A sharp turn forces him to widen his stance. Fitted khaki colored pants encase long legs and an ass I want desperately to sink my teeth into.
He’s who I want. My post work, fatigue muddled brain wants him for no other reason than the way his shoulders stretch his blue shirt. That and his thick dark hair I want to run my fingers through.
I’ve been starving lately. Hungry for the slide of a hard shaft into my mouth. My compulsions, the things I crave always take me by surprise. I can’t help craving him as we both sway to the movements of the train.
I want to slide from my seat, push him into the space I’ve vacated, slip between his knees, and free his cock there in the crowded train. He’d be surprised, but wouldn’t resist. What man would resist a warm, willing mouth dying for his cum? Public indecency be damned…
My mind contemplates how he’d smell. After a long day at work he’d be musky, sweaty, masculine right at the place I want to bury my nose. Smooth, he’d be smooth and hot as I lick up and then down. I’d brace on his thighs as I take him into my mouth, and he’d brace on the seats and toss his head back. That strong, stubbled jaw would clench as I sucked. I’d look up and admire the line of his throat as we both rode out the pleasure I’d give him…
Now I have to close my eyes to slow the heavy pulse thumping inside me. I have to stop imagining this shit or I’m going to go crazy. I can’t help it though. Like I can’t help my cravings, I can’t help my imagination. Like I can’t help sneaking glances at his body as we continue along. I survive on this even if it winds me impossibly tight, even as it stokes my desire.
There’s my stop. Home for a little relief.