soulchump
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Aug 27, 2002
- Posts
- 217
Both.
It's not easy to think straight when your mouth is bobbing up and down on my cock. If you weren't so goddam talented at this, maybe I would notice the other people in the car, the advertisements above the hand-grabs, the slowing of the train as we approach the tube stop.
But behind the veneer of this paper, it's all a blur . . . and it turns to black when you drop your face all the way against my stomach, taking my cock completely into your throat and humming so that I can feel every part of me vibrating with electricity. Fuck, you're amazing! Raw talent . . .
. . . but we're stopped. You've stopped. I open my eyes. Everything focuses.
You've sat back, as instructed, and from the slight hum and the way you're sitting, it's clear that the vibrator is still sending its shivers and tingles all through you.
I've lowered the paper to cover my raging, glistening hard-on. I want you so fucking bad. How do you do this to me?
Sure, I asked for it . . . but more so as a challenge to see if you could actually get me to respond again this quickly after the saturation of this over-sexed weekend we're having. You're clearly up to the challenge.
The people getting on and off the train are only making me hornier . . . especially because some of them are sitting within view . . . or, at least peripheral view . . . because I'm not watching them.
I'm watching the hem-line of that dress . . . where your hand keeps disappearing as you toy with yourself. I'm listening to your moans and watching your squirms as you try to contain yourself.
I'm completely entranced.
Somewhere, deep inside my mind, there's a rebellion . . . wait one fucking second here! We're moving again!! What is she still doing over there?!
Hmmm . . . maybe she's chickening out . . . this is as all she can bring herself to do, with these men so close . . . maybe riding my cock would be taking it too far for her . . .
I'll make my intentions clear. I move the newspaper, showing you that my cock is still plenty wet, and ready for you to straddle.
You're still playing . . .
I watch your legs as they lift, your dress as it slides, your hand as it moves, your pussy as it gets penetrated . . . again . . . and again. I look up to see you shake your head, turning down the offer of my lap with a grin.
That's not chickening out . . . that's teasing . . . we've only got a couple of minutes, though . . . why is she futzing around like this? That grin . . . it's defiant.
I can feel an intensity harden into the muscles of my face, my nostrils flaring. I can feel the steely look enter my eyes - it's the same look my dad used to get when something contradicted his authority - I'm being contradicted. My teeth are clenching . . . this is all happening without thought . . . like it's happening to me.
You glance at my camera.
Is that it? She just wants me to capture this first? There's no time!
You've closed your eyes now . . . escaping from my glare by focusing inside on the pleasure . . . and you moan from it. Getting carried away. My anger is rising, so my blood is pulsing, so my cock is throbbing, and I am now positive that I'm going to fuck you - no matter what.
The train heaves as the brakes decelerate us, and your eyes open again . . . to find my eyes locked on them.
You raise an eyebrow . . . with uncertainty? Or are you saying your rebellion is complete now?
I'd love to punish you by walking out - by leaving you without the deep fucking that you most desire. But what I want happens to be tied to what you want, and right now I want to get exactly what I want.
And I know what that is - despite the 2 college girls who replaced one of the businessmen - I'm going to fuck you on this train right now.
The doors slam shut.
I lean forward, forcing your feet against my knees to push you back against the seat. My hand thrusts out, grabs your wrist and flings your hand to the side. I take hold of the vibrator and, still pinning you, I slowly push it as far inside you as it can physically go.
I'm trying to keep my breathing contained. The calm of the anger is fueling me forward. It's like the eye of the storm . . . knowing something is raging nearby, but not yet willing to admit it.
Your body is exposed. People have gradually started to realize what's going on . . . and I'm exposing you to them deliberately now . . . knowing they keep sneaking glances . . . I can feel their eyes on us.
I slide onto my knees. I pull your legs forward - you gasp, and instinctively reach for the hold rail nearby - you're barely supported by the chair, dangling your ass in the air above my cock, your cunt dripping its juices into your ass crack and onto me.
How long can you hold yourself up? With your palms so sweaty and your body so hot . . . how can you keep yourself from impaling your ass on my cock? Do you want to resist it?
I'm watching the expression change on your face as your hand starts to slide slowly down the rail . . . and that first contact is made . . . and you realize where you are positioned.
I feel you try to rotate your hips under . . . to get me into position so that my cock can replace the vibrator that keeps humming inside your cunt . . . but the firm edge of the seat won't give you the room . . . and you're sliding . . . millimeters at a time . . . and the pressure against your ass is building . . . I can feel the muscles clenching.
I could move . . .
I could re-position myself . . .
I could let go of the vibrator and support you . . .
. . . . and you know it.
I'm still just watching your face. Staring into you, so you know that I have you. That you're mine right now.
The people watching must be surprised at how slowly we're moving . . . . as if to say, "why are they just sitting still like that?"
They don't understand . . .
My free hand starts at your neck and begins to caress onto your shoulder . . .
. . . onto your upper arm . . .
. . . onto your forearm . . .
. . . over your wrist . . .
. . . to your hand. The hand that's trying desperately to keep you from getting ass-fucked in front of all these people. And my cock is so wet from your mouth . . . and your ass is so slick from your juices . . . and the pressure is on the verge of breaking through the clenching you're trying to use to keep this from happening.
The vibe drops out as my hand swings down to lift your ass - rolling backwards onto my haunches as I pull your hand from the rail - and your cunt plunges down onto my cock. To the hilt.
Your knees on either side of me now support you as your tits fall against me, barely contained by your dress as I thrust up inside you . . . thrusting and bucking . . . my arms now wrapping around you to hold you firmly in place.
The anger is now being released into the fucking. The storm has breached onto the shore. There's no return.
Our moans and grunts echo through the train car as we dive deep into the fucking . . . oblivious.
If you weren't such a willing cock-slut, they might think I was raping you - everything is so forceful - so aggressive.
This fucking is a taking. It's an owning. It's a chastisement.
The rage-fuck is making me more animal, and animal fucking isn't built to last. Drop your load and be done with it - that's how animals fuck.
So I do - I let my cock thrust jet after jet of cum into your pussy - without a single moan or signal to show for it. Just fucking and fucking and fucking and faster and faster and fucking and faster and fucking until I'm done.
AND THEN I STOP.
I stop cold.
The train stops dead in its tracks.
I push you back onto the seat.
I stand up.
I zip up.
"Get your things."
I walk off.
Just onto the platform I stop, and wait for you to catch up.
I hear you fight off the closing doors before I sense you clambering up next to me.
I look at the ground beneath your feet - clean.
Wait for it . . .
A splash of cum drops to the concrete.
There it is.
I look forward again, straight ahead.
"Did you enjoy your first-ever subway orgasm?"
I turn my head to see the look I expected . . . it's in the neighborhood of, "You know damn well that I never - "
I stare into you . . . softening slightly as the storm is passing.
"Good."
We head for the stairs.
--
It's not easy to think straight when your mouth is bobbing up and down on my cock. If you weren't so goddam talented at this, maybe I would notice the other people in the car, the advertisements above the hand-grabs, the slowing of the train as we approach the tube stop.
But behind the veneer of this paper, it's all a blur . . . and it turns to black when you drop your face all the way against my stomach, taking my cock completely into your throat and humming so that I can feel every part of me vibrating with electricity. Fuck, you're amazing! Raw talent . . .
. . . but we're stopped. You've stopped. I open my eyes. Everything focuses.
You've sat back, as instructed, and from the slight hum and the way you're sitting, it's clear that the vibrator is still sending its shivers and tingles all through you.
I've lowered the paper to cover my raging, glistening hard-on. I want you so fucking bad. How do you do this to me?
Sure, I asked for it . . . but more so as a challenge to see if you could actually get me to respond again this quickly after the saturation of this over-sexed weekend we're having. You're clearly up to the challenge.
The people getting on and off the train are only making me hornier . . . especially because some of them are sitting within view . . . or, at least peripheral view . . . because I'm not watching them.
I'm watching the hem-line of that dress . . . where your hand keeps disappearing as you toy with yourself. I'm listening to your moans and watching your squirms as you try to contain yourself.
I'm completely entranced.
Somewhere, deep inside my mind, there's a rebellion . . . wait one fucking second here! We're moving again!! What is she still doing over there?!
Hmmm . . . maybe she's chickening out . . . this is as all she can bring herself to do, with these men so close . . . maybe riding my cock would be taking it too far for her . . .
I'll make my intentions clear. I move the newspaper, showing you that my cock is still plenty wet, and ready for you to straddle.
You're still playing . . .
I watch your legs as they lift, your dress as it slides, your hand as it moves, your pussy as it gets penetrated . . . again . . . and again. I look up to see you shake your head, turning down the offer of my lap with a grin.
That's not chickening out . . . that's teasing . . . we've only got a couple of minutes, though . . . why is she futzing around like this? That grin . . . it's defiant.
I can feel an intensity harden into the muscles of my face, my nostrils flaring. I can feel the steely look enter my eyes - it's the same look my dad used to get when something contradicted his authority - I'm being contradicted. My teeth are clenching . . . this is all happening without thought . . . like it's happening to me.
You glance at my camera.
Is that it? She just wants me to capture this first? There's no time!
You've closed your eyes now . . . escaping from my glare by focusing inside on the pleasure . . . and you moan from it. Getting carried away. My anger is rising, so my blood is pulsing, so my cock is throbbing, and I am now positive that I'm going to fuck you - no matter what.
The train heaves as the brakes decelerate us, and your eyes open again . . . to find my eyes locked on them.
You raise an eyebrow . . . with uncertainty? Or are you saying your rebellion is complete now?
I'd love to punish you by walking out - by leaving you without the deep fucking that you most desire. But what I want happens to be tied to what you want, and right now I want to get exactly what I want.
And I know what that is - despite the 2 college girls who replaced one of the businessmen - I'm going to fuck you on this train right now.
The doors slam shut.
I lean forward, forcing your feet against my knees to push you back against the seat. My hand thrusts out, grabs your wrist and flings your hand to the side. I take hold of the vibrator and, still pinning you, I slowly push it as far inside you as it can physically go.
I'm trying to keep my breathing contained. The calm of the anger is fueling me forward. It's like the eye of the storm . . . knowing something is raging nearby, but not yet willing to admit it.
Your body is exposed. People have gradually started to realize what's going on . . . and I'm exposing you to them deliberately now . . . knowing they keep sneaking glances . . . I can feel their eyes on us.
I slide onto my knees. I pull your legs forward - you gasp, and instinctively reach for the hold rail nearby - you're barely supported by the chair, dangling your ass in the air above my cock, your cunt dripping its juices into your ass crack and onto me.
How long can you hold yourself up? With your palms so sweaty and your body so hot . . . how can you keep yourself from impaling your ass on my cock? Do you want to resist it?
I'm watching the expression change on your face as your hand starts to slide slowly down the rail . . . and that first contact is made . . . and you realize where you are positioned.
I feel you try to rotate your hips under . . . to get me into position so that my cock can replace the vibrator that keeps humming inside your cunt . . . but the firm edge of the seat won't give you the room . . . and you're sliding . . . millimeters at a time . . . and the pressure against your ass is building . . . I can feel the muscles clenching.
I could move . . .
I could re-position myself . . .
I could let go of the vibrator and support you . . .
. . . . and you know it.
I'm still just watching your face. Staring into you, so you know that I have you. That you're mine right now.
The people watching must be surprised at how slowly we're moving . . . . as if to say, "why are they just sitting still like that?"
They don't understand . . .
My free hand starts at your neck and begins to caress onto your shoulder . . .
. . . onto your upper arm . . .
. . . onto your forearm . . .
. . . over your wrist . . .
. . . to your hand. The hand that's trying desperately to keep you from getting ass-fucked in front of all these people. And my cock is so wet from your mouth . . . and your ass is so slick from your juices . . . and the pressure is on the verge of breaking through the clenching you're trying to use to keep this from happening.
The vibe drops out as my hand swings down to lift your ass - rolling backwards onto my haunches as I pull your hand from the rail - and your cunt plunges down onto my cock. To the hilt.
Your knees on either side of me now support you as your tits fall against me, barely contained by your dress as I thrust up inside you . . . thrusting and bucking . . . my arms now wrapping around you to hold you firmly in place.
The anger is now being released into the fucking. The storm has breached onto the shore. There's no return.
Our moans and grunts echo through the train car as we dive deep into the fucking . . . oblivious.
If you weren't such a willing cock-slut, they might think I was raping you - everything is so forceful - so aggressive.
This fucking is a taking. It's an owning. It's a chastisement.
The rage-fuck is making me more animal, and animal fucking isn't built to last. Drop your load and be done with it - that's how animals fuck.
So I do - I let my cock thrust jet after jet of cum into your pussy - without a single moan or signal to show for it. Just fucking and fucking and fucking and faster and faster and fucking and faster and fucking until I'm done.
AND THEN I STOP.
I stop cold.
The train stops dead in its tracks.
I push you back onto the seat.
I stand up.
I zip up.
"Get your things."
I walk off.
Just onto the platform I stop, and wait for you to catch up.
I hear you fight off the closing doors before I sense you clambering up next to me.
I look at the ground beneath your feet - clean.
Wait for it . . .
A splash of cum drops to the concrete.
There it is.
I look forward again, straight ahead.
"Did you enjoy your first-ever subway orgasm?"
I turn my head to see the look I expected . . . it's in the neighborhood of, "You know damn well that I never - "
I stare into you . . . softening slightly as the storm is passing.
"Good."
We head for the stairs.
--