Late Train to Paris by Ashley Summers
The moonlit Swiss landscape sped by in tangles of rivers and postcard villages. Lulled by the train's rocking motion, Sgt. Winston Stark stared out the window. He imagined Yvonne's pretty face traced in the fleeting shadows. Her ebony skin sparkling. Their two years together ended badly and against his will.
But, looking at his watch he saw it was late and gamely reasoned, "shit happens." He was on leave and didn't have time to fly home to the States. But Paris was only a few hours away. Fancy food, great nightlife and no one he knew. It was nice to be out of Germany for a while.
The few passengers in his dimmed car were trying to sleep. Though not easy on the hard upright seats, rest wasn't a bad idea if he wanted to hit the cafes before noon. It was warm and he stood to remove his sweater, pleased that he'd decided to wear shorts. Winston's mahogany legs and arms rolled with sleek muscles as he tugged at his T-shirt. A trip to the restroom and he'd soon know if this would be a good night. One without persistent memories of Yvonne.
At the back of the car, he saw her again. The striking girl with her friend from the train station in Zürich. She was damn sexy, but also very "cute." It was not a word that often occurred to him. Petite with short blond hair and huge green eyes. Yet her breasts were full, squeezed into a tank top and tight jeans revealed a ripe ass.
But she was young. No older than eighteen. So Winston kept his distance despite the fact they blatantly checked him out and giggled just as they had in Zürich. He didn't know they boarded his car and plopped down a few rows behind. Empty beer bottles poked from their trash can. The girl shook her head to music, resisting her friend's playful attempts to grab the earphones.
A variety of American hip-hop magazines lay in disarray on their laps. The centerfold of one of the magazines was a ripped, tattooed performer posing with suggestive streetwise cynicism. His white briefs striking against otherwise dark, bare skin and leaving no doubt as to his state of arousal.
"Do you have a big dick?" she abruptly asked, jabbing the centerfold with her ruby colored fingernail.
Her voice held the distinctive singsong quality of Swiss-German. But her English was as unmistakable as her nasty smirk.
"Kirsten!" her friend stammered. "No, no!"
"What?" Kirsten teased.
Winston's spine tightened, toes gripping his shoes.
"So. Do you have a big dick or not?" she demanded, surveying his crotch. "Me and Elise want to know."
In truth, he knew he was considerably larger than most. Winston sated many horny women with his XXL package. However, its wicked length and thickness were a pleasant post pickup surprise. He didn't know what to make of this brazen girl.
Kirsten licked her glossy lips and innocently batted moist eyes. Her friend gawked alternately at them.
Winston was a career United States soldier. The Army placed a premium on simplicity in all matters. Never in his thirty-three years had he been more tempted to engage in the type of nonsense he constantly warned his men against.
"Be careful what you ask for." He turned to go.
Kirsten grabbed his crotch and jerked her hand back. Her eyes suddenly very round.
Winston's engorged cock throbbed. His brain swirled with thoughts of a reckless plunge into the forbidden. But now Kirsten deliberately perused her magazines. He tapped her shoulder.
"How old are you?" Winston asked.
"Nineteen." Little more than a whisper.
But her horny, knowing gaze satisfied his caution. This was no child. He frowned at Elise, who managed something in Swiss-German to Kirsten.
They spoke softly with Elise finally kissing her cheek. Elise collected some magazines and Winston stepped back.
"Thanks," he offered.
"It's okay."
Winston sat beside Kirsten and glanced around. Everyone seemed to be asleep. He stroked her thigh. Kirsten stiffened, but arched towards him when he caressed her breasts.
"Wie heist du?" Kirsten sighed, kissing him. It was an indecently wet kiss. Her pointy tongue, like a baby snake in its urgent probing and tasting of a strong, dark beer. Winston pulled her closer until she finally slid onto his lap, facing him.
"What's my name?" he muttered.
"Ja. Wie heist du?" Her fingers delicately rubbed his high-boned cheeks and full lips.
"Joe."
"G.I. Joe," Kirsten laughed.
Winston wondered if he was really that transparent. But he soon didn't care as Kirsten reached into his shorts and pulled out his dick. It stood at attention, powerfully long and ominously thick, bobbing slightly with the train's motion. Her small hands squeezed hard as though ensuring it was real. Winston groaned involuntarily and satisfied, Kirsten wrapped her lips around its head. He felt the blood swelling him still more as she sucked, licking early cum with whips of her tongue.
"Mmmmmm," she cooed, stroking him up and down to produce more juice.
She eagerly lapped it up. Winston reached under her tank top to massage her firm, young tits. Kirsten's nipples bulged with increasing sensitivity. She wriggled uncontrollably as he rubbed them between his fingers. Licking and biting his cock, working her way down its length.
It seemed a delightful eternity before his entire cock was wet from her mouth. Then she greedily sucked in one of his plum sized balls. The intense pleasure so immediate and so bordering on a kind of luscious hurt, it was all Winston could do to avoid coming. He tried to remove her soft hand from its tight grip of his cock. But Kirsten only stroked him harder.
"Damn girl." His fingers dug into the seat.
Kirsten licked the base of his cock from its root to engorged head and inhaled. She sucked wildly on what her small mouth could hold. Finally sliding her tongue back until it cradled only the tip of his cock. She traced his balls with her fingernails. Winston shivered, coming in a copious amount that whitened the pinkness of her gaping mouth. She licked a sticky, glistening circle around her lips before swallowing.
"Everything American tastes good," she said with a grin.
He thought to himself, "Yvonne who?"
But Winston took pride in thoroughly servicing the ladies and always tried to make them happy first. This little freak rapidly turned that upside down. Now he had to take care of business.
He looked to his right and noticed a young man under a blanket, ogling them. Winston's menacing glare did nothing to deter the man from doing what so obviously caused his blanket to shift rhythmically. Other people could be watching. If the lonely clowns insisted, he hoped they enjoyed the show.
He filled his hands with her sweet ass and pulled her back onto his lap. She puckered her lips, making lewd kissing sounds as he unbuckled her belt. When Winston slipped his fingers into her wisp of black panties, he felt the narrowest trail of silky hair before finding Kirsten's creamy slit. His finger touched her swollen clit, making rapid circles. She yelped, squirming deliriously into his groin and tore open her jeans. Her hips wriggled as she rolled them down her tanned thighs. She bucked, smashing against his fingers.
He had to grab her waist to prevent her from falling off his lap. In the momentary absence of his fingers Kirsten knotted the front of her panties and yanked them violently. Her engorged pussy lips enveloped the cotton and her body twitched. Two of Winston's fingers quickly found their way around the soaked fabric and deep into her hot cunt. Kirsten's fresh scented nectar ran down his palm as she came.
He covered her mouth to muffle her cries and she bit his hand. Winston instinctively smacked her ass. Kirsten pumped his cock with vigor, making it lengthen and ache obscenely. Could he really be at the edge again so soon?
"Ja, Ja. Put the monster thing inside me! Please, please." A little girl's cute voice laced with hoarse adult need.
Winston lubed the head against her warm, syrupy pussy. But Kirsten pushed him away.
"Wait!" she ordered.
She put on the earphones. He could hear the loud funky hip-hop rhythms. Definitely fuck music. Kirsten turned around, her ass in his face and grabbed his tremendous cock, swiftly impaling herself. She shrieked, her face wrenched in joyous agony. Forcing all the tiny, resistant folds inside her cunt to so mercilessly give way. Indecipherable Swiss-German poured out, peppered with swearing in any language.
Her slick velvet walls clenched tighter and tighter as she slid up and down his pole with rabid intensity, his hands squeezing her ass. Much sooner than he imagined possible, Winston could take no more. Gasping, he pulled Kirsten down solidly, meeting her with his own vicious thrust. She purred, her cunt spasming as waves of ecstasy consumed them both. He shot rivers deep, deep inside her.
"Ahhhhhh… My G.I. Joe," she sighed, slipping off the earphones and collapsing onto his chest.
Minutes later Winston's head still spun. But he managed to shift Kirsten a bit, so he could squeeze into his shorts. He also adjusted her panties and pulled
up her jeans as best he could. The now sated young man sat motionless, but still leered. Winston combed his fingers through Kirsten's hair. She was already
falling asleep, snuggling into him. Apparently enjoying the sweetest of dreams.
He only knew her name and that she lived in a sleepy country full of chocolate and cows. Nothing in common with Yvonne, or him for that matter. But she
stirred his lust in a way that seemed refreshingly simple.
"My name is really Winston," he whispered, so close his lips brushed her ear.
"Mmmmm… tickles." Kirsten giggled and swatted at him in her sleep.
The end.
