I awoke in the darkness, nude, feeling a little stiff,
feeling a little sore in my pelvis, while also feeling a man's stiffness
rhythmically rubbing against my thigh. I felt him spooning me from behind in
the bed, presumably his bed, his hands slowly massaging my breasts. I wondered
who he was but it didn't matter. I knew as soon as I gave any indication I was
awake he would be in me.
Last night I had entertained several men in this bed, I
wasn't counting, before I fell asleep. Apparently some number continued without
me as I felt a stickiness indicating semen in my face. I rather lamented that;
I would have liked to experience a man's swollen penis disgorging itself on me.
Of course, I really missed my lips and tongue savoring that throbbing as it
gushed into the back of my mouth. I had long ago acquired a sensual
predilection for the oral experience of a man coming in my mouth.
I always lament falling asleep during a train. I enjoy the
power of watching men becoming inflamed by my body, so consumed with having me
that they fairly abandon their sanity. Entering me makes them breathe heavily,
tremble excitedly, groaning as they become increasingly frenzied humping
against me, their mouth agape as their entire body tenses, hardens, convulses
and then they collapse on me, spent.
I had arranged for their serial entertainment and each one
knew to roll off, so another could crawl onto me, handling my breasts, often
kissing me as he probed my bottom. Sometimes, however, a delicious pause occurs
as the next in line just looks at me, running his eyes up and down my body,
nearly paralyzed with wonder at his opportunity to have me until he too crawls
onto me and reaps his joy.
They all slide easily into me after the first and I
enjoy the pleasure waves from their swollen flesh reciprocating in me, one man
after the other, again and again, each in turn raising my own ecstatic
enjoyment. I am, after all, immensely sensitive to that reciprocating.
But now I lay a little stiff from sleep anticipating the man
behind me to be my first for today. His massaging of my breasts had already
aroused me. If I have a fatal weakness it's having a man touch my breasts. I
get overly excited if they suck on my breasts, which he didn't do,
unfortunately, but the massaging was enough to get me wet and eager.
I was eager enough to stretch, rolling onto my back as the
man behind me moved on top. I kept my eyes mostly closed, looking through slits
to see if I recognized him. I didn't. He was a little older, late thirties,
early forties. He covered my mouth with his as he pushed into me. I didn't mind,
although his breath could have been nicer. He'll be done soon enough.
He surged back and forth against me, rhythmically, with
increasing rapidity, and all the time keeping his mouth on mine, tonguing my
lips. If you like men, it was pleasant enough, and admittedly I really, really,
really like men. Even strange men in the early morning darkness can be invigorating.
I raised my knees and pushed my hips against him, crossing my legs behind his
As he rocked back and forth on me I wondered if he was
alone, or whether another train would begin in the morning light. He was becoming
frenzied, making noises with more earnest thrusting against my bottom. The
kissing was over. He slid out and rammed into me, repeatedly, sweating and
breathing heavily, and then in the midst of one strong thrust he raised himself
on his arms, his entire body tensed, convulsing, groaning loudly as he fell on
top of me like an empty sack.
I felt the warmth of him coming inside me. I
liked that I had conquered another man, driven him to collapse, consumed him,
but otherwise I got little out of it. I wondered who he was, if his wife knew
he was with me, in me. Fortunately, he didn't roll off of me immediately, lying atop me
I grabbed his ass in each hand and worked him in me
rhythmically, taking advantage of his remaining stiffness. I liked that feeling
of him sliding inside me and since I was now in control it had the added
advantage of letting me hump against him when it felt best, while it lasted. I
just love draining men. Men are so adorable, so predictable, and so manageable,
and yet each one was so unfulfilling. Fortunately I rarely had to deal with
Of course, it helped that I was pretty with a small waist
and large breasts. I could see men faintly gasp when they saw me, the little
tent in their trousers rising. I had long ago learned that a little eye action
and smirk would invariably start them losing control. They would chase after me
and for me to remain in control required a little artistry, but while one
tented man might be dangerous, several men with tents offered protection as
each sought to keep the others at bay. So that's why I love men, not one man.
Unfortunately it was only one man on me now, breathing
heavily but inert in the darkness. I didn't know who he was because I arrived
as the guest of a few men I'd met at a bar. They said it was a party for some
occasion. I didn't care what occasion, I just like parties and men. It was
quite a party, with rousing music and ample food and drink. I set about
gathering the attention of several more men for safety's sake. Wiggling my
chest in their face was all it took. Some couldn't resist touching but I could
always pivot away to the safety of another man, giving the first a
remonstrative glare and jaw clenching purse of the lips.
Naturally there were other women there, but few bold enough
to challenge me. I knew how to play games too well and they knew it. One of my
favorite games was to sidle up to a couple and start a conversation that ended
up with the man and I laughing while rubbing against each other. Then I would
slide between them putting my breasts in her face while behind my back my hand
helped erect his tent pole. Invariably he'd be like a deer in the headlights as
I twirled away with a wink to him, leaving the couple together to commiserate.
Such games are not only entertaining, but exhilarating as
well. I'm not immune to my own poison. My hand on a man's tent pole sends fire
up my arm as well. If I seductively brush my breasts against some man they
begin inflating with heat. My suggestive enticing wiggles become more heated as
I become more excited until at some point the tables start to turn.
I've generated starts erupting into flames within my body. Invariably, what starts
out at a party as me taunting men, leads to the ignition of a sensual bonfire
consuming me that has to be hosed. I can't help transforming from Ms. Jekyll to
Ms. Hyde with the classic frothing of intense desire.
My skin can become only so taut, my blood only so hot, my
trembling muscles only so restrained, until I absolutely have to feel a man's
body sliding against mine. I need his hose to spray on that fire in my loins. When
I'm on fire I shiver in restless carnal desire and I need more than just a man
to relieve me, I need men to consume one after the other as I build toward
a crescendo finish.
One man is never enough, individual men always come too soon,
every effing one of them. Just as I begin to consume each of them their brains
and body crap out completely within minutes. As each mounts me in his frenzied
delirium it's like I'm draining the very life from them. Just as I start
ascending in pleasure they descend from their intense thrusting convulsions to
collapsing like a rag on me, merely whetting my appetite to consume another. I
don't have the time or patience to entice another man, I need another man ready
at hand to keep me ascending.
I can do two or three at a time, but having several men one after
the other provides the best entertainment. I enjoy the enthusiasm of a train. It's
one thing to get some man aroused, rather simple in fact, once I massage their
egos, entice their arousal, wasting time playing the game of seduction.
entirely something else to have a line of already aroused men eagerly
anticipating me. But then, it is the ultimate something else to lie comfortably
in a bed while one by one each haughty man, burning hot with labored breathing,
literally flops like a fish between my thighs as I drain him and discard him.
I love the intense interaction of draining a man, but then it's particularly satisfying
not to have to deal with him afterward. In a train the men know once they
collapse to roll off so I can consume the next guy. One after another,
consuming them like candy while their stroking inside my vagina arouses my own
burning fire of carnal desire with increasing exhilaration. So once I round up
my passel of men at a party I need to arrange for my journey to ecstasy.
Fortunately there's almost always a convenient bedroom
adjacent to the party. I've been known to use a couch, but other women freak
out as the train forms. They hate it when the men they're with get in line,
cheering. So it's better done discreetly in a side room, or upstairs bedroom.
Besides, if there are enough men to satisfy me it will take a while and men can
get impatient. So a solitary bed with easy access and exit lets me lounge on my
back as one at a time the men exhaust themselves.
I'm fighting fire with fire, of course, my firebox fueling
the train. My own orgiastic release is the one thing that makes a train really
rumble, and I can feel that it's on its way. Still, there is nothing quite like
watching each man's face go from lustful determination to panting exhilaration
to fiery ecstasy to frantic delirium to uncontrolled orgiastic spasms just from
rubbing himself inside me. That is pure entertainment, and then there's that
extra something to watch him deflate while you discard him for another man.
After all, variety is the spice of life. There is something
special to each initial penetration by an eager man, a new hard throbbing
penetration oozing into me. All varieties of men get me excited and I enjoy
exhausting their taut muscles into limp flaccid flesh and discarding them to
acquire a new conquest while I become increasingly hotter, increasingly sensual,
increasingly dangling on the verge of my own eruption into trembling ecstasy. It's
that soft sizzling sensation of taking a new man into me, ratcheting my
pleasure upward into new heights, that makes a train unique.
One man cannot do that. One man is just the beginning of
something larger. One man is just pulling taut the anticipation. A second man sliding
into me starts the tension building process, then a third gets me going, a
fourth has me trembling. One by one I build on sensual stimulations, each
soaring into greater heights of passion. More men sliding into me rubs me the
right way, and the rolling sensations begin sloshing through my body in waves
of pleasure. The men become blurs of escalating excitement, like passing
landscape to a train rumbling for joy, each man a clickety-clack on the journey.
That's why I need the train, the relentless rubbing and
thrusting that continuously energizes my body and mind into a whorl of ecstasy
without pausing to consciously acknowledge or entice. With the train we
maximize our pleasure. They just enjoy themselves within me and I enjoy them
with abandon, feeling their lips pressing mine, their hips pressing mine, their
wonderful engorging reciprocating thrusts exciting sensitive regions of my
Sensitivity that grows until at some point I experience the
ultimate of intense sensation, my vagina hardening into a pipe pouring raging heat
into my brain. Presence abdicates, tumultuous delirium seizes my mind and I'm
carried away from now into a timeless coma of bubbling ecstasy.
While the men
continue to mount me, their ejaculate continues to warm my loins but I'm beyond
any earthly realm. There is nothing in the world remotely comparable to a train
to ecstasy. I'm in a place without time or form, just the trembling heights of
sensual delirium. I never know how many men it takes for the coma to engulf me
but when it does I never know when the men stop or how many others continue to
satisfy themselves inside me.
I'm beyond awareness of the men when I'm in that
coma, and it can take me hours to get back. I awaken sometime later, often
alone, or as now with some insignificant man preparing to own me in his bed. After
a train, the heights of residual delirium surrounding my mind dwarf any
sensations he provides. He cannot conceive of his unimportance.
The one on me now kissed me and I responded in kind, being
kind, and brought him to a frenzied finish. Pushing against his dead weight I
roll out from under him and begin looking for my clothes and shoes. I'm always
careful at the start to put my purse in a safe place, but I almost never
remember where that is in a strange bedroom, so after donning my clothes and
shoes I look around and discover it under the nightstand next to the bed.
My immediate conquest continues to lie there, a lump on the
mattress. I'll have to get breakfast on my own; there has to be a coffee shop
nearby where I can call a taxi (you can't let the men know where you live by
driving you home, it's not safe). I'll just have to ignore the wait staff
staring at my disheveled clothes, smeared makeup and the semen in my hair and
face. You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs; just bring me food
to satisfy my morning hunger. A hot bath to soak in at home will complete my
Yeah, I know, I'll make an appointment to be checked for
STDs, but at least I don't have a concussion from playing soccer or end up in a
body cast from being hit by a car while cycling. There are risks to everything,
and I've played soccer and wear a helmet when I bicycle, but those activities lack anything
anywhere near the enjoyment, excitement and sheer physical and mental exhilaration
of the train.
Sure, there will be those times out and about when I
encounter a man who looks at me amused, and I figure he must have been in a
train I pulled. I just smile and wrinkle my nose at him. It gives me the
opportunity to flaunt myself again and then snub him. After all, he is just an
unimportant clickety-clack I experienced on a train to ecstasy somewhere.
seeing him, knowing that I consumed him once, brings a rush of remembrance, not
of him but of the coma of ecstasy that can only be reached by the train. Then I
experience weak knees, a warm rush in my loins, and a feeling of overwhelming
joy engulfs me momentarily before I look away, walk away, in reverie.