The Secret Tunnel Read Online Free PDF Page B

exposed.” He blushed and looked down; I found the
image of his nakedness under the cruel glare of the tyrannical conductor extremely arousing.
    “Then what?”
    “He get out his thing.”
    “His thing? You mean his cock?”
    “ C’est ça . I did not mean his poinçonneuse .”
    “And he made you…touch it?”
    “He waved it at me, calling me names, making it hard.”
    “Was it very big?” Some detective I was, already speculating about the dimensions of my villain’s dick.
    “Yes. It was big and very dark and angry. He take my hair and pull me toward it, and when I keep my mouth shut and will not suck him, then he hit me, comme ça .” He mimed a vicious backhand across the face. “It make me to bleed at the nose.”
    “But all you had to do was suck his dick and you’d have got a free ride to London.”
    “ Jamais , for such as he.”
    “Was he so repellent to you?”
    “I never will, for one that I do not first like well.”
    I felt somewhat chastened, as I had frequently obliged men whom I liked far from well, if they were not entirely repulsive to me. I thought it best not to tell Bertrand this just yet, as he seemed to be developing a slight case of hero worship.
    “Of course not. That would be very wrong. But under other circumstances…?”
    “For you, I give everything. Ma bouche, mon cul .”
    I did not need a dictionary for this. Oh, for a sleeper car…
    I was about to pull down the blinds again, when a bell rang in the corridor.
    “Coffee! Fresh coffee!”
    “Ah! Enfin! ” said Bertrand. “Perhaps the coffee will be drinkable, no?”
    “I wouldn’t count on it.”

    “But it is necessary in any case. Shall we?” He stood up, and I could see that he was just as hard as I was. In standing and adjusting my pants and getting out of the carriage, I managed to ascertain it with a good squeeze.
    “No, you go first,” I said, as he held the door for me. “I want to know what I’ve got to look forward to.”
    He blushed again, but smiled, and preceded me to the dining car, deliberately stopping in his tracks so that I had no choice but to bump up against him.

III
    THE COFFEE WAS FAR FROM BAD, ALTHOUGH BERTRAND made all sorts of faces while forcing it down. I hoped he wasn’t so fussy about swallowing other things. We were lucky to get a seat in the dining car—the smiling steward showed us to the last remaining table, thoroughly annoying the married couple with three children, who preceded us in the queue. He claimed, entirely falsely, that we had “made a reservation.”
    “You’re very busy this morning,” I said. “What’s the special occasion?”
    “Don’t you know, sir?” He lowered his voice. “We have stars on board.”
    “Who’s that?”
    “Ah!” He gestured toward a lavishly set table at the front of the carriage, gleaming with crystal and silver, dazzling with white linen. “Wait and see!”
    He busied himself with other passengers, occasionally looking over his shoulder to give us a wink and a twinkle.
    “He is a nosey Parker,” said Bertrand. He was obviously proud of his idiomatic English, and beamed at me.
I wanted to fuck him right there on the table, ruining the steward’s pristine place setting. I pressed my leg against his, and enjoyed watching him blush.
    “So,” I said, “who do you think they are? These stars?”
    He shrugged. “I have no idea.”
    “That would explain the newspapermen.” I remembered the pair in the flashy suits. “I thought there was something going on.” I thought nothing of the kind, actually, and had been entirely engrossed in imagining all sorts of nonsense about perfectly innocent passengers, while there was headline news under my very nose. “But why,” I said, determined to sniff out a mystery, “are they eating in the public dining car, when doubtless they have their own private carriage?”
    A voice, surprisingly close to my ear, answered.
    “They wish to be seen.”
    I turned my head quickly, and caught a