by Tyra Spence
You know, if there were an Olympic category for making love, Tim and I would have won the gold medal by now. Early in our relationship we’d joined the Mile High Club (having sex on an airplane) and the Yard Wide Club (doing it in a vintage VW Bug). So when we learned from friends about the Mile Deep Club (fucking in the English Channel Tunnel), we decided that this was a ride we had to experience for ourselves.
The “Chunnel” runs underwater between Paris and London, and the Eurostar is the train that travels through it. Tim bought us first-class tickets, believing that if we were going to do it, we might as well go in style. However, we hadn’t even reached the train when Tim’s amorous side emerged. He pulled me behind a concrete pillar at the Gare du Nord train station in Paris, kissing my lips and the hollow of my neck and trying to convince me to sneak into the men’s room with him. At first I thought he was kidding, but when I looked up into his dark blue eyes, I saw that he was serious.
“Let’s wait until we get our seats,” I urged, wanting to postpone pleasure until the last possible moment. Anticipation always heightens sex for me, but Tim was ready now. He placed one of my hands against his crotch so I could feel his hard-on pressing through his khakis. He didn’t want to wait.
“We can just have a quickie here,” he suggested anxiously. “The ride’s three hours long. We’ll have plenty of time for a second round.”
Even though I don’t require fancy settings to get into the mood, I wasn’t keen on doing it in a men’s room. But when Tim spied a row of private lavatories, the type that allow you to put in your franc and have fifteen minutes of privacy in an enclosed capsule, I relented.
“You’re sure nobody else can get in?” I asked cautiously, walking around the egg-shaped unit. It looked like something that had landed from outer space.
Tim pointed to the sign that would let people know the capsule was occupied.
“How long do we get?”
“Quarter of an hour.”
Plenty of time for a quickie, I agreed. And now, with him practically begging me, I found that I was seriously turned on too. Tim slipped in the coins and the hinged door whirred open. Inside, the miniature French bathroom was both spotless and odorless. Tim and I ducked in together and quickly got into the groove. I wasn’t wearing panties, in preparation for our ride through the Chunnel, and Tim didn’t have any boxers on under his slacks. This made things infinitely easier as we maneuvered within the small space.
There was no discussion of position. Tim, sensing correctly that I was aroused enough to forego foreplay, simply unzipped his fly, lifted my short skirt and pulled me back against him, impaling me with his thick cock. We fucked standing like that, in a modified spoon embrace, with me remaining fairly motionless while Tim did the work of thrusting and pulling back, thrusting in deeper still, and then just giving me the head. He steadied me with his hands on my slim waist, and he leaned forward and bit the ridge of my shoulder to keep himself from making too much noise.
In our private capsule, Tim’s cock bucked within my cunt, bouncing deeper against the walls of my pussy with each thrust. I was already well-lubricated from the anticipation of making love in the Chunnel, and this helped Tim’s cock slide back and forth in the most divine manner imaginable.
Even though I was consumed by the sensations, my heart raced at the thought of being discovered. Although this is what makes our sexual adventures exciting, I wondered if the gendarmes we had seen in the station would arrest an American couple for indecent activity.
Then I reminded myself that this was Paris, a city famous for romance. While riding a tour boat along the Seine the night before, the captain had used his lights to reveal couples making love on the riverbanks. The tourists applauded and whistled as several of the engrossed couples managed to untangle themselves long enough to wave back.
As Tim’s cock throbbed within the tight confines of my hungry pussy, I suddenly found myself appreciating the tiny bathroom capsule. It forced us to make the most of the space we had, pressing even tighter together than usual. I could feel my husband’s strong body on mine as he wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me back against him. Tim is nearly six inches taller than I am. He has a swimmer’s build, strong with corded muscles, and he can easily maneuver my weight in his arms, moving me however he wants. As a fitness instructor, I’m lithe and light and infinitely flexible.
Now he used my weight for his own enjoyment, rocking me on him instead of thrusting into me. The motion was perfectly rhythmic, and he brought his fingers to the lips of my pussy and then slid into the wetness. My clit was ready, near-desperate for contact, and he touched it just the way I like, starting slowly, gently teasing, then giving it to me a little bit firmer. The slightly callused balls of his fingertips played over my jewel in a steady motion, stroking me closer and closer to climax as his cock worked my inner regions. I usually need both sensations when I’m striving for an orgasm, and Tim didn’t let me down. His fingers moved faster, and when he sensed I could handle a stronger touch, he carefully pinched my clit between his fingers and thumb.
“Oh, fuck,” I told him, trying to keep my voice low. “That feels so good.”
“Don’t whisper, Tyra,” he said. “I want to hear you as you come.”
A train on a nearby track pulled out of the station just then, and, using the noise of its departure to cover my screams, I leaned my head back against Tim and let loose as he banged away inside me. My cunt muscles gripped his throbbing shaft, squeezing him off in a series of hungry jerks. He came from my reaction and I felt each spasm of his cock as it released its come inside me. That made me climax a second time, rocking on him as he shot his load. Tim loves it when I lose control, and he knows how rare it is for me to be able to make so much noise in public. Generally we have to be quiet when we’re on this type of stealth-lovemaking mission.
My legs were watery from the power of our ride, so it took a moment for me to steady myself. But Tim pointed out that our time was almost up, and we hastily readjusted our clothes in the last few moments before a warning alarm in the capsule sounded and the door swung open.
At the request of a voice over the loudspeaker, Tim and I quickly made our way to the boarding platform for the Eurostar, readying ourselves for our first ride through the Channel Tunnel. Mistakenly, I had thought that the entire trip took place underwater. However, the ride consists of about two hours’ worth of travel through the French countryside, twenty minutes underwater through the Chunnel and the rest aboveground in England. When the steward explained this to us, Tim shot me an “I told you so” look. If we were going to wait until we were within the Chunnel, it was a good thing we’d had our quickie to satisfy ourselves for the time being. We wouldn’t have wanted to waste a session aboveground on the train and then not be able to get into the mood during that short period under the English Channel.
For the first two hours we looked out the window at French cows, drank expensive Champagne and listened to other travelers speak in a mix of lilting French and accented English. Tim also went exploring while I enjoyed myself in the upper-crust compartment. The surroundings were decidedly decadent for a train ride. Plush, reclining seats, lovely carpets, and an attentive staff made first class worthwhile. Of course, I hoped the staff wouldn’t be too attentive when the moment arrived for us to scamper off to the bathroom together.
“There are two bathrooms in each car,” Tim said when he returned from his search, explaining that the compartments were each about half the size of the one we had used in the train station. However, there was one roomy bathroom at the end of the next carriage. It was intended for a variety of uses, with a changing table for little ones and plenty of space to move around in. It would be perfect for us.
When the next steward passed by, Tim asked how long it would be before we reached the Chunnel. The man looked at his watch and told Tim we had another half an hour. Tim took me in his arms and we stared out the window together, waiting for our next adventure to start. We watched as the French landscape whizzed past in a Monet-like wash of greens and golds.
Each time the train entered a tunnel, my heart began to race and my pussy grew a little wetter in anticipation. Then daylight would reappear, and I’d realize that we hadn’t yet reached the Channel Tunnel. Finally, when I thought we would never arrive at our sexual destination, the countryside disappeared. Through the window, all we could see were our reflections staring back. As we quickly plunged into blue-black darkness, the lights in the train’s cabin took on a warm glow against the tunnel’s velvety backdrop. I felt the terrain gently sloping away beneath us.
Mind you, I had imagined that it would be like a roller-coaster ride, a heart-in-mouth, stomach-lurching drop. Instead, the slow descent was as delicate as the slip from day to night, a steady, almost soothing approach into the earth. The one notable difference was that the slight vibration that had rocked us all afternoon increased to a dull rumble, creating a most pleasurable throbbing sensation between my legs.
As the train bore down a mile beneath the English Channel, Tim took my hand and led me through our car and the one in front of it, until we were at the extra-large lavatory. With a press of a button, the door magically slid open, revealing not only the second spotless bathroom we’d come across in Europe, but also a room that had two mirrors—on opposing walls. What luck! We hurried in together and pressed the button that closed the door. Then, with the train cruising along on the tracks below us, and with the knowledge that we were deep beneath the water, I slid off my white angora sweater and lost my skirt on the floor. Tim sucked in his breath when he looked at me, and I felt as if he were seeing me for the first time.
“Ah, your breasts,” he sighed, taking me in his arms and nuzzling his face against them. His short goatee tickled in the most erotic way, and I almost came from the feel of his wet mouth on my nipples, kissing first one and then the other, making them stand at attention. Then he went on his knees and spread my legs, holding my shaved pussy lips open so that he could French-kiss my cunt. My clit was still sensitive from our romp two hours before, and as he took it in his mouth and suckled, I was grateful for his hands around my waist holding me upright.
“Don’t come,” he murmured, moving his head back for a moment. “I want you to come on my cock.”
It was a nearly impossible assignment. My body tingled all over from the kissing he was doing down below and the softness of his hair rubbing against my inner thighs. His tongue thrust in and out of me, and then he simply lapped up and down in a direct and hungry manner.
“You’d better fuck me,” I told him, absolutely ready to climax on his tongue. “If you don’t want me to come now, you’d really better fuck me.”
Tim stood and turned me so that my hands were braced against one wall of the bathroom. We were between the two mirrors, and when I turned my head to look, our reflections made it seem as if there were hundreds of couples with us in the bathroom—a whole chorus line of dark-haired men and blonde-haired women preparing to make passionate love. But Tim wasn’t ready to enter me yet. I could tell that he was planning on making our session last for the entire ride under the Channel. Now he knelt behind me, parting the cheeks of my ass and sliding his finger in.
After a quick tease, just a quick tickle in and along my pink rosebud opening, he said, “Tell me what it feels like.”
I knew exactly what he was asking. He wanted me to talk to him while he fingered me. This is always a difficult task. When Tim has his finger in my asshole, all I want to do is moan. But when I didn’t immediately respond, he took his hand away and said, “If you want me to do this, Tyra, you have to talk.”
I took a deep breath, planning on obeying his request, but as he brought a hand around to my cunt again, with a finger in my ass, all I could think of was melting away into a series of body-shaking orgasms. Tim wasn’t having any of it. He took his finger away and said in a stern voice, “Tyra, start telling me what it feels like or I won’t give it to you.”
I parted my lips and tried to make my mouth work. “It feels amazing,” I finally managed, knowing that wasn’t a decent description at all. It felt dirty, and naughty, and infinitely exposing. When Tim probes me there, I don’t even know who I am anymore. All I know is that it tickles in this extremely personal way, and that I don’t want him to stop. I also know that I will beg him to continue if he takes his finger out, which he did a third time, telling me to turn my head and look in the mirror.
What I saw there was a lanky blonde getting her ass finger-fucked by her handsome husband. For some reason, watching as it was happening made it easier for me to describe the sensations. As Tim used his hands to spread my asscheeks wide apart, giving himself better access, I whispered, “Put it in deeper,” my voice hoarse and low. “Please, Tim. Put your finger in deeper.”
“You want something deep?” he asked, as if he’d been expecting the request. Standing quickly, he gave me about two seconds to process what was happening before he pulled out his cock and placed it right against my asshole. “Something thicker, and longer? And harder, and deeper?” I could feel the thrilling sensation of pressure against my tight rosebud.
I nodded, unable to speak as I watched Tim press his hips forward and slip the head of his cock into my spit-lubed asshole.
“Like that?” he asked. “Deep like that?”
He was teasing me, just giving me the bulbous head of his cock, but I nodded, knowing that he would continue. He wasn’t going to be able to tease me for the entire time. He wanted to fuck me as much as I wanted to be fucked by him.
“Or deeper still?” he asked, and I moaned some nonsense words in response, my eyes still locked on our reflections in the mirror as he slid a bit more of his thick shaft into my ass. The motion of the train on the tracks helped him find a perfect pace, and he began to fuck me slowly, moving in and out, giving me a little bit more of his cock with each gentle thrust. I knew that I would come when he touched my clit, and he knew that too, and kept his hands away from my pussy. Instead, he brought his fingers up to my breasts, rubbing my nipples between his fingertips and thumbs. Then he slid his hands along my ribs to my waist, holding on as he pressed in even deeper.
When we were as tight together as we could get, his cock buried to the hilt in my asshole so that I could feel his balls pressing against me from behind, he stopped moving. Now the train really did do the fucking for us, bouncing us around in a manner that had me purring from the glorious, steady rhythm. Filled with Tim’s cock and jostled by the train’s motion, I realized I would actually be able to come without any other assistance from him. I didn’t need his fingers on my clit, didn’t need anything except the beat of the train as it raced its way through the Chunnel.
“Imagine that . . . the train’s deep in one tunnel,” Tim murmured to me softly, “and I’m deep in another.”
That did it, that image, and I groaned as I came, squeezing Tim’s cock with the muscles of my ass as my pussy throbbed with a heart-pounding climax. Tim was able to hold on for another second, driving in and out of me to lengthen my orgasm, before shooting his come into my asshole. It felt so decadent: Now I’d had my husband’s thick cream in both of my holes, and I would be able to feel it dripping out of me for the rest of the trip. Tim grinned at me as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.
As we cleaned ourselves up and got back into our clothes, I felt exhilaration at meeting our goal, mingled with a slight sadness. Now that we’d done it in the Chunnel, I wondered what we were going to do next. How could we possibly top this experience?
Knowing my husband, I needn’t have worried on that score. Tim came home from work yesterday, all abuzz at a brand-new concept he’d read about on the Internet: a ride on an elephant caravan in Asia. “You’re in this little compartment on the back of an elephant,” he explained, “and the movement on the elephant is like being on a boat. Back and forth and side to side. I hear it’s very soothing.”
With our colorful history, I’m positive we’ll make it to Asia for our next vacation. I’m just not sure what you would call that club when you join.