Sex on a hard-sleeper train

In my twenties, my computer was filled with 20 pornographic films, all over 800MB, countless of which had circulated online. I also had countless short films, countless erotic novels, and countless articles on sex education and techniques.

That year, I had zero girlfriends, zero sexual encounters, and countless masturbations.

Based on this vast amount of data, I firmly believed I had become a master of sex, only lacking an opponent, or rather, a mentor to inspire me. I thought that once the opportunity arose, my sexual prowess would be immeasurable.

But when she lifted her skirt and took off her lace panties, I was utterly defeated.

Although from the moment she boarded the train and sat opposite me, I couldn't control the lewd thoughts that filled my mind, and although my lower body proudly held its head high, I never imagined I would have such a romantic encounter, and that I would be so utterly inadequate in the face of it.

She leaned against the wall, waiting for me. The faint scent of alcohol mingled with her sweat, her natural body odor, and another unfamiliar aroma. I wondered if it came from that mysterious place, just moments before tightly encased in her underwear, now awaiting my entry. I felt my blood rush to my head; my face burned like fire. I knew this wasn't a good sign. If the blood had flowed to my glans instead of my head, I wouldn't be in this embarrassment.

The train traveling at night made a rhythmic, clear clattering sound, each beat a gentle encouragement, yet also a mockery of my arrogance, of my inability to lift my head and my erection.

I freed one hand and started rapidly stroking my penis. I closed my eyes and began searching through the pornographic films and AV actresses I had hidden in various corners of my hard drive. They were standing, lying down, sitting, kneeling… Then I heard a soft laugh. I opened my eyes and found that she had turned around at some point and was looking at me, dumbfounded, masturbating with my eyes closed. The scene was extremely embarrassing. I thought my face was already as red as it could possibly be, but now I felt my face burning even more intensely. She walked up to me, her short skirt had come down, but her underwear was still on her calves. She brought her cherry-like lips to my ear: “Can’t get hard? Are you impotent or a virgin?” I didn’t know what to say, but I felt I should say something, so I opened my mouth, trying to utter something incoherent. Just then, someone knocked on the door. "Can you hurry up? How long do you need to go to the bathroom?" She put a finger to my lips. "Ignore him," she said softly, then grabbed my penis with her soft, white hand, sending a rush of pleasure through my brain. The person outside had left sometime earlier. She looked at me with a smile, looking incredibly beautiful.

"I knew you wouldn't have a problem. When we got on the train, you only glanced at my underwear, and it was already sticking up. Did you think I didn't know? Then you took out your phone and pretended to send a text message, but you were actually secretly taking pictures of my underwear. Did you think I didn't know? You should still be a virgin, right? Did you think I didn't know?" Every time she said "didn't you know?" she suddenly tightened her grip. I felt completely defeated by her. It seemed like my every move was under her watchful eye. I had no choice but to say and do nothing, surrendering myself and my manhood to her.

She was very experienced; I felt she knew my penis better than I knew my erogenous zones. Her pressure and the depth of her touch varied, and I felt myself being repeatedly brought to ecstasy by her small hands, only to be pulled back again and again. Finally, in a series of rapid movements, I reached my climax. Her hand didn't let go, still tightly gripping my penis, letting it move in her hand.

"Am I beautiful?" she asked.

"Beautiful," I tried to pull my thoughts back from the pleasure of ejaculation.

"Then why did you leave me?"

Those words were like a bucket of cold water in winter, instantly extinguishing my remaining pleasure. "You, you drank too much." I suddenly felt a little despicable, taking advantage of a girl's bad mood to do this to her… "Tears streamed down her face. 'Your name is here,' the girl said, lifting her short skirt to reveal a beautiful kite tattooed on her inner thigh. 'You said this would show I was yours, that I was branded with your mark, and I could never escape you. But why don't you want me anymore?' She threw herself into my arms, her tears quickly soaking my chest.

'Please say you love me, please say you love me,' she pleaded desperately. I knew she wasn't talking to me; I was just a substitute, a shadow. But I couldn't ignore it. I whispered in her ear,

'I love you, I love you.' 'Say it like before, say it, Lan, I love you.' 　　'Lan, I love you,' she looked up at me. Though her face was still wet with tears, her tearful smile was even more captivating. 'Thank you,' I

said 　　, confused, unsure how to respond. 　　'Thank you. I've been holding it in for so long, I had nowhere to cry.' She leaned back, lifting one leg and placing it on the windowsill, her pink clitoris suddenly fully exposed before my eyes." 　　"But you're no saint either. You were hoping for this moment when you gave me the beer, did you think I didn't know?" I felt seen through again. "Come on," she said, grabbing my penis again. "Come in." Without hesitation, I entered her. Having just ejaculated, my penis felt firm; I wasn't worried about premature ejaculation. I pinned her down, and she struggled to suppress the urge to scream, pressing her teeth heavily against my shoulders. I felt waves of stinging pain; I knew this was an indicator of her pleasure. The more she bit, the more pleasure she was experiencing. 　　Like a seasoned pro, I controlled the rhythm of my thrusts, sometimes gentle, sometimes rapid, sometimes light, sometimes all the way in. I used the pain from her shoulders to gauge her pleasure. My hands roamed over her body, from her calves to her thighs, from her buttocks to her waist, from her breasts to her neck, then to her face and hair—I didn't miss a single inch of her skin. Suddenly, I felt a deep thrust on my shoulder. She pressed her hands against my buttocks and pushed me hard. I laughed and whispered in her ear, "Call me husband, say you want it." 　　"Husband, I want it, I want it, husband," she said. 　　I smiled contentedly and began to thrust forcefully for the last time. She trembled like a kite with a broken string in a storm as she reached her climax. Her cry of "husband" acted as a catalyst, causing my semen to gush out in the next ten or so thrusts. Then we hugged tightly... Hearing that no one was outside, I left the toilet and returned to my sleeper compartment. I climbed back into my middle bunk. 　　After waiting for a long time, she finally came out of the toilet, stood in front of me, and punched me squarely in the penis. I cried out in pain. She stuck her tongue out at me, grinned mischievously, and crawled into bed. 　　The train conductor scolded me angrily, saying it was lights out and I shouldn't have been shouting and disturbing other passengers. I could only keep apologizing with a forced smile. 　　After the conductor left, I was too exhausted to do anything to her. I had acted so bravely in the toilet, but now I realized I had completely overexerted myself. I couldn't even lift my arms. I slept soundly until dawn, without a single dream. When I woke up, I found she was gone from the lower berth. Looking up at the luggage rack, her pink handbag was also gone… We had clearly said she would get off at the final stop, so it seemed she had gotten off earlier because of what happened last night. 　　Later, I often thought back: if I had been awake, would she have left? If she had left, would I have tried to stop her? 　　If I couldn't, would I have gotten off with her? The result of these thoughts was usually a bitter smile and a shake of my head. 　　(5364 words) 　　[The End]

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