The Last Virgin

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In hindsight I wish I'd taken a taxi. I put that particular error of judgement down to the silly amount of Zinfandel I'd drunk with colleagues after the training course had finished, but it was pointless doing anything about it now as the station was only another ten minute walk away. The summer solstice was supposed to be the high point of long, lazy summer evenings with an almost never setting sun happily dragging daylight hours to ten o'clock and beyond. As I walked towards Manchester's Piccadilly Station, there wasn't a hint of that in the night to come. The sun had battled all day for attention with the numerous thunder storms that had that littered the sky and was now hastily sinking to the West and making a dash for the other side of the world where there was the promise of clear skies to brighten. The sun just managed to find a clear spot when it finally kissed the horizon at the far end of Portland Street, setting the sky aflame with beautiful hues of orange and crimson as it sunk into the tarmac. Moments later there was an ominous clap of thunder overhead and the heavens opened. Fat drops of rain started tumbling from the sky as the last of the day's thunder storms rolled over the City. I was soaked in seconds. I didn't care. I was in a care free and giddy mood, and just like the sunset, my knickers were aflame with thoughts of Abi Hames, the lead trainer on my course. I could still feel tingles in all my secret places after she'd smiled and hugged me goodbye in the bar not more than twenty five minutes earlier. I dashed into the station, glad to be out of the storm but horribly drenched. The information board told me the last Virgin train of the night to London was scheduled to leave in ten minutes from Platform 12, which was located against the far right hand wall of the last of the four huge ornate Victorian arched canopies that covered the station. I just had time to pop into Pret to buy a sandwich to try and soak up all the wine I'd drunk. It was while I was dithering over a tuna melt or chicken and bacon toastie that I started daydreaming*about Abi again. All week I'd fantasised about her body and had desperately struggled to drag my attention away from her curves and back to the class. I fancied her so much that work always lost out to the dreamy curves. Night after night I'd lie awake in my hotel room pleasuring myself with my fingers at the thought of Abi's naked body pressed to mine as we kissed and made slow passionate love. She was just my type and would have been perfect for me. "Why are all the good ones straight?" I muttered to myself as I paid for the chicken and bacon I'd just grabbed from the shelf, before squelching my way across the concourse towards Platform 12. Despite my drenched state, I was still feeling frisky with rude thoughts of Abi and I hoped I could find some way to sort myself out on the train. There was no way I'd be able to make it to London without finding some sort of self-relief. Toastie in hand I slipped my ticket through the electronic barrier and made my way down the platform looking for Carriage C. Thankfully A was nearest the barriers, so I didn't have far to walk. I swung open the heavy door, climbed up, waited for the automatic sliding door into the corridor to open and started to look for my seat. The carriage was four seats wide with a central aisle running its length. Most of the seats were in rows of two all facing the same way like you'd see on an aeroplane, but others were facing each other in groups of four, separated by a small table. Although the carriage was almost deserted, I had a seat booking, so set about looking for number forty-nine which I hoped had one of the little tickets that slid into the top of the seat to help me find it. As I walked down the aisle, there were only a handful of seat booking slips so I didn't think mine would be hard to locate. Forty-nine was about a third of a way back down the carriage on the right, and was one of a group of four separated by a table. I put the toastie on the table, my bag in the overhead rack and flopped down in the seat nearest the window. I knew I was soaked and would have to find a towel or something sooner or later, but right then I was just grateful to be on the train and out of the wet. I was also curious to see the seat opposite bahis siteleri (http://www.nebme.com/) me had a little booking slip on it too. Quickly glancing to see where the booking was from and to, I noticed it was the same as mine; Piccadilly to Euston. It was hard to believe that Virgin, with a carriage as seemingly empty as the one I'd just boarded, would put two bookings directly opposite each other, so I resigned myself to the potential of having to fight for leg room all the way to London and looking after myself in the toilet rather than in the seat. I closed my eyes and waited for the train to leave. The towel and the relief could wait a few minutes. Two minutes later, when the remaining passengers had finished their mad dashes to board the last London bound train of the night, the conductor's whistle blew and the train crept sluggishly into life. It barely seemed to move at first, then slowly gathered pace as it left the station. Once outside the canopy I could hear the incessant beat of the rain against the roof of the train. Looking through the window, the quickly receding lights of the City of Manchester were streaked and blurred in the streams of water that cascaded down the glass. As the train moved through the suburbs, gathering more and more speed as it went, the drips that had initially funnelled their way vertically down the window, gradually changed angle until they were whipping and splattering their way almost horizontally across the glass. It was while I turned my head to follow the random splatters across the window that for the first time my gaze took in the carriage around me. It still had barely any passengers. Two girls, both in their late teens, sat three rows further back on the other side of the aisle. They looked and sounded like they'd just had a night out on the town. Both were dressed in mini skirts and flimsy cotton tops and I could hear their muffled giggles as they reminisced about their night out. Further down, two businessmen sat opposite each other deep in conference as they huddled over their open laptops, probably conspiring to fix exchange rates or short sell shares on the London Stock Exchange the following morning. Apart from that, the carriage was empty. Well empty except for Miss Elle, who had slipped quietly into the seat opposite me while my eyes had been closed. She was totally engrossed in her magazine as she flicked through pages showing the latest hot offerings in the world of fashion, beauty and entertainment. Miss Elle was gorgeous. I couldn't help but stare as I took in the beautiful honey coloured hair that cascaded down over the flawless skin of her neck and shoulders, like gentle waves of gold lapping against an untouched beach. Her face was angelic, with the deepest blue eyes I could have imagined and full lips I instantly dreamed about kissing. All my lusty thoughts about Abi Hames morphed into another round of delicious tingles now that I had a new vision of beauty to focus on. She was elegantly but professionally dressed in a light grey Calvin Klein suit with matching skirt and jacket. Still engrossed in her copy of Elle, I watched intently as she slipped the jacket off her shoulders, fold it neatly and place it over her stocking covered knees. It was the movements she made to her upper body that I loved. She pushed each shoulder forward in turn as she fought to free her arms from the sleeves. Her breasts squished against the table and she huffed in frustration as the flesh was forced upwards, the peaks of her nipples clearly visible through the soft material of her bra. My own nipples hardened with desire and the tingling I had between my legs perceptibly heightened as I stared and imagined kissing and licking her breasts and nipples. While she radiated both sophistication and beauty in equal measure, I could see hints of speckled reddish brown flecks in those gorgeous blue eyes that gave her whole face a mischievous look it might not otherwise have had. She also had a tiny diamond stud piercing on the right of her nose which hinted at the possibility of a naughty but very alluring streak of rebellion. The combination of sophistication, beauty, mischief and rebellion made my attraction to Miss Elle instant. She was quite simply one of the most breath taking girls I'd ever seen. Luckily for me, Miss canlı bahis siteleri (http://www.nebme.com/) Elle was totally lost in her reading and oblivious to both my presence and my stares. She kept squirming a little in her seat and smiling to herself as she flicked from page to page. It was when she squirmed and turned slightly to her right that I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of the page she was currently so engrossed with in the reflection from the window. I was stunned and even more turned on than I was already at what I saw. Rather than pages previewing the forthcoming Fashion Weeks in New York and Milan, Miss Elle was smiling at a delightful picture of a very naked brunette. The model was posed on all fours, her hips high in the air and her knees wide across the crisp white sheets of a bed. Her head was low, pressed to the pillow, with her face turned to the camera and a sultry smile playing across her face. She was reaching round behind herself and clutching the cheeks of her bum, letting her fingers spread them wide to display a very delicious looking pussy and ass. Hidden behind her copy of Elle was the real reason my travel companion was so engrossed - she was reading a porn magazine! No wonder she was smiling and squirming in her seat, I thought to myself. And just maybe all the good ones aren't straight after all! She suddenly looked up and caught my eye. There were no two ways about it, I'd been caught completely red handed staring. Caught or not, I couldn't help but continue to look. I was spellbound by her beauty, even more so now I knew what she was reading and what her preference was. Rather than look annoyed or embarrassed at my stares, I saw her own gaze wander fleetingly over my body before her eyes met mine again. I have no idea what she thought of me. Not two hours before I'd applied some makeup at the vanity unit of the toilet of the bar we'd been in. Foundation, a touch of glittery eye shadow and a subtle black eyeliner. While I think I looked passable before the rain, I had suspicions it had all streaked down my face and was in need of attention. My usually long flowing and shiny dark brown hair probably looked a lank mess too. Water was still dripping from the ends, soaking my cream blouse. I glanced down, breaking eye contact for the second time, to see just how wet I was. I felt my face flush when I saw my swollen nipples were now pushed hard against my very wet blouse. It was obvious they desperately needed the same level of attention as my makeup did. I knew the very naughty Miss Elle had seen that too! "Are you wet?" she said by way of an introduction, a broad and very sexy grin spreading across her face. My hair was still dripping. It must have been obvious to anyone that looked at me that I was soaked. Her magazine choice, the suggestive introduction she'd made and the scan of my chest all added up to the obvious conclusion that I was being chatted up. I already had butterflies in my stomach and was most certainly horny enough to be receptive to any advances she made. "I got caught in the rain on the way to the station. I must look a mess! And yes, I'm wet... everywhere, and...ahem...not just from the rain either. I'm sort of betting you are too," I replied, winking and nodding my head in the direction of her magazine. Miss Elle blushed at my reply, then quickly folded up her two magazines and put them on the table. "You saw?" she asked. "Yep," I said. "She was yummy wasn't she?" "Very," Miss Elle replied before rummaging around in the side pocket of her beautiful black leather Louboutin shoulder bag and pulling out a small white towel. "And you definitely look wet, but are anything but a mess. Here have this," she said, handing it over the table to me. "You'll be even more gorgeous after a bit of dabbing with that. Use the towel as much as you like but I hope you stay wet at least somewhere. I'm Sarah by the way. Nice to meet you." "Thanks Sarah, I'm Katie," I replied, taking the towel, barely believing where the conversation was going. "And trust me, the towel will only sort out the wetness you can see," I added, giggling at the brazen way I'd replied to her 'wet' remarks. I could see Sarah continue to smile at me while I started to gently rub up and down the length of my hair. There was also a perceptible canlı bahis (http://www.nebme.com/) look of lust in her eyes as she watched me dry myself off. I began to think that maybe, just maybe, I'd get myself sorted out in a way I hadn't expected. "I'm travelling down to London for a trade exhibition at the Excel centre tomorrow. What brings you onto the train this late at night?" Sarah asked while I dabbed up and down. "I've been on a training course in Manchester all week. I'm on my way home via London now. And thanks for thinking the soggy version of me is gorgeous. You're not exactly seeing me at my best though. You on the other hand are truly stunning. Whatever you do, please don't move seats for more legroom." "Never," Sarah said. "You're stuck with me til London now. Anyway, if I move somewhere else I wont be able to look at you like I can now." We both blushed again, Sarah because of the line she'd just delivered, and I for receiving another fabulous compliment from her. "So, are you okay now?" Sarah asked as I finished with her towel and put it on the seat next to me. "Well I don't feel quite so bedraggled thanks, but my tights are still soaked," I replied, hoping my hair looked vaguely normal again. Sarah paused, smiled again and looked me straight in the eye. "Why don't you take them off?" "What! Here? Now?" "No one's going to see." "What about you? You're right opposite me." "I promise I won?t peek." Sarah paused again momentarily before adding, "Well, not unless you want me too." This time she added a very subtle wink with one of her gorgeous blue eyes to her sexy grin. "Okay, what if I wanted you to?" I replied, barely able to contain my excitement at where the conversation was going. Sarah thought for a second before replying. "Then I'd be truly flattered and I'm sure you'd find a way to take them off so I could see." If I wasn't still giddy with the wine from earlier I would certainly have felt giddy now with the flirts Sarah and I were sharing. Our talk was becoming ever more risqué and I had little self-control over my desire to push the flirts further. Even if I'd had some control, I don't think I'd have used it. "What would you like to see if you could?" I replied shamelessly. "You," Sarah said somewhat cryptically. "Which bit?" "Do you really want me to answer that?" "Yes." "I could make us both blush again if I answer." "Make me blush. I want to know." "I'd like to see your panties Katie. That's um...if you're wearing any?" "I'm wearing some...for now at least." "So, tights off?" Sarah asked, daring me a second time to remove them. I stared into Sarah's eyes for what seemed like an eternity as I weighed up just how daring I was prepared to be. I'd been insatiable all week lusting after Abi Hames' body, so the decision was a very easy one to make. Without breaking eye contact I stood in my the seat, lifted each side of my skirt and pulled the top of the tights down over my hips until they were bunched around the top of my thighs. Sarah sat forward in her seat so she could see over the top of the table. She smiled at me one more time before shifting her gaze from my eyes and down my body to my legs. I took off my shoes, sat, then slowly dragged the tights down, lifting one knee and spreading my legs a little once the tights had passed it. I ensured Sarah had a clear view of the tops of my thighs and the front of my beige lace panties. The fact I was wet had never been in doubt, but when I looked down I was even more turned on to see a wide damp patch had spread across the front of them. "Oh, Katie. You're gorgeous. I can't believe you just did that," said Sarah. "And that doesn't look like it's from the rain," she added. "Nope. That's from looking at you," I replied. "Your panties are very sexy, Katie. Do you think they'll stay on if I do this?" Sarah asked, tilting her head to the side and peeking coyly through some strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face. With that, I felt her toes, encased in her sheer nylon stockings, start rubbing seductively up and down my bare calf under the table. "Maybe they might. Or maybe not," I teased. "Okay, what about if I do this?" asked Sarah, as her toes rubbed a little higher up my leg until they were caressing over my knee. I was just about to answer when the train slowed and pulled into Birmingham New Street, the only stop on the trip to London. Sarah withdrew her leg from under the table and sat patiently as the two giggly girls walked past us down the aisle and got off the train.