Alex Jackson was on the
Finchbottom Express, when a beautiful girl seductively entered his compartment and
sat down diagonally across the aisle from him, a tall willowy blonde with
outstandingly stellar legs and the first seed of his awakening attraction,
germinated, as he gave her the benefit of his silent appraisal.
She was very pretty, a
prettiness not diminished by the fact she was very aware of the fact.
The stranger adjusted her
posture under his intense gaze and she positively preened as she knew he was
admiring her legs, which she crossed and re-crossed slowly and deliberately, so
he could marvel at them further, until her manoeuvring exposed a tantalising
hint of stocking top and a glimpse of underwear and with each successive mile
of tracks the train travelled along, his attraction grew like a blooming flower.
The afternoon sun streamed
into the carriage and illuminated her, and shimmered on the white silk of her
blouse and as the train ate up the miles of track, racing headlong to their
destination.
But not their original
destination because although the train would terminate in Abbottsford, their
journey would continue to the Regents Hotel where their passions would lead
them shuddering and juddering in the climax of journeys end.
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