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After Hours

Lang & Zoe - AFter hours

He touched me. He reached out his hand, and without my permission, he set his fingers upon my skin. I felt the familiar flush of nervous desire wash over me. This man was a stranger to me. His touch may have been accidental. Or maybe is wasn’t. It was hard to tell in the crowded subway car, and I’m sure that he had counted on this as his fingers traced their way over the curve of my shoulders to the small of my back, where they rested for a sweet, tantalizing moment. He meant it to appear as if he were struggling to keep his balance as the commuters filed in around him, but I know it was something more. I could feel that it was something more and my pussy twitched suddenly as it began to swell.

This was a dramatic, visceral reaction to such a benign encounter. It was an unusual reaction, yet not unusual at all. Not for me. Most passengers probably experience a similar encounter multiple times a day. I do too, yet somehow, with each passing day, the touches of strangers were becoming more arousing. I found myself anticipating these hands on me; wanting these hands on me. I found myself manufacturing these encounters when they didn’t happen at the right moments, or with the right passengers. I would lean back into men on the train, enough for them to be able to smell my hair and my perfume; enough for them to feel my taut, round ass pressing against them. On a couple of fortunate occasions, I felt the unexpected, yet highly coveted response of their erections pressing back. I learned not to pull away, but rather, to hold my posture, even when it was terribly uncomfortable, long enough to feel their cocks pulsing against my cheeks. I could hear their breathing change. Sometimes it would speed up slightly. At other times it would cease altogether, as the men with the glorious erections stood motionless, savoring the throbbing of their delicious cocks along my backside, before darting off the train and scurrying into the arms of their trusting wives and their suburban lives.

This particular day was a bit dreary. The rain came down as a mist of God’s gray spittle. A damp dark pall covered the city as I trudged with the other commuters to my usual spot on the platformiced him immediately, the one bright spot in an otherwise mundane day. His face was well crafted, almost chiseled, but not in that Neanderthalistic fashion that often comes to mind when one describes a face as chiseled. No. He was a work of art, a Michelangelo or Rodin, perhaps. I had spied the man that would become the pawn in my personal sex game. I made my way across the platform to assure that we’d file onto the train together. This time my pussy twitched with the mere thought of the man, even before I’d pressed against him. I could smell his cologne. Kenneth Cole. Very nice. I inhaled deeply. And then inhaled again, filling my nostrils with his essence. The pussy twitched. And then dripped. Oh God. This was going to be delicious. Yet he didn’t suspect a thing. I began to hope that he’d enjoy our little unexpected tryst as much as I knew I would.

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Yes. He was standing directly behind me, just as I had hoped. I bent over to set my briefcase between my feet, and the game began. My ass pushed at the drapery of his overcoat and bumped into his thighs. I adjusted my briefcase needlessly, so as to hold this posture a bit longer. I wondered if anyone would smell my passion. I could feel the wetness seeping into my panties. It felt good to be swollen with this desire, yet a bit uncomfortable to have wet panties against me and not be certain that they would be removed by the object of my desire as he penetrated me recklessly, right there in the passenger car. This was my ultimate fantasy, and though I knew that it would never happen in real life, just the thought of it sent waves of pleasure coursing through my body. My nipples became erect, and bit into the nylon bra that encased them, as if trying to find a way out.

“Pardon me,” I smiled at the stranger over my shoulder. I’d never actually spoken to any of these strangers before, but I couldn’t help myself this time. I wanted to feel connected to him somehow.

He smiled back, a beautiful, breath-taking smile, but didn’t verbally respond.

I turned back to face the front. I wanted him to be dazzled by my smile. I wanted him to be intoxicated by it. I imagined that he might also be fantasizing about an illicit, private encounter, and that when I began to press against him, it would be as if I were making his fantasy come to life. I knew that I looked good that day. My make up was flawless and my eyes sparkled against the gray day. I had recently acquired a new style and my outfit was well-tailored. I had began selecting shorter skirts and higher heels for the office. Actually, not so much for the office, as for the train rides home. I wanted to be noticed. I am not sure why, but I had suddenly become aware of my burgeoning sexuality and had become comfortable with it, wanting to explore it more fully, flaunt it and let it consume me.

The train lurched forward as it pulled from the station, and I leaned back, as if by accident, and let my weight become briefly supported by this handsome stranger, before flexing the muscles of my ass and then pulling away. He cleared his throat. He had noticed me. Perhaps he had even suspected that this was no accident. I felt a sense of thrill rush over me.

As the train sped on and passengers shifted on their fatigued feet, I was becoming more and more invigorated. I inched back slowly, almost imperceptibly, toward the stranger.

At last, I could feel the flaps of his coat creating a flimsy barrier between us. I knew that the sensual feel of his body pressed into mine was mere seconds away. I could feel my heart beginning to race with anticipation. The roar in my head was a product of the blood rushing past my temples, and not a result of the train sliding along its rails. Desire was beginning to consume me in a way that was almost foreign. Until today, when I gazed upon this beautiful stranger, this had all been a silly game to me, now it was something more, something almost dangerous. I had developed complex feelings for the man behind me, the man I’d never met, and had only spoken two words to.

It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t noticed if he was wearing a wedding band. This had never mattered to me before, because I never intended to move past a steamy, anonymous tryst in the passenger car, but things seemed different now. I imagined this man taking me off the train, responding to my advances by fucking me relentlessly in a darkened alleyway, or in my loft. Wait. No. Not fucking me. Making love to me. Talking to me first, getting to know me, asking me my name, wanting to learn all about me. Then taking my face in his hands and caressing it, tracing every inch of my flawless skin, as if memorizing me. That’s the way I wanted this to happen. I felt as if I were not in control any longer. All at once, I felt myself at this man’s mercy. I could take initial steps to make something happen, but I would have to wait for him to respond. I would have to let him decide how far to take this. The wait would be agonizing. My knees felt a frustrated sense of weakness.

As my mind raced with possibilities, I realized that I was already pressed against him. I could feel his thighs on the back of mine, and his cock beginning to become solid against me, the exact reaction I was going for! This was definitely a good sign. Once again, I flexed my ass muscles to entice him. I suspected that it might be working as his penis morphed into a full-on erection. Mmmmm.

This time he spoke to me. “Pardon me,” he said, backing away from me slightly.

“It’s fine,” I whispered over my shoulder again. “I don’t mind,” and with that, he leaned in again slowly and I felt his chest expand as he inhaled the aroma of rosemary from my long curls.

“Where do you work?” I heard him ask me. His voice literally shattered the bubble of fantasy that was precariously hovering around us. It was his attempt to minimize the awkwardness he must have felt as his cock began to throb. I felt it. I reveled in it.

“Hewey and Lawton. You?”

“Cates and Dunn. I’m Jack Dunn.”

“Sohpia Hughes. It’s a pleasure, Jack,” I replied and pressed back harder using only my ass.

Jack Dunn of Cates and Dunn. Obviously he’d done well for himself. A managing partner in one of the city’s most respected law firms. Everyone fresh from their bar exams wanted to interview with them, but few were considered immediately out of law school. I know. I tried myself, before settling on a comfortable offer from Hewey and Lawton.

The train lurched again as it rolled in to my stop. Should I get off, or continue on, pretending as if I were headed somewhere else? What if I never saw him again? Jack Dunn of Cates and Dunn. Jack Dunn of Cates and Dunn, I repeated to myself, trying to commit him to memory.

“This is my stop,” I heard myself say, and to my delight, he filed off the train behind me.

I continued to walk forward, not quite knowing what else to do.

“Sophia,” he called after me. “Sophia Hughes.”

I faltered as the words fell from his lips. I stopped in my tracks and turned to face him, clutching my briefcase before me, creating a barrier between us as if in an attempt to appear suddenly demure and respectable.

“Get a drink with me,” he said, smiling. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, filled with mixture of self-confidence and hope.

I gazed at him for a few seconds, before smiling back and shifting my gaze, which was suddenly shy, to the floor. As my eyes averted, I made a point of surveying his ring finger,
which was bare. Not even a tan line. This man was not married, much to my delight and good fortune.

“Okay, ” I replied, praying that I didn’t sound overly eager.

His hand found its way to the small of my back and he led me out of the station and out onto Twenty-Ninth Street to hail a cab.

The daylight was waning and the damp chill of the retreating afternoon was becoming more bone-chilling. I pulled my overcoat a bit tighter, holding the collar shut against my chest. I could feel myself trembling, but it seemed more from nerves than from the cold. I was relieved that the wait for a cab wasn’t nearly as long as it normally was. Perhaps even the cab drivers could sense the commanding presence of this man. It seemed as if the world would lie down for him if he asked it to. How had I become lucky enough to become chosen? It was true that I had made the first move on the train, but he could have dismissed me as a desperate woman, a slut even. Yet he didn’t. He gave in to me and then pursued me beyond the train. Was he dangerous? Was he desperate? How could he not be taken? Or was he? Maybe, at some trendy downtown loft, there was a strikingly beautiful woman waiting for him. Maybe she was dressed in a provocative outfit, with a bottle of champagne chilling, and a lovely dinner prepared. Maybe she would make love to him after dinner, noticing the familiar aroma of another woman’s juices on him, but pretending not to notice. Why? Because he is Jack Dunn of Cates and Dunn. Because if she admitted to knowing, she’d risk losing him. And what woman would ever be able to walk away from Jack Dunn? She’d have to be a fool.

Jack instructed the driver to drop us at The Chapeau. It was the city’s trendiest hot-spot for the professional after-hours set. I hadn’t spent a lot of time there, as it was nearly impossible to get a table, yet when Jack arrived, the doorman greeted him with a familiar warmth, and radioed upstairs that Jack Dunn and his guest were on their way up.

I was not familiar with the red carpet treatment. I had never been in the company of anyone that had such connections. The upper level of The Chapeau was reserved for special guests. Jack, as I was to discover, was the proud lessee of a private suite, complete with personal bartending and wait staff.

The sounds of classic jazz, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, Louis Armstrong filled the suite, which was elegantly understated; black lacquered tabletops, marble columns, hardwood floors and bar. Overstuffed couches and leather chairs invited weary guests to sink in and stay awhile. The suite wasn’t that expansive, but could have comfortably accommodated about two or three-dozen guests.

Within seconds of being seated upon a comfortable over-stuffed couch, the bartender brought over a bottle of top-shelf scotch and two glasses.

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“Unless the lady would prefer something else?” he inquired politely extending a cocktail menu to me.

“Scotch is fine, thank you,” I responded. I really never liked hard liquor, but somehow I felt that declining this drink might disappoint Jack, so I didn’t dare. The waiter poured the drinks before asking,

“Is there anything else I can do for you this evening, Mr. Dunn?”

“No thank you, Michael,” Jack smiled, “I think we’ll be fine,” he added as the bartender excused himself, leaving Jack and I alone in the suite.

I felt a bit nervous. I wanted to make a good impression, but on an empty stomach, I knew that the scotch would flow directly to my head. Perhaps that’s what Jack was counting on.

I could smell the scotch on his breath and it was as if I was swimming in it. I wanted to drink from him, taste him, devour him in the worst way. It was so hard to hold back, but in the little time we were together, I had been completely transformed from a woman that was willing to have a whorish encounter with a handsome stranger, to a woman that cared about whether or not he respected me and whether or not he’d ever want to see me again.

I could only imagine how many others he had brought here. He likely had this suite for exactly this type of situation. I’m sure he brought any number of women here regularly. I could never be as presumptuous as to assume that I was somehow special to him. Not after only two hours together. But that is exactly what I wanted to become. Special. Desirable. Unforgettable.

“So, Jack,” I began, “why did you ask me here?”

“For this,” he answered, reaching out for my hand and helping me to stand up. He led me over to the wall.

“Turn around,” he whispered seductively as I followed his command and faced the wall.

I had no idea what he had in mind. I had a quizzical look on my face, but he couldn’t see it. He leaned in toward me and pressed himself against me, this time, harder and more urgently than he had on the train.

“Sophia,” he said breathlessly. My name hung in the air, lingering like a beautiful melody that you can’t get out of your head, “I wanted this since I felt you against me on the train. And if that car had been empty, this is what would have happened.”

I held my breath and let him take the lead. I could feel his erection pressing hard against my ass, so hard that it hurt, but I couldn’t move. I felt his cock dance and jump against my taut cheeks. I flexed my muscles to stimulate him and I heard his suck in a deep breath and hold it as he rode his wave of distinct pleasure.

“Press your ass against me,” he purred. I wondered if he even knew he had spoken. He seemed so distracted with this encounter. I did as he commanded and stuck my rear out toward him. He grunted. His hands reached round and clasped onto my breasts. He massaged them blindly and tugged at the nipples that were sticking painfully out from beneath my silk blouse.

A soft, thin moan escaped from my lips. I could feel his hips beginning to rock, simulating penetration. My sex was anxious, engorged, and dripping. I could feel my hot juices spreading across my panties.

Jack’s lips were soon on the nape of my neck, forcing goosebumps to erupt all over me.

“I want to fuck you, Sophia,” he said in a husky voice that sounded almost like a wounded animal. I could tell that his cock was ready to burst. I could hear it in his voice.

He began raising the sides of my skirt slowly and I could feel the scratchy wool sliding along my thighs. “Then do it,” I responded in a confident, certain voice.

His fingers slid into the sides of my panties and he slid them down slowly, until they finally gave way to gravity and floated to the floor. My skirt was pushed up over my hips. I heard the distinct sound of Jack’s zipper sliding down and the clatter of his buckle as his trousers his the floor as well. Now I could feel the warm skin of Jack’s fully stiffened cock pulsing against my bare ass.

“Do it now,” I finally managed as Jack reached between my thighs and pushed my legs apart with his foot.

Jack’s hand found the back of my head and he pushed it into the wall, using his other hand to pull my hips toward him until my pussy opened up toward him like the petals of a crimson flower.

“Do it now,” I repeated, and suddenly he was pushing his way, forcefully into me. I squealed as his cock stretched me to my limits and slipped effortlessly in and out of me.

He grunted and panted as he fucked me, but he never spoke. It was clear to me that he had planned this from the moment that I happened next to him on the train.

Only moments earlier I had been concerned about Jack respecting me and about being considered unforgettable. Now all I could think of was how amazing it felt to have him boring into me like this, and I didn’t care if I ever saw him again. I realized that I was finally living out my fantasy of having a purely physical encounter with a sexy stranger. My body literally tingled with the illicit nature of it all. I begged Jack to fuck me harder.

Things began to get rougher as his orgasm neared. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and tugged my head back to smother me in his pungent, scotch-tinged kisses. His tongue encircled my lips and found my own, greedily waiting for him. My neck was arched unnaturally backward and I could hear Jack’s breath coming in short gasps. He was trying to control his ejaculation. I wondered how long he could hold out. I couldn’t hear to stop. The feeling of him inside me was exquisite. My hands pressed against the wall for leverage as he slammed into me repeatedly.

It was useless to ask him to hold back. He had surrendered to the feeling of my sweet pussy, the smell of it and the warmth and pressure of it wrapped securely around his shaft, pulsing against him as he shot his semen deep into me. I knew I shouldn’t have let that happen, but I had surrendered as well. Surrendered my good judgment and all sense of social decorum.

I realized after it was over that I really had nothing much to say to Jack. I wanted him to feel bewitched by me and it appeared that he had. I wanted him to fuck me, and he had done it perfectly.
I accepted the cab fare he offered to me as he left me outside The Chapeau, planting tender kisses on my forehead and the tip of my nose. The smile he left on my lips lingered for hours afterward.

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