DESIRE | 100 of literature's sexiest stories

FROM EVELIN ( anonymous)

I determined to run up to town. I went by an early train, alone. I entered the
station some fifteen minutes before the train started. On the platform was a
gentlemanly-looking man in a tweed suit. I thought I had seen his face
before. I could not recall where. We passed each other. He looked pointedly
at me. Certainly I knew his features. I never forget, if I take an interest in a
man’s appearance. I liked the look of this tall, well-built fellow in tweeds.
He appeared to be about thirty-five to forty years of age – hale and hearty. I
gave him one of my glances as he passed me.
“This way, miss. First class – no corridors on this train. You will be all
right here. You’re all alone at present.”
“Thank you, guard. Does the train go up without stopping?”
“Stops at Lewes, miss. That’s all – then right up.”
I saw my tall friend pass the carriage. Another glance. He stopped –
hesitated – then opened the door and got in. He took a seat opposite me.
The newspaper appeared to engross his attention until the whistle sounded.
We were off.
“Would you object to my lowering the window? These carriages are
stuffy. The morning is so warm.”
I made no objection, but smilingly gave consent. “How calm and
beautiful the sea looks! It seems a pity to leave it.”
“Indeed I think so – especially for London.”
“You are going up to London? How odd! So am I!”
I could not be mistaken. I had seen him somewhere before.
“I shall miss the sea very much. We have no sea baths in Manchester. I
love my morning dip.”
It struck me like a flash. I remembered him now.
“You must have enjoyed it very much, coming from an inland city.”
“Well, yes, you see I had a good time. They looked after me well.
Always had my machine ready.”
“I have no doubt of that.”
“No. 33. A new one – capital people – very fine machine.”
I suppose I smiled a little. He laughed in reply as if he read my thought.
Then he folded up his paper. I arranged my small reticule. It unfortunately
dropped from my hand. He picked it up and presented it to me. His foot
touched mine. We conversed. He told me he lived near Manchester. He had
been to Eastbourne for rest. His business had been too much for him, but he
was all right now. His gaze was constantly upon me. I kept thinking of his
appearance all naked on the platform of the bathing machine as old David
Jones rowed me past. We stopped at Lewes. My companion put his head out
of the window. He prevented the entry of an old lady by abusing the
newspaper boy for his want of activity. The train started again.
“I think Eastbourne is one of the best bathing places on the coast. You
know where the gentlemen’s machines are?”
“I think I know where they keep them.”
“Well, I was going to say – but – well – what a funny girl you are! Why
are you laughing?”
“Because a funny idea struck me. I was thinking of a friend.”
His foot was pushed a little closer – very perceptible was the touch. He
never ceased gloating on my person. My gloves evidently had an especial
attraction for him. Meanwhile, I looked him well over. He was certainly a
fine man. He roused my emotions. I permitted his foot to remain in contact
with my boot. I even moved it past his, so that my ankle touched his. His
face worked nervously. Poor man, no wonder! He gave me a searching
look. Our glances met. He pressed my leg between his own. His fingers were trembling with that undefined longing for contact with the object of
desire I so well understood. I smiled.
“You seem very fond of the ladies.”
I said it boldly, with a familiar meaning he could not fail to understand. I
glanced at his leather bag in the rack above.
“I cannot deny the soft impeachment. I am. Especially when they are
young and beautiful.”
“Oh, you men! You are dreadfully wicked. What would Mrs Turner say
to that?”
I laughed. He stared with evident alarm. It was a bold stroke. I risked it.
Either way I lost nothing.
“How do you know I am married?” My shaft had gone home. He had
actually missed the first evident fact. He picked it up, however, quickly,
before I could reply. “It appears you know me? You know my name?”
“Well, yes. You see I am not blind.”
I pointed to the label on the bag above his head. It was his turn to laugh.
“Ah! You have me there! What a terribly observant young lady you must
be!”
He seized my hand before I could regain my attitude. He pressed it in
both his own.
“You will not like me any the less – will you? I thought we were going to
be so friendly.”
“On the contrary – they say married men are the best.”
Up to this point, my effrontery had led him on. He must have felt he was
on safe ground. My last remark was hardly even equivocal. He evidently
took it as it was intended. I was equally excited. The man and the
opportunity tempted me on. I wanted him. I was delighted with his
embarrassment – with his fast increasing assurance. I made no attempt to
withdraw my hand. He crossed over. He occupied the seat beside me. My
gloved hand remained in his.
“I am so glad you think so. You do not know how charming I think you.
Married men ought to be good judges, you know.”
“I suppose so. I rather prefer them.”
I looked in his face and laughed as I uttered the words. He brought his
very close. He passed his left arm round my waist. I made no resistance.
The carriage gave a sympathetic jerk as it rushed along. Our faces touched. His lips were in contact with mine. It was quite accidental, of course, the
line is so badly laid. We kissed.
“Oh, you are nice! How pretty you are!”
He pressed his hot lips again to mine. I thought of the sight I had seen on
the bathing machine. My blood boiled. I half closed my eyes. I let him keep
his mouth upon mine. He pressed me to him. He drew my light form to his
stout and well-built frame as in a vice.
I put my right foot up on the opposite seat. He glared at the pretty tight
little kid boot. He was evidently much agitated.
“Ah! What a lovely foot!”
He touched it with his hand. His fingers ran over the soft pale cream-
coloured leather. I wore a pair of papa’s prime favourites. He did not stop
there. The trembling hand passed on to my stocking, advancing by stealthy
degrees. It was then he tried to push forward the tip of his tongue.
“How beautiful you are and how gentle and kind!”
His arm enfolded me still closer, my bosom pressed his shoulder. His
hand pressed further and further up my stocking. I closed my knees
resolutely. I gave a hurried glance around.
“Are we quite safe here, do you think?”
“Quite safe, and, as you see, quite alone.”
Our lips met again. This time I kissed him boldly. The tip of his active
tongue inserted itself between my moist lips.
“Ah! How lovely you are! How gloriously pretty!”
“Hush! They might hear us in the next carriage. I am frightened.”
“You are deliciously sweet. I long for you dreadfully.”
Mr Turner’s hand continued its efforts towards my knees. I relaxed my
pressure a little. He reached my garters above them. In doing so he
uncovered my ankles. He feasted his eyes on my calves daintily set off in
openwork stockings of a delicate shade of pale brown.
“Oh, you are too bad, really! I ought not to let you do that – no, really!
Pray do not do so – oh!”
It was a delicious game of seduction. I enjoyed his lecherous touches. He
was constantly becoming more confident of his sudden and uncontrollable
passion. He strained me to him. His breath came quick and sweet upon my
face. I lusted for this man’s embrace beyond all power of language to convey. His warm hand reached my plump thigh. I made pretence to
prevent his advance.
“Pray – oh, pray do not do that! Oh!”
A sudden jerk as we apparently sped over some points. I relaxed my
resistance a trifle. He took instant advantage of the movement. His finger
was on the most sensitive part of my private parts. It pressed upon my
clitoris. I felt the little thing stiffen, swell and throb under the touch of a
man’s hand. His excitement increased. He drew me even closer. He pressed
my warm body to his. His kisses, hot and voluptuous, covered my face and
neck.
“How divinely sweet you are! The perfume of your lovely breath is so
rapturously nice. Do let me – do – do! I love you so!”
He held me tight with his left arm. He had withdrawn his right. I was
conscious he was undoing his trousers. He had left my skirts in disorder. I
saw him pull aside his protruding shirt. I secretly watched his movements
out of a corner of my eye while he kept my face close to his. Then appeared
all that I had seen on the bathing machine, but standing fiercely erect, red-
headed and formidable – a huge limb. He thrust it into full view.
“My darling! My beauty! See this! See! See to what a state you have
driven me. You will let me – won’t you?”
“Oh, for shame! Let me go – pray do not do that – you must not. Your
finger hurts. Don’t – pray don’t! Oh, dear! Oh! Oh!”
The jolting of the carriage favoured his operations. His hand was again
between my thighs. His second finger pressed my throbbing button. My
parts were bedewed with the fluid begotten by desire. He was inspecting the
premises before taking possession. I only hoped he would not find the
accommodation insufficient for so large a tenant.
“Oh, pray don’t! Oh, goodness! What a man you are!”
With a sudden movement, he slipped round upon his knees, passing one
of my legs over his left arm and thus thrust me back on the soft sprung seat
of the carriage. He threw up my clothes. He was between my thighs. My
belly and private parts were exposed to his lascivious operations. I looked
over my dress as I attempted to right myself. I saw him kneeling before me
in the most indelicate position. His trousers were open. His huge privates
stood menacingly before my eyes. He had so far loosened his clothing that
his testicles were out. His belly was covered with crisp black hair. I saw all n that quick feverish glance. I saw the dull red head of his big limb drawn
downward by the little string as it faced me, and the slit-like opening
through which the men spurt their white venom.
He audaciously took my hand, gloved as it was, and placed it upon his
member. It was hard and rigid as wood.
“Feel that – dear girl! Do not be frightened. I will not hurt you. Feel –
feel my prick!”
He drew me forward. I felt him as requested. I had ceased all resistance.
My willing little hand clasped the immense instrument he called his
“prick”.
“Now put it there yourself, little girl. It is longing to be into you.”
“Oh – my good heavens! It will never go in! You will kill me!”
Nevertheless I assisted him to his enjoyment. I put the nut between the
nether lips. He pushed while firmly holding me by both hips. My parts
relaxed – my vagina adapted itself as I had been told it could without injury
to the most formidable of male organs. The huge thing entered me. He
thrust in fierce earnest. He got it fairly in.
“Oh! My God! I’m into you now! Oh! Oh! How delicious! Hold tight!
Let me pull you down to me – so – oh! My God! How nice! How soft! How
exquisite!”
I passed my left arm through the strap. My right clutched him round the
neck. He put down his hand. He parted the strained lips round his huge
intruding weapon. Then he seized me by the buttocks. He strained me
towards him as he pushed. My head fell back – my lips parted. I felt his
testicles rubbing close up between my legs. He was into me to the quick!
“Oh, dear! Dear! You are too rough! You hurt – you push too hard! My
goodness me! How you are tearing me. Oh! Oh! Ah! It is too much! You
darling man! Push! Push! Oh!”
It was too much pleasure. I threw my head back again. I grasped the
cushions on either side. I could not speak. I could only gasp and whine now.
I moved my head from side to side as he lay down on my belly and enjoyed
me. His thing – stiff as a staff – worked up and down my vagina. I could
feel the big plum-like gland pushed forcibly against my womb. I spent over
and over again. I was in heaven.
He ground his teeth. He hissed. He lolled his head. He kissed me on the
lips. He breathed hard and fast. His pleasure was delicious to witness. “Oh! Oh! Hold tight, love. I am in an agony of pleasure. I – I – can’t tell
you! I – never – tasted – such delicious poking! Oh! Ugh!”
“Oh, dear! Oh, dear! You are so large! So strong!”
“Don’t move! Don’t pinch my prick more than you can help, darling girl.
Let us go on as long as possible. You are coming again. I can feel you
squeezing me! Oh! Wait a moment – so – hold still!”
“Oh! I can feel it at my womb – you are up to my waist! Oh, dear! Oh!
Oh! You are so stiff!”
“I cannot hold much longer. I must spend soon!”
Bang! Bang! ! Bang! ! !
The train was passing over the points at Reigate. The alarm was
sufficient to retard our climax. It acted as a check to his wild excitement –
to the coming climax.
“Hold quite still, you sweet little beauty. We do not stop. The speed is
quickening again. Now push! Push! Push! Is that nice? Do you like my big
prick? Does it stir you up? You are right, my sweet. I can feel your little
womb with the tip.”
He assisted me to throw my legs up over his shoulders. He seemed to
enter me further than ever.
“Oh! You’re so large! Oh! Good Lord! Go on slowly – don’t finish me
yet! It’s so – so – so nice! You’re making me come again. Oh my!”
“No, dear, I won’t finish you before I can help it. You are so nice to poke
slowly! Do you like being finished? Do you – oh, my God! There, push!
Push! Do you like to feel a man come?”
“Oh! Not so hard! There! Oh, my! Must – must I tell you – I – I love to
feel – to feel a man spend – all the sweet sperm!”
“You’ll feel mine very – very soon, you beautiful little angel. Oh! I shall
swim you in it! There! My prick is in now up to the balls – Oh! Oh! How
you nip it – oh!”
He gave some exquisite short stabs with his loins. His thing, as hard as
wood, was up my belly as far as its great length could reach. He sank his
head on my shoulder.
“Hold still – I’m spending! Oh, my God! How luscious!”
I felt a great gush come from him. It flowed from him in quick hot jets.
He groaned in his ecstasy. I opened my legs. I raised up my loins to receive
it. I clutched right and left at anything and everything – I spent furiously. He gave me a quantity. I was swimming in it. At length he desisted and
released me.
A few minutes sufficed in which to rearrange ourselves decently. Mr
Turner asked me many questions. I fenced some – I answered others. I let
him believe I was professionally employed in a provincial company. I told
him I had been unwell and had been resting a short time at Eastbourne. He
was delicate enough not to press for particulars, but he asked for an address.
I gave him a country post office. In a few minutes more we stopped on the
river bridge to deliver up tickets.
The train rolled into the station. My new friend made his adieux. He
dexterously slipped two sovereigns into my glove as he squeezed my hand.
I was glad. It proved the complete success of my precautions.
I hailed a hansom and drove direct to Swan and Edgar’s. Outside the
station, my cab stopped in the crowd. A poor woman thrust a skinny arm
and hand towards me with an offer of a box of matches. I took them and
substituted one of the sovereigns. As I alighted in Piccadilly, a ragged little
urchin made a dash to turn back the door of my cab. He looked half starved.
“Have you a mother? How many brothers and sisters?”
“Six of us, lydy; muvver’s out o’ work.”
“Take that home as quick as you can.”
“Blimy! A thick ’un! There ain’t no ruddy copper lookin’ to pinch it off
me! Muvver’ll plant it away, so as ’ow favver won’t have no cause to bash
her for it.”
He had never been taught to say “thank you”. He took one hasty glance
in either direction and darted away in the throng.
I discharged the cab. I made quite sure I was not followed.
Meanwhile my late companion was no doubt speeding on towards
Manchester where he said he must dine that evening with Mrs Turner. I
hope the good lady was reasonable with her spouse.