A Fantasy - Chapter One

Chapter One – A chance meeting

“Yes, I write stories, only as a hobby though”, Sandy felt at ease talking to the guy that sat beside her on the train, even though they had just met. Commuter time was the usual hell but she had managed to get a seat this time. No man would ever give up their seat for a girl, not these days and not on her usual train anyway.

“Oh OK, you mean the novels for old ladies, all that romantic rubbish”, he grinned at her and she was aware that he was trying to get her to react.

“God no, I never publish, the stories are too short and um, rather naughty.” She studied his handsome face for reaction, maybe she could wind him up. There was just that permanent grin, that made him look like a naughty school boy.

“Naughty, hmmm.” The guy paused a second or two stroking his chin thoughtfully. “If I were you how would I define 'naughty' in relation to your 'stories'?”

Sandy wasn’t going to be pressed into anything just yet, so she turned the tables on him. “Let's see if you have an imagination” she proposed, “perhaps you can define it for me. Look at me and judging by what you see and what you have learned about me in the past half hour, suggest what I would consider naughty.”

The guy took her by the shoulders with his strong hands, turned her to face him and studied her face intently, allowing his eyes to rove every second or two over her whole body. Sandy felt her face turn pink at such scrutiny. His face lost the grin and he look even more handsome now he was being serious.

“You know?” he began, “I cant believe that there is a naughty thought in the very pretty head.” His dark eyes penetrated deep into hers and Sandy could almost see the line of text in one of her stories... 'the girl felt as if his eyes had penetrated her whole being and despite herself she felt a familiar tingle in the crotch of her tight little yellow panties'... she giggled silently and shifted her yellow panties-clad butt on the seat.

“Of course” he continued, “the pretty, quiet, innocent-looking young ladies are the worst.”

“Oh?” she countered, “Being a man of the world and experienced in the deep knowledge of all things 'pretty, quiet and innocent-looking'”, Sandy paraphrased him, “You can tell just but grabbing a girl so roughly and submitting her to unabashed scrutiny, can you indeed?” The grin returned and became a gently laugh, showing his pure white teeth.

“Touché”, he grinned and released her shoulders, his right arm held out an imaginary rapier.

Sandy raised an eye brow in question, “Well? Are you going to be brave, are you going to suggest what naughty things I may write?”

The guy proffered his right hand, “Mark, Mark Cavendish, with whom have I the honour to cross swords this beautiful day?”

Sandy wiped a patch of condensation from the carriage window and peered out into the gloom and pouring rain. Looking back at Mark she pulled a face. In one of her stories she would have written 'god, he was so damned handsome and the girl wondered if packed in his immaculate pants was something on which she would be taken to heaven if she could ever get it inside her fast moistening vulva'. His polite cough brought her back to reality.

“Beautiful day?” Sandy neatly side-stepped the name question.

Mark chuckled. “Ah, 'the delightful young female travel companion responded as the man had wanted, he had her interest',” he quoted. Now it was his turn to turn the tables on her! “I mean that your presence has brought the sun to my otherwise dreary day.”

“Oh, very clever, do you write too?”, enquired Sandy. “And of course thank you for being so gallant... that’s of course if you meant that compliment.”

Mark responded with “No, but I have idly picked up one of my wife's romantic novels and read a page or two. And yes I meant what I said, you have brightened my morning. I hope we can share a seat on another occasion.”

'The girl hoped that the seat he referred to was her butt as she imagined his hands fondling it and his cock ploughing her vaginal furrow'. Sandra mentally chastised herself for letting her mind wander to yet another story. But was it a story or was it by some incredible stretch of her wild imagination her innermost thoughts writing themselves in her consciousness? But Mark was married. She was married too, very happily. She would never be unfaithful, no matter what. She couldn’t imagine what had brought that last thought to her mind.

They had both joined the train at her station and had dashed to get a seat. She, being small and slim and fit had pushed past him to get the window seat, That’s how the conversation had started. In such close proximity he smelled as if he had just emerged from the shower and to Sandra it reminded her of the smell of her husband, fresh from the shower and grabbing her to make love. 'From behind his hand grabbed her breast while the other dived for her pussy, his big cock already hard and piercing her thighs hunting for its goal of tight but wet and demanding pussy.' Sandra, despite trying hard not to, wriggled her butt hard into the seat.

“'Her bodice lay asunder, his manly lips poised to violate her breasts, she had to give in to him, give her virginity to this wild, unkempt man'”, Mark grinned as he suggested what it was that Sandra might write as 'naughty' text.

This was fun, although she knew his name he remained a stranger and she revelled in the banter between them, this beat the normal dreary trip to town.

“My, my, your wife reads the novels of yesteryear. My short stories cannot be published other than on the 'net as they are not so much naughty as rude or pornographic in the context of your wife's reading matter. Me, I prefer to call them erotic.”

Mark's eyes lit up, his face moved nearer hers and he whispered conspiratorially, “Ah? Do tell me more.”

'His female companion breathed in his natural scent, why did men smell so, so manly? It was off-putting to a hot-blooded girl, she wanted to clutch his gorgeous face between her delicate hands and kiss his moist lips. To place her long slender fingers on the bulge in his pants that now teased her, promising so much.' Thought Sandra.

Sandra realised that if she didn’t soon stop this madness of writing a story in her mind, events would overwhelm her and she would do something that could not be undone. His face so close to hers, his scent in her delicate nostrils, his thigh hot against hers...

“Sandra!” she blurted out much louder than she intended, “Sandra Wallace, old spinster.”

“So the gold band on your third finger, left hand is a mere subterfuge?” he pointed to her hand. “And I would guess mid twenties? Apologies if I have made an age faux-pas but I'm crap at guessing a woman's age.

Sandra giggled and self-consciously placed her hand in her lap covering the wedding band. “Oops”, she thought, “that’s a sign of guilt.” She decided not to reveal her thirty-eight years of age.

“Before I have to go, please give me a hint of those naughty things that you write.” begged Mark.

Thinking of a recent story Sandra recalled, 'The swell of her breasts as they assumed their natural position peeped from behind the bib of the apron-top. Just a hint of one areola teased his eyes as it strived to escape the confines of the covering. Although the desirable smooth flesh of her lower legs and thighs were in view the meeting of them at the ”Y” was covered by the exciting material of the apron'. She studied Mark's face for signs of revulsion but his eyes sparkled and he seemed caught up in the moment of her erotic words. He passed a moist pink tongue over his gorgeous lips.

“Look we can't work too far from one another would you do me the honour of meeting me for a drink at mid-day today? Name a bistro or brasserie and I'll be there.” Mark had that unfair little boy lost look on his handsome face.

What harm could it do, After all they would be in a public place. Sandra agreed and they chose a place to meet.