Matt awoke with a confused jolt, desperately trying to sort dream from reality, to remember why he was sleeping sitting up. Jill was beside him, also sitting up, still asleep, her hand resting on Matt's erect cock. Train. They were on the train. Vacation. It was starting to come back. Jill stirred, shifting, her hand rubbing along his shaft through his pants. Matt looked at her lovingly, stroked her long dark hair, pulled her gently until she was leaning against him, her hand in his lap grasping him firmly, her enormous braless breasts now clearly visible down the front of her blouse. He loved her. He loved her breasts. He loved the way she clung to his cock.
Reasonably sure now of where he was, and who he was, more fully awake and alert from the sight of his wife's nipples and the full amazing swell of her breasts, Matt looked around the nearly empty train car. There was a girl sitting by herself on the other side of the aisle, curled in the window seat, reading. At first she looked very young but on second glance he realized she was at least in her early twenties. She looked like a little bird, an exotic metallic little bird: short wavy hair like cast iron covered in gold, steel blue-grey laughing eyes behind gold wire glasses, bronze skin, copper earings, a silver chain, a white blouse with shimmering threads and a very very short rust-colored skirt over black stockings. Matt stared at her slender legs, at her dramatic hips, at her flat stomach, the swell of her small breasts beneath the shimmering blouse, her delicate hands holding her book, the arc of her neck, the dark red lips, the smiling dark red lips, revealing bright white teeth and a small darting tongue. He looked up, into her eyes. She was looking at him now, the book on the seat beside her, her eyes fixated on his lap, on Jill's slowly stroking sleepy hand on his very obvious straining cock.
On summer nights too hot to sleep he would sit at home on the couch in the living room with the windows open to catch the breeze, watching basketball or baseball or whatever else was on, Jill, fresh from the shower, wrapped only in a towel, curled beside him, her head on his bare chest, stroking him through his old grey sweatpants, slowly, and lovingly, until he was fully erect, her hand moving lightly, fingernails, fingertips, palm, half the length of his very long thigh and back again, turning his head during commercials to kiss him hotly, wetly, utterly.
The girl across the aisle was looking at him now, looking at his eyes. She bit her lower lip as she smiled, bit her lower lip and slowly undid one button of her shimmering blouse.
He was hard now. At home, once he was hard, Jill would take the remote, turn off the television, stand, the towel falling away and he would stare. He could not help but stare. Six years had passed since he first stared at her on the sidelines, yelling, yelling, breasts bouncing, skirt flouncing, hair flying, yelling for him. Six years, six years in the gym, and she was in better shape now than her freshman year, his senior year, in college.
The girl was leaning forward now, out into the aisle, checking to see who else was there. Her face was warm and smiling, radiating heat, conducting energy, her eyes sparking, another button undone, wispy, off-white, lacy, almost not there, dark-nipple-revealing bra. Seeing nobody else, she extended a small delicate hand, nails ruby red. "Cynthia" she offered, whispering.
"Matt" he whispered back, clasping her hand briefly, amused by the formality.
Jill stirred. Cynthia retreated, leaning back against the dark window, one foot on the seat, the other on the floor, one hand inside the blouse, the other between her legs. Jill squeezed again, eyes still closed, nipples still hard. Matt reached around with his left hand cupping as much as he could hold of her left breast in his large palm.
The television off, the game not yet over, Jill naked in the kitchen, he would ascend the spiral staircase to their bedroom, remove the sweatpants, lie in the center of the bed, head on a pillow, stroking himself, waiting for his wife. Minutes later she would appear through the hole in the bedroom floor, spiraling toward him, naked but for the college backpack slung over her shoulder, smiling face, upper body profile, full body from the back, giving him a moment to admire her bare ass before she turned toward him again her breasts swaying heavily as she leaned over, swinging the backpack onto the floor, unloading fruit, chocolate, and bottled water onto the bedside table, climbing on top of him, kissing him again, his hands all over her, able to cover every part of her except her breasts, cupping her cunt, squeezing her ass, sucking her nipples.
Matt longed to suck her nipples now. She was still asleep, or at least her eyes were closed, but her nipples were hard, and her left hand had crept between her legs, even as the right continued to grasp his erection. He switched hands, his left hand traveling her back to her ass, his right hand inside her blouse, tweaking. Across the aisle, Cynthia moaned. He looked back at her, her hands working furiously, her head thrown back, still watching, eyes half lidded.
Jill, eyes closed, oblivious, as far as Matt could see, had shifted onto her knees, her head on his lap, her ass pointing away from him, the right cheek in his left hand, his middle finger and her whole left hand stroking her cunt through her jeans, her hips moving. At home he would finish off fucking her like that, from behind, much later, after she had exhausted herself, riding him for hours, stopping to rest after each orgasm, to lie on his chest, to drink from the bottles of water, to eat fruit and chocolate, feeding bits to him as he smiled at her, perspiring and happy, her long dark hair plastered to her forehead and neck, her pale skin glistening.
They were about to come. He could feel it in Jill, could see it in Cynthia, the tension, the heavy breathing, gasping for air, clawing toward absolution, the orgasms hitting them both hard at the same time, sprawling moaning, sighing, twitching, heaving. Jill started to open her eyes, not sure of her surroundings. Matt glanced at Cynthia. She smiled, blew him a kiss, and feigned sleep, turning her back toward them just as Jill started to looked around. Matt bent down, kissing Jill hotly, wetly, utterly.
Tomorrow he would introduce them.
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