The Train Journey 3: The Sweet Smell of Provence - Erotic Short Story

By Barbara Nordström

Clara can't wait to go on holiday with her friend Minna. They're going to interrail in Europe, and drink rosé as they hang out by the pool at Minna's parents' house in the South of France. Unfortunately, Minna cancels last minute. Clara feels abandoned and doesn't know what to do. Should she just stay home? But the ticket is already paid for, and Clara decides to travel on her own. She'll go to Italy and France and experience Venice, Cinque Terre and Rome.It'll be a cultural and sensual trip that Clara won't soon forget.This is the third part of 'The Train Journey.'-

• Language: English
• Publisher: LUST
• Release date: Dec 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9788726773606

Book preview

I was on a train going along the Italian coast towards the French riviera. The memory of last night still throbbed in my thighs. I had imagined a quiet ride with a lovely view of the sea where I could relax, listen to some music and relive yesterday's erotic events in my mind. But the train towards Genova was packed with loud people in vacation mode. I was squeezed between the window and a heavy woman eating sunflower seeds and spitting out the shells into her hands. I sighed. My thighs stuck to the plastic seat.

This part of the journey was hardly charming and romantic. And still, I saw images from last night when I closed my eyes. Marco's slim fingers touching my crotch. Laura's petite breasts in my palms. The volcano building up inside of me. The gushing, bubbling desire that flooded my body, making me happy and dizzy.

I felt my cheeks blushing. Not because I was ashamed, but because I got turned on again. The whole thing had lit a fire in me and it was burning between my legs. But now I was leaving Marco and Laura behind, the ones who had lit the match.

I wiped the sweat off my upper lip with my sleeve and wondered if I was doing the right thing by leaving now. Yes, I decided. Marco and his stepsister Laura were beautiful and amazing. But we had no language in common. We felt each other's desire, sure, but we couldn't talk about it. We could enjoy each other's touch, yes, but we couldn't express what would make it even better. Had I stayed, my vacation would have turned out to be me just waiting for Marco to finish work every day. I hadn't gone on this trip alone to bend it to the whims of some man. Not even a man with a smile like Marco's, not even a man whose fingers made me scream with pleasure and whose hips fit perfectly between my softer curves.

I spread my thighs just so and remembered how Marco's fingers had slid in between my wet folds, opening me up like a ripe and juicy piece of fruit. I bit my lip. Should I get off at the next stop and get the train back? I could almost smell the sun-ripened figs hanging heavily on the tree outside the farmhouse. I could spend my days in its shade, napping, reading and drinking ice cold water instead of sitting here on a sticky seat with a plastic bottle of lukewarm water. But I guess this was the price I had to pay for