Staced Shelley's Subway Ride

This is a story that is in some ways typical of my life but in some ways not at all. It’s typical in that I live in New York and my lover, Earl, is a man who is very dominant sexually, somewhat cruel, and perverse. Sometimes I think he doesn’t respect me, and enjoys humiliating me and forcing me to be subservient to him. Sometimes I think everythin g is great and that he really loves me. That’s how it is when you’re addicted to someone.

Anyway, if I haven’t already told you about myself, I look like an oversexed bimbo. Which I sort of am, but I’m more than that. I have a master’s degree and a good job, and my co-workers and supervisors all respect me for my mind and skills. But I’m built like Jessica Rabbit. Hourglass figure to the extreme—big hips, round ass, tiny waist, and enormous tits. My friend Gina jokes with me that I look like I’ll snap in two at the waist—that’s how big I am up top. How big am I? I was a DD cup when I was fourteen, and I’m much bigger now. If I had to compare, I’d say my breasts are the size of honeydew melons. Or for you sports guys, the size of a volleyball, cut in half. Each one weighs over ten pounds, and it’s all natural. All that on a little 5’5” body, with red hair, green eyes, and little tiny hands and feet.

Earl is about ten years older than I am. He’s tall and lanky, and handsome in a mean-looking sort of cowboy way. He looks sort of like the actor and playwright Sam Shepard. He’s from Texas, just like me, and there’s a lot of that Texas rattlesnake in him still. Anyway, one of the things he does to me is when we ride the subway together, he pretends he doesn’t know me. He makes me stand up, right in the middle of the car, and he watches me as if he’s another perverted stranger, undressing me with his eyes. Other men are just as bold. They stare at my big boobs, at my sweet ass, at my legs, and I can see them get hard in their pants. Men will do anything to brush up against me. Some are obvious and nasty, shoving themselves up against my backside Others try to be tricky, and just brush the backs of their arms or wrists against my breasts. Men stare at me no matter what I wear, but Earl makes me wear the sluttiest-looking outfits all the time.

Luckily my office is air conditioned, and when I get to work I always pull on a sweater that covers me up—a little, anyway. But on the train, it’s nothing but cleavage-baring halter tops, super-tight t-shirts, tight sundresses and miniskirts. I’m always in high heels, and sometimes I’ve got these metal balls called Ben-Wa balls in my pussy that keep me constantly stimulated, so that my nipples stick out obscenely and I feel like everyone can smell me in heat.

As we walk on the street he makes me walk in front so that people think I’m alone, and the summer heat makes droplets of sweat run down between my breasts. He does it to constantly remind me of the way I'm seen by the world--just a big-titted bimbo, a sex object. I’m already red and flushed by the time we get to the platform. Black men call out things to me and make comments to each other as I walk jiggling past. Hispanic men hiss at me and young fraternity-type guys call out to me too. Women stare at me also—most of them with hatred, but some of them look at me with lust, just like the men.

I hate all the attention, the way people stare at my breasts. It makes me feel cheap and slutty. I can’t really blame them, though. It’s my fault for showing so much skin—and there’s a lot of skin showing, let me tell you. It’s my fault for being with a man who uses me for his own sexual thrills. But I can’t help myself. Earl’s cock is so thick I can’t get my hand around it, and so long that when he fucks me I feel it push all the way up into my belly and chest. He makes me come so good that I cry, and I can’t think of anything but pleasing him so that he’ll do it to me over and over. And, I’ve got to admit, when he displays me like a whore, my pussy gets so hot, even though it makes me feel bad at the same time.

So this one day, Earl and I get on the train downtown, near the financial district. It’s a local train, rush hour, heading uptown. He gets a seat, being fast and pushy, and I end up standing in the middle of a crowd of businessmen in suits. I’m a little scared, just like always. I’m wearing this skimpy little low-cut leopard-print sundress with spaghetti straps. It looks impossible that these thin little straps could support the weight of my huge melons. When I walk on my fuck-me heels, my tits jiggle around obscenely, and I’m afraid they’ll pop right out and spill over. Fuck. I’m not wearing panties.

I’m afraid that one day some guy will try to fuck me right there on the train, and Earl, being an asshole, won’t step in to help me. I guess that’s part of the thrill, though. Not knowing what will happen.

I know he won’t let anyone really hurt me, but I can smell the liquor on the breath of these four Wall Street types who are surrounding me, and I feel intimidated as they stare down at my boobs without even pretending to be subtle. I look over at Earl through the corner of my eye and he makes a little signal with his finger that tells me to turn around, to stand with my back to the pole. This position makes me even more vulnerable and sexually available, as my hands are behind my back, holding the pole for balance, my legs are spread, and my chest is thrust way out in front of me. My breasts are so big and full that you can still see them when you’re standing behind me. They spill out on both sides, overflowing.

One of the businessmen starts talking about where to go for dinner, but he stares at me the whole time, and when he talks about his favorite steakhouse the tone in his voice leave no doubt that he’s talking about me.

He stares directly at my tits, and says “New York has got some great places to go if you really are in the mood for a big piece of Meat. I mean, if you’re like me, nothing beats a big, thick, juicy, piece of beef. Know what I mean?”

His buddies all laugh and agree with him. Pigs. I’m so angry and humiliated. But I can’t move. Earl won’t let me.

The loudmouth continues. “You can get good meat in a lot of cities, but believe me, there’s nothing like a prime, Grade A New York steak. I swear to God, I’ve never seen a rack of meat anywhere in the country like I’ve gotten here.”

He’s so close against me now that I can smell the whiskey on his breath and feel his hardness pressing against my leg. He’s big, handsome, rich, and used to pushing people around. “What do you think?” he asks me. “You look like the kind of girl who’d appreciate a big, thick piece of meat.”

If I was alone, I’d have kneed him in the balls, told him off, and screamed for the cops, in that order. But I’m not allowed to respond. I have to keep my mouth shut. I look down, trying to ignore him. I feel his hand on my huge breasts, fondling and groping me. I feel like I’m going to scream. Just in time, the train reaches their stop and they all get off.

People get on and off. Young men gawk and point at me. A Mexican construction worker whispers crude sexual come-ons in my ear in broken English. Girls give me dirty looks. Men who are with their wives or girlfriends practically kill themselves trying to check me out without getting caught. The heat has made everyone is sweaty, irritable, and very sexual.

Earl just watches me. I can see the bulge his huge cock has made in his pants, and this turns me on. It also turns me on to see the effect I have on people. My pussy is dripping wet from the attention I get, and from the movement and vibration of the subway train. My legs are wide-spread, I’m leaning back against the pole, my hands are holding the pole high up behind my head, and my nipples are completely hard and swollen, sticking out obscenely over my mountainous cleavage.

In the crush of people getting on and off at a crowded station, I feel hands roaming over me, my curvaceous ass, my big supersensitive juggs, my exposed thighs. I want to cry out but I don’t.

After a while I notice a woman watching me from the other end of the car. She’s a few inches taller than I am. Blonde, blue-eyed, broad-shouldered, with a severe, short haircut. She comes a little closer, and stares at me from top to bottom. I can see that she is very pretty, with red lips, deep blue eyes, and a sexy figure. She’s a golden girl, with a golden tan, and she’s wearing a gold lame top that just fastens around her neck and covers her breasts like liquid.

She’s wearing skintight white Capri pants, and high heels that strap around her calves, sort of like gladiator-style sandals. I see a flash of bright, straight white teeth as she licks her lips, watching me.

At the next stop she gets off, and I feel a rush of disappointment. I’d thought she liked me. Maybe she wasn’t really checking me out at all.

Then suddenly, I feel her next to me. She’s gotten back on, and without hesitating her hands are moving over my breasts, her tongue is flicking the edge of my ear, and I feel goosebumps all over my body at the touch of her lips. She pinches my nipple firmly, and I gasp with shock. She bites me lightly on the neck, and whispers “Keep your mouth shut. Don’t say a fucking word.”

I can’t believe this is happening. I try to turn my head to look at Earl, but the blonde woman catches my jaw with her hand and forces me to look straight ahead. She stands directly behind me and roughly hefts both of my tits in her hands. There are people still on the train, of course. I’m too embarrassed to look at them. Out of the corner of my eye I can see a couple of young black men dressed in baggy hip-hop clothes—eyes bugging out, mouths wide open. They’re grinning at each other as if to say “Can-you-believe-this-shit!” I close my eyes, but her strong nails bite into my sensitive tit-flesh and force me to open them again.

“You like showing yourself off, huh?” she whispers in my ear. “You like showing everyone your big fat tits, don’t you? Little fuck-slut, aren’t you? Why are you standing like this anyway? It’s because you want me to feel you up like this. You’ve been riding this car like this, wearing this skimpy little slutty dress, just so I’d notice you. Isn’t that right, Miss Tits?”

My face is completely red. I’m afraid to speak. Afraid that if I try to speak, I’ll start crying. It really hurts, the way her fingers are digging into my tit-flesh. I see an Indian family sitting nearby, the father trying to block the view of this disgusting display with his body.

She moves in front of me, French kisses me, driving her long tongue into my mouth. Her lips are soft and tasty. Her breasts are beautifully shaped, and her hard nipples push out into me. Her strong hands on my neck scare me a little. She lets them fall to my breasts again and rolls my hardened nipples between her fingers. The honey rushes to my pussy instantly. She pushes a clothed thigh between my spread legs, grinding it against my cunt through my skimpy dress. I feel her fingers on the inside of my thigh, moving up, up, to the opening of my sex where it drips with girl-juice. I gasp with shock to feel her actually penetrating me in the middle of this subway train. She works her manicured fingers into my pussy lips, teasing out more and more of my juices. She teases my clitoris into the open, and begins to work it between her thumb and finger. I feel like I’m going to scream. Suddenly she enters me deeply with her middle finger and begins to finger-fuck me in earnest. I feel my legs trembling. Tears come to my eyes. She brings her fingers out and pushes them into my mouth. I smell my cunt on her, sweet and spicy at the same time.

Suddenly the train jerks into a station and the doors open. She grabs me by the arm and pushes me to the door. Scared to death, I look around for Earl. She’s got my arm behind my back with one hand and we’re walking rapidly through the bustling crowds. Out of the corner of my eye I can tell that Earl’s gotten off the train too and is shadowing us like an undercover cop.

It’s ridiculous how much my juggs are jiggling as we walk through the station. What a sight we must be. My face is bright red, my legs ache from standing so long in high heels. She kisses me on the neck, nipping me lightly with her teeth. “You’re coming with me, hot stuff. I’ve got just the place for you,” she says with a wicked smile.

To be continued...