The Night Express

The train rattled through the dark countryside, and I couldn't stop staring at the woman across the compartment. She was maybe thirty, dark hair pulled back, reading a book with her legs crossed. Every time the train swayed, her thigh pressed against mine through our jeans. She didn't pull away.

Her name was Eva. We'd been talking for an hour — about nothing, everything, the way strangers do when they know they'll never see each other again. She laughed at my jokes, touched my arm when she made a point. The compartment was empty except for us, the overhead light flickering.

"I should let you sleep," I said, not meaning it.

She closed her book. "I'm not tired."

The way she said it made my cock twitch. I reached out, ran my fingers along her wrist. She didn't move. Just watched me with those dark eyes, her breathing getting shallow.

"I want to kiss you," I said.

"Then do it."

I leaned in, my mouth finding hers. Soft at first, then harder. Her hand went to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. I could taste coffee on her tongue, feel the heat coming off her skin. My other hand found her thigh, squeezed.

"I don't usually do this," she whispered against my lips.

"Neither do I."

She laughed, a breathy sound. "Liar."

I slid my hand higher, under the hem of her skirt. Her legs parted slightly. I could feel the heat through her panties, the dampness already there. She moaned into my mouth when I pressed against her pussy through the fabric.

"Fuck," she breathed. "I want you."

I pulled back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were half-closed, lips swollen. I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her panties and she lifted her hips, letting me slide them down her thighs. She was bare underneath, her pussy slit glistening in the dim light.

"God, Eva."

She took my hand and guided it between her legs. "Touch me."

I ran a finger along her slit, feeling how wet she was. She gasped, her head falling back. I found her clit, circled it slowly, watching her face. Her mouth fell open, a soft moan escaping.

"More," she whispered.

I pushed two fingers inside her. She was tight, hot, clenching around me. I fucked her with my fingers while my thumb worked her clit, her juices coating my hand. She grabbed my arm, her nails digging in.

"I'm close," she panted. "Don't stop."

Her body tensed, then shuddered. She came with a choked cry, her pussy gripping my fingers. I kept moving inside her until she relaxed, then pulled my hand out, glistening wet.

"Now you," she said, reaching for my belt.

She had my jeans open in seconds, my cock springing free. She wrapped her hand around it, stroked once, then leaned down and took me in her mouth. Her tongue swirled around the head, then she took me deeper, all the way to the back of her throat. I tangled my hand in her hair, watching her lips slide up and down my shaft.

"I need to be inside you," I said, pulling her up.

She straddled me, her skirt bunched around her waist. I positioned myself at her entrance, felt her wetness against the head of my cock. She lowered herself slowly, taking me inch by inch. We both groaned when I was fully inside her.

"Fuck, you feel good," I said.

She started to move, riding me in the narrow seat. The train rocked us, adding to the rhythm. Her tits bounced under her shirt, her breath coming in gasps. I grabbed her hips, guiding her, fucking up into her.

"Harder," she demanded.

I stood up, still inside her, and pressed her against the compartment wall. She wrapped her legs around me, and I fucked her standing up, pounding into her pussy. The window rattled behind her, the dark landscape blurring past.

"Yes, yes, yes," she chanted.

I could feel her tightening around me again, another orgasm building. I drove into her faster, deeper, my balls slapping against her ass.

"Cum inside me," she whispered. "Please."

That was all I needed. I buried my face in her neck as I came, pumping my cum deep into her. She climaxed at the same time, her whole body shaking, her pussy milking every drop.

We stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, tangled together. Then she laughed softly.

"We should probably sit down."

I kissed her forehead. "Probably."

She pulled her panties back up, smoothed her skirt. I zipped my jeans. The train kept moving, carrying us through the night. Neither of us said much after that. We just sat close, her head on my shoulder, my arm around her.

When the train pulled into her station, she got up, squeezed my hand, and walked away without a word. I never even got her number.