Train Vacation – Part 3: The Private Room (L)

(L) – This story contains strong language. 

Read Part 1 and Part 2 of the story here.

Note for readers: Throughout this series, blocks of plain text indicate Al’s point of view, while italics indicate Jen’s perspective. 

Author’s Note

Alistair: When DESERT FANTASIES calls, I know the client (I’m her only escort) is planning something special.

Jennifer here. Some explanation. My husband and I are members of an escort service, only for our private play purposes. In the story to follow, the couple Jen and Al play act the roles of Client and escort. When the escort talks about his Client being married, it needs to be understood that he is talking about me, his wife. In the larger roles of client and escort, played out over several days, we also adopt minor roles, which can change without notice.

In this part of the story, words in plain text are from Al’s point of view, while words in italics are from Jen’s point of view. 

Moving on to the story…

Train Vacation – Part 3: The Private Room

The first scene of our train journey, joining him at breakfast in the train’s dining car, had gone well. One sweet, touching moment for me was when I held up a necklace with a penis pendant. I asked him to help me put it on. Several other diners were present and could see the necklace. He had to put it around my neck and guide the pendant down into my cleavage. His embarrassment took me by surprise. How many times on previous trysts had he laid his cock between my boobs and gotten himself off? Or pulled out of my mouth and cum below my chin and then watched his cum stream down between my breasts?

But enough reminiscing; I was curious to see how Scene II would play out. My escort should be arriving soon. I’ll let him pick up the story.

I’m amazed at the different shades of my client. She’s married. She claims to have been pure white during her dating and engagement days. She admitted to moments of light pink during several steamy episodes of French kissing. But the white was abandoned for flaming red when she and her husband fucked each other before getting to their wedding reception. Masquerading as a high-power executive, she joined her husband on an overseas trip. They masturbated their way across the Atlantic. At their destination, she seduced him into fucking her at her hotel. Her latest shade—a slut—appeared this morning as she groped me (discreetly of course) while at breakfast in the train’s dining car. She just texted that I meet her in her compartment.

I opened the door quietly. My client was standing on the far side of the room, her back to me. She must have heard my arrival. She bent over and presented what I like to call her “dart board.” I pulled down her shorts. I threw my dart. It struck noiselessly. Solidly. Deeply.

“What the …?” She stood up abruptly, calling out in an ice-cold rage. Dagger-eyes, burning with the fires from another world, looked at my cock, lathered in precum and her own juices. Then she looked up at me. I waited with trepidation.

“I seldom abort a good fuck. Nevertheless. Who are you? What makes you think you can waltz in here and start screwing a lady?” The words, like ice pellets, spewed from her mouth.

I looked at her, standing there in heels, her shorts around her ankles. The palms of her hands were not sufficient to hide her breasts from my lusting eyes. She? A lady? “What do you mean?”

“Ok, so I’m a whore. You could at least introduce yourself before owning my cunt. Stop staring at my boobs.” I crossed my arms to cover them. “Look at you. You’re drooling, like a thirteen-year-old boy who has just discovered the lingerie section of the Sears catalog. And then been caught exploring with your newly discovered fascination with an erection.”

“I thought you wanted me to come and suck a second hickey on you, to match the one I saw at breakfast. When you bent over in front of me like that, I figured you wanted something else.”

“Nice story. But no! I bent over to pick up something. I don’t recall saying anything about hickeys and that’s certainly not what you were doing a moment ago. I saw your post requesting help with some sort of job. Just because I’m wearing only shorts doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”

“Oh, that. Yes, I did request help but somehow, I must have not been clear with what I wrote. I came to get a blow job.”

Turning her back to me, she kicked off her shorts and stomped to the other side of the room to snatch up a robe. “A blow job?”  The shriek of disgust became mockery as she continued. “Getting some balloons ready for a party or something?” She was enjoying the sight of my wilting manhood. “A blow job huh? For real?”

“Yes, for real. People do it all the time.”

“Who knew?”

I had told him earlier that he was to deny any request of mine to be fucked. I, on the other hand, had obligated myself to agree to whatever he wanted. As much as I wanted my escort to resume taking me from behind, I came up with a plan for giving him a blow job. Abandoning my flimsy garment to the floor, I had him stand in the middle of the room. I tied his hands behind his back and fastened a spreader bar between his knees. “Alright, you want to suck a hickey? Have at it. I suspect it will help me later to blow you.”

Standing there in the “at ease” stance, looking like the letter A, he was anything but at ease. His mind fought between maintaining his balance and acting out the usual response in the presence of a naked woman. I stood close in front of him, playing with my nipples, teasing him with my eyes. I placed one hand at the small of his back to help with his balancing efforts. I clasped his still soft penis (it wasn’t yet worthy of being described as an erection), and brushed it against my cunt hair. The need to maintain his balance stifled the usual reaction of thrusting himself against my groin.

His tool stiffened. I felt the moisture of his pre-cum as I gyrated my mound against him, I dropped to my knees and dragged his head against my breasts. I painted a circle of pre-cum, outlining the fresh red mark he had raised yesterday on my right boob.

“Put it in your mouth.”

Ah. Nothing like a grown man begging a woman to pull his erection into her mouth. I could tell he was getting anxious for me to finish him off. I was wishing he could finish me. Placing my hands on his hips, I lowered myself further. With neither his hands nor mine to anchor his erection, I chased it by my moving my head to kiss the head of his penis. I wanted to chuckle, but figured more than his pride would deflate if I did. Ever so slowly, I caressed it; pre-cum lubricating my lips as his erection traced the outline of my mouth. Spreading them, his penis head slid in, until it’s ridge rode upon my lips.

“Close your lips. Tight. No tongue. No sucking.”

I pushed my head further along his rod, cradling it with my tongue. Reversing directions, I pulled back until the ridge of his head pulled my lips outward. I paused, pressed my lips tighter against it and pulled back some more. His thing slipped out, making a popping sound, and swung back to sucker punch my face. His penis head was now a deep purple. I moved my head to force it through my closed lips. I knew he was anxious to thrust. I began to hump my mouth along his swollen rod.

“When I cum, lean back and cup your boobs. I want to cum between your tits. You are to rub the cum into your breasts while I watch.”

He came.

I rubbed.

He watched.

After removing the spreader bar, I stood and reached for his hand to guide his fingers between my legs.

“You need to get dressed for dinner.”

I was beginning to question my instructions to my escort to deny what I wanted and to make me beg for it. My candy would have to wait. For how long?

“I’ll meet you in the dining car. They’re serving cabbage and sausage tonight.”

It crossed my mind that my escort was enjoying this too much. I expect his penis still glowed from my tongue’s inflicting so much pleasure upon it. A thought started percolating in my brain. Something with sausage. Something for Scene III.

To be continued in Part 4.

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