The Eyes on the Train 18+

The tall dark-haired beauty had glided down the escalator, weaved snakelike through the crowd, irritated by each of the little people endlessly surrounding her.

Public transport was unfamiliar to her, she was used to taking taxis, yet despite the crowd she was able to avoid the usual bumps and sidesteps. Confidence in her beauty empowered her. Her long elegant strides cowered the sea of people into parting. When they remained stubborn, her sinuous form reacted quickly to each necessary twist. This was her first experience of the London underground, yet it didn’t show. This arena wasn’t her natural environment, but she adapted well.

On the platform the masses stood motionless. Some read newspapers, most stared impassively ahead, eyes dead, minds elsewhere. Everything was silent save for the whine of walkmans, distant subway trains and the everlasting swirl of air, rushing through the tunnels.

She arrived at the platform in a bad mood, sighing audibly. Fumbling in her Louis Vuitton handbag she found her mobile phone, dialled noisily, drawing glances from the other commuters. Had she even been aware of them, no attention would have been paid, Tara seldom noticed the eyes that watched her. The particular set of eyes that had trailed her for weeks remained a mystery. Unknown, but alert.

Everything about her set her apart, he thought. From the designer sunglasses poised delicately on her head to the impossibly high heels beneath those flawless legs. Everything. He craved all of it.

After some time she returned the phone to her bag, annoyed. A few more eyes drifted over her, some disapproving, some dissolute. Her perfume travelled down the track, lingering, sensual, tempting more into her web. She bent slightly, setting her shopping bag down, slowly rubbing the back of her heel. Eyes became transfixed on her slender legs, the tightness of her skirt as it hugged her firm, robust ass. The eyes rolled back up her figure in unison, as if involved in some synchronised event, captivated by the straighting figure, the flirtatious tossing of her long jet black hair.


He thought about touching her. Not so seriously, just to pass the time. She turned for a moment and he caught sight of her breasts, hidden from view in a tight sweater but glorious all the same. He thought of the heaviness in his hand, the nipples hardened between his fingers.

She shifted, her weight rolling impatiently from one foot to the other, oblivious to the child skipping around her feet. The mother dragged him away, smiling apologetically. Tara turned her head disdainfully, sighing again.

The train arrived, it’s distant wheeze breaking into a thunderous blast as it shot through the tunnel. Tara popped her phone back into her bag and glided forward. She felt a hand graze her bottom as she stepped up, a slight squeeze on her cheek betraying it’s deliberateness.

She stepped inside, trying to turn to catch the man. The crowd behind were too strong, pushing her forward like cattle, her feet finally resting near the opposite door. She held the bar in front tightly, watching over the young man who’d sat ahead of her. He was almost directly beneath her now. He glanced up, she instinctively edged back, resting against something hard. The compartment was musty and hot, and she didn’t enjoy the feeling of being so closely surrounded.

The warm, firm skin of the man behind her felt different though, calming, pleasurable. She relaxed her body into him a little. At first she’d worried the jolting of the train would send her sprawling, but his weight was able to balance her. She released her grip on the metallic bar a little, rubbed her shoulders into his chest discreetly, like a kitten getting comfortable. She wondered if it was his hand she had felt, not minding if it had been.

The train came to a halt, more passengers got on, forcing this man to push further against her. Along with his chest, she could now feel his leg. His foot was placed almost between her own, the outside of his thigh snaking up the inside of hers. His breath had quickened and was hot on her neck. When she turned her head slightly she felt her hair brush over his skin, caught a glimpse of his shoulder, sheathed in a cool black suit.

His body was hard, his chest wide. It felt like being spralled across a heavy oak table. Her nipples began to harden gradually from the comfort.

The train rattled on, each rattle and jolt knocked their bodies together, a slow steady rhythm. Tara bit her lip a little, wiggled her bottom slowly, faintly, rubbing it over his hardening cock. Her movements were subtle, camouflaged by the swaying of the train. She opened her eyes, unaware she’d closed them. Pressed into the corner hidden from the eyes she felt safe. Only the young man sitting almost beneath her could see. Wild-eyed and clearly horny, he looked like one of the builders who whistled at her in the street, brutish, cocky, unshaven. Probably unwashed. His blue jeans were tight, his erection clear. His eyes were transfixed by her round voluptous breasts, hidden in her tight cream sweater. He glanced up at her, made eye-contact, smiled shamelessly.

Tara looked away, suppressing a smile. She placed her palm on the end of her tight skirt, midway down her thigh. Slowly she rubbed her fingers up and down over her skin, the material of her skirt tickling her nicely. Her pussy was tingling, alive with excitement. Her fingers moved slyly under her skirt, stroked her naked thigh. She stroked her skin, just at the point where her tiny panties began, teasing herself, teasing the brute.

The mystery cock was pressed tight up against her back now, and she could feel it straining even through the clothes. She leaned her head back slightly, feeling a large hand run down and squeeze her bottom. The breath was in her ear, hard heavy exhales. He lifted her ass slightly, almost toppling her, before slowly setting her back down, his cock slowly travelling up between the slight cleft of her bottom. The feel of that hard meat resting between her cheeks made her panties moist, her face reddened.


He stared in wonder at the hot little nymph so near to him. The roaming fingers, the slight smile, the colored cheeks. His cock had hardened and throbbed now. He could reach across and brush her skin. The thought tortured him.

The train paused again, this time a far larger number departing than boarding. Tara slipped between her admirers, grabbing a seat. She searched the faces standing up carefully. A number of men stood in the corner where she’d been and she eyed them suspiciously, trying to determine which had been touching her.

He was smiling at her lustfully and she could see his cock was still hard. She smiled back flirtatiously for a moment before looking away. He was handsome, tall and smart, though thinner than she’d thought. His hair hung long, draped over his shoulders, stylishly well-kept. Clearly well-bred, Tara wondered why he rode the subway. She leaned back in the seat, imagining his hard body on top of her, the dirty things he might like her to do.

Nearby, he struggled hard to maintain his rage. He had to stay calm now, had to stay calm. He knew he wouldn’t hurt her unless forced to.

The train rolled on, chasing the endless dark from the tunnels, the dark that never left. She took out her phone, glancing coquettishly at the man, tossing back her hair. This time, her call was answered and she spoke confidently, authoritatively, her voice alone in the silence. The admirers listened attentively.

“Hi Emma, it’s Tara. Listen, I can’t meet you for drinks tonight babe, I’m gonna go home. Yeah, I know babe, but we can go wild tomorrow, can’t we? Ok, we’ll do lunch. Ciao babe.”

Tara smiled at her mystery man as she replaced the phone. She took out her mirror and adjusted her lipstick, aware of him watching.

Beautiful legs, he thought, wondering if he tilted his head, would he see up her skirt from this angle. He thought he would, but was afraid to chance it. She was horny, he knew that. A wet pussy, for sure. He watched her serruptiously, occasional stolen glances. Others were bolder.

Lost in thought, the train had seemed to stop suddenly, and like a carnival ride they’d all swept off. She’d brushed past him, knowing he would follow. Eager and excited, happy in the late evening sunshine, She’d sashayed home. Body and mind were absorbed with dirty thoughts. Now she could feel eyes burning into her, thrilling her, her pulse racing. It had been too long since she’d been naughty. She hoped he would be stronger than he looked, as strong as he had felt behind her, willing and able to control her delicate frame. Leaving her front door open, she breezed inside without looking back. Her skirt was left at the bottom of the stairs, along with the shopping. The tight sweater sat at the top, her sunglasses making it as far as the bedroom door before being discarded.

She waited a few minutes in the dark bedroom, the curtains drawn, hiding her from the light. She was breathless, her hands pressed up against the wall, legs spread. The front door closed. The bedroom door opened soon after. She spoke without turning.

“Don’t say a word. Don’t talk. I’ve been a very bad girl, and I need to be spanked.”

Her own voice excited her, her old familiar speech. The material of her panties riding up her bottom, the coldness of the air on her skin where soon his hot hands would rest. Distant gleeful memories came back to her.

He edged toward her, nervous, delirious, his cock aching from the image in front of him. Her legs rose majestically, taunt and firm, anchored to the ground by those seductive high heels. Her ass was pointed at him, invitingly, arrogantly.

“Mmm, spank me now, please,” she whispered.

He ran his hand over her cold skin, his rough hands at odds with her smooth, round bottom. He slapped her gently at first, watching her ass shiver, listening to the satisfying slap. He began to slap harder, groping his aching cock listening to her moans.

“I’m such a bad girl, aren’t I?” Tara’s honeyed tones sang. “Maybe you should take off my panties.”

He tugged at the underwear, so tiny it barely covered her divine little cheeks. The flimsy panties slid effortlessly down her elegant legs, tickling her skin. He ran his fingers lightly over her pussy before smacking her ass hard. A smile widened across his face into laughter as he stepped back, admired her, tore his t-shirt over his head.

Outside, his irritation boiled over. He kicked a nearby car, drawing wary glances. Pushing long hair back, searching the street vainly, doubts crept into his mind. Had he been wrong? It had only been a few glances, words spoken on the telephone he’d assumed were meant for him. Perhaps he’d been foolish, wishful. The agony of not knowing would plague him, he knew. Her velvety skin brushing his arm as she left the train, that wicked smile, the sight of her delicious bottom disappearing into the crowd. He searched on, eyeing the crowds, desperation growing.

“Mmm, harder, please,” she moaned.

The smacks got harder, her groaning louder, the room grew darker still. He reached round to smooth her breast, tweak her hardened nipple roughly. She could hear him tugging off his clothes, her pussy becoming impatient. She watched his fingers play at her chest and something confused her, something seemed wrong. Her focus fell on his nails, chipped, broken, dirt embedded underneath.

Tara tried to turn, but his weight pressed her down. His tongue leapt into her ear, his body forced her against the wall. She struggled for a moment as he groped her breast.

She thought of the builder, his shameless smile, his hard cock in those jeans. He was from the other side of London she imagined, the dirty, vulgar side. A man whose kind she had never spoken to, never acknowledged. She twisted her head a little, saw the discarded clothes, saw the blue jeans where the black suit should have been.

She felt her breasts mashed together in his palms, the comely liquid of her skin rising and falling in his hands, under his control. His cock teased her pussy lips, his fingers roamed her tender 22 year old skin, squeezing it, making it red, marking it as his.

His cock edged into her and she pictured his cocky smile, the strength in his arms that held her now. She imagined the story he would tell his friends, the rich bitch who liked to be spanked. The odour of his sweat filled her delicate nose as she thought of what Daddy would think of her now. She dragged his hand from her breast, began to tentatively suck his fingers, becoming eager quickly.

He pushed deeper inside her, stroking her thighs, skin like porcelain, smooth and cool. Tara arched her neck, letting him suck her greedily, his fingers roaming to her bottom, tickling her hole, sending shudders through her body.

She wanted to be fucked like this, at this stranger’s mercy, under his control. She slid her arms down the wall, he stepped back letting her fall. Her fingers dug into the soft carpet, long dark hair spread in front of her like a cloak. Her long legs raised her ass high, he had only to bend slighty to push his cock back inside. He began to fuck slowly from above, holding her hips tightly. Tara stretched forward, her lips curled in excitement as he let her drop.

She lay face down and he climbed between her legs, they opened wide and willingly. His fat balls rested on her ass a moment before the fucking resumed. He fucked harder now, faster, the way she liked it. Neither heard the unlocked front door open, neither heard the figure climb the stairs.

His lips drooled over her shoulderblade, biting her. He rolled her over aggressively and she saw his face, the cocky grin still there but concentrated now. He winked at her and she couldn’t resist smiling back. She closed her eyes and purred, clasping his ass as he drove into her, her hands on his firm smooth back. The experience felt like a deep contented dream, she seemed to sink into the deep lush carpet as he pounded her, his naked body sliding up and down.

Tara felt her wrists in his grip. He pushed her arms back above her head, held them there tightly with one hand, fucking her still. The grin had returned to his lips, a mischievous pout to hers.

He spied from behind the bedroom door, envious but unblinking, wide-eyed and rapt in wonder. She’s naked he thought, simply, happily. She groaned in pleasure, a dumb animalistic wail he delighted in hearing. Her open legs bent at the knee, her breast hanging heavy on her chest. Her hair stretched behind her, her arms held firmly in place. He jerked his cock in time with her lover, imagining it was him. The idea became real in his mind, his jealousy faded away. The man above her, inside her, fucking her hard, was nothing more than a reflection of himself. He smiled at her, kissed her lips from across the room.

Tara’s body tensed, her neck and toes arched, the orgasm ripped through, burning her skin. She gritted her teeth and bucked her hips, squeezing his cock with her pussy. When it was over, he pulled out and held his meat high over her, hard and glistening. It stood tall and arrogant, looking down over her luscious, voluptuous breasts. She pulled him down upon her, his knuckle rubbing her nipple as he jerked off. Her hand glided down her body, touched her sex, she caressed herself furiously.

Her brute pushed forward, staring hard at her, dominant and demanding. She understood, giggled coyly, took his cock into her mouth, between her thin, heavenly lips. He fucked her mouth ecstatically, watching her suck. Her eagerness to please was clear. Her degradation at his hands was supreme.

He watched her suck him, this beautiful, high-class slapper taking his cock. She was irresistable to watch, everything about her was stunning. He closed his eyes in delight, listening to the hungry slurping.

Such total heaven had to be fleeting, he erupted in her mouth quickly. It spilled down her chin, a river of sweet nectar forming between her tits. His hot and sticky body resting heavy helped bring another climax, her fingers working tirelessly over her lips.

When it was over, she stood quickly, made her way to the bathroom, her bottom still red from the spanking. She looked at herself in the mirror, her heavy breasts dripping with his juice. Staring at her reflection she dipped her finger in, put it to her lips, tasted it. It mingled in her mouth with the dirt from under his fingernails, a taste she enjoyed. Her reflection gave her a dirty little smile that surprised her.

“You HAVE been a dirty girl,” she whispered.

Her lover climbed onto the bed, grinning smugly, waiting for the horny little rich bitch to come back.

“You know,” she shouted to him, “maybe a few of your friends and a few of my friends should get together.”

I might keep you to myself, he thought, eyeing her naked figure again as she returned. She lay on the bed next to him, stroking his chest, enjoying the feel of her new lover.

Behind the door another pair of eyes drifted away, satisfied, sticky, his confidence restored. She’d done it all for him, he knew that, and she’d do it again too. He’d be watching when it happened, for sure.

One Response “The Eyes on the Train 18+” →
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  1. The Eyes on the Train « Ichigostarfish’s Weblog

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