She entered with the grace of a swan. I was startled as I had been told the compartment would be mine only for the entire journey. The steward held open the door and gave a small bow as she passed him and took a seat opposite me. She gave me an indifferent nod and arranged herself in the seat as the steward raised her luggage to the overhead rack. Her two, small bags were leather with gold initials, "AD." Her scent was expensive and very classy, her make-up and costume impeccable. She wore a black dress with sleeves to her wrists. It buttoned from her alabaster neck to her perfect knees and did not conceal the promise of full breasts and hips. The buttons were large and of an ebony black, a curious two-part pin was just above her left breast. Studying it, I saw the pin was an onyx spider the shape of a black widow, a tiny silver chain connected the spider to a fly, it's wings studded with dozens of small diamonds. The two were arranged such that they stared at one another head-on with only the three inches of silver chain both separating and connecting them.
She was stunning. I tried not to stare but her beauty pulled me in; her poise, the self-assured way she moved her exquisite hands as she smoothed her dress, her radiance was consuming. I felt I didn't belong in her presence and found myself taking in her scent with deep, awed breaths. Once settled, she looked out the window but seemed to see only inner thoughts.
I tried to think of something to say but everything I thought of sounded contrite and totally wrong in my mind. She glanced over and caught my eye. Her smile was at once beautiful and mysterious while her eyes registered friendly indifference. I managed a stupid grin that must have told her I was an idiot and not accustomed to being in the presence of such quality. We did not speak for there was too much distance between us although, physically, we were no more than five feet apart.
The steward knocked on our door. I rose and opened it noticing how my companion stiffened and seemed to withdraw into herself. The man looked around me to the woman and held out a passport; an American passport! She nodded first at him then me giving us silent instructions. I took the document and handed it to her; the steward bowed and left.
"You're an American?" I asked.
She gave a slow nod, the soft light making her dark blue eyes seem liquid their depth as two bottomless wells. She did not reply but, again, stared through the dirty glass of our window. I felt I had been dismissed and offered no more questions though I had many.
Her eyes closed. I was free now to study her beauty in detail. She wore little make-up and only tiny, diamond earrings. A single strand pearl necklace complimented her small, long neck directing my attention to the gentle rise and fall of her full breasts as she in-and-exhaled with slow, controlled breaths. I imagined the alabaster skin, dark rosettes, and firm, small nipples behind the rich black of her dress. I felt a stirring in my crotch, the first signs of an impending erection. My eyes traveled to her waist and I drank in the swell of her hips then past her thighs to her knees where the smoky gray-black of her hose met the hem of the dress. Her knees were parted slightly and I longed for the train to jolt them wider apart. What wonders would be revealed?
So lost in the admiration of this beauty, my gaze traveled down caressing her calves and on to the ankles where I paused to admire a delicate bracelet of gold encircling the right. Forcing myself to break my tour, not realizing how hypnotized I had become, I was about to re-trace my journey from the top when my eye caught hers. She must have been watching my appraisal for some time. She had not moved and I assumed she still looked out the window or had her eyes closed. I expected to be admonished, perhaps to be slapped or even reported to the steward; there was little doubt about the lust in my detailed examination of this woman.
She smiled slightly. It was not an angry smile for such smiles do exist. It was not an embarrassed smile for women of such beauty are accustomed to being admired and wanted. Her smile was knowing, it was subtle, not broad nor friendly nor inviting. I smiled back trying to convey an apology for my poor manners and communicate my harmlessness.
With impala grace she stood, walked to the door and turned the lock. She turned the compartment light off and reached for the tiny reading light in the corner. Turning it on cast a glow not unlike a single candle would in a same size room. It cast shadows that blended with those thrown into the compartment by the occasional outside street or automobile lights our gently rocking train car passed.
I froze. My erection died. I had an immediate thought that this woman wanted me but quickly put it out of mind. She wanted the door locked so she could sleep uninterrupted. She wanted the harsh overhead light off for the same reason.
I watched her retake her seat opposite me. The benches could easily accommodate three people and she could have returned to the window as I also sat closest to it on my side. She sat instead in the middle. She sat upright with great dignity, her hands in her lap, knees close together. She looked directly into my eyes. I did not dare speak for there was an electricity in the air, a charged scent that told me to remain silent. The usually subdued train sounds became ever louder and my heart began to beat faster; I saw that the fly of her two-part pin was, somehow, closer now to the spider, perhaps half the original distance.
Moving ever slow, I watched her long-fingered, beautiful hands move to the first button of her dress. In the semi-dark, the blackness of it was featureless, I could no longer see detail and when looking at her eyes I could not read their message. Silently, slowly, the button was undone. Then the next, then the next, and the next. Five minutes passed, eight, then ten and the last button at the knee fell free with its half of the dress.
My erection had returned with power and was straining in its confines. I squirmed slightly to relieve my discomfort moving slowly, slowly not to break the spell this woman was weaving sure as the black widow she wore above her heart. I am her fly I thought, I go willingly pulled by a silver chain of desire to her lair.
She deftly pulled both sides of the dress fully to her sides. Her full length, black slip reflected the soft light and defined her figure. Resting her hands again in her lap, she watched me. I saw her eyes travel to the crotch of my pants and back to meet my gaze. She seemed to be waiting. For what?
The train entered yet another tunnel as we continued through the Alps. The tunnel this time was long. The woman reached over and turned off the small lamp. We were in total darkness consumed as if in black cotton. I felt constricted in my chest and was again aware of my straining penis. In the dark I chanced to move it to a more comfortable position. The tunnel continued, would it never end and give me back again this creature I so wanted. I felt, more than heard, movement. It was not radical as though she were leaving or even joining me on my seat. It was subtle yet definitely movement and from her.
At last. The train exited and I chanced a glance out the window to assure myself we were still earthbound, not lost in some swirling whirlpool of space. I saw a clear sky, a half-moon was suspended behind the misty glass made moist by our breath. Looking back at the woman I almost gasped but caught myself in time to make it only a deep inhale. She was nude. Her hands covered her breasts and she looked into my eyes with hypnotic power. Slowly, her hands kneaded them then dropped to her belly then to her thighs. The coal-black of her mound hair contrasted starkly with her pearl-toned skin.
Her legs remained closed and, again, she broke her strangle hold on my eyes to look at my crotch. I felt my arms move seemingly of their own power. My hands, no longer connected to my brain, sought my manhood. I released my belt, unsnapped my trousers and lowered them to my ankles. I removed my tie and unbuttoned my shirt pulling its sides open. Without waiting for her further telepathic instructions, I lowered my shorts also to rest against my pants. My penis stood rigid jerking with every fourth heartbeat. I did not touch it but left my arms to my side.
The woman parted her legs. She slipped down in the seat and brought her sex to its edge. She held my eyes again. Her hands caressed her thighs and moved to her vaginal lips. Using fingers, she parted them and gave me mental permission to look. Her knees were now no more than four inches from mine. I could have reached over to her; I wanted desperately to bury my nose and mouth in her and drink in her musky scent, to feel her silky softness on my tongue but I knew I could not for my body felt leaden, my hands immovable.
She circled her clitoris with a long finger then, using two now, inserted them into herself. She withdrew then inserted again and again and again. Moon rays glistened, reflected off the moisture coating her fingers. Her wetness was transmitted to me in the sound her fingers made as they probed her secret place. I looked up, into her eyes. She gave a half-smile and nodded toward my crotch. I took my penis in hand and stroked it, the other hand cupping my ball-sack. I too moved down in my seat and our knees touched gently. She did not withdraw but broke our contact by spreading her legs fully. I saw now that her fingers had returned to her clitoris and they moved in ever-increasing rapidity. I so longed to cast again the overhead light on this vision. Her breathing changed and I saw that she no longer looked at my face but only at my steel-hard cock and my hand as it stroked.
The compartment filled with the smell of her sex. Not stopping the attention she paid to her clitoris, her other hand moved to her vagina and I watched as several fingers disappeared into that unknown mystical place. Her breath came in gasps now as did mine. She drew up her legs, bent forward, and screamed a silent scream as she orgasmed with a power I had not experienced in any woman. I was close to my own climax but wanted her to see me and waited for her calmness to return. She did not close her legs nor move to cover herself. Her arms were put to her sides and she was still. She wanted me to enjoy her body as I stroked myself. If only she would let me kiss and taste her fingers.... smell them. My eyes roamed taking in the beauty of her.
I moved my hand more rapidly now needing release, my balls pulled tight against me. I felt red hot, thick semen well up and crash against the base of my cock as I shuddered trying not to cry out. My hips bucked, my head tilted down to press my chin on my chest. I felt a million volts of pleasure course through me and saw my cock swell, its purple head angry with passion. My belly and left nipple were bathed in long, thick strands of milky white sperm. It cascaded down. The last spurts landed in my hair. I lay back exhausted, sated, my cum beginning to make slow rivulets as it gave way to gravity.
We stayed thus for long minutes of rest, our bodies open and our eyes enjoying each other's nakedness. In awhile, she sat up and laid a towel across my leg. She dressed as I watched.
"Please, what is your name?" I asked.
She dressed casually, in full view. She seemed to have a confidence in her body and a freedom of spirit that was at once defiant but seemed to promise surrender, if she chose. I watched as her bra covered her breasts and she stepped into her midnight panties each long, magnificent leg finding their respective openings. In the shadowed moonlight the tiny garment seemed to disappear leaving only the outline of her dark sex. Her slip cascaded over her head and body as a waterfall in a silent, pre-dawn forest. As the buttons mated each side of the dress her body again was outlined in silhouette against the lighter wall behind. With each button's closure, another small part of her became secrete until, with the final one at the knees, the transformation from ivory goddess to hidden masterpiece was accomplished. I took small note, then, of how her left sleeve seemed to catch on that spider-fly pin above her heart as she smoothed her attire. Turning to the window, her side exposed to me now, I watched her hands, so delicate but at once so strong, as she arranged her hair.
Thus dressed and composed she bent over me, leaning down to lightly, softly, kiss me on the lips. Hers were of a warmth and fullness that I was, again, paralyzed on contact as from the gentle bite of a spider, its venom sending bolts of charged electrons directly to my groin. Moonlight danced on the spider pin and I saw that it's back, once a brilliant ebony, was dusted with diamonds and the fly.......the fly was gone! I started to tell her but could not speak, my eyes were locked on that shining spider.
"Alicia Davidson," she said in a breathy whisper. She stood, looked once more at me and left. The steward was, somehow in immediate attendance and gathered her luggage. I could not explain why she left when the train's next, and final, stop was another two hours. The car began rounding a curve and I noted the faint pink of dawn low in the eastern horizon. My lethargy was consuming. It seemed only a part of my thinking brain was on duty. Get up. Find her! But I am so tired. I will rest awhile then look; she will not be hard to find and I have two hours yet before Vienna. I will rest. The unexpected meeting, the overwhelming erotica of non-touching sex had put my brain into some moon-lit space/time warp. Or was it spider venom?
The train was slowing. We were arriving in Vienna; I had slept. I came instantly and alertly awake. I began to tremble, to look about me for assurances of reality. A steward, different from before, knocked, entered, and welcomed me to Vienna. I was handed the local English newspaper. There, on the front page my lover of the night looked back at me. I read with growing awe, fascination, and confusion.
The sole heiress of a $15 billion shipping empire, the widow of Zanos Spirikos had been in a plane crash only she and a man-servant surviving. Mrs. Alicia Davidson-Spirikos, 37, had slipped into a deep coma yesterday. A worker on the family estate, requesting anonymity, said she was flying to Myorkos to meet a secret lover. Severe weather had been forecast between Myorkos and the Spirikos estate about 100 miles north of Athens where the plane took off.
Her name was Alicia Davidson. She was an American. She was beautiful and she had kissed me. I would not read the paper again for many days.