Mary had always enjoyed the solitude of train booths. A simple space in which she had no responsibility. She enjoyed being able to slouch and behave as she liked, resist nothing and answer to no one while being carried to her destination.
That solitude was broken when a man entered her booth, and sat across from her. He set down his bag. He sat back to get his breath back, as he was clearly flustered as if he'd just exerted himself. His demeanor changed when he saw Mary. She was a consciously beautiful woman, and whenever in the company of men experienced the usual lustful stares. 19th century America could be a dangerous place for a lone woman. She wore a patticoat under her floor length dress to help conceal her legs to avoid further attraction to voyeurs. A tightly fitting corset top did her no favours in that department, as it pushed up her full breasts while clearly displaying the way her slender waist splayed out into wide, round hips.
Her current nuisance of a voyeur removed his coat to reveal a half undone shirt. He had the look of someone who generally received little resistance from females, and didn't pay much attention if there was. Mary tried to avoid his irritating stare, but eventually gave in glanced over, avoiding eye contact. He was gazing, blatantly at her chest. It struck her, that his face was familiar. She attempted to piece together what else she had seen that day to figure out where from, however found that she had looked at him for too long, and the man now felt confident.
"Pretty lips," he leered.
"Excuse me," she purred in a sultry southern drawl.
"You got pretty lips."
"Uh," she grunted, realising the extent to which her solitude had been broken.
Suddenly he was across the booth and had his right hand on her face, squeezing her cheeks. He put his left hand under her skirts and threw them up, revealing her stocking clad legs and silk underwear. His hand ran quickly up her thighs. They were smooth and shapely and appeared welcoming. The man didn't notice their girth and firmness. Her thighs were full and stretched her stockings as far as they would go. There was little fat for cushioning, as her thigh muscles tensed upon his touch.
"Let's see how nice they are," he growled and went to unbuckle his trousers. Mary audaciously slapped his hand away from her face and threw herself backwards, her skirts falling back over body, revealing everything below her waist, from her calves which popped out, straining against her stockings, up her luscious thighs and to her inviting crotch, all the joy in Texas concealed beneath a piece of silk.
"What's the matter," she pouted, "'fraid of what's down there?"
He grinned, seeing yet another woman didn't need forcing. He crawled atop her bench and over her body. His face inches away from her legs, her crotch, her corseted middle, her prominent breasts until their lips were facing. He had a wiry, hard frame, in contrast to her full bodied figure. Her legs moved up until her knees were just under his shoulders, then slowly embraced his torso. He gently kissed her pouty, painted lips and smelled her hair, his hand reached down to carry on unbuckling but her thighs were covering his waist and lower ribs, hugging him close to her. He tried to move the relaxed right leg with his hand but it did not move, so he went to reach around it to find his belt. The pair of legs that cradled him lovingly began to show maternal discipline. A slight tensing on each side giving a disregarded warning of their power. This was the man's first warning that as soon as he had allowed Mary's legs to embrace him, his fate was sealed. Mary crossed her feet and began closing her legs together, ever so slowly. The man felt his breath go, and he grunted as he searched for it. Mary was breathing heavily, her chest heaving right under his nose as she lay back and smiled, letting out a slight giggle at the look of discomfort taking over his face. He made a more concerted effort to pry her legs apart, intent on surviving while still maintaining an image of being in control, but her thighs continued to close around his torso, her calves popping out as the crossed feet locked him. Her legs were not yet straight, and she had more power to apply, but several seconds had gone by since the man last breathed, and it was enough time for panic to set in.
He began openly struggling to move these two tightening pillars from around his body. He could see how relaxed his victim-come-tormentor was, and how helpless she was beginning to make him feel. His increasingly desperate efforts to free himself bore clear contrast to her effortless, almost sleepy state. This damzel with ringlet blonde hair was illustrating his inferiority to him through the ease with which she had him imprisoned. Her hands began sensually, patronisingly stroking his face. He wanted to strike her. Her beautiful face was mocking him with its lack of distress, with its smirk and confidence. Those half closed eyes and smirking mouth were making him feel like a chastised child. He knew he was too weakened at this point to do a thing. Her legs stretched out above her fully, long and strong he was locked between her thighs and his body was being held aloft while the air was banished from his body, and his ribs bending inwards. Internal organs were beings abused and pushed into the wrong places. His pain grew and grew as Mary got increasingly excited. She wanted to deliver all her force and crush this wiry man in an instant but relented from her desires to draw out his torture.
He turned his head back and tried to yell for someone to see what was happening and help. What came out was a high pitched, desperate, choked bark of a yell in a voice he didn't recognise. She giggled and he felt his ribs pushed in once more. Along with his oxygen, his bravado that defined him was forced out. Upon seeing his desire to cry out Mary pulled his face into her ample bust, holding his now helpless face tightly between her large breasts. Muffled cries for mercy flails of limbs became infrequent and then were gone, as his body rested limply. Mary cautiously released all power over him and allowed his unconscious body to flop onto the floor of the booth. She stroked her stocking clad legs with pride and smiled.
When the man came around from his induced sleep the first things he sensed were the gentle rumble of the train, and Mary's gorgeous scent. Sweet and feminine. His throat was pressed against the back of Mary's knee, whose left leg was curled, threateningly around his neck, with her right leg hooked over her left foot to provide leverage. She was relaxed, but her thick left leg still engulfed his neck and head. His body laid out ahead of him, weak and beaten. He felt pain course through his whole body. His neck and head felt vulnerable, held by her leg. He could feel her stocking rub against his neck and face, the silk of her underwear against the back of his neck. he grunted upon waking.
"Morning," her sultry voice mocking his helpless situation. "I thought I recognised you when I saw you. You're sorta famous. I've seen you on posters. You're not a movie star. You're wanted. You wanted to leave at the last stop but we're going to town, I'm collecting a reward for you."
At this point he began to try and move his now uncoordinated limbs in some attempt release himself. Mary casually drew back her right leg and her left instantly closed his throat. He stopped moving and she relented.
