2 comments/ 35191 views/ 2 favorites Take the 'A' Train By: Surrenders2you Leaving our house, we are early for the commuter into the city, so we take a little walk, a bit out of the way, but not far. We stop at the little strip mall, in which there is a convenience store, a hair salon, a dry cleaner and Lover's Lane, an upscale adult store. Very clean, very legit. At any rate, D hands me some money and asks me to get us two bottles of water from the convenience store, while he 'looks at something'. I walk the short distance to buy the water, and when I come back out, he is standing there, holding a small bag from Lover's Lane. "Ooooh, let me see!" I say. "Shhhhhh. Soon," his reply. I hand him his bottle of water, wondering what is in the bag. I am unable to see, as it is wrapped deep within the tissue, that also peeks out of the top of the bag. I think to myself that it is a somewhat feminine looking bag for such a tall man to be carrying, but he doesn't seem to mind. The train station is only a couple of blocks away and we make it there in plenty of time, before the train comes. As we are waiting on the platform, with maybe 10 others, he turns to me and asks me to hold the bag for a moment. I take the bag. As I am holding it, he reaches inside the tissue and pulls out a lovely black suede collar, with a very shiny "O" ring at the center, and two chains dangling from the ring, with adjustable clamps at each end. OMG! I feel my face flush, just knowing others are looking. "Turn," he says. I turn around, knees suddenly weak, and he buckles it around my neck from behind, and turns me again, to face him. I know I am blushing furiously, but my cunt reacts in a different way; less decorum, more primal. He adjusts the O ring, so that it is perfectly centered at my throat, the chains hanging between my breasts, outside of my blouse. I move to tuck them inside, but he catches my wrist and says, "No...leave them there." Jesus. He knows this will drive me insane. He tilts my chin up and kisses me deeply. I am melting...inside and out. When the train finally arrives, we board, and as I am about to make my way down the center aisle, he instead takes my hand and pulls me up the tiny steps, to the top level. Here the seats are all single seats, which face the center aisle of the train. He walks slowly down the aisle, taking his time in choosing a seat, though there are plenty available. Besides us, there is only a group of three teenaged boys with skateboards, who are sitting at the very back, and a woman, who looks to be about 65, toward the front of the car. We are somewhere in the middle. We take off and start rolling toward the city. In just a few minutes, the conductor comes thru the car to collect tickets. I reach down and clip ours in the little clip for the top floor riders' tickets, which is located near my feet. As the conductor approaches, D whispers to me, "Spread your legs." I open my mouth to object, but know that he will not relent, so I say nothing, and spread as I was told. The conductor walks our way, and stops, plucks the tickets from their clip, and glances up at us, in passing. I am sitting there with my legs wide, wearing a short skirt and no panties. He does a double-take and smirks saying, "You folks have fun today!" He can barely wipe the grin off his face as he continues down the aisle, collecting tickets. I squirm in my seat, immediately putting my knees together after he passes, but D is not finished with me yet. He pulls my legs wide again and says, "Something tells me he'll be back...and you seem to have another fan, too." He points below, to a man sitting on the other side of the train from us, in the row directly across and below. When I make eye contact, the man gives a slow smile and cocks one eyebrow, holding my gaze for a moment, as if challenging me to keep my legs open for him. In that split second, I am torn between being horribly embarrassed, and wanting to turn in my seat, so that he can see me full-on. Embarrassment wins...I quickly look away, feeling the familiar heat in my cheeks. "Good girl," D says to me. "Does that mean I can put my knees together now?" I ask. "Not yet!" he says, laughing. So there I sit, knees wide, pantiless, trying not to draw further attention to myself. D has other ideas. He knows the man below is watching, waiting to see if there is more. "Unbutton your blouse," D says. "Just to the middle of your breasts." I look at him, incredulous. With shaking hands, I begin to unbutton. I stop before the third button which is a little lower than half-way. He nods to me to continue. "That one, too," he says. "Jesus," under my breath. The chains from the collar are hanging neatly between my breasts now, lying against my skin. I look down, feeling self-conscious. My nipples harden with just the thought. The slickness between my legs threatens to soak thru my skirt. "Touch your nipples," he says. "Pull them." I reach inside my blouse and pull first one nipple, and then the other. "Look at your 'friend'...do not take your eyes off him." I look down at the man, who is at the same time looking up at me. He knows this is for him. D lifts one of the chains and reaches inside my blouse, pulls the nipple sharply, then attaches the clamp. He does the same to the other nipple, searching my face for a reaction, as he does. The clamps are spring-loaded, with tightening screws. He has not used the screws and since the springs are not overly tight, the slight pinch is actually delicious...at least at first. D looks at me and apparently decides my blouse is still not unbuttoned far enough. He reaches out and undoes yet another button. I turn to look at him and he gives me one of his 'looks'. He cups my chin in his hand and turns my head back toward the man down below. "I told you not to take your eyes off him," he tells me. With that, he reaches inside my blouse and gives each of the tightening screws a turn. The pinch is now more defined, but still bearable, and truth be told, the slight pain it causes, turns me on. D sits back in his seat and looks as though he is just enjoying the ride. "Keep watching him, babe," he says. "No matter what..." I stare at the man, trying somehow to look past him, to avoid the embarrassment I feel when our eyes meet. But there is something about his eyes that draws me in. Damn him and his sexy looks! As I watch him, my mind wanders: is his cock hard? does he enjoy seeing my breasts clamped, or is it too kinky for him? What would he do with me if he had the freedom? My daydream is interrupted by D's hand sliding up beneath the hem of my skirt. I jump and instinctively snap my legs closed, protecting myself. D lets out a frustrated sigh and again reaches in my blouse and tightens the screws on the nipple clamps. This time I let out a squeak - OMG it hurts! - and automatically spread my thighs to avoid further pain. This time it is more than I bargained for, and I am squirming in my seat. D's fingers find my pussy and he scoops up my wetness there and feeds it to me, while our 'friend' watches. He brings his hand back to my pussy and begins to slowly rub it, spreading its wetness all around. I feel something odd, and realize the small gold/diamond hoop I wear in my labia has somehow come undone and has fallen to the floor in front of me. I bend to retrieve it, and the pressure of my thighs against my nipples sears them. They are on fire! I quickly pick up the hoop and sit back up. D holds out his hand, and I drop the hoop in his palm. He leans down and quietly says something to the man below. The man stands, and reaching up, takes the good hoop in his own hand. I see the outline of his cock in his dress pants (well, that answers THAT question!). I am thinking D is giving him my hoop as a souvenir of sorts. Noooo! But...I am wrong again. "Squat down, in front of your seat, legs wide." D says. "This kind gentleman has agreed to help me out...my fingers are too slippery," he says with a smirk. Oh, he thinks he is sooo clever! The bastard! I am beside myself. I feel my face turn purple. My nipples are throbbing and feel as though they will pop right off. Not only am I furious, I am mortified! This stranger is going to put my ring back in? No way! This can't be happening! I look at D. "Please...," I say, begging him with my eyes not to do this. "it's ok, I can do it myself," I plead. "Shhhhh, hold very still, luv, so our friend can help you." he says. The man reaches out and gingerly pulls my right side labia between his fingers, looking for the small hole. "Other side," I whisper. He smiles and says to D, "You're right....it IS slippery." He moves to the other side, his knuckles managing to just brush my clit the tiniest bit. Oh god, this is torture! I am absolutely horrified as I see a small string of juice drip from my cunt and pool on the floor between my feet. The man examines my labia and finding the tiny hole, slips the hoop in and clicks it closed. I move to stand and take my seat, but D's hand on my shoulder signals me to stay squatting. Our 'friend' has now moved back to his own seat, so I'm confident there won't be any more interaction with him. I am thankful the train is close to being empty today. God knows what else I'd be asked to do! D leans over and kisses my neck, my ear. "Piss for me," he whispers. "And make sure our friend is watching before you do." I search his face, hoping to find mercy. "Come on...you can't be serious...we'll get in trouble!" I say, in a desperate attempt to change his mind. "I don't think so," he says. "He won't say anything." I look at the man again, but he is on his phone, punching something into his planner at the same time. I will him to look up at me. I want to get this over with! Eventually, he ends his call and looks back up to where I am squatting. I squeeze and try to pee. Nothing. OMG, I can't believe this! I concentrate....nothing comes. D offers me a bottle of water. I shake my head no - I just want to do this and sit back down. When the trickle finally starts, it is just a tiny stream, which mostly clings to my skin, and runs down to my ass before dripping off. Suddenly the door at the back of the car opens and the conductor steps in. As if on cue, the trickle turns into a stronger flow as the conductor moves toward us. The stream runs over the edge of the upper level and drips onto the floor below. Shit! We are soooo gonna get arrested! I think to myself. My whole body is buzzing. The fear, the desire, the humiliation all culminating in an incredible rush. D reaches down and pulls the two chains on my nipples. The clamps bite into my already blazing tips and I cum suddenly, without warning even, just as the conductor approaches. My piss, my cum squirts out and wets his shoulder as he stops in front of me, inspecting the puddle on the floor at his feet. He looks at his shoulder, then looks at me, with this confused look on his face. Without skipping a beat, he pulls the decorative handkerchief from his uniform pocket and holds it up to my pussy for a moment, then lets it drop to the puddle beneath me. "Union Station!" he announces loudly. "This is where you get off," he says to me, more quietly. Yes...it certainly is. _____________________________ Please don't forget to vote! Just do it! Take the A-Train We were stoned on hash brownies and mellow as a long Miles Davis riff one jazzy night in my apartment in Washington Heights that hot, wet summer when Jenny tore up my bed. We were stoned and unraveled, high on the road less traveled. Yeah, we were undressed and unimpressed with becoming what we were expected to become; Suits and Skirts, rakes and flirts, cogs in the American money machine. We fell out of school and into Bohemia, trying it on for size. Gettin' wise. Otherwise occupied. Naked and Fried. Jenny, skinny white scrap of wanting, wasted on weed, seedbed of my own absurd antic ambitions lay slitty-eyed watching the day dim as the arc of dying sunlight struck the crumble of my ceiling into high relief, yellow as my dad's teeth, old plaster and smoke, the landscape of a past and distant world seen from miles high and as unreachable. Lying down, looking up and slowly spinning, grinning I reached for her, searched for her, beached myself on her, a ship blown off course by a storm at sea. After sex, after crashing, thrashing upon her shore, after the thunder and the lightning of release, after the hundredth consummation of our infatuation, after spending myself, rending the sheets, sending her seething into her own tempest, tempting her, teasing her, finding and filling the place where God divided her and being delivered onto the sand hand-in-hand by the receding waves of our perfect, passionate, storm we lay on my musty bed wrapped in each other's sweaty embraces, breathing the musk and trippin' in the dusk as the night slipped up on us, bound us in its velvet ribbons and whispered, "Come, come whoever you are...." We were hungry. For food. And too blissed to bother, too tired to piss, too into our animal selves to roll out of the bed/cave and crawl out to the hunt. One desire sated, another yawned, its maw yammering for filling. We were all appetite that summer, all appetite and no final satisfaction. Eating each other the way young lovers do. Burning the candle at both ends. In both ends. Finding all the fits our bodies allowed, if not allowed by convention (especially if not allowed by convention). Distracted by our fitting and our fitness, finding fullness followed by the ringing hollowness of hunger; wanting all of life and locked into a closed loop of lust and longing, blinded by the incandescent flash of the spark struck off our sudden, simple equation: I go into you X times. My fridge was as empty as my stomach. Even if you're broke you can't starve in New York City and I wasn't broke, just scratchin'. So out into the concrete jungle we had to go, boned and exquisitely stoned we had to go. We had to go to Joe's Pizza on Carmine St. down in the Village that stayed open all night, that smelled like onions and beer and sweat on a night like this, that hummed like a fluorescent light and drew moths like us to its flickering flame. It was an old-school kind of dive with jazz and dark booths and something secret in the shadows. "Come on, get up. Let's go to Joe's," I mumbled as I pulled myself slowly out of the hash-sex-funk, punch-drunk and stumbling into my pajama pants, red Converse and sleeveless Yankees sweatshirt. I watched Jenny crack her eyes, wipe her mouth and crawl to the edge of the bed. Willowy little slip of a woman that she was, she looked more junior high than college junior, but she was legal and had the plastic to prove it, both ID and Amex. I was taller than her by a head and a half. That's why she could wear my t-shirt like a dress -- it came to her knees. It draped loosely on her and fluttered, just catching on her nipple tips and hip horns, the handles I used to lock her onto me when we did it doggy. Jenny was bony as death, living on sex and pills and happiness. She was all sharp angles and stretched fabric of flesh; slat ribbed and flat chested, pointy and jointy. A man could hurt himself if he took her the wrong way. And I mean taking her physically or emotionally the wrong way. I'd seen her burn a boy to the ground for making assumptions about her intelligence or her strength or her willingness to wrangle. That was why I loved her then. That she'd given herself to me above all others when she was doing pre-med at Columbia and I was a charity case brother struggling at City College gave me a fat head and another frequently fat head swinging down below. I was cock of the block that summer. She slipped her tiny feet into dark green galoshes and threw the long, waxed-cotton duster I found at the Salvation Army around her shoulders, snapped it up the front, shook her long sun-blond hair over her shoulder and asked, "What time is it?" "Shit if I know, or care," I replied. "Here, put the keys and Metro card in your pocket and let's get the fuck downtown. I'm starvin'." We staggered down the hall, spun down the five flights of stairs and out into the thick-aired night. No breeze. It was as hell-hot outside as in the apartment. It's never really dark in NYC, but sometimes in the middle of the night it is almost quiet. We could hear the city rumble from deep inside itself when the immediate street noises were gone. New York would wake up hungry, too, and the whirlwind of consuming would begin, the buying and selling of souls that we abjured, that we hoped to avoid, that we were probably doomed to be swept into anyway, though our slinking in the night world was a strategy to slip-slide around the maelstrom. A slip-slide glide can cause delays, as it says on the subway in the winter. We delayed the world as long as we could. The tunnel behind the rickety, green wooden doors that leads into the 190th Street A train station was long and damp and cool and empty, but the station was sweltering like the stations always are in the summer. The air so thick and hot that anything short of standing still would wring you into a sweat. Jenny unsnapped the duster as we waited for the train and flapped it. Down on the tracks a determined rat poked into every crevice. Otherwise, we were alone with the stink of steel, garbage, urine and carborundum deep under the earth; hot like approaching Hades and sinning like we belonged there. Far down the tunnel a faint light glowed, then grew with the shriek of the wheels. The A train slowed into the station, the driver as stiff and unseeing as a dummy propped up in the first car. The train stirred a little hot breeze and blew scraps of trash around the platform, smoothing the damp t-shirt onto Jenny's matchstick body. We aligned ourselves with the door of the first, not surprisingly empty, car and, at the bell and swish of aluminum panels, slipped into the car where, if anything, it was even hotter that outside. "Stand clear of the closing doors, please!" commanded the canned man-voice. The Voice of The Man, as I thought of it, stating the obvious to cover his ass, over and over all day and night on almost every train at every station. How many times had that sentence been broadcast? I wondered if the guy got royalties. Still do. We sat right up behind the driver's box and, with a jolt that threw us a little on top of each other as the slippery Fiberglas seats accelerated out from under us, were sucked into the dark tunnel in our own little, brightly lit, shiny tin can. I was still stoned and hungry and half awake. Jenny slouched against me as the rocking train dragged itself from station to station. The detritus of the day littered the car. A Daily News lay abandoned on the seat opposite. An empty Coke bottle rolled the length of the car and back as we stopped and started. Somewhere around 145th Street Jenny turned languidly and took my stubbly face in her little hand. She twisted her mouth up to mine and kissed me. She was soft, yielding and tasted of sex. I cupped her head in my hand and returned the kiss, gently sucking her thin lips, stirred to mild passion again as her mouth fell open and she let me probe into her with my tongue. Then she surprised me. She swung her leg over mine and straddled me, letting the duster spread like a tent over us both. Jenny's knees were on the seats on either side of me, her green boots dangling. Her long hair fell forward, tickling my skin. Our heat was amplified. The car rocked as she nuzzled at my mouth. The lights flickered. The squeal and rattle of the train receded as my focus narrowed to the world within our little tent. I was hard in my PJs. I could feel her warmth radiating as she held herself above me. My hands naturally moved to touch her but were outside the tent of the duster. I wrapped my arms around her, feeling the buttery texture of the old waxed cotton coat, nearly as smooth and supple as her skin. But she pushed my arms away whispering, "No, baby, let me drive." I gripped the front edge of the seat on either side of her legs. And just as well because when we pulled into the next station the stop nearly threw us forward in a pile. She drew her hands up, dragged her fingernails between my cornrows and smiled with a nasty, smoldering lust in her eyes. The several straphangers waiting on the platform that flashed by as we slowed had gotten into other cars, thankfully, so we were still alone. The train lurched forward and Jenny reached between us to pull down my pajamas. I rose up enough to free them and she grasped my cock, now full again, and pulled on him, laying him neatly on my belly, straight up. She raised the t-shirt and I could see the tuft of yellow furze that graced her mound of Venus below her hollow middle. Slowly she lowered herself until her sex was split over the length of me, like a big kiss. Still wet from before, Jenny began sliding up and back along my cock, getting us both lubricated. I held on. We must have been near 116th Street when she took my cock in her hand and guided me into her. It was a long, slow decent that she made as her insides stretched to accommodate me. I felt each ripple of flesh bump along my cockhead as she slid deliciously down. Jenny whimpered and nuzzled her face into my neck, hunched over me and, then with her hands at my lower back, pulled herself down onto me with effort. I could do nothing but hold the seats and watch the dark tunnel walls slip past. Jenny got herself socketed all the way down and tight then let the train do the work. For several station stops we just held on as the thrust and jangle of the train jostled our bodies together. It was like nothing I'd ever felt before. The completely unpredictable and random gyrations of the motion of the train were transmitted through the juncture of our bodies, were magnified where my cock was sucked deep into her. Each jolt and shudder was telegraphed directly through my dick as I strained to hold my place. Jenny just lay on me mewling into my neck as she climaxed quietly again and again. When the little Chinese woman got on the car at 59th Street I hoped to God Jenny looked like she was asleep. The woman sat halfway down the car and stole a couple of curious glances our way but like a good New Yorker she avoided eye contact. I wasn't so stoned that I hadn't thought we could get in trouble like this, just swept along with Jenny like I had been all summer. I could feel a dribble of pussy juice tickle its way down and around my balls. The Fiberglas seat was getting even more slippery. As we jolted through the 50th Street and Times Square stations I prayed no one else would enter our car and I tried to look innocent with what looked like a passed out white girl draped over me and an approaching orgasm that had me wanting to jump out of the seat, slam Jenny down on her back and pound her silly no matter who was watching. I occurred to me that the Chinese woman was probably going all the way to Canal Street, several stops past ours. I couldn't hold it any longer, though. Although I kept a straight face and looked pointedly at the opposite window and the underbelly of the city flashing by, I was trembling with desire, straining to keep from erupting despite the incredible jolts of pleasure striking through my prick like touching the third rail. Jenny just lay there absorbing the pleasure, quivering in delight, smothering the occasional exclamation of joy in my neck. There's nothing like the sound of a woman in ecstasy to trigger an orgasm in me and finally there was nothing I could do but come. I clenched the seat edge and my buttocks and felt the bolts of my jism fly through my dick. I was as stiff as steel from toe to head and it took everything I had to keep from thrusting upward into her. Jenny squeezed me with her legs and her cunt and groaned deep in her throat as she felt me empty myself deep, deep in her. It was probably the best orgasm of my life. I coughed to cover the explosive shout that the orgasm wrung from my throat. I couldn't bear to look and see if the Chinese woman was watching. Jenny kept massaging me with her cunt as I quickly deflated, but I could hardly catch my breath. "Jesus, girl, Jesus," I breathed, "What the fuck you trying to do, get me arrested?" "I would never press charges, Loverboy, you know that. I can't be away from you for a minute." She looked at me then with the circles under her eyes, gaunt from dissipation and too much pleasure and I could see the price she was paying for her summer of living dangerously. The train rumbled into the 4th Street station and I jostled her roughly, hissing, "This is our stop, this is our stop!" I pushed her up and quickly pulled up my pajamas. She stumbled upright and jerked the duster around her, hugging it closed and looking panicked. I grabbed the pole, heaved myself up and hustled her out into the station, not looking back at the Chinese woman. That car was going to smell like rut all night. We walked the block down 6th Avenue toward Carmine in the still sweltering night. Suddenly I saw the end of our affair coming toward us like a train distantly in the tunnel. I could hear the crashing and squealing of its disintegration faintly but growing louder. I felt the sadness welling up and the beginning of a bitter anger. My sticky cock was flopping in my pajamas and I was walking down 6th Avenue in the middle of the night with a stoned, slumming white girl who was either going to get much sicker or snap out of it and go back to her privilege and power. Either way I would not be in the picture. I'd be back to bootstrapping myself, smiling at the Man and scratchin' just like always. She was giggling as we neared Joe's. I bent down and asked, "What the fuck's so damned funny?" Jenny whispered in my ear, "I've got cum in my boots..."