7 More MILF Stories (18 page)

This last one brings upon me the need to
wipe a little spot of drool from my lips. Her panties were much too
tight for such a god fearing woman to be wearing and were smudged
with the faintest musk of need. They stuck to her like they were
nothing but skin. It was a miracle.

Checking the time and noting it is 8:10am
and soon time to leave, I rush up to the platform and nod carefully
to the tired looking conductor of similar years, who gives me an
odd look back.

"This woman," I mutter. "I must find
her."

In the heat of the moment I am prone to
talking to myself. This is no different.

Her name I do not know, reader. Which of
those fair young woman it was is beyond me. I know nothing. Yet I
want everything.

It is a challenge being me some days.

Come 10:00am I am sitting in my private car
meditating on which I will approach first when a hint of plain
tones passes the faded glass window of my door. I come up to my
feet and to the door. Looking out I see a woman.

"Is it you, sweetness?"

I have already given her a nickname.
Sweetness will be it.

Reader, I tell you. Being a professional of
the perverted kind there are ways that one knows of how to
establish the filthiness of a woman quite quickly. Of course, these
often backfire, but that is not what my letter is about to you. All
I wish to say is that it is 50/50 whether I survive this or get
arrested, but the result is worth it.

I hurry along the hallway, the train
trickety-trackety-ing down the long rails towards the fair city of
Chicago in the background. She is a waif of a girl. However, this
does not perturb me in the slightest: Youth is gorgeous and I only
restrict myself to those over 20 because the law states it so. To
my eyes this one most certainly is old enough – by law or otherwise
– so a fair attempt can be given for a little play on my side.

Her sought out place is the far bathroom. I
wait a moment for her to go inside before sneaking in after.

“BUT WAIT! Isn't this a little risky?” you
ask.

Well, esteemed reader, it is. But when has
reward come without such? Think over that the next time you are too
afraid to do something. It is truly the cure-all of all things
fearful.

With the grace of a gazelle in full sprint,
I flip up on my hands, so my head faces downward and my eyes are
just right for looking under the lip of the other stall. The woman
shifts about. Does she hear me? My breath is paced, my heart is
full and her panties are red. The sound of something yellow and
steamy warms my ears. As a pervert I can tell you that this is
truly wondrous.

Her panties come up. I have admired them
with both trepidation and turmoil. Red. Not white. Not white, I
say. That is the hardship that I must bear in this moment.

She leaves. I pop down on my hands and
nimbly sit down upon the toilet. What a problem I have here. My
mind will not for a second allow me the grace of a moment's rest.
It was arousing to hear such a gorgeous young woman of college age
empty herself with such little concern for who might be listening.
The surety that I should find this woman is strong, yet the
white... Oh that damningly pearly white! How can a man dine on
charcoal when gorgeously tasty mutton is available?

I come to my feet and stroll out with my
hands in my pocket and my heart feeling dejected by my bad luck
this time around. There is a woman in the hallway standing near the
door of my room. I glance to her and away. She is gorgeous, but I
am settled now on the idea of having that white pair today.

“Excuse me. Are you, Mr. Smith?” she
asks.

I sigh. It's that, isn't it?

“Yes,” I sigh out dramatically. “I am
he.”

Her eyes widen with pleasure. I note that
her breasts are large and perky. The waist is slim and the face is
heart shaped, as if to point downwards to where I am looking at
this point.

“Can I have your autograph?”

My pen is out. I sign the book that she
holds out to me. Unfortunately, dear reader, I am a writer of short
fiction of the most boring kind – travel books. This one is a
particularly unpleasant specimen that I hoped would never see the
light of day, but has become a timeless classic in the genre to my
utter and long lasting disgust.

“Thank you, Mr. Smith. I really appreciate
this.”

I breath in and nod as she turns. The young
woman must be barely 20. I wonder if she is part of the group of
college students. Her clothing is plain and unremarkable: A blue
sweater and a gray long dress. Something about the waddle of her
rear makes me take better notice of the woman though.

“Hold there,” I say.

The woman stops on my command and glances
back.

“Yes?”

I look down to her buttocks. Yes, they were
about that shape...

“I have need of conversation. Would you
pleasure me with your company?”

A blush forms on her face.

“If it would be alright. You must be very
busy with your next book.”

I stifle a laugh. These things are written
in hours rather than the months that people believe my work takes.
I have a stack of manuscripts sitting about that I feed my
publisher with promises of more always present and available. It is
my work to 'pretend' that I didn't just steal most of the
information I give from the top selling books in my genre. Perhaps
it is my writing skill that makes them palatable. For the most
part, I do not care.

She enters. I sit.

“What is your name?”

My voice is commanding. She is named Anna
Heart.

“And what do you do?”

“I'm training to be a nurse.”

“College?”

“Yes.”

“But your clothes...”

She plucks out her sweater. For a second I
see the hint of a nipple pressing through the fabric.

“I spilled some wine on it before. This is
my spare clothing.”

A long and slow, “Ohhh...” exits my
mouth.

“Anna have you ever had sex with someone
famous?”

The woman blinks several times. There is no
answer, so I repeat myself.

“I... um--- I've never considered... I mean,
me? I'm very plain, don't you think?”

It is her! The look in those eyes. She is
playing with me as a fox does a chicken before consuming it. Like a
viper she is ready to strike. I can feel my heart beating as she
looks upon me with those eyes full of calculated understanding. Did
she see me enter the toilet? Perhaps she saw me under the train? Or
is it so plainly apparent that I am what I am that any who shares
anything close to a similar feeling on all things sexual can tell
immediately?

“Let us dispense with the formalities. I
wish to break you. Are you willing?”

Her eyes lock on mine. This is the one.
There is no doubting it.

“You think that you can break me,
Penrose?”

My first name. Now we are getting
started.

“Without a doubt.”

I stand and grab her dark brown hair. We
pass through a tunnel. Flashes of light. Darkness. Her on the floor
on her hands and knees. Dark. My hand raised and her bare bottom
exposed by her thrown up dress. A cry in the dark and a
chuckle.

Light pours in through the window. I stand
above with my hand raised high. It glistens with the dew of her
inner pleasure.

“You are soaked.”

“I have a hard time controlling myself,” she
explains.

Lucky is the man that finds a harlot that
looks like a maiden.

“Then you do not need much foreplay. Let us
move along briskly.”

I grab up my cane. It has a head shaped very
much like a man's penis. It's gold plated appearance glitters as I
make use of some oils that I keep in my pocket.

“You are going to spank me with that?”

Her greedy expression makes me smile.

“Much more, darling. You will find this to
be quite interesting, I think.”

I rip her panties away. She is shaven.

The top hole bulges as I push the head of
the cane into her. It is hooked a little. I draw it upwards and
drive her forward like I am operating some kind of aircraft. She
groans and crawls towards the door.

“We are going to go for a walk, little
doggy. Be good for your master and do not mess yourself on the
floor.”

Her eyes widen as I take her into the
hallway. This is incredibly risky as I am an older man and she a
much younger woman. Society will judge me for this and provide
appropriate punishment if caught. At this point, reader, I do not
care.

I make her crawl to the toilet door and open
it so that she can enter inside. The cane sticks out from her rear
like a long tail. The size is large and the head is all the way
inside now. I take her to the stall and get her up and squatting.
The skirt gets in the way of my view, so I have her pull it up and
over her head to discard. The elastic around the waist makes this
possible.

With her wide and rounded buttocks in front
of me and her thighs bunched in a tight pose, I reach between her
legs after closing the door and feel the wet surface of her
womanhood.

“Doggy needs to pee,” I note.

The woman gasps. I admire her expression.
Probably no man has so wantonly suggested that she do such a thing.
I feel that as a sensation of sharp pleasure that centers around my
groin.

Yellow flows. I admire it closely and lick
my lips. When she is done, I remove the cane and put it to her
mouth.

“Clean this for me. I don't want it to be
messy later.”

Her tongue comes out. This one will do
anything for pleasure. I can see it in her eyes that this is
so.

She works her pink around the musty scented
gold. It is glorious.

“Now, empty the back.”

Another gasp and another first for her. I
watch in pleasure again as it slips out.

“Wipe yourself.”

She does.

Taking her by the hand, I draw her out in
the hallway and parade her along the line of windows in the VIP
section. People can be seen sitting and performing actions that
people usually do on trains: Reading, sleeping and so on. I make
her take her top off and discard with her bra, so that she is only
wearing the small pair of flat shoes she came into my cabin with.
We walk to the end of the car and I press her to the stained glass
of the window. Beyond here is the cheap seats. They will be full
right now. Women, men, her colleagues in learning, perhaps a
teacher or two as escort, they can all probably see the silhouette.
It will not click that what they are seeing is her huge breasts
pushed to the glass, but that is beside the point. Both of us know
that we are on the verge of something here. Heaven and hell and
damnation, dear reader. We live upon the boundary and dare to throw
cusses at the devil for his hardships. Getting caught right now...
that would be arousing.

I take my penis from my pants. It is massive
and bulging by now. The head enters her rear and she cries out
softly. I stifle any sound with my palm and push in hard. It is
lubricated and somewhat stretched, so there is no fear of harming
her.

With my pants around my ankles and her naked
body bunched against the door, I pound into her rear with full
force. Stroke after stroke until the door is shaking.

“Bitch,” I moan. “You heated little bitch.
Master is pleased with doggy.”

It is satisfying to hear only moans in
response. I know she's not listening and only feeling. This is
excites me to no end.

A door opens behind us. I twist around and
see a man looking into his cabin. He doesn't see us and is busy
talking to a woman inside.

Like two teenagers in love, we rush into my
room and close the door tightly. I take no time in re-entering her
rear. She bemoans my lack of use of her other hole, but I am stern
in my punishment for such talk. Why would I want such a thing when
this one has such a kinky little trapdoor.

The shadow of the man passes. I pound so
hard into her body that the door shakes. Those large breasts of
hers are almost crushed into the glass. Anyone on the other side
would see two round brown circles and some white fleshy looking
rounds.

There is a knock on the door as I nearly
reach my climax. I sigh in annoyance and push the woman aside. She
goes down to her knees with two digits working between them while
her wicked mouth suckles the life from my manhood.

“Sir, there have been some complaints of
banging.”

It is the conductor. He looks even more
tired.

“I am writing. It is a creative process that
produces... ah...”

I'm close. She tenses. Down below I hear a
moan. Her eyes tell me that she just came.

“... noises. I will try to be more
quiet.”

The man glances to the door. I know he knows
what is going on. He must have heard the moan.

Instead of forcing entry and reprimanding
us, he gives me a grin and nods his head.

“I imagine it is, sir.”

And off he goes. I turn and grab her head.
To me it is just another hole for my use. I imagine her as a glory
hole as I do it. In and out. No respect for the throat I ram into,
the flesh I bend, the mouth I ruin.

“Bitchhh...”

It pours in. My little doggy laps it up like
a good pet.

“Dat was a bot,” she gurgles before
swallowing it all.

I kiss her and drag her to the long leather
seat. Already I am hard. It is the first of many times that I use
this one this day.

So, reader, I have taken a bit of white
space here to give pause of breath from the climax of my story.
This letter has, as I have hoped, presented to you myself and my
perverted nature. The Bang Bang Express was only one of many times
that I have encountered occasion to be myself – the dirty man I am
– and I am sure we will correspond again. Until then continue
greatly into your future and be of good health.