Afternoon Snack

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It was Wednesday February 15th, 17:15 p.m., and John Ventura is a commuter, waiting for his train to take him home from an unnamed train station in Chicago. He was waiting in the small station diner because he was having a bad day, and that happened to include his usual train leaving just before he managed to get inside. A cup of hot coffee was sitting on the table in front of him and his newspaper was opened and in his hands when he heard a friendly, soft spoken female voice: Is this seat taken?John looked up from his daily and, behind a small-framed pair of glasses saw a pretty little face, belonging to a blond female of what seemed to be about 29 or 30 years old. Light red lipstick, just a bit of mascara and a small bloom on her cheeks. The blond, curly hair was pulled tightly back to where it was bound by an elastic band, and the rest of the hair hung from the back of her head in the form of a ponytail. The body underneath this head was well shaped. It was slim, but not in the starving supermodel sense. A well defined front, somewhat wide hips, and long legs. The woman carried a purse in one hand and had her jacket wrapped double and hanging over the other. She wore a beige blouse, tucked into a loose skirt of the same color which reached down to about knee height. Aside from that she was wearing flesh colored nylon stockings and brown, suede pumps.Within a second, John estimated that she was probably a secretary, or an accountant or something along those lines. In any case she was most likely a somewhat mousy, maybe shy lady who would probably let go of her inhibitions when liquored up to the brim, but then again she may have been someone who simply wouldn't ever get really liquored up in the first place. Maybe a juice, and that was it.But mousy or not, she looked really attractive; she had friendly eyes that suggested hidden, dark sexual secrets. Did she even know what she could be really like, and how much she might like being like that? Her lovely enthusiastic smile was infectious.Ventura's background as a corporate psychologist enabled him to draw these conclusions. He also had his own little practice as a psychiatrist for about a year. But after about 10 months he realized that with only four patients it would only be a matter of time before it would be best to call it quits and work for someone else again.Oh, no, John replied to the question of the woman whose name was Melissa Hill, married to bookkeeper Victor Hill, and mother of 2 kids ages 5 and 3. Please sit down.Melissa sat across from John, reached for a romance novel in her purse, and crossed her well shaped legs, the sounds of rubbing nylon rustling. John couldn't resist the temptation and used his newspaper to hide the fact that he was looking at her over the top edge and under his eyebrows, and in a flash he saw the top of one of her nylons as the blonde crossed her legs. John then quickly aimed his eyes at the newspaper to prevent being caught staring at her legs. Ventura was reading the stock market section but his thoughts were with Melissa's nylon stocking-top, when the soup of black letters in his newspaper started becoming blurry and faded before his eyes. This was the point where reality faded away for John and his fantasy started taking over. And did it ever take him over!The price of gold couldn't interest John in the slightest anymore because the blond lady had managed to attract his attention pretty damn easily.After all, she had slipped off her pumps under the table and, legs spread, put her nylon-clad feet on the table. With her left hand she kneaded her breasts and with her right hand she rubbed her crotch through her skirt as her toes curled. She then pulled her skirt up, exposing her white lace panties; panties with an ever growing wet stripe vertically along the crotch. Melissa looked at John through squinted, lustful eyes, through her small pair of glasses.This woman didn't seem to give a damn about doing all of this in the middle of a crowded station diner in a heavily populated train station. John looked around, heavily blushing, and noticed that Melissa had managed to attract the attention of everyone around as she moaned ever more loudly while furiously rubbing her pantied crotch.Melissa's nipples started becoming more prolific through her blouse, poking out visibly and sexily, and making clear she was not even wearing a bra.As everyone in the diner (which seemed to be about 35 people of all ages) watched the blond woman in stunned silence and attention, she shoved her hand into her panties and John could clearly see her fingers busily rubbing up and down along her crotch, until it was obvious that one of her fingers was disappearing in and reappearing out of her vagina. This she did several times under the watchful eyes of a diner full of spectators. After about 10 insertions she pulled her hand out of her panties and with a load, guttural groan she stuck a wet finger in her mouth, slurping the digit clean. Being stared at by numerous people, young and old, John felt the blood pound in his neck and temples when Melissa, half groaning, asked him if he would please