As Natalie boarded the train, her heart raced. This was it. She was really doing it. She was being impetuous. Stupid. Making the exact sort of decision that she would have yelled at any friend for making.
It wasn’t just that she was meeting a strange man from the internet for . . . well sex. Dirty. Kinky. Sex. There was no use in hiding that. Her body already ached for it.
It wasn’t just that, it was so much worse. She had let her horny slutty ass agree to go on holiday with him. Had agreed to . . . all sorts of things. Things she had already learned she loved. Things she had fantasized about trying. Things that she could never admit to wanting, not even to her closest friends. Things that made her blush just imagining that she was actually going to do them.
In the days leading up to it, there had been a bit of fear, but so much more excitement. Talking to him. Hearing his teasing words about the things they would do, touching herself and sending him pictures. It had been delicious. Dirty. Amazing. Now she felt a wild thrill of fear. Nerves racing through her body. She should get up and leave. She should be mad at herself. She should get the fuck off this train. But instead, the fear, the nerves, it only makes it all so much sexier.
She wanted it so bad. Wanted him so bad. And as much as she knew it was stupid, she didn’t regret it. Not the trip, not what she had agree to do, and not even the rules he had put in place. The mean sexy little rules. Those only made it better. He seemed to know, to understand what it would do to her.
When he had told her, a week ago, that she was not allowed to orgasm until they met and she had permission, it had somehow only made the masturbation better. More frustrating certainly, but better knowing that he had ordered it, that he was ordering it in preparation for this weekend. For the things he would do to her. And getting to the edge, making herself stop because HE had said too, while thanking him out loud when he couldn’t even hear her, for the privilege of being allowed to pleasure herself. It was so degrading. It was so perfect. It would have only been better had he been there to watch. But the videos she made of it helped with that missing piece.
She was his this weekend. His slave. His toy. His plaything. His.
He was her Master this weekend. Her owner. Her sadist. Her dominant. Hers.
She found the emptiest car she could, his orders, and put her bag up above a seat near the door. She sat facing the back of the train in the furthest forward seat. Another suggestion of his. He had hinted that he wanted privacy, if possible. She shivered at that idea. One of the kinks she had so badly wanted to explore was public play. Public humiliation. He wouldn’t be getting on for two more stations. She took a moment to check herself on her phone.
She had to admit that she looked gorgeous. The pink and yellow sundress that showed off her small but pert breasts and a hemline that rode up just a tad too high, showed off a bit too much leg. She’d had her hair done just for the trip, blonde because they were supposed to have more fun and well . . . it was mean, but weren’t blondes supposed to be the slutty ones? And her make up was on point. Pink tones to match the dress, styled out, but not heavily caked.
She looked like a slutty sorority girl. Which was mean. Because it was a stupid stereotype and technically, she was apparently a massive slut, meeting a man like this, and had been in a sorority, and was actually a brunette. So if anything, it should be a brunette in the stereotype. It didn’t matter though. It was all about how she felt. How she looked. Fucking hot. A fucking slut.
She took a selfie, trying her best to look coquettish, teasing, appealing, and sent it to him. It registered to her that she should be more concerned with sending a picture with her face in it. A stranger whom had nude photos of her. Videos of her masturbating. Videos of her with toys in each of her slutty little holes. A stranger whom had promised to take more, personally.
Of course, he was only sort of a stranger. They had been talking online for almost a year and they had met the once. Last month, when he had been in town for a conference. Just coffee. Her legs shaking with nerves as he walked in, as handsome as he had promised, wearing a nicely tailored suit. His smile and the way his eyes twinkled. Kind. Teasing. Warm. Promising so much. Just coffee, she had told him. Just a coffee, nothing more. And he had agreed. A meeting to make sure they liked each other.
Just coffee, but as they spoke, as their time ran low, she found herself offering. She didn’t live far, surely he had time to . . . . but he had shaken his head.
“As much as I would love to,” he said, “I only have time for coffee. Plus,” then he had leaned down and kissed her. Her legs melted under her. She would have agreed to anything in that moment, would have let him take her into the bathroom while everyone watched and heard. “Plus,” he continued, “I like the idea that you will have to remember that you were the one that made me promise, that you have no one to blame but yourself.” And he had laughed this amused and mean little laugh.
And she had blamed herself as she masturbated later. Hated herself almost as she imagined his cock, and not the dildo, filling her.
Not a stranger. Not really. How many times had he talked her to an orgasm, late at night, on the computer, talking to her while she played on cam, making her do things to herself. He had seen her in ways that almost no other man had.
Not a stranger. Her phone buzzed and it was him. “You look beautiful,” he wrote. “I can’t wait to be with you my little treat.”
Treat. She smiled at the stupid name. Then opened her tablet, surface to her Master’s stories, and picked one to read. Not an order of his, but a lovely way to pass the time while she waited for his stop.
**********************************
When the train stopped at his station it took every ounce of willpower she had to not jump up and go searching for him. So stupid to be doing this, so stupid to be putting herself in danger, so stupid to be so nervous like a little girl. She made herself wait. He had said he would find her.
And he did. He was there suddenly, standing in the aisle, his hand on her shoulder. He hadn’t changed, lovely blue eyes and short dark hair with a small beard, his dark hair just beginning to gray in a way that made her realize she might have daddy issues. And that smile. How did it both tease her and show so much warmth. He was dressed more simply today.
Tan slacks and a bright blue collared t-shirt. She did miss the suit slightly, this was cute but a bit too suburban dad. It was hard to think that behind this outfit, this friendly looking man, was the kinky sadist who had promised to do such lovely and foul things to her.
She stood quickly to embrace him, feeling his arms squeezing around her, then looked up into his face as he kissed her. She let herself be held by him as her legs seemed to lose their strength. As she felt his tongue slide against hers and felt as much as heard him give a small groan of pleasure. It only made her swoon harder, to know that kissing her felt as good to him.
Then he was guiding her to sit as he slid his own bag above the seat and sat down across from her. Still smiling, his eye twinkling. They were sitting close enough that he was able to lean forward and place his hand on her knee.
“Hello my treat,” he said. His voice was pleasantly deep and his smile, his smile . . . .
“Hello,” she paused, looking around and speaking more quietly, “master.”
He grinned at that, “should I order you to say it louder?” His face was teasing but . . . she could feel her cheeks coloring at the idea. He raised his hand though in a stop gesture. “I’m kidding treat.” She felt herself relaxing until he added, “for now.”
Instead he changed the subject. He asked about her day and other banal topics. All the while, as they chatted, he kept making eye contact, kept tracing his fingers over her bare knee, and she found herself shyly looking away. His smile kept getting wider. Amused by her sudden shyness. While discussing her work, he’d say, “you are too nervous to even look at me” and laughed. Teasing her. It was ridiculous, only two nights before she’d begged him to be allowed to cum on cam and now she was feeling to shy to hold eye contact.
She was being silly and calmed herself. While telling a story about his day, she had the nerve to match his gaze and he mouthed a kiss, making her blush again, causing him to laugh. But after a time, she was making eye contact. Talking in an engaged way. Feeling calm. Happy. A little embarrassed about being embarrassed. Safe with him. Relaxed. And most of all. Aroused.
That’s when he finally started. When he sensed she was ready for the push.
“Are you wearing the underwear I picked?” he asked, suddenly segwaying from questions about her book.
She felt herself starting to blush again, but said, “Yes, master,” in a quiet voice.
He shook his head slightly, and leaned back into his chair, “I can barely hear you tread, but that’s good. I’m pleased. Show me.”
She froze, looked around and reminded herself to breathe. From the position he had ordered her to take, she could see exactly where everyone on the car was and could see that none of them had a view of her lower than her neck and shoulders. He would see, and she would hear, someone trying to open the door behind her. Public humiliation. Like she had wanted.
This was what he meant by privacy. She had thought, just to talk, but no, she chastised herself. Of course it meant more than that. They had talked about her exhibitionism fantasies. The public sex, the fear of getting caught. That’s why they were going on holiday to the little beach town with the nude beach. The little town that he assured her, was so used to nudists that no one would stare if he walked her naked into one of the bars near the beach. Or that they would stare, but only in appreciation.
She bit her lip and looked him in the eye, making up her mind as her heart raced. “Yes, Master,” she said, quietly, and looking up to make sure it was still safe, spread her legs wide and lifted the hem of her skirt.
“Delicious, Treat,” he said, “though your are going to have to start speaking up if you don’t want a spanking.” His tone was amused, his eyes twinkling.
She spread her legs as wide as the chair would let her and shifted her ass slightly to better display. God she felt hot. Embarrassed and exposed and so horny.
“Good Girl,” he said.
His praise ran through her like electricity. It felt so good. She was his good girl. His treat. Anyone could see if they only stood up from their seats and for the briefest moment she wanted them to . . . .
“Now give them to me,” he said, “you won’t be needing them again on this trip.”
She had expected this at some point, so she wasn’t surprised. But she had thought he would wait longer. That had been silly she realized, as she blushed. How many times had she read about something like this in one of his stories. He’d even sent her to work, more than once, without her underwear. Virtual tasks that required photographic proof. Pictures from under her desk to show that she had followed his orders.
She was proud at how quickly she acted. Looking around one more time before quickly putting her feet on the chair, one right between his legs, and shifted to pull them off. As she did he smiled. Looking hungrily between her legs then back to her face as she shifted to slide them down her legs. She could feel how damp they were as she handed them to him.
“Good treat,” he said, lifting them to his nose briefly, so openly, without a care for who might be watching, and sniffed them. “Delicious.”
She didn’t need to be told to spread her legs again, no, she understood that this was the game, this public display. With a quick look around resumed her position, lewdly displaying her pussy, and at this angle, asshole to him. She felt herself shiver as his smile broadened and she saw pride on his face.
Pride in her. Pride in her sluttyness. Her anticipation of his orders. And she had to admit that the cool air felt wonderful naughty on her freshly shaved, very horny, cunt.
“You look amazing,” he said, his voice serious, the joking tone gone, “Clothed or unclothed. You look amazing.”
She felt herself blushing more deeply at that. His compliment somehow hitting her harder than exposing herself to him had.
“But I feel bad,” he said, as the tease creeped back into his voice. “A week without orgasm, your pussy is so wet, so needy, I feel like it’s been ignored Treat.”
It had been anything but and she knew it. She had been ordered, and sent him photos and videos, to tease and edge herself every day. But still, he had made a statement and as his sub, she quietly said, “yes, master.”
“Why don’t you show it some love then,” he said, sitting back slightly. “Show me what it likes Treat.”
She had shown him so many times, online, but now, exposed like this in public, feeling his eyes on her, really on her, it was so much more exciting. Her heart pounded. She realized she was biting her lip and forced herself to stop as she slid her hand down and started to tease herself. To put on a show for him.
Starting with her nails, a fresh mani-pedi for the trip of course, lightly tracing around her inner thigh, slowly getting closer and closer to her wet heat. Tracing her nails up one freshly shaved labia and down the other. Imagining it was his tongue. Then back up and back down, before finally sliding her finger tips across her aching clitoris, gasping slightly, glancing up nervously to make sure no one had noticed.
“Good treat,” he murmured, watching her hand, but regularly looking up at her face, holding her face with his eyes as she felt her breathing speeding up, her pulse leaping, as her fingers picked up the pace and pleasure started to really flare through her body.
She had been denying herself for a week. The pleasure, the perversion of masturbating in public while this man she barely knew watched. The pleasure as she alternated between sliding two fingers inside herself and against her clit.
It was so good. His eyes. Holding her gaze. She wasn’t even looking around any more. Not even watching. She didn’t know or care if anyone could see, at least, not in this moment, nothing mattered other than the pleasure and his eyes. His eyes on her, delving into her, on her fingers, on her, no his, cunt.
“Can I cum, Master,” she whispered. Knowing the rule. Knowing that starting the trip off with such a big rule break would have made her feel like she had failed.
He glanced around behind him, then put his hand to his ear, miming the universal signal for speak louder as he said, “I can’t hear you my treat.”
Her breathing was getting ragged. Anyone who could see her face, and there were many, must have known something was going on. She felt flushed, her mouth dry. But she didn’t stop her hand, he hadn’t told her to stop, focusing in on her clit now, rubbing with those small circles. She wouldn’t slow down. She would show him that she was worthy. That she could follow orders. That she was a good treat.
Still though, she had to work up the nerve to say, in a just below normal speaking level, “May I cum, Master?”
He raised his eyebrows and she was sure he would make her say it louder. Make her yell it out and she was shocked to feel that she would. She would if he made her. And maybe he saw that in her face, because instead he just smiled that teasing smile and said, “No, stop.”
With a noise that was half whimper, half gasp of relief, she did. And finally the reality that she hadn’t been watching the other passengers hit her with a sudden panic. Anyone could have gotten up and seen. Seen her touching herself, seen how she had been slowly sliding further and further down in the chair to spread even wider for him. She sat up and barely stopped herself from closing her legs. He hadn’t told her she could yet.
He was watching, amused, and laughed. He reached out, taking her hand, she could clearly see her own fluids on it, and took one finger into his mouth, making a small noise of pleasure as he sucked it clean, before letting it go and saying, “you may sit normally, but I want you to clean the others. We are nearing the station and then only one more to go my treat.”
She smiled as she said, “Yes, Master” barely managing a normal speaking volume and enjoyed cleaning her fingers. It wasn’t a fetish of hers, she didn’t particularly like or dislike the taste, and licking them alone, without anyone telling her to would have done nothing for her at all, but there was something erotic about doing it when ordered. Being ordered to do the dirty thing made it so hot.
Then as if nothing had happened, he went back into casual conversation.
A little while later the train slowed and stopped. She and he watched together as their car slowly cleared out. He leaned closer to whisper, “I wonder how many of them walking by will be able to smell your arousal.” She shuddered, embarrassed, but excited imagining it. Even found herself spreading her legs, just a bit wider, not in a way that would expose herself, but imagining it might spread the smell and felt herself blushing.
Then the train started back up and she realized, no one was in their car. They were alone. And from the look in his eye, the grin that was growing on his face, he realized it as well.
“Well treat,” he said, as he got up and sat next to her, turning in his seat, one leg folded under him so he was facing her. “It looks like you may get a little reward for your hard work.” He leaned in, one hand resting lightly on the back of her neck, and began to kiss her.
It was as good as the one in the coffee shop. Better. It was long and deep and she felt his tongue and felt his size against her. Felt his power over her. His presence. They kissed and kissed and kissed as he held her neck, as his free hand stroked her cheek and her neck.
It didn’t shock her in the slightest when she felt his hand on her breasts, feeling them through the dress, toying with her hardening nipple through the cloth before going between her legs. She didn’t need to be told, she eagerly slid back down, spreading her legs wide for him, feeling the hem of her dress pull up to and past her ass cheeks. No one could see them, but if someone walked in, they would get quite the view. She was naked, almost from the waist down.
He stopped kissing her as his fingers found her pussy. “My little treat,” he whispered into her ear. “Have you followed the rules.”
She had. Even knowing that he had no way to know. Even knowing how easy it would be to lie. It had been so hot to follow them. To feel owned, to feel controlled by someone else. “Yes Master,” she said quietly, her voice quavering from the pleasure of his fingers.
And for a moment, the pleasure stopped and she felt his fingers crushing down on her right labia, she gasped in pain, delicious pain. But also shame, she wasn’t sure why, but she knew she was being punished, that she had failed him somehow.
“I’m tired of asking you to be louder Treat,” he said, his voice was so much kinder than his cruel fingers gripping, hurting her. “When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer loud enough for me to hear you.” He released her labia and stroked it lovingly before letting his fingers slide back to her clit. “No ones around now, but if they were, I’d still expect it. Half the reason we are going somewhere like this, where we know no one, where they are used to kinky freaks, is that you can explore your exhibitionist and public humiliation fantasies. So I will ask you again my treat, did you follow the rules?”
His fingers didn’t slow or stop, the pain and more so, the feeling of submission, of having sat there meekly letting him hurt her, of enjoying how he had hurt her, how he was talking to her, like an errant child. How deliciously small it made her feel. And his fingers weren’t stopping. Not slowing. She swallowed and said loudly, nearly shouting, “Yes Master, I followed your orders sir.”
He kissed her again. Deeply. He was pleased with her, the kiss said, she was a good girl. His treat, the kiss said. His fingers only slowed to slide inside her, to press up into her, into that spot, into that spot that made her gasp into his mouth as he stroked it, sliding his finger into it and away, into it and away. She could barely breathe, the pleasure, his mouth, she felt trapped by him, captured, and enjoyed it immensely.
He broke the kiss and his finger slid out of her and back to her clit, stroking it, circling it, making her moan. “Which orders did you follow treat,” he asked and leaned in, nipping at her ear, kissing her neck.
She almost started quietly again. Almost failed him. But she stopped herself and summoned her courage. Through her quickening breath, her racing heart, she said loudly, “I’ve edged myself every day for the last week sir. I’ve sent you pictures and videos of myself doing slutty things. I haven’t had an orgasm in a week and I thanked you for allowing me any pleasure each time I denied myself.”
He chuckled, low and throaty in her ear. Somehow that sound made her shiver harder than what he was doing between her legs. His voice, his laugh, pushed the growing pressure inside her, pushed her closer to the edge. She whimpered. Not again. How long was he going to deny her. What if he made her wait days? What if he fucked her and fucked her and kept denying her until the last day and oh god that idea was so hot that she could feel the edge coming. Feel herself nearing and she said loudly, “please Master.”
“What a good treat,” he said into her ear. “I think you’ve earned your reward. You may cum when you are ready.” Then his fingers were gone. The pleasure was gone.
And in the shock of his fingers leaving her, the panic of her thinking she had permission, but he was going to stop, the cruelest denial of all. But then she realized he was getting on his knees between the seats. Pressing his face into her sex, her pussy.
No. His sex. His pussy. His cunt. His tongue sliding out, sliding against her, his lips sucking it in. In public, on the train, even with no one watching, so dirty, so vile. What sort of slut did this? What sort of woman enjoyed such things?
She did. She did. She did.
The thoughts pushed her up to the edge, would have pushed her past it, had his fingers not found their way back inside her first, pressing that spot, that button while his tongue and lips worked, and pushing her over the edge.
She screamed. Didn’t hold it back. Screamed. As the orgasm rocked her. As a week of denial. A week of teasing and edging and feeling like such a god damn magnificent slut, finally came to fruition as her master. Her dom. Her lover, ate her out, in open view, on a train.
She gently pushed at him as it wound down, as the pleasure started to turn to discomfort. Too much, too much pleasure. And then with slightly more force, not thinking, not worrying that she’d be upsetting him, pushed him away from her throbbing clit. But he pulled away smiling, not upset, a small chuckle in his throat. His face greasy with her fluids.
She didn’t hesitate, bending down to kiss him, to taste herself, to show him how grateful she was for this, for him. Kissing him as they heard the door open behind her. Kissing him as they heard the conductor cough. Laughing at the mix of embarrassment and sternness on the man’s face. He might not know everything, but he knew enough and she was laughing with pleasure and humiliation until she felt like crying.
It would be a wonderful trip.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/opszux/two_lovers_on_a_train_mfbdsmpublic