Stranger on a Train

March 17, 2016 14 Comments by willcrimson Consensual

• This was written as the counterpart to Malin James’s story Stranger on a Train. I wanted to write this because I think her story is great. Secondly, she’s a woman writing erotica and I enjoy inhabiting the male characters women invent. (We always wonder if our portrayals of the opposite sex are truthful.)  I also wanted to tell the story in which the woman is the stranger. If you read my story first, then James’ story will reveal the reasons the woman makes her choices. If you’ve read hers first, then mine will do the same for the man. The challenge is to make sense of both stories. That’s the  fun part.Is he believable? We see things a little differently through his eyes. There are some added details and some details he doesn’t notice. See what you think. I’ve posted this for everyone’s enjoyment and encourage you to read Malin James’s story. I’m also a fan of Edward Hopper by the way.

“Want another cup, JD?”

“At your rates?”

“It’s on me.” Susie filled JD’s cup. She was a good looking girl.

“How’s Finch?”

“Awe, ya’know how Finch is. Dreamin’ big. He’s fixin’ to buy Talbot’s land and make us a proper business. Figures we could be makin’ out pretty good.”

“You gonna’ move into Talbot’s place then,” said JD. “Nice place. Big place. By the looks of it, you’re gonna’ need it.”

Susie pinched her lips, a sly little smile and absent-mindedly rounded her hand over her bump. “Say,” she said, “why are you still in Marionville, JD? A fella’ like you outta’ be livin’ on easy street.”

“Well it just so happens I’m headed out for the week-end.”

“Why just a week-end?”

JD didn’t answer. He looked up at Susie with another wry smile like she ought to know. Susie looked back at the counter. It was night—a quiet night. There wasn’t anybody coming or going. She put down the coffee pot and cocked her hip. She leaned on the countertop. “You done a lotta’ good for our town, JD,” she said. “Hell, I knew you’d never take up with a dumb dora like me—“

“Now Susie—” JD interrupted, scolding, but Susie kept on her business.

“Don’t get me wrong. I love Finch much as any woman loved a man, but ain’t just me pined for you. Gretta broke down night before she married Hank.

“Well, I suppose she would, Susie.”

“Wasn’t ’cause of marryin’ Hank, JD; but ’cause she wasn’t marryin’ you! You’re a regular sheik. Why any other man shoulda’ had his pick of girls by now. What’a’ya been waitin’ for? A man like you, in a two bit town like this? Think of what a man like you does to a girl. Tall as blazes and handsome? Gets a gal wonderin’ about the rest of him, if you catch my drift.”

JD exhaled. “Susie, it’s not like that—“

“Why don’t you take a chance? Get out in the world. Why are you still workin’ for that old chrome-dome Dobs. He ain’t never done nothin’ for anybody didn’t pay him two nickles when one coulda’ done. You done a whole lotta’ good lawyerin’ and the town’s better for it, but Jessus, JD.”

JD leaned back on the stool and blew threw his lips like he’d just been shook down. “You make a fine argument, Susie. Maybe you oughtta’ be the one lawyerin’. I gotta’ admit, I been feelin’ busted up lately.”

“So what’re you gonna’ do about it?” Susie leaned over the counter.

“I’m gonna’ make a deal.”

“With who?”

“With you.”

Susie straightened and crossed her arms. “I don’t have to sign nothin’ do I?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe?”

“What is it, then?”

“I’m gonna’ have a word with Dobs. I’m gonna’ tell him I had enough of Marionville for a spell. Pappy’s dead now and Ma with him. I got some settlin’ up to do and I gotta’ get outta’ town to do it. I’ll tell him I might be out a year or more, I don’t know, but I’ll be back. And you and Finch are gonna’ look after my place. If he’s buyin’ Talbot’s place then your place is gonna’ abut mine. You tell Finch he can run his livestock on my fields if he looks after my place.”

“That’s a deal.”

“Well, there’s one more thing Susie.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re too smart to be pourin’ coffee for Joes aren’t half your take. I know you always had an argument in you and what you wanted for yourself. You quit this job. You go to Dobs. I’ll write him a note. You take it—“

“JD, I’m fixin’ to have a baby and I already got three boys. I can’t—“

“Now you listen. You don’t have to go to law school to be a lawyer. You just gotta’ read the law. If I can do it, so can you.” JD leans forward and firmly taps the red countertop. “Dobs owes me. It’s nobody’s business what the next man’s dirty laundry is, but I’ll tell Dobs you’re gonna’ clerk for him and if he doesn’t like it—why, I might hang some of that laundry out to dry.”

“Who’s gonna’— Hell, I’m on the nest. What fella’s gonna’ want me for a lawyer?”

“Who says fella’s are the only ones need a lawyer?”

“I can’t just—” But then she stopped herself with a sardonic grin, her jaw jutting left, then right. “Alright.” She wiped at her eyes with the palm of a hand. “You get outta’ town, you find yourself a gal. Live a little. Do something just for yourself.”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t you, Susie.”

“Awe, JD, we wouldn’t a’ fit together, you and me. You need a high-class dame.”

JD lifted his chin. Suzie bit her lip. He smiled and took another gulp of coffee. “Go get a paper and pen.”

“Ya’ know, that ain’t right what I said about you needin’ a high class dame.”

“No?”

“No.” She leaned on the counter, one hand on her hip again. “What you need is some dirty laundry of your own.” She stared at him. “Ain’t no man stays healthy doesn’t get out and get some dirt under his fingernails. ”

That was a good end to the conversation. Susie got the paper and JD wrote his letter to Dobs. Suzie was going to clerk for Dobs and that was the end of it. If Dobs didn’t like it, well, JD didn’t spell it out, but retribution was best left to divinity. There wasn’t anybody lived a spotless life. Times were changing. It was high time a hard working woman was given a chance to make something of herself.

He left Susie more than enough tip and could see the train coming down the rails. He had an overcoat under one lanky arm—it had just quit raining was warm—and his small leather briefcase in the other. The light of the slowing locomotive reflected off the sheen of the platform. The iron machine huffed and screeched to a halt with hiss of steam.

He passed by compartments, one after the other.

He wanted an empty compartment, with room to stretch, and almost ducked into the next car. He went back three compartments. A woman had drawn him back. She hadn’t seen him. She was seated by herself. She was young. She had been caught in the rain, was soaked and looked small. Her black jacket lay next to her and the top two buttons of her blouse were unbuttoned. The dampness of her skin and blouse drew his gaze to her breasts with a kind of tenderness. She was reading. He slid the door and couldn’t have said whether it was his loneliness or hers that drew him.

“Sorry, miss. Do you mind?” He gestured with his suitcase to the seat opposite her. She glanced at him. Her features were as fragile as her chilled posture. She seemed surprised. She blushed, then opened her mouth. She said nothing, then abruptly straightened. “Be my guest,” she said and furtively glanced at the seat opposite.

He slid shut the door. He swung the suitcase into the rack above and hung his overcoat on the hook next the door. He maneuvered his tall frame but still bumped her knees as he sat. He glanced at her apologetically. “Sorry.”

She gazed at him almost expectantly.

“Long legs.” He smiled ruefully.

There was another pause before she scooted back and crossed her legs. “That’s all right,” she said.

She lowered her gaze when there eyes met again. She fussily moved the magazine from her lap. She glanced at him, almost surreptitiously—another awkward smile. She turned to the magazine. She pushed it under the purse. She pressed her lips together as if she’d put on lipstick. She looked out the window. She nested an elbow in the palm of her other hand and stroked her earlobe. She swallowed.

Her neck was slender and beautiful.

He closed his eyes, then dug for the book in his overcoat. The woman gave him a sidelong glance, pretending not to notice. He turned the page. She yawned, curled her knees and hands into herself, and soon enough had fallen asleep.

JD sighed.

He put down the book. He’d had enough of books and long nights. What’s your name?—he wanted to ask. He couldn’t sleep. She was from Vassar The school’s address was stamped on her luggage. The young women shifted. She was reading a law magazine. Her ankle brushed his. His cock hardened. She was beautiful. Her woolen knee length skirt hugged her hips, following the round contour. She slept on her side. He wanted to palm the bare skin of her ankles, to follow the contours of her legs up and over her hips and into the swale of her waist.

He left the compartment. “Where does this train stop?”

“Next stop?” asked the conductor. “Why it’s on your ticket stub, Mister.”

“Final destination.”

“Well, that’s Grand Central Station, Mister. That’s not another—“

“How much?”

“Well, you were going to get off the next stop, so deducting that: two-eighty.”

JD stuffed the ticket into his jacket pocket and quietly returned to the compartment. She didn’t wake. He was careful this time not to bump her. She was still on her side, her buttocks toward him, covered by the tight black skirt. Her back arched and she rubbed her legs together. She seemed half awake. One hand moved flatly, palm down, over the velveteen bench seat, then pushed her skirt down over her knee.

She sighed again and sat up, eyes still closed.

Her nipples rolled under the blouse, unexpectedly large on such a small frame. Her head rolled to the side. Her legs parted and her spine coiled as if she meant to stretch. The train whistle shrieked. She clutched her blouse and clenched her skirt. She looked out the window at first, then her gaze met his.

Her lips parted.

She pulled back the skirt stretched between her knees. JD already had one hand on her right knee, pushing them further apart as he knelt between them.

He unhooked the garters and pulled down her underthings, smelling her wetness over the mix of grease, wood and metal. They weren’t married. They didn’t know each others names. Are you sure?—he almost asked. What he wouldn’t dare tell her is that he’d never penetrated a woman. He’d done other things. There had never been the time, never the opportunity, and this wasn’t how you treated a high-class dame.

The woman twisted his hair and drew his lips down, thigh first, then closer, the other thigh, then her cunt.

She hissed.

He answered her—growling, part joy, part desire. He licked. Her spine curled like it had before. For such a slight woman the strength of her grip tickled another belly-laugh out of him. He sucked her clit through his teeth and tongued it.

She pushed him back. She leaned forward, legs still apart. His shaking hands joined hers uncoupling his belt couple. She shoved his pants down. There would be no endearments or reassurances. She turned, knees parted on the seat’s edge, lifted her skirt and offered what the skirt had hidden. Her expression, looking over her shoulder, was an inscrutable mix of agony and desperation.

“Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

All thoughts of fragility fled. He widened his stance and slid his cock firmly into her swollen odor. He wanted to yank her hair, but that’s the kind of thing other men and women will notice. He wrapped a large hand over her small shoulder and the other under her hip. Hr drew her firmly against his thrusts. She went warm, slick and loose. Her expression in the window was unfocused and open-mouthed. He wedged her cheek firmly against the seat back with each thrust.

The perplexing desire to break her surged in the swing of his hips. How to explain it? Maybe breaking a woman is like making her your own. He moved his fingers lower, over the soft pudenda and found her clit. She buried her sudden cries in her arm, then powerfully convulsed. She clawed at the seat back with her other hand and finally held onto the overhead luggage rack.

“Grand Central Station! Next stop, Grand Central Station, New York!”

JD froze. The conductor passed by. There wasn’t time! He thrust into her, harder and rougher. The woman ached her back. “Come on me. Come,” she pleaded with a hoarse half-whisper.

The train began to slow. He abruptly shoved her skirt and shirt up her spine. He powerfully held the flare of her hips and his cock in the other hand. Streaks of semen laced her back. She looked over her shoulder again. The sorrow was gone. He was transfixed, but only for a moment. He hurriedly draw out a handkerchief and cleaned his orgasm from her spine.

She spun off the seat and pushed down her skirt and blouse.

He straightened his suit until both sat across from each other as though nothing had happened. The woman picked up her hat, fluffed her reddish-brown hair, and placed it on her head. The train ground to a halt The young woman stood and JD put on his fedora. What could he say? He awkwardly stood in the small compartment and tipped his brim. “It was nice to meet you, miss.”

“It was nice to meet you too.”

The woman slid open the compartment door. JD stepped forward and held it. “Say, do you think I might see you again?”

The young woman’s mouth lighted into a starlet’s smile. “You just might,” she said. She pulled a train schedule out of her purse. She used lipstick to circle her return date before handing it to him. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

The woman picked up her suitcase and sauntered off the train.

JD watched her hips as she disappeared in the crowd. She’d gotten under his nails: the skin, scent, and dirt of her. He wanted more. “You sure as hell will,” he answered quietly. “Ain’t no man stays healthy doesn’t get out and get some dirt under his fingernails.”

Categories: Consensual, Copulation, Cum, Erotica, First Time, Oral Sex, Quickie, RedBud, Rough Sex, UncategorizedTags: Consensual, Erotica, Malin James, Quicky, William Crimson