Night Train: Slow Movements

With both of her hands in that area, I couldn't see much, but I sincerely enjoyed the situation, the openness and surrealism of everything happening before me. But for her, it seemed not enough. She appeared to want even more open, more candid, more shameless feelings. So, she took her hand from her clitoris (and never touched it again, obviously she was already as close as I) and turned on her bunk slightly. One of her hands now was grabbing her breasts, greedily now (though she still tried her best to do everything as slow as possible), the other was behind her back, touching and pressing the bottle bottom from behind. Now I could see clearly her small inner lips stretched around the bottle's top half, and how her vagina pushed the plastic back out after each press, and despite that sight (and despite the sight I presented myself) our eyes finally met.

Next, she started to come. Even at that moment she tried to be slow, and mindful, and aware and through my own excitement I appreciated that as much as the candid show. She moved to lean her back on the wall facing me, and hugged her spread knees, trying to spread them even more, and she gripped her nipples and pulled them. The small bottle with water danced inside her, set against the bunk, pushed in further and further. Her eyes were fixated on me, leaping wildly from cock to face, from face to cock, and she rocked, breathing heavily, and moaned very low but never closed her eyes. She was there, with me, through the entire orgasm, so long that I had time to sit opposite her, and do my final movements and spurt my semen into the air and on my lap, all of the while, looking at the gorgeous girl I'd never seen before. I felt proud, and grateful, and now truly nostalgic, as I knew these were the last moments of our adventure.

Finally, her face became calm and sleepy. She still sat with her feet on the bank, her knees parted, resting and peaceful. Then she pulled the bottle out of her, and despite my post-orgasmic indifference I was amazed by the combination of the casual gesture with the openness of her position and the moist opening between her legs. She took the lid off and sipped some water. I hoped she would offer the bottle to me, and she did exactly that. Our fingers touched on the bottle as I took it from her -- our first and only touch during this night. I drank slowly, trying to catch her smell, her taste, and I sort of caught something subtle yet distinguishable.

Without any shyness, she put on her boxers and undershirt again, tossing her panties into her bag. I was tender and sad while she dressed, as I knew I would never see her naked again. Without any words, she remade her bed, and slipped back under the sheet, smiling at me with one last smile, looking almost apologetic.

When I woke up from the morning sun, there was nobody else in the compartment, and no luggage left behind. Besides my things, nothing remained but a small bottle of water on the table.