Red line quickie [MF] | 2016

It's well past one and we're in the last car of the last train of the night. Monday, summer, the air hot and muggy. Recycled air that's been breathed in and out a million times today. Dank air that tastes of metal and sweat.

My companion's naked legs rest on the seat in front of us. Her plunging neckline frames beads of sweat between her full breasts. Loose strands of hair hang limply about her slender neck.

Ten stations we've gone now without a sign of life. Through windows scratched and smeared, another couple some three cars in the distance, oblivious to our presence. The only other human beings in this sleeping city.

She leans on my shoulder. My hand rests on her leg. She sighs. My hand burrows between her legs. She purrs. We kiss.

Her breath full of wine so sweet she's like candy. Candy the candy. I want to taste you Candy. I want to lick you. I want to fuck you.

My hand reaches inside the plunging neckline. My fingers slip inside the bra. The bra strap goes down. A nipple comes out. I squeeze. She moans. Her mouth open against mine. She still tastes of Candy.

More stops. Doors open and close onto empty platforms. Ten thousand feet have trampled this floor today. They left behind them trails of dirt and crud. A thousand asses have sat on these seats. Sweltering in the summer heat. Sweating in the thick crowd of rush-hour bodies. They left ghosts behind. Their warmth lingers on the thick plastic seats.

Warm and wet. Her panties are soaked. Sodden panties land on the grimy floor. Frantic fingers feel up her feverish pussy. Candy the candy, do you really taste like Candy?

I pull her legs up. She drops her head down. Supine across the seats. One foot on my shoulder. Another on the floor. Her breast still out. Her breathing heavy in summer heat.

I bend down. If anyone happened to look our way all they would see is the tip a sandal-clad foot high in the air. But there is no one. The whine of the ceiling fan is our only company. Squeak, squeak, squeak in the night.

I lap. I lick. I suck. Her moisture sweet against my parched lips. Thick juices drip along my chin. Flows like milk and velvet over my tongue. Candy the candy, so sweet you're like honey.

She moans. Her hand grips the back of the seat. Her pussy grips my fingers. She calls my name. Calls some other guy's name. Calls whoever's name in vain.

I stand up. She curls up. Her fingers undo my shorts. Pull them down below my ass. Push me hard against her. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.

Hands grab at ankles. Both legs pulled up above her. Her sweet little pussy tight between pressed legs. And that moment. That instant. That second. Sliding in so good. So tight. So incredibly different each time and yet always the same primal, animalistic urge to fuck.

The crackling automaton voice announces more stops. More doors that open and close on the empty city. Three to go. Two to go. Pounding. Grunting. Moaning. Where are we going again? Come Candy come. Come Candy come. One to go. Home. We're going home.

She's getting close. Her muscles wound tight. Her pussy clenched. The tension like a sheet of plastic wrap stretched tight across her body. Her yearning pushes. Her lust stabs. The tightness rips. She finally breaks.

Her orgasm comes flooding out. She yells out. She screams. Her pussy holds on to my cock so tight there's no backing out. Cunt contracting with each spasm. Grabbing my cock. Squeezing it. Milking it. I come gushing in thick spurts inside her.

Last stop. Quickly she straightens up. Pulls down her skirt over the cum dripping from her pussy. Stands up. Pushes her exposed breast back in. We head out.

Three cars ahead of us the other couple steps out. The man puts his arm around his date's shoulders. The woman looks back behind her and for a second our eyes meet. She keeps walking. The only people awake in the city.