I had spent the day in Manchester, travelling by train from my then home town, Shrewsbury. Well, I say "day", using my cheap day ticket, it was almost lunch time by the time arrived. By the time I had finished my business there, the evening rush had begun, so I opted to eat there and to travel later. Big mistake. Or was it? The journey from Manchester to Crewe, where I had to change, was without event, but Crewe, as is often the case, was in chaos. Every platform was packed with frustrated travelers. There had been a major signal failure, all services south were subject to cancellation or delays. My heart sank. But then came an announcement - "Passengers for Shrewsbury only, should board the train standing at platform 7. This train will stop only at Shrewsbury, where it will terminate." I made my way to the appointed place, fighting every inch of the way through legions of disgruntled passengers. The train was only two coaches long. I climbed aboard to discover that the compartment contained only one other passenger, a woman, sitting at the far end of the compartment I was in. The conductor/ticket collector, also a woman, was also in 'my' compartment. The beeper sounded, the doors hissed closed and we were on our way. The ticket collector inspected first my fellow traveler’s ticket and then mine, commenting as she did so: "That's me done for today, you are the only two passengers." She had no more idea than I what the problem was, or had been. "I'm just a minion," she concluded. And then moved off to her hidey hole. I took out my book and settled down to what promised to be a quiet journey. Within minutes, there was movement at the other end of the compartment. My fellow passenger had stood up and was walking towards me. I watched her approach over the top of my book. Slim brunette, early forties, well dressed, very attractive. She stopped alongside me and spoke, indicating the seat opposite mine: "Do you mind if I sit here?" I was a little bit peeved, why here with the entire train to choose from? But I politely gave my consent. She sat diagonally opposite and crossed her legs, revealing an expanse of stocking top, the suspenders supporting them and a fair amount of smooth thigh. Now I was glad she had moved. After a few minutes of me pretending to read, during which she re-crossed her legs, proving that the other thigh was equally appealing, she spoke again; "Would you like me to wank you off?" Had I misheard? "I'm sorry," I replied, "What did you say?" "I think you heard me correctly," she continued, "I'm feeling exceptionally horny tonight, I can't let you fuck me, but I will polish your little soldier's helmet for you if you'd like." I was speechless. I gulped, um'ed and er'ed for what seemed like minutes. She looked at her watch and continued; "We have twenty minutes before we get to Shrewsbury, do you want it? Or do you swing the other way?" I hastily accepted her offer. "Get it out then, let's see what you've got." I stood, unzipped and fished out what had been a throbbing erection, but had now decided to go shy on me. "Oh dear," husked my new best friend, "Are we going to need help?" Without waiting for a reply, she stood up and unbuttoned the jacket of the smart, tailored business suit she was wearing. Under it was no blouse, just a lacy platform bra on which rested as fine a pair of tits as I had ever seen, dark nipples fully erect. Clearly, she was as horny as she had claimed. I reached out to touch, but she knocked my hand away. "Eyes only." She scolded. But it had had the desired effect, my 'little soldier' was at attention. "That's better," she smiled. "A proper handful, I can work with that." She reached out and cupped my balls, sending another stiffening impulse to what was now straining for release. Slowly, she explored my equipment, I was almost whimpering. She led me by the prick, into the space at the end of the compartment, where the doors are. Satisfied, she moved from in front of me, to my side, placing her left arm around me and taking a firm hold of my throbbing cock with her right hand. In the circumstances, I was never going to last long and I decided not to hold back, but to let nature take its course. It took only thirty or so deft strokes of her small hand to cause the inevitable eruption, and I'm pleased to say that it was one of my better efforts. A volley of thick cum shot from my straining tip, streaking the carriage floor, even hitting the door on the other side from where we stood. The last spurts rolling lava-like onto her slender, scarlet-nailed fingers. I fished out my handkerchief and handed it to her, she carefully dried each finger before handing it back. I used it to wipe the spunky teardrop from my now drooping tip. We adjusted our clothing in silence, she then leaned in and placed a quick kiss on my ear, saying; "Nice one, I'm impressed." She picked up her bag and returned to her original seat at the far end, saying over her shoulder; "There's lipstick on your ear." I used the now spunky hanky to remove it, just as the train began to slow for Shrewsbury. I waited for her to leave the carriage, then followed, about twenty or so metres behind, admiring her shapely arse. She left the station and climbed into the passenger seat of a large BMW waiting directly outside, treating me to another flash of stockinged thigh, then she was gone. I sometimes wonder whether it actually happened, I have made the same journey several times since, at differing times of the day, but without seeing her. But I still have the lipsticked hanky, tucked away in a safe place. And just inside the tab of the fly on the trousers I was wearing, is a small semen stain. That can't just be imagination. Can it?