Riding Coach

And he suddenly felt within his loins a surge of pressured pleasure as a thick load of hot cum suddenly exploded from his cock and splatted against the back of the businesswoman's skirt.

"Yes," he softly sighed, as he felt his orgasm sweep through in sudden rushes of primal waves of pleasure, each accompanied by a burst and spray of gism from his dick, a repeated hosing and squirting of wet, sticky white cum onto the lady's bottom, who didn't seem to mind, as she just continued to stroke and pump him, encouraging him to gush forth more and more gism onto her round, tight bum.

"Paul," Donna giggled, "are you blushing?" She thought it was so cute. She knew he was a shy man. After all, it took this long for him to ask her out, and she essentially had to squash her breasts into him to get him to do it. And now, here he was, blushing with a confused self-consciousness, like they were back in high school and he was asking her to the prom, perhaps this even being the first time he even asked any girl out.

She got back up on her tip toes, let go of the bar above her, using the hand to grasp his shoulder to pull him down to her, to give him an affectionate sweet kiss on the cheek.

As her lips touched his cheek, the last few spasms of sperm were spewing from his dick, so many feelings and emotions flooding through his body, his mind, as his cock flooded the woman's skirt, his body flooded by his paroxysmal orgasm. He had indeed imagined in high school cumming in his pants if Stacy Ann ever gave him a kiss, and now it had actually happened. He couldn't ever recall feeling so good, ever having a better first kiss. A boy, a man, will often remember the first kiss, and he would not forget this one, being accompanied by climactic spasms coursing through his body and a torrent of cum spurting, spewing, and spraying from his jerking, twitching cock, all onto the back of the classy businesswoman's skirt.

A sharp squeal was heard as the train's brakes locked in for the next station, lurching and jerking to a stop.

Donna was herself feeling a little red in the face now. Her decision to give him a little peck on the cheek was not really a decision at all. It was more like an impulsive act, and now she had done it she wondered, she feared, that she might have gone too far. It wasn't like she was a prude or anything. If their date went well she would likely invite him up to her apartment. Well, maybe she should at least wait for the second date for that, but at that moment a reassuring, affectionate peck seemed like just the right thing to do. Still, she glanced away from him as the train pulled into the station.

Paul wasn't at all sure what to say. At this moment he was really at a loss for words, or even coherent thoughts. On his mind was the fact that his dick was still out of his pants, just beginning to lose its hardness, but that would hardly mitigate any criminal responsibility, nor reassure Donna if she saw it. Plus, he had completely soiled the back of the businesswoman's skirt.

He did at least have the presence of mind to say, "I'm looking forward to lunch."

She glanced back at him as she struggled with and through the crowd to disembark, smiled, and said, "Me too."

The businesswoman followed Donna and Paul quickly slipped his briefcase in front of him, crushing it against his crotch, as he watched Donna and the businesswoman depart from the train, the latter with quite a bit of white splats, drips, and trails of his sloppy, slick cum on the back of her skirt, on that little hillock that was her buttocks. She allowed Donna to get off first.

Donna again turned her head back as she was stepping off the training, giving him a last wave good-bye. He let go of the steel bar and waved back, feeling a sense of tremendous relief, satisfaction, and anticipation.

The businesswoman, in the meantime, did reach back to sort of clean off her bottom. There really wasn't much she could do about it other than to make her hand comparably covered in cum. However, by spreading the sticky white gism around, and working it into her skirt, the tell-tale splotches, drips, and ropes were largely gone. It now looked like she might have just sat in something. That wasn't good, but it wasn't as bad as clearly having a man's load squirted all over your rump as you walked toward work.

When she stepped off the train she looked back at Paul and raised her hand to wave. But, she didn't wave. She just licked her fingers.

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I hope that you can now appreciate why the precise location of this train could not be provided. Please do take the time to vote, as your support and encouragement are more appreciated than you perhaps realize. And, of course, I am certainly open to suggestions and new ideas!