Rosie's small hand closed over my prick and began to rub up and down the now firmly erect shaft. Her hand was joined by a second. For a moment I couldn't quite understand how she had managed such a contortion, but then realised with a start of surprise that the second hand belonged to a second person. Next there was a rustle and flurry of clothing as a body forced its way between my legs and a soft mouth took the straining head of my prick hungrily inside. A tongue flicked and teased at it. I sensed a general commotion in the carriage. The second hand was withdrawn, although not the eager mouth. I had no idea what was going on but what with my hand buried deep in Rosie's quim and my prick being sucked and lapped to bursting point, I no longer cared. Now there was even more general movement. I heard first a giggle and then a sigh of pleasure. Someone cried out 'There! There, in there!' More upheaval followed and there was a soft thump and a creaking sound. 'Mind the mongoose,' someone called out. 'Don't squash it. It bites.' The entire compartment was heaving in the darkness.
We shot out into broad daylight again, the smoke clearing rapidly outside the windows. I looked round bewildered. Between my legs was someone I realised must be Cecily, fastened on my engorged cock. Her rear end was raised up and the so far unknown cleric was buried in her up to the hilt of his clerical staff. He had risen from his seat as far as he could, given the extremely cramped nature of our surroundings. One of the Scottish contingent was trying to lift himself clear of the wicker basket on which he had obviously fallen.
The lid had sprung open and a small, sleek head was peering out. Rosie was twisted round, so that her head and shoulders were resting on the laps of two of our travelling companions. Her titties were fully exposed and were being rubbed and squeezed by one of the trapped parties. She was clutching my hand and riding up and down on it, crying out softly. The train rattled over a set of points, swaying from side to side. A prick was dislodged from a cunt. A cry of distress was drowned by a vehement oath. A jet of cum arced though the air, landing on Rosie's tits. The helping hands gleefully massaged it over her. Another hand joined mine at Rosie's entrance. A nearly naked woman was writhing and crying out, backed up against the upholstery, her thighs pulled tight up against her bosom as a man rammed himself repeatedly deep inside her. Against the door, the window having been let down, someone else was gasping for air. So intertwined were we that when someone cried out, 'I'm coming! I'm coming!' the whole mass of bodies heaved. My cum was gushing out into Cecily's eager mouth as she swallowed and sucked at me. Rosie wriggled and yelled out. I couldn't hear what she was saying. She cried out again.
'Tring!' 'What?' I gasped. 'Tring,' repeated Rosie. 'I think we're coming to Tring.' 'I think we're coming as well,' said someone else from the far end of the compartment. 'We are definitely slowing down,' said Becky, who seemed to be the only one in a position to look out of the window. Rosie was struggling to sit upright while holding my hand in position. Cecily was carefully draining the last drop from my prick and in any case could not regain her seat as the elegant young cleric was still embedded in her from behind. Only now did I begin to realise exactly who was in our compartment. Becky was still sitting demurely in the corner seat, facing the locomotive. She was quite unruffled and, surprisingly for her, did not appear to have taken part in the general outbreak of frigging and fucking. Then I noticed her carefully slide something out from beneath her skirt. She caught my eye and held an object up for my inspection. 'It's you,' she said. 'Hannah borrowed it from the display room at the dildo place.' There was the likeness of my member, looking as far as I could tell remarkably true to life except for a high gloss glaze. It had been painted with great attention to detail with a purplish blush to the head and a blue vein running along the top. 'I couldn't resist the temptation to find out whether it felt like the real thing,' said Becky. 'And does it?' I asked, a little worried in case I was about to be replaced in her affections by my replica. 'The fit is perfect,' she answered. 'It is always ready, does exactly what I want and can be kept handy at all times,' she said. 'Also it doesn't talk.' I was a little taken aback by this and I suppose something must have shown on my face. 'I'm sorry, Andrew. I was just teasing. Of course I'd rather have a whole, live body to hold me and undress me and do things to me rather than a china Thing. Still, it does come in useful. See, here we are about to stop at a station and I am the only one in the compartment in a fit state to face the outside world.' 'Not if you leave it lying beside you on the seat,' I pointed out. 'Silly me!' said Becky, picking it up and sticking it in her picnic basket. 'Oh! Let me see,' said Rosie, reaching out for it. 'Do yourself up and make yourself decent first,' said Becky. 'We may be joined by more people at the station.' 'I hardly think there's room for anyone else,' said the cleric. None the less, he had uncoupled himself from Cecily and produced what at first sight appeared to be a prayer book, but on closer inspection turned out to be a privately printed volume of erotic poems. As for the others, Donald was sucking an injured finger while trying to strap down the wicker basket with his other hand. I deduced that he had been bitten by George the mongoose.
The unknown, nearly naked woman who had been so comprehensively rogered by someone who I now realised was Donald's brother, Ian, was the only one who had made no attempt to make herself presentable. She was still perched up on the seat at the far end of the compartment, her hands clutching at her updrawn knees so that her still gaping quim was displayed to all and sundry. She was trembling and completely unaware of her surroundings. I raised a questioning eyebrow at Ian who shook his head. Obviously now was not the time for introductions. As the train drew to a halt, both Ian and I had the same idea at the same time. We grabbed a couple of travelling rugs and threw them over her, completely covering her so that at a casual glance she appeared to be a pile of luggage in the corner. Ian sat down beside her, making soothing noises to her plaid-shrouded form. The station signs flashed by. Not Tring but Bletchley. We had travelled further than we had realised during our impromptu bout. I hoped that the missing members of our party must be in the adjoining compartment but, frankly, still had no clear idea as to whether everyone had caught the train or indeed who everyone was. 'Change for the Oxford and Cambridge lines,' called out the porter. 'Any passengers for Rugby, Birmingham and the North change also. Northampton only. Northampton train.' Becky looked out on to the platform. 'There's a bishop,' she said. 'In fact the whole station is alive with clergymen.
Something must be going on.' 'They'll be going to Oxford,' said our own cleric, the surprising Mr. Willowherb. 'There's a gathering of Anglo Catholics at Keble to discuss a riposte to some evangelical initiative at Convocation. I really should be there.'' 'Why aren't you?' asked Rosie. 'Well, my child,' he said with a beatific smile. 'There are two reasons. The first is that as soon as my friend George told me of your bicycling holiday, I felt it incumbent upon myself to offer my services in case any of your party was in need of spiritual guidance. The second reason is that I am not in fact a clergyman.' 'What?' I said. 'I merely adopt the dress of a clergyman,' he said. 'I like dressing up. High Church of course. Lots of frills, flounces and embroidered vestments, the smell of incense and bags of ritual.' 'Isn't, um, isn't dressing up as a clergyman illegal?' I asked. 'Without a doubt, dear boy,' he answered sonorously. 'But then so many of the pleasures of life are, if not actually illegal, at least frowned upon by society today. Ours is a drab, conformist world for the most part, is it not?' Such a philosophy of life had a familiar ring to it. I knew that my old headmaster would have endorsed such sentiments heartily. His only objection to complete freedom of expression was that no harm should be occasioned to anyone by one's behaviour. 'It is a harmless habit,' he went on as though he had read my thoughts. 'I steer clear of offering any form of moral leadership. Indeed I suspect that I do far less damage than many in Holy Orders. Besides, it is often useful.' 'Useful?' I asked. 'Take, for instance, railway travel. I find that many people will go to great lengths to avoid sharing a compartment with a cleric. Thus more often than not, I can stretch out at my ease, uninterrupted.' 'He was certainly useful to me,' said Cecily. 'As soon as I realised what you and Rosie were doing in the tunnel, I felt a great need to feel a male member penetrating my inner recesses.' 'As soon as I felt your absolutely splendid bum pressed up against me as you crouched down in front of your friend, I knew also that here was a fellow spirit in need of help.' 'So you lifted up her skirt and forced your way between her cheeks,' said Rosie, a trifle crudely I thought. 'Not forced,' said our fake reverend. 'Eased would be my preferred choice of words. I merely placed my hands lightly on her buttocks and felt her open gently under my pressure.' 'Like the Red Sea parting before Moses,' said Rosie, who had an instinctive feel for biblical metaphor. 'How well put,' he said. 'That was very perceptive of you,' said Cecily. 'Since I had my mouth full, I could hardly say “Yes, please”.' 'You seem something of a connoisseur of the Sins of the Flesh,' I said.