Alpine Express
They had never traveled in SV (sleeping car) wagons before, let alone through Switzerland, let alone in a luxury SV class. It was a pity there were no seats in the same compartment, but they decided to buy the tickets anyway and then swap with other passengers. Fortunately, the compartments were adjacent, so it shouldn't be too much trouble.
The train was clean, with a pleasant smell and coolness despite the summer heat. A friendly steward silently slid open the doors to her "room." Inside were two sleeping berths, or rather full-sized sofas; in the corner stood two leather armchairs, a lacquered table made of expensive wood with a fresh copy of Switzerland Review. She opened the minibar door. Chocolate, cognacs, and various unfamiliar
packets with Swiss and French inscriptions were neatly arranged on the shelves with European pedantry.— Would Madame like anything? asked the steward in French, then Swiss, then English.
— Yes, coffee, please, she replied, feeling uncomfortable in all this luxury and thinking, the sooner to Zurich, the better, where the missing passengers for their compartment were supposed to board and they could arrange a swap.
— Would Madame like Swiss coffee, with cognac?
She agreed. After all, time would pass faster. They were damn tired. It was the second week of her husband's internship. After a long day, another move to a new factory for an experience exchange. She wished the passengers would board by nightfall so she could sleep.
The steward brought coffee, water, and cognac. On the tray, apparently for presentation, coffee beans were scattered, and a tiny pastry, the size of a matchbox, was served. In front of her, he opened the bottle and added cognac to the coffee.
She took a few sips and felt a bit more cheerful. She continued exploring her compartment, deciding how to get comfortable right away while she had the chance. She slid open the wardrobe doors and gasped. It turned out to be the entrance to a private bathroom. Quite spacious. The bathtub was tiled or had tile imitation, windows made of colored mosaic, toilet, bidet, sink—all as if made of porcelain. She turned on the tap. There was both hot and cold water. Thick terry towels with Swiss coats of arms adorned ornate towel warmers. She threw the foot towels on the floor, undressed, and decided to take a bath to make the 30 minutes to Zurich pass faster. She poured herself more cognac into the coffee and sank into the warm water. Good wagons, the rocking wasn't felt at all. Apparently, motion sickness wouldn't be a problem, which she had feared when agreeing to this journey. It felt like being in an expensive hotel room.
Suddenly, it dawned on her that someone was trying to knock on her compartment door. She quickly got out of the shower and opened the door. It turned out they had been at Zurich station for about five minutes.
— Sweetie, I've got some dumb German. He just doesn't understand what I want from him. I'll try talking to him tomorrow, maybe we'll befriend each other by then and he won't be stubborn about swapping. Who do you have?
— Mine hasn't arrived yet. Good thing you woke me up. I think I fell asleep in the bath.
— Alright, I'll go sleep for now, I'm out of energy. We'll sort it out with them tomorrow. He pecked her on the lips, touched the inside of her thighs through her robe, and closed the door.
She poured more coffee and unwrapped one of the curious packages from the minibar. It tasted like some kind of candy.
— May I come in, lady? A man of mature years appeared in the doorway, in a suit, well-groomed, fit, with a strong musculature discernible through the suit. A typical Prince of Monaco—she immediately dubbed him with that nickname.
— Yes, she replied in Russian, flustered, come in.
— Oh, you're Russian? "Prince of Monaco" was delighted! My name is Anton, though everyone's been calling me Elton for a long time. I've lived here for a long time, I manage an Alpine resort for the wealthy, he explained, as if apologizing both for his good job, and for the suit, and for the train.
He started unpacking his things, chattering endlessly, delighted by the unexpected compatriot. She answered reluctantly, sizing up the stranger. "Adult" (that's how she defined men older and of stronger influence than her), strong-willed, obviously well-off, solid. Surprisingly, even Russians, once in Europe, start taking care of themselves and look excellent even at that age. The man changed into a simple cotton shirt, and she noted his strong arms, firm abs, and involuntarily lowered her eyes further. Through the thin trousers made of Australian cotton, the contours of a large, adult man were clearly visible. She blushed and looked away.
— How about having a little cognac? I always do this on the road. I can't stand these trains, I prefer the corporate jet, but it's in Hamburg right now.
To ease the sudden confusion a bit, she decided that a little cognac wouldn't hurt. Gradually, the cognac and pleasant atmosphere did their work. They started talking, and by midnight he was already showing her the differences between Argentine tango and Spanish tango, having found music on the player.
— No, no, stand up. Take my hand. Not like that, — he commanded, — getting more and more excited, wanting to impress his young companion. To some extent, he succeeded. She obeyed him more and more, surprising herself. — and one two, now you must arch your back, wrapping the inner side of your thighs around my leg.
Unable to sustain the complex figure, they tumbled into the armchair and laughed merrily. Her already short skirt rode up to the level of her panties; she was breathing rapidly from the exercises and alcohol. His face was opposite her lips, her thighs still wrapped around his leg from both sides.
She looked him defiantly in the eyes. But she couldn't help herself; she distinctly felt with her thigh how his huge member swelled, spreading a hot warmth through her legs. This awkward situation and the proximity of a young female body aroused him. She was both scared and flattered that such an adult and strong man wanted her. She began to carefully push him away, spread her legs so he could get up and move away from her.
But the man, sensing her hesitation, was in no hurry to retreat. On the contrary, his hands quickly ran through her hair, her neck, he ran a finger over her lips. She reluctantly tried to push him away, but his hands were already caressing her thighs under her dress. He skillfully moved aside the thin fabric of her damp panties and began to caress her there, carefully penetrating deeper with his strong male fingers, depriving her of will and mobility.
— Well, don't, we're complete strangers, — she carefully pushed against his chest and legs to make him move away. Finally, he yielded. For some reason, she felt annoyed that he gave up so easily. They chatted a bit more; she allowed him to sit next to her as a sign of reconciliation. He seemed to casually touch her knee, shoulder, and hands at every opportunity. It got very late.
The man went to take a shower, while she quickly turned off the light and pretended to be asleep, turning toward the wall. This little adventure inflamed her imagination; her lower abdomen grew heavy with desire. How she would love to sit on her husband's cock right now. She wanted to go to his compartment and let him take her from behind, immediately and to the full depth, impaling herself on his shaft. From desire and frustration, she almost cried.
Meanwhile, the man came out of the bathroom, laid out some things, and lay down.
— Are you asleep?
— No, why? she replied, revealing her pretense of deep sleep.
He got up and approached her. Taken by surprise, she was stunned and couldn't move. He stroked her hair, her chest, insistently spread her legs, and like an owner, touched her there, then carefully moved her panties aside from behind and began to caress both her holes, getting more and more aroused. Finally, he paused for a second. She caught her breath, thinking he wouldn't take her by force. She glanced back and saw right in front of her his heavy, sinfully weighted dignity and the base of a thick, wrist-sized cock. It turned out the pause was merely due to his desire to take off his clothes. He ran his hand over her thigh again and, applying his other hand, carefully and confidently tore her panties at the waist and, not letting her recover, pulled the remains of her underwear down to her knees.
Having an orgasm, she relaxed a little. He began confidently pounding her weakened body, wanting to finish inside her. She managed to want it again, but she felt with regret how he pulsed inside her and began to come vigorously. He pulled out his cock and poured onto her legs. Then, without pause, he inserted it into her familiar place, and it all started anew. She had to spread her legs slightly, as otherwise his member's size caused her discomfort. She tried to completely relax and even began to move slightly in rhythm with his cock. They didn't utter a word, but their lips met from time to time in a kiss that resembled greedy nibbling.
Finally, he abruptly pulled out his cock, stood up, and lifted her, pressing her against the leather back of the sofa. He gently took her by the neck and directed her lips to his swollen head. She took it into her mouth, unable to resist. He was huge. She took him from below. They were heavy and cool; his male shaft had only grown stronger with the years, was veiny, with a large head that barely fit into her small mouth.
She was ashamed, because behind the thin compartment wall, her loving husband was waiting. But she couldn't stop; her whole body burned with desire, and from every touch of this strange man, she burned with shame and passion. She came under him again, with her whole body, covered in someone else's semen, with a chafed crotch, restrained by his strong hands.