The Last Train

It was late — the kind of late where the station lights buzz lonely and the platform is all but empty. She sat with her legs slightly apart in the empty train car, feeling a familiar heat spreading between her thighs just from the sight of him boarding. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a heavy gaze that pinned her in place.

He sat down across from her. Their eyes locked, and the tension in the air grew thick, almost as thick as the wetness soaking her panties. She ran her palm slowly up her thigh, as if smoothing down her tights, but she let the hem of her skirt ride higher. He noticed. His cock started to harden against the straining fabric of his trousers.

Without a word, he slid over to sit beside her. His hand landed on her knee, then moved upward, slipping under her skirt. His fingers shoved aside her soaked panties and plunged into her hot, dripping cunt. She bit her lip to stifle a moan as the train swayed, each rhythmic jolt of the car driving his fingers deeper into her slick hole.

"I want to fuck you," he rasped.

She didn't resist. She spread her legs wider, turned around, and braced her hands on the seat. He stood behind her, unzipped his fly, and freed his thick, veined cock. He drove it into her hard, all the way to the root. She gasped as he started pounding her from behind right there in the empty car. Every thrust slapped his balls wetly against her drenched lips. She came first — violently, splashing onto the floor, shaking as her body clenched around him. He grunted and flooded her hot pussy with a thick load of cum that immediately ran down her thighs.

The train began to slow. A stop. They silently straightened themselves. The doors slid open. She stepped out, feeling his seed trickling down her legs, while he stayed in the car with a satisfied smirk. The last train carried their secret off into the night.