(Unfathomable thank you to my editor BlueStarGrrrl. Your help, guidance, suggestions and patience let this piece of me emerge from it's humble, perhaps misguided beginnings, thanks so much. Truly. My honor to write this with your help.)
Chapter 1
Trees flitted through Shawn's window, their droning a soothe for his mind as the train cut though their wake. New York City was a few hours in his past, and all his knotted up tension and the grind of the kitchen still echoed in his muscle memory. He couldn't shake away the anticipating mental rote of planning his station's 'mise en place' list. Today's list, even though he was sitting here, on the first day of a much-needed vacation. Cooking was like that, it took time to detox from the grind of constant expectation. Trees at 70 mph he noted, seemed to help.
He had a full week off to visit with his mother, who had lived in Delaware ever since his father had passed going on six years earlier. She was a successful novelist, and the relocation to a slower pace to write and recover seemed to well suit her. Shawn kinda hated it. He had been born in 'The City' over thirty years ago, and it was as firmly a part of him as any other. The aggression, the competition, the hustle, the magic was his life blood. Trees, save the fast moving blur of them, just didn't "do it" for him usually.
He leaned uncomfortably in his seat and arched his back. He had sat in a group seating area to try to maximize his leg room, but the maximum of nothing was still nothing. He was tall, 6'5" exactly, and had a good deal of physical presence. But none of it usually availed him in uncomfortable places. He guessed if he had a rich girlfriend they could have purchased a first class car but he'd never experienced his late father's luck at finding someone worth it or even rich. He had spent his 20's having trysts and flings, and he had spent his early 30's recycling the same habits. Unsurprisingly, nothing had stuck. To his admitted detriment, he tended to think of women in kitchen terms. He took them like a hot pan, hung on till he dropped them or got badly burnt.
The physical proof of these burns were more flagrant than the emotional. His arms were terrible and currently brazen in his white tank-top. It appeared as if a sizzling snow-board had woven down his forearms. Repeatedly. Each burn was around 1-2 inches long, the searing thickness of the edge of a sizzle-plate, or a half sheet, or a sauté, roundeau or just anything grabbed under pressure and scorch-kissed against the forearm in axial urgent movement. Most of these burns were old. Dark blurry red and brown marks. But the fresh ones, glazed, and shiny, made all of them appear collectively gruesome.
Shawn looked up to glimpse a pair of saucy eyes also following the surveyed sears of his flesh. He hadn't noticed her sit down, lost in his thoughts. But here she was, sitting directly adjacent from him in the opposite group seat....
Light brown skin, of some almost Indian decent, like maybe Pakistani. She was impossible to miss if you weren't lost in culinary tree dreams. Light brown delicate complexion, deep brown eyes & a dark brown bob of hair framing her eyes, jaw and lips. She was doll-sized, but her presence wasn't plastic. It was quite definitely on some display though. She wore a dark designer dappled cotton t-shirt with some artful rips showing both skin and the fabric of her bra. Her breasts were hardly substantial enough to warrant one. But her small frame didn't demand more. She wore a stylised mid length skirt, with small bare feet in a pair of snug black glossed non-kitchen clogs. The eyes, the bob, the rips, the look...wow.
She reciprocated his slow survey, returning his look without insecurity, or the coyness so often associated with catching someone's eye. This wasn't a catch, it was a hunt. She crossed her legs and leaned back slowly studying him. They both smiled.
He broke from his reverie of her appearance as two pairs of seriously large people sought to sit in their shared group seating area. They both shared a sigh of mutual annoyance and sought the aisle. Getting trapped in the group seats, with a big group kinda killed the advantage of sitting there in the first place. They rose, simultaneously, literally slamming into each-other and her falling back down. Yeah, she was tiny. And he wasn't.
"Oh! Sorry!" He exclaimed.
"Sarah," she said weakly, as she regained her feet. He heard her, but failed to keep her gaze as she adjusted her thankfully high hiked skirt. Oh. Oh. Wow.
"Oh Sorry, Sarah." she continued with greater emphasis, catching his roving eyes with another smile. They both stepped back letting the other big passengers through.
"When I get thrown down by a big guy, I like him to use my name." She kept smiling. Shawn reached over after the migration of passengers and put his hand on her shoulder. His finger tips almost grazing the middle of her miniature frame.
He smiled :"Completely noted, I promise I will." They were closer than he had intended, but she smelled amazing. He continued: "Feel like taking a walk?" He took a breath and added, "Sarah." He just said her name, but it felt good. And yeah she liked his burns, and he liked her clogs. She was a new hot hot hot pan.
He kept his hand on her back but slid it down boldly feeling the channel of her spine and amazingly compact form under his paced fingers. He held his other hand outstretched, hopeful she would take it. She slipped both her tiny hands into his one, as if she was about to curtsey. And he pivoted quickly, dropping his duffel on his seat and ensuring the manatee couples adjacent to them that they would return.
The train shook quickly after about 15 steps and they fell back against the metal bathroom door that was rattling slid-ajar. He stumbled and she fell quite gracefully flush back into him. She was warm, and close, and tilted her head back against his chest to catch his eye.
The metal of the door finally stopped shaking and he slid the door open just as she spun around him and inside. He slammed it closed again, hitting the lock as she placed both hands around his neck. He gently pushed her away from him against the sink pantomiming another throw-down. Following with a playful "Oh! Sorry, Sarah."
She replaced her hands, this time more forcefully and quipped, "And I don't know your name."
"Nope." he replied and dipped low to scoop under that skirt with both arms, grabbing her ass forcefully, picking her up. She melted into him and they kissed. Slowly. Surprisingly slowly. As frantically as the physical had begun to notch, their lips were on smolder.
She writhed with compacted movement against his hands. Her ass was literally hot to the touch, & filled his grip. And he gripped. They broke after a luxurious minute and he let her sink down his body to the floor. He ripped off his tank top and bunched it on the sink's counter to give her a warmer place to get wet. She ran her fingers up his chest, grabbing his body pulling him forward. Her ass firmly spread, on its precipice, her skirt naturally rehiked itself up her legs. It gave him the time, the invitation to touch. Her. Everywhere.
His hands gave sampled rough squeezes all over. Learning her grips, teaching her his. Her neck, with a thumbed tracing of her clavicle through the ripped shirt, her shoulders and her arched back with its edged line of hard-working muscle. The suck of her jaw, he held it and he kissed it. Touched, nuzzled, kissed, he met her body with his. In rapid succession she shared his grips by pushing against him and grabbing back. No form of accident found him on his knees with his eyes nearly closed tasting her contours. Feeling the goosebumps of her inner thighs graze his lips. She helped to guide him down and took the initiative to slide the crotch of her soggy black panties to the left, giving him full access to her eagerness. He took wet hard sucks and lingering licks on her inner thigh. Biting her loins and flicking his wet tongue hard against the taut muscle.
She leaned forward kissing the top of his smooth crew cut; then scratching little manicured claws down his back. He let the corners of his mouth release his salivation at the tasty edge of her labia. She was kissing and sucking on his neck and back. Biting and scratching like an overpowered animal.
She was special. Her honey pot was tinged with a dark purple color and a ready glisten. With purple wrinkled outer lips and an inner pink blossom. He kissed it. It wasn't his style to go right for it, he liked to ramp up. Tease. But he didn't, he couldn't resist. He kissed and made out with her lavender color. She whimper'd. And full drum slapped her tiny hands on the canvas of his back. Fuck yeah.
He used his tongue quickly, to playfully get the sweet out of her pulp. She started to gyrate her hips against his face, forcefully sliding that wet pussy up and down his nose and chin. He took his right hand and curled 2 fingers into her hungry hole and started jiggling the tiny hood of her clit with his tongue. He began long licking between his fingers, alternating between glazing the outside and then the inside of each sculpted lip. She slapped both hands on his face, guided him to where she wanted it and told him, "Lick there, lick there!" And he licked. Right. There.
Her pearl grew in its presence immediately and peek'd out under the friction'd buds of his taste. He met her eyes and took it tingling awake between his lips. Suckling it and flicking his tongue against it raw. She moaned loudly wriggling out of her bra and squeezing her kebob worthy pointy hard brown nipples. He suckled on the perked clit, flicking it deliciously whilst still resuming every chance he got to lick her: There.
He kept digging his deep curled fingers up inside her toward her stomach. He beckoned with his two fingers, fast curling them into her. She oozed honey into his palm. Oh, it tasted so good. She dragged his head up and kissed him. He started finger banging her hard and they kissed again without smolder. Pure hungry face sucks. He unconsciously started to buck his hips, the kisses were so fuck-oriented. He grabbed the crotch of her bunched panties, and ripped them off and they hit the floor of the train bathroom with a sopping impact. Her skirt not far behind. He got back down on his knees and she popped off the sink in front of him. They looked at each-other eye to eye, him on his knees, her almost naked save a ripped t-shirt on the balls of her feet. Her tiny form only inches taller than his long one.
He lifted her up and she squeak'd in surprise as he planted his hands on her back, her ass in the crooks of his arms. She wrapped her legs around his head for balance. She gripped the train ceiling's luggage loops for even more support and squeezed her thighs tight around his face, covering his ears. He couldn't care less; he kissed the wet jelly of total pussy immersion. Deep kisses, sucking the edges of her hole just so he could take a breath and then back to tongue slapping her folds. Pussy juice ran down the middle of his chest muscles and her wetness quiver'd. He ate. And ate. And swallowed. And in about 10 minutes, she rode his chin to a rolling barrage of pelvic hiccups. Her body shook, she moaned. He could feel it most of all in his ears that got inadvertently flogged by her clapping thighs.
Finally the pressure around his head released and he relented his kissing and let her sensitivity recalibrate, sucking instead on her thigh run-off. Lapping up that flavor. He took the time to unbutton his fly and let his thick cock flop heavy out of his pants. He stayed knelt on one knee but let her slide her wetness down his stomach. Her brown tootsie roll nipples penetrated that dappled shirt with its overpriced rips so well it actually looked more sexual than sexy. Nip fucking her own t-shirt to the hilt. Her ass was so grip-worthy. Just made to be squeezed.
She laughed: "Ooooh my god, that was awesome!!" He started to suck on her longest nipple. The right one. She laughed again, right up against his ear. "You're NOT full yet?"
He smiled, he liked her laugh it reminded him of his mom. Full of life and sexy. He was thinking about his mom while sucking on this girl's nipples. Oh my... If only people on a cook's paycheck could afford therapy....
