Tails, Scales and Scones

This is basically a write up of a dream I had last night, in particular Foyce’s outfit and her job of being a Trolley Dolly.

I hurried down the steps to the platform. Not that I was late, exactly, but rather that I was anxious to board the train. This would be my first time in Layleaux and, having heard so much about the city, I was eager to get there. Fortunately, the train was among the quickest ways to travel.

As I reached the foot of the stairs, the train swept in along the curve of the platform. There was a reasonable crowd of people, scattered in clumps down the long, sweeping platform; here a business man in his suit, carrying a sombre briefcase, there a mother fighting to keep her cubs in check.

I continued to walk along the wide, open platform as the train rumbled quietly past, slowing as it approached the far end. My ears twitched with a shiver of excitement as I observed the train for it was an impressive sight; long, sleek and shiny, it reminded me that it had been many years since I’d last travelled by train.

The train slowed to walking pace and then came to a gentle halt. A moment later there was a rhythmic pinging and doors down the length popped open, allowing passengers to alight. I stood a few steps back from the train, both to allow others off first and also to examine my ticket. I was in seat 23 on carriage F. Glancing up at the train, I spotted that I was by the buffet car. I determined that a cup of coffee would make a good start to the day – I could then find my seat in a more relaxed manner while the train was between stations.

I climbed up the two steps into the train and into the cool, air-conditioned luxury. There was a small vestibule here, with one door into the adjoining carriage and another into the buffet car. I glanced quickly into the buffet area; there was a small bar at the near end, a few stools and stand-up tables scattered about and then another door, presumably to a passenger compartment.

I touched the control strip at the edge of the door and it slid silently open. I stepped in and placed my little bag on the counter.

“Coffee, please,” I said to the feline behind the counter.

“I know that voice…” came the reply. As the feline turned around to face me, I recognise my old friend Foycelmorkupas Chelga.

“Foyce!” I cried with affection. I leaned over the bar and we kissed cheeks, our whiskers rubbing briefly. “Look at you… What are you doing here?” The slender, black feline was wearing what I assume was a Train Company uniform. Atop her head perched a small, peaked ‘pill-box’ hat made of some shiny pink material. A jacket of the same bright, shiny pink covered her long torso and small assets. A tight skirt held close to her thighs, stopping just above the knee to expose her long, shapely calves. Flat, pink shoes finished off the ensemble. There was a somewhat unflattering, fifties cut to the outfit, but my pretty friend seemed to wear it well.

“I work here,” she replied with a smile. Reaching into a pocket in the jacket, she pulled out a small business card. ‘FOYCE Chelga,’ it announced in clean, rounded letters. ‘Buffet Manager, Assistant Supervisor, Trolley Dolly. Layleaux Trains.’ “I’ve not seen you in years!” she continued.

I took a seat on one of the bar stools and Foyce fussed with the coffee machine. “Not since High School, I guess. Too long…” I gazed at her a moment, smiling warmly.

She smiled back at me, over her shoulder. No doubt the same memories were running through her head as were through mine. “Are you heading to Layleaux?” she asked. When I nodded, she continued “Come down to my apartment when you get there, then. We should catch up.”

I opened my mouth to reply then, catching the look in her eye, grinned broadly. “Sure. I’d like that.”

The rhythmic pinging sound repeated and the doors closed tightly. A moment later the train pulled smoothly out of the station, picking up speed steadily.

“You seem to be doing well for yourself,” I observed, twirling the card between my fingers. Foyce brought me my coffee. “Manager, eh?”

The feline smiled, humoured. “Meh, that just means I’m the one who has to re-stock the coffee,” she laughed.

I nodded. “What’s this ‘Trolley Dolly’ thing?” I added.

Foyce stopped and stared at me a long moment. A grin spread slowly across her short, black muzzle, curling her whiskers up. “You’ve not been to Layleaux before, have you?” she asked, carefully.

I shook my head. “No. I’m meeting my boyfriend there. Matt. You haven’t met him.”

Foyce’s grin broadened and her tailtip began to twitch excitedly. She glanced out the window and seemed to come to a decision. She took my unstarted coffee back and poured a shot of something into it. When I started to protest, she slid the cup back at me. “On the house, hun,” she insisted, winking. “I’ve got to go do my rounds. You’ll see what I get up to.”

I looked up at her a moment, then smiled and nodded. Presumably, she brought drinks and snacks to the passengers. I took a sip of the coffee as Foyce slung a small bag over her shoulder. She then put a ‘Closed’ sign on the counter and headed to the door into the passenger compartment. Looking back, she beckoned to me. “Come on, hun,” she purred. “You’ll want to take a seat.”

So, I followed her through to the seating area. This half-carriage was maybe a quarter full – most seats unoccupied. I took a seat, setting my coffee in the cup holder and watched Foyce get to work.

“Trolley Dolly!” she called out to the carriage. She paused breifly by the couple sat in front of me. “Trolley Dolly?” she asked. The wife shook her head and Foyce moved on. “Trolley Dolly?” she asked a man busy with his laptop. She waited a moment but got no response.

“Hey, babe!” came a voice from the other side of the gangway. I could see the owner of the voice was an equine, sitting tall in his seat. He was probably in his mid-twenties and, like most equines seemed rather muscular.

Foyce turned her attention to the pasenger. “Can I get you something, sir?”

“I got something right here for you, babe,” replied the horse. I watched him shift position in his seat. What he was doing, I couldn’t tell, because his seat faced away form me.

Foyce looked down into the passenger’s lap and smiled politely. “Certainly, sir,” she replied. To my surprise, she took a step closer to the seat, then swung her leg across, straddling the passenger’s lap. I watched, my fingers hovering a few inches from the coffee cup, as Foyce lowered her self slowly into the horse’s lap. Surely she wasn’t doing what I thought she was doing, was she?

Foyce reached an arm forward and gripped the head-rest of the horse’s seat with her paw. She rose and, once more, sank back into his lap. The horse gave a long, soft sigh and suddenly I was certain: this passenger was fucking Foyce. I leaned forward in my seat, trying to see what was happening. The angle of the seats maintained much of the couple’s modesty, but clearly modesty wasn’t so much of an issue here. Foyce jigged up and down in the passenger’s lap, quite clearly riding up and down what I presume was a typically lengthy shaft. I could see her leg flexing with each thrust, lifting her lithe body up and down. Occasionally, I saw the horse’s hand caressing there.

I sat back in my seat, blinking a moment and drank some coffee. With a smile, I now understood why Foyce had ‘Irished up’ the drink for me. A moment later, I looked around the compartment. It seemed I was one of the few people taking an interest in the proceedings. The man with the laptop was still writing his thesis or working on his presentation or whatever he was up to. The couple in front of me were chatting casually, one or other occasionally glancing over. Further down the carriage, I occasionally saw a face peeking over the seats.

A grunt from the horse drew my attention. I could see his face lifted to Foyce’s now. His fingers gripped her bare thigh firmly while she continued to bounce in his lap. There was a moment of tension, then the horse sighed loudly, seeming to deflate before my eyes. I grinned, knowing well what had just happened.

Foyce came to rest and the two remained like that for a minute or two, panting. Then Foyce slipped out of the horse’s lap and returned to standing in the aisle, quickly tugging her tight pink skirt back into position. “Thank you, sir,” she said and reached into the bag at her side. She pulled out a notepad and pen and made a quick note of something.

The ebony feline took a deep breath and started to move down the carriage.

“Stewardess!” called a female voice. I saw that Foyce had missed out a row of seats in which there was a canine woman whom I judged to be in her fifties.

Foyce took a step back and faced the woman’s seat. “Yes, ma’am? Can I get you something?”

The canine woman didn’t respond, but leant closer to Foyce. She reached out and pulled the hem of that lurid pink skirt up to expose Foyce’s trim crotch. Even from my seat, several rows back, I could see the semen oozing from Foyce’s pink lips. I watched as the canine lady pressed her muzzle into Foyce’s crotch and began to hungrily lick at my friend’s vulva. I could see that broad tongue exploring Foyce’s folds, then sliding up inside the feline. Meanwhile, Foyce stood in the middle of the aisle, her pink skirt hitched up around her ebony waist, eyes closed in pleasure, legs shifting with the motion of the train.

The canine woman’s tongue busied in Foyce’s cunt for several long minutes until I saw Foyce shiver visibly. The lady sat back in her seat, not bothering to pull Foyce’s skirt back down. “My compliments,” she added with a smile.

Foyce took a moment to respond, before straightening her skirt once more. “Not at all, ma’am,” she replied, adding another note in her book.

Well, I thought to myself as Foyce moved out of my view, I’d definitely be travelling Layleaux Trains again.