I was tucked away quietly in a window seat at the back of the train carriage, headed for a break on the Welsh Gower coast. I was reading a raunchy story in a lads’ magazine, folded inside a copy of a daily newspaper. I was also massaging my cock to a nice state of semi-hardness, idly contemplating whether to go to the toilet or finish in my boxers.

A shadow fell across the table. I looked up to see an attractive blonde woman ticket collector looking down at me. “You know you really should watch where you sit on these new trains,” she said with a smile.

I hastily folded my newspaper-magazine combination closed. “How d’you mean?”

She raised her head. “Because you’re sitting right underneath a CCTV camera! I’ve been watching you in action from my compartment at the back of the train.”

“You have?”

“For sure.” She pronounced it with a slight accent; I guessed she was eastern European, probably Polish. “Some of the tits on those girls are amazing, aren’t they?” she added with a smirk.

I breathed a sigh of relief. It looked as if I was off the hook. “Indeed.”

She picked up my ticket from the table and clipped it, before adding in a whisper, “Look, I’ve only got two more carriages to do. Then if you’d like to join me in my compartment – it’s at the far end of Carriage F – I’ll finish it off for you. Give you a hand, so to speak.”

“You will?”

“Sure.” She nonchalantly strolled off down the aisle.

A quarter of an hour later I made my way back through the train to Carriage F. In the furthest lobby was a door marked TRAIN CREW ONLY. NO ADMISSION FOR PASSENGERS. I tapped on it nervously and it immediately swung open to reveal a compact compartment with two swivel chairs facing towards a huge panoramic glass window. The ticket collector was seated in one of the chairs gazing at the view of the train track we had just sped over. “Have a seat,” she invited.

“Thanks. Quite some view, isn’t it,” I observed nervously.

“I could watch it for hours. Wait until we pass the Sugar Loaf – it’s still got snow on the top.” So saying, she moved a hand across and unzipped me. “Oh my, what have we got in here?” She giggled, as her hand rested on my semi-erect cock.

I shifted my position on the seat so that she could slide my boxers down. My 8” un-cut cock obligingly appeared. “Mmmm I just love un-cut. She carefully slid back my foreskin. “Especially ones with big hoods like this. So what’s it to be – hand job or a nice sucking?”

“You choose.”

She rose from her chair and knelt in front of me. “I think I’d like to suck it – then when you’re about to finish, shoot your spunk over my face please!”

The rhythmic motion of the train seemed to magically merge with the young Polish woman’s expertise in fellatio (I had now convinced myself she was a former sex worker). She had obviously sucked a great many cocks.

I looked up from gazing at her bobbing blonde hair and through the train’s rear window glimpsed the distinctive profile of the most famous of the Welsh Black Mountains: the fabled Sugar Loaf. And sure enough, spread across its flat summit were traces of snow. I thrilled at the sight and simultaneously withdrew from her hungry mouth to ‘anoint’ it with my own ‘snow’.