Pulling a Train

[Gangsta Moll Deactivated]

This is a story in many parts.

It is a story that has run through my mind so many times over the years: autobiographical in the desires it portrays, though I am not at all reckless enough to give in to them.

I hope you enjoy me.

The Quiet Room

I have been here so many times: stood here, pretending not to have come on purpose: not to know where I am; not to know what is behind the shabby facade; not to want to go in.

I am pretending to check my phone, as I have so many times before: as if I have stopped here by chance and am on my way to somewhere else.

I know what is inside, what sort of place it is, what they promise: though in truth I cannot really imagine - no matter how many times I have tried - what it would really be like.

What it will be like: because this time I am at the door, ringing the bell.

They will let me in free: I know they will, and they do - a woman alone, this early in the night, I am welcome.

My face is aflame, I am flustered, hesitant. But they must see this often, and they are calm, welcoming, caring, supportive.

Yes I will be safe: yes I can back out any time, yes I can stop if things go too far for me.

Being new here, a hostess will guide me - and protect me. She is nice: fit, trim, neatly though sexily dressed, well spoken, reassuring. She will stay with me, this my first time here - and other times should I need her to, should I return.

The changing room is neat, clean, tidy: like the changing room of a hotel swimming pool, neutral, muted. And it feels like changing for a swim - except that here I do not put on a bikini.

I am nervous, but my hostess guide sees that, takes my hand, leads me gently through the door.

The lighting is dim: a corridor, plush, as neat and clean and reassuring as the reception and the changing room.

"It is your first time" my hostess whispers: "we will go to the Quiet Room"

and it is quiet: discreetly lit, warmly welcoming.

A bed, at its centre: lit from above with a soft spotlight.

She helps me lay on the bed. Offers me a blindfold: I decline - I want to see who enters, who uses me, who waits, who will be next. I am nervous still, so she holds my hand - drawing my arm out a bit above my shoulder as I lie so that my body is exposed, laid out ... available...

"Just one at a time, for now.." she whispers: leaning close to my face. Her free hand trails so softly up my tummy, cups one breast. Her head bows, her lips kiss one nipple, suck it in, kiss, release it. My nipples is so hard, so stiff, so erect. Her fingers test it:

"You are ready now, aren't you?"

and I nod, mutely, biting my lip.

The door opens...

[Gangsta Moll Deactivated]

The first man

The first man is stocky, muscular: midddle aged but fit, well built.

He enters alone, as agreed for this my first time.

I am far from a virgin: but here, doing this, I am - my first time here, my first time letting these men do this to me - and the hostess has explained to me that the men will be excited by this but she has reassured me that her role is to ensure that I am treated as i wish to be and not forced beyond my own limits.

The man is already very erect when he enters: it is big and thick, pointing upwards. Although in a way he looks comical as he walks in - his erect penis swaying gently in the air - I do not laugh or smile, am in fact tense, nervous, anxious, biting my lip. The hostess holds my hand reassuringly: she holds it a little above my head so that my body is laid back, open to the man as he enters the room. I sense in a way that he is nervous too: tensed - understandably, I think to myself, this is as much a performance for him as for me and he must be anxious to perform well.

He is slightly clumsy as he clambers onto the bed: but once knelt between my parted knees I can see his attitude shift, confidence returning. He looks down at me and smiles - a greedy eager smile but still in a way a nice one:

"Nice..." he breathes: a compliment, albeit a small one.

I tense as he starts to feed his cock into me: the hostess squeezes my hand and I relax. It goes in easily - I am very very wet - and he sighs luxuriously as he pushes it in, slowly but firmly, until it is embedded fully inside me. It is very big, very thick, very hard indeed. He looks at me, his eyes holding my gaze, as he completes the full penetration. I can sense that my eyes must be big, wide, dark with sensual feeling but still tentative, anxious. He holds himself in me, filling me very full but unmoving, for a moment until I relax a little more: parting my thighs a bit more so that he settles just a little more firmly inside me. Then he starts to move: gentle pumping movements at first, gradually gathering force and rhythmn.

I orgasm quite quickly: the sexual intensity leading up to this, and now its beginning, so erotic, having primed me. My cunt ripples, squeezing his shaft, my hips rise, to take him in deeper, my body shudders, naked under him. It is a small brief orgasm: but I sense there will be more, and more intense, to follow. He pauses as I cum under him: tensing, holding himself still as my orgasm passes:

"Fuck, girl, you nearly made me cum doing that!"

But he does not cum: not yet - he holds himself firmly in me, riding out my orgasm, and then he fucks me: really fucks me, hard an ddeep, no longer holding back, pistoning into me, using his hips to drive himself in as deep and as hard as he can. And he brings me to orgasm again - longer, more intene, this time - and I can feel him exult in the power he exerts over me - not just the fucking of me but his making me orgasm, making me cum, I can feel how much he luxuriates in that.

The hostess holds my hand gently throughout: and gently strokes a strand of hair from my forehead, where it has strayed and stuck in beads of sweat.

He drive my body down into the mattress: his whole body devoted now to the deep hard powerful fucking of me, to taking me, to using me. He is no longer using his cock to drive me to orgasm: he is using my cunt to bring himself to the point of cumming, fucking me so that he can cum. And he does: shooting load after load of cum deep inside me, gasping in shuddering breaths as he does so, thrusting in to drive the cum in deeper, his whole body shaking as he floods me. And I orgasm too, arching up and up to take him, my cunt snapping and milking at his cum, sucking at it. He seems almost dazed as he climbs off me:

"Fuck... that was so ... fucking hot ..." he gasps.

"Yes... yes it was ..." answers another male voice, from the man who is now at the head of the queue.

[Gangsta Moll Deactivated]

The train

The first man seems dazed, drained: stumbles, breathing hard, as he steps away from the bed. But he does not leave: he stays, watching.

The others have come into the room: entered while he was fucking me - watched him fuck me, watched me respond to him.

The second man is younger - fit, athletic, the kind of man I would look at twice in the street. Confident too - a swagger as he steps forward, no hesitation as he climbs between my legs. He too is very erect - very big, rock hard to my fingers as I reach my free hand to touch him. My head raised, I watch as he positions his cock head against my cunt lips, watch as it slides easily inside me, watch until his balls slap gently against my buttocks - then I lie my head back down and wait for him to begin.

He does not wait long. Deep slow strokes at first, almost testing me until he feels me respond - feels my hips rise to meet his thrusts, feels my cunt tighten round his shaft. That is when he starts to really fuck me: his hands resting on my raised knees, he pushes them apart, spreading me wide, opening me up so that his now forceful thrusts embed him deep inside me. I am wet - with my own lubricating juices as well as the first man's cum - and each thrust makes a squelching noise, then a wet sucking as he pulls back to prepare for the next piston stroke.

So intense: the watching men, waiting their turn, the hostess's hand holding mine, the fit male body moving above me, the thick shaft prodding so deep inside me. I orgasm, hard - my body arching up and up, almost lifting him with the strength of my reaction: shuddering, thrashing, my free hand's fingers grasping and clutching at the sheets, my head going side to side, moaning:

"AAAAHHH ooohh FFUUCCCKKK ah ah ah AAAUUGGHHH FFUCKKK YESSS!"

and he pumps me through it, maintaining his rhythm and force so that even when my muscles loosen and I fall back flat on the bed my body is still shaking, shivering, writhing under him.

A strangled groan from one of the waiting men: and another mutters:

"Fuck she is hot"

It has begun: I have done it, taken the first step along this path - and now am engaged in the second.

"Give it to her, man - make her take it!"

The words come now in murmurs, muttered encouragement to the man - to fuck me harder, push it deeper, make me cum louder - such raw sexual intensity, such male sexual desire expressed. Such threat - or promise - of what is to come. The hostess leans close, whispers in my ear:

"are you OK?"

and I manage a nod, in between moans.

Then, clearly, from the waiting men:

"Hurry up, man - we all want our turn!"

and it crashes in on me, the realisation, the understanding of what I have done ... what I am doing ... what will be done to me.  I knew it when I came here: - knew it intellectually, knew full well what I was agreeing to - but only now does that realisation crystallise, become a lived reality. They will all take me: hard and deep, fucking me ... all of them ... some more than once .... they will all use me, and fuck me and make me orgasm and cum inside me .... all of them.