Magic Train
By ChocolateCherry
I sat on the train, report open in my lap, but my eyes and thoughts were elsewhere. It had been a long, grueling day at work, and as I rolled my shoulders I could feel the tension still knotting the muscles of my neck. Sighing in dejection, I forced my thoughts back to the acquisition proposal, but minutes later realized I was once again staring out at the darkening landscape as it sped by. I simply didnāt feel that taking control of this company was right ā but I wasnāt paid to make the decision, just to check the legalities of the document.
Leaning my head back against the window, I sighed, worried for the small mom-and-pop business that my company was about to swallow whole. This was hardly the first time my discontent had surfaced, but its frequency was becoming distressing. Disgusted with the ruthlessness of the world of big business, I had begun to consider relinquishing my hard-won college degree and try my hand at something more humaneābut unfortunately, I no longer knew what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Fighting the prickling tears of frustration and despair that seemed to constantly threaten these days, my lips trembled and hands clenched. Almost as if it were in the distance, I could hear the sound of my papers crumpling. Oh great ā now I could plan to retype them, as well.
With my eyes closed, my heightened senses picked up the appealing scent of menās cologne. On a crowded train that was hardly anything new, but something about this particular scent singled it out from the crowd. Smoky, spicy and a touch fruity, it sent a fist of desire slamming into my gut, increasing my pulse and spinning my senses. Overworked and single, my job and my innate shyness both had long kept me from any type of social scene, and this subtle assault on my olfactory sense was quickly sending my mind into a tailspin of debauchery.
Eyes closed, feeling the train rumble from stop to stop, I imagined the wearer of my new favorite cologne. He would be tallātaller than my own 5ā8ā frame. His shoulders would be defined, his green eyes would sparkle and his preference in clothing would lean toward Hilfiger and Cardin. He would take one look at me, see past the business suit and executive hairdo, and realize me for the slut that I am. Masterful and sure, he would pull me too him, ripping pins out of my hair, sending buttons flying on my sensible blouse, exposing me to the crowd around us, controlling my every moveā¦.
When I felt the seat beside me shift with use and the cologne become stronger, I smiled to myself, lost in my combination of fantasy and reality.
āThereās the smile. Pretty ladies shouldnāt cry,ā I heard, and at the same time felt a gentle fingertip sweep the side of my cheek, capturing a silver teardrop and setting it free. Bemused, still partially caught up in the throes of my increasingly wanton fantasy, I turned my head toward the sound of his deep, rumbling voice, and slowly opened my eyes.
Deep chocolate brown eyes smiled back at me. The trainās overhead lights shone down on his smooth, shaved head. Nothing had ever looked sexier to me in my life. Unbeknownst to me, my blue eyes widened and a blush crept up my cheeks. Licking my suddenly dry lips, I swam in his eyes for what seemed like an eternity, lost in wicked thoughts of how sexy his dark skin would look against the alabaster paleness of my own, picturing the many positions I would work us into, screaming in ecstasy as he took me, again and again.
Some of what I was feeling must have shown on my face, as he rumbled a deep, amused chuckle, his hand once again caressing my cheek. My breath caught and my pulse stumbled as his thumb slid over my cheek, teased the corners of my mouth, before slipping along the contours of my lower lip, stroking me. I could smell faint traces of grease and the overlay of orange cleaner on his hands.
My eyes rounding as my mind began to put facts together, I pulled away far enough to take in the rest of his appearanceāworn jeans, slim-fitting t-shirt with a few dark smears, and the physique of a man who works hard for a living. My stomach tightened with the realization that one of my biggest fantasies was about to come true, and I was about to give myself over completely to a man tended cars for a living. My fantasy mechanic. Now, although I could still smell the sexy allure of his cologne, the faintest scents of grease and cleaners were all the aphrodisiac I needed.
Flicking my tongue out, I caressed the tip of his thumb where it still strummed against my lower lip. Good girl or not, overly shy or not, I became eager to offer myself to this sexy man to do with me as he would, in any way that he wanted.
At his hiss of pleasure on the advances of my tongue, I transformed into the wanton woman I had always wished I could be. Turning slightly in my seat, I raised my hand to his face, letting my fingertips trace over the sexy features there. My tongue still toying with his thumb, mimicking the actions I was eager to do on various other parts of his body, I stroked his dark skin from the top of his head to the curve of his shoulder, watching the pleasure in his eyes and feeling it fuel my own delight. Engulfing his thumb in one quick, promising caress, I released it and leaned forward to kiss him, aching to feel the touch of those mesmerizing lips on mine. Unheeded, my report tumbled to the floor, followed shortly by my suit jacket as he smoothed it from my shoulders.
His agile fingers quickly slipped button from buttonhole, and while I murmured my arousal into the sweet, wet depths of his mouth, he divested me of one barrier after another, until soon I was exposed to his gaze. From high heeled shoe to stocking top and demi bra. My face was flushed, my hair tousled, and when he turned my head, I saw our combined reflection in the darkened window, for the first time realizing how incredibly hot and sexy I looked, especially with this Adonis beside me.