Fill: What Position Should I Wear? 4/5 (Public groping, light dub-con)synekdokeeJanuary 4 2012, 03:31:47 UTC
Charles can feel the rise and fall of the other man's chest against his back, can hear his laboured breathing over the rattling of the train, the forced, even breaths, can feel the gusts of damp air against his neck. Charles wishes he'd press his lips to the nape of his neck, wants so desperately to feel that mouth on him.
The hand caressing the skin of his hip disappears for second, drawing out a quiet groan of protest from Charles. Then it's back, slightly lower on his hip, and it starts inching forward, slips under Charles's arm, between the bag and, oh fuck, his crotch until it stops, a hair's breath from Charles's stiff dick.
Grinding his teeth together hard enough to hurt, Charles lets his hips twitch forward, encouraging the touch. After a beat the fingers crawl to Charles's zipper, over the swollen, fabric-covered flesh of his cock, and Charles feels like he's about to choke on the moan trying to escape from his throat. There's a silent grunt from behind him, an almost satisfied sound, like the other man is happy with what he's discovered.
The touch is careful, almost delicate, mere brushes against the firmness of Charles's erection. The man lets his hand travel down Charles's length, smoothing his trousers down around the hardness of it, like he's trying to get a feel of the size and shape.
It feels like torture. Charles can feel sweat trickling down his spine, feels it dampen his hairline. The effort of staying silent, of suppressing the tremors and keeping his movements inconspicuous is agonizing. He wants to make noise, wants to tilt his head back to rest on the man's shoulder and moan, to push his hips forward into that touch and rut until he comes.
This time they don't even notice they're slowing down, not until the train bursts into light and grinds to a halt and Charles can't stop the whispered "fuck" that escapes his mouth, pained and tight.
There's a lot of shuffling somewhere to their right, and a flustered looking man is pushing people to the side, trying to make it out before the doors close. As soon as he's out, a few daring individuals start squeezing in and everyone in the cart shifts, making room, and Charles finds himself pressed even tighter against his partner in crime. Someone has squeezed themselves against Charles's bag, as a result pressing the hand covering his crotch more firmly against Charles's heated flesh.
As everyone settles around them and the train starts moving again, the hand does as well. The palm, now flattened against Charles's length, starts rubbing against him, a delicious friction that has Charles's knees going weak. He starts jerking his hips in a rhythm, incremental jolts that cause him to press his ass against the other man's cock in steady pulses.
The hand wrapped around his on the metal pole tightens more, almost painfully, and when the man lets out a harsh exhale through his nose Charles experiences a flash of triumph when he realises he's not the only one affected, that he has as much power here, and god, what a heady feeling it is.
Charles gets lost in the rhythm of it, the hand gripping his, the hardness pressing against him, the fingers stroking his cock, and fuck, what a thought that is, letting this man touch him like that while he's pushing his own cock into the cleft of Charles's ass cheeks, probably as desperate as Charles, while both of them try to make sure they're controlled enough to not be obvious.
It's wrong, and it's sordid and it's fucked up and so unlike Charles.
It's amazing. It's the most aroused Charles has even been, his own breath coming in wet pants, eyes shut tight, his chin tucked down so no one will see his face because he knows, it would be a dead giveaway.
He wants to fuck me, he thinks. A complete stranger, and he's hard because he wants to fuck my ass, and he's... I'm letting him... A stranger is, fuck, he's masturbating me, he's jerking me off on a train, what the fuck is wrong with me, I want, I want, ah, fuck, I'm going to, I'm gonna-
Fill: What Position Should I Wear? 5/5 (Public groping, light dub-con)synekdokeeJanuary 4 2012, 03:32:45 UTC
He opens his eyes with a jolt because fuck, they've stopped again, and there's the familiar announcement, this station is... and it's Charles's stop.
"Oh fuck," Charles groans, taking a shuddering breath and wrenching himself away, startling a cry from the man behind him. Several people are looking now as Charles whirls around to face the other man. He has a pained expression on his face, and of fuck but the man looks wrecked, does Charles look the same? How could the whole carriage not know..?
"I'm so sorry, this is me, I'm so, oh shit-" the doors are beeping and Charles has to rush to jump out to make it, stumbling into the crowd.
He turns to look as the train starts moving again and he sees the man staring after him, looking poleaxed, and Charles has the ridiculous urge to run after the stupid train.
His erection hasn't subsided, even despite the panicked reaction and suddenly being in the middle of a mass of people. He shields himself with his bag and steps to the side, waiting for the crowd to disperse.
Charles waits until he hears the next train approaching and the staircase has emptied out a bit before he leaves, climbing the stairs to street level, his trousers chafing his prick and doing nothing to dispel the memory of the stranger's hand on him, of the weight of his cock against Charles's ass.
He rushes to the public toilets, not even trying to be careful of who he bumps into, not slowing down until he's in a cubicle and the door's slammed shut.
Dropping his bag and coat to the floor he fumbles with his belt buckle, and with a desperate whimper, thumbs open the button of his trousers and tears down the zipper, already shoving his trousers and boxers down to his thighs with a moan. Finally his cock is free of the painful pressure and his hand is wrapping around it and he doesn't even try to be quiet about it as he strokes himself furiously, can barely believe the needy whines escaping his lips as his mind flashes back to the train and he lets it go further, lets the man fuck him, his thick cock-head pressing against Charles's hole, opening him wide-
His orgasm tears through him without a warning, almost painful in its intensity, his balls drawing up tight as his body is wrecked with spasms, his asshole clenching and cock throbbing as he spurts over his hand in steady pulses.
It takes what feels like an eternity for the aftershocks to cease, his hips jerking helplessly until his body finally goes slack, heart still hammering in his chest like a trapped bird. Charles has to lean against the tiled wall to prevent himself from sliding to the floor.
He breathes deeply through his nose, trying to ignore the sharp scent of sweat and come. His hand is dripping with his own seed and he reaches for the toilet paper, starts cleaning himself up. His cock is oversensitive from the friction the man gave him, and he hisses as he wipes himself clean and tucks himself away. There's a large damp spot on the front of his underwear, but his trousers are undamaged.
Straightening himself up he exists the stall, thankful that the toilets are empty despite the peak-hour. He steps to the mirror and chokes back a sob as he sees his own reflection - face flushed an unflattering red, hair damp with sweat, pupils still contracted, making him look drug-addled, or more accurately, lust-addled. He looks exactly like someone who just jerked himself off to an orgasm in a public restroom.
Charles has never been this ashamed of his own behaviour in his adult life, and yet... Yet he can't bring himself to regret it.
He splashes his face with cold water, hoping it'll make him look less like some sexual predator, and tries to put his hair back into something resembling order.
Taking a moment to lean against the sink he waits for his heart-beat to subside, and his breathing to even out before he knows he must head out, or he'll be properly late. He needs a moment to come down from the high.
He doesn't look up when the door opens and someone enters the restroom.
Re: Fill: What Position Should I Wear? 5/5 (Public groping, light dub-con)sharpestscalpelJanuary 4 2012, 04:03:25 UTC
I was chatting with a friend earlier about how we ask think we suck at this! So, you are not alone in your paranoia. I think everything I post is terrible. *laugh*
Re: Fill: What Position Should I Wear? 5/5 (Public groping, light dub-con)sharpestscalpelJanuary 4 2012, 04:08:44 UTC
I say I can't draw for shit - it's really that I have no patience. *laugh* I think it's easy for people to forget that what seems easy - and not good - to them is totally impressive to people who can't do it at all.
Re: Fill: What Position Should I Wear? 5/5 (Public groping, light dub-con)synekdokeeJanuary 4 2012, 04:00:01 UTC
Oh My God! HNGG!! I can't even express to you how so, so good this was for me, synecdoche.
Hm...5/5. Is this really the end to this story? If it is, I shall be disappointed, but I thank you very much for writing it. This was gloriously hot :D
Re: Fill: What Position Should I Wear? 5/5 (Public groping, light dub-con)synekdokeeJanuary 4 2012, 04:03:33 UTC
Yeah I don't really know how to continue this without having it be disappointing :> I left a hint ambiguity in the ending so everyone can decide for themselves. If someone wants to take this and write a sequel, I won't mind.
Happy to hear you enjoyed it, I'm always a bit nervous about posting stuff I've written!
The hand caressing the skin of his hip disappears for second, drawing out a quiet groan of protest from Charles. Then it's back, slightly lower on his hip, and it starts inching forward, slips under Charles's arm, between the bag and, oh fuck, his crotch until it stops, a hair's breath from Charles's stiff dick.
Grinding his teeth together hard enough to hurt, Charles lets his hips twitch forward, encouraging the touch. After a beat the fingers crawl to Charles's zipper, over the swollen, fabric-covered flesh of his cock, and Charles feels like he's about to choke on the moan trying to escape from his throat. There's a silent grunt from behind him, an almost satisfied sound, like the other man is happy with what he's discovered.
The touch is careful, almost delicate, mere brushes against the firmness of Charles's erection. The man lets his hand travel down Charles's length, smoothing his trousers down around the hardness of it, like he's trying to get a feel of the size and shape.
It feels like torture. Charles can feel sweat trickling down his spine, feels it dampen his hairline. The effort of staying silent, of suppressing the tremors and keeping his movements inconspicuous is agonizing. He wants to make noise, wants to tilt his head back to rest on the man's shoulder and moan, to push his hips forward into that touch and rut until he comes.
This time they don't even notice they're slowing down, not until the train bursts into light and grinds to a halt and Charles can't stop the whispered "fuck" that escapes his mouth, pained and tight.
There's a lot of shuffling somewhere to their right, and a flustered looking man is pushing people to the side, trying to make it out before the doors close. As soon as he's out, a few daring individuals start squeezing in and everyone in the cart shifts, making room, and Charles finds himself pressed even tighter against his partner in crime. Someone has squeezed themselves against Charles's bag, as a result pressing the hand covering his crotch more firmly against Charles's heated flesh.
As everyone settles around them and the train starts moving again, the hand does as well. The palm, now flattened against Charles's length, starts rubbing against him, a delicious friction that has Charles's knees going weak. He starts jerking his hips in a rhythm, incremental jolts that cause him to press his ass against the other man's cock in steady pulses.
The hand wrapped around his on the metal pole tightens more, almost painfully, and when the man lets out a harsh exhale through his nose Charles experiences a flash of triumph when he realises he's not the only one affected, that he has as much power here, and god, what a heady feeling it is.
Charles gets lost in the rhythm of it, the hand gripping his, the hardness pressing against him, the fingers stroking his cock, and fuck, what a thought that is, letting this man touch him like that while he's pushing his own cock into the cleft of Charles's ass cheeks, probably as desperate as Charles, while both of them try to make sure they're controlled enough to not be obvious.
It's wrong, and it's sordid and it's fucked up and so unlike Charles.
It's amazing. It's the most aroused Charles has even been, his own breath coming in wet pants, eyes shut tight, his chin tucked down so no one will see his face because he knows, it would be a dead giveaway.
He wants to fuck me, he thinks. A complete stranger, and he's hard because he wants to fuck my ass, and he's... I'm letting him... A stranger is, fuck, he's masturbating me, he's jerking me off on a train, what the fuck is wrong with me, I want, I want, ah, fuck, I'm going to, I'm gonna-
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"Oh fuck," Charles groans, taking a shuddering breath and wrenching himself away, startling a cry from the man behind him. Several people are looking now as Charles whirls around to face the other man. He has a pained expression on his face, and of fuck but the man looks wrecked, does Charles look the same? How could the whole carriage not know..?
"I'm so sorry, this is me, I'm so, oh shit-" the doors are beeping and Charles has to rush to jump out to make it, stumbling into the crowd.
He turns to look as the train starts moving again and he sees the man staring after him, looking poleaxed, and Charles has the ridiculous urge to run after the stupid train.
His erection hasn't subsided, even despite the panicked reaction and suddenly being in the middle of a mass of people. He shields himself with his bag and steps to the side, waiting for the crowd to disperse.
Charles waits until he hears the next train approaching and the staircase has emptied out a bit before he leaves, climbing the stairs to street level, his trousers chafing his prick and doing nothing to dispel the memory of the stranger's hand on him, of the weight of his cock against Charles's ass.
He rushes to the public toilets, not even trying to be careful of who he bumps into, not slowing down until he's in a cubicle and the door's slammed shut.
Dropping his bag and coat to the floor he fumbles with his belt buckle, and with a desperate whimper, thumbs open the button of his trousers and tears down the zipper, already shoving his trousers and boxers down to his thighs with a moan. Finally his cock is free of the painful pressure and his hand is wrapping around it and he doesn't even try to be quiet about it as he strokes himself furiously, can barely believe the needy whines escaping his lips as his mind flashes back to the train and he lets it go further, lets the man fuck him, his thick cock-head pressing against Charles's hole, opening him wide-
His orgasm tears through him without a warning, almost painful in its intensity, his balls drawing up tight as his body is wrecked with spasms, his asshole clenching and cock throbbing as he spurts over his hand in steady pulses.
It takes what feels like an eternity for the aftershocks to cease, his hips jerking helplessly until his body finally goes slack, heart still hammering in his chest like a trapped bird. Charles has to lean against the tiled wall to prevent himself from sliding to the floor.
He breathes deeply through his nose, trying to ignore the sharp scent of sweat and come. His hand is dripping with his own seed and he reaches for the toilet paper, starts cleaning himself up. His cock is oversensitive from the friction the man gave him, and he hisses as he wipes himself clean and tucks himself away. There's a large damp spot on the front of his underwear, but his trousers are undamaged.
Straightening himself up he exists the stall, thankful that the toilets are empty despite the peak-hour. He steps to the mirror and chokes back a sob as he sees his own reflection - face flushed an unflattering red, hair damp with sweat, pupils still contracted, making him look drug-addled, or more accurately, lust-addled. He looks exactly like someone who just jerked himself off to an orgasm in a public restroom.
Charles has never been this ashamed of his own behaviour in his adult life, and yet... Yet he can't bring himself to regret it.
He splashes his face with cold water, hoping it'll make him look less like some sexual predator, and tries to put his hair back into something resembling order.
Taking a moment to lean against the sink he waits for his heart-beat to subside, and his breathing to even out before he knows he must head out, or he'll be properly late. He needs a moment to come down from the high.
He doesn't look up when the door opens and someone enters the restroom.
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Lol I'm glad you enjoyed it. I don't consider myself much of a writer in general, so. I just needed to get this thing out of my system.
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This was very nicely done - it's always the stuff that grabs us that turns out right, isn't it?
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Hm...5/5. Is this really the end to this story? If it is, I shall be disappointed, but I thank you very much for writing it. This was gloriously hot :D
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Happy to hear you enjoyed it, I'm always a bit nervous about posting stuff I've written!
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Whew! Thanks so much for that! Much more exciting than my morning commute...
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(The comment has been removed)
Courting - You're not doing it right.
*cracks up*
Well put, my friend, well put.
Glad you liked it :D
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