Hello everyone, your favourite gigolo servant is back. After weeks of begging, one of my clients had agreed to let me write a story about our experience. Hope you enjoy it.
I had boarded at Ernakulam Junction, already knowing who I’d be sharing the coupe with. She had booked the service discreetly — a straightforward message, no frills. “I want to be desired. Like a woman. Like a secret.” Her name wasn’t important. But her need? That I remembered word for word.
I stepped into the cabin. Cool air. Dim amber light. Clean sheets. And her.
She stood by the berth, adjusting her pallu. A cotton saree, cream with a muted gold border — traditional, but dangerously low at the blouse line. A flick of kohl, nude lips, and a look that was hesitant but not innocent.
She gave me a brief nod. No words yet. Just eyes — studying, lingering. I placed my duffel bag on the top berth and sat down, giving her space.
“You look different from your pictures,” she said softly.
“Better or worse?” I smiled.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she slowly sat on the lower berth, smoothing the pleats of her saree over her thighs. That single gesture — slow, deliberate — told me she wasn’t as shy as she wanted me to believe.
We had chatted for weeks before this, and by now we knew exactly why we were here. But in person? Everything was heightened. Her voice trembled slightly, betraying excitement more than nerves.
“You smell like rain,” she murmured. “Earthy.”
“You look like a monsoon,” I replied. “Warm, wet, and dangerous.”
She smiled, almost flustered. She didn’t expect flirtation to come back so quickly. She liked the game, though.
I poured us two cups of chai from the thermos. She took hers, fingers brushing mine. Her nails were short, clean, unpainted. She didn’t hide behind polish or performance. She was real. And she wanted to be seen.
“So,” she said, legs crossed now, the saree riding a bit higher over her calf, “Do we talk all night, or do we start?”
“I wait for your signal,” I said.
She looked out the window for a second. The moonlight flickered through the gaps of trees rushing by. Then she looked back at me. And uncrossed her legs. The air in the cabin shifted.
What followed was not rushed. She didn’t pounce. Instead, she got up, walked over to the door, and locked it with a click that echoed like a drumbeat in my chest.
Then she stood in front of me. “Remove the blouse hook,” she said.
Not a question. A command.
I stood, stepped behind her, hands steady. The warmth of her back radiated through the fabric. Her breathing deepened as I slid one finger under the hook, then unfastened it. The blouse opened just enough to show her bare spine.
She turned, slowly. The blouse was still clinging loosely to her shoulders. Her cleavage was visible now — soft, heavy, real. Not surgically perfect — but infinitely more magnetic. I pulled down the whole.
“You may kiss me,” she said.
I didn’t ask where.
I leaned in and kissed the spot below her collarbone. Then lower. My hands held her waist, fingertips grazing bare skin under the saree.
When she exhaled — sharp and sudden — I knew she was letting go.
She hadn’t let me move away from her.
After that first slow kiss and the long embrace that followed, she’d guided me to the lower berth without a word, her fingers still trembling slightly but her eyes bolder now — like a shy woman who’d finally decided to own her desire.
The little coupe swayed gently, and outside the window, Andhra’s dark fields passed unnoticed. Inside, time slowed. Her legs brushed mine. Her knees parted just enough for the air between us to thicken.
“I want you closer,” she whispered, voice already husky with wanting.
So I came closer.
Her hands gripped my arms. Then my back. Then the nape of my neck, holding me like she didn’t want to think anymore — only feel.
Her skin was warm, scented faintly with something traditional — sandalwood, jasmine, the kind of smell that clings to cotton sarees and prayer rooms. But now it mixed with the sharpness of desire — sweat, breath, and the musky honesty of arousal.
I kissed her neck, slowly. Her collarbone, slower. I could feel the pulse at her throat hammering.
“You’re good at waiting,” she breathed.
“I was waiting for *you* to want this,” I said into her ear.
“I want,” she said. “More than I thought I would.”
Her legs shifted, thighs brushing against mine. I felt her arch a little, unconsciously. Her body was already telling me what her words hadn’t.
So I gave in.
I kissed my way down, teasing, letting my hands explore — over the swell of her belly, the curve of her waist, the tender undersides of her boobs. She was softer than silk, and hotter than the night outside. And her reactions? Honest. She wasn’t pretending to moan; she couldn’t help it.
At one point, when my tongue circled just below her navel, she bit her own wrist to stay quiet.
“Careful,” I whispered. “You’ll wake the whole coach.”
She chuckled, breathless. “Let them hear. For once, I don’t want to hide.”
That line. It stayed with me.
So when I finally moved lower towards her pussy. She didn’t resist. She just opened herself like a book she’d kept closed for too long. And I read every line with my mouth.
Her thighs clenched around me, and her hands tangled in my hair. The sounds she made — muffled gasps, broken moans — filled the tiny coupe like music.
Her body convulsed, her breath caught, and a tear slipped from one eye — not from sadness, but from release. Maybe even relief.
I completely undressed myself and got ready for the next stage. Seeing my almost 6-inch cock, she was like a hungry lion seeing prey after a long time.
She smiled, her eyes wet, but glowing. “You’re dangerous.”
“Why?”
“Because I might get addicted.”
I laughed softly. “We still have ten hours to Hyderabad. Let’s see how deep that addiction goes.”
“Then don’t sleep just yet,” she whispered. “You haven’t even heard how I say thank you.”
She pulled me towards herself and gulped the whole cock in one go. She gagged herself for 10 seconds and then came back, smoothening my cock with her saliva. She then started sucking it while playing with my balls.
She’s not the best cock sucker I’ve been with; I can tell. But the way she stared at me with my cock in her mouth was intense, and sent a thrill down my spine. She pushed me to the other side of the berth, gave one final kiss to my cock, placed it on the entrance of her pussy, and sat on it.
She paused for a moment, closing her eyes and feeling my cock inside her. And then she started riding me. It was so amazing to see her struggling to keep her voice down while her boobs were jumping up and down. I started squeezing one and sucking the other one. She was biting her lower lip, making me go crazy.
I then lifted her and made her lie on the berth. I then dragged her legs, making her lie half on the berth and half outside, and started ramming her pussy in missionary. Both of us were in heaven by then. The sudden jerks that the train made also helped me go deep inside.
I could feel my cum building up and told her that. She told me to cum inside her mouth. I quickly took out my cock and stuffed it in her mouth. She started slurping it like a baby, and I couldn’t hold on much longer. I cum inside her mouth, and she sucked me dry, swallowing everything.
We then had a passionate kiss, and she said, “I haven’t cum yet, and we still have hours left. I’m pouncing on you after a break.”
I just laughed hearing that. We had more sessions trying different positions in there. I managed to make her cum too. By dawn, the berth smelled like sweat and sandalwood and satisfaction.
And her final words before dozing off on my chest?
“Next time, I’m booking a return trip too.”
And that was the story, fellas. Those who wish to contact me can email me at [email protected]. Story responses and service requests are accepted.