Ok. This isn’t actually about sex on the Seven train. It just makes a good title.

While I could call it Sex on the Six, which is what it’s more likely about, the Seven train has a special place in my heart. I adore the Seven. I really really do. I always see the most interesting people on the Seven, and I had my favourite public fight on the Seven, which I’ll post about later.

In my life, I have two kinds of fantasies. Those which I have or will eventually make a reality, and those which simply live in my head. The former far out number the later, but the later…there are some good ones. Thank you, Nancy Friday, and your books of women’s fantasies.

For example, I’m never going to be abducted by brawny Viking Warriors from outer space, and be stuck as the only woman on a ship with them for months. I mean, really, even if I did find enough giant gorgeous, buff men with giant Viking penises, and get all the costumes together and such, where am I going to find a room with zero gravity that I can outfit like a Viking spaceship?

I’ll probably never be lucky enough to find a set of male bisexual identical twins, either. (Though, seriously, if there are any of you out there, get in touch. Especially if you are redheads. I love redheads! And I love twins. *Whimper* Just the thought of being sandwiched between two beautiful twins….)

The whole fantasy in a church? Probably not gonna happen. Besides, I was in the funeral business for three years. I never met a hot young priest, let alone a hot young kinky priest willing to flog me in the confessional and fuck me over the end of a pew, while speaking Latin. All that Roman Catholic angst…mmm…

And no matter how fucking hot I think this next fantasy is, even if given the opportunity, I probably wouldn’t take it up. I have enough trouble taking the subway clothed, just thinking about all the germs and grossness…there just isn’t enough bleach in the world.

It goes the way of all fantasies, I suppose. The details don’t really need to be worked out all that well for somethings, but not others.

Now those of you native to New York have at some point taken the 4, 5, or 6 trains. The strap hanger bars over the seat closest to the door have two other bars going up to the roof of the car ( [__]____________[__]) You get the idea.

Every time I see them, I can’t help but think about kneeling on the seat with my arms cuffed up, facing the window. Its late, and we’re alone in the car, on the express train.

All I’m wearing are my heels, and an unbuttoned blouse. He’s teasing me with light smacks on my ass with one hand, the other reaching around to play with my pussy, light touches, and I’m trying to strain forward for more. The rocking of the car is working against me, and I whimper, wanting more, but I can’t move to far, or I’ll fall off the seat.

“Please…”

He grabs my hair, pulling my head back against him. I can feel his body pressed against me, his cock throbbing against my ass cheeks.

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me” I whimper again.
The train shudders to a stop, and he lets go of my hair. We’re lucky, no one gets on. He moves me so that he can sit in front of me, straddling him, forcing my legs even farther apart, opening my pussy to his view. I look down, and see his hard cock jutting proudly out of his pants.

“You want my cock, you slut? You want me to fuck you on the subway, tied up like this, where anyone can watch? I bet you’d take any guy who’d come on right now, wouldn’t you?” more whimpering from me. “All right slut, you can have my cock, but first, you have to come for me, before the next stop. Then, you can have my cock.”

I nod, staring down. God, I want him inside me. He starts playing with me in earnest now, sinking two fingers deep in my pussy and working me hard. With the other hand, he slaps me, wherever he can reach. My face, my tits, my thighs. I moan, straining against my bonds, begging for more, wanting to be filled. He quickly work a third, and then a fourth finger into me, and by now I’m shrieking with each movement of his fingers, bucking wildly against him, feeling my orgasm building.

He knows me, knows my signs, and can feel it too. He stops slapping, and wraps his other arm around me, pressing me tight against him, and not allowing me to move anymore.

“Come on baby, come for me. We’re almost there, and you don’t get any cock unless you come for me first. There’s a good girl, come, come now!”

Still working me, I come with a strangled scream just before we pull into the next station. Once again, we’re lucky no one comes on our car. He slides his fingers out of me, and gets up. He slaps me lightly with his wet hand, and I greedily turn back, sucking his fingers into my mouth, desperate to taste myself on him.

He positions himself behind me, one hand on the bar over my head, fingers still in my mouth, and slams into me as the train starts to move again. He fucks me hard, frantically, my moans muffled by his fingers, leaning forward and keeping up a filthy stream of consciousness in my ear. I come again, biting down on his fingers, and earning myself another smack on the mouth for it, but at this point, I don’t care, all my thoughts are centred on the hard cock inside of me, throbbing as he has his way with me. Finally, he pulls out, and growls out his orgasm, his hot come splashing over my ass. He gives me a pat on ass, as he steps back, tucking himself away. I slump, satiated, in my bonds.

Before the next stop, our last stop, he lets me down, allowing me to dress, except for my panties, which he stuffs in his pocket.