I'm not usually a fan of being dragged along on my husband's business trips. The company tends to send him to the most boring parts of the most boring cities in the world, and I end up sitting in a boring hotel being bored. Boringly.
Atlanta though... Atlanta isn't boring. Nothing about it is boring. I didn't see that at first though. When we first arrived, I holed up in the hotel as usual, watching reality television and eating overpriced room service meals on my husband's employer's dime. Eventually however, the boredom became too much.
I'd begun to wish, and not for the first time, that I'd stayed home. My neighbor is this smoking hot black guy. He's just a few years older than me, but he's got these huge, powerful arms, and big strong hands. Without my husband around, I'd be free to watch him do yard work all week. He always did yard work shirtless, and I loved to watch any chance I got. Sometimes he'd even come over to borrow something. I thought maybe if I invited him in and he'd put those big, strong hands on my body, but I never took the chance.
Two days into sitting in the hotel by myself all day, and I was about to snap. I felt like the walls were closing in on me. I kept losing myself in daydreams. I'd masturbated so many times, mostly out of boredom, that I'd lost count. I needed air. I needed an escape. I needed to get the fuck out of this hotel for a few hours. So I grabbed a sticky note off of the desk, scrawled 'Cabin Fever, be back later, love you.' on it and bolted out the door.
On my way through the lobby, I grabbed a handful of those little tourist pamphlets, hoping I'd find something interesting to do. I thumbed through them as I walked, but nothing really caught my interest. My husband had taken the car, so if I wanted to go anywhere I'd have to either walk, take a cab, or ride the train. I opted for the train, partially because I thought it would be cheaper than a cab, and also because I didn't really have a destination in mind yet.
I swiped my card and walked to the very back of the monorail. I didn't care where I went, as long as it was far, far away from that damn hotel room. I sat down and started to look over the pamphlets again.
Stops came and went. People embarked, and disembarked. The sun drifted lazily across the sky, and my mind wandered back to my neighbor. I thought about him a lot. Him, and the black bartender at my favorite restaurant, the one who worked at that club on the weekends. Then there was this one black state trooper who pulled my husband and I over a few years ago. I had this running fantasy about what he would do to me if I were handcuffed. As my mind wandered, so did my hands. Sitting in the back of the monorail, I slipped a hand up my dress and pictured taking a nice cold beer out to my neighbor. Him thanking me by bending me over his Trans-Am. I imagined what his cock would look like, what it would feel like, what it would taste like. I imagined being taken by my neighbor, that bartender and the cop all at the same time. I thought about them filling all my holes at once and my body shook.
"Hey, the fuck is you doin'?" A voice shouted, dragging me out of my fantasy.
It was dark. The sun had set, and I had no idea where I was. I looked around the train car for some indication of what stop I was near, but I couldn't see past the people standing in front of me.
There were six of them. Six young black men, tall and athletically built with defined, sinewy muscles. Three of them were wearing shirts, and they were all wearing loose basketball shorts. My gaze fixated on their shorts, and even in the dim light I could see the outlines of their cocks.
"Hey bitch, I asked you what you were doing." The first one said, stepping towards me. "You crazy or somethin?"
He was one of the ones not wearing a shirt. I stared at his tight, defined abs, and fought the urge to reach out and touch them. In doing so, I realized that my hand was still up my dress, and a wave of shame washed over me. I'd been masturbating in public. The fantasies were getting too strong, I was losing my grip. I started to stand up and excuse myself, deciding to just get off at the next stop and find my way back from there. Maybe take a cab, anything to get out of the situation.
"I'm sorry, I'll just get off right-" I started, but stopped as the six men stepped in closer to me.
"Hey now, baby... No reason to go so soon." A second one said, grabbing my ass.
I brushed his hand away and tried to step back, but fell back into the seat.
"Wait just a second..." I whispered.
"Nah, bitch. We saw what you were doin'." A third spoke up, grabbing his crotch and smiling at me.
"Seems to us, you could use a little help." The first laughed, closing the distance and grabbing my breast.
"No, you don't understand... I'm married and..." I stammered, trying and failing to not stare at the bulge in his shorts.
"Yeah? So?" He replied, grabbing the top of my dress and pulling it down, exposing my breasts.
I frantically tried to cover up, but they closed in on either side and grabbed my hands. I looked from left to right, looking at them all. They were staring at me like a piece of meat. Something about their predatory grins and growing bulges was equally as exciting as it was intimidating.
"You weren't acting married, finger-blastin' yourself in the back of the train just as soon as we sat down." A fourth said sternly.
His growling baritone made my knees weak. I wondered if I had started just when they got on. I didn't remember even seeing them sit down. The comingiling fear and arousal was overwhelming. I opened my mouth to try to explain, but when the first one dropped his shorts I found it impossible to say anything at all. Instead, I could only stare transfixed at his cock. His, big, beautiful, black cock. It was frankly fucking massive. It was monument in gleaming ebony. More than twice the length of my husband's and thicker than I could believe at first glance.
