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Clemmie’s train disappeared off the board. The tiles did their regular 5-minute flip, and hers just…vanished, *poof. This disappearance added insult to injury, as it was already an hour delayed. One expects more from Germans, somehow; time-honored stereotypes demand impeccable train service. She scanned the list again. It was definitely gone. Gathering her bags and the tatters of her tragically inept German language skills, she headed over to Customer Service, wondering, “Wie sagt Man What the fuck auf Deutsch?”
At customer service, a crowd was gathering. This was comforting; it meant she wasn’t being stupid, that it wasn’t just her. A good looking man was jawing at a Deutsche Bahn clerk, who was jawing back. She sidled up. It was pretty clear from the tenor of the conversation that he was telling the clerk something she didn’t believe. She caught just enough to gather that he was booked on the same train.
She broke in, in English, “Want me to try? I only know one-syllable words. Maybe she’ll understand if we make it simple.” He looked startled, blinked at her intrusion before going back to his hectoring, showing his ticket, back and forth, back and forth. The clerk tip-tapped a computer, while she and the man changed their weight from foot to foot, annoyed. Conversation resumed and eventually understanding was reached. She tried to catch words, but there was no hope.
He started to turn away, but she touched his arm and tried to ask in her worse-than-faulty German if he could explain what had happened. He didn’t look up from his phone, saying in English, “She says they don’t know where the train is.”
“What? How can that be?”
“There was a signal problem. It was re-routed, and they don’t know where it is.”
“It was sucked into some sort of Germanic Bermuda Triangle? What the fuck?” He shrugged. “I thought you people were supposed to be good at things like trains.” His head popped up, that was twice she’d startled him. “We are still more competent than you.” She smiled, trying to be charming, “Any advice?” Deep sigh. “Where are you going?”
“Hamburg.” He rolled his eyes. “Hamburg.” Correcting her pronunciation. “I am to go to Hamburg also. Come with me. We will go to Köln – you know, Cologne?” Raised an eyebrow over a sardonic hazel eye. She raised one as well.
They faced off a moment. His eyes traveled down her body, and back up, not quickly. “In Köln we will change to a another train to Hamburg.” She followed him, trying to keep up, promising herself she’d wouldn’t be ‘that’ American. She was aware this was a forlorn hope; his brusque manner was guaranteed to draw her out. At the platform, he pointed, “This train. Eight minutes.” They stood, each to his own phone, studiously not interacting. Eight minutes came and went. She leaned her bag off her shoulder, let it fall to the platform, took off her jacket. She thought about sitting on the platform, but nobody did that here. She could feel his eyes on her back. Five more minutes. She reconsidered sitting, but met his eye. He shook his head slightly, but he had a smile in his eye. She asked, “Really, is this normal?” He gave a puff of air through his lips, “Deutsche Bahn.” a gesture of dismissal, and a shrug of irritation.
When he went back to his phone, she looked him over. About forty, salt and pepper hair cut short, five o’clock shadow, looked fit, maybe, under his coat. Just tall enough, with good broad shoulders. She watched his hands while he texted, liked the strong look of his wrists, thick fingers, one complete with a wedding ring, tapping out a text. He caught her looking, stopped typing and looked back at her for a moment. No, she thought, he looked her over. Again. She felt undressed, a little vulnerable, under his eye, and her panties moistened, as they always did, under a gaze like that. Their train arrived.
They made their way without further incident. In Cologne, he walked more slowly, didn’t outpace her. When they arrived at the big board, he pointed, “See? There. That one goes in ten minutes.”
He touched her elbow. “Are you cold?”
“No, I like this weather.” She felt him looking at the sliver of midriff that showed beneath her little cardigan sweater, her ass, and was glad her jeans fit well, that she’d worn high heeled boots, that her hair was behaving, looked pretty …Down, girl: Wedding ring. They headed over to the platform, neither having extracted phone from purse and pocket. “Are you here for vacation?”
“Sort of.” To his questioning look, she offered, “I’m hoping to get work here. I need a change of scenery.”
“Personal question, don’t you think?”
“Is it possible to breach American privacy? Don’t you people speak about everything?”
“There is no escaping divorce, I think.” She looked into his face. “I’m a little further down that road than you, I guess. It gets worse.”
“That is wonderful news, thank you.” In the silence she said, “Mostly, I wanted to go to a place where anadolu yakası escort I couldn’t understand the evening news. Fucking news could drive a saint to swear.” He laughed out loud. “It is not better here.”
“Are you kidding? Of course it is. Our fascists are way stupider.”
“I think ‘stupider’ is not a correct word.”
“Now you’re correcting my English?” He looked at her mouth, quite obviously. “You appear to me as someone in need of correction, on occasion.” Her stomach flipped, but while she fished for a clever riposte, their train arrived. She saw a seat with no reservation sign and hefted her bag over her head. She almost lost control of it, and he reached over her and caught it. He set it on the overhead rack, very close behind her. The metal button on his coat touched the bare slice of back above her jeans. She shook off the physical reaction, hesitated, then took the window seat. He stood a moment in the aisle, looking at nothing. Then he took the seat next to her, taking his jacket off as he sat down. She’d been right, he moved with athletic grace.
The first minute, of sixty, passed in uncomfortable silence. But then he rested, his head back. The first hour, of five, passed with no comment. She daydreamed. She came back to herself when she felt his eyes on her. “What is your name?”
“Jonas. What sort of name is Clemmie?”
“It’s short for Clementine, which is painfully geeky.”
“What a nice name. I don’t believe I have known a Clementine. What do you do?”
“I’m a singer.”
Oh, yeah, definitely. No money and no health insurance is a walk on the wild side. You?”
“Really? Can you explain why emails disappear out of my inbox and go to archives, when I didn’t ask them to?”
“You’re probably doing something stupider.”
“I’m about to, probably.” And touched the tip of his nose.
“We will have dinner when we arrive in Hamburg.”
Making her decision, “Dinner? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“Smartass, are you?”
“And that’s on my best day. Sometimes I’m very naughty.” Here came that eyebrow again. “Doubtless.”
They chatted lightly, sparred on politics, agreed on religion, passed between them the obligatory information. Neither had heard of the other’s hometown. He was better at it in English than she was in German, and by a lot. “Didn’t you study the language? Your conversation is rudimentary, but your technical vocabulary for your own industry … oof. If you belonged to me, I suppose then I must learn the words and expressions of your profession, and teach them to you?”
Her stomach flipped. “If I belonged to you?”
“If you lived here, you would.”
An image of what that would be like, seeing herself on all fours, him behind her, flashed through her mind, and she blushed to the roots of her hair. He tilted his head, noticing, but declined to comment. For his part, he shifted in his seat a bit to accommodate an awakening cock. She glanced down, noticing, but declined to comment. Their chat subsided into an increasingly humid silence.
She wished he’d get out his phone again so she could look at his hands. She wondered what he was thinking, if he was feeling it. He was preternaturally calm. For her part, she could feel her breath moving, feel her heart beating. She was aware of her nipples brushing the lace of her bra when she moved. Aware of a syrupy spreading between her legs, her shoulders dropping, eyelids heavy, heat rising from the pit of her stomach. Wet. She looked out the window, chin in her hand, and thought about it. Then he surprised her: He put his hand on the back of her neck, under her hair, cool against the heat.
“Are you sleeping?” Eyes closed with the pleasure of his touch, she said, “Not sleeping, but dreaming.”
“Perhaps instead, dinner afterward.”
“Afterward?” He looked at her mouth again. “You will be hungry afterward.”
They chatted and flirted their way to Hamburg. When they arrived, she suddenly felt strange, hung back a bit when they stepped out onto the platform. He caught her hand, raised palm to his lips, smiling into her face. “Where is the smartass? Surely not shy? Don’t disappoint me; you’ve been so fierce… mustn’t falter now, please.” And kissed her palm.
Her palm afire, the kiss echoing elsewhere, wetting her pussy further, for a moment she panicked. But his face was full of laughter, and she broke out with her own. “Ok. Into the breach, boy. It’s just awfully cute when you try to use contractions.”
“You really are naughty…little smartass. I think you would require a firm hand.”
“Just for that, dinner first.”
“I know place close by.”
On the walk, in the dark, the mist was light, temperature cool, but pleasant. Guiding her, he put his hand on the small of her back, slipped under her jacket, on her atalar escort bare skin. “There it is. May I invite you?” In for a penny, in for a pound, and she turned to him, touched her thumb to his lip, “Yes, you may.”
He was carefully gauging how low he could put his hand and not scare her off, landing on the territory just below the small of her back. A few yards from the restaurant door, she stopped and faced him. Her breasts jutted out at him as she reached behind her and slid his hand lower so his middle finger settled in the crack of her ass. “You should kiss me, I think.”
He stepped in, pulled her close. He was hard. Her fingers rested just inside the waistband of his jeans. She could feel his heart beating fast under his coat. He leaned in, but didn’t kiss her, just touched her lips with his and…breathed. She gave in. Went first. She took his lower lip between hers, pulled it into her mouth, let him feel her teeth. That did it. In a flash, she was backed against the brick wall behind her, he had hold of her by the ass and the back of her head; he kissed her a long time, stroking her neck; feeling her ass. Pulling her against his stiff cock. The hand on her head found its way down her neck, cupped a breast. Covering his hand with hers, she pressed her breast against his palm and squeezed his hand, pinching her nipple between two of his fingers. Licking her throat, his hands under her sweater now, he did the mental math of getting her alone, so that he could play with her.
She traced patterns on his thigh, ran her fingernails up the inside of his thigh, leaving a faint scratch line on the denim, was flirting with his buckle when he said softly in her ear: “Are you certain you want dinner first? We can go anywhere you like.”
“Here.” And she pulled him into an alcove, kissed his neck, opened his belt. “What are you…we should not…”
“Sure we should. Nobody’s looking.”
“You’re an Exhibitionist?”
“Nobody’s around, it’s Monday night.” Settling herself on the park bench, this said through kisses on his belly, opening his pants, pulling them down far enough to get at his cock. Wondering at this blushing girl, seemingly shy, taking his pants down in public, “We cannot.”
“We really can, I swear to God. Watch this.” She sat prettily, knees together, like a lady, and pulled hm toward her, her knees between his. Clasping him in her hand, she kissed the tip, circled it with her tongue, licked a drop of pre-cum up with a devilish look up at his face. “See that? We totally can.” And then he was in her mouth.
His breath, which had been fast, seemed to stop. He braced himself with one hand on the wall over her head, the other pushed her hair out of her face so he could watch her take him down her throat. She was going all the way down, finding a rhythm, pre-cum and saliva glistening on her lips, her fingers. As he watched, the tip of her tongue traced the long vein on the back of his cock from balls to tip. “I will… I can’t wait if you do this.” She looked up at him, stroking the shaft, loving the pressure her thighs were putting on her swelling clit, enjoying the look on his face as he lost his mind in real time. “The night is young; go ahead. Take what you want.”
His eyes closed as the street receded, lost in the soft lips, the warm hands. He took himself in hand, put the other on the back of her head and pulled her in. She scooted forward on the bench a bit so he could get closer yet, feeling her clit press against the seam of her jeans. He stroked his cock into her mouth, fed himself to her. Sucking the tip, kissing his fingers, licking between them, circling the head of his cock with her tongue, she looked up at him, “Do that, baby, show me how you like it.”
Her nails biting into his thigh, teasing his balls, she invited him to push down her throat. He released his grip on himself and, with both hands on the back her head now, pushed forward, drew back, pushed forward again. Her breasts pressed against his thighs, and she did it – she took him all the way down. He tried to hold himself back, to prolong the feeling of her throat, the soft lips sliding along the shaft of his cock, but it wasn’t long before he knotted his fingers in her hair. His head fell forward as he came hard, gasping, fucking her mouth, pumping his cum down her throat.
She rested her cheek against his thigh and let the heat in her belly subside while he collected his thoughts. “So, essentially you are crazy?”
“And hungry. Feed me, Seymour.” He tilted her chin up, wiped way a smear on her mouth with the back of a finger, which he offered to her to lick clean. “My name is not Seymour. As I said, I am Jonas.” She stood, wondering how swollen her mouth would be, but not caring. “We’ll do pop-culture references later, maybe. Does this place you picked sell pasta?”
“Now, that right there is some kismet.” She was on ataşehir escort her feet, wiping her smeared hands on a Kleenex in her bag. Taking his hand, “Come on, I could use something to drink.” She laughed. “You should probably put that lovely cock away.”
“You removed it, I believe that you should return it. She kissed him sweetly while she lingered over it, Kneeling to lick the cum off his belly, tucking his shirt in, buckling his belt, zipping him up.
“I am having fun,” this with a note of surprise in his voice.
She asked him to choose dinner and wine. “You’ve eaten here before, know what’s good. Nothing too heavy.” He must have done well. She dove in, tucking black hair behind her ear, pulling all the clams out of their shells at once. “What sort of singer? What do you sing?”
“Opera. Part of the reason I’m here – Germany is a good country for it.”
“Really? You do not look like an opera singer.”
“No? What do we look like? Tread carefully here, is my advice.”
“Aren’t they usually … taller?”
“Some of us are … tall, yes. You, though, a software developer? You’re out of uniform. Where’s your ironic t-shirt and converse sneakers?”
“For a little girl, you have a big mouth.”
“The better to sing with, my dear.”
Dinner proceeded, he was getting antsy, imagining the tunes he’d make her sing, given a chance. He hoped she didn’t want dessert, wanted to get her alone, draw out the smartass again. “Would you like coffee? The tiramisu is good here.”
She dimpled at him, “Nah, I don’t want to get any taller.”
“Where are you staying? May I see you safely there?”
“Some hostel by the main station, have to find it.” He looked at her sharply, “A hostel? Are you joking? How old are you?” She shrugged, irritated. “Shut up, they are perfectly fine.” He laughed, “It’s been years since I’ve been inside one, maybe they have improved. What will you do here in Hamburg?”
“I have an audition tomorrow, then to Vienna for another.”
They looked up at the blank face of her hostel. “It’s Wien.”
“You really can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Possibly I can, but I don’t try. Stay with me tonight.”
“Where’s that? Do you live here?”
“Sometimes. I do a lot of business here, so we keep a flat. I have meetings tomorrow.”
Her turn to look sharp. “Who’s we? The wife?”
“No, the firm.”
She caught his hand, put it flat on her chest, “My heart is beating awfully fast.”
He dropped to one knee, pressed his ear to her. “Yes, it is.” He unbuttoned the bottom button of her sweater, kissed her belly, just above her jeans, and then the top button of her jeans, kissed her just above the edge of her panties. “I prefer dresses on women.”
“Yeah? Well, it’s a little chilly, but maybe if we have breakfast in.”
The drive was quiet, she watched the city pass. At his flat, he tossed his keys aside, took her coat and bag and said, “I have beer, I think.”
But then he moved away, sat on a chair by the table, waved a hand. “Take all that off, please.”
“I either need music or weed, if I’m going to strip for you.”
He shook his head, “No crutches. You can do it, I feel sure. Ask the girl from the alley to help you.”
She sat on his lap and bent to remove her boots. He shifted her weight on his hard-on, slouching a little, hands on her hips. She stood and unbuttoned her jeans, taking her time, arching her back to show off her panties. She had to bend over, knowing her ass was inches from his face, to get her jeans off. Bare feet felt good, she put her palms on the floor and stretched, the tension of travel giving way in her shoulders and back. she heard his breath change, become audible, as he watched the tendons in her thighs stretch. The split of her, her plump pussy between her legs, was temptingly visible under her panties. She sat again, and pulled her sweater off over her head. He kissed her back, unhooked her bra and took it off, running his palms over her nipples as he did. “Stand up.” He slid off his chair to his knees. Two steps and she was resting her cheek on the cool glass of the terrace doors, looking at the lights while he kissed the back of her thighs. The silence was deafening.
He slid her panties down a bit, but not off, the tip of his nose nudging. She arched her back, couldn’t spread her legs far enough, because her panties were trapping her. she went onto her tiptoes, trying to push them down, but he stopped her. “Hold still. Do not move unless I ask you to.” Holding her hips firmly, keeping her thighs just barely apart, his beard, his nose, between her cheeks. Jutting her ass back his face, asking for it, she squealed a bit when he parted her with his thumbs. And then he did it.
A thick, soft, wet tongue pushed into her pussy from behind. A distinctly unladylike groan fogged the glass. She managed to get out, “It’s … interesting…to be undressed in the company of a fully dressed man.” He tugged a fleshy bit into his mouth, “Yes? I like you like this. Mine.” He teased her, his face buried between her cheeks, able to get the tip of his tongue all the way to her clit, licking her, then inside her, fucking her pussy with his tongue, then sliding that tongue up the crack of her ass, flirting with her asshole. He got her awfully close, right up to it, and backed off. “Oh, my god.”
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