Travelling by Train
I'd first noticed her when waiting for the train to arrive. I used this route
often, as the high-speed trains are a much more pleasant way to travel the short
international hops so common in Europe than flying. She was a small figure in
trousers and a cotton shirt standing a few people ahead of me in the queue. It
was the shock of flaming red hair that first caught my attention -great tresses
of it piled up in tight masses on top of her head, held captive by a hair band.
I studied her quietly, deciding that the colour was genuine - that inimitable
natural shade of golden red-brown that reflects greenish flashes in the light.
Her clothes were well tailored with that understated elegance that usually means
'money'. French, I decided, playing the game of trying to decide where somebody
came from by the way they dressed.
From behind, she had broad shoulders, a slim waist and a pert backside, so I
guessed that she must play sport often. Standing idly in the queue, she was
looking around her and I could see a striking face with high cheekbones and
greenish eyes. As she turned around, I could see that she had small, flat
breasts with prominent nipples standing out even through a bra and shirt.
My daydreams were disturbed when the line began to move slowly forwards. As she
handed her passport to the border guard she spoke fluent French (score one to
me!) so I was surprised therefore to see that the passport was English. Well,
well, I chuckled. Lose my score and go to the bottom of the class.
The trip was uneventful, and as we went out of customs on arrival there was the
usual circus, with hangers-on waiting for friends and relatives. To one side of
the crowd stood a young Asian driver in full military regalia, holding a name
card and managing to be about as inconspicuous as a cat in a dog's home. The
girl came out behind me and went across to him. As she approached, the driver
tried hard to salute, put away the name card, take her bags, and grab a luggage
trolley all at the same time. The predictable result was that luggage went
everywhere.
Some indefinable feminine item rolled in my direction, so I picked it up and
took it over to her. I was rewarded with a dazzling smile and a 'thank you'. The
driver wasn't so lucky though - she turned to him and began talking. It was a
language that I couldn't understand but the tone was clear enough - the poor man
was having a real strip torn off him. Everybody around started grinning as girl,
driver, luggage and language departed out of the door toward a parked limo.
Me, I just went home.
Over the next couple of months, I made the same trip several times. Often, I saw
her standing in the queue, and one day, ended up immediately behind her. I guess
that I must have been openly ogling, as she turned toward me with a frown.
"Why are you looking a me like that", she asked. I smiled at her, and said that
I'd not seen somebody so beautiful for a long time. She chuckled, and asked if
that were all so I leaned close and told her. She coloured, and turned away. Her
chin came up as she tossed her hair over her shoulder, and sniffed at me.
I laughed, then gave her a card with my business number on it, and boarded the
train.
This time, I did not see her when we disembarked, but the same driver was there,
looking more than a little worried. I smiled at him as I went past, and hailed a
cab for the office.
The phone rang a couple of days later as I was about to rush out of my office
between one meeting and another. I grabbed the phone and was about to begin my
standard busy-will-call-you-back-later response when I recognised the voice at
the other end.
"Hello", she began, and then paused. "I thought about it and decided that I want
to come over ."
I smiled thinly. "I wondered how long it would take, I said. Come wearing a
tight V-neck tee-shirt and jeans", I instructed, "with nothing underneath
either. Wear trainers but no socks, and no jewellery. In addition, you will
bring a bamboo cane with you. It must be at least three feet long and as thick
as your ring finger".
A hiss of surprise came down the phone line. "Why?" came the question.
I asked her if she remembered what I had said to her the other day. "Yes", came
the hesitant answer. I told her to repeat what I had said. "You told me that I
was beautiful but arrogant and vulnerable, and that I should worship with pain
and pleasure, with love and submission, with agony and ecstasy.... oh...."
I said nothing, letting the obvious sink in. Odd noises started to come from the
other end of the line, and I'd just begun - correctly - to interpret these as
attempts to speak, when she managed to blurt out "you're horrible" and hung up.
Right first time, I thought, as I put the receiver down and went off to my
meeting.
Some days passed before I heard from her again, and when I did so, it was in a
quite unexpected way. I'd been invited to another of those 'impoverished
government meets business' do's where some (usually second rate) foreign
government throws an embassy party to either try and sell you something useless
or tout for investment (at rates preferential to them, naturally).
As usual I was late due to some last minute problem at work, arriving right at
the end of the allotted time. There was a short line of notables inside the
door, shaking hands with the false smiles and polished insincerity of all career
politicians. A couple of notables later, I was shaking hands with the
Ambassador, who I knew by sight from other events. We exchanged pleasantries,
until he turned to one side and said "I'd like to introduce my daughter ...".
The rest was lost as I found myself looking into a pair of greenish eyes, topped
with a head of flaming auburn hair.
I guessed later that the surprise on my face must have been mirrored by the
shock on hers - her eyes opened wide, her jaw dropped, and she went bright red.
The next instant, she spun on her heel and marched off.
The Ambassador's face too was a picture - but of surprise, followed by apoplexy,
followed in its turn by a cold rage. He recovered, apologised to me, and led me
into the party.
I had a great time, meeting up with old friends and acquaintances. I looked for
her during the evening, but by the time I left, had not seen her again.
The day after the party, the phone rang again in the office. It was she. "I've
been told to call you and apologise", she said. "My father says that I have to
come over and apologise to you in person or I will be in even more trouble".
"Quite right", I agreed. "You do need to apologise. You know how to dress and
what to bring". I gave her my home address and arranged to meet in an hour.
In due course the doorbell rang, and I opened the door. She stood there looking
nervous, as I waved her into the flat. She walked into my studio, dressed as I
had told her, in a white tee-shirt, jeans, and trainers, carrying a large gym
bag. The bag was dropped in the middle of the floor, and she stood there glaring
at me, hands on hips.
"Pretty", was all I said. She glared back.
I could clearly see that she had no bra on, at least, so I asked if she had
followed the rest of my instructions. She nodded. I told her to remove her
shoes, and give me the cane that she had brought.
The trainers went into the corner of the room and she bent over and removed a
large cane from the bag. I took it from her and swished it experimentally. Not
bad, I thought, testing its whip by bending it in half.
"I hate you", she said to me. "My father was so angry about the dinner that he
put me over his knee and thrashed me".
"Quite right", I told her. "Now its my turn too".
She bit her lip and looked downwards. "I know. I'm here, aren't I', she
answered.
"First, you will submit to my will. I intend to punish you. For your treatment
of that poor driver at the station the day we first met, you will get three
strokes of the cane that you brought with you".
She gasped, "but he's only a driver . what does he matter?".
"That will be six strokes", I said.
Her eyes widened, but this time, she said nothing.
"Secondly, I will give you another three strokes for your behaviour at the
party".
"But", she wailed "my father has already beaten me for that".
"Well, I haven't. That's twelve strokes now".
And now, I thought, for the icing on the cake. "Finally, I intend to punish you
for your arrogance. Go out onto the balcony." I pushed open the door and
motioned her through ahead of me. My flat is on the ninth floor of a popular
block, with a railed balcony overlooking the river, a small yacht mooring, and a
busy street scene below.
"That's pretty", she remarked.
"I'm glad, as you're going to have time to look at it".
She looked at me quizzically. "Move to the centre of the balcony", I told her, "
and face outwards". Once she was in the centre, I told her to remove her
tee-shirt and stand with her hands on her head. "Twelve strokes will be your
punishment, so you will stand there for twelve minutes in all. I am setting this
timer for six minutes; you will not move from that position until it sounds".
She looked at me again, but this time said nothing. Obviously, she was a quick
learner. She slipped her tee-shirt over her head, and I had a brief glimpse of
dark nipples as she turned and faced outwards. I must give it to her - she had a
gorgeous body and knew it, standing there with her chest pushed out.
The timer duly sounded after six minutes and she dropped her hands, turning to
look at me for instructions.
"Now remove your jeans". Her hands went to her waist and with no fuss, she
slipped her trousers down and stepped out of them, completely naked. A thatch of
red hair between her legs echoed the hair on her head. I picked up the cane, and
her eyes narrowed. I laughed.
"Not yet", I told her.
Take this cane and go back onto the balcony. You will stand with your legs
spread, with this cane held at full stretch above your head, for another six
minutes when the timer will sound again.
She went out onto the balcony, and took up the position that I had described.
This time, a chorus of ribald cheers arose when she went out onto the balcony.
It was obvious that she had an admiring audience out there. She blushed all
over, going a deep red as she spread her legs and the cheers got louder. For the
full six minutes she stood there, until the timer sounded again. I told her to
come indoors, and she stepped inside. She had tears running down her cheeks, and
her face was still red.
"Now, you will be punished. But first, you will display yourself for me. Spread
your legs widely apart, and put your hands on the floor".
She bent over, legs somewhat further apart than her shoulders, put her hands
down on the floor and lent her weight on them. In this position, she was
completely exposed, showing me a pert, red-thatched pussy between those enviable
cheeks.
"This is your first lesson", I told her. "You are submitting to my will. You are
vulnerable and exposed. And you will suffer pain". Without warning, I stepped
forwards and brought the cane down hard across the centre of her cheeks. She
squealed, and promptly fell face first onto the floor as she tried to rub her
behind.
"Get up!", I yelled. She sobbed as she got off the floor and bent over again. I
drew back the cane. Swish whap! it went. She yelled, but this time managed to
remain standing. Swish whap!. I gave her the first six strokes, and told her to
stand up, go to the corner, and stand with her hands on her head.
I went to get myself a cold beer, and then brought my special stool out of the
cupboard in the hall. It's an ordinary if heavily built bar stool, with a pair
of vibrators fixed into the top - one six inches or so long, the other about
ten. I liberally smeared them with jelly, and told her to turn around, and get
onto the stool. She climbed onto the stool, and lowered herself down, with the
longer vibrator entering front and the other at the back. I tied her hands
behind her head, then turned the vibrators on, and stood back, waiting for their
effects.
After a minute or so, she began to moan, her hips jerking on the stool. I picked
up the cane and delivered the remainder of her punishment, swinging as hard as I
was able for each of the remaining six strokes. As each stroke landed, she
screamed, and kept on thrusting.
When the punishment was over, I picked her up off the stool and dropped her on
the bed. "You have submitted, been punished, and subjected to pain. Now you will
experience love and ecstasy.
I took a vibrator and slipped it between her legs, sliding it into her. She
spasmed, muscles tightening and back arching, as it slid fully inside. I began
to slide it in and out, as she moaned and writhed. Her climax built, and just
before she came, I squeezed her nipples hard. She screamed, and bucked in
ecstasy.
When she had calmed down, I told her, now it's my turn. I removed my silk bra
and knickers (I do so love the soft touch) as she bent her head between my legs.
As she started to lick my dripping pussy, I exploded. Oh God, I thought, this is
going to be good
