1 comments/ 28694 views/ 3 favorites Train of Thought By: avasogently Millie escaped the murky atmosphere at street level by disappearing into the hellhole that was the Bedford-Nostrand subway station. Like every morning for the past two months, she was running late for work. Not that tardiness created anxiety. A lifetime of stable employment at a profitable, family-owned stationery emporium was practically guaranteed. The Orthodox Jewish manager, Ari, who had part interest in the 50-year-old business, had taken full interest in Millie's Boricua assets from the point of hire. Her nervousness on this humid spring day stemmed from the strange recurring dream that had awakened her at 3 a.m., as it had over the past several months. Making her way first through the turnstile, then past zombies passing for commuters, Millie popped a stick of Doublemint in her mouth and cracked it Brooklyn-style to match the rhythm in her gait. Everyone else was on automatic pilot, repeatedly leaning over the platform's edge to wish the downtown "A" train into existence. When she reached the end of the platform, Millie flicked her long wavy hair over her shoulders, exposing a red silk blouse that flattered her breasts. The muscular protusion near her collarbone created the illusion that she was athletic. And she pulled it off, often mistaken for a ballet dancer. In the dim, semi-private nook of the subway station, she could've clocked in a few warm-ups to relieve the tension that lingered from the bothersome dream. Instead she settled for standing in the first position, as if about to plie. But her seductive dark eyes told another story, concealed a secret that she thought she'd buried, which the dream had somehow unearthed. At one time she would've felt more at home swinging around the go-go pole than bending at the barre. Pupils dilated and legs unsteady, Millie staggered over to the nearest pillar. Her fingers fidgeted in her bag, searching for housekeys. Palming the keys gave her an iota of emotional security, though their jagged designs unsettled her. Rough around the edges, like railroad tracks below, like her. She embodied a cliffhanger: there was always a chance that someone would tune in to her trodden past. Her eyes lifted from the rusty tracks and drifted in the direction of the tunnel. Its black abyss she imagined as a bridge to forgetfulness, but it lured her anxious mind. Staring into the darkness mutated her neurons -- the abnormalities severely affecting the synapses. Millie didn't know what to make of the faceless stranger who had chased her through the blurry nightscape. That he was white further disturbed her, because she lost her innocence in her freshman year of college to an obese white man who fondled her after she'd removed her coat on a hot, airless "E" train. Perhaps she had repressed the memory of the duration of the assault or never knew it. Back then, she was too afraid, too traumatized to scream. Besides, her body felt frozen. Fear froze not only flesh and bodily liquids but breath, too. Thus, announcing to a nearby adult that a transgression was happening was not a viable option. Memory can be the devil's mistress. She remembered wearing with pride the red velour cowlneck sweater made by her seamstress mother, how she'd paired it with beige corduroy Calvin Klein pants that hugged her curves. However, she couldn't fathom where the stranger had boarded the subway car. She only remembered that he had departed briskly at Times Square, which at that time was New York City's red-light district. Ivory skin was the only clue to the identity of the man who had pursued the adult Millie in her dream for several city blocks, then down an endless flight of steps into a nameless subway station. There on a desolate platform he stood behind her to fondle her pendulous bronze breasts with one hand and stroke himself through his unzipped fly with the other. It was a lucid dream, for she recalled with startling clarity that when the man's engorged penis started to dally between her pudgy thighs, she trembled. While refusing to succumb to stereotypes about Latinas, Millie did pride herself on being open-minded. Nevertheless, she was grateful that the stranger hadn't shoved her to the platform and pried open her lips with the massive mushroom cap of his cock. In previous dreams, the faceless man smacked her bottom -- which always faced him -- while she licked shaft to head, balls to butt crack, back and forth. In one dream she'd rather forget, he videotaped her pumping the come out of his big dick, smoothing her wavy hair back while positioning the lens to focus on her delicate mouth capturing the seed spurts. At the end of 15 minutes of infamy, she bent down to lick and suck the flushed head clean while hearing him drawl, "That's a wrap." That dream haunted Millie upon awakening, and throughout the day -- to the point that she developed an aversion to drinking from public water fountains. The most recent erotic encounter passed the milliseconds of dreamtime, with the faceless stranger on his knees in front of Millie, fingering her clit and stroking his exposed dick. Every now and then, when he allowed his hands to roam, the tender flesh of her inner thighs burned to the touch. The man didn't have eyes to ogle her wet gash or a mouth to drool onto his aimed weapon, but Millie sensed that he could see and taste. His tool was jutting out, vibrating in the heatwave of sexual threat, yet it wasn't ready to be fired. Desire for a woman he didn't know and would never love caused him to linger despite her distress. Thirsty for sex, he licked the salt of Millie's wound with an invisible tongue, stopping only to savor the smell of fear and the taste of lust. By opening her legs wider to fully expose her forbidden garden, Millie felt as beguiling as Eve. The stranger's unseen tongue, like the serpent, slithered up and down and across her slippery slit. No longer was pleasure a passive experience for Millie, who moaned with fever while fucking the man's invisible face. Involuntarily she bucked her hips in rhythm with the anonymous head of graying hair that bobbed, jerked and circled below. Inebriated by the wine flowing from her uncorked lust, the dream mate exaggerated the sounds of suction made by cupping his ghost lips on her swollen fruit. Millie could only hear her heartbeat now. The phantom man's glistening left hand clutched her pussy. Several fingers slipped inside her muscular tunnel. His right hand pinched the shield over her throbbing clit, sending Millie's body into paroxysms as powerful as the rumblings of an express train chugging over run-down tracks. Climaxing so ruggedly, she was oblivious of the faceless stranger growing more impassioned from the thrill of eating her. A rude tonguing of her spastic butthole was brief but followed by his fat dick's angry thrust. Her dream self issued a silent scream. By the time Millie heard the screech of an arriving A train, she felt as though she'd relived the startling vividness of last night's dream. She was panting and perspiring as though she'd run a marathon. The crotch of her cotton panties had only partially absorbed a creamy deposit, so that her thighs felt gooey and her lower butt cheeks were smeared. No odor was apparent; no one on the platform paid attention to her appearance. Stepping into the crowded subway car, Millie felt relaxed now that the earlier tension was gone. As the doors to the car closed, she caught a glimpse of a gray-haired man smiling back at her from the platform and waving his flaccid penis. The train proceeded in fits and starts, then rolled on. Millie wondered whether her fellow commuters saw the man's lewd gesture, then dismissed the thought. She didn't have to be his intended target, she reasoned. Eyes closed, she immersed herself in the ritual of swaying with the train and then resisting the acceleration as it plunged into the tunnel. When Millie opened her dark eyes, she sought her reflection in the window and found it along with the salacious stares of the male commuters who had waited with her on the platform. There were no women among them. "This is your conductor. Next stop -- Millie's Junction," came an announcement. The conductor's voice, his accent, sounded familiar. "Ari?!" Millie said aloud. "That's right," one of the passengers said, "we'll all be late for work this morning, and we couldn't be happier." Another chimed in, "But according to that man back there on the platform, who said he's your boss, today is a Jewish holiday, so you have the day off." Then all of the men smiled, clutched their bulging crotches and said in unison: "There's just one catch: You must ride this train all day, and the only way you're getting off is with the men who come aboard." An assortment of large hands -- ebony, pale, brown, beige, yellow, olive -- were upon her. Cocks of varying girths and lengths interchanged while Millie's orifices seemed to multiply and dilate to meet the phallic demands. Tongues probed, retreated, licked and circled, and dicks slid, thrusted, teased, spurted and exploded, in repeated acts of 69. The orgy turned frenzied when the fraternal goading -- "go 'head, bro'," "fuck 'er hard," "yeah, that's it" -- escalated. Masculine growls, moans and grumblings, even nasty whispers, drowned out Millie's shrieks and bilingual protestations. At the height of what seemed to be endless convulsions, she awakened to Latin music playing on her clock radio. "Son las seis en la manana!" declared DJ Guillermo Diaz's familiar booming voice. "Ay, dios! A fuckin' nightmare!" Millie cried, Millie cried to her invisible lover, after bolting upright in her bed. Her nightgown was soaked with perspiration; her panties with come. Before she could pull off the top sheet, the phone rang. "Millie, it's Ari," said the voice oozing out of the receiver. "Yeah." Her tone was brash, insolent. "Buenos dias to you, too. What -- did I wake you, baby?" "No fuckin' kidding." "I just couldn't wait to see your pretty brown face and sexy figure at the shop this morning. Are you naked?" "Que? No! Look, Ari, I know you're infatuated with me, but -- " "Oh, querida, don't say 'butt,' and please, please tell me you're not wearing the same wet panties that I pulled down to devour your pussy last night." Millie pinched her arm and with the pain realized she wasn't dreaming this time. A few expletives later, she slammed the receiver into the base, then seized her throbbing pussy with equal vehemence. Hanging up on Ari didn't extinguish the fervid fires sparked in dreamtime. Only turning on her inner hydrant could send relief down her secret tunnel. She writhed in viscous abundance, intoxicated by the pheromones flooding her flared nostrils and the sight of erect nipples on heaving breasts. Finally, the resolution from a fourth orgasm made Millie drift into a sober reality: Not only would she look for a new job, but she would take buses from now on. Train of Thought "And have a nice weekend," Sylvia said to the only two passengers in this part of the train as she gave back the tickets. The smartly dressed woman who had accepted them gave a small smile in answering. "I always do." Her green eyes were actually twinkling as she said that and Sylvia found herself returning the smile, despite her exhaustion. And exhausted she was. It was Friday and late while she had been on her feet since eight that morning. This was the last car and they wouldn't reach another stop for at least an hour so she decided to take a rest. She didn't sit with the passengers but sat down directly behind the raven-haired woman. A deep sigh escaped her when her legs no longer needed to support her weight. Sylvia shamelessly stretched herself out, heedless of what those two women behind her thought. Only one of them could see her anyway and she seemed something of a non-entity. Having found a comfortable position she lazily directed her gaze out the window, watching the world whiz by. Her ears perked up when the passengers started talking, well one of them was. It was the one with the infectious smile, Sylvia noted. She liked to eavesdrop on these conversations, it was surprising what juicy stories you could stumble upon. "I just love travelling by train. You don't have to do, worry or even pay attention to anything. You just sit back, relax and let yourself be led to your destination." Sylvia couldn't hear any response, which was a little odd since she had no problem with the soft-spoken words from just before. "And then there is the sound," the woman continued. "The steady rattling of the train on the tracks. A steady thrum that follows the rhythm of your breathing. In at every kadeng and out with every kadung." Sylvia absently noted the woman was speaking the truth. Funny how she had never noticed how her breathing was being led. "It's so relaxing to just sit back and let yourself follow the rhythm. A train journey is just filled with them, the rattling of the train tells you when to breath in, and out. The world outside shows you when to blink." Sylvia frowned slightly at that even as she looked out the window to see what she was talking about. "A tree goes by and you blink." Sylvia blinked. 'I guess she's right, funny I missed so much.' Her thoughts were interrupted by the woman's next words. "And another tree, a new blink. And every blink lasts a little longer, every blink makes your eyes a little more tired." Once again Sylvia found this to be true so when a row of trees came by she simply closed her eyes until she thought she was past before opening them again. They went by a signal post so she closed her eyes again, slowly and barely in time to notice the trees that allowed her to close her tired eyes again. "Yes, it is so relaxing to let the train do it all for you. Breathing, blinking, thinking. Your weary eyelids can't keep up, they just want to sink down. Cover your tired eyes and sink so your mind can drift on the steady rattling of the train. No worries, no fears. Just breathing and relaxing." It was so true, the train really was so powerful. Guiding her, telling her tired body what to do. So she let it. Sylvia closed her eyes and didn't open them again as the woman kept talking. "Train travel is so relaxing, you don't have to do anything but sit and let the train do the thinking for you. Telling you how to breathe, calm and steady. Is the train telling you how to think?" Someone murmured her agreement but Sylvia was to busy doing what the train told her to do to notice who it was. "That's good, very good. So now that your mind is free of worry and fear, it can concentrate on making you one with that all-compassing rhythm. Drown you in it. Let your hand glide up over your body." Sylvia's hand had rested on her thigh but now snaked up her body till it covered her right breast." Yes, just like that. So is your tit humming? Is it suffused by a need thrumming in pace with the train." Sylvia could feel her chest rise and fall but that wasn't the answer. So she shook her head, heedless of the fact that nobody could see it. "Well then you will just have to make it. Let your hand go to work, don't bother your mind with the details. Use your other hand to find more places that are lacking. That are crying out for attention." She did and found her left breast as silent as its counterpart so she began kneading that one too. Her quiet moans began to fill the car, still in tandem with the rattling of the car. Her hands traveled over her body, playing it like an instrument as it began to magnify the rhythm of the train. It drowned out thought all together so when the woman said to kneel her body simply did that without bothering to inform her mind. The rattling of the train filled her universe, it was her universe. It wasn't until the train slowed down that her thoughts started up again. It was the disconnect between the steady need inside of her and the train that caused this. But the fact that she found her tongue curled around a searing hot button that was pulsing with that same need was what really woke her up. It didn't stop her hand pistoning evenly into her own pussy or kept her tongue from licking the pussy in front of her but Sylvia could direct her eyes upward. See who she was pleasuring even though she already had an inclination as to who it was. They traveled over an unbuttoned blouse, a taut tummy with rippling muscles and stopped for a few moments to appreciate the sight of two gleaming globes peaked with stiff nipples. Eventually her eyes continued their journey until they met two green eyes. There was no panic or uncertainty in them. "The train tells you what to do, as the train goes so do your thoughts." A hand began to stroke her head. "Slower and slower they go, one thought for every kadeng." 'What is she...talking about? Oh...no she is...right, I...can't...have...to...' And the train stopped. She was kneeling on the floor with her head in the lap of a strange woman. She was going down on that woman while fingering herself and there was nothing she could do about it. She was aware, just incapable of thinking. Of forming plans or conclusions, she could only continue to kneel and pleasure the beautiful woman that was still caressing her head. An infinity later the train began to pull up, and with it her thoughts started up again. 'Okay...Sylvia...You can...do this. Just...pull your hand out...of your pussy...not to rub your clit...or stick them into her pussy. Rub them around her asshole.' Her thoughts were speeding up alright, but she had forgotten to what they were speeding up. They were going to match the rhythm of her body, her pleasure-soaked body that was obediently licking out the goddess before her. The conductor of her thoughts. And so her thoughts of escape derailed as contemplation on how to best pleasure the other came back on track. Sylvia's eyes drifted down to focus on the pussy before her, drinking in the sight of her flushed labia as her mouth lapped up her arousal. She stopped masturbating so she could use her hands on the subject of her attentions, inserting two cum-coated fingers into the raven-haired's sex. She became a part of the train, pistoning in and out in sync with the machine. Not slowing down as the woman shuddered in orgasm. Nor did she stop when the woman came for the second time, or the time after that. Time was meaningless to her, she did not even recognize there was a now. There was just up and down, in and out. The train slowed down and Sylvia came to with a start. She blinked and looked around, noticing with a start that they had reached the station. She rolled her shoulders and stood up, she felt really good. There was a funny taste in her mouth, one she couldn't quite place, but it wasn't unpleasant so she gave it no more thought. She turned around and saw the only passenger standing up so she stayed where she was to let the busty beauty pass. A blush came to her cheeks. 'Busty beauty? What the hell am I thinking, I must be more tired than I thought.' Of course the woman was nice enough, Sylvia had seen her before as the woman always took this train on Friday. She had never approached the woman though and she wasn't interested in women that way anyway. Said beauty stopped before her. "It was an enjoyable ride as always. I guess I will see you next week then." "We aim to please," Sylvia quipped. The woman grinned in return. "Oh, and Silly Silvie shouldn't forget to come by tomorrow." Sylvia's smile turned dreamy, "she won't Mistress". The woman nodded at that and left with a hypnotic sway in her hips. Sylvia watched the passenger leaving, that same dreamy smile on her lips until she blinked and came back to herself. With flaming cheeks she pulled her hand away from her breast, still tingling from the brief massage. She shook her head to clear it. 'Okay, I must be really tired if I am zoning out like this.' She looked back. 'I didn't even notice the other woman leaving. I think I should just stay in tomorrow and go to bed early.' Having made up her mind she got back to work. THE END Train of Thought "What had she done?" Her conscience scolded her. She boarded and sat in a twin seat at the back of the night train to her stop. It was another hour away yet and then a further 15 minute walk to her home. A home where her husband and children were and the family dog. The carriage was empty and nothing could be heard except for the rhythmic engine and wheels of the train as it began its journey and picked up speed along the track. Outside it began to rain, pattering against the window. She could see her reflection as the light inside caused the world outside to become jet black. She was an attractive woman in her 30's, well dressed in a pale pink blouse, knee high black pencil skirt, black 1" heeled shoes and a calf length black coat. She looked like a professional business woman with her shoulder length neatly styled blonde hair. She leaned her head against the cool of the window. It began to slowly steam up from the heat of her body. She welcomed the cold against her flushed forehead and cheek and ground her head against the pane. She should be ashamed. She should be appalled at her behaviour but she wasn't. She was excited, she felt alive and a small secretive, Mona Lisa smile broke out on her lips. She bit on her lower lip trying to feel bad but she knew she wouldn't. She would think of him, think of what he said, think of what he did, think of how she responded to him and her body flushed again in response to her attraction of him. She looked around wondering if she looked different, wondering if she looked like a fallen woman, wondering if anyone could tell. She made sure no one was about and settled again in her seat relieved and leaned against the window. No one was about, no one could see her in heat. Because that is exactly what she was - a woman in heat. She was totally alone in the carriage, hidden almost by the twin seat in front of her and for that she was grateful. Alone with her thoughts, she stared out the window, unseeing into the inky blackness outside. The train moved her feverish body rhythmically in her seat. She found the gentle rocking from side to side strangely erotic and shut her eyes while she remembered what she had done. She had met him about six weeks ago in a coffee shop. At first he sat at her table. The place had been busy and there was nowhere else for him to put his coffee cup with the books he was holding. He was polite of course and asked her permission first. She of course was polite back and nodded her head, absorbed in a book she was reading. He made polite conversation and flirted mildly and she responded finding she enjoyed his attention. He was very attractive. Tall, dark and handsome with chocolate brown eyes and long dark lashes with a sexy breathy accent that reminded her of Antonio Banderas in the film "Zorro". That first encounter led to them meeting again a few times by accident at the same coffee shop and eventually by casual arrangement each lunch time. If they were there at the same time, they would sit together. Both worked not far away. She worked mornings in a bookshop and always had a coffee to kill time, before catching the train home. He was a lawyer but sometimes had afternoons free from clients. Then one day, the coffee shop was full and as her train wasn't due yet, he invited her to his penthouse suite. She hesitated but allowed him to persuade her. She was bowled over by the beautifully decorated home. The colour schemes were shades of beiges, reds, browns and yellows that were in keeping with a professional and successful man. It reminded her of autumn colours. The high rise apartment looked out on the skyline of the city and the view was stunning against the blue sky. Inside, the ceiling had wooden oak beams and a loft conversation that could be used when needed. There was a beige, comfortable and luxurious settee that could easily convert into a bed, should he wish. The lighting hung from the ceiling and was supported by soft spot lights embedded in to the beams. It screamed luxury and expense. His kitchen was open plan and was black, white and chrome. Adequate for all his needs. He made their coffee and explained it was his business home for when he worked late. He actually lived elsewhere but found it useful for work. Again he flirted mildly and would gently touch her as they chatted. He made her feel attractive and interesting. They began to meet more and more often at his penthouse, rather than the coffee shop and then one day, he kissed her. She tried to push him away but he knew it was half hearted. He took hold of her hands and held them firmly behind her back. He plundered her mouth while one hand moved slowly back, up around her body and fondled both her breasts. His tongue invaded her mouth as he squeezed her breasts. She moaned and eventually responded to him. Then he broke the kiss, pushing her back by his hand still on her tit so she was pinned against the wall and him. He bought his other hand to her other breast, kneading both over her blouse watching her cheeks flush in embarrassment as he enjoyed her. "You are beautiful," he murmured. He felt her some more. "Open your blouse, show me your tits," he said softly in his sexy accent. "What! No, no," she said shocked. "Yes, yes." He smiled, "I know you want me to see them, I know you are turned on right now." He leaned in closer, "I know that you are wet between your legs. Show me your tits or I will take your panties off and you will have to go home without them." She felt flushed with embarrassment but was excited too and deep down, she wanted him to see her. The thought of going home pantie-less was unthinkable. With trembling fingers she opened the buttons on her blouse one by one as he stood watching her until her blouse hung loosely on her shoulders. She was wearing a front fastening bra. He inspected it and told her, "Open it" She did as he said. She felt empowered when she heard his sharp intake of breath. Her breasts fell free, fully rounded, nipples peaked and naked to his gaze. "Beautiful," he murmured He slowly bought his hands up and felt her thoroughly. She had never been so turned on in her life as he worshipped her tits, making her feel desired. He groped and squeezed and massaged and suckled her until she cradled his head to her. Then she came to her senses and pushed him away and ran, rushing through the door to get away. His seductive laughter followed in her wake as she fastened up to become the respectable woman again. That's all they did, the first time. She should have ended it there, but she didn't. She felt compelled to see him, was fascinated by him and enjoyed the feeling of being desired. Groping her breasts became part of the coffee ritual as did the stolen kisses. ***** Her head bumped on the window bringing her out of her reverie and she ground her head on the window again, smudging the condensation and feeling the coolness. It was a feeble attempt to quell the heat that rose within her. She found her arm had slipped into the waist band of her skirt, her hand had delved down and inside her panties, teasing the wet folds of her sex. "God, what was she doing, touching herself on a train?" her conscience tried to admonish her, but she knew she was incapable of stopping now and her fingers rebelliously sought the protective hood that hid her clitoris. She circled it with her wet middle finger. It felt too good. She squirmed in her seat and pushed her pussy up onto her fingers. She broke out into a damp sexual sweat and mewled softly. Her body reacting to her errant lusty thoughts as they returned to him and what had happened that day. ***** She had met him as usual at his apartment and he had welcomed her in. This time, he had offered her red wine and a lunchtime sandwich which she had eaten gratefully. She had been very hungry. That first glass of wine, turned into a second and then a third. She was pleasantly relaxed and a little drunk as he sat next to her and kissed her. Her inhibitions seemed jaded and she had sluttishly responded to his kisses and allowed him to push her down on to the settee. He hovered over her, slowly undoing her blouse and unhooking her bra. He expertly seduced her, stroking and kissing her body, her neck and torso and then her mouth. He whispered, "You are a beautiful woman. You drive me wild with desire. I want you. I need you" His breath softly caressed her ear, followed by his tongue turning her on. She was lost in his world of soft caresses and aching need. He inched her skirt up and found she was wearing pantyhose. She felt embarrassed and wondered if he would approve. It seemed he did for he cupped her sex and moaned into her mouth. His hand ground into her over her clothing and ignited her sex into a throbbing mass. He teased her and felt the dampness of her desire seep through her panties and tights and onto his hand. He chuckled when he felt her natural instinct was to grind wantonly on to his palm, pressing her clitoris on to the heel of his hand. He leaned in to her ear again. His body by her side now, half on her, half on the settee. His leg trapped the nearest one to him. His shoulder trapped one of her arms. His active hand pushed the other leg wider, letting it hang on the floor and returned to torture her swollen sex. He masturbated her slowly, moving his hand up and down. She moved with him delightfully and he knew she was his for the taking. He wanted her complete surrender though, he wanted her to voice her need, acknowledge her lust for him. He wanted no repercussions for fucking her. He blew softly in her ear and murmured in his sexy accent, "Tell me what you want, I want you to tell me in graphic detail." His tongue made his words more enticing by dragging it slowly and wetly around her inner ear. She tried to fight it, she knew it was against her strict upbringing but she also knew it excited her more. She found her head leaning towards him and pleasant shivers down her neck responding to him. "Tell me," he demanded softly. "I want you!" she relented breathing hard. "Not good enough," he persevered. "Say it." "I want you to eat me, I want you to fuck me," she blushed at the unfamiliar dirty words that formed on her lips. His hand ground harder on her sex. She moaned. "Where?" he pushed for more, still tonguing her ear. "My pussy, I want you to eat my pussy," she succumbed. "What else is it called?" He was enjoying the fact this wanton woman was using words that were barely in her vocabulary. He wanted more from her. He wanted to shake her inhibitions to hell and back. She struggled to think of another word as his hand and tongue relentlessly teased her. ***** The train suddenly stopped to collect more people. Luckily no one chose her compartment. She strained her neck and could see them get on through the central door windows in the centre of the train's aisle. Her hand had stilled between her legs in case she had to remove it quickly but she didn't, thank goodness and sighed in relief. She was feverish with her desire as she remembered him pushing her mind as well as her body in his seduction. He had excited her so much. She began to stroke her sex again. The word he had forced from her, made her blush and flush again in excitement. She was back in her memory, moaning softly to herself in her lone carriage. ***** "What else is it called?" He had said, pushing her to her limits. The moment the word had suddenly exploded in triumph in her brain, it had been expelled from her lips, "Cunt, I want you to eat my cunt. I want you to fuck my cunt" He kissed her thoroughly. "Good Girl, Good Slut!" He commended her and immediately ripped a hole in her pantyhose so he could reach her "cunt" as a reward. He pushed her panties to the side and plunged two fingers in to her straight away. He felt her drip in excitement at his teasing. He pushed right into her body and began to finger fuck her in a steady, commanding rhythm. She moaned in rapture and lifted her hips to take him deep as he pushed into her. He played with her, enjoying her writhing hip next to his crotch. She was teasing the hardness in his bulging pants without even realising it. Then he tipped her up. She was face up, with legs bent over as though in a partially complete backward roll. He tugged her skirt so it gathered out the way at her waist. He bottom and sex were facing up, presented to him to do as he wished. He tore the hole bigger, in her nylons covering her sex so it exposed her anus too. He held her panties to the side and "ate her cunt" just like she had asked him to. Her pussy was trimmed with blonde tight curls. He liked it. A new fresh pussy always excited him. A new fresh married pussy added to the forbidden mix and he briefly wondered the last time her husband had paid her such attention. He loved she had nylons on for him to tear. He kissed her sex deeply, rubbed his lips in her sweet nectar and nuzzled his nose against her sensitive bud. His tongue explored her thoroughly. She whimpered but was trapped in the position she was in. He tasted her uniqueness and detected the fresh scent of the shower she had had that morning. Then he parted her sex so he could see her pink inner flesh and dragged his tongue inside. He rimmed the entrances to her pussy and anus, taking his time and kneading her buttocks. He could see from his position she was watching him, before blushing and closing her eyes. Her small mewls and whimpers betrayed her desire. He knew she wasn't far from orgasm as she panted for him. His lips moved to suckle her clitoris and he plunged his fingers inside both her openings. He wanted that surrender but not yet. He slowed his teasing and sat her up. Then pulled her to her knees. She was a lovely sight, kneeling before him, breasts hanging free from her blouse and bra. He pushed the blouse off her shoulders to her elbows and pushed her bra up so he could see them. "Lift your skirt up to your waist. I want to see you exposed to me," he ordered softly. She did so, tucking it up carefully. She blushed again and knew she must look like a wanton slut she had seen once in a magazine belonging to her brother, many years before when she helped her mother tidy the house. She had quickly hidden it again under the mattress. She looked up to find he had taken his erection from his suit trousers. He had undone them and had stroked himself whilst she had adjusted her skirt. He took hold of her hair and guided her head to him. "Open, your mouth. Make it like a cunt," he instructed. His wicked accented words rang in her ears and caused her libido to rise again as she complied. He pushed his shaft in her mouth and began to thrust, slowly at first but each thrust went deeper till the tip of his cock caused her to gag as he cut off her air supply and her natural swallowing action kicked in. She drooled and tried to push him off but he held her hair fast, his cock lodged in her throat. He was so big as he held her face against his crotch and her nose buried in his dark wiry pubic hair. Then he withdrew again and she could breathe. Again and again he plundered her head and throat until she had learned to time her breathing to accommodate him. He fucked her faster and then slowed until he withdrew completely. She tasted his precum in her drool. He stood her up and kissed her deeply and caressed her pussy again. She was wet with desire and she was soon moaning again. "Say what you want," he murmured in her ear. "Fuck my cunt," she answered not caring about anything now, except the wicked man in her arms. He smiled and led her to a table, over which on a wall behind, hung a big mirror. He turned her round so she could see their reflection and held her tightly against him. They both watched as his hands kneaded her breasts and massaged her pussy. The reflection was wicked, and showed the desire in her flushed body and open stance. Her mouth was open and eyes wide. She was panting and squirming against him. "You are a beautiful, sexy little vixen," he nuzzled into her ear. Then he bent her over, pulled her panties aside and drove his cock up to the hilt into her pussy. The force of the movement caused her to automatically put her hands out on the table. He pulled her hair so she could watch him fuck her in the mirror. She felt full as he stretched her tight channel. She looked incredible. The well-spoken, demure little house wife wanting his cock. Then he fucked her, directing one of her hands to play with her own pussy, her clitoris and to feel his cock pounding her. The coupling was hot and urgent. It was a build-up of all those flirtatious meetings in the coffee shop, here in the penthouse and the stolen kisses and naughty gropes. This was what was promised. This was the result. This was their forbidden lust. She had never felt so desired in her life. She had never been treated like such a creature of lust and she had never been so turned on in her life. His cock felt wonderful inside her. Her fingers teased and circled her clit. The taste of his cock still on her tongue. She saw her face in her throes of passion. She looked sexy, wicked and hot as hell. He looked amazing. She liked his fucking, arrogant look. And with that, she toppled into her orgasm, stretching and spasming on his cock embedded inside of her. She moaned in a high pitched whimper as she rippled along his rod, trembling and shaking. He felt the change in her and thrust deeper, succumbing to his own greed as he felt her jerk and stiffen on him. With a growl of satisfaction, he jettisoned his seed into her. Both reaching their peak at the same time and riding on the waves of their urgent passion. ***** Back on the train, reliving the union of that day was incredible. She arched her back and came right there on the public train. She stifled her whimpers and felt the ripples spill out from her clitoris. It sent a warmth throughout her body while she reached the pinnacle of her climax. She rode the wondrous, crashing waves until they calmed and returned to gentle laps. She lay in the seat till she had caught her breath and unable to resist, she edged her skirt up and looked down. She saw the evidence of her wickedness and bit her lip again at her naughty secret. The torn pantyhose. The hole and ladders at her crotch and ass. The sopping panties of her orgasm and his semen. And of course this most recent climax where her pussy was still humming with satisfaction! She flexed her pelvic floor revelling in her pleasure. "You naughty little slut," her conscience derided her. "And on top of everything, you just masturbated on the train home!" She smiled to herself. She knew she should feel bad, she knew she should end it. She lowered her skirt again and hid her impious behaviour. She straightened her clothing and coat around her. She looked respectful again now. She looked like the good little housewife she was who had a wonderful family, a stable husband and a part time little job in a book shop. "Perhaps, you should never judge a book by its cover," she retorted to her angelic conscience and as she reached her stop to get off, the little devil on her shoulder did a joyous cartwheel and a smiling victory dance. The End. Train of Thought Turns to Action About this time last year I was coming back to London on the train from Manchester. I sat in my reserved seat and hoped that somebody attractive, interesting or both would sit at the same table. Unfortunately I was soon joined by three women probably in their sixties with nothing funny, bitchy or even philosophical to say to one another. They just chatted about nothing, complete with all kinds of mild prejudice. We'd gone past Macclesfield I think before I noticed somebody sit down in one of the seats on the other side of the aisle facing me. Actually, the first thing that caught my eye was the straight, almost black hair, just past her shoulders; then I took in the small, pretty face, the plain, tailored black jacket and the cerise turtle neck; then, oh God, the legs. Sitting down, her sharp black skirt rode well past the middle of her thighs, and the creamy colour beneath that skirt, ending in ankle-length, tall-heeled, shiny black boots, was already too much for me. I immediately turned away for fear of having stared too long, but I couldn't help glancing back frequently. None of the women on my table showed any signs of noticing my looking across them, but the object of my looks pretty soon did. And that's when I began to get very excited. She caught my eye momentarily, leant forward and removed her jacket, making sure her breasts were pushed out as far as possible. I couldn't help but keep my eyes on her, but when she looked at me again she appeared almost shocked at my interest. I tried to ease off for a bit to avoid the one-track-mind assumption - but it wasn't long before I got drawn back, and, it seemed, so did she. After I'd glanced at her a few times, she angled herself towards me, outstretched her perfect legs, considered them, and began rubbing a forefinger up and down from her knees to the top of her skirt, even pulling back the bottom of the skirt a fraction to examine her thighs more closely. This continued for long enough to send a pretty direct signal, especially as the only times she interrupted herself were to check whether I was watching. I felt wild. I kind of presumed she wanted nothing more than to be admired, but I still felt wild. I didn't want to bring the show to an end but after a twenty minutes or so of this I was burning up and needed to provoke something extra, or perhaps pause and replace some of my intensity with a bit more honest enjoyment. With a quick, "Excuse me," to my immediate neighbour, I moved out to the aisle, fixed the eye of the woman opposite and smiled for what I hoped was just long to encourage her. I turned and walked to the end of the carriage, where the automatic door opened and I walked through, deliberately looking left and right for the toilet in the corridor, even though I knew where it was. As I turned around she was there. I could hardly believe it when she opened the toilet door. I followed her in, locking it behind us. I made to kiss her but she put her hand on my chest and held me away. The toilet seat was down completely and she sat on it. Slowly and deliberately she put her hands on the sides of her skirt and dragged it up, smiling all the time. "Cum all over my thighs..." Just as slowly I unbutonned my trousers and pushed them down. I still felt so intense but so relaxed now, too, and I couldn't stop smiling back at her. I started to rub my cock through my briefs even though they were already pulled so far out of shape by my hardness. I took them down and, even more slowly, began to move my fingers from the top of my cock all the way to its base and back again. Her smile got bigger, too. "Watching you wank that lovely fat thing is making me wet." She giggled and lent right back, exposing her black panties, which she quickly pulled to one side. "This is so rude," she said, still smiling at me but touching herself, gently at first and then much faster. "Yeah," I breathed, as the sight of her lips and her fingers in them took me even further; and I moved up and down my cock, more quickly now, feeling on fire all over and like I was full of more spunk than I could ever remember shooting. "You think I'm a filthy bitch, don't you?" she said, suddenly straightfaced. I grinned. "Don't smile at me: look at my bare thighs, look at me play with my pussy. You can feast your eyes now. And what about these?" She rubbed her free hand across her breasts, all perky and straining at her tight sweater. Then she giggled again. "God, I'm so horny. I really want to see you spurt." "I will," I said; and as I did so she took her hand from her breasts, leant forward and grabbed my cock. "I want you to finish yourself, but I've got to join in!" Her fingers felt so delicate, even though she was wanking me as fast as I was. She was still playing with herself, too, but I couldn't see her pussy now, and when she relaxed her grip on my cock I pushed her back. "Open your legs again." "You'd better shoot for me, then." We worked on ourselves for I don't how long, devouring the sight of the other's sex exposed and on the verge of cumming; and when I did cum I struggled to move backwards and direct my unbelievably hard cock down to her thighs, spurting endless hot and sticky shots of sperm all over the tops of her legs, which made her squeal with delight, and she rubbed herself quicker than ever. I moved forward and shoved my still-hard cock in her face which she gobbled up greedily, licking cum till there was none left to lick and wanking herself to release. I wanted to lick her out, but as I was working out how to maneouvre myself into position, she took some tissue, dabbed at herself, and pulled her panties back across her pussy as she stood up. "I really want to go back out there with your cum all over my thighs, but I don't think I can." She laughed, grabbed some more some tissue and put it under the tap. I slowly ran my hands up and down her thighs from behind, then moved them around the front and slipped my right hand beneath her panties. "Don't," she said. "I want to remember this as a real one-off." I pulled my hand away. She wiped her thighs, giggling. "You've indelibly marked me, I think. Are you going to London?" I nodded. "Don't talk to me when we get off," she said, still wiping. "Just walk behind me and stare at my legs." "Okay," I grinned. And that's exactly what I did, watching her hips sway and her skirt hug her and her legs all the way down to those boots. She glanced back once to check I was still enjoying her; and although I've enjoyed many encounters on public transport that didn't involve that kind of contact (I love those times when, having mad eye contact, a woman hitches her skirt up a fraction, or crosses and uncrosses her legs a few times, or leans forward to display her cleavage), like her, I remember it as a real one-off.