India and China: A train journey

The train moved slowly out of Haslemere station gaining momentum as we headed towards Portsmouth. I had been joined by India and China, the daughters of my good friends. They attended school in the Haslemere area and this was them returning for the weekend. They’d bounded towards me, both still in uniform and hugged me with girlish enthusiasm. I hadn’t seen them in some time and they had grown.

India had developed into a very striking young lady. Her looks were her mothers, eyes of dark hazel, olive skin and long silken black hair betrayed her eastern origin. China on the other hand was the totally opposite, her fathers daughter, long blonde hair, blue eyes and a fresh complexion, showed her Scandinavian roots.

The change in both of them was unmistakable. Both had stretched and filled out faster than I’d thought possible. Although hidden beneath regimented school uniforms, one could still tell that what lay beneath were bodies honed by exercise and inherited shapely figures. I thought, their were guys out there, who didn’t know how lucky they were going to be.

This was emphasised as they pressed against me in greeting. I could feel the warmth of them penetrate my defences. A shudder ran through me as a flash of what could be, broke into my thoughts, naked flesh, young bodies and a lot of writhing. I shook my head to dispel it of these thoughts and with difficulty, brought myself to my senses.

I kissed both on the cheek and took their bags whilst they settled into the seats opposite me. Involuntarily I glanced down at bare legs as they manoeuvred themselves into place. They looked so smooth and unblemished. I checked myself again.

As the train moved on, countryside swishing past, we talked and caught up with some news. Before long though, the conversation waned and India took to staring out of the window, whilst China drew a book from her small bag and I returned to my newspaper.

I remember looking out of the train’s window at the a large moon. It sat low on the horizon, a sort of pale cream colour. It would dodge behind clouds as we travelled along, as we would dodge behind hedgerows and into dark tunnels. The countryside passed by in a blur of grey-green as the light of the evening faded.

I looked over at India, her eyes were now closed, hypnotised by the movement of the train, she had fallen asleep. China on the other hand was more than awake, as I looked at her, her eyes rose from the book which she had been studying intently throughout the journey. A thin leather volume, it looked a little dog-eared, it had no obvious title and I hadn’t asked what it was.

She smiled at me, holding my gaze. There has always been for me, something about the ability of a woman to do that and excite me. I felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny. To break the spell I asked. “What are you reading?”

Her smile widened, somehow, this made me even more uncomfortable. The expression across her face I likened to the cat that was about to eat the mouse.

“The Story of O. Have you heard of it?”

I think I managed successfully to contain my initial surprise at the answer she had given. She was teasing, surely. But nothing in her manner was a joke, yet I had the feeling I was being laughed at.

I wanted to call her bluff.

“Yes, I have. I read it some years ago. But should that be the sort of literature for a young lady to be reading?” I returned her smile, hoping it would give an outward sign of indifference.

“It was meant for young ladies,” came her almost instant reply. “Do you believe me? You haven’t asked to look at it, for proof?”

“Somehow China, I feel this is something you wouldn’t be teasing about. Besides, how else would you know of the book?”

Her smiled faded, but remained in the sparkle of her striking ice blue eyes. A frown formed, creasing her smooth forehead, her right eyebrow rose.

“What did you think of it, when you read it?” The question was delivered with academic seriousness, but her eyes remained mockingly fixed on mine.

My mind raced. I couldn’t believe that I was being drawn into a conversation like this, let alone by a 16 year old girl. Surely my years have taught me to be able to handle this, I thought. But she allowed me no time to think as her follow up question suckered me.

“Did it excite you? Turn you on? Make your cock hard?” The final question whispered and barely heard over the noise of the train took the wind from me. Her smile returned.

She waited for an answer. My mouth was drying and I tried hard to suppress any outward signs of embarrassment, I knew this was her intention, and I didn’t want her to have the satisfaction.

“I found it interesting.”

“But did it make your cock hard?” She persisted, pressing home her advantage, my defence was down. “How old were you when you first read it? I assume you’ve read it more than once, as I have. In fact I bet you still have it secreted away somewhere and wank over it.”

The knockout blow. I tried to recover, take some time to regain the initiative, but my response sounded weak and futile.

“China, I really don’t think we should be having this conversation. Where are you getting this language from? Surely they don’t teach you this at school? Even in sex education.”

“Why? Does it embarrass you? Does it make you feel uncomfortable? We’re always taught to be open, honest and talk freely about things, without embarrassment. It’s how we are meant to learn. Experience. There is no substitute for it surely.”

“No, there isn’t. But you’re embarrassing me, does that satisfy you?” I smiled as I said it, vainly trying to maintain some sort of composure.

“In what way?”

I looked into her eyes, I knew exactly what she was getting at. I couldn’t help it, she really was making me uncomfortable. I could feel the blood flowing into my cock, it was stretching itself out and was confined beneath my shorts at an awkward angle. I needed to re-adjust, without making it to obvious. I shifted in my seat, trying to dislodge it.

“Does the conversation make you uncomfortable?” The thought that she was able to read my mind, flashed through me. She persisted.

“Or does it excite you? After all, here you are having a conversation with a sixteen year old, dressed as a school girl, every red blooded males fantasy surely; about an erotic novel that she shouldn’t even have in her possession. I know it excites me. You won’t tell mummy or daddy will you, I maybe spanked,” she pouted at this. “ It could be our little secret.” She smiled once more at her own words.

At first I couldn’t even believe what I’d just heard. I don’t know how I must have looked right then. Shocked? Surprised? Out of my depth? All of the above probably. I couldn’t believe how this sixteen year old was able to accurately hit all of the right buttons.

Many girls of her age have approached me, from Thailand to the Philippines, offering numerous ways of satisfaction, in more descriptive language, but without exception, I’d been able to resist. This was different though, a totally new ball game.

I could not believe that there I was, sitting on a train rushing through the English countryside, surrounded by unsuspecting people and opposite me, a highly intelligent sixteen year old English school girl, still in her uniform and the daughter of my closest friends and she was turning me on.

I was getting turned on. No doubt about it, the reaction of my cock in my trousers was testimony to that, but by China? I’d known this girl since she was knee high to a grass hopper? I felt revulsion at my own longings, but I could not ignore them. Images began to flood my imagination. I could not suppress the longing to wipe that mischievous smile from her face. The longing to take her right there and then, throwing her slender frame up onto the table, spreading her legs wide, brushing the skirt aside, ripping away the flimsy material of her panties, opening her pubescent pussy with the head of my manhood and with no preamble, ramming it hard into her.

The thought of watching her face contort in pleasurable pain as my cock penetrated that ice cool exterior and reached deep into her very soul, made me absently return that smile of hers.

I could almost feel the tightness of her pussy around my cock, its virginal wetness coating me. Her legs would wrap themselves involuntarily around me, drawing me tighter against her. My pace would increase, part of me wanted to hurt her, to cause her pain, to take that air of superiority away from her, the other part wanted to satisfy her, to make her cum, to show how her body can betray her.

As I pumped harder and harder into her, I’d watch her grasp the side of the table, she was no longer in control, her body’s need for release was taking over. Her excitement was rising, with every thrust, her hips rose to me, wanting me. I could see her face, contorted now into a determination to control herself, to regain and take charge of what was happening. It was her challenge and I rose to it, retaliating I move my fingers to her pussy, searching out her young clit and nipping it. A grunt would escape from her as she grabbed at my arm, trying to dislodge my fingers from her trigger, not wanting to succumb. But she was too late, suddenly her whole body contracted, lifting her from the table. As spasm after spasm ran through her, I could feel the walls of her pussy clutch tighter to my cock the orgasm wracked her frame.

Our cumming would be mutual, her squeezing my arm trying to pull it from her now over sensitive clit, me, fingers squeezing the blood from the cheeks of her ass, pulling her tighter into me. Suddenly, with a grunting release, my seed would penetrate deep within her greedy and wanting cunt, spurt after spurt would contort my body across hers. She’d look shocked as her pussy filled with my seamen, not believing that I’d actually done it.

In my mind’s eye, I saw her lying there before me, a sacrificed virgin, sweat having dampened her blouse and hair. Her skirt is rucked around her waist, her legs are splayed and limp. I gaze at her breasts, admired as they rose and fell with her breathing and looked at her young cunt, open and glistening, my cock still embedded.

Released from the grasp of erotic pleasure, the realization slowly dawned on her, that she had become a slave to her own body’s needs. But as I looked down at her, the smile would return to her lips, a smile of satisfaction, a smile that said; although I may have succumbed, I know that I have ensnared and conquered you. I am the victor here. I have the power.

I was awakened by her voice, returned to reality with a bump and there was the smile, the one I’d just seen in my reverie.

“A penny for your thoughts Uncle Michael?” Reading my mind again, she’d known exactly what I had been thinking, the smile turned into a giggle as she returned once more to her book.