending to be enormously interested in the darkness outside. My heart pounded against my ribs and my cock was already tugging at my underwear. I told myself I should look away, that it was none of my business, and at the same time I couldn’t take my eyes off the glass.
Then he pulled down her straps and bared her tits in one swift motion. I couldn’t resist the temptation any longer and looked directly at her, not out of the corner of my eye, turning my head just slightly. They were medium-sized and firm, her nipples hardening, surrounded by wide, dark areolas. Her eyes were closed, her head resting against the seatback, completely surrendered. He leaned over and began licking one nipple with the tip of his tongue, circling around it, then took the whole thing into his mouth and sucked it hard. She arched a little, and while he nibbled one breast, he pinched the opposite nipple with his other hand, stretching it until it became hard as a little stone.
By then I was watching openly, trapped. At one point he looked up, caught me staring, smiled, and continued, this time sucking her other tit even more eagerly, leaving the areola glistening with saliva. I understood then that he wasn’t merely unbothered by my looking: he liked it. Being watched was part of the game.
She let out small moans, almost inaudible beneath the train’s hum, while he made her nipples hard as pebbles. Then he whispered something in her ear and slipped one hand beneath her dress, between her thighs. I saw her part her legs a little to let him in, and his arm began moving down there with a slow but steady rhythm. A stronger gasp escaped her and she bit her lip. He withdrew his hand for a moment, brought his glistening fingers to his mouth, and sucked them while staring straight at me. Then she opened her eyes, smiled, found me with her gaze, and suddenly stood up and came to sit in the empty seat beside me.
I was so horny I didn’t know where to put my hands. She leaned close to my ear. She smelled of warm perfume and something else, of skin, of a wet pussy.
—Do you like what you’re seeing? —she murmured.
All I could do was nod like a little boy.
—If you want more, we’d like to see that you’re enjoying it —she continued, her voice low and firm—. So you know what to do: take your cock out and show us what you’ve got hidden in there.
She placed her hand over my crotch, squeezed the bulge from top to bottom, smiled when she felt how hard I was, and returned to her seat across the aisle. From there, he looked at me and made an unmistakable gesture toward my belt.
***
Don’t think about it, I told myself. And I didn’t.
I took a quick look at the rest of the car. The few heads visible above the seatbacks were buried in screens or asleep, oblivious to everything up ahead. Between the three of us and the rest of the car were empty rows and a conspiratorial half-light. I undid the button, lowered the zipper, lifted myself slightly from the seat, and pulled down my trousers and underwear just enough. My cock sprang out at once, hard, rigid against my belly, the tip already glistening with fluid.
There I was, cock out in a moving train in front of two strangers. I looked at them. She licked her lips and made a face of desire that made my hand tremble. He gave me his approval with a nod of his chin, as if saying, “That’s it.” Then she leaned over, slid one hand beneath her dress, and took off her panties in one nimble movement, lifting her ass barely off the seat. She rolled them into a small ball and tossed them over the aisle to me.
I caught them in midair almost by instinct. They were warm, soaked at the crotch, and smelled of freshly wet pussy. I brought them to my face for a moment, inhaled deeply, and that scent of hot womanhood pushed me to the edge. She made a slow gesture with her hand, telling me to continue, to jerk off for them. I spat into my palm, gripped my cock firmly, and began stroking it very slowly, feeling my fist rise and fall around the glans, sliding along its entire length without hurry, stretching out every second beneath their two gazes fixed on my cock.
Across from me, she pulled down his trousers and yanked his cock out of his underwear. It was hard and thick, veins standing out, curving slightly upward. She looked at it hungrily, spat on the glans, and began masturbating him with her hand while looking at me. Then she leaned over his lap and took him all the way into her mouth. I watched her cheeks swell, watched her lower her head until his cock buried itself in her throat and then rise again, saliva streaming from the corner of her mouth and falling in thick drops onto his balls.
From my angle I could see her arched back, the curve of her ass peeking out beneath the hem of her dress, her hair falling to one side, and her bare buttocks, white where the bikini had marked her skin. What began as a slow blowjob became a steady back-and-forth, her sucking eagerly, playing her tongue around the glans, pulling it out to spit on it and then swallowing it all the way down again. Between movements, she turned her face toward me to check that I was still watching her, that I was still jerking off to the rhythm she set with her mouth. I sped up when she sped up, slowed when she slowed, obediently, my cock dripping in my fist.
The window’s reflection returned the scene doubled, as if there were two couples in that car and two men jerking off at once. It was unreal. The train’s rocking, the darkness outside, the dim lights, the wet noise of her mouth around that cock, the risk of someone appearing in the aisle at any moment: everything blended into a tension I had never felt before.
***
Afterward she straightened up, her lips shining and a strand of saliva hanging from her chin, pulled her dress up to her waist, and straddled him facing me. I could see perfectly how she grasped his cock with one hand, rubbed it up and down a couple of times between the lips of her pussy, soaking the glans, and then slowly lowered herself until she swallowed him whole. She let out a hoarse moan, remained still for a moment with his cock buried deep inside her, and then began to move.
They began fucking like that, her riding him slowly, rising and falling over his cock, holding back her moans so they wouldn’t come out too loudly each time her ass struck his thighs, biting her lip, enjoying herself without shame. I could see her tits bouncing loose inside the lowered dress, her stiff nipples pointing toward me. Every time she rose, I caught sight of his cock sliding shiny from her pussy, and every time she dropped, I heard her panting through her teeth. And while she fucked him, she didn’t stop looking at me for a second, watching me speed up my fist in time with her hips.
At one point she brought two fingers to her mouth, sucked them thoroughly, and lowered them to her pussy to rub her clitoris while she kept riding him. Her face came apart in pure pleasure. He grabbed her tits from behind and squeezed them hard, and she arched even farther, offering them to me, almost silently begging me to look.
The three of us held each other’s gaze like a silent pact. I was their audience and, at the same time, part of the show. There were no words, only held breaths, the muted splashing of their bodies meeting, and the sound of the train covering everything.
I felt it rising into my balls and didn’t want to stop it. I tightened my fist around my cock and shook it faster, feeling the glans turn purple. She must have noticed, because she bit her lip harder, sped up her hips until she was bouncing her whole body on him, and pushed her fingers all the way into her pussy beside the cock opening her. They came almost at the same time: she came on top of him with a long spasm, mouth open in a silent scream, thighs trembling, never breaking eye contact with me for an instant. He dug his fingers into her hips and came inside her with an upward thrust, gritting his teeth. I came harder than I had in years, semen shooting out in thick spurts that landed on my shirt and on the panties I was still clutching in my other hand, barely containing a moan, trying not to make a sound and failing a little.
She recovered immediately, her pussy still dripping his come down the insides of her thighs, took some tissues from her bag, and, with astonishing naturalness, came over and cleaned my cock herself, running the tissue over my sensitive glans with a smile, helping me collect every last drop before returning to her seat as if nothing had happened. I handed her panties back, now wrinkled and sticky with my come, and she put them in her bag with a mischievous smile, without even considering putting them on again.
We straightened our clothes and the three of us recovered our composure, and the rest of the trip passed in a strange, electric silence. I didn’t know what to say, and they didn’t seem to need words either. Every so often she sent me a knowing look over the aisle, like a shared secret, and parted her legs slightly beneath her dress to remind me that she was still going without underwear down there, her pussy full.
Soon we reached our destination. The train slowed, the platform lights came in through the windows, and they stood, gathered their things, and left hand in hand, just as they had arrived, as if they were the most ordinary couple heading home. Before getting off, she turned around one last time and winked at me.
I remained in the seat for a moment longer, my heart still racing and my cock half-hard again inside my trousers, staring at the empty reflection in the glass where everything had been only minutes before. Then I took my suitcase and got off onto the platform with an experience I’ll never forget as long as I live.
Ever since that day, whenever I run to catch a train about to leave, I can’t help looking toward the last car. Just in case. In case chance seats me once again across from something I would never dare seek out, but would never have the courage to refuse.
