Dirty Martini Erotica
"Stranger on a Train" a sex story by Nicolle Mari
I love trains. The moment I step on one, I feel sexy and dangerous like I'm a glamorous film starlet from the forties with sleek Lauren Bacall hair and thrusting breasts in a tight sweater. I have a game I play when I ride the train. I look for an older man who seems buttoned up and bored, and I tease him. Torment him with accidental brushes and flashes of skin that make him think he's the one watching me. That he's invading my privacy, spying on me and wanting me without my knowing.
The express train from New Haven to New York is perfect for my game. It's always crowded and there are tons of businessmen. Businessmen are my favorite victims -- older, gentlemanly businessmen in conservative suits and power ties. They always try the hardest to hold back their reactions and are so sexy when they lose control and crumble.
An orange sunset blazes on the water outside as the train speeds up the coast. Inside the car, the lights are dim except for the sultry glow of laptop screens and individual seat lights. The rumble of the wheels against the tracks echoes throughout my body. I can feel it in my hips and the pit of my stomach, like every step sends my hips thrusting gently against a lover. I prowl from car to car looking for someone on whom I can play my game. At the third car back, I spot him.
He is probably in his mid-forties, with closely cropped, graying hair and gentle eyes. He is wearing charcoal gray trousers, his suit coat laid neatly in the rack above his seat. Even though this late in the day most of the other men have loosened their ties, he still has a full Windsor knot in his dark blue tie. I like him; he's buttoned up, but still sexy in a subdued, repressed kind of way. He looks bored, impatiently tapping a copy of the Wall Street Journal against his knee with strong and capable hands like it's a strain to sit still for four hours.
But then as I get closer, I see someone is sitting next to him. She's about his age, slim and tidy in a peach cashmere sweater set and resting her hand on his thigh as she reads a hardcover book. So, he's not on a business trip. He's probably taking his wife down to the city for an evening of culture. I waver; wonder if I should pick someone else. But teasing him with his wife sitting next to him is too big a thrill to resist. I'm already excited imagining her outraged reaction if she were to catch me. How her immaculately bobbed hair would fly and her hand would shake as she would tearfully slap me.
Taking a deep breath, I begin the game. I catch his eye and give him a small, hesitant smile like I'm relieved to have found an open seat. As I walk towards them, I exaggerate the roll of my hips. His eyes drop immediately from mine, but he darts a furtive, assessing glance at my breasts, which are squeezed into a push-up bra and a tight v-neck sweater. Passion flares in my belly because I know I have his attention. My breasts swell against my bra, the lace rough against my sensitized nipples.
I jump up on the arm of the seat across the aisle from him, and stretch up to slide my backpack onto the shelf above, leg cocked behind me for balance. As I grab a magazine from my pack, I peek over my shoulder to watch him. He looks up again, his eyes drawn as if by a magnet up my legs to where my short jean skirt has ridden up. I love to show off my legs; they're long with just the right amount of curve, coltish without being too skinny. I know he can see a bit of the rounded slope of my ass where it meets my thighs. I can almost feel his hands there, pushing up my skirt to bare my ass and display my panties to all the other travelers. I'm wearing pink lace thong that matches my bra, but from where he sits, it probably looks like I'm not wearing any panties at all. I think that's what makes him look away, shifting uncomfortably in his seat with cheeks blazing.
At his blush, my belly tightens and sweat dampens my thighs. I know he wants me and his embarrassment about it thrills me. As I step down, my skirt tightens against my thighs and ass. The friction of the rough denim soothes and stings like a light slap against my tender skin and I sigh. With a soft "Excuse me," I make sure my thigh bumps against his and he gets a glimpse of cleavage as I sit down in the seat across from them.
He apologizes and awkwardly adjusts to give me more room. His wife doesn't even glance up from her book, she just settles deeper into her seat, her hand slipping from his thigh.
I make my next move slowly even though I'm impatient -- it's been so long since I've played the game that I want to rush things, to see how far I can push him. I flip through a fashion magazine and pretend to read. Crossing my legs, I draw lazy circles with my foot as if I don't notice him at all even though my foot almost brushes his leg with every arc. With my head towards my magazine, I look up through my lashes to make sure he's still paying attention. He's absorbed by my brightly painted toes and I let the shoe slip off my heel and dangle recklessly. He watches my feet like he wants to suck each toe into his mouth one at a time.
His nipples are hard through his fine Oxford shirt, but he looks away and swallows. He opens his newspaper across his lap to read, so I let my shoe fall. I uncross my legs to lean over for it, and he gazes past the headlines to my thighs. His wife looks asleep, her book forgotten in her lap. I like to think she's playing along though, pretending to be asleep as she watches us, just as turned on as we are. I imagine her gazing at me from half-closed eyes. I picture her slipping from her seat with a wink at him to kneel on the floor and spread my legs, her glossy dark head sandwiched between the pale skin of my thighs as she gently pushes aside my thong. Eyes closed, I see her perfectly manicured nails scratching against the crease between leg and belly, raking through my damp curls as she blows hot breath on my clit. She teases, pausing until I think she won't give me what I want. I hold my breath, afraid to move, and my clit swells, trying to tempt her. Finally, she presses her lip to my begging pussy. Her nails leave pink trails on my skin as she runs her fingers up and down my thigh, mimicking the movement of her tongue against my vulva. Across from us, he strokes his cock with those sexy hands, up, down, twisting around the shaft and squeezing the head. He follows the movement of her nails so all three of us are moving in tandem.
"Holy shit," I mutter, shaking myself out of my reverie. I feel a bit weak, my nipples are so hard they ache and my panties are sticking to me, wet from sweat and the cream of my arousal. I dart a look at his wife to check for some reaction, sure that she must be awake and horrified by my wild imaginings. I'm a little disappointed to see she's still asleep. He's watching me though, not even trying to hide it anymore. I turn the page to cover my shallow breathing and slip my other shoe off under my seat. I bring one leg up so I can sit on my foot, angling my heel to ease a bit of the ache in my clit. The rocking and swaying of the train grinds my pussy against my heel, but not hard or fast enough. I want more.
I twist my necklace with my fingers, dragging the gold chain against the neckline of my sweater until I pull the charm, a tiny gold flute, from my cleavage. I slowly run the flute up and down the length of the chain, absentmindedly stroking my skin with the warming metal. His eyes follow every move I make, and I can tell he wishes it were his hands touching me. I rub the charm against my lips then slowly suck it into my mouth. Turning a page, I let the warm gold drop from my mouth and into the shadows between my breasts. He grips the arms of his seat, like he's holding himself back from diving in after the charm. With a breathless laugh at my clumsiness, I lean forward and dip two fingers into my sweater to retrieve it. Pressing my forearm against a pebbled nipple, I nearly groan and the touch sends my hips squirming against my heel. His eyes move back and forth between my swelling breasts and tight nipples to the dark wedge of shadow between my slightly parted legs. Even the newspaper can't hide that he's getting an erection.
Finally, I can't stand it anymore and I boldly meet his gaze. The combination of helpless intensity and shame in his eyes sears me, and I know that he is as turned on as I am. He breaks eye contact, swallows a deep breath and makes a fist on his thigh, trying to get himself under control. I can't allow that to happen, I want him on the edge. A quick glance around the cabin reveals that no one is watching, so I slip my other leg under his newspaper and walk my toes up his thigh.
He jumps and pushes back against his seat, away from my touch. His newspaper rustles as loud as a gunshot. We both look at his wife, who jerks a bit at the noise, but doesn't wake up. I give him a slow smile as my foot persists. I find his cock, burning and heavy through the fabric of his suit. Flexing my foot, I push against his penis, cradling the iron heat. Giving in, he closes his eyes and moans quietly. Reaching under the newspaper, he wraps his large, warm hands around my foot and presses it even tighter against him. Together we stroke him. I curl and uncurl my toes as I push my foot up and down the length of his cock. My magazine shakes and I push and squirm against my heel. His eyes open slowly as if the lids are too heavy to lift and in a daze, he watches my skirt as if he could see my throbbing clit and clenching pussy through it.
My foot moves faster and harder against his cock. His eyes fly up to mine, wild and helpless, as his hips jerk spasmodically, lifting from the seat and pushing back against my foot. He lurches to his feet, newspaper pressed against the front of his trousers, and races past our seats to the rear of the car. His loss of control is exhilarating. My nostrils flare, imagining the musky smell of sex filling the car as if he'd cum in his seat, squirting thick hot semen through my toes and all over my foot. Prickles of heat race along my skin and I can't catch my breath. Usually this is enough for me, and the shuddering of the train and my sense of triumph will send me over the edge, but this time I want more. I need more. I feel so sexy and irresistible that a quick masturbatory orgasm feels hollow compared to what I know I can make him do if I follow him. He's in such a state of frenzy that he'll do whatever I want. For the first time, I want to take this game all the way. I want him to fuck me.
I catch up to him against the door of the car, where he's leaning to catch his breath and wait for the lavatory. A bump of the train sends me colliding into him, and I reach around to his cock, finally able to feel his heat with my hands. His cock jumps in my hand, and he groans, a groan that says he can't take any more. He hits the button to open the sliding door between cars and we stumble into the vestibule together.
Twisting around, I back into a corner and pull him with me. He falls to his knees and I have him right where I want him at last. He shoves his head under my skirt, one hand gripping my ass as the other rips my thong in his haste to get his face in my pussy and the thin scraps of lace fall forgotten around my heel. Slurping, biting and sucking; he holds me apart with his thumbs as his tongue swirls around my clit and stabs into me, penetrating again and again. But just as I'm about to lose control and cum all over his face, he slows down. With the flat of his tongue, he licks the length of my vulva and stills, just pressing against my clit. I scream in frustration and grasp futilely against the slick steel wall of the train, looking for anything to hold me steady as he starts moving his tongue again. Between the vibration of the train behind me and his quick, greedy tongue flicking, swirling and nibbling nonstop on my clit and pussy, I'm overwhelmed. This time I can't hold back the scream and I cum in great shuddering gasps and tremble as he laps up and swallows my cream. Wrapping a shaky leg around his head, I clutch him tight against me as spasms rip through me.
I still need more. I need his cock inside me, pushing and stretching and pounding against me. I pull his hair and bend his head to the side so I can lean down and bite his neck. "Get up," I order, pulling him up by his blue silk tie, high from my newfound power and the orgasm still rocking through me.
He rises, but keeps his hand on my cunt, two tapered fingers opening me wide for him. I rip at his charcoal trousers, finally freeing his cock, which is wide and curved, glistening with sweat and a bit of cum. I greedily lick my lips as I squeeze him, rubbing the glossy wetness around his shaft. I can't wait to get him inside me, and I raise my leg to his waist, bracing it against the opposite train car. "Fuck me hard," I demand, guiding his cock inside me.
Another bump of the train sends us lurching into the train wall and it drives him deeply into me, his pelvis grinding into mine as he starts to move inside me.
More,
Faster,
Harder,
Yes!
I make sharp, guttural commands as we pound against each other until I can't say anything at all and just gasp at every thrust. The jarring of the train as it goes around a bend creates a double rhythm as if there are two men fucking me at once, both of them moving inside me and wild with lust.
One hand holding him steady against the train, he shoves another under my sweater and bra and pushes them up and out of his way. They pinch under my arms, but the discomfort just adds to the overload of sensation. His tongue works the tip of my nipple, swirling around it and taking a tiny nip before sucking most of my breast into his mouth. Then he pulls away, kneading and squeezing as he flicks his tongue over the tip again before sucking my slippery breast back into his mouth.
Moaning with pleasure, I wrap the tie around my fist and pull him away from my breast. I look him in the eyes; though I'm so turned on that it's hard to focus. He's just as excited; his pupils are so wide, I can barely see the green around them. Losing focus completely, I kiss him. Open mouthed, tongues thrusting and twisting just like his cock is thrusting into me. I can taste myself on him, salty and feral. With one last slam, he pushes me hard against the train wall and we cum in shuddering spasms. Sucking in heaving breaths, we watch each other lose control. I feel his cum shooting fire inside me as his eyes roll back and our hips quake against each other. Our juices seep out and down my thighs.
He lowers me back down to the floor and slips out of me. I wipe my fingers against my thighs -- my hand comes away slick and sweet with cum. I stick my fingers in his mouth and he sucks them clean, swirling his tongue around each finger.
I pull my sweater back down as he leans against the wall, watching me with a sated but bewildered expression as if he can't believe what just happened. He looks so sexy leaning there trying to catch his breath. His shirt hangs over his open trousers and is still half tucked in. His tie, so perfect before, is loose and crumpled. I try to play it cool, but I can't suppress a huge, happy smile as I pick up my torn panties, crushing them into my back pocket, and turn to walk away.
Sauntering back to the seats, I feel so alive and replete I want to drag my hands along everyone I pass. His wife is awake and looking out the window, watching the scenery speed by. I want to lean over and press a kiss to her coral lips, thanking her. A little aftershock hits me as I think how lucky she is if he fucks her anything like he did me.
Before he can pull himself together and come back to the seats, I gather my things so I can move to another car for the rest of the train ride. But as I retrieve my backpack from the shelf, I slip my torn lace panties into the handkerchief pocket of his suit jacket as a souvenir.
Copyright May 2006, Nicolle Mari
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.
Originally published May 2006 - "Hot Tamales"
