The Train Home

I reached, everywhere, and the train seats didn’t help. My thighs were mostly numb, but I knew that when the train pulled into station I’d have trouble getting up. My breasts felt like I’d been mauled by a beast and my bottom was numb, the only feeling came from sudden movements, when pain flared in strips across the tender flesh.

It was the sweetest feeling I’d ever felt, but it was nothing compared to the warmth inside me. The average person might think I was mad to be sitting there, outwardly winning but inwardly rejoicing.

It had been brilliant.

It had first been upsetting to find that the community I had discovered I belonged to, was so separated, spread across the whole country, even the whole world. How on earth was I to find my perfect match with so few people close to me, especially in a relationship where trust, among other things was of paramount importance.

People said long distance relations didn’t work, that there wasn’t enough to tie them together. I hoped it wasn’t so, for I’d just had the best weekend of my life; and I had the marks to prove it.

My friends had said that if I met someone off the internet I’d be rapid and worse. They didn’t know that their words had filled me not with dread, but with breathless lust.

I had wanted to be tied up, I had wanted to be used like a sex toy and I had wanted to be beating when I struggled. Well, three goals completed and I was even able to leave after. Not that I had wanted to, mind. I did ache, it was true, but mainstream relationships had always left me with an ache inside that wasn’t fulfilled, and while that fire had been duused, I could still have stayed strapped to that bed regardless of the physical aches I acquired in the satisfaction of others.

I was still a station or two away from My stop, trying not to wince when the train shook, as those nearby were casting me odd glances. Each win was thrilling to me though, for every time I shifted in my seat, thefabric of my trousers chafed my bruised backside. And each chafe reminded me of the sound the leather made before it made contact.

Our introduction in real life was not unlike others, perhaps he was a little more steady than the nervous guys I’d dated before, his dominance and control evidence in every line of his body. But everything about the time we had spent together sent twinings through my body, charged with energy. Moments stood ridged in my mind, so many of them, each second more memorable than all my relationships before in one.

And that belt, with whistling leather dominated many.

It was brown, instantly drawing my eye and widening them when I took in its size. It was two inches wide at least and think enough that when he had folded it in his hands, I’d had almost quailed.

Having someone else, especially a man of such imposing size take a belt to me was as scary as it was hot. You just couldn’t prepare yourself for a beating on your own. I’d never been able to pound my arse good enough to count it as practice and I was whimpering by his second blow.

He knew his work though, knowing when to go slow, to work me in, when I needed more, when to rest and when to stop. He’d pounded me for two days and when he wasn’t pounding me he was … well, pounding me. His rough hands gripping my bruised cheeses until I was sobbing each time I thrust myself back against him.

I hadn’t realized but, distracted by my thoughts, my hand had found its way between my legs. I could feel the heat from my pussy against my hand, feel my knickers slick on the inside … feel him laying strokes across my arse that made my tits jiggle from the force. Feel my fingers rubbing my clip through my pants, nails clawing, grinding the fabric against me.

The station was pulling into view but I had no way of stopping.

The bell went just as I did, cumming in my underwear so that my fingers were wet and with it I let out a low cry and shuddered where I sat.

My face was flushed as it was, but it burned now with embarrassment. Everyone in view was looking at me and I knew they had seen.

Blessedly, a little old lady sitting neary touched my arm.

‘Are you alright dear? You’ve been whimpering since you got on and you look ever so pale and clammy, you’re smoking child. Is this your stop? Come dear, I’ll take you to the taxis.’ she said, and I could have kissed her.

Face burning with shame and relief I let her escort me off the carriage, saved that the faces around me were now of concern and goal.

I’d got away with it, but decided to play up to it, shuffling away.

Luckily for me that I ached like hell, I didn’t even need to act.

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