Last Train

It had been a long day. The station was virtually deserted. I had ten minutes until the last train left; mercifully it only made two stops before mine. The whole journey would last no more than forty minutes. I bought a coffee from the Starbucks stand and made my way through the barriers to the front carriage. It was empty, and I headed to a pair of seats at the far end, slumping into the window seat.

That was when the lights went out.

The destination indicators were still working, and the engine was turning over, so I assumed it was just a fault with the lights. In fact I was grateful of the dark. I sipped my coffee, burning my mouth and swearing out loud. I placed the coffee on the window table and sighed. Things couldn't really get much worse. I slumped back in the seat and closed my eyes. As the train pulled out of the station, and headed out of central London into the suburbs, the clacking of the tracks and the shifting light from the windows was almost hypnotic. I drifted off.

Ten minutes later, the train jerked to a halt. I opened my eyes, and looked out of the carriage at the first stop. At first, I thought the platform was empty, but just as the doors were about to close, a couple jumped through, laughing loudly. I groaned inwardly. They were obviously drunk, and I shrank lower in my seat, hoping desperately that they wouldn't see me. I have a habit of being cornered by domestic disputes on the last train home. People just can't seem to stop talking to me. I guess it must be the doctor in me, an innate approachability.

Luckily, they didn't seem to realise there was anyone else in the carriage. The guy was tall, at least six foot two, and well built. He had the chiselled features, and dark hair and complexion of a Mediterranean, and even I recognized the sexual magnetism he projected. The whole effect was enhanced by a navy suit and open-necked white shirt. The girl was also tall, probably five foot nine or ten, equally dark haired, but pale of skin and with the soft Irish accent of the Republic. She was stunning: slim with long legs and a tight backside that would have made an athlete jealous. She was dressed in a black blouse, unbuttoned just far enough to reveal the pale swell of each breast, black mid-thigh length skirt, and black patent leather shoes with a three or four inch heel.

Her laughter was like liquid gold. Standing between the carriages, she pushed him up against the glass partition and kissed him, hard. He responded immediately, grasping her black locks, bending her head back and kissing her neck. She squealed, pushed him away.

Come to this side of the carriage, this side of the carriage, I prayed silently.

She grabbed his tie, and dragged him behind her, straight to my side of the carriage.

Thank you, I whispered to a generous God.

They fell into the seats a couple of rows down from mine. The train clattered on through the last of the suburbs, into the Buckinghamshire countryside, the pair of them illuminated by the light flickering through the windows.

I knew you would never forgive me if I kept this to myself, so I reached gently into the case next to me and took out my compact digital camera. I checked the battery level and turned on the screen, desperately hugging the camera to my jacket to mask the sound of its activation. I needn't have bothered. Looking at the couple further down the carriage, they seemed oblivious to their surroundings. I turned on the night shot mode, aimed the lens between the seats in front, and zoomed in. The view was amazingly clear given the low light level, and yet again I marvelled at the technology you can buy for three hundred quid. I pressed the record button.

The camera safely wedged between the seats, I leaned sideways just enough to get a better view.

The girl had her left thigh over her partner's lap and was kissing him like it was the last day of her life. His hands ran along her spine, ruffling the silk of her blouse, and then down again, grasping her buttocks and forcing her closer into his embrace. She ran her hands along the sides of his face, her tongue exploring every inch of his lips, tongue and mouth.

I had seen many couples enjoying kisses and even some fairly heavy petting on my many late night journeys home, but this was different. There was a level of intensity about this pair that was electrifying. I couldn't take my eyes of them, and I could feel myself getting hard. Given the fact that this train didn't stop for another thirty minutes, and with luck, would have no lights for all that time, I had a feeling I was in for quite a show.

By now, she was astride him on the seat, her skirt riding higher up her thighs as she ground her groin into his. He tugged the blouse from her skirt, and his hands disappeared beneath the silk. I could imagine the feel of her cool skin, goose bumps rising along her back with the excitement of the moment.

Her head fell back, and he bent forwards to rain kisses along her neck. She leant further back, giving me a clear view of her fantastic cleavage. In my mind's eye, I saw the still image I would capture from that fraction of a second's video footage. Her breasts were framed by a low cut black bra that was becoming increasingly visible as he undid the buttons of her blouse. In the intermittent light from the windows, I caught brief glimpses of her dark, erect nipples through the sheer fabric. For a brief spell of about ten seconds, it was like seeing her in an old-fashioned black and white movie. Then the surreal quality of the image was replaced by a more constant warm, orange glow as the train tracks ran alongside a main road.

His impatience overcame him and he tore the last few buttons of her blouse apart, uncovering a flat stomach to match her tight arse. He ran his hand from her throat, between her breasts and down to her skirt, continuing until his fingers reached the hem, and pushed it up towards her waist. His hand disappeared between her thighs, massaging her mound, making her groan. She sat back up, lifting her skirt higher, and I saw she was wearing a black thong which disappeared between two perfect buttocks with the same pale luminescent quality as the rest of her skin. She slid a hand inside his, and from the shudders running through her body, I guessed she was rubbing her clitoris. After a few moments of watching her intently, the man lifted her bodily from his lap and laid her gently along the full length of the seat.

She let her thighs fall apart, resting her heels on the seat to either side of his lap.

His eyes fell to drink in the site of her dark underwear, the contrast with her pale skin starkly evident. She moved the thong to one side, displaying herself to him. She ran a long forefinger along her pussy lips, slick with her excitement.

He bent to replace her finger with his tongue.

She leaned back against the window, her hair catching the moonlight as the train ran through open countryside. His head moved up and down, and her hips rose and fell in time to his rhythm. His right hand crept along the back of her thigh, seeking the cleft between her buttocks, sliding a moistened finger into her anus. She squealed with the excitement, forcing her pussy up into his face, hands entwined in the back of his hair. Then releasing his hair, she raked her nails along his back, and I could see drops of blood, black in the moonlight. He drew back, gasping in pain.

She sat forward, reaching for his flies. She unzipped him, drawing out his cock. It was huge, at least nine inches long, and thick. She drew back his foreskin, hard. His glans stood proud, purple and engorged. Bending over, she took him into her mouth, licking him, her tongue flicking until he groaned. Now his hands laced into her hair, forcing her head lower, driving his cock into the back of her throat. Her head bobbed up and down, speed increasing. He drove his hips upwards. She was gagging, but amazingly still kept going.

Finally, her head rose, like a deep sea diver breaking the surface. She gasped ragged breaths through her gaping mouth. A trickle of saliva ran from the corner of her lip. He sat there, his rigid cock jutting from his trousers.

She stood, raising her skirt above her waist, and slid her thong over her hips, allowing it to fall to the floor. He turned so that he resumed a normal sitting position, and she climbed onto his lap. She guided his cock into her, sliding slowly down its length, relishing every inch. When he was fully inside, she rested there for a few seconds, dipping her hips and feeling his hardness against her cervix. Finally, the tension became too much for her and she lifted her pelvis until he was only just inside her lips. Then she drove down hard, groaning as he thrust upwards, matching her descent. The motion was repeated, again and again, slowly at first, but increasing in speed until she was bouncing in his lap. They were both within seconds of cumming when she lifted herself completely off of him, falling to the side on the seat. He lifted himself onto his knees and pumped his cock several times. His orgasm came in an explosive ejaculation that sprayed over her breasts and throat. As the last dregs fell onto her perfect skin, she brought herself to her own orgasm, her fingers forced into her pussy and anus.

He sat back, a grin playing over his lips. He tossed her a tissue, almost indifferently, and she wiped herself down. He zipped himself back into his trousers, as she fastened her blouse, replaced her underwear and straightened her skirt.

I had a sudden revelation. As we neared the next station, one before mine, I realised that if they didn't get off, it would be painfully obvious that I had been present for their little show when we reached my stop. As the train drew into the platform, my pulse raced. Please get off, I prayed, please get off.

The train stopped.

They stood up.

Thank you, I whispered. God had been kind again.

But as they moved towards the doors, the woman paused, and turned towards me. She walked back along the carriage and stood in front of me.

"I hope you can join us soon," she whispered, and held out a business card. I took it, dumbfounded.

She turned and walked out of the carriage, her partner grinning at me as he passed at the other side of the window.

I looked down at the card in my hand. It bore her name, address and telephone number.