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Alex…” I repeated his name like a mantra, not sure if I was actually saying it or if it was only in my mind. His thrusts became somewhat slower, but deeper. “Yes, baby. Come,” Thrust. “For,” Thrust. “Me.” And I did. Hard. “Alex…” his name slipped from my lips one last time. With a few more shallow thrusts, he followed me into the realm of ecstasy. We both lay there, a heaving sweaty mess. He pulled out gently and our mixed essence gushed from my pussy onto my thighs. “Damn, babe.” He purred, sliding his index finger through my folds and inside me. I trembled, still highly sensitive. “Is a week too long to go without me?” Even if I could form words, I still wouldn’t have responded to his question. Partly because it was arrogant. And partly because it was true, which I would never admit. That would give him too much power. Power I wasn’t willing to give. I may be cock-hungry, but I wasn’t weak dammit! As if reading my thoughts and wanting to prove me wrong, he slid another. I could almost make out the dark stocking tops, garter straps, and glint of the metal clasps. Slip dresses were popular, so perhaps the slip could pass as a regular dress. As the train made its toward Hachioji, I slid my hand under my slip and stroked the smooth nylons, the bare skin above the stocking tops, and silky sheer panties. I ran my fingers along my hot pussy lips, stroking myself as I fantasized about the stranger on the train who played with my cunt, bringing me to the edge of coming. Suddenly, I heard the conductor coming down the aisle, so I was forced to quickly withdraw my hand and smooth out my slip. We finally arrived at Hachioji, almost one hour from Shinjuku. I stepped out of the car and headed toward the exit. I didn’t know my way around Hachioji, so I stopped at the visitor information counter to inquire about the new “glass toilet.” The staff person directed me to a public park about ten minutes from the station where I could find the new installation art. It.
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