tagInterracial LoveMagic Train

Magic Train


Magic Train
By ChocolateCherry

I sat on the train, report open in my lap, but my eyes and thoughts were elsewhere. It had been a long, grueling day at work, and as I rolled my shoulders I could feel the tension still knotting the muscles of my neck. Sighing in dejection, I forced my thoughts back to the acquisition proposal, but minutes later realized I was once again staring out at the darkening landscape as it sped by. I simply didn’t feel that taking control of this company was right – but I wasn’t paid to make the decision, just to check the legalities of the document.

Leaning my head back against the window, I sighed, worried for the small mom-and-pop business that my company was about to swallow whole. This was hardly the first time my discontent had surfaced, but its frequency was becoming distressing. Disgusted with the ruthlessness of the world of big business, I had begun to consider relinquishing my hard-won college degree and try my hand at something more humane—but unfortunately, I no longer knew what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Fighting the prickling tears of frustration and despair that seemed to constantly threaten these days, my lips trembled and hands clenched. Almost as if it were in the distance, I could hear the sound of my papers crumpling. Oh great – now I could plan to retype them, as well.

With my eyes closed, my heightened senses picked up the appealing scent of men’s cologne. On a crowded train that was hardly anything new, but something about this particular scent singled it out from the crowd. Smoky, spicy and a touch fruity, it sent a fist of desire slamming into my gut, increasing my pulse and spinning my senses. Overworked and single, my job and my innate shyness both had long kept me from any type of social scene, and this subtle assault on my olfactory sense was quickly sending my mind into a tailspin of debauchery.

Eyes closed, feeling the train rumble from stop to stop, I imagined the wearer of my new favorite cologne. He would be tall—taller than my own 5’8” frame. His shoulders would be defined, his green eyes would sparkle and his preference in clothing would lean toward Hilfiger and Cardin. He would take one look at me, see past the business suit and executive hairdo, and realize me for the slut that I am. Masterful and sure, he would pull me too him, ripping pins out of my hair, sending buttons flying on my sensible blouse, exposing me to the crowd around us, controlling my every move….

When I felt the seat beside me shift with use and the cologne become stronger, I smiled to myself, lost in my combination of fantasy and reality.

“There’s the smile. Pretty ladies shouldn’t cry,” I heard, and at the same time felt a gentle fingertip sweep the side of my cheek, capturing a silver teardrop and setting it free. Bemused, still partially caught up in the throes of my increasingly wanton fantasy, I turned my head toward the sound of his deep, rumbling voice, and slowly opened my eyes.

Deep chocolate brown eyes smiled back at me. The train’s overhead lights shone down on his smooth, shaved head. Nothing had ever looked sexier to me in my life. Unbeknownst to me, my blue eyes widened and a blush crept up my cheeks. Licking my suddenly dry lips, I swam in his eyes for what seemed like an eternity, lost in wicked thoughts of how sexy his dark skin would look against the alabaster paleness of my own, picturing the many positions I would work us into, screaming in ecstasy as he took me, again and again.

Some of what I was feeling must have shown on my face, as he rumbled a deep, amused chuckle, his hand once again caressing my cheek. My breath caught and my pulse stumbled as his thumb slid over my cheek, teased the corners of my mouth, before slipping along the contours of my lower lip, stroking me. I could smell faint traces of grease and the overlay of orange cleaner on his hands.

My eyes rounding as my mind began to put facts together, I pulled away far enough to take in the rest of his appearance—worn jeans, slim-fitting t-shirt with a few dark smears, and the physique of a man who works hard for a living. My stomach tightened with the realization that one of my biggest fantasies was about to come true, and I was about to give myself over completely to a man tended cars for a living. My fantasy mechanic. Now, although I could still smell the sexy allure of his cologne, the faintest scents of grease and cleaners were all the aphrodisiac I needed.

Flicking my tongue out, I caressed the tip of his thumb where it still strummed against my lower lip. Good girl or not, overly shy or not, I became eager to offer myself to this sexy man to do with me as he would, in any way that he wanted.

At his hiss of pleasure on the advances of my tongue, I transformed into the wanton woman I had always wished I could be. Turning slightly in my seat, I raised my hand to his face, letting my fingertips trace over the sexy features there. My tongue still toying with his thumb, mimicking the actions I was eager to do on various other parts of his body, I stroked his dark skin from the top of his head to the curve of his shoulder, watching the pleasure in his eyes and feeling it fuel my own delight. Engulfing his thumb in one quick, promising caress, I released it and leaned forward to kiss him, aching to feel the touch of those mesmerizing lips on mine. Unheeded, my report tumbled to the floor, followed shortly by my suit jacket as he smoothed it from my shoulders.

His agile fingers quickly slipped button from buttonhole, and while I murmured my arousal into the sweet, wet depths of his mouth, he divested me of one barrier after another, until soon I was exposed to his gaze. From high heeled shoe to stocking top and demi bra. My face was flushed, my hair tousled, and when he turned my head, I saw our combined reflection in the darkened window, for the first time realizing how incredibly hot and sexy I looked, especially with this Adonis beside me.

Keeping my face tilted toward the window, he gazed into the reflection of my eyes as he slid his other hand along my shoulder and down the front of my chest, barely caressing the soft white skin swelling over the cups of my bra. With a sharp gasp, I arched my back, thrusting my trembling skin further into his touch, the vision of my pale flesh encased in violet lace and caressed by his dark fingers etched forever in my memory. Fluttering fingertips feathered over me, neck to waistband, arm to arm, teasing and tormenting me until I was whimpering with need. When I tried to capture his hand and force him to grasp and squeeze me, he captured both my wrists in one of his strong, capable hands, and trapped them behind my back.

Noticing how this new position arched my back even more, he took advantage of my helplessness to pull my bra down, exposing my trembling white breasts to his gaze, as well as that of anyone else who cared to look. Leaning toward me, he murmured that since I looked good enough to eat, he wanted a nibble—and proceeded to lick, suck and nip at my breasts until I was writhing against him, wailing my desire in a torrent of gibberish that made no sense to anyone but the man who controlled my every action and reaction.

After what seemed like an eternity of orgasms from the attention to my well-pleasured breasts, he finally released my hands and sat back, allowing me a moment to try to remember how to breathe. With a wicked chuckle, he pondered aloud the musing of whether or not anyone outside the train had happened to glance upon the feast he’d just enjoyed, causing yet another gush of cream to coat my slick thighs.

Shakily I thanked him, before reaching over and ripping at his shirt. The possibility of having been watched as I orgasmed only fueled my need to have his black cock buried deep within me. Shoving the torn fabric back off his shoulders, I leaned against him, licking and kissing the expanse of dark skin I had uncovered, amazed at the disregard I had for anything or anyone other than this man who so enthralled me. My sloppy, wet kissed covered every part of him, and his moans of pleasure quivered through my pussy.

Frantically, shaky with my desire for this man, I struggled with his belt until finally he took pity on me, gently pushing my trembling fingers away and quickly slipping out of his clothing. I gasped at the sight before me, the hard proof of his arousal, its length and girth mesmerizing me. Slowly, trance-like, I bent over in my seat, stroked his impressive length, reveled in the sexy contrast of color, and engulfed him in my wet, warm mouth, moaning at his delicious taste.

With a hiss of approval, his hand swept up my neck and into my hair, scattering pins everywhere. Deliberately, almost angrily, he pulled the rest of the pins out, scattering them everywhere, concerned only with my mouth on his throbbing cock and his hand wrapped in my dark tresses, controlling the motions with which my mouth fucked him. Gasping, moaning around his length, choking when he pushed me down too far, I sucked and licked every inch of that throbbing shaft. I used my hands to stroke him, my mouth to caress him, my moans to vibrate along his length, until finally, in a long, deep stroke, he exploded in my mouth, filling me, the overflow running out the sides to drip along his heavy balls.

When his breathing had calmed and his grip loosened on my hair, I looked up at him, slowly sliding off him, and used my tongue and lips to clean up what I had spilled. With a last kiss on the head of his cock, I sat up—only to be forcefully pulled into his embrace, his warm lips kissing and parting my own until his tongue was buried in my throat, where his hard cock had just been. The thought of this sexy stranger kissing me so intimately after I had just swallowed his creamy cum made my stomach tighten and yet another small orgasm flutter through me.

Tingling with the pleasure still skimming along my veins, I leaned my head against his shoulder and rested my hand on his chest. The flicking lights overhead were soothing as my body recovered from the endless orgasms I had been experiencing since this sexy mechanic had chosen to sit with me. With a start, I felt his fingers skim my thigh before settling on my sopping wet pussy. His dark fingers contrasted so against my pink, swollen pussy lips, the shaved lips slightly parted and weeping for his touch. Nudging my legs apart, he rubbed and caressed along the outer lips, teasing that swollen nub so desperate for his touch. Slick with my juices, his fingers skimmed along the centerline before delving deep into the fiery heat of my core, eliciting a sharp cry of approval as his long fingers slid all the way in on that first stroke.

Feeling my hips buck against his hand as his fingers stroked my depths, he masterfully drove me to multiple orgasms in mere minutes, changing his speed, angle and depth as he saw fit, regardless of my impassioned pleas. This lack of control sent me over the edge, until my juices squirted all over his hand, coating us both in my pleasure.

Tugging my hand, he told me to stand up. Bewildered, I could only look at him. If I stood up, my naked body would be completely visible over the seatbacks. Using a little more pressure, he ordered me to stand up again. Eyes wide, I mutely shook my head at him, still riding the wave of pleasure, but too shy to do as he wanted.

Flipping me over his knees, he spanked me, once, twice, three times, the sharp echo ringing in the air. My breasts, pressed against his knees, felt incredibly full, so restrained in this position. My butt, burning with the force of his slaps, was hot—as was my fully aroused pussy. Grabbing my hair in one hand and forcing me to look into his eyes, he drove the other straight into my pussy, 3, then 4 fingers stretching me, while the other rubbed against my quivering clit. Holding me like this he drove me to another immense orgasm, whispering how surely the other passengers heard that spanking, could smell my pussy, had to know how this black man was using me for his pleasure. As my pussy tightened on his fingers and my cream washed over his hand, he pulled me up and kissed me with all the passion I’d ever dreamed of, making me his forever.

As my orgasm subsided and my trembling knees regained their strength, he once again ordered me to stand up. This time I did not resist, and proudly stood between his knees, my full tits and tousled hair plainly visible to anyone who cared to look. And I could see quite a few pairs of eyes turn my way, first in amazement, then in rapt interest. When I felt those familiar fingers rub against my pussy again, I couldn’t help but moan, biting my lip, tipping my head back as breakers of pleasure washed over me. Three fingers, then four slipped in and out of me. I reached out, caressing his smooth head, enchanted with the forbidden pleasure of this stranger displaying my pleasure to the other passengers. Pulling slightly on my hip, he braced my slightly bent knees against his seat, and with a moan, slipped all five fingers into my hot, wet cunt. Pushing, determined to give me things I had only dreamed of, he gradually worked his entire hand into my tightness, reveling in my growls and groans, hearing the subtle movements of interested passengers who shuffled forward to watch this erotic display, knowing I was too far gone to know or care as I rode his fingers, hand, wrist to orgasm after orgasm. Pulling me forward, his tongue flicked my clit—and my juices soaked us both, a raging river of pleasure pouring out of me.

With a last, trembling moan, I collapse, your hand slipping out of me, your lips kissing my sweaty temple. Giving me a moment to relax, he whispers how sexy that was, how hard it got him—and places my hand on the proof. With a mingled moan of astonishment and hunger, I turn to look at him, this sexy stranger who I now belong to, and revel in his sweet, tender kiss. His tongue slips in my mouth, pantomiming the actions his cock has planned for my sore little pussy. I feel myself getting hot, eager, and wet again, amazed at how responsive I am to this person whose name I don’t even know.

Kissing me, caressing me, he slowly guides me back to my feet, chuckling as my knees threaten to buckle. At my questioning look, he nudges me into the aisle, knowing that by now there is nothing I won’t do for him. Still shy, I am beginning to relish the stares of the other passengers, and for my new lover I stand proudly on display, the dim lights of the train car highlighting the wetness on my thighs. Nudging me again, he pushes me further into the aisle, and standing behind me, tells me to hold onto a seatback on either side, spread my legs, and bend forward.

My mind awash with the erotic image we must present, I do as he requests, knowing how lewdly my body is displayed, that knowledge making me even wetter. With one quick thrust he slams into me, making me cry out in surprise and pleasure, breasts bobbling with the force of his attack. Holding my hips he pounds me, bending over to nip on my shoulder, murmuring how fucking hot and sexy I am. He points out other passengers in the car who are busily rubbing and stroking themselves, men and women who are so aroused by our display of lustful passion that they can no longer control themselves, and are finding pleasure as are we. The thought that our actions have caused this, the knowledge that my lover has given me this power, so excites me that I unleash a torrent of cream, my swollen pussy gripping his cock, demanding his cum, a puddle of my juice forming on the floor at our feet. Gripping a handful of my hair, he twists my head around and kisses me, the tenderness of his lips a direct contrast to the wild abandon of his cock brutally fucking my slick pussy. When his other hand slips to my swaying breast and squeezes forcefully, I twist my head from his and scream my pleasure to the world, feeling his cum shooting deep into my pussy. Wail after wail of pleasure crosses my lips as I succumb to the magic of his touch, until we finally stand there, gasping for air and grinning at our own daring. Amid the soft clapping of our voyeurs, we straighten and return to our seat, quietly whispering and softly kissing as we help each other back into our clothing.

When we’ve rearranged ourselves, we cuddle in the seat, and I fall asleep with my head on his shoulder, his lips on my hair. I am awakened by the gentle tug of his hand on mine, and stumble after him as he walks down the aisle. It is only when I feel the cool night air against my skin that I realize I’ve followed him off the train, and begin to protest. With a gentle finger against my lips, he smiles down at me, telling me that there’s no way he could let me go now, not when he’s finally found someone that feels so right. I begin to protest, knowing that ditching my proposal will cost me my job, but remembering my discontent with work and the incredible things my new lover has given me, I smile, and reach up to kiss him, slipping my hand in his. I am his, now, and realize I always have been.

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