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Jiri was travelling from Melbourne to Adelaide by train. It was a business trip: Jiri was starting a new job, but he had a few days to spare. Jiri loved trains, and with a first class ticket the journey was comfortable and pleasant.
The season was not very busy, he had a whole carriage to himself, and was passing the time reading some novels, and looking out over the dry landscape. Although not beautiful, it represented freedom to Jiri: huge expanses of space, from which you could carve a tiny corner, and live without having to answer to anyone. It would be a far cry from modern city life, with the endless compromises and concessions forced upon you simply by being so close to three million other human beings, all trying to get by.
The door to his carriage opened. "OK if I join you?" a pleasant voiced asked. Jiri was slightly vexed at having his solitude broken so soon, but did not want to appear impolite.
"Of course, be my guest," he replied, indicating the free seat opposite himself. She appeared younger than his impression of her voice; Jiri put her in her early twenties. She was dressed very plainly, in shorts, tee-shirt and sandles. She looked like a tourist, travelling light and comfortable.
"I'm sorry if I'm disturbing your solitude, but I'm new in this country and wanted to see as much as I could. This carriage has the best view." she said. "I love Australia, I love its age. By the way, my name is Karen."
"Jiri," said Jiri, and they shook hands, a little awkwardly. Jiri could not place her accent; it could have been European, but was not a strong one. She was certainly not an Australian or a Kiwi.
With that, she sat down in the seat opposite Jiri and gazed with rapt attention at the unchanging landscape. Silence returned to the carriage, and Jiri returned to his book.
Jiri did not notice immediately, but Karen's posture always seemed a little awkward, and she kept fidgeting. One rearrangement left one of the legs of her shorts gaping somewhat, and Jiri could not help but look when a wisp of hair caught his eye, and perhaps some other movement that did not seem quite right.
Trying to be discreet, he was surprised by the amount that he could see. Karen was obviously not wearing any panties, and he could see her pink lips. Surprisingly, they seemed a little moist, glinting in the sun from the window. Jiri's mind raced to imagine what sort of a girl Karen was, and resolved to drag his eyes away.
Then, that strange movement caught his attention again, and he saw it; it was a tongue! Its tip glinted wetly as it emerged from her pussy, and it began to lick her.
Slowly, it worked around her pinkness, leaving her sex glistening. Jiri's heart began to pound, and he blushed for the first time in many years. Try as he might, he could not remove his attention from her mystery, and he did the best he could to stay an unobserved observer.
Having covered Karen's labia with moist lubrication, the tongue began to extend further from Karen's opening, and Jiri could see that behind its pointy tip it thickened quite substantially. Like a thick worm, it slowly crawled from beneath her shorts, trailing mucous down Karen's white, soft, inner thigh.
Up until now, Karen had been facing out the window and had seemed oblivious to the movement in her shorts. Now, however, she turned from the window and stared straight into Jiri's eyes with an enigmatic expression; it was almost an accusation, but there was also an element of taking Jiri into a confidence of hers.
As Jiri stared, the tongue began to ooze around Karen's legs, caressing and teasing. She opened her legs wide to give it unrestricted freedom, and pulled up one leg of her shorts to show Jiri what it was doing. Her other hand dropped languidly into her lap, slid under the waist of her shorts, and begain to stroke herself softly with her clever fingers. A hypnotic rhythm began to form between the tongue's movement and that of her hand.
Soon she began to sing, some kind of enchanted lullaby. Jiri was captivated; he moved forward in his seat, and watched all in spellbound fascination. Her voice was clear and unaffected, and was in pure counterpoint to the images of lust developing. His penis was straining, but forgotten in the heat of his mind and heart's passion.
At first, Karen's movements were those of a voluptuary, pleasing only herself. As she sang, her hand's motions began to entice, to encourage, to feed Jiri's own lusts. The tongue moved on from pleasuring Karen, and began to reach out to Jiri, its obscene ripples and undulations seducing him, and he wanted nothing but to be entangled in her horror.
Sliding down from his seat, Jiri knelt in front of her. Karen's musk completed the assault on Jiri's senses, and he was lost. The perfume was of her body only, but older than history. The scent excited Jiri's imagination, and he could see mighty kings lost forever in her Harem, spending their days worshipping her scent, worshipping her body, their responsibilities broken and forgotten. Karen crooned and encouraged as her essence surrounded him, he kissed her secretions and revelled in the miracle of her mysteries.
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