Hidden Confession
Mr Forbes looked at her and she watched as his eyes dilated and his breath came quicker. Just like the Vicar and her father.
"I will, mistress Jennifer," he gasped. "Lean your head on me shoulder. I will... help... you through the Longstone Tunnel. Just let yourself relax into my arms and dinna worry if I have to move them aboot. It is all to keep you safe.. and happy."
A few seconds later and the engine gave two whistles. Jennifer was plunged again into darkness. Mr Forbes, sitting on her left, put his right hand around her waist and pulled her close, making her body lean towards him. Then his left hand plunged into her bodice and his fingers were caressing her bosom. Each breast was given a good feel and he paid particular attention to her nipples. It was not unpleasant as an experience, Jennifer thought, and would never have happened normally. Mr Forbes had no reputation for gallivanting. It had to be the effect of the ring.
Then his hand was removed. Had he recovered his senses, Jennifer wondered? There was a few moments when he seemed to be pulling at his own clothing and then his hand returned. Not to delve into her bodice but to slide down her forearm until he found her wrist. Then her hand was lifted and moved across. He pressed it down into his lap and she felt warm flesh, his manhood. Before she could object he started to rub her hand up and down his length. She could feel the hairs in his crotch and his thick shaft, and the fat, rounded head. It was very warm and twitched under her fingers.
What should I do, she thought? Grasp it, or just let him move my hand to and fro? Then his right hand left her waist and moved up to her neck. A gentle pressure was applied, pushing her head down towards Mr Forbes' lap. She gasped and, under the direction of his fingers, her left hand grasped his manhood. Mr Forbes groaned with pleasure. Now his manhood was upright with her fingers tight around the fat shaft, and - because it was upright - the distance between her mouth and it had reduced. His right hand steered her closer and then, oh, she was touching the head with her lips.
She tasted a salty liquid and smelled a deep, musk like, odour. There was a gentle but persistent pressure on her neck and she understood that she was supposed to open her mouth. Was this what her stepmother had done for her father last night? Would Mr Forbes require her to bob her head up and down? And what would his manhood taste of?
With a single blast on the whistle the milk train came out into the light.
"Blast!" swore Mr Forbes.
Jennifer was released and he quickly tucked his manhood back into his trousers. She had a quick glimpse of a thick, dark shaft and black pubic hairs before it disappeared from sight. Mr Forbes stood up, adjusted his clothes, and pulled Jennifer's carpetbag down from the rack. Then his own briefcase. He sat down with the briefcase on his lap, covering up the bulge that still threatened to cause him embarrassment. There were just a couple of minutes now before they arrived at Damcaster station.
"Thank you for keeping me safe," Jennifer said.
"That tunnel's shorter than I remember it," grumped Mr Forbes.
"Yes," replied Jennifer. "The time just flew by."
"If you ever find yourself near the dairy," he smiled. "I would happily give you a tour of the milking shed and the churn store. A long tour."
"That would be lovely, Mr Forbes," Jennifer smiled at him.
The train started to slow and, as she contemplated his words, she wondered what adventures the ring would take her on. It was now clear that she must not touch any man, not unless she wanted him to desire her. Would there be time in Damcaster to buy a pair of gloves?
--o--
The train jerked to a halt and a porter opened the door. Jennifer stepped down, avoiding both men's attempts to help her. It would be bad to make them desire her on the open platform in front of everyone. She bade Mr Forbes farewell and headed for the ticket office.
Mr Forbes watched her go, unable to understand why he was so passionate about a young, plump girl that he had never seen as a possible lover. He was happily married, he reminded himself, but he had been prepared to risk it all for a mouth fuck. What was wrong with him? He walked out of the station and, slowly, the desire for Jennifer faded in his mind. By the time he reached the office he had persuaded himself that it was just a moment of madness, best forgotten. And certainly best never mentioned.
Clutching her ticket to London, Jennifer sat on a bench waiting for the train. She placed her ticket into her little bag and then delved into her carpetbag for her gloves. Dragging them out she realised they wouldn't work.
It was early morning, the platform was warm, and there seemed no doubt that the day would be very sunny. The gloves were mittens, made from sheepskin, perfect for a chilly winter's day but completely inappropriate for today. They would stop her touching anyone, but they would look so silly and there was a danger they would make people stare, and remember. 'Oh yes,' they would say. 'We remember the strange girl whom you describe, she was wearing mittens on a summer's day.' Jennifer put them back in the bag. She would just have to cope without them. There was not the time to visit a glovers in Damcaster. But, when she was in London, there would be time.
The train arrived. It had already done many miles today and it stopped by the water tower to refill. It consisted of three grand coaches, a long parcel van, and a stubby brake van at the rear. Jennifer strode down the platform looking for an empty compartment which, to her delight, she found. There were beginning to be tales in the newspapers of a problem with the current rolling stock. Each carriage had four compartments but they did not connect. Nor did a carriage connect to the next. Once you were in your compartment you were stuck there until the train arrived at the next station, and there had been stories of ladies trapped with several men that Jennifer had been too frightened to read. But, if she could find an empty compartment, then at least the first part of the journey would be witthout risk.
She settled into the compartment and put her own bag up on the overhead rack. She wasn't going to be caught a second time with the possibility of an accidental touch. The porter came down the platform, closing all the doors, and the sound of the stationmaster's whistle rang out loud. She settled back, she was alone.
Fifteen minutes later the train stopped at the next station, Workfield. There were several stops on this service, even though it was the express, and her door was opened. She glanced over, hoping it was a lady getting on, or perhaps an elderly married couple, but it was the Conductor.
"Mornin' miss," he said. He was about the same age as her father and reminded her a little of him. Which made her think. What was her father doing now? Had her parents discovered her escape? Or was she being left in her room, without breakfast, as a punishment until she could be promised to the Vicar? In a way she hoped that the latter was the case, it would be a longer time before her escape was discovered.
"Good morning," she replied.
"Can I see your ticket please, miss?" he enquired. "I must check it, and clip it."
He had a small metal device in his hand. He would make a cut along the edge of the pasteboard ticket so that it could not be reused. Jennifer was feeling very nervous, though there was nothing illegal about what she was doing. But a young woman, travelling alone, might be remarked upon. Should she say something, or keep quiet? She got her little bag out and opened it, withdrawing the ticket, but - in her nervousness - as she passed it to the conductor, it dropped from her fingers onto the seat beside her.
The Conductor reached for the ticket, Jennifer reached for the ticket, and their hands touched. A long stroke across the back of her hand. At the same moment a porter slammed the door of the carriage shut and there was a flurry of whistles, a waving of green flags, and the train started to move.
"Sorry miss," apologised the Conductor. "I will have to stay here until the next stop. But... it will give me the opportunity to properly clip your ticket."
"Oh," replied Jennifer, knowing that she had made him desire her. Or rather the Ring had. Was it determined to follow her wish on every occasion?
He picked up the ticket and, with a deft snip, it was clipped. Then he looked at her, and licked his lips. His eyes had that dilated look she had now got used to seeing. He seemed to be struggling to think.
"Er..." he said. "Er... Railway regulations require me to check for illegal substances being transported by our trains. I must check that you are not carrying any."
Jennifer had no idea if this was true but, if he wanted to check her carpetbag, then she was happy for him to do so. There was definitely nothing in there that might count as contraband. No strange drugs from Marrakesh, no jewels stolen from a one-eyed God from India, no illegal firearms, just clothes and a few books.
She stood up, turned away from him, and reached up to get her bag.
"That's just fine, miss," said the Conductor. "Keep your arms up there." He put his hands both sides of her torso, just under the armpits, and patted and stroked her all the way down to her hips. He spent quite a while around her hips and bottom, probing between her buttocks for, presumably, contraband.
"Oh that's..." he started to say, then stopped. "Turn around miss," he continued, back in his official voice.
This time his hands started around her neck, then dropped to her shoulders, and around her bosom. Jennifer was confident she did not have sufficient curves there to hide anything. Now that she had seen her stepmother's breasts she believed that they were of a size that would allow a gemstone to be hidden between them, deep in the cleavage, or even under them where they sagged slightly on her chest. Jennifer had nothing like that. Nonetheless the Conductor spent a long time exploring every curve, however little. Then he stroked her tummy and pushed his hand down between her legs. The skirts resisted him.