16 comments/ 156250 views/ 54 favorites Stranger on a Train By: LazyDreamy Act 1 The train was mostly full – it was rush hour, Thursday evening, so there was the usual crowd. I had a seat near the front of the car and was enforcing my private space by keeping my nose in a book. It was a romance novel, and when I read a spicy love scene, I could feel my body heating up. I felt uncomfortable about getting hot like that on the crowded train, so I closed the book and looked up. I looked straight into the eyes of a guy sitting across the aisle from me on the train. As soon as my eyes met his, it was like a hot, wet washcloth wrapped around my brain. I don't know how else to describe it. There was a sensation of physical heat inside my head – not painful, but very, very warm. I dropped the book on the floor. I had noticed him, briefly, when I first got on the train, because he was pretty good-looking. He was somewhat older than me – probably about forty – with dark hair that was starting to go gray. Also, unlike most of the commuters on the train he wasn't wearing office clothes. He had on worn old jeans, a long-sleeved shirt with a jacket over it, and scuffed work boots. He looked clean and presentable, but not like a man who worked in the financial district, as I and most of my fellow commuters did. The eyes that met mine were a surprising, pale mineral green. As the sensation of heat penetrated my brain, I found that I couldn't look away from those green eyes. As I watched numbly, his pupils grew huge and black. The train pulled into a station. I was still several stops away from home. He got up from his seat. Grasping the pole lightly for support as the train swayed to a stop, he looked down at me and said, "Follow me." And then, as the doors whooshed open, he turned around and walked off the train. I got up and followed him. It was the most bizarre sensation I've ever felt. As I followed him, my mind was yelling, "Are you crazy? What are you doing? Don't follow him!" And so on. But it didn't matter. No matter how my mind protested (and it did, vigorously), my body just wouldn't obey me. It obeyed him. I think I would have trotted right behind him like a dog, but he glanced over his shoulder and said, "Walk here beside me, please." So I walked beside him. He added, "Stay right by my side. Don't say anything. I promise that you are safe. I'll explain everything soon." We were not far from the convention center, and there were hotels all around. We crossed a brick courtyard and went into a large, expensive hotel. My fear and horror grew with every step. He walked straight up to the front desk, pulling his wallet out of a back pocket. He asked for a room for the night and dropped an American Express card on the counter. I was in a state of total panic. I was terrified. Although I had followed him here without a struggle, my heart was racing with terror. I felt lightheaded and sick. I couldn't speak or run away, but I was so frightened I thought I might faint. As the desk clerk was processing his request for a room, he put an arm around my shoulders, hugged me close to him, and whispered in my ear, "Take five slow, deep breaths through your nose. Relax your shoulders and hands." I took five deep breaths and relaxed my shoulders and hands. My feeling of lightheadedness and panic went away, although my fear remained undiminished. His arm around my shoulders was strong, his body warm and solid, but he didn't hug me intimately. I wanted to shrink away from him, but I couldn't. I looked at the girl behind the desk and thought, "Help me please!" But she didn't notice, of course. She smiled and handed him his receipt and a plastic key card. "Come with me," he said to me softly, and we walked together to the elevator, his arm still around me. We must have looked like a happy couple. We were the only people in the elevator. As we went up I felt anger rise in me, pure fury. I clung to the anger because it was so much easier to bear than the awful fear. I looked at his reflection in the polished brass walls of the elevator and thought, You bastard. Fuck you. He met my eyes in the mirrored wall and I suspected that he was well aware of what I was thinking. He said, "As you know, I'm controlling your body. But I promise you're safe. I will explain everything in the room, but I promise that no harm will come to you. You are safe." I wanted to kill him. We went into the room. It was nice – very large, with a view of the city. There was a mini bar, a large flat-screen TV on one wall, and a cozy conversation area with overstuffed chairs. The carpet was thick and cream-colored, absorbing our footsteps silently. And, of course, there a huge king-sized bed with carved wooden headboard and footboard, covered with a puffy down comforter. The sun was starting to go down, and golden light poured through the windows onto the bed. I just stared around me with disbelief. The whole situation was unreal. The strange man got a bottle of spring water from the mini bar, opened it, and handed it to me, saying, "Take a small drink." My mouth was dry with fear. I drank. Then he took the water from me, put it down on the bedside table, and told me to give him my jacket, which he hung up in the closet along with his own. "Sit on the bed," he said, so I perched there, knees together, hands on my thighs. He sat in a chair and bent forward, beginning to unlace his boots. "Tell me your first name," he said. "Michelle," I told him. "Michelle," he repeated. "That's a nice name. I'll tell you what's going on now, okay?" I didn't answer. He hadn't told me to. He looked so normal, even handsome, with his slightly rumpled weekend clothes and his soft dark hair. "Obviously, I have the ability to control you," he said. He pulled off his boots and sat back in the chair, his arms on its rests. "I've taken control of your body; you can't resist me. I'm sorry for that – I know you're scared – but you don't have any choice, and neither do I. I'm in charge for the night, and there's nothing you can do about it, so try to relax. Okay? Is anyone waiting for you at home? Answer me truthfully." I really tried not to answer that question. I wanted him to think that I was married to a policeman who was searching for me. But it was simply impossible to not obey his commands, no matter what I wanted. "No," I said. "That's good," he said. "Look at me when I talk to you, Michelle." I met his strange, pale green eyes. "I want you to know that I'm not going to hurt you or kill you. You are safe with me. When I'm done with you, I'll let you go, and you'll never see me again. There won't be any lasting damage from anything I do. I promise." I didn't believe him. We were sitting face to face, him in the chair and me on the bed, and I could see the large, solid bulge of his arousal pushing up against the worn denim at the fly of his jeans. He sat with his legs apart, hands relaxed on the arms of the chair, making no effort to hide his erection from me. He said, "My control over you is basically a sexual function," he said. He said this very matter-of-factly, meeting my eyes. His voice was deep and soft, a little husky. "You were sexually aroused on the train, which means, among other things, that certain receptors in your brain were open; that's what allowed me to take control. This thing I'm doing to you – my grip on your mind – is as much a sexual act as if my penis was inside your vagina. From my point of view, I'm having sex with you right now. Even though you're not aroused any more, I'm still in possession; I can maintain control for several hours. I won't lie and say that I'm not enjoying it." Oh, dear God, I thought. He was going to rape me, and there was nothing I could do. It was a nightmare. He was right – I was not sexually aroused any more, not by a long shot, and the sight of his hard-on did not turn me on. If anything, my fear made me feel shriveled and dry inside. My mouth felt dry, too; my pulse was hammering again. "Take a few deep breaths, and then drink a little water," he said. I obeyed. "Notice," he said calmly, "that my control over you has limits. I can't touch your emotions at all. I tell you to drink some water, but I can't tell you to stop being afraid. Michelle," he said, gazing straight into my eyes, "don't be afraid." I was still afraid. "See?" he said. "Here's another thing – I can have sex with your body, but I can't make you like it. Michelle, be wet for me. Michelle, have an orgasm right now." Nothing. He got up from the chair and knelt at my feet. I was sitting with my knees together; he knelt in front of me and rested one hand, gently, non-threateningly, on my thigh. "I wish I could do that," he said softly. "I would make you not afraid. I would make sure that this night is good for you. I can't do that. I promise that I will be kind, and that I will do my best to please you. But even if I can't, I have to do this. I can't let you go until I've had you, Michelle. Stand up and take off your shoes and stockings, please." I stood up. I was wearing a knit sweater dress that crossed over in front and tied at the waist. It was short, ending a little above the knees, and with it I was wearing knee-high boots with heels. It was one of my cutest outfits – the dress was an autumn-leaf color which set off the color of my reddish-brown hair and fair skin, and the knit material clung to my curves in a way that was eye-catching but not too risqué for work. I bent over to unzip my boots. He was watching me, kneeling on the carpet in front of me, and I knew as I bent over that my breasts were falling forward, bulging over the v-neck of the crossover dress, giving him an eyeful of cleavage. I hated this, but there was nothing I could do about it. I took off my boots, leaning against the footboard of the bed for balance, and tossed them aside. I was wearing knee-high hose under the boots, which I stripped off, and then straightened. He knelt at my feet the whole time I was doing this, watching me. As I'd guessed, his eyes were on my chest – the front of this dress crossed over kind of low, so he would have seen a lot when I bent over. I watched him as his gaze wandered down my front, taking in my waist, hips, thighs, and then finally lingering on my bare legs and feet. I didn't move, because he didn't tell me to. Damn you, I thought helplessly. Damn you, damn you, damn you. Why do you have to do this? Why me? Why? He said, "You hate my guts, don't you?" He smiled a little, for the first time. "I can't read your mind, Michelle, but I can feel your emotions, a little. I could feel it when your brain's sexual receptors opened up on the train, letting me take control. People like me – this is how we mate, you see. I used to have a ... partner ... who was like me. We did this to each other, willingly. That's the way it should be, of course. But it's been years since she died, and for someone like me – there isn't any choice. I have to do this every few years, or I'll go crazy. Literally. Can you imagine what a person with this power could do, if I were insane? I've run out of time, Michelle. It's been a long, long time, and I've been searching for so long ..." I thought, for a moment, that I could almost feel his emotions, too; a sense of intense longing, of aloneness too awful to bear. "Lie down on your back, in the middle the bed," he said. I crawled onto the huge bed and lay down on my back. I knew he was going to rape me. I wanted to cry, to beg him to leave me alone, but I just lay still and gazed up at the ceiling. I heard the rustle of clothing, and I saw, out of my peripheral vision, that he was stripping off his shirt. When he lay beside me on the bed, he wore nothing but his jeans. He didn't tell me to look at him, so I stared at the ceiling. I was more frightened than I'd ever been in my life. My heart was pounding. I was trembling. I felt tears gather in my eyes. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. "Shh, don't cry, baby. We'll go slow. There won't be any pain, I promise. I promise, Michelle. Relax, now. Relax all the muscles in your legs, relax your stomach muscles, relax your shoulders and neck. Take nice deep breaths, nice and slow." I obeyed. My eyes fluttered shut. I breathed deep, slow, and I felt calmer. He couldn't make my fear go away, but he could make me control its physical symptoms, and that did seem to make me feel less frightened. He said, "I'm going to touch you now. Just a little. Relax." I felt his warm, broad hand on my chest, above and between my breasts, just over my heart. He stroked the skin of my chest, very gently. I wear a c-cup, and as I lay on my back, my breasts bulged a little above the v of my dress. He caressed me there, then slid his hand up over my collarbones to my throat, then back down between my breasts. "So pretty," he said softly. "Look at me, Michelle." I opened my eyes. He lay on his side next to me, not touching me except where his hand stroked the skin of my upper chest. His body, I reluctantly admitted, was extremely nice -- he was brown and hard, well-muscled without being bulky, mostly smooth with a whorl of hair in the center of his chest. I averted my eyes from his bare torso and looked into his eyes. They were green and glowing with intensity. Because he was so close, and because he wasn't wearing a shirt, I could smell an odor rising off his skin – sexual arousal, intense, heady. "When I felt your sexual receptors open on the train, it was such a stroke of luck," he said. "You are so beautiful. Your mind is so receptive and sensitive. Taking control of you was like ... I can't describe it. It felt so good." He met my eyes. "Do you understand, Michelle? This is sex to me. This grasp I have on your mind. I've been fucking you nonstop since we were on the train. It feels so good." A curious thing was happening to me while he spoke. I was still afraid, but – something inside me was melting. I liked dirty talk. When a man tells me exactly how he feels, in rough language. This man's use of the word "fuck" – the gentleness of his hand – the smell of his body – the look in his eyes – something in me was responding. But I refused to respond. The idea that he might "open the sexual receptors in my mind" was abhorrent to me. He could tell me what to do, but he couldn't make me like it. Go straight to hell, I thought. "Does your bra hook in front, or in back?" he asked. "Answer me." "In front," I said. "Oh, good," he said. "Unhook it for me, please." I lifted my hands and reached down the front of my dress and unclasped my bra, my knuckles grazing the plump sides of my breasts. "Pull the cups out of the way, but don't pull down the front of your dress," he said, and I obeyed. "Now lie still," he commanded, "with your hands relaxed up above your head. That's right," he said, as I lifted my arms and rested them above my head. I could feel my breasts, free from the bra, bulge out to the sides a little. They were quite firm, though, so they didn't flatten out entirely. The soft knit of my dress clung to them. "Nice and relaxed, now. Relax your whole body. Take deep, steady breaths." As I lay flat on my back, arms raised, he rose up from the bed and straddled my hips. His erection was a thick bulge straining at the front of his jeans. "Relax," he said again, and my eyes drifted closed. I felt his hands begin to massage my breasts through the cloth, slowly and gently, squeezing and kneading them, pressing them upwards so that the nipples flattened against the soft material of the dress. He was patient. It didn't happen right away. But slowly, after a while, the slow, firm kneading of my breasts was having an effect. The peaks of my breasts didn't stay soft and unresponsive; they swelled, and the aureoles puckered, so that the sensitive pink nipples rose up and hardened, tenting the soft knit cloth. And then he stroked them with his fingertips through the cloth, and darts of pleasure went through me, sharp and pure. My entire body was deeply relaxed and motionless; I was breathing with slow, deep breaths, just as I had been ordered to do. Oh no, no, no, I thought. His fingers circled, drawing the nipples up. No, no, no, I pleaded in my mind. He cupped my breasts in his hands, squeezed them together, and rubbed the erect nipples firmly with his thumbs. The sensation was exquisite. He groaned. Abruptly he got off me and stood up. "Take your dress of, Michelle," he said huskily. I sat up and untied the dress at my waist and opened it, pulling it off. Now that I wasn't lying still, with his hands on me, I was trembling with fear and anger and self-disgust. My stomach knotted. I wiggled the dress out from under me and tossed it aside. I was wearing my bra, now open in front and twisted around under my arms, and a pair of embarrassingly-wet thong panties. "Take everything off," he said, and I obeyed. He was pulling off his jeans. His body was lean, without an ounce of extra flesh on him – except for his large, erect cock, its heavy purplish head shining with wetness. He made me lie back again, and we went through the same relaxation procedure – he told me to breathe deep, relax all my muscles, close my eyes. When I was boneless and breathing deep, he said, "Spread your legs now, Michelle. Wider. Lift up your knees a little more." I obeyed, sliding my feet up towards my bare bottom, opening myself to him. How can I explain the mixture of arousal and fear that I felt? The air in the room felt cool on the wet, exposed flesh between my legs. I thought he would climb on top of me and penetrate me, but he didn't. He lay between my legs and supported himself with one hand while he kissed my stomach all over, running one hand up and down my legs. He nuzzled kisses into my navel, down my belly to the beginning of my pubic hair, over to the hollows of my hip bones, nibbling and licking. I quivered all over when his fingertips stroked the bottom of one bare foot. Normally I would have giggled and squirmed, but I was totally relaxed, totally still, as commanded. "Put your hands on your breasts," he said. "Stroke your nipples. Try to do just what I was doing to them earlier." I obeyed. The skin of my breasts felt soft and creamy against my palms; the nipples were large and taut, and I circled them with my fingertips, then rubbed them with my thumbs. It felt good, and deep inside me a little spasm of pleasure gripped and released: an almost-orgasm, a pre-climax. "Oh, that's good," he groaned, kissing the flesh of my inner thighs. "I can feel that." Damn him. The idea that my pleasure was giving him pleasure infuriated me; a hot rush of anger swept through me, momentarily blotting out my sexual excitement. He felt it, of course. "I know, baby," he said. "But I gotta have it whether you to like it or not. And it's better for us both if you like it. One night only, Michelle. Now relax and put your legs over my shoulders." I did as I was told, letting my hands fall back onto the bed. His back was smooth and warm against my calves. He pressed my legs apart, scooted down, and gently kissed the wet, hot opening to my pussy. He was incredibly patient. He tenderly sucked my swollen lips, licked all around them, then opened me up with his gentle fingers and licked inside, too. Moisture flowed out of me, making me slick and hot, and he licked and sucked it up. Around and around, again and again. He avoided my clit at first. He didn't seem to have any intention of causing me to climax. Without hurry, without anxiety, he used his mouth to explore and stroke and stimulate and fuck me, eating me like the juiciest peach. The pleasure started out easy and sweet, and grew and grew until it was unbelievably intense. After a while he began to allow his tongue to circle up and caress my clit, too, licking it leisurely and slow, first stroking it with the broad flat of his tongue, then flickering it with the tip. Up and down and around and around. He began to use his hands on me, too, fingers fucking deep inside my aching, slick pussy, while his lips sucked, gently, gently, on the hyper-sensitive tip of my clit. Stranger on a Train You quickly exit off the train and the thought goes through my mind – Should I? There is no way I cannot, I exit the train. We have seen each other before on the train in the evening when we are coming home, how could I not notice a girl as enticing as you. You notice me getting off the train and I sense your uneasiness as I start walking just a little ways behind you, I have never got off at your exit before. I continue to follow you until we get to your apartment and you activate the security door to enter. You allow me to enter with no words spoken, you have a look on your face that tells me you were hoping I would follow. We enter the elevator and you push the button to your floor and then look at me and ask – What floor do you need? The elevator starts going up and you push the button to stop it between floors. You then proceed to tell me that I am welcome in your apartment, but it will only be this one time and I must agree to everything you say. You restart the elevator, we exit, and then you very quickly move to your apartment door, open it and hurry me in. Strip down to just your underwear - you order me in a voice that lets me know that you are in control and are going to be calling the shots. Lay on the bed - you command me as we enter your bedroom. You have gone into the bathroom for a minute and you return wearing only a pair of panties and a bra that matches your panties. You then proceed to lay down the rules. 1. I cannot touch any of your skin with my hands. 2. You will direct all of the action and I will get only what you allow. No exceptions 3. No sound from me, but expect lots of sound from you. 4. I cannot touch your pussy or breasts unless you ask. 5. If I touch your skin, make a sound, or break the rules in any way I will have to leave immediately. You tell me that today, I will be your toy, nothing more. You get on the bed kneeling and move over the top of me as I lay on the bed as you say – We are going to have underwear sex. I am hard as a rock, anticipating what might be coming and my cock is laying flat pointing up toward my face. I can honestly say I have never been more turned on in my entire life, and you haven't even touched me yet. I am wearing larger shorts today and they barely contain me. You trace your fingers over my barely covered tool and giggle. My penis jumps at your touch and you seem intrigued. Do that again you order, so I squeeze my muscles as if I am trying to stop peeing and my penis moves with every squeeze. You smile. You seem to be fascinated with the top of my dick as you pay special attention to it as you finger it through my shorts. My penis has a mushroom head that is quite obvious and I think you like it. You move to remove my shorts, but stop. You then tell me if I cannot touch or see her, you will not touch me either, although I know you want to. That becomes obvious when you again trace the outline of my shaft with you fingers spending lots of time touching and feeling my mushroom head as you moan – Oh my! You lean over and try to suck it into your mouth but the shorts prohibit you, so you lick kiss and suck at the head through my shorts instead. You move again to remove my shorts, but stop, and I notice a very real pout on your face. I don't think there is another girl on this entire earth that could get me as horny as you have me right now. You kneeling above me right now is more sexy than the most enticing thought that I could ever imagine. You straddle me and move just above my engorged hard one that is imprisoned in my shorts. You lower your panty covered pussy onto my shaft and start moaning as you slide slowly up and down me in my shorts. At first you look into my eyes as you use me as your dildo, but as you continue, you close your eyes and it is as if I am not even there anymore. You're moaning, sighing and purring is too much, I am so excited I start moving my hips to match your movements. You instantly stop and command me saying – I did not say you could move, and if you do it again you will have to leave and I can tell you are serious. Thankfully, you continue. I can't touch your skin but luckily for me you are wearing full bottom panties so I move my hands up to embrace your hips and cute bottom as you continue to slide up and down slowly over my shaft again and again. Then you start moving back and forth over my shaft in a gyrating motion and I am on fire with lust. I can feel your sweet labia bumping over me and the feeling is sensational. I so much want to release myself, pull your panties aside and enter into your pink, sweet hole, - But you are in charge. I move my fingers down as far as I can in the crack of your lovely bum and start to rub your bum hole through the silky material of your panties. You give me the most seductive smile that I have ever seen – You are beyond sexy girl. Something is happening and it is driving me wild. Your pussy is so hot that I am afraid the friction between us is going to blaze into a raging fire. I think the only reason our crotches have not ignited into an inferno is because your pussy has moistened up incredibly and I can now feel your juices all over my crotch. Still the heat is unreal and the scent is making me - animal. I want so much to just abandon your rules – To be inside you, joined as one, united. You are the best fuck I have ever had and I haven't even entered you yet. I move my hand down towards my crotch as you gyrate wildly over my shaft, being careful to not break your rules and accidentally touch your pussy. I easily find some of your juices and hurriedly move my fingers to my face to smell you, taste you, savoir you. You notice what I have done and give me another one of you seductive looks. You are the nastiest girl I could ever imagine and I love it. You are now obviously Cumming, the moans and whimpers coming from this lovely girl on top of me are mind blowing. You slow down and lean over on top of me breathing hard; we are both sweating although the room is quite cool. Your smell is a total turn on. The mixing of your sweat with the aroma of your now satisfied pussy is scintillating. Your neck is a beautiful pink color and your mouth seems dry. You rise up to your knees and raise yourself off of my now moist shorts. The first thing I notice is the incredible heat that has now left my now begging penis. I want it back so bad. Please? Please? My eyes beg you, yet I do not say a word, afraid I will be forced to leave. I hate your rules. Kneeling, above me, you giggle as you show me your now soaked panties. Your panties have lowered enough to reveal the top of your bush. They are so wet now that I can see your bush and sweet pussy through your panties, quite clearly. You are my ultimate fantasy – times a million. You lift your panties to hide your bush when you notice they have hiked down and then you notice something and your eyes are now staring at my crotch. When you were gyrating and rocking on my prick so wildly during your orgasm my cock escaped from the prison of my shorts. When I notice what happened I move to pull them back over my exposed member but you command me to stop, I look up and you have a hungry, horny, excited look in your eyes. You instantly move back over me, so fast it almost scares me. Lowering one hand into your panties you are opening your pussy lips as your other hand instantly starts feeling and touching the mushroom head on my shaft that you seem to love so much. You lift up my penis as is if you are going to let me enter you, but you still have your panties on. You lower yourself onto me with a grunt and my mushroom head enters into you, pushing your panties in with it. I can't believe it, the head of my cock is now in you, surrounded by your panties and it feels incredible. You gyrate around on the head of my cock for awhile and then it happens. Your rules state that I will only get what you allow – Did you just say what I thought you did? You have been breathing heavy and it was hard to tell but I thought you just moaned something, said something in a moan, asked me to do something to you in whisper. It was something I have been hoping for, dreaming for, lusting for. Say it again! And again! Please tell me – What did you just say? Stranger on a Train It went on and on. I don't know how long he pleasured me and tortured me. It was exquisite. It was torment. He would have made me come a dozen times, except that I was so relaxed. When I orgasm, my whole body goes rigid. The muscles of my legs and buttocks and abdomen, even the muscles inside my pussy, clench tight as I come. I wanted and needed to come so badly; it was so close, the pleasure was so intense. But I couldn't. He had told me to relax. My legs lolled on his shoulders, my hands lay open and vulnerable. I couldn't come. I couldn't move. I couldn't beg. I wasn't even breathing hard – he had told me to take deep, slow breaths, and I did. But with every exhalation I moaned. I didn't know when I'd started moaning, but I couldn't stop. It was an animal sound coming out of me, long and low and loud, uncontrollable. Finally he lifted his head just a little – fingers of one hand buried inside me, face wet with my juices, lips swollen from sucking on me – and he said, "Michelle, tell me. Tell me what you need." "Let me move," I groaned. "God, yes," he said. "Move as much as you want, baby." And he lowered his lips to my clit again, and licked it into his mouth. My whole body responded like a plucked guitar string. I grabbed the coverlet of the bed with my hands, tightened my thighs around his head, lifted my hips up off the mattress. Uncontrollably, writhing shamelessly, I rubbed myself against his mouth and face, again and again. I heard my voice sobbing with pleasure and need. And orgasm rose up in a long wave and gripped me, and I screamed. I went totally still, every muscle in my body clenched, as wave after wave of delight swamped me. It lasted a long time, and I milked it, clasping the back of his head with my hands and making him give me more, more. And then the shuddering spasms of release went through me, and I relaxed back on the bed, moaning, gulping for air. He held my hips in his arms, his face against my belly, while I recovered. It was the most powerful orgasm I had ever experienced; now my pussy felt so oversensitive and overstimulated, I didn't think I could bear it if he touched me down there just at that moment. And he didn't. I suppose he knew; he could feel it in my mind. I still had the power of movement; he hadn't taken it away from me yet. I dropped a hand to his hair and stroked it, a little timidly. His hair was soft, a little curly. I ran my fingertips along his scalp and felt that he was sweating. He looked up at me. "What?" he asked, a little smile on his face. "You don't hate me any more, all of a sudden?" I took my hand away. "Damn you," I whispered, huskily. "You son of a bitch." In the aftermath of that long wave of delight, it was hard to summon up any real anger; I felt dazed, wrung out, throbbing with pleasure. The strongest negative emotion I could summon was resentment; but I had to be honest with myself. He hadn't told me to grab his hair and fuck his face like a bitch in heat; that had been all me. How much could I really blame him for that? He crawled up the bed and put his arms around me. "Relax, sweetheart," he said, and cuddled my unresisting body against his chest. He combed his fingers through my hair, then stroked down my back. His cock was thick and hard, trapped between our bellies, and I could smell and feel that he was fully sexually aroused. But again, he didn't seem to be in any hurry. There was no rush to get inside me. Of course, I thought; for him, the pleasure is being inside my head. He is fucking me; he's been fucking me all along. The idea, which had been horrifying before, now struck me as erotic; I felt another deep pull down inside me, a quiver of need. I didn't want to come again – it was much too soon – but suddenly I was swamped with the need to please him, to be penetrated and possessed by him, to grant his wishes. I gritted my teeth against the urge to wrap my legs around him and fuck him; instead I groaned, "Are you making me feel this way?" "No," he said. He sounded as surprised as I was, and kind of amused as well. "No, I'm not doing anything at the moment. That's all you." "Damn it," I mumbled again. I wondered if I were a shameless slut; and then I decided that I really didn't care. I found that I had the power of movement. I twined my legs with him, and reached down and caressed his rigid cock, all the length from oozing head to thick base, and he drew in a long breath. "You don't seem to be in too much of a hurry to come," I said curiously, wrapping my fingers around him and beginning to rhythmically stroke him. "Baby, I've come half a dozen times since I met you." I drew my head back and looked up into his green eyes, surprised. "What?" "I'm not like other men," he reminded me. "It's different. Sometimes I don't ejaculate. It's a release of chemicals in the brain. It's just as intense, sometimes even more so. You've been getting me off since I first saw you." I was stroking his cock from tip to root all while he said this; his voice was breathless but he was clearly in control. He liked it, though; he tilted his pelvis towards me to give me more access. I cupped his testicles with my other hand and asked, "When?" "Uh ..." He nuzzled my neck; he was sweating lightly. He hadn't told me to do this; I was pleasuring him from my own free will, and enjoying it. For the first time, I felt as though I had a tiny amount of power over him, and I liked it. "The first time was on the train, the very first minute I took control of you. I came so hard I thought the damn train would catch fire. Again in the hotel lobby. Then when I was touching your breasts. That time I came physically, too, in my pants. I couldn't stop myself. Jesus, Michelle, you're damn good at that." His hips were moving in time with my hands; he was breathing harder. "Twice more when I was going down on you because that was so fucking hot. When you came. I could feel it all through me. Ah, baby, stop now, stop." He pushed my hands away. "What time is it?" "What?" He looked at the alarm clock beside the bed; it read 8:51. He reached for the phone and dialed zero. "Hi, I want to talk to the concierge please?" I could not believe he was talking on the phone. I slid down on the bed and licked his rock-hard cock, and then swirled my tongue around the very tip, tasting the thick bead of precum that had formed there. His voice was a little strained, but he continued talking into the phone. "What time does the drugstore in the lobby close? Nine? Damn!" I could hear the concierge say, "Is there something I can get you from the store before they close?" I sucked the head of his cock into my mouth and worked it in and out, salivating on it freely, using the ring of my lips to stimulate the rim of his head all the way around. "Yeah, would you?" he said to the concierge. "It's kind of embarrassing ... Well, if you could pick us up some Astroglide?... Uh huh ..." He was breathing hard through his nose, trying not to pant into the phone. He burrowed his fingers into my hair and hung on while I took him deeper into my mouth, using the flat of my tongue hard on him. "Whatever kind of sex lube they have, but Astroglide would be best ... No, my girlfriend will be down to pick it up in a while... Mm hmm ... Thanks ..." He managed to fumble the phone back into the cradle. "They'll charge it to the room," he said, and then dropped his head back onto the bed, his eyes closed, both hands in my hair. I looked up at him, eyebrows raised, his cock buried deep in my mouth. But he didn't explain why he wanted the Astroglide; he was too busy having his seventh orgasm of the night. Act 2 "Michelle, there's something I want you to do for me." He grinned at me. He looked utterly wicked – naked, sprawled in the tangled bedclothes, with those green eyes glinting. We had talked a little, and I had slept a little; but now he was awake and alert, obviously ready for more. "What?" I asked. "I want you to go take a shower," he said. "Try not to get your hair wet. Clean yourself thoroughly. Especially back here," he added, letting his finger glide down between the cheeks of my bottom. "No!" I said indignantly. "No?" he asked, sweetly. "I don't do butt sex," I told him firmly. "It's not my thing." He just looked at me for a long minute. Then he said, "Michelle. Go take a shower. Try not to get your hair wet. Be sure to clean your anus thoroughly with soap and hot water. When you're done, don't dry off; just come straight back to me. Go now." I felt the control in my mind, warm and foreign; and I immediately got up, went to the bathroom, unwrapped some soap, and took a shower. I was furious. I had gone from terrorized victim to willing partner; now I felt like an angry, betrayed lover. I couldn't believe he had taken control again. I didn't think he'd want to control me any more; but I was wrong. My body obeyed him, but my mind was calling him every name in the book. When I got out of the shower, I didn't dry off. I went, dripping wet and naked, back into the bedroom and stood before him. He sprawled in bed and looked at me for a long moment, big and naked and hard as a lead pipe, and his gaze on my body was an incredible turn-on. Standing there in front of him, I could feel every drop of water on my body, running down my breasts and belly and legs. I felt a flush of wetness, not from the shower, fill my pussy, making me feel hot and ful. He handed me my wraparound dress and said, "Put this on." With some difficulty, I pulled the stretchy material over my wet body. He didn't give me my bra or panties, so I was completely naked under the dress. I realized that he wasn't keeping me from talking. "You son of a bitch," I told him. "Don't you understand?" he whispered. There was a little smile on his face; his eyes looked dark and wild. "It feels good to touch you, and to be touched by you. It feels good to me when you feel good. But it feels really, really good to make you do something you don't want to do." "You're a colossal prick." "I know," he said. "Now look at yourself in the mirror," he said, and I did. The knit dress clung to my wet body like a second skin; my breasts jiggled, obviously unsupported, and my nipples were visible points. I turned around, and saw that the material adhered clammily to the curves of my ass as well. He got up and stood behind me, looking at me with obvious appreciation. Then he put his hands on my breasts, fondling the nipples expertly. I glared at him furiously, but my body was attuned to his now; my nipples puckered, standing up firmly under the hugging cloth. He ran his fingers through my tousled, steam-curly hair, making it even wilder than before, and looked at me in the mirror. "There," he said. I looked like a woman who had been fucked hard, and wanted more. "Go down to the concierge desk and pick up the Astroglide," he said. I resisted. "I'm not wearing shoes," I managed to say, before he clamped down on the controls. "That's because you're in a hurry to come back up here and get fucked some more," he said. "And they'll all know it. Go." I went. Barefoot, damp, hair wild, breasts bobbing, my body fully aroused. I rode down the elevator with a middle-aged balding businessman with a wedding band on his finger, who tried not to stare at me but failed. I walked across the lobby. More men looked their fill. It was strange. I would never have done it if he hadn't forced me. But I didn't have any choice; I knew I couldn't fight it; so I enjoyed it. There was a secret wild thrill in the way people reacted to seeing my exposed, wet, barefooted body. The clerk behind the front desk gaped at me. I wondered if the sight of me was making him hard. My body felt languorous; I had been deeply pleasured and would be again soon, and I knew it. I could feel my pulse beating rapidly right against my swollen, sensitized clit. I felt the eyes of men on my body. They could tell I was aching for sex by the way I walked. I went to the concierge, an attractive woman in her thirties who looked at me with eyebrows raised and handed me the tube of Astroglide Gel. "Thanks," I said, and sauntered back to the elevator. I made no effort to hide the lube. Back in the room, my lover and master was obviously very excited. He grabbed me, turned me towards the bed, and began stroking my back and backside. "Did they look at you?" he asked. "Yes. I felt like a total slut." "You are the hottest thing any of them has ever seen," he said. "You look like liquid orgasm. They all wanted you, didn't they?" "Yes." "Jesus, baby. I can't wait to take you up the ass. Hang on to the footboard." I braced my hands against the sleigh-shaped footboard of the bed, which was about waist-high to me. From this position, I could see us in the mirrored vanity on the other side of the bed. He nuzzled his erect cock against my backside, and then peeled the front of my dress down from my shoulders, baring my still-damp breasts. My nipples, already aching and hard, contracted further as the cold air hit them. He commanded, "Hold out one hand. Good." He squeezed a dollop of Astroglide onto my fingertips and said, "Rub it onto your nipples, baby. Make it feel good." As he stripped the dress right off me, I stroked my breasts, letting the slippery gel roll over the soft white flesh. My nipples pointed straight up and I teased them with my slick hand. I made a V with my fingers and used it to fuck my nipples; my body began to hum and arch with pleasure. I could see myself, white, naked, shameless, in the mirror; one hand braced on the footboard, the other working my red nipples. And his eyes were on me, too. Oh, it did feel good. I was furious with him. I was apprehensive about what he intended, because I really didn't like anal. I knew that my dislike for anal was part of what was exciting him, and that infuriated me. But he had commanded me to make it feel good, and my hand was obedient; my nipples lengthened as I stroked them; my body was taut with pleasure. We both felt it when the muscles in my pussy began to quiver with need. He was breathing hard. He was watching me in the mirror. The head of his cock was pressed against the center of my ass; it felt as hard and round as an apple. "There's no way I'm taking that thing in my ass," I said, trying to sound firm even though I was panting with arousal. "Seriously. I really don't like it." He didn't bother to answer. He just pulled back and began rubbing lube on himself. I met his eyes in the mirror; his eyes were bright with excitement. He said, "Make yourself wet, Michelle. Hang on to the bed with one hand and touch yourself with the other one." He was still rubbing lube on his cock. Masturbating, I realized, while looking at me. My hand, still slick with the gel, went to my pussy. I slid one finger through my lips, opening myself up; the lube on my hand mingled with my natural juices as I pressed my middle finger inside myself, then pulled it out and circled my clit with it. I was breathing hard as I pleasured myself, looking into his eyes in the mirror. "Spread your legs a little more," he said breathlessly. "That's it. Stick your ass out. Yeah." He put a dollop of gel on his fingers and, with gentle fingertips, rubbed it into my anus. "There. Don't stop what you're doing, Michelle." I didn't. I continued stroking my pussy rhythmically, first stimulating myself inside, then pulling out to caress my clit. His fingers were gently, insistently massaging lube into my hole. I was more sensitive there than I'd realized. "Relax this muscle right here," he said. "Keep everything else the same. Relax this." His fingertips were slipping in and out of me; I could feel how tight I was back there. I softened the muscle of my anus while my fingers played with my clit. "Good," he said. "Lean forward, Michelle." The head of his cock nudged my tight hole. It felt huge. I said, "No—" and he said, "Don't talk. Brace yourself against the bed." I fell completely silent and, very reluctantly, took my hand away from my clit and put both hands on the bed. I was mad, and upset, and sexually frustrated. I held onto the footboard of the bed with both hands, my whole groin feeling heavy and aching with need – I had been on the verge of another orgasm. His cock pressed against me, stretching me apart. It felt enormous. He penetrated me with just the head, just the first few inches. I whimpered. "Oh hush," he said. "I'm not hurting you. Oh Michelle. Oh God. You're making me come again. Oh fuck. Fuck. God." He leaned his forehead against my back, his eyes closed. It was a mental, not a physical climax, but it was obviously very real, and it lasted a surprisingly long time. "Oh my God, baby," he whispered again, his voice ragged with gratification. "I swear they're getting more intense every time." I realized that I'd given him multiple orgasms just like that one, just in the last several hours. The realization was thrilling, as was his language; I whimpered again, this time with need. He pulled out and shoved me down on the floor, growling, "Spread your legs. Lift up." I lay panting face down, knees and elbows on the carpet, thighs spread wide open, my hair falling over my face. He pushed my head down, pulled my pelvis up, and I felt the head of his hard cock pressing into my wet, aching pussy. "Tell me what you want," he commanded, breathing hard. "Tell the truth." "Fuck me," I moaned. "Fuck me." He drove in, hard, all the way to the hilt. I pressed my forehead against the carpet and screamed as I climaxed like a firecracker, the muscles of my vagina grasping and releasing him. He kept pumping into me, his hands hard on my hips. "Oh yes, oh yes," I panted. The pleasure from my orgasm began to subside in shuddering waves, but I wanted more. I writhed, clutching the carpet, arching my back, keeping my ass high in the air to give him deep access, while rubbing my nipples mindlessly against the carpet. He gave it to me hard, and I took it all. "God, you are hot," he groaned. His voice was gravelly with lust; he was pumping me with long, punishing strokes. "You are so fucking wet. You are hot as a fucking furnace." His words took me over the edge and I began to come again, pressing my face against the floor, crying out with pleasure in long, animal moans. He was grunting with each thrust, and when the powerful, full-body orgasm took him I could feel it radiating through us both. The eruption of his semen inside me was hot and thick, the volume far greater than any human man's, and as he pumped into me it spurted out and ran down my legs in sheets. Act 3 Afterwards, we lay panting on the floor, his body heavy and sweat-slick on mine, his cock finally softening against my leg. He was breathing deeply, stroking my hair, my face, with one big, gentle hand. My body felt like it was glowing with satisfaction. When I was just on the verge of sleep, he said softly, "Get up, Michelle. Go clean yourself up and get dressed. Make yourself look presentable." I obeyed. In the bathroom mirror, I looked disoriented, deeply pleasured, slightly strange. I sponged the thick semen from my legs, washed my face, and brushed my hair. I went back to the bedroom and put on my underwear, bra, and dress. My stockings and boots. He was getting dressed, too. Soon we both looked just as we had on the train – almost. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, shadowed underneath. I understood that we were done. I stood and faced him, and felt him release my mind: the warm sensation that had wrapped around my mind withdrew and was gone, and I was entirely my own person again. His face looked pale; he swayed a little as he let me go, and reached out to brace himself against the wall. "I'll walk you to the train station," he said. Stranger on a Train We left the hotel and walked, companionably, across the courtyard and back to the station. I had only about five minutes to wait for the next train. He said, "I keep my promises, baby. I'm sorry for what I had to do to you. I promise, you'll never see me again." I stared at him for a moment. He looked haggard under the fluorescent lights. Maybe the experience had taken more out of him than I'd realized. Maybe he was haunted by the idea of years searching for another of his own kind. Either way, I stepped close to him and, of my free will, kissed his mouth. It was our first and last kiss. His lips were surprisingly soft and gentle. I pulled out a pen and wrote my phone number on his hand. "I don't understand who or what you are," I said, "or what really happened tonight. But ... call if you need me?" He was moved; he looked down at his hand, and then up into my eyes. "I guess I don't understand, either," he said. "I don't understand how you can give me this, after what I've done." Then my train pulled up with a whoosh. I stepped on board and watched as the doors closed between us. As I pulled away into the night, I wondered if I'd ever see him again.