A Steamy Erotic Fantasy
"Carry me through the Night" an erotic story by Bonnie Driscoll
On lazy summer days when I was a girl, I used to walk along the railroad tracks that ran by our development. Down the hill I’d go, past the old farm and over the little creek, to the tracks. The area was wooded, with lots of underbrush, wild raspberry bushes, flowers, and thick banks of honeysuckle.
Sometimes I would stand between the rails and look up and down the tracks. The summer heat would rise from the rocky rail bed in shimmering waves, blurring the horizon softly, warmly. An occasional bird would slash through the haze and vanish into the trees. Bees floated over the wild flowers while I drank the rich smell of honeysuckle.
The passing trains kept the trees and bushes clipped back, making walls of green that arched toward each other and finally closed together up high overhead. In my imagination those green walls and shimmering rails ran off into infinity. The outside world would melt away like it does in a delicious, sensual dream.
Today, those tracks are long gone, torn up in a renewal project and replaced with a network of smooth bike paths. This does not trouble me at all – in fact, I approve, for in my mind I can go back to that special place whenever I like. My favorite time is on warm summer nights, when I’m lying in bed between clean, cool sheets with the windows open and the room dark.
As my hands move down the sides of my body, I’m standing beside the tracks under the light of a full moon and a sea of white stars. No longer a girl in tee-shirt and jeans, I’m grown and wearing a cotton sundress. I am alone.
Then I hear the distant whistle of a locomotive as it passes through the quiet village down the tracks. And I know he is coming. Coming to carry me through the night and take me home. Soon I can hear the train itself, a powerful black machine pushed by steam and rolling toward me.
This train belongs to no era; it is timeless and it is gleaming, with passenger cars made of wood and brass. The seats are soft leather; the lighting is soft and low. I can see the headlamp of the locomotive, feel the rails thrumming as the train comes on.
I step back as the train pulls up. The engine passes, steamy and slowing to a stop. The heat and steam leave my face flushed and moist. His car is the very first one; it’s his train, after all. The train stops just as his car draws to me. The door opens and he is standing there in the yellow light, holding a glass of red wine.
“I’m lost,” I say, smiling slightly.
“I know.”
His voice is deep, smooth, reassuring. His hair is black, his eyes blue – a combination I can’t resist. He offers a hand and I take it, stepping up into his world of polished brass, dark wood, and brown leather. The door closes; the train gently begins to roll again. His car has everything: luxuriously large couches, deep carpeting, and a richly carved wooden ceiling.
“Wine?” He asks, lifting his glass.
I place my fingertips on the sleeve of his light gray suit and lick my lips. I kick off my sandals and let my feet sink into the soft red carpet.
“Just a taste.”
He already knows what I mean. He takes a sip, then leans toward me. I open my mouth and meet his. The wine trickles over my tongue, sweet and cool and then we’re kissing. It’s not a deep, passionate kiss; not yet. It’s a light, brushing, exploratory kiss, as if we’ve never played this game before.
He sets down his glass as I place my palms on his chest. He looks into my eyes, reaches and runs his fingers through my hair. We pause, then slam toward each other and kiss madly now, tongues lashing, lips pressing, his hands sliding down to my hips.
We break. My breathing is shallow and rapid. He is smiling and loosening his tie. I swallow hard, lick my lips again, and gently push him toward the closest couch. The engine lets out a sharp whistle, increases speed.
As he sits down, I pull off my sundress and run my hands over my breasts, pressing them till my eyes close and my mouth drops open in a soft gasp. He’s now pulling at his shirt buttons while I slide a hand down my body to the scorching wetness between my legs. He freezes while he watches me rub for a moment, which only makes me hotter.
Dropping to my knees, I grab his belt and slide it apart, work his slacks open and rip them to the floor. His cock is hard, huge, and hot in my hands. Looking up at him, I seductively lick my palm, then rub it over the head of his cock. He moans, and I plunge my mouth over him, sucking hard and stroking to the rhythm of the throbbing train engine.
Then I pull away with a gasp, still holding him with one hand. Struggling to catch my breath, I rub his cock across my breasts, circling both nipples until they’re as hard as he is. I squeeze my breasts together, and we tit-fuck while the car sways and the night air streams in through the open windows and washes over my body.
His hands are running through my hair, pulling gently while he breathes faster and moans again. He pulls me up to the sofa, and takes my place on the floor. He kisses the arch of one foot, brushes his lips over an ankle, working his hands against my calves. I’m cupping my breasts, thinking lick me already!
But he makes his way up my legs with maddening slowness, kissing the inside of each thigh softly. I can’t take it anymore, and slide one hand down to rub my aching clit. I look down and see my body glistening with sweat, feel myself already approaching climax, I’m so hot. I want to feel his tongue, want him to suck my clit, but I can’t wait any longer.
“I want your cock,” I say as I grab his shoulders and pull him up. Before he slides into me, though, I wrap a hand around his cock and work it up and down, rubbing the head against my hot, wet pussy.
Then he thrusts into me, my hands now around his hips. We grind and fuck, and he’s moving in and out of me so fast I lose myself in one gushing orgasm after another. My back is arched, I can’t breathe, while waves of explosive please rock through me. I shudder, then push him off me.
“I want it from behind, now. Fuck me from behind,” I say as I roll over and rise to my knees. He’s back inside in an instant, the slapping of our bodies drowning out the clicking of the car’s wheels.
“Grab my ass! Squeeze it!” I command through clenched teeth.
He does as he moves his hips so fast that his cock is driving me toward a final orgasm that surges while I gasp and moan, rubbing my clit in frenzied twitches.
“Oh yeah! Oh, yeah! Right like that!”
Then he pulls out and fires cum across my ass, hot and thick and sticky. I collapse and roll over to my back, looking up at him.
“Kiss me.”
He does, and I breathe deeply and I’m home in bed, between damp sheets and happy as my fantasy train rolls away into the night.
Originally published December 2009