Seduction on the Train (Travel Gal Erotica)

  Seduction on the Train

  Day One

  (Travel Gal Erotica Series)

  By Lucy St. Vincent

  Copyright © 2013 by Lucy St.Vincent

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  When Leila’s parents died suddenly, they left her a rather hefty inheritance that she decided to spend a portion of on a year of traveling. She took a leave from her doctoral program at the University of Minnesota, got a state-of-the-art backpack and bought a one-way flight, starting in Moscow. In the spirit of Paul Theroux, one of her favorite travel authors, she was going to start her expedition on the Trans-Siberian railway, a long cherished dream of hers.

  She had lashed out and booked a cabin on The Golden Eagle, one of the superior trains for wealthy clientele for her Trans-Siberian journey. She reserved the option with two beds, hoping she’d meet some interesting people along the way, forge some friendships, and maybe learn a little Russian. For much of her year traveling she planned to backpack and hang out in hostels with people her own age, but she wanted to start with something a little more sedate, a little classier. She felt she deserved some luxury and time to unwind in comfort after the stress and grief of burying her parents. Plus, the amount of money she had been left came as somewhat of a pleasant surprise.

  Though Leila was midway through her PhD in comparative literature and was intelligent, hardworking and well read, she had limited sexual experience. She had gone “all the way” with her high school sweetheart, but had found it disheartening and not very romantic; in university she had dated a few classmates, but they were all too interested in keg parties or jacking off to think too much about what her needs might be.

  At first appearance, Leila was what you would call normal: she was neither fat nor skinny, she usually wore her hair back in a ponytail, and she tended toward minimal makeup, jeans and sneakers. She wasn’t a showy kind of gal.

  Leila was, in fact, enjoyable to look at once you took the time to notice her considerable pleasures. She had warm, frank brown eyes with long lashes that you could melt into; her cheekbones were high, her hair lush and long.

  She was someone you could lose yourself in if you weren’t careful. Of course, at this point, Leila didn’t realize her powers of seduction nor did she know how to use them. As a serious student who leaned toward the intellectual, she’d never spent a lot of time thinking about her sexuality or what she wanted from a man. She just knew that the furtive fumbling she had had with high school boyfriends and the drunken fucks she had engaged in and regretted with dorm jocks in university didn’t do it for her.

  In fact, she was at the point in her life where she really had no interest in having a sexual relationship with anyone. None of hers thus far had proved in any way satisfying, and she had no frame of reference for anything different. The few times she had fingered her own self to orgasm had been far in a way more satisfying than any jump in the sack that she had had with any guy. And at least she could engage in her own fantasies when she took care of her own needs. Men? Who needed them? She needed some time on her own, a few engaging discussions with some rich intellectuals she hoped to meet along the way, and some time to unwind and read and sleep and just enjoy the scenery for a while without having any obligations.

  And so Leila was feeling quite exhilarated as she prepared to enter The Golden Eagle on a briskly cold but sunny Sunday afternoon in November. All of the messy matters of her parents’ estate were cleaned up, and she had said good-bye to her few close friends, knowing they’d stay in contact. She was free to continue her doctoral program in a year’s time.

  She had no ties. She was free. Free to do as she pleased. Free to go where she pleased. Free to be whom she wanted to be. This last freedom was what she was toying with. It was the one she wasn’t sure about. Who did she want to be? This trip was where she planned to find out.

  Big questions notwithstanding, Leila was prepared to wile away the next several days enjoying the stark, snowy landscape whilst wrapped in her voluminous sweaters and jeans, with accompanying long underwear, as the train made its gradual ascent into the Ural Mountains. She would ration out her Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy novels so she could finish them upon arriving in Vladivostok. The Russian novelists have writing styles that lend themselves to long train trips.

  She loved the idea of ordering tea and lemon in china teacups and eating the heavy Tula gingerbread cakes filled with jam while gazing out the window, with the steady rocking of the train as her companion and the occasional conversation of a bunk mate to break up the monotony.

  Leila was good at maintaining silence when need be, but also good at repartee with people. She enjoyed a solid intellectual debate, she loved listening to others’ stories and she was always keen on cards or spending hours on a New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle with no need for any discussion with anyone whatsoever. She had her headphones, which were an excellent modern symbol of “I don’t mean to be rude, but I am finished talking now,” so she could be conversational or not, depending on how she felt. It was perfect.

  Upon entering her quarters, Leila was surprised by both the coziness and the opulence of her room. The varnished wood and brass accoutrements were reminiscent of another age – the age of the Tsars and revolutions. A Pullman table and two deep armchairs alongside the picture window looked to be the perfect place to take in the landscape flashing by the window. Leila sighed with delight only to startle a moment later. Emerging from the WC, she was surprised to see a 40-something Indian man making his way to the seat-cum-bed across from hers. She thought she might have a roommate closer to her own age, and perhaps even dared to imagine one or two encounters that might be titillating and memorable if that roommate happened to be male, but she hadn’t pictured a man such as this in her fleeting fantasies.

  He was strikingly handsome with salt and pepper hair and a distinguished air. When he spoke, she was delighted by his formal manner and his English accent that maintained an Indian lilt. He greeted her warmly, flashing a smile that crinkled his brown eyes and had her flushing.

  “I’m Joseph,” he introduced himself. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Leila,” she answered. “The pleasure is mine.”

  “Please, make yourself at home, Leila. I believe we’ll be sharing this compartment for more than a week. Don’t let me bother you. We can get to know each other later, yes?”

  She looked at his ruggedly handsome face and the slight stubble of grey on his strong chin. She imagined he was used to wearing a business suit and tie, and he seemed slightly out of place in his still formal-to-her khaki pants and tucked-in button down white shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, exposing strong forearms and what looked to be a Piaget watch. He wasn’t wanting for money, she could tell even at a glance. He wore brown leather loafers and matching socks.

  Leila felt a little self-conscious about her own casual, uni
versity attire. She wished she were wearing something a little more attractive than her faded jeans, red sneakers with wool socks and the elephantine blue sweater. She was aware of her body suddenly. It felt alive underneath her layers. It also felt hot. Was the heat on? The cozy warmth of the cabin was making her sleepy yet also warmly turned-on.

  She took the ponytail holder from her wrist and casually wrapped her lush hair in a loose ponytail, aware that this slight action had sensuality to it she had never thought of before. It made the back of her neck tingle as she turned away from Joseph’s eyes. He was watching her, she knew.

  “It’s hot, isn’t it?” he said. “I can reach up and close the vents if you want. Or we could keep the heat on and open the window just a tad. I’ve always loved the feeling of cold air rushing into a hot room. What do you think?”

  She turned around and smiled. “A man after my own heart,” she said coyly (unaware up until this point that she was capable of coy). “One of my favorite guilty pleasures is turning on the heat full-blast in my car and opening all the windows. That mix of hot and cold is exhilarating.”

  “So it is,” Joseph answered. And then he added, “I like you already.”

  Leila blushed, but met his eyes and smiled lightly. She was suddenly very excited about her train trip in a very different way than she had anticipated. And it didn’t have to do with Russian literature or Russian landscape.

  “Oh, excuse me, Leila,” Joseph said suddenly, as if coming out of a reverie. “Let me leave you to your own devices. Get yourself settled. I’m going to the bar car to have a drink. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Welcome aboard, Leila.”

  And he was gone.

  Leila was aflutter. She had more than a week in a train compartment with a man she was incredibly attracted to, and she thought, possibly he to her. If she was looking to figure out whom she was, what better way than to be exactly who she wanted to be with a man who knew nothing about her? She was ready for the adventure to begin, and she was going to let the train ride take her where it took. She was going along for the ride and was excited to see what would happen.

  Meantime, she had some rearranging to do, most notably of herself. Leila glanced at herself in the full-length mirror bolted to the wall. She wasn’t used to anything but the most cursory of glances, but this time she paid attention. She was flushed. And pretty, she noted with satisfaction.

  But sloppy, too, she couldn’t help but notice. The word seduction had not quite entered her studious mind, but she was aware that she did want to impress her new roommate with something beyond the garb she was wearing.

  She dug in her suitcase and found a pair of brown tights, a tartan skirt and a fitted black turtleneck. Granted, it wasn’t sexy, but it showed off her assets and still gave off an air of schoolgirl innocence she thought Joseph might just appreciate. Meantime, she was pleased with her cotton panties and bra: pretty, but not flashy. Just her style.

  She hadn’t even brought along makeup for her journey, but she dabbed some lip balm on her lips and pinched her cheeks for good measure. Then she got out her books, her diary and her fountain pen to place on the table bolted to the wall, all of which proved she wasn’t above impressing Joseph, at least with her intellect.

  This took the better part of twenty minutes; Joseph had said he would be gone for an hour. She hesitated. Should she linger on her sofa in a come-hither position (later to be made into a bed) or go meet him? He had, after all, told her where he was going. Was it an invitation? A test? She decided to go: certainly Russian literature was not going to satisfy her at this point.

  Leila made her way through the rattling train cars, observing the closed doors of the sleeping compartments, peeking in where she could. She’d always had a bit of a peeping Tom propensity and she wondered what was happening behind the sliding doors that were sheathed by curtains. Some had the drapes slightly pulled to the side so you could just get a glimpse of what was going on in the steamy rooms. Mostly she saw people sipping tea, reading books, sleeping. It was all very comfortable and Sunday afternoonish. Classical music played softly down the train corridors as she ambled along, trying to keep her stride in sync with the swaying of the train.

  As Leila ventured through the cars, she bumped into a few posh-looking people along the way, nodding her greetings, smiling slightly. When she reached the bar car at the back of the train, it was easy to spot Joseph. His well-manicured hands holding the glass of viscous clear liquid was the first thing she honed in on after admiring how beautiful his skin was against his white shirt.

  Indian men had always attracted Leila. In fact, India with its splendor and vibrancy and swarthy people attracted her a great deal: she had almost opted for it as the first leg of her journey, but it was definitely on her itinerary for later in the year.

  Those hands. She was so attracted by the long fingers, the tan underbelly, and the casual elegance with which he held the glass and tumbler. She assumed it was vodka he was drinking. They were, after all, in Russia where vodka was the sustenance of choice. She gazed for a moment and then approached, touching him lightly on the arm. He started, as she had hoped.

  “I hope you don’t mind me joining you? I’ve unpacked and freshened up and thought an afternoon pick-me-up would do me some good.”

  She flushed after saying this, thinking how silly it sounded. Freshened up? Didn’t 1950s housewives say that? And a pick-me-up?

  He flushed with pleasure. “I’m so glad you did, Leila. Please…sit down.”

  He beckoned to the armchair across the table from him. It was low and plush velvet. She sunk into it, immediately folding her legs under her, as was her habit. It wasn’t until she noticed him staring that she realized it was very school girlish of her and not very sophisticated to be curling up in a chair in a posh bar on the Trans Siberian.

  “Old habits die hard,” she said, unfolding herself and crossing her legs instead. “I’m afraid I’m not the classiest of women.”

  “I beg to differ, Lovely Leila. It’s nice when women don’t fit into stereotypes, I find. Please sit however you are comfortable.”

  He smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling. “Now what is it you’re drinking, Leila?”

  “Coming fresh from a university campus, I’m prone to say beer. But, you know, I’m not much of a beer drinker. In fact, I’m not much of a drinker at all. Perhaps you could teach me a thing or two. I’m pretty naïve in this department. Shouldn’t I be drinking vodka along with the rest of the population?”

  Again, Leila hadn’t meant to come across quite as flirtatiously as she did, but she was enjoying this new style of communication she was trying out. It seemed to be working.

  “Well, it would be my distinct pleasure to teach you a thing or two, Leila. Unfortunately, I’m not much of a vodka man myself. I’ve thrown back a glass, but that’s all my Indian body can take.” She loved the way he always used her name, and with that beautiful Indian-English lilt, trilling the L.

  “May I suggest we start with wines? Do you like red, Leila?”

  So began her education. As they lingered over their wines for the next couple of hours, Leila became progressively more comfortable and at the same time, increasingly turned on. She felt a wetness in her panties that was nearly unknown to her thus far in her life, and her nipples were hard and straining against her fitted turtleneck.

  This Joseph noticed. Over the last hour, he had been taking more and more liberties with his behavior, though they were slow and subtle, especially to Leila’s progressively numbing mind.

  At the beginning of his tutelage he had said, “Leila, I see you are cupping your goblet as though it were a luscious breast.” He paused and smiled. “In fact, you are meant to hold the stem. Like this.”

  He reached over and guided her hand to the stalk of the glass, pressing her thumb and forefinger onto the cold hard crystal. His fingers lingered on Leila’s. She grew red. Her pussy felt swollen with the pressure of just his fingers on hers.

  “I hope you’re
not embarrassed,” he added. “Cupping your wine glass is also fine, but holding it by the stem is more of a turn on, you might say.”

  She blushed again. “I’m a quick learner,” Leila replied. “And I want to be taught.”

  They spent the next few hours divulging details about themselves: Leila about her parents, her PhD studies, her passion for writing and words, along with her less than satisfactory boyfriends; Joseph about his past marriage, his upper class upbringing in Calcutta, his boarding school experiences, his jaunts abroad.

  And in between the discussions were the fleeting touches of hand on hand, his hand resting gently on her arm as he rose to order more drinks, the brushing of a tendril of hair from her face. All of them were electric.

  “Leila, you’re cold, are you?” Philip asked her suddenly, interrupting the wine-soaked reverie they had found themselves succumbing to.

  “No, I’m fine…” She looked down to see her nipples protruding from her suddenly tight-seeming turtleneck.

  “Oh, maybe a little,” she said, taking a big gulp of her wine, hands cupped, not fingered, on the goblet.

  “Have you had enough for one day?”

  The sun was setting over the windswept plains that swept relentlessly by the train windows and the snow and the pink slash of light and the flat barren plain and the warm lounge all made Leila feel incredibly happy to be rolling along on the train with this, her new friend.

  “Yes, I don’t think I can handle any more. At least not until dinner.”

  “Ah, yes, dinner. Would you care to join me or would you rather dine alone tonight, Leila?”

  While Leila did not wish to appear over-anxious, she really could not imagine spending even a moment apart from this man who made her feel alive in a way she had never felt before.

  “I would be honored. Shall we make reservations for say, nine, in the dining car?”

  (She was getting the hang of this.)

  “Nine it is.”

  Joseph took her by the elbow and helped her up. Who knew an elbow held such electric energy? As they walked down the swaying train back to their compartment, he put his hand on the small of her back and held it there, lightly touching her, not straying, even as the train jolted.