[ad_1]

The train took little time to pick up speed. The passengers in the last car – the only ones aboard who called the train by the name Chastity Express – took this as a signal to start their mingling. After all, the trip was only supposed to be three hours long, and they had lots to do. The car was outfitted in dark, velvet fabric of sumptuous colours. They were draped in such a manner that the train’s actual, bland interior walls could not be seen. A hint of Gothic in the form of wrought iron bars crisscrossed the windows. Gorgeous antique books with golden pages adorned shelves which spanned one whole side. Many of these books, Francesca had said with wiggling eyebrows, were empty receptacles. The way she said that word was sexy and caused a perceptible stir. There were button-tufted cushions and thick, comfortable mats on the floors, and curtains running down from tracks on the ceiling, carving out little semi-private nooks in the space.

I felt my cheeks burn. While the erotic idea had made my bucket list, and I truly was on a bucket list streak this year, I couldn’t help feeling a little bashful now for having dragged a fellow journalist colleague whom I’ve only known eight months. Eight months! I had come far, far beyond my comfort zone. Maybe I had come far enough.

In spite of myself, I gave a little nervous laugh and looked up at Milton.

“Are you still game for this?” I found myself asking. It was a little late to get off the train; too late to switch cars, even. I had noticed the train crew member make a show of locking the fourteen couples in. My shyness was making it difficult to look Milton in the eye, but I forced myself to; after all, we’d potentially be much more intimate this evening. He held my gaze, and it got easier. Man, he was stunning. What was the best part I didn’t know: his olive complexion, delicious dark eyes, or plump lips that I desperately wanted to pinch with my teeth. Not to mention his hands. His hands brushed my arm any chance he got.

“Game if you are.” Milton approached me, using those large worker hands to cradle my face. He brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of my eyes. I was taken aback by his embrace, which made me feel utterly enveloped and safe. It had the effect of increasing the boldness of my thoughts. But I reminded myself that no matter what happened, whether we reached the pinnacle of my dirty fantasies or not, this was gonna be an incredible breakthrough in our relationship – however that relationship may be defined.

Milton had all the time fancied me; ‘always’ meaning since he joined the newspaper eight months ago. A former mechanic who had followed in his father’s footsteps only to discover a longing for more academic pursuits, he discovered his knack with the pen. Despite having no formal schooling in journalism, he got on the team due to a respectable portfolio of writing. That’s what Amy Bolen, the editor-in-chief, told everyone, anyway. It only occurred to me now that maybe she too had fallen for Milton’s good looks. Not to suggest he hadn’t earned the job, but still.. Milton was something to behold.

A few drunken nights out with the staff had solidified our attraction. I desired Milton, but there was something about him that made me want to draw things out, that wanted the chase. At Blarney’s Pub one Friday night I found myself revealing my involvement in the kink club, which intrigued him. No; shocked him, at first. But then, most certifiably impressed him, even if I chickened out in the end and told him my involvement was out of journalistic interest.

“You need a drink,” he observed, snapping me out of my reverie.

“Maybe so,” I conceded. “I’ll stay here.”

Carl was manning the bar. He was one of the organizers, along with his partner Francesca. I saw that Milton barely caught Carl for our drinks before he switched off with the actual hired bartender for the night. Carl and Francesca summoned all the couples into a circle. Milton came to discover me again and we sat down together. We had been eyeing the other from a distance, up until now, but this icebreaker activity was supposed to help us participants get to know each other a bit more. A chalkboard had been posted with the important questions to answer. A pet name, a profession, a favourite kink, a sexual skill. The author of the board had adorned the bottom two corners with cock and balls.

I didn’t know Carl very well, as he was not very involved with the kink club in the regular activities. His passion was the train rides. He was definitely not my type, I noted; his appearance reminiscent of a high college hockey coach. Tall and hulky; his head shiny, balding; Adidas track pants and white Nikes – more casual than anyone. He towered over everyone at six feet five inches. Carl’s face contorted into a warm, salacious smile when speaking to attractive women. He appeared enamoured with every one of us, giving his full, devoted attention. It was sort of cringe-worthy, yet he seemed to be well-liked. Although this is probably owing to being the brains behind this whole thing.

Carl started off by making a point to laud the quality of females in the room. Looking around, I deduced that nobody felt objectified. I suppose not, because this whole affair catered to the men first and foremost anyway. They essentially got their pick. And us women got what we got. That is what I signed up for.

“This tops the charts for the greatest quantity of fuckable girls!” Carl said with a booming laugh. “No, seriously.”

He then proceeded to say his goal was “three women”. It occurred to me that the man probably knew the best hiding spots. I gulped, the sudden onset of jittery feelings compounded by Carl turning to me – I sat to his right – and whispering, “and I want you to be one of them, girl.” Oh, my God. Did he seriously just..? The drink was already doing a number on my cheeks. Now they positively burned. I averted Carl’s gaze, purposely turning my body toward Milton, my mouth in a hard line. Milton’s eyes got widened in mock horror when he heard Carl’s words. I nearly giggled.

Carl muttered something under his breath. I could have sworn he said something along the lines of, playing hard to get, are we?

Francesca took notice of this interaction, and seized the moment to ostensibly lean down to pluck a piece of lint off Carl’s pants. In doing so, one of her breasts nearly popped out of her bodice, which was loose and not tightly fitted to her body. “Oops,” she said softly. Carl’s hand shot out, but Francesca slapped it away. “You’ll just have to find my key if you want a piece of that,” she snapped haughtily.

Francesca languidly fixed herself and her garment, before giving both breasts a lift with her hands. It was too much; Carl grunted, his hand shifting to rearrange his crotch. His tight fitting tracksuit didn’t leave much to the imagination. I nearly choked, as I could nearly make out the girth of the man through his pants. He noticed me looking and grinned, licking his lips. Oh help me God. But I found myself strangely aroused; if only because I was flattered that a man who had a sex kitten like Francesca at his disposal could desire someone like me, timid and awkward Marcella Owens. Truthfully, I did feel sexy tonight, with silver stilettos, toe nails painted blood red, the front of my dress boasting my cleavage, and of course the chastity belt under my skirts, like all the other women, which was hidden out of sight for the time being. Protecting my cunt. Who would be the one to unlock it?

I looked around. Many faces were familiar to me. All faces were attractive, at least conventionally so. Invitations had been exclusive. Professions included fitness trainers, school students, models, waitresses, real estate agents, and erotic company owners. I recognized Jill and Travis, both personal fitness trainers, from Saturday nights spent at French Kiss. They were both tall and toned and attractive, and, one would assume, good at sex. My eyes had been drawn to them like a magnetic force those nights on the dance floor. They were the first exhibitionists I had really ever seen, and I found myself riveted to them entirely.

A nearly lifelong desire gnawed at me: It would be a dream to shack up with them. Jill was so forward that I could fathom giving in pretty easily to my long-suppressed desire to experiment with a woman. At least, if she initiated. Of course, she hadn’t tried anything on me. Not yet.

And Travis, well, he had an earnest way about him, like he wouldn’t ever be unfaithful to Jill. He took part in it all, often standing back with a sheepish grin when he looked on at his wife grinding and making out with another girl. The other guys patted him on the back as though he had done something right. And a moment later he’d get involved himself, joining the girls. She’d open up her skirt to him, sparsely covered underneath, wanting their bodies to collide. A flash of a thong. As casual as if she had patted a picnic blanket to invite him to join. And Travis would be right there, pressing his pelvis deep into her. Oblivious to onlookers. He was a product of rave culture; he didn’t give much of a shit over stuff like that.

In those moments I couldn’t help but look on in wonder. I was probably gawking, in actual fact, but I couldn’t help it. I gawked even more when Travis copped a feel simultaneously on both Jill and her female make-out partner. Jill’s eyes rolled back in her head with utter pleasure.
During the introductions, Jill said one of her sexual desires was to see Travis fuck other women; a first for them. “Otherwise, why would you be here!” Carl cried. “Travis, go fuck lots of women tonight!” Jill feigned a laugh.

It was almost time for action. Francesca explained the rules one last time. “One: if you find a key, lads, you must fuck that lady before looking for another key. You will find the keys numbered and our ladies numbered also.” She showed a number inked on her forearm as an example. “Two: if any lady is caught directing a particular lad to her key’s hiding spot, she is kicked out of the game and will simply have to watch all the sex without getting any herself.” Francesca smirked. “Three: if a lady turns down a lad, it’s game over. No sex, no nothing, for him nor her!” There was a murmur in the crowd. “Four: ladies get minimum one chance to fuck, the lads as many as the keys they find. Yes, this means some of you fellers might not get lucky. But once the keys have opened up all the pussies, and said pussies have been fucked by the key holders, anybody and anything is fair game.” It was clear Francesca had a background in theater before she opened her sex shop. She was expressive and bold. It was as though she was checking off an invisible list in her head of all the things that needed to be said, and she did so in such a matter-of-fact tone she might as well have been talking about vegetable varieties. Everyone’s eyes were glued on her. “Five: no foreplay is off limits, even without a key. All parties consenting, of course.”

With a glance at the DJ, thrashy hip hop music began blaring. Francesca picked up a bottle of champagne; she began shaking and dancing against it suggestively. “The bubbly will be pouring all night y’all,” she shouted. “So, go get some, then get fucking!” To mark this point, she popped the cork with gusto. The liquid exploded upwards, drenching her bosom. She paraded in it, while thirteen people hooted and hollered. The organizer’s partner got lots of lovin’ too, apparently. There was a toast to “fucking”, followed by screeches of laughter.

The niceties over with, I took this as a sign to take a swig of the last of the drink Milton had so kindly brought me – some type of middle-of-the-road Moët – and turned to my guest, my confidence at an all-time high. “Fuck you later?” I smiled at him longingly. We were sharing a large cushion in the partially broken up “circle”. He took my hands in his and brought me to my feet. His hands shifted to my lower waist and he pressed me against his midsection.

“Oh,” I said softly. Understanding his want.

“I want you,” he whispered. The words were electric to my body. I found myself brought to shivers. “I’m here for you.” But I had one more thing to say before he went on the search:

“Please find the key before…” I gestured as discreetly as I could toward Carl, “..he finds it. Please.”

There was a frenzy in the following ten minutes, with the men’s motivation at their height, and the ideal amount of alcohol guzzled by all. The bartender, the only spectator that evening, also doubled as a DJ, and began blasting an upbeat song by Sons of Kemet. The sounds of horns never failed to get people horny. Instantly, people began moving.

Milton had left my side and went looking high and low for my key. Meanwhile, I laid myself out on one of the cushions placed along the side of the car, essentially trying to relax and rouse myself. I wasn’t a dancer, so I’d forego that and focus on looking like a luxurious sexy bitch instead. I kicked off my heels and arched my back. The champagne was giving me all the right feels. I was starting to feel good and in my element; best of all, Milton glanced at me then, remaining transfixed for what felt like a long intimate moment. I shooed him with a flick of my hand and mouthed, “the key!”

Thanks for reading!
[Continue on Kindle](

NSFW: yes

[ad_2]