TRAIN TO SCHMERTZYLVANIA by Joris K. Huysmans

Sergeant Numskilov slumped against Lieutenant Firkovich drunkenly, the exhale after each snore producing a powerful effect of garlic which quickly fumigated the entire compartment. Fourteen more hours of this on the train from Lubova to Schmertzylvania-- it was intolerable. Firkovich propped Numskilov up with his own rifle, tucked against his cheek. With any luck it would blow his brains out the next time the train ran over a deer or a peasant.

He stepped into the passageway, which was full of toothless old crones squatting on the floor, clutching the one chicken they had left, and cursed the misfortune that had brought him to this place instead of where he belonged, amid the lights and gaiety of gleaming Snerdsk, the capitol. So he had taken the regional governor's wife as his mistress-- who had not done such a thing in Snerdsk, if he were as handsome and wealthy as Firkovich?

What was the point of being in the army, of cutting such a fine figure in his dress uniform, with his elegantly waxed mustache and his dark, piercing eyes, if not to steal away a minx like Greta from her fat clod of a husband? What chance had he of satisfying the fire that burned within such a woman, of appreciating the refinement and skill she, raised in Paris, brought to the art of lovemaking? Was it to be expected that once a month, lying on her back in a nightgown raised to her stomach while her whale of a husband thrust four or five times inside her, would quench her desires? Of course not-- and yet now here he was, fleeing to the hinterlands to escape the scandal which had engulfed them both.

The passageway was full to its end, and so he opened the door between the cars, the bitter winter wind cutting through his coat for the instant he was outside. Inside the next car he started to make his way down the hallway-- and as he did a door opened and a large woman with the stern look of a governess suddenly appeared in his way. Given the ample and boxy winter garments she wore, it was impossible to judge her exact shape, but there was certainly enough of her and coats to fill the passageway and block Firkovich entirely. Seeing him, she suddenly locked herself into position and gave him a baleful glare.

Firkovich smiled. "Well, one of us is going to have to go back the way he or she came."

The governess said nothing, but only glared at him through the small round spectacles squeezed into the puffy skin around her nose. It seemed as if the pulled-back braids on her head tightened further.

"Madam, perhaps if you step back into your compartment for one moment, we may each go on our way."

"Do they not teach courtesy to the fairer sex in the army these days, lieutenant?"

Firkovich resisted the temptation to say that he had not realized that Gorgon was a fairer sex than his own, and simply replied, "Madam, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to make way, but unfortunately the aisle behind me is full of peasants all the way back to my own compartment. In this case, it would be far easier for you to simply step back into your compartment for a moment, and you would have my eternal gratitude."

She sniffed. "Impossible. The baby is sleeping with the wet-nurse and cannot be disturbed. I must attend to other business. Please allow me to pass."

Now Firkovich, disdainful of the fate to which his appetites had brought him, no longer cared if he acted the gentleman or not. "Very well, madam, you force my hand." He pushed his way past her, turning her aside with his shoulder as he attempted to squeeze through the passageway. She gasped at his impertinence-- and then disaster struck. Squeezed against the window, pinning her with his body against her compartment, somehow he became stuck-- it felt as if a part of his uniform had caught on the window latch, perhaps. However it happened, the two of them in their massive, unwieldy winter garments were wedged together like a cork in a bottle.

She glared at him with utter hatred. He laughed at the sheer, humiliating mockery the gods were making of him. "My sincere apologies, madam," he said, tipping his hat and then giving the end of his mustache a rakish flick. She harumphed again and looked away.

He tugged at his coat, but it failed to release him. An idea occurred to him-- if he could raise her, slightly, the rest of him would probably slide by. It was a dreadful impertinence to touch her, but scarcely worse than the alternative, which was to be stuck with her all the way to Schmertzylvania. What the hell, he thought, and he grabbed her under each armpit and tried to hoist her upward.

She shrieked in horror, and seemed ready to faint, but at the same time the practical side of her seemed to sense that he had hit upon the only solution, and so, gritting her teeth and muttering a prayer to St. Volodymyr under her breath, she closed her eyes and let him continue. He gave her a tug upward; nothing. He tried several more times, putting the whole of his body into the effort.

And as he did so he began to sense the shape of the woman underneath all those garments. It was absurd, but he suddenly began to realize that in her roundish, pepper-pot way, the severe governess actually had quite a curvaceous, womanly figure. And something else happened as he threw his whole body into the act of trying to force her upward-- her breath began to become shorter, her head rolled back, and her face flushed as she anticipated each upward thrust of his torso. And then he felt her hands grasp his back, squeezing him with each thrust.

Now he felt her breasts, round and massive, under the coat. She squeezed his muscular buttocks. He planted a kiss on her round, flat face and she answered it hungrily, shoving her tongue into his mouth-- what, did she study in Paris too? He desperately wished to be somewhere less public than the aisle but feared that succeeding in his aim of dislodging the pair of them would break the spell of the only diversion the long train ride had offered.

The train suddenly settled fate for him. It halted, violently, and they were both thrown forward, him on top of her in the passageway. Clouds of smoke went past them-- fire! The boiler must have exploded. He opened the door to the compartment, gently picked up the sleeping charge of the frightened wet-nurse, and (cutting a most heroic figure, he couldn't help but think) led the four of them out of the compartment and into the snowy banks outside. He could see that the governess, looking at him rescuing the precious child who was her life's work and trust, thought he was a veritable gift from God, and that the liberties she had granted him in the passageway were nothing less than destiny's way of ensuring the safety of them all.

*  *  *

As luck would have it they were not far from the estates of Kronvek, a gambling companion of Firkovich's; of course Kronvek was nowhere near his own lands, being a man of society and position, but it was nothing for Firkovich to hire a sledge to carry them, to talk his way into the hunting lodge, and to ensure the child and the wet-nurse's care in the home of one of the serf families. Now the governess, her eyes glowing with admiration for him, and he had the hunting lodge all to themselves; and clearly she considered the sacrifice of her person the payment she must offer Firkovich for the debt of their salvation.

He stoked the fire till it roared enormously inside the old stone hearth, and she laid out, daintily, a series of enormous bear skins on the slate floor. Then they stood before each other as man and woman, and she began to unbutton her many coats and set them on the trunk. At last she stood there only in a white undergarment, and then she began to unbutton it, revealing an ever-expanding view of cleavage between her huge dangling breasts. Now she slipped it over one shoulder, and then the other, and the garment dropped to the floor, revealing the massive round mams, the soft white belly, the thick, sturdy legs, and between them the blonde pubis.

He quickly removed his own clothing and she averted her eyes from his erect member; so he took her hand and put it on his muscular chest as he began to massage the big white pillows of her front. She dropped to the bearskin and now she seemed more confident about what they were doing, even raising one leg a little to expose her sex slightly.

On the rug she no longer seemed fat; in fact her size seemed natural, healthy, robust, her sturdy legs and arms seemed strong, her round belly friendly, her huge lolling breasts inviting, the frankly lustful look in her round open face free of the guile or boredom society women affected; now it was the other women, like Greta or Lisette the provost's daughter or the whores at Madame Borodkin's, who seemed insubstantial, unreal, and in a real sense undesirable. He took a breast in one hand and sucked the huge round teat, while she ran her hand along his chest, down the side of his stomach to his hip, and then let it fall, fleetingly, across his manhood. She did it again and this time she grabbed the shaft with one hand, playfully pulling the glans up and down over the head. Well, this wasn't the first time she'd held one, he knew.

Now he nuzzled the vast white belly, and marveled at the unexpected pleasure of a woman defined by her ampleness rather than by, in the Parisian fashion, her slenderness. He pushed one thigh up roughly-- this was no china doll such as he had loved so often in Snerdsk, but a real woman, substantial and strong. He spread her legs apart and she showed him her pink sex unashamedly, and so he buried his head in it, plastering his mustaches downward as he licked his way up the wet slit. She wriggled on the bearskin with pleasure, and her huge tits whiplashed from side to side while her belly jiggled like Christmas pudding. Within a few moments she let out wild moans, which must have been heard in the nearby serf's hovels, and then her huge thick thighs clamped around his head as her behind ground into the fur on which they lay.

"Now," she commanded hoarsely, and as he climbed over her her hand grabbed his cock and seemed willing to rip it out to stuff it in her waiting sex. He mounted her, feeling for the first time the full meaning of that word, as she bucked beneath him like a horse. She fucked fearlessly, pushing him backwards with her muscular thighs, thrusting a mammoth tit into his mouth, then suddenly producing from near the fireplace a birch rod with which she whipped his back to spur him on to ride harder. A few moments of that and he could take it no longer; thrusting deep into her, he shot his seed, as she moaned with pleasure and clamped two mighty thighs around him.

He collapsed onto the bearskin, but within a moment she was on top of him, her weight bearing down on his groin, her enormous breasts dangling into his face, her belly spread out across him like a blanket. She stroked his sack, then began to kiss her way down his belly until she reached his spent member, which she took her into her mouth, licking up the seed that had dribbled out of it. It would be at least a day before the wrecked train could move again, and she intended to show her gratitude every moment of that time.