This is a short bit of erotic fantasy written some years ago and adapted for the Masturbation Monday prompt. The original story is about three times longer and rather meandering 🙂 Content warning: fantasy non-consent.
There was plenty of room on the morning train, and I sunk into a free seat, opened my new guilty chick lit pleasure and disappeared into it for the next half and hour.
She sat down almost directly across me, nose into a Harlequin paperback and apparently tuned out everything else. That was my cue. I closed my eyes, reached out with my senses and touched her skin with my mind, tentatively. Her skin was a bit damp from the excitement and anticipation of the book. I could taste the tiny drops, smell her exquisite scent, even watch it up close. I felt her deep breathing, her chest rising and falling slowly, with an occasional sharp intake of breath, and I had settled into her rhythm. After all, stealth is the name of the game. Start slowly. I made her nipples slightly more sensitive. The reaction was immediate. She wiggled her chest, a slight tug of her bra sending shivers from her breasts all the way down. Excellent!
At times like this I am really thankful for having this power even if it leaves me bereft of physical closeness. The play. The dance. The exhilaration.
Now, to the next step… A tiny scratch of her left nipple.. a sharp intake of breath. I am overdoing it, better slow down. Or maybe not, let her enjoy the book that way it was meant to be enjoyed by the author. I feel her pelvic floor muscles contract, and match the motion with a cold pressure near her clit. I wonder how much I can do to her without it becoming obvious to others? Some ladies have more self-control and can have a full-blown orgasm without as much as a noticeable moan or a twitch. Others I have to leave be with only slight arousal.
The romance lady smiled and squeezed her legs again, rubbing against her underwear… And here I am helping her with spreading her lips slightly, so that her clit touches the fabric. Easy to do, with her fresh Brazilian. No hair in the way. Thank you, horny stranger. She twitches from an unexpectedly strong sensation, then stills, getting her reactions under control. I don’t let up, increasing the pressure from one side, then another, with her thighs automatically moving in unison, just a bit. Her eyes close… I hope she doesn’t miss her stop… by much. Now we work together. She squeezes and relaxes her fun muscles as I caress the sides of her now considerably enlarged bean. Her breath quickens, but she is still in control of her outward appearance. What a girl. I better not do anything drastic to jeopardize it. It would be lovely if she gains the confidence to get herself off in public any time she wants. She is not quite there yet, judging by the occasional worrying glance around, but I have no doubt she has the skills to learn it. So, no squeezing her nipples, or her clit, no pricking, burning or icing. Hmm, that constrains my options. I settle for the classic rhythmic motions around and around.
The Harlequin girl settles into it, and we move together, floating, floating, gently, higher and higher, with the rest of the train car completely oblivious to our semi-shared bliss.There is no space, there is no time, just the movement of her body, the hotness of her skin, the goosebumps, the shivers, the warm wetness down below.
All too soon the rapture ends, my partner silently and imperceptibly convulsing in her release, and me savoring her every twitch and every flash. The book drops out of her hands, she instinctively opens her eyes and stares at it incomprehensibly, trying to remember where she is and why she was holding it. And then she smiles, a huge blissful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth wide, and my power lets me feel her every facial muscle. I have to control my own smile in response.
Eventually she comes to and picks up the book, looking at it with wonder and suspicion. I almost crack up. I bet she is rereading the page that ostensibly launched her to heaven, unable to comprehend how it happened. Certainly being in the presence of an anonymous orgasm helper would not be on her list of possible explanations.
I am also exhausted. I withdraw from her skin completely, we both deserve a congratulatory pat on the back, but neither one of us gets it. She would certainly misinterpret it, coming out of nowhere, and I cannot pat myself on the back with my power… That’s right, my own power does not work on me. And so while I can enjoy the excitement of others, I have to settle for the mundane physical contact as far as my needs are concerned. As I said, bereft. It’s like you can only see other people, but never yourself. You look down, and there you are… not. It was very confusing at first, but that’s a story for another time.
My unwitting companion gets up, shakes her head slightly, and exits the train on the next stop. I hope it’s hers. Thank you, sweetie, this has been fun! Maybe the memory of this experience will help you to manage to do it on your own, though probably with a steamier book than this one to begin with. Good luck to you, girl! But if I see you again on a train reading a romance novel and concentrating, maybe we shall dance again, if you are in the mood.
…What was that? I think this is my stop. I should look up more stories by this author. And bring a spare liner next time I indulge in her writing, just in case.