Birthday Train

My body shivered again. I shifted my hips so that my butt was higher and allowing him more access, and I pushed back. His finger switched direction, moving toward my clitoris, abandoning my drooling tongue and my yearning throat. I felt his knees between mine, rub the inside of my thighs with the rocking of the train, but little by little they pulled back and his covered penis rose.

And then his finger found my clitoris and his shank found the swollen, attention-hungry flesh attempting to keep my arousal from pouring out. The contact all at once was so intense. I heard a small keen, despite my best efforts. I forced it back, but it was difficult as I had already caught back a cry. I closed my eyes again, letting my imagination moan for me. In my mind, my hand caught at a handrail as in reality, I was forced to stand without any support.

His head smoothly moved forward and back, spreading my wings and covering himself with juice. I could feel the slickness against the base of my cheeks as he pulled back. The muscles inside me contracted, as if trying to catch him and pull him in. I shuddered again, begging him with my body. His other hand cupped the inside of my right thigh. My throat hurt from keeping the pleas silent.

And then, even as his first hand was busy with my clitoris, his other hand moved and a moment later, I felt it press between my lips, at the base of my wings, at my opening. Just behind it was his thick head, slick and ready. My mouth flared and then clenched around the tip of his finger, tugging insistently at him. I wanted him so bad!

His first finger was joined by a second, but only the tips of them touched me, hooking in, and spreading me as wide as our confined space would allow. He moved forward slowly. I lifted my behind a little higher and moved back onto him. His head completely covered my hole, but I could tell that there was still more to his circumference than my opening could allow. I lifted slightly on the balls of my feet and willed my body to gape for him.

There was pressure. His head pressed against me. I tried not to pant with the effort to become wider. The pressure became greater. Then it lessened as I felt his tip drag along the outermost part of my walls. A tiny moan escaped and I squeezed my eyes tight.

He remained still for only a moment and then slid forward. I felt pressure again, but it was a different kind of pressure. The aching need in me morphed into sharp pain, at first small and then growing as he pressed. I caught my breath, swallowing the sob. He seemed to sense the pain I was in, as the pressure and pain lessened, and the thought of it was completely overtaken by the floating glow that his fingers gave me.

The fingers of both hands were on my clitoris now, flicking it, fondling, swirling, pressing. The movement of the train helped by making them rub faster. The aching want returned and my body began to beg again, but the glow was so fantastic that it wasn't until I felt the sharp stab of pain deep inside that I realized he had taken my virginity with one decisive thrust.

I stood suspended in the mixture of pain and pleasure. Both my throats throbbed. I could feel my heart pounding between my legs, like somebody beating a tiny timpani inside me. His fingers worked feverishly at my lips and clitoris, and the inside of my thighs until my muscles relaxed.

I lifted both my arms and clasped my small case against my chest. My nipples were aching to be touched, but all I could offer was the crush of the case against them and the rocking of the train for friction.

I opened my eyes and scanned the crowd of oblivious people. None of them knew. None of them knew that I had just lost my virginity not even a foot away from them. They didn't smell the mingling smell of arousal and blood. They wouldn't notice my flaming face. The miniscule gasps and noises that my throat was making, they all ignored them.

Even though our movements were restricted, they felt broad and he felt large in my clenching walls. He filled me and built me up, the friction made from our small movements becoming faster and faster. His fingers left my clitoris and held onto the top of my thighs, squeezing them. He used them to pull me back onto him as he moved forward. His movements became like jabs, our situation making thrusts impossible.

One of his hands let go of my thigh and balled into a fist, working at my clitoris with his knuckle. I let out a squeak as my height was almost reached and the sound seemed to push him to his own edge. His hands jerked me back against him as he stabbed into me. His fist stopped moving and pushed into my sensitive pearl. My tender walls felt him throb. I could almost feel his cum jetting into the head of the condom, but I know I felt myself filling more.

One small jolt from the train hitting a rough spot of track made me lose my control and I bit my lip, clasped my throat closed, strained to keep the cry in. The orgasm was a wash of adrenaline and a rush of blood. My ears roared. My veins felt alive. It was all I could manage to keep myself from crying out long and loud and high, the way that my body was feeling. But as quickly as the rush had come, it subsided, leaving me spent and barely able to stand.

I was hardly aware of him slipping from me, or of his replacing my skirt. I just concentrated on keeping myself upright and silent. It passed in a haze of what I suppose was only a few minutes before the train began to slow and the momentum threw me into the person next to me.

"Sorry," I mumbled hazily. "No breakfast."

The man glared at me and resolutely turned toward the door, returning to his insistent commuter's solitude. I righted myself, waited for the doors to open, and made a beeline for the bathroom to freshen up and catch my breath after one of the oddest and most satisfying birthday presents I had ever received.