Ryder Fox Rides The Train

The photos are all selfies. I used a timer and a mirror for some of them. It is my own hand in the groping pic.

*

I met Trevor, my husband, after work a Grand Central. Trevor was a banker and normally worked late. I usually left the ad agency where I worked much earlier and took the five fifteen train to get home in time to make dinner -- like a dutiful wife. But this summer Friday, Trevor was taking the early train with me. He'd made reservations at a rustic inn and we were going to dine and spend the night there together. It was just after five and the platform was packed with commuters as well as travelers leaving the city for the weekend. Trevor and I were crushed together. I tried to make conversation, but he was engrossed listening to a podcast through his headphones.

The train came in and we scrambled aboard with hundreds of others. There were no seats and we stood in the middle of the car. In the push of the crowd, I was separated from Trevor -- he was only about a yard away, but there were two men between us. More and more people crowded into the car till I was squashed in the mass of bodies. My personal space was invaded from all directions. Well, we're all in the same boat, I thought, resignedly. Fortunately, I am not claustrophobic.

Both Trevor and I are tall, so we could see each other. I thought of the romantic night ahead with my husband and felt a warmth between my legs. I let it take hold, for I had a slow fuse. Trevor was not a stellar bedmate and when we made love, I always needed my fantasies to cum. I usually fantasized about the black janitor who cleaned our floor at the ad agency. He was enormous, built like a tank, with massive muscles and a bull neck. He had a set of even white teeth and elaborate tattoos on his powerful, coffee-colored arms. I thought of him now and luxuriated in a private erotic dream. The press of humanity around me faded into my subconscious. The warmth between my legs grew.

* * * * *

The work environment at the agency was relaxed. However, I was an account executive and often had to meet clients, so I always dressed very professionally -- though I did wear a belly button ring! I was wearing a gray business suit with a short jacket and knee length pleated skirt, white chiffon translucent blouse, and a choker pearl necklace.

In preparation for my night of passion with my husband, I had spent an hour that morning, trying on combinations of lingerie to make myself look sexy. I began with black stockings, a black garter belt with straps and a sweet little yellow bow.

Next, I tried on black self-supporting stockings and a cute violet thong that had a pretty bow on the rear triangle.

I finally settled on grayish stockings that had a black pattern, tie-on ribbon garters, and a simple black silk thong.

I matched the silk thong with a black demi-bra. It was constructed of see-through lace mesh with a silk underbody and straps. It showed quite clearly through my translucent chiffon blouse. There were tiny black silk bows on the rear triangle of my thong and on the bridge of my bra.

I wore dangly silver earrings because Trevor loved to feel the metal against his cock when I took him in my mouth. He always wanted to start sex with a blowjob -- and invariably came very soon. Then I to wait almost half an hour before he could get it up again. I usually had to suck on him to get him hard again. I fantasized about the black janitor to keep my excitement up.

* * * * *

I clutched my big purse with one hand and my laptop bag hung on my other shoulder. I reached and grabbed the overhead strap just as the train moved forward with a sharp jerk. Everyone in the car lurched. I fell against one of the men between me and Trevor.

With both my hands occupied, I could not stop myself. My jacket was splayed open with my clutching hand above my head on the strap. My firm breasts pressed against the stranger's hard, well-muscled chest. I did not look up to see his face. The train jerked several times again, and I was thrown against the man repeatedly.

My earlier fantasies had me in precariously sensual state. The repetitive intimacy of my breasts squeezed against the man's hard chest prompted my nipples to harden. With my right hand high above head to hold the strap, my breasts were pushed up. My swollen right nipple escaped from the low top of my demi bra and pressed against him through my wispy chiffon blouse. My nipple grew even harder and my face reddened.

"Sorry, sorry," I muttered, turning away so that my face was away from him. I could see Trevor out of the corner of my eye. He was still engrossed with listening to his podcast, but I kept looking at him till I caught his eye. He smiled at me vacantly.

"That's okay," I heard a whisper in my ear. It was a very masculine voice. "You have lovely breasts."

I ignored him and concentrated on NOT looking toward him, trying to preserve anonymity. Then I felt a hand on my buttock. I hoped it was an accidental touch, much like my unintended squashing of my breasts against him. But it rapidly became clear that this was premeditated. He groped my firm, round derriere aggressively. There was nothing between his probing hand and my pert behind but my skirt.

His fingers explored, found the panty lines of my thong, and began to trace them, up and down. I twisted my body to try and break the contact, but there was nowhere for me to move. I tried desperately to get Trevor's attention, and finally got him to meet my eyes. But he just smiled benignly and continued listening to his podcast.

The train was an express and I knew it was a good half an hour till the first stop -- where Trevor and I would get off. I resigned myself to being felt up for the remainder of the journey. I hoped he would get bored and find something else to occupy him.

He seemed to realize that I was relaxing, and his other hand joined in. He had one hand on each of my buttocks, massaging without pretense. The crush of the crowd was so tight that his hands were out of everyone's sight. The two of us were the only ones who knew what he was doing to me. My fantasies about the black muscle-bound janitor began to invade my thoughts again. The warmth between my legs was rising dangerously.

I didn't know what was worse -- that I was begin groped by a stranger on a commuter train on my way to a romantic sexual tryst with my husband. Or that I was beginning to be excited by it. I knew I had to stop myself right now. I had always had a fairly easy time controlling my sex drive, so I was not unduly worried.

"Please stop," I whispered over my shoulder.

"Why?" he murmured.

There was something attractive about his voice -- gravelly, commanding, and yet rather gentle.

"I'm a married woman," I whispered back. "My husband is just a few feet away. He can see me."

"Lucky man."

"I'm lucky he married me," I whispered. "He's a good man."

"I can sense your sexual strain," he whispered. "But your husband is oblivious. He seems more interested in listening to what's playing in his headphones."

"We're going on a romantic getaway," I blurted, my voice rising a bit above a whisper. "He'll pay attention to me there."

I couldn't believe I was talking to this stranger who was still running his hands over my lower body. As we were whispering, his hands found their way around me to rub the front of my upper thighs. They traced my ribbon garters through my pleated skirt and approached dangerously close to my crotch. Then, to my horror, I felt his erection behind me against my buttocks. At first, I thought it was something he had in his pockets. But then I felt his heat through the thin layers of cloth and knew it was all him. Even through our clothing, it was obvious that he was huge.

"No!" I whispered urgently.

His hands that had been moving so slowly, so sedately, and building up voluptuous tension, now moved very suddenly. His fingers found the hem of my skirt and hiked it up to my waist. One hand found the triangle of my thong and his fingers forcefully probed my thick pussy lips. His thumb found my clit. The silk of my thong offered scant protection -- it was already damp.

His fingers and thumb worked me. I could not believe how quickly I became wet and soaked my thong.

"No, no, no," I whispered. There was an undercurrent panic in my tone. I did not want to draw attention to cause a scene.

But in spite of my words, my hips began to undulate, pushing into his hand rather than away from it.

"You want me, Ryder," he whispered.

"How do you know my name?" I asked in shock, striving to keep my voice low.

"Your business card is in the address tag on your computer bag. Ryder Fox."

"Shit," I whispered.

"You're certainly a fox, Ryder."

His hand continued to stimulate me, and my breath began to grow short. Fortunately, the thundering of the commuter train on the rails and the whistling sound of the wind through the vents offered a great deal of covering noise.

Then his other hand began to unbutton my blouse. With one hand on the strap to hold me upright in the swaying train, my other hand holding my large purse, I was helpless.

"Please, please," I whispered. "Don't do this to me. I've never cheated on Trevor."

"You want it Ryder."

He was right behind me now, and I felt his organ against the bare skin of my rump. It was fleshy and HUGE -- somehow he had contrived to release it from his pants.

His chin was on my shoulder, his breath was in my ear. He kissed my ear, tongue darting in. No one had ever done that to me before -- it was incredibly carnal.

"Please don't," I begged.

My words no longer had any meaning, for my actions contradicted them. My hips were moving synchronously with his hand. I was so wet that I felt my sexual juices running down my inner thighs. I was dimly aware that he had allowed my skirt to drop down and conceal his hand on my pussy.

He pulled insistently on the waistband of my thong till it slid down and pooled around my ankles. With adeptness I could barely discern, he reached down and got me to step out of them. When he straightened, two of his fingers sank into my bare wet pussy, and his thumb manipulated my swollen clit. His other hand caught me by the throat just above my pearl choker.

He knew my body better than I did myself. I began to cum and would have cried out. However, at exactly the right moment, his other hand closed on my mouth, stifling me. My orgasmic cries were smothered and all that came out were low mews.

"I love your bra," he whispered, as I sagged against him. "Suits your breasts perfectly."

I became aware that his hand had left my pussy. I felt him moving his tumescent organ and then felt his bulbous cockhead at my wet pussy lips.

"You can't be serious --" I whispered.

"Just rock with the train, Ryder."

Sure enough, with the next lurch of the train, I was thrown against him and his cockhead sank into me.

"You're tight, Ryder," he whispered. "You've stripped back my foreskin."

"You're huge!" I whispered back. "You're splitting me in half!"

"Just ride, Ryder. Let the train push me into you."

Sure enough, as the train rocked back and forth, he was pushed into me, in inch at a time. His cock invaded my intimate depths that no one had touched before.

"So deep," I whispered. "You're in so deep!"

"Just a bit more," he whispered back.

One more rock of the train and I was fully impaled on him. My mouth was slightly open, and I was breathing through it, sucking in great gulps of air. He did not move, but just stood there, allowing the train to rock me back and forth. It created a steady rhythm. With alternating lurches of the train, his cock was pulled out of me a couple inches, then rammed fully into me, my buttocks tight against him. He was fucking me relentlessly by standing completely still.

Trevor finally finished his podcast, pulled out his headphones, and waved to me. I hastily put my purse over my chest to cover my unbuttoned blouse. The stranger's hand was kneading my breasts through my demi bra. My nipples had both escaped from the bra and he was tweaking them.

"Looking forward to tonight?" Trevor said. He spoke loudly to be heard over the train.

The stranger's other hand descended to my pussy and his fingers found my clit again. With his huge manhood deep inside me, fucking me with metronomic timing, I was already much closer to the edge than I thought. His stimulation of my swollen clit was all it took. I began to cum again, my hips began to rotate, and my contractions began to clasp the stranger's organ spasmodically.

""Yes, yes," I replied, loudly. "Omigod, yes! YES! YES!!"

The stranger grunted, low in my ear, and came with me. I felt the warmth of his ejaculate in my innermost recesses. He gushed inside me like a firehose through two more rocks of the train.

"I glad that you're so excited about our little getaway," Trevor said, still loud. He was smiling.

"I'm very excited," I gasped. "I can feel it deep inside me."

"I'm glad!" said Trevor.

I felt a sheen of sweat on my brow. The stranger was still deep inside me, still hard, though I could feel him deflating. He slid out of me with a gentle plop. My pleated skirt fell into place. Still shielded by my large purse, the stranger buttoned up my blouse.

The train began to slow. The stranger pushed through the crush of humanity, helping me toward the door.

"I don't have my panties," I whispered.

"I'll keep them," whispered the stranger, propelling me forward. "To remind me of you, Ryder Fox."

"No one's ever fucked me like that," I whispered, as we got closer to the door.

"Do you want me to fuck you again?" he whispered.

"No," I said.

But I allowed the next lurch of the train to press me against him. I twisted my torso so that my still swollen nipples rubbed on his shirt front. He held me for an instant, a hand tight on the swell of my belly. A finger slid through the seams of my blouse to touch my belly button ring. Then he pushed me forward, so I was flush against Trevor, who was already at the door.

Trevor got off the train first and I got off right after him. I looked back over my shoulder at the stranger. He was very tall and athletic. He had dark pepper and salt hair, and bright blue eyes. He looked in his forties. He was one of the most handsome men I had ever seen. He gave me a small wave. I nodded back imperceptibly. As I followed Trevor down the platform toward to parking garage, I felt the stranger's thick, warm semen began to leak out of my pussy and slowly course down my upper thighs like treacle.

"Trevor," I said. "I have to go to the ladies' room. I'll meet you at the car."

"I'll drive around and pick you up at in front of the station," Trevor said.

I went into the ladies' room and locked myself in a stall. I cleaned myself up the best I could with the toilet paper. But his semen was so sticky, and smelled so strong and musky, that I could not get all the traces off me. It had already stained my pink ribbon garters and the tops of my stockings.

I left the ladies' room, feeling quite daring as the breeze swirled my skirt around my bare pussy. Trevor was waiting for in front of the station in our car as his promised. I got in and he drove off. As I feared, Trevor smelled the lingering traces of my sex it in the car.

"It smells rather ... " he began.

"I'm embarrassed to admit I was fantasizing about you in the train, Trevor," I said. "I got a bit too excited."

"I can't wait to get to the inn," he said, with a roguish grin. "Let's have a quickie before dinner."

But then he talked nonstop about his work all the way. I put my seat back and closed my eyes, saying "yes, dear" at the appropriate intervals.

The sex with Trevor was short even by the standards of a quickie. Through our rapid coupling and later all through dinner, all I could think of was being fucked by a nameless stranger on the train to the best orgasms of my life.

* * * * *

A few weeks later I awoke sick and nauseous. I threw up and retched in the toilet, my breasts ached, and my nipples felt tender. Trevor had already left for work. I went to work and somehow managed to get through the day. On my way home, I stopped by a pharmacy and picked up a test kit. Then I went to the dry cleaner's and picked up our laundry.

"A business card in you suit," said the Korean lady who ran the dry-cleaning store. "You want?"

"Yes," I said, and she handed it to me after hanging our laundry on the rack.

"Which suit was it in?" I asked.

"This one," she touched the gray suit with the pleated skirt.

I stuck the card in my jacket pocket without looking at it and drove home. I did the test and it confirmed what I knew in my heart -- I was pregnant. I pulled the card out of my jacket pocket and read it -- "John C. Grierson Jr., CEO, Foncault Group" together with an office address and phone numbers.

I picked my phone and called his cell phone. He answered on the first ring.

"Jack Grierson." His voice was unmistakable.

"It's Ryder Fox," I said.

"It's good to hear from you, Ryder."

"You knocked me up."

"I didn't know anyone talked like that anymore."

"It's not a joke, asshole!" I shouted. "I'm pregnant!"

"You're a married woman. Your husband fucks you. Regularly, I hope."

"Trevor always uses a condom."

"Condoms leak."

"Are you trying to wriggle out of this?"

"Of course not," he said. "We'll do a paternity test, and I'm fairly sure it will confirm that I am the father. All I'm saying is there's no need to damage your marriage over this."

"I can't believe this!" I cried. "I've been impregnated by a stranger on a train! I didn't even see your face while you were fucking me! And my husband was just a few feet away!"

"That's what made it so exciting, Ryder."

"It's like a bad dream."

"You came, though," he said. "Very hard. More than once. I felt you."

"You've got a big cock," I said. "And you know how to use it. No one's stretched me like that before. Or been in me so deep."

"You've got a tight, warm pussy. Just thinking of you is getting me hard again."