Non-Fiction: Train - Sex Stories

Non-Fiction: Train

... “Do you want me to continue? Because that liquid rolling down your gam is saying yes,” his spearmint-scented breath seemed to belong to me. “I’ll try to work my way to a door,” the sitting subway sufferer added. “My perspiration is saying yes?” “No, I’ll try the door. I’m right here. Stay where you are, so you don’t have to trip over folks,” stated a standing subway sufferer. “Your honey is saying yes,” he answered as two fingers opened my wings in search of my clit. “This is foolish. You’re crazy.” The murmur on the train was growing and so was his third leg. He let go of me, unzipped his pants, and wrestled his growth from beneath his pant opening. Nameless introduced my hand to his motivator. “Does this feel crazy?” As senseless as it was, my hand was game. My box was willing. But my mind wasn’t convinced. Still, I grasped him to trace the length and girth; I had to assess the risk and familiarize myself with his brand of crazy. I needed to know if his crazy was generic or premium lunacy. His smoothness and curve would hit my insides just right. His thickness and span seemed more than sufficient. His was a premium lunacy. Still, my mind wasn’t convinced. “I can’t.” “You can. Say yes,” he insisted while diddling my diamond. “Oh my god! When are they gonna get this death trap moving,” shouted another random aggravated rider. Spooked, I inquired, “What happens if the train starts moving and the lights come back on?” “Are you scared?” “No,” I told yet another lie. “Well ...

... what’s the dilemma?” I caressed his shaft with the familiarity of a long time lover’s hand. Some kind of way, its silkiness eased the hard questions I posed to myself. What if someone I knew saw me? What if the lights came on and everybody saw us? What if somebody snapped a photo and uploaded it to every social media outlet in existence? What if my co-workers find out? What if my family finds out? I ran through every what-if scenario I could think of, but the sum of my thoughts never trumped my horniness and the ultimate question on my mind: what if I don’t. “Do you have a condom?” I asked just knowing that my inquiry would finally end his bizarre proposition. Now, I was lying to myself. “I sure do.” Damn. They always say preacher’s kids are some of the wildest folks. In that moment, I had no power to debunk the myth. I gave his shaft a gentle squeeze and whispered, “Okay.” Nameless lowered his head to seal my confirmation with what I thought would be a kiss. But he licked the salty sweat from my cheek and neck like a thirsty kitten while pushing his fingers deep in my good good. He stirred slow circles as he drilled in and out. My consenting ‘okay’ sent a heat through my body that caused perspiration to layer every inch of my skin like condensation on a beer mug. The moisture provided a lube in my hand as I stroked him with a gentle twist. He released my yoni long enough to shove a condom in my hand. “Slide it on me please. I need to get inside you.” I let go of him, ripped open ...