(Almost) Zipless Fuck

The trolley seat was hard under her, and she shifted again.

"Lady DeWinter's heaving bosom was trapped against his rock hard chest, each breath bringing her nipples into contact with the crisp, springy hair."

Most of the evening had been spent alternating from one hip to the other bearing weight, allowing circulation to revive each side in its turn. Now circulation didn't seem to be the problem. Or at least, not the lack of it. The growing heat between her legs and gathering moisture had been steadily capturing her attention for some time now.

"His strong arms were like steel bands entrapping her, and she struggled futilely against his inexorable embrace."

She liked to spend Sunday afternoons this way on the trolley with her book, exploring the city at a slow and steady pace, drifting in and out of the story, listening to the snatches of languages and accents that populated the city. It always made her smile a little to herself, the risque sense of excitement among strangers. The sky was deepening to purple, and most of the crush had long departed. Just a few riders now, with the occasional entrance and exit. Her eyes drifted to the front again, where a tall, dark stranger had been standing for some time despite the majority of open seats. He was looking at her.

She snapped her eyes back down to the book on her lap, cheeks burning. It was almost too dark to read now.

"'Does Milady wish to escape?' He asked, his deep voice vibrating through every fiber of her being. She squirmed experimentally, but it only brought her in closer contact with the rigid pole jutting out in front of him."

Her cheeks turned it up a notch. She felt like her face must surely be a beacon to all around, even in the dim light. She silently cursed her inability to conceal her thoughts. But sometimes that was part of the appeal. That someone might catch her.

She glanced up again. He was still staring. She dropped her eyes instantly, biting her lip.

She had been checking him out, surreptitiously she had thought, almost since he had boarded. Mostly it had been his smile. He'd flashed it at the operator while getting on, teeth very white in a very dark face. His tshirt and jeans were perfectly modest, but nevertheless clung to planes and bulges most becomingly. Ugh, she was even starting to think in trashy potboiler cliches. She couldn't help but notice the way his body moved with the trolley car's motion, swaying and balancing effortlessly and athletically. But that smile. He'd smile at people walking past, say a word or two in greeting. He'd smile at people bumping against him with the sway of the trolley, a wry grin of acknowledgment. And he'd smiled at her. When he'd caught her looking. That had been an hour ago.

Since then it had been harder and harder to concentrate. The bulge in her hero's hose was nothing compared to what she imagined under the zipper of tight bluejeans. The crisp whorls of manly chest hair on the page had nothing on the smooth expanse of satin skin she imagined under his tshirt. And speaking of heaving bosoms, her light and breezy summer dress was just low cut enough to show off how excited she was getting, imagining his strong arms wrapped around her like steel bands. She couldn't in any way be said to be reading any longer, but her eyes kept catching on phrases. Terrible romance novel phrases like vigorous thrusting and secret folds and rigid phallus that nonetheless sent bolts of electricity through every part of her. She was so afraid to look up again, but the words were all beginning to blur together and she felt foolish continuing the pretense of reading.

So she raised her head. Tilting her chin defiantly, she met his eyes full on. His body, for the entirety of the ride having been mostly at side-angle to her, now faced her directly. Despite the distance between them, she felt this squaring off deep down in her toes and even further, down in the pit of her belly. She shifted again in her seat but did not drop her gaze. It was dark enough now that his face was in full shadow, making his eyes the entire focus. She felt heat radiating from her chest and neck. She wondered what would happen if she walked up to him. If she were the one to bump into him "accidentally" as the trolley swayed over the tracks. It seemed to be moving faster than it had all day, but with an oddly stretched sense of time.

She swallowed. She didn't think she was brave enough to exit through the front, but all she could think about was his hands on her, roaming all over her body and quenching the fire on her skin. Or maybe igniting it further. She could barely breathe as she gathered up her bookbag and stood, never breaking eye contact. She was sure the outline of her body was glowing in the darkness, outlining her breasts and waist and hips in fire. She stepped out from the bench, holding on to the rail with one arm, hesitating. She suddenly noticed that all the other passengers had disembarked and they were alone on the trolley. The driver never glanced back, seeming as much a part of the car as its engine or wheels. The man still had not taken his eyes from her. She was surprised to discover how exhilarated she felt, brazen and wanton, locked in a staring contest that was surely an invitation the longer it continued. Haltingly, she took one step forward. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly. His easy smile seemed now altogether more predatory and menacing. Triumphant. As she let a deep breath fill her ribcage, lifting her breasts and expanding her back, she felt her sense of unreality slip a little, and took a step back. Then another. Then she turned, losing her nerve entirely, to take soft small steps to the back of the trolley car. There were two steps down, and a pole on the landing, and she put a hand out to steady herself as she reached to pull the cable. And stopped. Turned. Breath hitching in her throat, she put her back against the pole and faced him again.

He was no longer smiling, and had taken a step forward. His body was inclined towards her across the empty expanse of the trolley. As their eyes locked again, he started to move. Slow, loping steps that ate up the distance. Standing at the top of the steps, he towered over her. She was tempted to shrink from him but felt the pole at her back and instead slid her hands over her head, palms grasping the pole between them. The cool metal grounded her, acted like a lightning rod, and she suddenly wanted more than anything for this powerful, purely masculine being to fuck her. Right. Now.

He didn't waste any time. He had seen the change in her, and was down those stairs instantly. It was the fastest she'd seen him move. But once there, inches apart, he stopped. He stared down at her with the electricity crackling between them, and slowly smiled again. Then he reached out with both hands. They were huge. Very slowly he let his fingers rest on her collarbone. Fuck me, fuck me, she begged him with her eyes, but he just let his palms slowly contact the hot skin over her dress. And then, still ever so slowly, he peeled the strapless top down, exposing her breasts entirely to the air. She thought her whole body must be blushing now. If the conductor looked back, he'd be able to see everything. But then she felt the hot dry palms of this stranger cup her and brush his thumbs over her nipples and she simply didn't care anymore. Slowly, the light brushing touches changed. She looked back up at him. Still staring down at her, he took each nipple between thumb and forefinger and slowly began to squeeze. So slow that she hardly noticed when the pinch became harder than anything she'd ever felt in her life, hard enough to make her gasp and arch her back against the pole. This brought her hips in contact with his, and his erection was palpable through his jeans. Her eyes widened. He grinned.

Gently, he released the pressure on her nipples and leaned back. Very deliberately, eyes still on hers, he popped the button. And slid the zipper down. He folded open the front of his jeans, reached inside. His eyelids drooped as he slid his hand in, down, and gripped. And pulled himself out.

If she thought her heart had been pounding before, now it was a jackhammer in her chest. His cock was so hard already, and she imagined it sliding inside her, pinning her against the pole at her back. She didn't have to imagine for long. With all trace of gentleness gone, he stepped forward again urgently, and roughly pulled up on the hem of her dress. She frantically helped to move material out of the way, thinking only of how much her cunt desired to be filled. Her breasts were crushed against him as he bore her back against the metal pole. His breathing was harsh in her ear and his scent surrounded her and then he was pushing in. He was large, and hot, and it took several thrusts before his angle corrected itself and he was fully inside her but then he was and her eyes rolled back in her head with the pure pleasure of being impaled this way. Crushed from the front, with the hard metal pole digging into her back, she locked her arms around his neck and held on for the ride. It didn't take long. Her cunt had been dripping for hours and she was nearly there already. Feeling him sliding in and out of her, the rocking and swaying motion of the trolley driving his rhythm, she felt the waves start to crest over her. She pressed her lips together, crying out against them, and heard him make a sound deep in his throat. The pounding of his hips stilled.

Slowly, reality began to fade back in. The slowing of the car. The whine of the brakes. The sound of their ragged breathing. A few hitching jerks and the car came to a stop. He pulled back slightly, and looked down at her, his face unreadable as he deftly put himself away and zipped back up again. "Last Stop," called the conductor from the front. She started. Blushing again, she quickly pulled her dress back in place, then looked up one more time. Reaching out, he cupped her face in his hands and brushed her lip with his thumb. He grinned that wild grin again, then turned and disappeared out the door. They had never exchanged a single word.