Train Rides and Golf Clubs (part 1)

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Just a little bit North of Brighton is a town called Hassocks.   If you're on the fast train between London and Brighton you might miss it as the station might well be a blur when you go through.  But, since it only takes about ten minutes to get there from Brighton, it is easy enough for me to take a temp job there as over in Kemptown (which is a fifteen minute walk).  And with a bit of luck, I an sit on the train.

I had got a job to cover for the administrative assistant at a golf club in Hassocks.  That kind of job can be challenging--the club relies on one person to do lots of stuff, and then they're off sick with a twisted ankle or whatever, and you get thrown into the middle of things to cover.  But everything they know how to do is in their head, not written down.

 

Anyway, I had been working at the golf club for a couple of days and knew which train i needed to get to be there on time and the best route from the station to the club. I had also worked out the perfect skirt length to (on the one hand) keep the male members on-side and keen to be helpful without (on the other hand) alienating myself with the female members.  Just above the knee was the happy medium, with a buttoned blouse which could switch from reasonably demure to downright slutty by doing or undoing a couple of buttons.

 

The walk to the station is only about ten minutes and I made it with plenty of time to spare.  I already had my ticket so made my way to the platform.  I was on a slightly later train today (had arrived too early the day before) and was surprised at just how busy this train was going to be.  I suppose that this was the last train the poor London commuters could get and still be in their offices in time.

 

The train pulled in and there was an announcement that it would be departing as soon as it was loaded, so as to keep on schedule.  I ended up standing between two doors, so I was one of the last to get on. No chance of a seat that day, and I felt rather like a sardine must feel (minus the oil or tomato sauce) squeezed on all sides.  The train gave a jolt before it started and that almost knocked me over.  I had to rely on the guy next to me to hold me up.  I gave him a big smile and thanked him.  One hand was holding my handbag, the other reached up to hold onto the rail above my head.  That rather stretched my blouse across my chest, and my saviour had a hard time keeping his eyes off my bosom.  The train started to get going and I breathed a sigh of relief.  I should still be in plenty of time to get to work.  

 

As you leave Brighton the train picks up speed and then goes through a short tunnel.  The carriage goes dark through the tunnel, but only for ten or fifteen seconds, if that.  Well as soon as we were in the tunnel, I felt a hand grab at my arse.  It made me jump--almost literally. This was not accidental, it was a definite grope.  And it wasn't a hand grabbing my skirt, it was up my skirt and grabbing my bare arse (I have always been a stockings girl, not a tights girl and was wearing a thong that day).  I barely had time to wiggle, squeal or protest before the hand was gone and we were out of the tunnel.  Anyone ho looked at me ought to have seen that I was blushing furiously, and looking around for guilty expressions.  The groper could have been any of four or five blokes none of whom seemed now to be paying the slightest attention to me.

 

Well, I put it down to experience, shuffled my feet to get a bit more comfortable, held on tight and on we went, thinking that it wouldn't be long before my station.  Then I realized: between Brighton and Hassocks, there are in fact two tunnels.  Going North, the shorter one comes first.  We would be in the second one for getting on for a minute.  As the train rumbled along I was thinking, actually, I rather enjoyed feeling that hand on my behind.  I wondered which of the blokes standing around me had had the nerve to grab me and what he might do through the longer tunnel.  Well, like I said, the whole journey is probably ten minutes or so, so it wasn't long before we got to the second tunnel.  As soon as we were in the dark, I felt the hand back again.  

 

This time, it was on a mission; he (it had to be a bloke, there were no women near me) pulled at the back or my thong, pulling it down my legs enough that he could slip his fingers underneath.  Anyone else might have tried to close their legs, but I was too turned on for that.  Instead I bent at the knees just a little, trying to open my legs and let him slip his fingers inside me. Have you ever gasped, and tried to disguise it as a cough?  Well, me neither until that moment, and I am not at all sure it was convincing.  But here I was in a very crowded train and some bloke had managed to slip not one, but two fingers into my slit.  I gave his fingers a little squeeze with my pussy, just to say hi (as it were) but in another few seconds the train had left the tunnel and was puling into Hassocks station.  In the process of fingering me, he had lifted my skirt and I now needed to perform a demure wiggle to get it back into place.  I started looking around discretely to try to spot my molester, and then I realized who it was--the old bloke (mid-sixties?) with the RAF mustache.  How did I know it was him, you may ask.  Well, two things.  First, his mustache could not hide his smile; second he was licking his fingers.  Isn't that a giveaway?

The English are known for their politeness, so, half a dozen or a dozen "excuse mes" later, I manged to get out of the carriage and safely onto the platform.  And who was standing beside me, but RAF.  He was wearing a pair of tweed trousers and a navy blue blazer with brass buttons--and he was twiddling his mustache.  "What a lovely morning," he said.  And it really was--the sky was blue and spring was springing.  So I returned his smile, "Yes, it is."

We joined the queue to get through the gate and off of the platform, him standing right behind me--perhaps a little too close, as I could feel his breath on my neck.  "My dear," He said, "You smell absolutely ravishing.  What a delightful perfume."

I looked around at him and smiled, then I saw him put his finger to his nose and sniff.  What a randy old bugger.  I knew what he meant.  "Thank you."  I smiled.  "I think it's unique."

"I am sure it is, young lady."

 

As we emerged form the station, RAF approached me and said, "Do you know your way around this fine town my dear?"

 

"Yes, thank you." I replied, giving him a big smile.  "I am heading for the golf club."

 

"Ah ha!  A fine establishment.  Would you mind it if I joined you?"

 

"Not at all." I said.  And off we went.  Well the walk between the station and the gold club takes you mostly through residential streets and, at that time of day they are quite busy: commuters walking to the station or driving to their jobs, kids walking and being walked to school.  Our conversation stopped and started as we walked, but he was happy to walk at the pace set by my heels. 

 

"I do enjoy the spring." Said RAF.

 

"As do I," I replied, "So nice to feel the warmth of the sun."

 

"I agree," he responded, "And when ladies feel the warmth of the spring, their skirts shrink and they shed their winter woolies."

 

I gave a little chuckle.

 

"So you appreciate a shapely ankle, do you?"

 

"Absolutely!  And more than just the ankle, I'll have you know."
 

To this I had to whisper, "I think I already know, don't i?"  I gave him a theatrical wink.

He smiled back at me and said, "Well, when you reach my age, why not chance your arm, eh?"

I smiled and bit my lower lip.  "Why not," I whispered.

 

As we got closer to the golf club, RAF (I still didn't know his name) suggested we take a short cut, which took us passed a park and some garages.  Fair enough, I thought and followed his lead.  By the park was a building (not really sure what it was)  Anyway, there was a narrow place between the toilets and an overgrown hedge.  When we got there, RAF said, "Excuse me, my dear.  I seem to have been caught short.  Would you mind waiting a moment while I answer the call of nature?"

 

"No problem." I said.  He sneaked out of sight into the bushes--I really couldn't see him at all.  Thirty seconds late, he called out to me, "Er, my dear?  Any chance you could come back here?  I seem to have dropped my keys."

 

"Sure," I replied, "No problem."  I scrabbled in between the building and the bushes to see RAF with his back to me, apparently searching the ground for his keys.

 

"Where did you drop them?" I asked.

 

When he turned around, I saw immediately that this had been a ruse.  His cock was sticking out of his trousers, and it was enormous.  I mean, enormous.  Ten inches long and as thick as my wrist.  Enough to make any girl swoon.

 

"Oh my God." I gasped.

 

"Funny how it happens," he said, nonchalantly, "You go looking for one thing and find something completely different.  Eh?"

 

He was seriously in his sixties, a retired gent--but he still had some libido left.  That cock was standing to attention and eager for attention.  I stepped closer and so did he.  Then I reached out my hand and wrapped it around his member (as best I could).  "Mmmmm." He groaned.

 

"This is only fair," I said, "Given how presumptuous you were with me on the train."

 

"Mmmm.  I suppose so, my dear."

 

I crouched down--there was really no way I could kneel, the ground was too rough.  I rubbed my hands (both of them) up and down his meat.  He reached out and grabbed a handful of tit in each hand.  Then he undid those top two buttons and slipped his hands inside my blouse, pinching my hardened nipples through the lacy material of my bra.  Meanwhile I kissed the tip of his member, then used my tongue to trace the shape of his helmet.  One hand rubbing his throbbing cock, the other fishing in his trousers to cup his balls.  He got his hands inside my bra and grabbed my tits and, as he did I opened my mouth and leaned forward to take as much of I could of his cock into my mouth.

RAF stayed silent as he rocked back and forth, feeling my lips tight around his cock as he fucked my mouth.  

 

My God he was huge; I thought I was going to dislocate my jaw as I sucked him.  I pressed my tongue against the underside of his shaft and rubbed the base of his shaft faster and faster; squeezing his balls and sucking his cock.  How long could the old codger last?  Well, quite a while it seems.  My jaw was aching and I didn't think I could last much longer.  He held my head and pulled me off him.  He went behind me, and grabbed my hips, pushing me from behind so I was up against a tree.  Then he unceremoniously lifted my skirt, pulled aside my thong and tried to ram his cock into me.  At first he almost pushed his way into my bum, but I seriously think he would have done me some damage, so I guided his cock into my soaking wet pussy and let him fuck me from behind.

 

He mauled at my tits as he fucked me like a man half his age giving me every inch of his massive cock.  I had to hold onto the tree just to remain upright.  My knees were shaking and the world was starting to spin around me.  Then, without any warning, he slipped his cock almost completely out of me and the rammed it home one last time--exploding deep inside me.  Well, that final thrust sent me over the edge and I squealed like a pig as I came--almost collapsing to the floor as I did so.  But RAF held me up and, with the support of the tree, I was able to stay on my feet.  He slipped his cock from my throbbing cunt and I felt hot cum dripping down my thigh.  I was looking quite disheveled.  I tried to straighten my clothing and my hair.  Using a little mirror I applied some new lipstick, then glanced at my watch.

 

"Shit--I am late."

 

"Oh dear.  I must apologize," Said the old gent, "Entirely my fault, I am sure."

 

I smiled back at him, "No worries.  But listen, I don't know my way from here.  Can you show me how to get to the golf club?"

 

"Certainly my dear." He said as he pushed his cock into his trousers, then twiddled his mustache.

 

I followed him the rest of the way to the golf course, and ended up being only about ten minutes late.

"Well, my dear.  It has been delightful to meet you.  I am just going to have a quick word with the chairman before I take my leave." 

 

"Nice to meet you too," I replied as demurely as I could manage.  He gave a little bow and of he toddled, leaving me to go into the office and start my work.

 

Well, I was in a bit of a mess, still leaking cum as I tried to get my head around what needed doing.  It took me ten minutes to realize I had way too many buttons undone on my blouse and was just doing them up when in walked the chairman.  He was in his forties and had a bit of a middle aged spread going on.  Balding, but nice close cropped hair--no sign of a comb-over.

 

"Ah.  Hello Nicki, I hear you just met Jacko."

 

I looked puzzled.

 

"The Air Force looking gent who walked you from the station."

 

"Ah yes." I replied, "I didn't know his name."

 

"Colonel Jackson." Replied the chairman, "One of our oldest members."

 

"And one of your biggest." I thought to myself.

 

He smiled as if he was reading my mind. What had the Colonel said?  What did the chairman know?

 

"He's a sweet old man." I said, "A real gentleman."    If the chairman knew what had just happened, he'd know that was far from the truth.

 

"Indeed." was the response.  "Indeed."  There was a pause, as if he wasn't sure what (if anything) still needed saying.  Then, "Well, could you bring me a cup of tea when you have a moment?"

 

"Of course." I replied.  when you're at the bottom of the totem pole, you get to do all the best jobs, don't you?

 

A few minute later, after knocking on the chairman's door, I walked around his desk to put down his cup of tea (splash of milk, no sugar).  Then, in a single moment of realization, I knew that Jacko had told the chairman what had happened on my way to work.  As I glanced down, I saw that the chairman had his cock out as he sat at his desk, and it was tall and throbbing.  Almost with relief though, i saw that it was much smaller than the colonel's.

 

"Nicki," said he chairman. "I do think you ought to keep time a little better in the future.  You were late for work this morning."

 

"Yes," I replied, "I am sorry about that, but I got waylay-ed by Colonel Jackson on route, as we looked for his keys."

 

As I leaned over and put down his cup of tea, I was slightly off balance, it only took him to apply a tiny bit of  pressure at the back of my neck and I was sprawled across the chairman's lap.  Once I was down, he held me in place with one hand and roughly pulled at my skirt with the other.  I could feel his erection pushing into my stomach.

 

Whack!  My bum stung from the first slap, and I squealed as the second one hit.  "Ouch."

 

"I don't want you being late again," said the chairman, "Is that understood."

 

"Yes." I replied.

 

"Yes, sir." He corrected me, and, as if to punctuate my reply, slapped my arse again.  Over and over again, he spanked me, and I could feel my bum burning; it must be glowing red.  Eventually, he pushed me off his lap so I was keeling next to him, and I saw his long slender cock waving at me.

"Colonel Jackson told me that you know precisely what to do."

 

I certainly did.  I leaned forward and took his length into my willing mouth, sucking and licking at it.  I was moaning and groaning with the pleasure of it when there was a knock at the door.

 

"One moment," Called out the chairman.

 

I had nowhere to go.  I couldn't imagine why he bothered playing for time.  In seconds we'd be caught by whoever, clearly up to something that would be frowned on at any decent golf club.  But he bustled me under his desk and pushed his chair closer in so I was trapped under his desk.  Then he opened a drawer and called, "Come in."  As--whoever it was--came into the room, he shut the drawer again (as if he had been finishing something up before inviting them).

 

"Ah.  Good morning Mr Webster."

 

I knew him, he was the club's professional (well, that's what they called him--anyway, he was the guy who gave people their golfing lessons).  The chairman put his hand under the desk and pulled my head back to his lap.  The dirty sod wanted me to suck his cock while he talked to Webster.

 

"It's Mrs. Fletcher again."

 

"Oh yes?" said the chairman.

 

"She's refusing to pay her bill.  Can you have a word with her please?  Every time I give her the bill, she says its wrong and challenges it; there's never any problem, just delaying tactics.  A real pain in the arse."

 

"Language--please.  This is a respectable club."

 

That made me laugh so I decided to give his balls a squeeze and took his whole length into my mouth, my nose nuzzling his pubes.  He couldn't help but groan.

 

"Are you alright?" asked Webster.

 

"Yes, yes.  Fine thank you, yes."  But then he groaned again as I slipped a finger into his tight little arsehole.

 

"Absolutely, fine.  Thank you!  Look, I will talk to Mrs Fletcher and get your bill sorted out.  In fact, I'll get Nicki to do it today."

 

"I was going to ask her myself," Replied Webster, "But I couldn't find her."

 

"She's around somewhere," Replied the chairman as I raked my teeth down his shaft.  A few minutes after Webster left the office, I was rewarded with a mouthful of cum from the chairman.  He let me out from under the desk and I went back to my desk to get on with my job.  No rest for the wicked.  Believe it or not, that's not the end of my adventures that day, but I will have to tell you the rest another time.