Sample story from Rapture

Scott Dalgety
- Paysages -

The line of carriages glided into the platforms of Carcasonne station and came to a halt.
From a corner seat of a first class compartment Mark observed the scene. The station looked reasonably busy but one of the advantages of first class was that you often got a compartment to yourself.
A few people walked past in the corridor, glancing through the windows into the compartment to see if it was occupied before walking on. 
Just as the whistle had been blown by the chef de gare and the train had begun to slide along the platform again, the door of the compartment opened and in walked a woman. She looked to be in her late twenties, of medium height, honey blonde, and carried a briefcase. She wore a black jacket and a matching short black skirt.
"Bonjour," she said as she put the briefcase on the opposite seat.
"Bonjour," he replied.
She took off her jacket and turned around to hang it on the coathook next to the window, in the process presenting him with a shapely derrière. Under the jacket she wore a white blouse through which the outline of her bra was visible.
She turned around again and sat opposite him. As she did so, her skirt rode up even higher to provide a largely unencumbered view of long bare legs, at the top of which he noticed a dark triangle before she crossed one leg over the other. Her curly hair reached to her shoulders, and fell either side of a pretty face that was lightly made up.
"Je m'appelle Mireille."
"Mark. Je suis de Nouvelle Zélande."
"Ah yes? That is a long way from here. You are on vacation?"
"In some ways. I'm visiting colleagues in Bordeaux."
"I am only going as far as Toulouse," she said. "Business."
Toulouse was the next stop, too bad! Still, that was a good 35 minutes away.
The compartment door opened again. This time it was the uniformed figure of the contrôleur silhouetted against the morning sun which was now streaming through.
He looked momentarily at Mark then at Mireille. "Bonjour madame, votre billet, s'il vous plaît."
She reached for her jacket and fetched a ticket from the pocket. Mark's ticket had been checked after leaving Narbonne.
"D'accord. Merci."

Outside, the landscape consisted of vineyards which stretched into the blue haze of the hills in the distance. Mark found himself instead stealing increasingly long glances at the pair of legs which stretched beside his own, enticingly topped with a narrow band of black fabric.
After a few minutes she looked at him. "My legs please you?" she asked pleasantly.
"Of course. They're very elegant ... very seductive."
She smiled. She stood up, went over the door, reached to take hold of one of the orange pleated curtains and drew it across; then the other.  Because of the sun? Or did she have other intentions?
She sat down to face him again, took hold of the hem of her miniskirt on either side between her thumbs and index fingers and pulled it up to the top of her thighs. Then she spread her legs.
"That pleases you also?"
Revealed bare before him was her pussy, crowned with a triangle of golden pubic hair.
"Mmm," was all he could think to reply.
She slid the index and middle fingers of her left hand down either side of her vulva and prised the lips slightly apart. "Would you like to kiss me there?"
Well, that went without saying!
"Naturellement," he smiled.
"Je t'en prie."
He knelt down between her legs, his face in front of her golden glory, and kissed her pussy lips. Then with his fingers he prised them further apart than Mireille herself had done and inserted his tongue as far as he could into her love tunnel. She was wet already. He withdrew his tongue and savoured the sensation of her juice in his mouth. Then he placed his tongue at the bottom of her vagina and slowly moved up to the hood of her clitoris. She moaned softly, spread her legs further apart and pushed gently against him.
Next he sucked each lip in turn before tickling them with the tip of his tongue. He looked up. She had her eyes closed and mouth slightly open. With the fingers of her right hand she was slowly rubbing her right breast while her left hand gripped the armrest.
He remembered a magazine article which proposed tracing the letters of the alphabet, capitals only, over a woman's clitoris during cunnilingus to see how far you could get before she reached orgasm.
A... B... C...
She moaned again. "Lentement."
More slowly; D... E... F...
"Oh, ça fait si bon," she half-whispered.
He went back to her love tunnel for more pussy juice which was now copious.
G... H... I...
Her breathing became deep and more rapid.
J... K... L...
She began humping and pushing against his tongue.
M... N... O....
"Aaah... c'est ça... oooh!" She was now moving her pelvis vigorously but pushed him gently away indicating she did not need any more. She rested, panting, her eyes closed, against the headrest.
Mark's face was wet with her love juice, the scent of which filled the compartment. He was about to ask if she would like to return the favour when a modulated voice came over the sound system: "Mesdames et messieurs, en quelques instants nous arriverons  à Toulouse.  Toulouse: quatre minutes d'arrêt."
"Merde." Mireille hurriedly composed herself before standing up to take her jacket from the coathook and putting it on. Before walking out the door she opened the briefcase, took out a business card and tossed it to him with a smile.
"A bientôt."