This episode actually happened. It’s something that brings me out in goose bumps when I think about it, and I fantasise about it quite often. It concerns me and my boyfriend (whom I shall call Mr X), and at the time, we were ‘on a break’. Every bloke I met during that period made me realise just what I was missing - no one was as cool or made me laugh like Mr X did. The one night stand I had wasn’t a patch on Mr X and instead of making my ego soar, that bloke succeeded in making me feel like an oversexed whore. Mr X and I had started talking and seen each other a few times, which had ended up with us all over each other.

A friend had come up to stay the weekend. Her morals were far looser than mine, and the weekend had certainly been interesting. I had to return to Plymouth with her for an interview, and had I spoken to Mr X earlier that day. I was terrified that I had pissed him off, and by the time I headed to the train station I had sent a couple of texts asking if he was OK. While I was standing on the platform waiting for the train, my phone beeped into life and I got a message stating that he was fine. He asked me why and I replied that I was being a bit neurotic and he could feel free to call me a silly twat.

He replied minutes later with something along the lines of 'Silly isn’t the word I’d use to describe that part of your body', and having the devil in me I replied asking what words he would use to describe it. Perhaps quite predictably, he texted back saying wet and tight. The train ride would last for five hours, my pussy was already starting to throb, and I was beginning to wonder just what the afternoon would hold.

The train journey began quite normally. I replied to his 'wet and tight' message, but I can’t remember how. Quite possibly the lady like part of me suggested that perhaps this was not the most appropriate time. Fortunately my friend (who I have since lost contact with) was quite self involved. If she had been more interesting company I would have felt worse for being chained to my mobile phone all afternoon.

The flirting had started of quite jokily. I hadn’t degenerated into the acres of filth my dirty mind is able to produce when I’m horny. Mr X is a fiercely intelligent man, and he knows exactly how to push my buttons when he wants to.

At this juncture, I should explain that sex can become a little routine for us. It is never bad, seldom mediocre and normally enough to send me into erotic daydreams at work. He knows that I like filthy talk; the filthier the better, however he feels self conscious and thinks he’s not very good at it. He is also the quietest man ever in bed. I swear he could have Kylie, Angelina Jolie and Selma Hayek sucking him off and you wouldn’t hear a peep out of him. This is why every time I think off this I get wet in seconds.

I tried very hard to leave a decent amount of time in between my texts, I swear I tried. But the hornier the messaging became, the more desperate I became to see where this little erotic interlude would take us.

By the time we changed at Reading, I could feel my wetness oozing down my leg. If Mr X had been there God only knows what I would have let him do to me. But anyway, I had told him that I still thought about the night we spent together on his birthday. He told me that it drove him mad whenever I bit my lip when we were in bed. I told him that I missed his massive cock, that I missed the way it tasted, and that I loved the fact that when I went down on him I couldn’t breathe properly because it was so big.

The messaging had been going on for hours; my companion hadn’t noticed that I totally was not paying attention to her and that I was trying to keep my hands from rubbing at my wet pussy.

Mr X and I were now conversing in smut. I remember asking him if he was hard. His reply was rock hard, and I told him that if he was with me, I would rub his cock over my wet slit until he pushed himself inside me and then I would expect him to fuck me in the manner to which I had become accustomed (which was on my hands and knees, having my hair pulled and my ass slapped whilst being told that I had a hot pussy and I loved cock. My mother would be so proud...)

I waited for the text message and remember looking alarmed when my phone actually rang, with Mr X’s number showing. I answered with trepidation- I had been mentally wanking myself off, trying hard to make the most of the train’s vibrations but there was no actual way I was able to do anything about it. Not with three people sat at my table.

He didn’t even bother to say hello.
“I’m just about to cum.” He said, “I’ve been holding off but I can’t wait any more, and I thought you’d like to hear it,”
It was a good job that I did, because he came. Loudly. So loudly I thought the woman across from me could hear him, but it was a wonderful sound. He sounded so worked up, his voice was all throaty and hoarse, and I imagined his cock spasming in his hand, spunk running over his fingers, and no one there to lick it up. Just the thought that I had done that to him had me getting up, stifling my horny giggles and running for a more private section of the train, hoping that I wasn’t so wet that my trousers showed it.

Mr X apologised for having interrupted my train journey, and I stated that I would quite happily return the favour later on. Mr X said he would be very disappointed if I didn’t.

It was such a long, drawn out afternoon. I was staying with my friend. We got in her car (which we had to walk half way across the city to get) and got back to her flat. Then we had to have dinner and we had to watch a film. I had still been texting (there was a sticky minute when I thought I wouldn’t have reception because she lived in the middle of nowhere) and I was worried that Mr X’s afternoon exploits might have left him tired and I would never get my rocks off.

As my friend droned on about total and utter rubbish, I mentally envisaged being with him. I was actually aching for him and I would have given anything to feel his hands on my skin and to feel his stubble chafing the skin on my thighs. I needn’t have worried. When I called, he was awake and more than ready for action.

I lay, in my friend’s front room on my makeshift bed. I was seriously worried that she would be able to hear me. The minute I got Mr X on the phone, he demanded that I touch myself. The second my finger rubbed at my slippery clit, I couldn’t keep quiet. I moaned, groaned and panted as he told me what to do.

“I want to hear how wet I’ve got you. Let me listen” Mr X whispered.

I plunged three fingers into my pussy and wiggled them around (it’s always better when Mr X does it), placing the phone at my hand and making exactly the kind of noises that he likes. I asked him if it was good enough.

“You sound wet. You know what I’d do if I was there. I’d have my face buried between your legs, and I would be eating you until you cum all over me.”

My response wasn’t very dignified, I licked my fingers clean, and told him that I tasted good, to which he replied, “You always do”. At that point I lost it, and begged him to get in the car, drive four hours and come and fuck me.

“All in good time, my dirty little slut. I need to hear you cum- just do what you have to and let me hear you”.

So I did, with three fingers wriggling around in me and one going in circles round and round my clit, I came loudly and was dripping by the time my spasms subsided. Mr X listened to my moans. I told him that this afternoon was amazing, to which he replied that it had been fun. He said goodnight, and that he would let me get my sleep.

Mr X and I did get back together, in actual fact we have recently moved in together. We have never ever repeated this and his orgasms remain silent, but powerful- perhaps it was a one off or a ruse to get me back. I have explained to Mr X just how hot it was. It maybe that he doesn’t believe me, all I know is that I will never forget that afternoon.