Micro Monday, Prompt Story
The Problem with Reading Smut on the Train
Well, it’s not always a “problem”…
The problem with reading smut on the train to work is that I get too easily excited, and it shows. Some sentences make me hot — literally. My face turns red, my legs start spreading, and I have to open my blouse, a button or two.
My neighbor noticed today. As I read this sentence, “Zoya heard a buckle behind her and a zipper and went cold,” I also heard a buckle and a zipper. Not moving my head, I looked to the side and saw the bulge in his boxers. His belt and fly were open, and his cock was begging to be touched.
What should I do?
As if reading my mind, he whispered, “follow the script.” My gaze came back to the page to check what was next.
In the story, the woman was too shy to touch the stranger’s cock, but she couldn’t help touching herself.
Hesitant, I let my hand slide towards my breasts and find an opening in my blouse. I wasn’t wearing any bra. My nipples eagerly waited to be squeezed.
My neighbor seemed happy about it. His cock came out of its silky jail to show its approval.
What now?
The woman in the book was naked under her dress. She had easy access to her sex and was already sliding a finger in, but I was wearing tight jeans.
My neighbor came to my rescue again and swiftly unbuttoned the top of my pants. “Here you go. It should help.”
Still not looking at him, I unbuttoned them further and slid a hand inside my panties. I had a finger pressed between my lips, and he had his cock firmly squeezed in his hand. None of us dared move.
Scrolling down a bit, I saw the woman in the story was already on the verge of orgasm. She wasn’t shy anymore. She was about to sit on the stranger’s dick.
I couldn’t do that.
There were too many people in the car, and I didn’t have condoms.
I had to improvise.
Putting down my phone, I hold my neighbor’s hand instead. I pressed it gently, hoping he would understand the signal.
He did, and we started moving our free hands in rhythm. Slowly at first. It’s always slow at first for me. I love building up the tension. I was looking at his rather good-looking dick for inspiration, and I don’t know what he was looking at, but judging by his erection, he was very inspired.
He pressed my hand harder. It was time to increase the tempo. We were getting closer to the station, and I had to go to work. Following his lead, I increased speed and pressure. My clit appreciated the attention. His hand was furiously sliding up and down his shaft. I could see he was about to come.
His hand tentatively pulled mine towards him. It was an invitation, a polite ask.
Yes, why not, indeed?
I bent my head towards his cock just in time to receive his cum. I don’t like the taste, but it always triggers something inside me. And sure enough, I came at the same time.
The train was slowing down. It was time to get decent again. He clumsily put back his dick in place. It was still hard. I would have loved to sit on it for a while. But it wasn’t the time or the place.
Still not looking at each other, we stood up and got ready to exit. I didn’t know what I wanted. Should it be a one-time adventure? Or should we meet again in a more intimate setting?
As I was exiting the train, he took my hand and pressed it to his lips. “I would love to kiss more of you,” he said, giving me his business card.
Looking at his eyes for the first time, I smiled and pressed my hand on his crotch, “and I would love to see the both of you again.”
I got inspired by F. Leonora Solomon’s story:
And by this prompt from May More:
