I had been travelling eastwards for two days since leaving Moscow. The train had passed over the border into Germany, and in two days more I should be in Paris. It was not a particularly fast train, stopping every now and then, sometimes, it seemed, in the middle of fields, miles from anywhere. At the last stop, a family had joined me in the compartment — husband, wife, boy, youth, and young woman. The train had entered a long stretch of single track.
The speed limit on the old rails was a slovenly 45 m.p.h. The view outside the window was of the North German Plain, where in the bad old days, NATO troops and battle tanks had practised and drilled for the awful possibility of another world war. The ground undulated, and the tracks left by the tanks were heavily overgrown. I got bored with the view after a while, and studied my fellow passengers.
The family were chatting to themselves in German. They tried to include me in at one point but I speak only a few words of the language, and they soon tired of the effort of translating their thoughts into English. I studied them surreptitiously. Mother, Father and the two boys were dark-haired and olive-skinned. The girl, on the other hand, was fair-skinned, with blonde hair, piled untidily on her head and secured by a comb which looked as if it would fall out any moment, allowing the long golden tresses to cascade across her shoulders.
Her face was heart-shaped, with high cheekbones, almond eyes subtly outlined and shadowed, the irises diamond blue, clear and sparkling with the light. Her pale skin stretched effortlessly to encompass a wide, generous mouth, whose full lips parted from time to time, revealing even white teeth within.
She looked across at me a few times, her expression one of disinterest, even disdain. As I looked back, she would drop her eyes. She held her arms crossed, each hand holding just below the opposite shoulder. Her clothing was not particularly stylish — a blouse and a short skirt. Her shoes were not new, and had heels about 2 inches high. She played around, pointing her feet upwards for a while, tweaking stray hairs back where they belonged, and adjusting the comb. She let one hand fall as if accidentally onto her lap, where the fingers ended up between her knees: after a moment or two, I noticed she was lightly caressing the inside of one leg, and allowing the other to fall open slightly.
We had travelled some distance while my observations and interest in her must have become increasingly obvious, and suddenly I realised she was watching me, watching her. For a moment, her fingers paused in their gentle stroking, but then resumed. A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth.
At some point, the mother became aware of our silent communication, and said something sharply to the girl. She withdrew her hand, but replaced it as soon as the woman's attention returned to the window and what her husband was saying. By this time, the fact that my cock was swelling had become noticeable. The girl noticed, and her leg stroking became more determined. I was beginning to feel somewhat embarrassed, but suddenly I recalled that I had a travelling blanket tied to my kitbag in the overhead rack. I stood up quickly, facing away from the family, so the lump in my trousers would not be visible to them, and pulled the blanket out of the straps in which it was rolled. I sat down and spread the blanket over my waist and legs.
'Feeling the cold, ' I explained to the father who had watched the process. I made sure there were enough lumps and bumps in the blanket to disguise the one over my cock. Slipping a hand underneath, I carefully unfastened my trousers and with great relief, took hold of my faithful friend. I resisted the urge to rub it gently, encouraged by the girl's brief shake of her head, which I took to mean don't do anything too hasty. As a result, I sat there, holding my hampton, and trying not to watch her as she changed her technique. She picked up a magazine and flipped it open, but during the movement, she contrived to let her skirt on the side nearest to me ride up several inches. Holding the magazine with her further hand, she allowed the nearer one to rest on her thigh, the fingers gradually sliding over her leg to the point where they were tantalisingly out of my sight. From the little movements of her hand, I could guess she was rubbing her pubic mound, possibly even her little slit. My cock twitched firmly, and I began to wonder desperately how this situation was going to resolve itself.
The train suddenly lurched sideways and clanked across uneven points into a passing loop. Either we were at another station, or another train was coming towards us and we needed to clear the track. The speed dropped off, and we came to a standstill. Outside the window, a couple of people were offering black bread and drinks. The family stood up and prepared to leave the compartment.
As the girl was suddenly within reach, I quickly leaned forward and slipped my hand round her leg. She gave no indication of noticing, but she muttered something to the woman, and resumed her seat. The rest of the family filed out into the corridor. After they left, the girl reached up and closed the blinds on the compartment windows, then sat down again, this time facing me across the compartment.
She slowly pulled her skirt up to her waist, revealing the tops of her sheer black stockings, and leaned back. She slid the fingers of one hand into the white lacy panties she wore, and rubbed herself slowly, all the time, staring at me.
Suddenly she surprised me by breaking the silence. 'Well, are you just going to sit there? Let me see what you're bringing to this party.'