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with lust as he touched her while she’d described a few of them to him.
    Back in the now, while she was dreaming about him and watching the swiftly passing countryside, she closed her eyes, trying to tame her excitement. Hopeless. In the vivid inner theatre of her perennially overactive imagination, she fancied that a young man came and took the seat beside her even though there was no such creature in the entire compartment.
    Glancing at this shadow-man from beneath her lowered eyelashes, she saw an oh-so-familiar male beauty. She imagined herself leaning over, her face pressed against the grubby plush seat, whilst this gorgeous dark angel pressed his fingers into her, possessing her. Her master had told her she was a plaything and a slave—and that she should allow any male she met to enjoy her favors. In her daydream only, of course, not in reality.
    But he’d still punish her for her wayward thoughts, even if he was the one who’d encouraged her to have them. He’d probably punish her even more severely if they weren’t quite wayward enough.
    Fat chance of that. You might be my master, but where cooking up fantasies is concerned, I’m your equal at the very least.
    Smiling to herself, she imagined passing a note to this notional pretty boy she’d fabricated and inviting him to join her in the lavatory at the end of the compartment.
    Waiting for him, she’d stroke herself, her head filled with images of her master, fantasy layering upon fantasy, morphing and blurring. Perhaps she should lean over the sink and offer him her bottom? His eyes would pop when he squeezed sideways into the lavatory to find her teetering, balanced on one leg whilst the other she’d lifted and had draped across the filthy sink so she could hold her shaven sex open with her fingers. Without a word, the young man would unzip and possess her.
    “Oh Master, Master, Master,” she’d chant as he thrust into her, her excitement so immense that she climaxed quickly.
    The small regional railway station was very real and very cold when she reached her destination; quite busy, and yet impersonal. The slave felt shiveringly vulnerable with a naked bottom beneath her coat. At any moment, a tricky breeze might come tearing along the platform from across the tracks. Her coat would billow up and a score of strangers would see her sex. She’d shaved her pussy especially to please her master and her excited fantasies had roused her so much that her thighs were already sticky.
    As her heart thudded double time, her mind ran riot again. She imagined her master’s voice over the Tannoy, ordering her to lift her clothing and display herself to all. “Caress yourself, you saucy minx,” he might say, or he might instruct her to tuck her hem into her belt, then continue her journey with her plump bottom still on show.
    Just then a voice called out her name, soft and low, yet somehow carrying clearly in the throng of busy travelers. She turned and saw a smartly dressed chauffeur waiting beyond an archway beside a black limousine. Clacking and tripping on her high heels, she ran toward him. He was so smart and handsome in his dark, sober livery, but she wasn’t sure about the moustache he sported. She pursed her lips to stop herself smirking.
    Soon they were gliding out of the small town, heading toward her master’s country residence. She was still burning from the way the chauffeur had looked at her, his eyes arrogant and appraising when he’d briefly raised her coat. Checking that she’d complied with her instructions as specified and not cheated by putting on some knickers.
    The limousine was very comfortable and very sensual in its near-silent, leather-clad luxury. Unable to help it, she began to squirm in her seat, tensing her bottom, remembering the thrill of the chauffeur’s comprehensive glance.
    What would happen if I touched myself right here? Her fingers tingled with the urge to disobey. What would happen if I slid my coat open and played