Ridden On The Rails

DISCLAIMER:

Nothing in this story is real or should be considered as such. This story contains elements of semi-nonconsensual sex, cuckolding, perverted fantasies, and degradation. There's also small moment of watersports. Comments and ratings are both greatly encouraged and welcome as writers live and thrive off them. I hope you enjoy delving into my insane mind.

NOTE:

This isn't my usual type of story. There are elements of cuckolding and getting off on your significant other engaged in sexual activity with other men, which is my usual. However, this story also deals with (sort of) nonconsensual sex, something I don't normally write about. There is a bit of a twist to it but the majority of action involves an unconscious woman so please be forewarned. I hope you enjoy none-the-less.

RIDDEN ON THE RAILS

Thomas Mitty jolted awake. The last thing he remembered was leaving Taylor's party. The post-midnight air had felt crisp on his flushed face as he--wait, no. He remembered later, getting onto the train with Elle and collapsing onto the hard plastic seat. His wife had been unable to keep her swaying head upright and she had fallen onto his shoulder. A vision of that same head flashed into his mind, rocking aggressively, black hair splayed out on the--

A sharp pain jabbed at his skull. A hangover headache or... The world pitched and tilted. He groaned, rubbing his temple. Still tipsy. And still dressed in his jeans and button-up. At least his shoes were off. He glanced around the room, searching for his pair of white trainers -- and noticed Elle's side of the bed. Elle's empty side of the bed.

Panic struck him. His wife was missing. What had happened to her? He couldn't remember. Another image tumbled into his mind: Elle sleeping; his heavy eyes roaming around the train car taking in the other late-night stragglers; an older man across from them saying something to him with a mouth stretched into a crooked smile.

Thomas jumped from the bed. Losing his footing he sat back down. The mattress groaned his discomfort, but he forced himself back onto his feet and stumbled forward. Finding his phone on the floor, he dialed his wife's number. Something buzzed near the open bedroom door: a discarded brown leather purse, dropped and forgotten. Fuck. He hung up.

Had she wandered off? Elle wasn't a sleepwalker. He nearly ran out in chase of her but the glow from the bathroom light stopped him. The ground swayed, some semblance of calm returning. His moment of terrified sobriety faded in the literal light of new evidence.

She must have gone to pee or something. If his own current state was any proof, they'd both had quite a bit to drink at Taylor's, and Elle had drunk even more than him, far more than he had ever seen her consume before. Had she chugged a beer? He remembered her eyes closed and mouth open, twin lines of amber running from the corner of her lips and down her chin. Except... Something wasn't quite right.

He lurched toward the bathroom.

What lay inside the porcelain space did little to alleviate his mounting concerns. Elle wasn't on the toilet, wasn't on the floor, but was instead passed out in the tub still dressed in her clothes. A sinking feeling rose within him. More and more images of his wife invaded his mind. Fragments of shocking memories bombard him. He crept closer, eyes widening with every step. When he stopped at the edge of the tub and saw her up close, his jaw dropped.

A strangled cry froze in his throat from shock, but mostly... from arousal.

The night came back in a rush.

----------------

"--very pretty."

The older man smiled a lecherous grin. Except for Thomas, Elle, the grinner, and a passed-out bum at the other end of the car drunker than they were, the train was empty. Elle had fallen asleep on Thomas' shoulder when they had sat down, a late-night habit of hers regardless of the number of drinks she'd had. Thomas had almost dozed off as well, but the sudden conversation from the stranger across from them roused him back to half-consciousness.

"Thanks." Elle might have found the balding man's attention unwanted and embarrassing. Thomas welcomed it. He enjoyed others eyeing his wife in ways that betrayed the thoughts behind their words. The type of seemingly innocent flattering that carried with it an undercurrent of how much they imagined her expressing her gratitude by wrapping her sweet lips around their cocks or by turning around and allowing them to fuck her against an alleyway wall.

That sounded aggressive and deviant, but Elle possessed this inexpressible quality. A quality that compelled fantasies of the raven-haired brunette exhibiting the sluttiest of behaviors. It stemmed from her specific level of attractiveness, the one situated right between gorgeous and cute. The kind of attractiveness that made her hotter the dirtier you thought about her.

The stranger on the train repeated his compliment and licked his lips. A gesture that tugged at Thomas's perverted cockstrings. "I bet you enjoy covering it in cum."

In a more sober and awake scenario, Thomas might have cursed the guy out or threatened to kick the shit out of him. An overly macho response to hide how much the demeaning suggestion of painting his wife's face in jizz secretly stirred his cock. However, alcohol lowered inhibitions, and with the amount of liquor Thomas had drunk, his had sunk below sea level.

"Pssh. I wish," Thomas slurred, head wobbling and eyes drooping. "She never let's me do that."

"That's a shame," the stranger said and rubbed at the bulge in his pants. He pressed against the tent and moved up and down its supporting pole, staring at Elle's sleeping face. "I'd splatter that innocent face nightly if I could."

The sight of this random guy fondling himself while ogling Elle stirred Thomas's own half-hard member. He attempted a grin and without the filter between brain, mouth, and dick, he told the man exactly what he thought. "You should. Everyone should cream her face."

Things went hazy after that.

He remembered the guy saying something else, his voice incredulous and disbelieving. He remembered responding to him with some sort of affirmation if not encouragement. But as the stranger rose from his seat and covered the short distance between them, the darkness that had been threatening to overtake him finally descended. And Thomas had blacked out.

The first time Thomas saw his future wife, she was sitting at a bar sipping on a vodka cranberry. She was chatting with some guy, her friend Julie flirting with a different one nearby. For most people, Julie would have been the one drawing their attention. Bright blonde hair, huge boobs in a scoop neck top, and curvy hips. Those checked a lot of boxes for a lot of people. However, the slim and thin Elle was who caught Thomas's eye.

The way she held the straw between her teeth and wrapped her lips around it when drinking hinted at an inherent sweetness. The brightness in her almond-shaped eyes from a guy showing her interest spoke to the girlish innocence of someone unaware of her appeal. And the loose top and leggings she wore conveyed an attempt at appearing fashionable while drawing attention away from her smaller bust and toward her lean legs.

Those attributes yanked Thomas further into her orbit. But they came after the initial pull. After he noticed her and the guy talking and instantly envisioned her pumping her admirer's cock while carrying on their conversation like nothing was the matter. He pictured her tugging at that guy's rod and then aiming him between her legs to spray his load when he came, right where those tights clung to her mound.

The very first thought Thomas ever had of his sweet and smiling future wife had involved her doing something horribly and obscenely sexual. And not even with him. It had truly set the tone of his attraction to her and the path of their relationship.

"Unless you want some of this, you might want to move this little cum target off your shoulder."

The balding stranger stood in front of them. He gripped an overhead rail in one hand and jerked his unexpectedly large cock with the other.

The thick member stuck out of his fly like a cannon, extending an extra three inches past his grip and ending in a flared angry head. A head that pointed right at Elle's face. A head that was moments away from spitting its slimy discharge across her pale napping features. As odd as it was to witness another man's cock inches away from his wife's lips, Thomas found it equally arousing, and the latter sensation won out.

He had always found his wife's face exceptionally pretty. All throughout their first date, she had leaned toward him from across the table, and with every shy smile and bright laugh, his cock had twitched and throbbed and jumped at the fantasy running through his head of standing up, stroking off, and ejaculating all over her -- all while she continued to chat away. He imagined that every guy from every single date she ever went on had done the same and even thought about the waiter joining in and pasting her bangs to her forehead as she read him her order.

The fact that Elle had never, ever let him or anyone else actually do anything like that just made him want it more. And compelled his drunken mind to revel in the disgusting act happening inches from her closed eyes. The thought of someone's seed finally streaking across her features tapped into his long lingering desires for her defilement. It overpowered the remaining few functional and rational parts of his mind. Except one. Because even with all that, the potential of some of that cum landing on him was far less appealing.

He considered what to do, and through the fog of arousal and alcohol an idea popped into his head. It spawned from previous nights of heavy drinking and extreme exhaustion, from Elle's compliance and malleability during those times as he helped her undress, drink a glass of water, and get into bed -- all while she was nearly unconscious.

It was extremely risky, extremely dangerous. But driven by pure lust and wanton desire, he acted without thought, without consideration, and nudged his wife with his shoulder.

"Hm?"

"Lift your head up," he whispered, offering her another, gentler nudge. "This guy wants to cum on your face."

Every last bit of sound rushed out of the railcar, save for the pounding of Thomas's heart and the fapping of the stranger's cock. There was no possibility of stopping the stranger at that point but there was every possibility of Elle jerking awake, seeing what was happening, and screaming loud enough to alert everyone in a one-mile radius. Not to mention what she might do to Thomas afterward. He could picture her adorable face twisting into a scowl of fury, her near-black eyes blazing with rage, her enticing eastern attributes morphing from anime to kaiju.

She stirred and glanced at him through barely open eyelids. "Oh, okay."

Whether she understood what he said or simply responded in her sleep was unclear. It was usually the case in these profoundly intoxicated circumstances and precisely what Thomas had banked on: her passive approval and obedience.

She sat up, licked her lips in that sleepy way, and drifted her eyes back shut.

The stranger adjusted his aim.

Thomas recognized the signs of his impending eruption: the expansion of the shaft, the flaring of the head, the tightening of the grip right before loosening. The sounds of his beating cock turned angry and fierce. His gaze locked itself onto Elle's face. And where Thomas's breath nearly stopped, his grew faster and more erratic. In mere seconds, this random, balding man was going to cum on his wife's immaculate face.

Right as that thought hit him, the train swayed suddenly.

Elle's head drooped forward, and her chin fell to her chest.

There was no time to nudge her again. No time to influence her into raising her head back up before that first shot of sticky cream fired. It was too late. If Elle had experienced gallons of loads hosing her down over the years, if he or even strangers had marked her face with their seed on a regular basis, Thomas might have surrendered to the semi-appealing idea of her silky locks receiving a cum shampoo. But that wasn't the case, and the draw of this disgusting and depraved act was too great to let slide. Grabbing hold of the hair at the back of her head, Thomas lifted Elle's face back up.

A stream of thick, wet cum forced its way from the stranger's cock-slit and leapt toward the sleeping girl's face. It collided with her right eyebrow, almost hidden under her bangs, and ran a line down across the bridge of her thin nose, breaking off at the bottom of her left cheek. Right as that first volley ended, another splattered the center of her forehead and split into two lines that dripped down the sides of her nose.

More and more cum sprayed her features as Thomas held his wife's head steady, one hand in her long, dark locks and the other gently gripping her upper arm. A third caught her right cheek. A fourth managed to gloss her pink lips. Five and six traced her jawline. The final seventh and eight pulses the stranger aimed directly at her closed almond eyes -- a purposeful act that only served to make the already depraved situation even more twisted.

He stepped back from the scene, sighing in relief. "That's how a face like hers should look."

The train slowed to a stop. Without another word, the stranger tucked his cock back into his pants and ambled off into the night. A literal cum and run. The gooey remnants of his climax seeped down Elle's features, tainting what little amount of untouched skin remained and turning her face into an arousing piece of modern art. She appeared positively sluttish. Innocence defiled.

Thomas moaned.

He didn't want to risk returning her to his shoulder, so he lowered her onto her back and stumbled into the seats across the aisle. He watched his wife's chest rise and fall in a steady beat, and as though he willed it to happen, Elle's tongue unconsciously ran across the sticky mess on her lips.

A jolt of kinky pleasure blacked him out again.

Thomas fucked Elle for the first time after their eighth date. She had kept the lights on but beyond her sexy moans and equally sexy body, nothing about the experience had matched the fantastical thoughts that plagued his mind up to, and beyond, that point. Despite his initial unwarranted impressions about her, Elle wasn't some sort of devious sex freak. She was an average girl that veered into adorable and bright rather than seductive and dark.

Ultimately, that didn't matter.

Her physical qualities had built up his energy and ecstasy: her small breasts that almost flatted against her chest while on her back; her hardened chocolate nipples that felt delectable against his tongue; her flat abs and slender legs that clenched tight around him. But what had carried him to the edge was the idea in his head of a line of guys outside the door waiting for him to finish so they could experience those exact same things. The private fucked up fantasy of his new girlfriend's pussy serving as a fleshlight to countless men one after the other, each using her like an inflatable fuck doll, was what pushed him to explosive completion.

Throughout the extent of their courtship and marriage, those kinds of imaginative cravings boosted their sex life from good to great. Any rational man would have enjoyed it by virtue of Elle's attractiveness, but Thomas's fantasies of her acting like a slut, being callously used for pleasure, and being treated like a disposable cumdump propelled it to immeasurable heights. It wasn't the sole reason he married her. He loved her spunky attitude, her passion for cooking, and her silly sense of humor. But underneath those tender feelings were ones of unfettered lust, fueled by the sick thought of seeing her cuteness violated.

"--cum on her face!"

"No fucking way. Holy shit, she does! What a drunk slut."

Somehow Thomas had ended up further away from Elle. He still sat across from her, but he had slid down a few spots to brace against the guardrails at the end of the seat. From that spot, he was able to spy on the two college aged men standing over his wife without either of them realizing he was voyeuristically observing the whole scene.

"She is really cute, though." Both men were of Asian descent, one north and the other south. The Indian one had commented on Elle's cuteness, and he cast a lecherous leer at her supine body. Her unbuttoned white coat had spread open around her like a blanket, and her already short top had ridden up to expose the entirety of her trim stomach. Daily yoga routines contributed to light lines of definition on her abs that directed the man's sightline to her black skirt and what lay beneath. "Imagine that face choking on a cock."

"I dare you," the other guy egged on. "I bet you can get your dick in her mouth."

"What? No way. Someone might--"

"There's no one around except for those two other dudes and they're more out of it than her." He conspiratorially darted his head around the train and Thomas shut his eyes, playing into their perceived privacy. The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt even more strangers using his drunken wife for their pleasure. "Come on. I bet she'd be into it. Isn't that right slut?" he asked, pushing his luck. "Don't you want him to stuff his dick in your mouth?"

"Mm?" Elle's hum stole the breaths from their throats. Thomas worried they might bolt and flee to the next train car, but then his wife continued to sleepily reply, "Yeah. That sounds nice."

That unconscious acceptance was apparently enough.

"Holy fuck!" With a clink, clack, and zip, the Indian guy frantically dropped his pants and underwear. Eight inches of stiff brown dick shot into the air. A pair of heavy balls hung below the thick shaft, and a desperate need to see those balls slapping against his sleeping wife's chin filled Thomas's pole with decadent delight. Anticipation coursed through his straining prick. "Uck. I don't want to do it with all that jizz on there though."

"Hang on," his friend said with a mischievous grin. "I got an idea." He crouched down and ran his hand up Elle's slender thighs, inching toward the edge of her skirt. "Hey, we need to clean that cum off your face. I'm going to take your panties off, okay?" Silence was compliance and his hands continued upward unabated, slipping under her skirt's hem. His wandering fingers came to a stop at her slim hips. He took the elastic waistband of her panties in hand and began to pull. "Lift your butt up." Elle obeyed and with a gentle tug, he guided the underwear the rest of the way out of her skirt. Thomas bit back a groan. "Fuck. Raj, check out her pussy."

The two boys huddled together and peeked under her skirt, receiving a glimpse of something no other guy had seen in years: Elle's married mound. But they wanted more. They wanted the full view of her tight slit and lips.

"Spread your legs," Raj said, and Elle parted her thighs. "Fuck yes."

For a handful of seconds, both guys admired the sight. Raj feverishly stroked his cock and jacked off to the immodest display, then stood up and told his friend, "Ben, clean her face. I'm gonna teabag this bitch."

Ben wiped her down using the removed pair of yellow panties, equally mopping up the remains of cum that streaked her features and simultaneously rubbing a small layer of it into her soft skin. He debated what to do with the cum-stained cotton once he finished, dangling the fabric from his fingertips like a used Kleenex. Part of him considered putting them aside so he could slip them back on later, but as the train rolled to a stop and the doors momentarily opened, a wicked smile swept across his face.