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She waits a long time. For the first hour she says nothing, just stares past Jesse through the window at the trees rushing by. Jesse tries that too, watching the trees, listening to the monotonous rush of the train. Somehow his eyes always end up on Samira. She doesn’t react, staying just as she is, her gaze fixed out the window. As if she knows he’s studying her perfect profile, waiting for any hint of acknowledgement, and is choosing to make him suffer instead.
She does know. Of course. She always does.
She might not fuck him today—this trip is largely business. The possibility is devastating. Jesse knows she doesn’t particularly care one way or the other. Maybe if he begs she’ll grant his plea.
Samira wraps her arm around his and leans on his shoulder. The tightness in Jesse’s chest is crushing. Everywhere Samira’s touching him feels like a live wire.
She stays there for some time, staring out the window. Jesse sits perfectly still. He’s exquisitely aware of each passing second and the pressure of Samira on his arm. He doesn’t know how long he can take it. Every moment he’s sure something’s going to give.
Then she sits up again. Jesse jerks, feeling adrift. Like he’s going to float right through the roof of the train, lost to the air. Samira peels her jacket off, folds it, and puts it on his lap. “Hold this for me.”
He places a hand on it, pressing himself back into the seat, like he’s bracing for something. Or trying to get away from it.
Samira’s hand rests on his thigh, just beside the jacket.
They’re in the middle of the car. There aren’t many other passengers—the car’s about a quarter full. There’s one woman sitting across from them. The seats are offset, and she probably has a partial view of him and Samira.
Samira’s under the jacket now, undoing his fly.
Jesse covers his mouth. Warmth radiates from her skin onto him.
She leans over, murmurs into his shoulder, “Would you like me to stop?”
“No,” he responds. Keeps his eyes fixed out the window.
She slips under the waistband of his boxers. Jesse jerks in his seat. Samira makes a small sound of interest. “You’re dripping already.”
He nods.
“Put your hand under the jacket.”
He obeys, his movements suddenly weak and slow. She strokes him gently, her fingertips sliding over his slick labia, curling up under his clit. It could almost be tender if he didn’t know otherwise. He takes a deep, slow breath, lets it out with a shudder, still covering his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye he catches the woman across the aisle glancing at them. Fuck. With the jacket covering his crotch, she might think that he and Samira are just holding hands.
Or she could watch his shivering, note the flush in his cheeks, and figure out what’s really happening. A brief mental flash of Samira’s fingers pistoning in and out of his cunt, him bucking and begging and shouting his lungs out, all the other passengers gathered round, murmuring in derision or disgust.
He lurches forward, grabbing the edge of the seat in front of him, pressing his forehead into the faded fabric. Far too sensitive all of a sudden. At least the woman can’t see his face now, and hopefully didn’t hear the hint of a moan that—
“Bring your hips forward.”
Samira’s fingers are gone, but Jesse’s pulse is still up, pounding at the base of his throat. He drags himself forward, curling his body. Samira pulls his jeans a little further down his legs, leans down to open her purse. Jesse shuts his eyes. For the first time doubt lances sharp and bitter across his mind. What is he doing? They’re on a fucking train, for Christ’s sake—
He gasps as something slides into him.
Hard and smooth, and his eyes fly open so he can see what it is, of course it’s a dildo, of course Samira’s reaching into his boxers and filling his cunt with it in the middle of a train car. He chokes back a groan, watching the shiny red silicone disappear into him until the base is flush against his crotch.
“Hm. It’s not small, but you took it quite easily,” Samira murmurs. “Your cunt must be sopping wet.”
She’s right about the “not small” part. He’s exquisitely aware of it inside him, shifting with every tiny motion. And she’s right about him being sopping wet, too. He’s never been this turned on in his life.
“Are you hungry?” she asks. “Let’s go to the dining car.”
He nods shakily, reaches down and buttons his jeans. Then stands.
The dildo slides out maybe an inch before the tops of his thighs catch the base. As he squeezes through the narrow aisle, it rotates slightly with every step. He feels it at his entrance, the ridged surface of the silicone, well-lubricated by his own gushing cunt. Samira walks behind him, leaving him exposed to the eyes of the passengers on either side. They must be able to tell. His breath comes heavy, his hands tremble when they grasp the seat backs for support, his eyelids flutter—
All he gets are a couple of glances. Finally he stumbles into the dining car. About half the tables are full. Then there’s a light pressure at his back and he jumps, but it’s just Samira, guiding him to the nearest empty table. She takes the far seat, so he’ll be facing the rest of the car. He sits down.
The dildo slides home, hilting in him once again. He grits his teeth, hisses out a tense “Fuck.” Takes a shuddering breath. The moves over so he’s by the window and not quite so visible to the whole damn car.
Samira rests her chin on her hand, tapping her cheek absently. “Sit forward.”
He blinks. “Here?”
She gazes at him.
Of course here. She’s going to do anything she wants to him, and he won’t lift a finger to stop her. So he slouches, the blue plastic tablecloth bending inward, spreads his legs.
When he looks up Samira’s gone.
He has a wild moment of dissociation—has he been alone the whole time? Acting out some elaborate fantasy?—before there’s a tug at his fly.
Oh. She’s under the table. Even with the tablecloth he’s not completely covered—scans, half-frantic, finds she’s left her jacket folded on top of the menus, and he grabs it, lays it over his lap, tugs the edge of the tablecloth over it. Okay. Hidden.
So the only thing that’ll give him away is how much he reacts to whatever Samira’s doing.
Her fingers skim over his clit.
He jumps, exhales, shuts his eyes briefly. Needs to control himself. The dining car is not as sparsely populated as the passenger car they were in earlier. He scans the rest of the tables with a half-focused gaze. No one seems to have noticed Samira ducking beneath the tablecloth.
Two fingers grazing him lightly, pushing the hood of his clit up, easing it back down. The dildo shifts, too, Samira pressing on the base through his jeans. It slides out a little when she lets go—not surprising, considering his cunt is soaking wet—but she shoves it in again, unmercifully. Jesse grunts, gripping the edge of the seat. Samira works up a rhythm on his clit, a steady circular motion in complement to the shallow fucking of his cunt.
Jesse curls forward, flattening his hands on the table, resisting the urge to ball them into fists. He can feel his cheeks growing warm. Is his face turning red? Quick scan of the car. A couple of people meet his gaze this time. Can they tell? Another wild image, Samira dragging him onto the tabletop and stripping him, plunging the dildo in and out of him, the other passengers murmuring and laughing, taking pictures. She tells them that he craves this, the exposure, and as if to confirm it he begs her to let him come but can’t hold the orgasm back long enough to wait for her answer—
“Oh—“ He covers his mouth, mumbles to himself. “—fuck.”
He blinks, inhales deeply, tries to push away the image of his hips thrusting wildly into the air as flashes go off around him, the circulating ridicule, “look how wet—“ “who likes this kind of thing—“
“Sir?”
Jesse starts.
The waiter is watching him expectantly. Right. Ordering. Jesse swallows. “Just coffee for now.”
He’s pleasantly surprised by how steady his voice comes out, especially since Samira hasn’t slowed down. The waiter smiles. “Sure thing.”
Disappears down the aisle just as Jesse’s legs twitch involuntarily, and he leans back, filling his lungs and forcing the air out to keep from making any noise. Samira’s fingers dip down, gather fluid, and start in on his clit again. He catches the lurch forward halfway through, turns it into a controlled motion, points his gaze out the window. Bites down lightly on his index finger, hoping the faint pain will distract him.
It’s not working. The shallow jabs of the dildo are hitting something deep in his cunt, something that makes him feel violated and good. Samira swirls it, sending off a racing wet friction at his entrance that draws from him a guttural sound, choked off in his throat before any of the other diners can hear.
His bleary vision catches something moving toward him, and he blinks into focus. A young man with a pot of coffee. The waiter. Shit. Samira must notice how he tenses because she hilts the dildo in him and doubles her efforts on his clit.
Jesse coughs to conceal the surprised noise he makes. Her fingers strum back and forth across him, building a searing pleasure that—fuck—is going to translate into an orgasm very soon. Whether he likes it or not.
The young man leans over, pouring coffee into Jesse’s mug. The process is agonizingly slow. Jesse shifts his hips, trying to disrupt the impending orgasm. There’s no measurable change. If he could, he’d shoot the waiter a hostile glare to make him leave. But he can’t even muster the concentration to do that much.
“Are…you all right, sir?”
Fucking hell. Jesse turns his head slowly and wills his voice to come out steady again. “Yeah. Fine.” Not bad, considering how much energy he’s using to keep the orgasm down. It’s getting really fucking hard. Samira’s not giving him a break, still ruthlessly manipulating his clit, which has become an indistinct ball of sensitivity and pleasure that’s taking up all his attention. His cunt contracts around the dildo intermittently. He’s going to come.
No. Not yet. Has to get rid of this guy first. He swallows.
“Okay, then,” the waiter says, uncertain. “Have—have you decided what you’d like to order?”
“Still thinking about it.” Jesse’s voice rises in pitch. He jams it back down into a dead-sounding monotone. “Few more minutes.”
The waiter hesitates. “Are you sure you’re all right, sir? You don’t look well.”
His leg spasms. Fuck. It’s too much. He’s hit the plateau. Now it’s just a matter of seconds. “Yeah, I’m—“ The sentence dies in his throat as his breath catches, and he tries again. “Really bad hangover. That’s all.”
“Oh.” The waiter relaxes, smiling. “Yeah, I’ve been there.”
Jesse doesn’t catch what happens next because he starts to come.
He shuts his eyes, clamps a hand over his mouth, lips peeled back as he sucks in air through his teeth. His legs tense hard, heels jammed up against the bench. His clit pulses with waves of pleasure, held back too long and now punishing him for it. He feels like his own body has been taken away from him. His cunt squeezes the dildo, holds it like that for a few inconceivable seconds, then lets it go, only to clench again, over and over, milking the unyielding silicone. Jesse pants breathy and hard into his hand, chest heaving.
A delirious grin stretches his mouth.
He realizes he has no idea if the waiter left or is still standing there beside him, watching him orgasm. He slits his eyes open. Through the gritty smear of his vision, he sees a figure in white approaching the counter at the other side of the car.
The waiter.
The orgasm keeps him prisoner for another fifteen or twenty seconds, wracking him, straining him, then slowly letting him settle out. Only afterward can he begin to put his mind back together, grinding his vision back into focus.
The first thing he notices is that Samira’s sitting across from him, hands folded on the table as if nothing has happened.
His eyes slide past her. Scan the car. Some people are talking. Some are eating. No one’s looking at him.
His orgasm went unobserved.
Jesse drops his hand. “The waiter. Almost saw me.” His voice is rusty and hoarse.
“Mm.” Samira plucks a menu from the table and considers it.
Jesse finds he’s still grinning.
Samira turns the laminated sheet over, not deigning even to glance at him, much less to comment. He wonders again why she’s doing this. It doesn’t seem like she enjoys watching him suffer, since she’s not even looking at him, nor murmuring the soft humiliations she’s deployed in the past to great effect. Jesse waits for the thudding of his heart to calm. It’s still pounding loud in his ears. Samira doesn’t appear the least bit perturbed. Jesse feels used.
Maybe that’s what she likes. Jesse shuts his eyes for a moment, trying to reassemble his control. He can’t deny that he likes it too.
Then, when he tries to sit back in his seat, Samira tells him “Stop.”
He freezes, then slouches forward again, legs splaying. She’s not done. He wonders for a moment how much more he can handle.
Plenty. For her? Plenty.
The dildo moves. Jesse grunts, bracing himself against the wall of the car, lifts the tablecloth for just a moment to figure out what the hell’s going on.
Samira’s slipped out of her shoes, and one toe is positioned pointedly at his crotch, pressing on the base of the dildo through his jeans. Her foot bends forward, and the dildo slides further inside, impaling him completely.
His cunt, still reeling from the recent orgasm, grips it briefly, then relaxes. Now he moans, quiet and low.
When he looks up Samira’s smiling. “Would you like me to keep doing that?” The sight of her smile is every bit as incredible as the orgasm was. He returns it, then nods, the thrills of shame metamorphosing into excitement. “Yes.”
She rests her chin on her hand and returns her attention to the menu. “Good boy.”
Used. A shiver of pleasure runs through his cunt. It’s a good feeling.
“Hello, miss!” The waiter appears again at their table. Jesse has the urge to laugh and restrains it. “Would you like anything to drink? Coffee?”
“Yes, that would be lovely. And I think that’ll be all for the two of us today.” She hands him the menus.
An expression of surprised delight begins to break on his face. Jesse recognizes the look. Having that smile turned on you is a formidable experience. “Uh—sure! Absolutely. I’ll be back with that in just a second.”
Then the young man leaves them alone again.
For the next fifteen minutes Samira fucks him slowly, hilting the dildo in his dripping cunt as she gazes out the window without a hint of effort or distraction. Jesse rests his trembling hands on the table, tries to drink his coffee without spilling any. It’s not enough, this low simmering of pleasure. He had a taste earlier, that tyrannical orgasm, of something more. And now he doesn’t want to go back. This isn’t enough.
He sets down his mug, the base rattling against its saucer. “Samira.”
She glances at him. “Hm?”
“I need—“ It seemed to easy a minute ago, but now that the words are coming out, he finds he’s reluctant to speak them aloud.
She pushes the dildo into him again. “Yes? What do you need?”
“I need you to fuck me,” he breathes. Fuck, that thing’s deep in him—
“I thought I already was.” She relaxes. The dildo slides out an inch or so.
“No.” He leans forward as best he can while leaving his legs open. “You. I need you to fuck me.”
She raises an eyebrow. “We’re on a train. That seems indiscreet.”
He bites back the retort. Indiscreet? Really? Doesn’t want to irritate her. “I know, I just—let’s find someplace secluded. Someplace where no one will see or hear us.”
“I think I can accommodate the first requirement. The second will be up to you.” She thinks for a moment. “Do you think both of us will fit in a train bathroom?”
A cold stab of fear pierces him. There’s just a door between us and the car, what if someone— Then he figures out what she’s saying. No one will hear them as long as he can shut himself up.
Samira’s already going into her purse, withdrawing a five-dollar bill and leaving it on the table. “Well?”
He’s on his feet.
He follows her through the aisle, any anxiety offset by the renewed sensations of the dildo rotating at his entrance. Samira leads him through the train, back to their original car, and even that short walk is too long. He needs her to be inside him right now, preferably shoving his face into the wall, railing him without the slightest hint of mercy—
They pass their seats, the few passengers in the car, and Jesse glances over his shoulder to see if anyone’s looking, but no one turns around to see Samira sliding the bathroom door open, Jesse following her in—
The space is long and narrow. Big enough for both of them. Samira nods at him. “Take off your clothes.”
He hastens to obey. His shirt lands in the sink, and he drags his boots off, unbuttons his fly, pulls his jeans down, steps out of them as he draws the dildo from between his legs. The act leaves him feeling empty, and he wavers, bracing himself on the wall.
Samira’s eyes flick to the dildo. “Suck on it.”
He hesitates for just a second. Was hoping she’d flip him around and fuck him straight away. But it doesn’t really matter what he wants.
So he slides the dildo in his mouth, tasting his own fluid on his tongue. Closes his lips around the red silicone. Samira lifts an eyebrow expectantly.
Right. Jesse takes a breath and pushes the tip into his throat. Pops it out a second later when his gag reflex kicks in, but then swallows it again, more prepared this time. It’s not small. He coughs, pulls it out, takes it halfway once again to coat it in thick saliva.
Samira looks impatient. He needs to impress her. So he opens his mouth, sticks his tongue out, and pushes the dildo straight into his throat. Has to back against the wall to shove it all the way down, but he does it, his lips hitting the base.
It’s not small and he’s not warmed up. He gags. Sees the twitch of a smile on Samira’s face.
Right. Impress her.
He gags again. Can feel it filling his throat, cutting off his air. Tries to suppress the next gag as best he can, fails after a few seconds. Tears well in his eyes, and his lips tremble against the silicone. He presses himself back against the wall, fingers flat against the base of the dildo.
Another cough. His head rocks, but he won’t give in yet. Not until Samira decides he’s worthy of fucking. There’s an ache in his chest from the lack of air. He meets Samira’s eyes, his vision blurring slightly. She holds his gaze, arms folded, standing perfectly still. A choked noise makes it out of his stretched throat, and the dildo starts to slide out from between his lips, but he presses it back down, squeezing his eyes shut.
Then Samira’s hand on his, pulling it away, and she draws the dildo out herself. Jesse heaves in a deep breath and coughs into his arm, swallowing, wiping the tears away.
Samira grabs him by the arm and spins him. Still off-balance from choking himself, he flings a hand out, steadies himself on the edge of the sink. She drags his hips back, and he hears the sound of a zipper, grips the sink so hard his knuckles whiten—
She spreads his lips. There’s an insistent pressure at his entrance. Then her cock splits him open.
Jesse’s arms buckle, and he remembers just in time to stifle the moan. She’s thick, and even with how relaxed he is, she fills him up completely. “Fuck—“ he gasps, “me—“
She obliges, her cock plunging in and out of him. He has to plant one hand on the mirror above the sink to avoid being pushed off his feet. This is what he wanted. To be taken. In the mirror he sees her composed expression, in stark contrast to his lustful one, mouth slack with hazy pleasure. His body jars as she pounds into him. Her eyes flick up. “You said that waiter nearly saw you come.”
“Y-yes.” He lets his head hang. Still feels stretched, but it’s good, so good, he wants her to open him up—
“Would you have let him if I’d told you to?”
The flash again, gathered passengers watching his uncontrolled orgasm. The waiter’s face sharpens in the imagined crowd, a sneer of amusement, gaze lingering on his dripping cunt. Jesse turns his face into his arm, stifling another moan. “Yes.”
“Would you have sucked his cock if I’d told you to?”
The waiter leading him here instead of Samira, shoving him into the bathroom and pushing him down, yanking his jaw open—
“Right there in the dining car. Would you have gotten on your knees and sucked his cock?”
The waiter sitting on the edge of a seat, legs splayed in the aisle, Jesse between them, head bobbing— “Y-y—fuck! Yes.”
“Of course you would.” She grabs him by the waist, fingers digging into his hips, and pulls him back onto her with each stroke.
A shiver runs through his legs, and he nearly collapses, has to catch himself on the edge of the sink. “You’re—you’re—“ Distantly aware of the breathy noises from the back of his throat, little needy sounds that only serve to fuel his arousal. Not loud enough to be heard through the door, above the clatter of the train. Probably.
“I’m what?” She saws in and out of him with long, powerful thrusts, moving his hips like he’s just something she’s using to get off.
He’s largely lost his ability to put together coherent thoughts. His lips and tongue move sluggishly. Forming words seems wrong. Seems like he should be sucking a cock right now. “You’re—so—deep—“
“Mm. You’re taking me quite easily, you know. Almost like you’ve done this before.” Her voice laced with sarcasm like arsenic. He has done this before. Never in a train bathroom, true, but dozens of times—
He inhales through his nose, clamping his mouth shut before he can call out and expose the both of them. Listens to the slap of skin on skin, feels the wetness coating his inner thighs. Catches sight of himself again in the mirror, sweat shining faintly on his arms and chest. And Samira’s hand snaking up—
Balling in his hair, yanking his head back. He arches, hands lifting off the mirror and sink, flailing for holds, finding the walls. The new angle has Samira pummeling into him with short, quick thrusts, hitting something deep that threatens to break him apart with each stroke—
Her other hand finds his clit. A guttural “fuck” bursts out of him. Her fingers roll and stroke him, and he can feel that he’s swollen with arousal, desperate. One finger scraping across his tip, and the sensation builds almost painfully, far too much all at once. His hips buck back against her. “Please, can I—can I come, please, fuck, can I—“ he babbles.
“Come,” she murmurs.
He has to cover his mouth to remind himself not to yell. She keeps hammering into him as the spasm seizes his whole body, his hand slipping on the wall, and he falls forward as Samira releases his hair, clumsily grabs for the sink. His cunt grips her hard, her cock dragging against his inner walls, still slamming into that deep spot that rips the strength right out of him. “Oh—my god—“ he pants, his legs tensing, toes curling against the tiles.
A satisfied sigh from behind him as Samira comes too.
He feels it, the pulse of her cock inside him. Rocks his hips back gently as if coaxing the semen out of her, his reward for an afternoon of letting her toy with him. His cunt still contracts now and then with post-orgasm impulses, trying to draw her deeper into him. She couldn’t go deeper if she tried. Her pelvis is pressed up tight against his ass.
He slumps, forearms resting on the edge of the sink. Slowly she pulls back, dragging another low moan from him. At last the tip of her cock pops out of his cunt, which keeps twitching around nothing. He feels empty. Reaches between his legs and rubs his clit, milking the last of the orgasm.
Then Samira’s fingers jam inside him, and he grunts in surprise. She hooks the fingers and drags him back by his cunt. “I need to use the sink.”
He stumbles back. How many fucking—he gets an answer when she removes them, sees the fluid shining. Four. Well, it’s not in her nature to be gentle. She hands him his shirt with a smile. “This is yours.”
Second smile she’s shown him today. It’s starting to get suspicious. “What’s going on?”
“Hm?”
“You’re smiling.”
“Oh. Yes. It’s just that…you always seem so happy when I fuck you. Even in front of a dozen people.”
“You saw me come.” He takes the shirt, slips it over his head. “I think happy’s understating it.”
“Well, I’m glad we both had a good time.” She turns on the tap.
He dresses slowly, his limbs moving like they’re underwater. Finishes just in time to see Samira patting the dildo dry with a paper towel. She checks her watch. “We still have ninety minutes until we arrive.”
“Good. I could use a nap.” He sticks his hands under the running water.
For a moment they don’t say anything. Then: “Would you really have sucked that man’s cock if I’d asked you to?”
He snorts. “No. Turns me on thinking about it, though.”
“I noticed. You tightened up when I suggested it.”
His cunt clenches again now. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax.
They emerge from the bathroom. No curious glances. Good. He eases himself through the aisle, his whole body one foggy mass of contented warmth. Then he lurches to a halt and claps a hand over his mouth to bite back the laugh. Samira lifts an inquiring eyebrow, but he waves her on.
They reach their row. Samira lets him in first, then takes the aisle seat. “What was that about?”
He leans back and shuts his eyes. “Nothing. Just felt your cum dripping down my leg.”
“Ah. That was amusing?”
“Yeah.” He grins. Feels like he’s glowing.
She doesn’t respond. On a hunch he cracks an eye. She’s watching him appraisingly. “What?” he asks.
She rests her chin on her hand. “You’ve changed.”
“Yeah, well, you sure haven’t.”
“No. Of course not.” She looks out the window again. “We should do this more often.”
His hearts starts pounding almost as hard as it did during his last orgasm. “Anytime.”