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Au-dessus des Capitales
"Enfin!" murmured Brian, as the train was about to depart.
"Monsieur requires anything?" the conductor had already presented the beauty of their sleeping compartment and the neat arrangement of their luggage to the two passengers and was now waiting like a genie for their final wishes.
Monsieur demanded a glass of their best French wine.
"Bien sûr. And for monsieur's girlfriend?" he smiled at the most beautiful youth wrapped in a very fashionable velvety black coat and semi-transparent black stockings.
"That's not my girlfriend! That's my b-" Brian coughed hard, "my b- beloved neph-" he coughed even harder, "my beloved niece. Excusez-moi, I seem to have caught a cold."
The young beauty almost bursted out laughing and playfully kicked the side of Brian's leg with the tip of the thigh-high suede boot.
"Mmm, mademoiselle?" the conductor bowed lightly, feeling his inquiry being ignored.
"A glass of Martini, s'il vous plaît," Brian said to the conductor, who nodded and immediately closed the door behind himself, finally leaving the two alone.
"Maybe a quickie now?" Brian took off his gloves, unlocked his case and took out a compact high-end camera.
His companion smiled the naughtiest grin, slowly lifting the black coat to reveal more and more of the most angelic of all imaginable sights: the smooth thighs firmly pressed together, followed by the perfect pubes looking as if hair has never grown there, a deep beautiful navel, the elegantly defined but not too skinny rib cage, and finally the perfectly flat chest decorated by a couple of soft, delicate nipples.
"Spread them," Brian suggested after taking a few quick shots of the angel. The legs of the beauty spread to his will, revealing a good pound of a delicious mansausage on top of a pair of big, perfectly shaved meatballs. This package contrasted so heavily with everything else on this slender body and even in its flaccid state looked almost frighteningly huge.
"Fantastic," Brian could only squeeze out of his nearly choked throat, taking a series of quick shots of this whole perfection before the two heard a knocking on the door.
"Pray come in," Brian responded after the boy pulled his coat down and squeezed his knees together in one short ninja-like movement.
"Your wine, monsieur."
"How long is the trip to Venice by the way?" Monsieur inquired, waiting for the waiter to serve the table.
"14 hours on the average, monsieur."
"Holy sh- Shiva," Brian corrected himself with a light cough, remembering his wife Mary's favorite curse. Back in her younger days she had spent two years in India, studying everything there is to study about putting legs behind one's own head, but also got herself into the Hindu mythology. It was the first and probably the only time when this knowledge came in handy for Brian.
"What else can I do for monsieur?"
"I think we might take a nap to shorten the trip a bit, pray put a DNB sign on the door, s'il vous plaît? I will call after we have rested."
The waiter left. The two passengers lifted their glasses.
"Oh, sweet. I can imagine how they're relaxing," his feminine companion replied with a soft giggle.
"To our beautiful wives?" Brian suggested and, with a quick nod, they both emptied their glasses.
"Come here, sweetie," Brian patted himself on the thigh. Martin gently rose from his spot and softly crawled into Brian's lap.
They shared a long French kiss.
"Mmm, your vermouth is surely world class," Brian licked his lips.
"Glad you enjoyed my er... mouth, sir." Martin murmured. "But didn't you just say you were tired?"
"Not yet, but I'm thinking ahead. Pretty sure we'll get there in a couple of hours!"
"Ah, you're so smart," Martin put on his heavenly smile, already feeling the man's fingers all over his softest parts...