The Train Journey
It was one of those, not rainy all-day days, but a day when the grey sky had somehow descended down to the pavement and the drizzle just clung onto the people making their way around the capital, running errands, venturing out to meet important people, fetching Lunch or just idling around with no purpose.
A grey day which shows no sign of the path of the sun: as grey at 8am as it would be at 6pm, the sun not able to penetrate the silver shroud over London.
For us, the grey vista served only to sharpen and emphasise our feelings and connection: similarly all the hustle and bustle of the city barely touched us as we walked confidently from our overnight hotel stop (St Pancras Renaissance) to the tube, a short hop to Victoria Station to catch our train to Brighton. The famous London Underground was being brought back to life after Covid and had that strange feeling of damp air warmed by the regular trains running along those historic lines.
The Tube was alive with the hum drum of people and movement but we seemed to not notice them.
I decided that we would stand together on the short ride to Victoria Station, making way for other travellers to use the seats in the carriage. This meant that we were at the end of the carriage and holding onto the straps hanging from the ceiling with our bags at our feet. I used my left hand to grip the strap and you used your left hand to grip yours.
Only 4 stops on the tube and an opportunity for some exciting close contact in public, our bodies pressed together as we swayed in unison, meeting the bends and rises and falls as the carriages make their way along the route. I unzipped your jacket and put my right hand inside, tracing the smooth outline of your body, feeling its warmth as you pressed into me. I could feel the outline of your panties as I ran my hands down the outside of your hip, the trace of the fabric reminding me what I had purchased for you and how good you looked in them.
Passengers came and went in the carriage as we travelled along but we were barely conscious of them, wrapped up in our closeness and connection. I could feel your breath on my cheek as the train rumbled on, your total focus upon your Sir.
London Victoria station appeared as if from the darkness as the tube entered the underground station: time to get up to the platform and find our train to Brighton, hoping that the weather on the south coast would be better than in London, but this was England after all!
Our train had been cancelled. Terrific. The British railway system at its very best.
After waiting for what seemed like ages, tortured by what I knew you were wearing underneath your dress, the announcement that the train was departing from Platform 5 was a bit of a relief. We walked the short distance to the platform only to find that the train was ancient and made up of compartments and not a corridor model: this meant that we would be in a carriage with doors at both sides but no other means of coming into our seating area.
Instantly I could see the possibilities of making the journey that much more memorable.
Moving down the platform we dived into a compartment, eagerly looking forward to our forthcoming night in Brighton at The Grand Hotel. Anxiously I watch the hands on my watch tick away, hoping that nobody else was to enter our compartment so that we can have some “us” time. After what seemed like a proverbial lifetime the train moved off and we were alone, incapable of being disturbed and with the thrill of a moving train to add to the excitement.
I immediately told you to take off your coat and skirt so that I could inspect what was mine, and only mine. Those black panties fitted you snugly and showed your shape and form beautifully as I explored your wetness with my fingers, gently and carefully testing your warmth and wetness which grew quickly as I probed and teased further. I sat back and told you to kneel before me: it was time to make sure that you fully understood your position and role and that your submission to your Sir was to be absolute.
To make sure you understood I put my hands around your throat and squeezed gently and then with a little more pressure as I asked you to confirm your devotion to me. I progressively tightened my grip, not to put you in discomfort but to make sure that your focus was upon just me.
After being satisfied with your response I told you to give me the best blow job you had ever delivered, otherwise the floor on our hotel suite might be a little uncomfortable for sleeping on. Rising to the task you did not disappoint, varying your technique from light licking and teasing to bobbing your head along my length to deep throating me. You were brilliant, as I expected you to be and as you knew you had to be.
Time for some different attention for my submissive. I quickly undressed you and using two of my cable ties I attached your wrists to the luggage rack that ran parallel to the seats in the compartment, telling you to stand with your legs about three feet apart. I could now explore and use any part of your body and use my paddle to make sure that your attention was total. Standing behind you I whispered in your ear that you are Owned and that you are my property while I placed my hands around your neck, gently squeezing your throat, causing your mind to latch onto both my words and actions, especially what was about to come.
I explored your wetness and warmth, exploring and enjoying your softness and tenderness, teasing and probing, brushing very lightly against your clit, so that you waited for further contact on that gorgeous spot, but not knowing when it might arrive.
For what seemed a lifetime your exploration continued until I decided it was time for your spanking, which was initially light use of my paddle but then was increased in terms of harshness and speed, alternated with more exploration and teasing. This pattern was alternated regularly resulting in you begging for more attention and permission to come.
Obviously that permission was never going to be given. Nearing Brighton you were told what was expected of you tonight: being the most compliant sub possible, the most attentive and appreciative, thankful and loyal woman a Sir could ever have and that any part of your body was to be made available for my pleasure.
When I untied you I told you to quickly get dressed and to make yourself presentable, ready to walk to the seafront and our hotel, knowing that failure to be that attentive sub would mean more corrective attention for you.
Looking a little flushed, but not as flushed and pink as your bottom, we stepped out onto the platform, both unaware of the great English drizzle.
