Old City Hall Station

Sometimes, I see a flicker on her face that seems to say, "What am I doing with this mess of a child?" Other times, I think I can see hints of her lust, like she is really enjoying a hard dick with a fascination. All of that seems to come across the aisle, even though her body doesn't move and her face holds steady with a stare at my face.

The train stops at City Hall. The other three straphangers get off. We stay behind. Intense stares going across the aisle between us. I anticipate the sex. My penis is hard inside of my slacks. She seems like her pussy is wet with anticipation, but she doesn't want to show it. It's more of a weakness that I can sense in her that makes me think she's wet even though, she is holding herself without moving. And as I can sense more of that weakness in her, I get the sense that I'm more becoming the man. And that I can actually fuck a real woman, a refined woman, someone experienced levels beyond me. I can ram my cock in her and make her feel weak and succumb to the emotions of her horniness.

The train doors close to get the train read to turn around. On that signal, we lay down flat on the seats. The conductor is going to do a walk by to make sure that no passengers are left on the train. We hide underneath the windows. I feel breathless. I feel the danger and risk of potentially being caught. I can hear the conductor occasionally banging a nightstick against a window. The knocks come closer. He's so close that I can palpate his presence. And then they become faint again. We've slipped under the radar of authority. We are about to enter the closed down and forbidden old City Hall station.

We stay flat down on the seats. I can see her face. She isn't used to being horizontal. She feels a bit out of place but has a lot of composure. It seems in her life, she's always upright. She's not longer like a girl playing around, tumbling around, and doing action sports. But also she has a ton of composure. She could be shame fired, cursed at, have her house burned down, have the most horrible thing happen to her. And she would hold her head high. She wouldn't give a sign that anything got to her. And nothing could. She was simply so experienced to handle anything. You could throw her in a den of African sea pirates with filth, booze, and stupid rawness. She take the indignation with composure. And then she'd know how to talk to the pirate captain in such a way that his face would become ghost white and he'd pledge his whole crew to serve her. And she'd for some reason know everything about cartography and seafaring to tell them exactly how and to which port to deliver her so that she could get back to NYC on a first class ticket.

Then again, that's all my fantasy projection on her, but I hope that I catch a glimpse of her essence, her personality, and the feelings that she evokes in me.

The train slowly sets in motion. Because it has to go in a tight circle to turn around, it goes at 3mph only. We wait lying down until the lights of the station disappear and we enter the tunnel of darkness.

We both get up. We face each other standing. With her heels, she is as tall as me. She has a bit of a dismissive look on her face. Her face is extremely female in a non-feminine way. Her eye lashes are darkened. Small brown eyes look at me. Her cheeks have that hollowness of a woman in her mid-forties who is slim.

I reach my hand out and smile, "Hi, my name is Mike."

She looks at me and seizes me up. Her emotional appraisal of me plays on her face. She seems to be trying to guess my maturity and my cooties factor. Yet, her emotional posture and determination to go through with it stays the same.

"Fuck me from behind," she say point blank. "I want to imagine my dead husband. Today would have been our 8th anniversary."

She turns sideways and hold onto the pole with both hands above her head. She spreads her legs two feet apart and curves her butt towards me to create a little level surface on her lower back.

I feel dazed. I stare at her sexual position.

"Put a condom on," she orders.

And with that practical focus, I jump into action. This is my chance. Don't blow it. She could change her mind any time. I unzip my pants. I pull out my boner - eight inches but all mine. I rip open the condom. I hurry to roll it down, but get it caught a couple times on itself.

Still holding onto the pole with her right, she swings her trench coat to the side of her butt. She pulls her short office pencil skirt of gray wool up. The weave seems to luxurious like it must have been a thousand dollars in a department store. Her bare butt faces me. I can see her sex in between her butt cheeks, pink lips. I look down the garters and panty hoses.

I reach around the front to her groin to feel her sex. I walk my fingers down her clit and down the space below her clit to her opening. She is wet. It's not the thick, white, cream like wet. It's a watery and runny kind of wet. My fingers easily slip in a knuckle deep. She's read for me. With my other hand, I guide my penis to find the index finger inside her and glide along the index finger inside of her.

"Good. A real dick," she breathes with a raw erotic sound.

I grab her hips with both hands and pull her body into my groin. She lets me handle her. She surrendered her body to me. Most of what I feel is power. I feel my big hands. I feel how her hips are a lot smaller than the size that her posture gives off. There is a lot more vulnerability. And with each of my thrusts in her, she gets a little softer. She succumbs a little more. Her two hands are still holding onto the pole like steel, but I start fucking her body more and more like a ragdoll. Like a dog that bites down the middle of a chew toy and whips it around so that the chew toys limps fly like spaghetti. More and more like that is her body flailing as I rip her hips back and onto my dick.

Soft moans come out of her mouth. She cannot constrain herself. All her exposure is gone. She struggles to stay upright by holding on the pol like steel, but her body is limp from sexual pleasure. I can tell that her mind is checked out. I reach my left hand to her clit to fill that little nob rolling between my fingers. She lets me do just about anything with her body. So I move my right hand up underneath her silk blouse and up underneath the hard edge of her underwire bra to hold her small breast in my right hand.

She's entirely intoxicated by sex. There isn't a hint of resistance as I smash her hard with full force and fuck her rough. I dare to kiss her on the side of the neck and her cheeks. I feel like a thief for ravishing her body. And I feel her body freeze up for a moment. Was that too much? And then she moans, "Richard, you always fuck me so well!" And I can tell Richard is the name of her dead husband.

In a strange way, I feel honored to pretend to be her dead husband because I could never live up to real life Richard. For him to get her to marry him, he must have been one phenomenal man. I try to be more like him. He wouldn't simply slobber kiss her on the cheek. He would delicately bite and pull on her earlobe. He wouldn't simply grab her boobs, he would play a game of tease with her nipples. He wouldn't simply silently fuck her, but he would tell her: "You are the woman that I've always dreamt of fucking. I've worked hard on myself to be the man who could be allowed to fuck you. Every day I push myself so I can grow in your eyes."

"Fuck me harder, Richard! Smack me!" she hissed in between panting out-of-breath inhales.

And a delicate fantasy broke inside of me. She didn't want to be put on a pedestal and feigned over. She didn't want a weak nerd drooling over her. She wanted dominance, manly dominance. She wanted to be overcome to have something to surrender to.

I smacked her butt. She begged me, "harder!" with a tone of voice that showed a hint of weakness.

I sensed that she wanted a hard spanking. I spanked her butt as hard as I could. The slap sounded in the train car. The exact sound of her skin getting that wet slap and high pitch told me that the smack must have been hurting. That moment, her pussy got a little more slippery. She liked it.

I shoved my index finger into her mouth. She began eagerly sucking on it like it were a cock. She was so submissive. I pinched her nipples hard to make her yelp. Yet her sex became a little wetter, and I knew that she liked it. I bit her in the nape of the neck. I let her feel my teeth a little bit on her skin. And she let her body drop into my arms. I had to wrap my arms around her body to keep her upright. To be honest, it was a little hard to fuck that limp body in my arms. She was completely gone in a haze of erotic feelings and all kinds of pleasure pumping around her body.

I could sense that we were both ready to explode. The train entered the closed down Old City Hall station. The light from the outside hit us again. We saw the marble walls and sculptured pillars moving past us. We were both past trying to stimulate each other. We were simply hanging in there humping, knowing that we were close to coming. My dick was fully of pleasurable sensations.

Around the center of the station, the entire vaulted ceiling was covered with painted glass tiles. Red, blue, and yellow light blotches moved over the back of her trench coat when she came with shudders on my dick. She seemed to be shivering and shaking. My balls were pumping semen into the condom bag inside her.

I was spent. I was still holding her body on my dick. She was unstable like bambi on her long deer legs. She pulled herself up. Her voice was raw and low, as she hissed, "Thank you." Apparently, the screaming had made her throat raw. I pulled my dick out. I wrapped up the wet condom. She pulled down her pencil skirt and sat back down in her seat with her knees together.

Her face was flushed with redness. The crisp lipstick outline had melted. She had apparently bitten her lips and gotten red lip stick on her skin above the lips. The eye liner had become a bit runny. Her hair was out of place. She was still breathing hard. Her eyes looked a bit out of it. A little tear appeared at the edge of her left eye lid.

"Don't worry about it. I simply miss my dead husband," she explained.

I sat there. I had finally gotten sex. I had an encounter with a woman that would never even have talked to me. I re-thought all my past little, short relationships and how tentative I had been. I had never been that rough, that intense, that dominating. She pulled it out in me. She told me it was okay. She assured me that's what she really wanted. And it made me wonder if perhaps that manliness was what all my past girlfriends had always wanted as well. I had never felt anyone that surrendered to me. The polarity of masculine dominance and feminine surrender was so strong.

I had never met Richard, but I had felt a little bit what it had been like to step into Richard's shoes. I had my wrong guesses about what women want, but she had guided me little by little into how to be a man, into how to take a woman, and into how to be unabashed. It's quite a bit strange, but I said a little quiet prayer of thanks to Richard in heaven for the guidance that he had given me in my life.