The Ghost Train

Her fantasies of being whipped come true

Images copyright: The Author

Sexy fantasies and reality mix in this steamy story from a past era.

Lillian licked her finger and turned the page. It really was naughty reading this in public, but she was alone in the train carriage’s compartment and had just got to the bit where the Emir had ordered the captive Daphne to be stripped and whipped.

Clutching the book in her left hand, her eyes scanned the lines as she let the fingers of her right press on her sensible skirt. The touch sent tiny spasms through her but the material stretched between her slightly parted legs preventing her from feeling any more.

No she couldn’t, could she? She glanced around the empty compartment, there was no corridor and it was at least thirty-five minutes to the next station. The resolute beat of the steam engine, one carriage ahead, and the slow passing of the English countryside outside the windows suggested that it might be even longer.

She turned the page. The fearsome whip wielded by the oh so handsome master arced across the cheeks of Daphne’s bared bottom. Lillian wriggled as her fingertips brushed over the delicate nylon of her stockings, lingered for a moment on the soft skin of her thigh and then pressed against the smoothness of her silk knickers.

The whip landed again and again. Daphne cried out in torment at first, but then the best part, the part Lillian always longed for happened; she became excited. The pain zigzagged through her body firing tingles of arousal deep into her. Each stroke sent blood pulsing to her lips, swelling them, opening them. Liquid arousal flowed from her as she began to pant and squirm, her fingers pushing deep inside her, wishing they were the slave master’s organ.

“Stand up and turn around.”

Lillian’s eyes flashed open. There was a man standing in the compartment. That was impossible; there was no corridor. Had he leapt aboard as the train slowed for a curve? She glanced out of the window - they were moving at little more than walking pace. No, he must be a fantasy.

If he was, he was a good looking one; strong jawline, dark hair and deep brown eyes. “I said, stand up and turn around.” He raised a riding crop and tapped it against his gloved hand.

Lillian got to her feet, swaying slightly with the motion of the train. She looked at the man’s face. His eyes seemed to sparkle and he looked almost real. Slowly, she turned and placed her palms flat on the velour of the carriage seat. She felt him lifting her skirt, bunching it around her waist, and then her knickers slid down to her ankles. Lillian looked down at her hands. How was that happening, she was sure she had not moved?

There was a hiss and a crack. Something had stung the skin of her naked behind. She gasped; her fantasies had never gone this far before. Her body jolted as she felt another thwack and then another. They felt so real. The pain was fizzing through her just as she had imagined it would.

More strokes landed and her behind began to heat up, she felt as if it was glowing. Each crack sent shivers through her, she felt as if her sex was throbbing. Resting her weight on one hand, she pushed the other between her legs. Her lips felt wet, slippery but there was something else there, something sliding between them, seeking access.

Lillian let out a squeal as she felt the smooth head and the hard shaft of flesh drive into her. She rode its thrusts, spreading her feet apart until the elastic of her knickers bit into her ankles. She could feel the cock swelling and pulsing as her fingers circled her own swollen bud. Waves of delight swept through her as she felt the man’s emission spurt into her. She screamed into the blackness surrounding her, the noise drowned by the engine’s whistle as it approached the station.

Lillian flopped down onto the seat, pulling her skirt back down. The end of the platform was already blurring past the carriage window. There was no time to pull up her knickers. Untangling them from her feet she stuffed them in her handbag.

The carriage door opened and the anxious face of an elderly station master appeared. “Are you alright, Miss? He asked. “It’s just one of the other passengers reported some strange noises.”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Lillian managed to gasp breathlessly. “I will be getting off at the next stop.”

A plump woman in her mid-fifties appeared behind the station master. He moved aside, and she clambered into the compartment. The door slammed shut, a whistle sounded. Lillian winced as the carriage jolted and the train chuffed its way slowly out of the station. How could her behind still be painful if it had all been a fantasy? She wriggled uncomfortably, which seemed to make it worse and now there was the sensation of something leaking from her.

The woman looked across at Lilian and smiled. “Ah, my dear, you look as if you have been visited by the handsome stranger,” she said. “He visited me once, many years ago.” A wistful look appeared in her eyes.

“The handsome stranger, why do you say that?” Lillian shuffled on the seat as she looked across at her, still conscious that her knickers were tucked in her handbag and there was probably a tell-tale wet patch appearing on the back of her skirt.

“Some women say he was a man spurned by a love who was very conservative in her tastes, whilst others say she was married so they could never be together. Whatever happened, he threw himself from a train one day and was killed. Now he returns to make frustrated female travellers’ fantasies come true.” The woman smiled at her. “Were you frustrated my dear?”

Lillian noticed that she said, were, and not are.

More erotic ghost stories