Stories From The 6 Train

by Alexis Angel

  “Just fuck me already,” she demands, taking my member out of her mouth and pushing me down onto the bed with both of her hands. Like a tiger pouncing on prey she climbs on top of me, my hands latching to her ass almost magnetically.

  She takes her black thong off, the small piece sliding down her legs easily, and pushes her soaked pussy against my cock, her juices dripping down on my thighs. She rubs herself against me, both hands on my chest, fingers like claws.

  “Tell me you want me, Daddy," she says, a tone of command in her voice.

  “I fucking want you. I want you bad,” I reply.

  “Call me your baby girl,” she says.

  “I’m going to fuck you so bad, you wicked little brat,” I say to her through clenched teeth. “I’m going to fuck that filth right out of you.”

  And, with that, she wraps her legs around my torso and forces my cock inside her. She gasps as my length enters her smoothly, my thickness pushing against her inner walls.

  Oh, yes, I’m going to fuck her in a way she’s not going to fucking forget for a long, long time.

  She pushes her hips forward, forcing me to drive my cock deep inside her. She moans loudly, not a care in the world. Fuck being discrete.

  I breathe heavily as she rides me hard, her ass bouncing up and down against my thighs. Once again I feel drawn to her perfect ass, my hand hitting her cheeks hard. I relish at the sound, spanking her ass one more time, the sound of flesh on flesh music to both of our ears.

  “Your cock is mine… Just mine.” She moans against my ears, her breasts frictioning against my chest. She bites my neck, her teeth pulling my skin hard enough to make me groan and bury my cock inside her pussy in a brutish fashion.

  “You know... “ she nibbles at my ear, her hips swaying back and forth on top of me. “The first time I saw you in that bar, I just wanted to finger myself.”

  I'm not sure what it is, her words or the way in which she is moaning them, but one thing I'm sure of: she's driving me crazy. In my mind there's only one simple thought: to ravage her, and to fuck her very, very hard.

  I grab her by the waist and, without pulling my cock out, push her to the side and climb on top of her, feeling the acute feeling of her fingernails digging into my ass, pulling me into her.

  Pushing against her hands, I suddenly pull out; my thumb darts down, massaging her clit. With two other fingers I go inside her, driving them into a hook, making her moan even more loudly.

  I love the feeling of her wetness on my fingers, and I make sure to share it with her. I remove my fingers abruptly from her pussy and place them over her lips. Eagerly, she opens her mouth and sucks on my fingers, the flavor of her own pussy sending shivers down her spine.

  “Do you want my cock, baby girl?” I ask, my mind clouded by lust.

  “Oh, God… Just give me that cock!” she begs.

  “What do you call me?” I ask her.

  “Please...Daddy,” she moans. “Give me that cock.”

  In a quick motion of my hips I’m inside of her once again, my body pressing down on hers, sweat running down my back. She laces her legs around my back and imprisons me in a tight embrace, making my cock plunge deep inside of her in a way that makes her scream at the top of her lungs.

  I don’t even care if someone is listening. All I care about is giving her what she wants.

  “Make me come…” she moans. “Make me come… Fuck me hard, I…”

  I can do that.

  I pull out of her and motion her to place herself on all fours. She rolls over on the mattress and raises her ass at me; with one hand I feel her wet pussy aching for me and, happy to oblige her desires, I ram my cock into her hard enough for her to bury her head in a pillow, her muffled scream of pleasure bouncing off the mattress.

  I push every inch into her, grabbing her hair with both hands.

  “It’s… so… fucking… good…” It's all she manages to say between each stride I make inside of her. “Harder... harder... HARDER!”

  I don't know if she’s screaming or whispering. I’m so fucking lost in motion, sweat tricking down both our bodies, her wet hair clinging to her face.

  I go as fast and as hard as I can until her screaming makes her throat go sore. Even so, she lets out a harsh moan that makes my skin prickle, her body convulsing as an out-of-control climax takes hold of her body.

  The sound of her moaning drives sparks of electricity down my body, and I feel a pleasant tightness taking hold of me. My cock jerks deep inside of her and, grabbing her by the hips with more force than is necessary, I join her in absolute paradise.

  I close my eyes as my cock explodes inside of her, my cum filling her pussy and dripping down onto the sheets. I breathe out, long and hard, as if I’m breathing out all the tension that has accumulated in my body.

  Only when her body goes limp do I let go of her.

  I roll to the side, allowing my body to rest right next to hers. She’s breathing hard, as if she's just ran a marathon, not that I'm in much better condition. My lungs are working hard, my heart's working overtime, and all of my muscles are feeling sore from the effort.

  I close my eyes, just for enough time to catch my breath. The next thing I know I’ve slipped into the land of dreams, the scent of her pussy still lingering on my cock.

  For the first time in days I sleep like a baby.

  I wake up with a chill. I’m still naked on top of my bed, my crumpled clothes lost on the floor. I rub both of my eyes with the back of my hand and sit up on the bed. For how long have I been asleep? Five minutes? Ten hours? I have no answer.

  “Hey, wake --”, my hand expects to find her naked body still next to me, but all I find is the soft velvety mattress. I feel the silence around me, my breathing the only thing spoiling it. On the floor, all of her clothes are gone. Well, almost all of her clothes.

  I smile at the sight of it.

  She’s vanished like a ghost, but she’s been wicked enough to leave one last memento behind: her thong.

  I imagine her tiptoeing out of my room, her pussy rubbing against the fabric of her tight pants and I almost laugh to himself.

  She sure knows how to drive a man crazy. Whether I'm her stepdad or not, I’ve never had an experience like this before.

  I need more.

  MarketWatch Journal Flash Update

  New details emerged today surrounding the beleaguered billionaire. This time rumors have surfaced that the hastily arranged marriage was nothing more than a cover up to protect Mason Kane's career.

  Sources who have requested anonymity due to being close to the married couple confirm that the marriage between Mr. Kane and Lorna Lowell has yet to be consummated. While paperwork and all the bureaucratic measures have been taken, they allege that Mr. Kane seems uninterested to the point of revulsion in being intimate with Ms. Lowell. Speculation is rife within the Lowell domestic staff—who have witnessed or heard second-hand reports of the couple—whether Mr. Kane is a closet homosexual. Many anonymous sources believe at this time that Mason Kane either suffers from impotence or is gay and thus arranged the marriage with Ms. Lowell to further stave off embarrassment.

  The anonymous sources do acknowledge that Mr. Kane has made no formal declaration of any of the speculation—neither confirming nor denying these allegations. However, amidst a culture on Wall Street that acts on rumors and vague murmurs, the allegations were enough to send shares of Kane Price plunging 15% during market trading before stabilizing during after-hour trades.

  The sudden decrease in share price has many shareholders and clients once again considering whether Mr. Kane is the right person to be managing the investment bank that he founded and took public several years ago. While critics do not question his potential to make money, they do question whether his extra-curricular entanglements have gotten to such a point where he is no longer able to serve as a fiduciary steward of shareholder value.

  It was only two months ago that the self-styled King of Wall Street married Lorna Lowell
, a shareholder activist who controls a large chunk of voting stock within Kane Price. Ms. Lowell has been outspoken in her criticism of Mr. Kane and his handling of his personal life prior to their marriage as well as his investment choices that he has made in recent weeks.

  Both sides agree that a vote of no confidence, unheard of in the button down world of Wall Street would literally tear the company apart, with factions splitting off into opposing camps and halting the business that is conducted daily by the globe-girdling bank. That such a development would be disastrous to shareholders and clients is something both sides agree on and only warranted in the most extreme circumstances.

  Still, the tension and threat of a no confidence vote are simmering under the surface.

  Internally, sources confirm that Kane Price is splitting up into battlegrounds over a proposal by Ms. Lowell to invest $1 billion of the Firm's assets into Indonesian regional airline provider, Red Lion Aviation. Mr. Kane has strongly opposed this investment, stating that the risk is too great for any return. However those who favor the investment view any delay on Mr. Kane's part as simply being based out of ego and not on rational decision making.

  Becca

  Five.

  That's how many weeks it's been since I first fucked Mason in the bathroom of the bar. Before I knew who exactly he was. Before we began to spend more and more time together. Before I realized his connection to Lorna. Before I realized a lot of things. I used to think I was so grown up. But I realize now just how naive I was. It feels like in those five weeks since I've met Mason, I've crossed a bridge that can never be crossed, you know? Like I've matured much faster than any 21 year old should have to.

  Seven.

  That's how many days ago I finally moved the last of my things out of the townhouse that Lorna lives in.

  Mason helped me of course. "Mom" wasn't around to even see me go. Mason didn't know where she was either. Only later did I find out from our housekeeper—who cried all day as I was moving out—that Lorna had gone to the Hamptons with another Kane Price shareholder.

  Of course, you know what she did there?

  I don't have to have a very vivid imagination to say that she went out there to seduce him. I'm not being a bitch if I say that. She pretty much told me this herself a few days after I overheard her tell Mason that she wasn't my mother.

  That's right, babe. I totally confronted her. I remember. It was a Saturday morning and she was reading the newspaper on her tablet in the sunroom.

  "Why do you look so shocked, Becca?" she asked me when I asked her if it was really true. "You got a good deal out of it, didn't you?"

  "But that's not the point, Mom," I said, instinctively falling back on the moniker.

  "Please, will you fucking stop calling me your mother," Lorna said with obvious disdain. "I could give two shits whether you live or die, to be honest. You're only as good to me as you photograph, if you must know."

  I think I gasped or something, you know? Just hearing those words coming from the woman I thought had loved me my whole life.

  "Oh, don't look so shocked," she said to me. "You're nothing like me. You're weak, soft, and stupid. You don't have the killer instinct."

  "Is that why you didn't like Dad?" I asked her. "Because he didn't have the killer instinct?"

  Lorna's face turned into a grimace. "I wish he'd never brought you into the marriage we had," she sneered. "If he'd just thrown you out on the corner, maybe he'd still be alive. I wanted him, not you. But when you came along with him, it sort of ruined the experience for me, you know?"

  I remember shaking with fear and shock and loathing. How could one person be so cavalier about the dead? So hating toward the living.

  "I cheated on your father every chance I got," she said, smiling as if relishing the fact that she was hurting me. "I made sure he found out about it each and every time. I fucked guys on our bed. I left panties soaked in other men's cum for him to find and see."

  She went on and on. A litany of betrayals as I sat in horror.

  "And then," she said, without a shade of remorse. "When he couldn't take it anymore, he took his own life."

  I couldn't believe it. She laughed at me and said the final piece that made me realize I had to leave. "Just the way I'd planned it."

  There was something very psychotically wrong with Lorna Lowell. And I needed to get away as quickly as possible.

  Two.

  That's how many weeks ago Lorna finally cut me off from everything. I was removed from her will. I lost my bank accounts. Even my cell phone contract was cancelled. I mean, she paid the penalty for early termination just to cut my phone bill and show me who was boss.

  I knew what she was trying to do.

  She was trying to assert her dominance over me. Trying to get me to realize that I had to come crawling back to her.

  Don't worry. That's something that I'll never do.

  Luckily, I still had a decently paying job as a Wall Street intern. Annualized, I made about $60,000 a year so I was able to open a bank account on the same day. I basically had the clothes on my back and the cash in my pocket, but with the help of a few friends, I was able to get by till payday. That's when I began saving my money and couch surfing till I finally found a one-bedroom walkup on the Lower East Side that I was able to move into.

  "You should just stay with me," Mason immediately offered. But I knew that I didn't want to put him in that situation. I want him to have me over at his place because he wants to. Not because he thinks he's doing me a favor.

  Six.

  That's how many days out of the seven that I've had my new apartment that I've spent the night at Mason's place in One57. That's right, babe. I moved into a new apartment and my first week I only spent one night.

  I mean, it's a pretty different world from what I was accustomed to. It's a walk up. No doorman. No elevator.

  The view is of a brick wall. The faucet in the bathroom leaks. It's about the size of Mason's walk-in closet. It's definitely for people who are either starving artists or holdovers from the days of rent control. Nevertheless, I didn't mind staying there.

  But there was one thing the apartment, with all it's independence from Lorna, couldn't give me that Mason could.

  Sex.

  Three.

  That's how many times a day Mason and I have sex when I'm able to have sex. Seriously, who would think that he was in his late thirties by the way he fucks. He's like a pile driver powered by some sort of Energizer battery. But whereas the bunny would tire out and nap, Mason just keeps going and is ready for more at the drop of a hat, or the bending of a waist.

  Ever since the fist night in his apartment where I began to go all out and call him Daddy, I haven't gotten it out of my head. I love pretending he's my stepdad. I mean, technically, I suppose he was, even though at 21 I'm fully emancipated from a woman who bears no familial relation to me.

  But it gets me so wet. I can't even begin to describe how filthy I feel when I think about him spanking me as I beg him to smack my ass harder. I moan out "Daddy, don't stop" as he puts his massive cock inside of me. I groan "Daddy, cum all over my face" right before he sprays a quart of cum all over me. And then I lick it up and swap it with him.

  Just thinking about him right now has my panties drenched. You remember how Mason told you back in the first chapter to take off your panties before diving into the book? I wish someone had told me to stop buying thongs before I met Mason. Because what's the point?

  I mean, for someone on a budget, it's more cost effective for me to go commando. Saves on laundry costs.

  But I want to make one thing clear though.

  It's not just about the sex.

  I think I'm falling in love with him.

  One.

  That's how many months I've been debating in my head whether I'm really falling in love with the bad boy of Wall Street. I mean this guy used to be a player. Yeah, I told you I know all about his MO. I've read everything about him and that Stacy Sawyer chick on
Market Pulse and how they fucked.

  But he really does care for me.

  Not just because he takes care of me when Lorna cut me off. But just spending time with me.

  Take the other day, for example.

  I wanted to go to Kittichai, the Thai place on the West Side.

  "That place is overrated," Mason said to me when I broached the subject.

  "But their chicken curry is so good!" I whined. He looked at me and I pouted. "After everything that's been going on, I could use something like Thai food to pick me up."

  It was true. Sharing a meal was a way to forget about the impending vote of no confidence, the power that Mom was amassing in the Firm, or the fact that I was caught in the center of it.

  Also, I knew he couldn't resist that pout.

  So I was a little surprised when he said nothing more and headed to work.

  I followed an hour later and all day it was business as usual, both sides of Kane Price desperately trying to make or break the Red Lion Aviation deal.

  Around 6 pm, Mason came by my desk.

  "Are you ready to go?" he asked me.

  I looked at him with a stupid stare.

  "The car's waiting to take us to Kittichai," he said.

  It's not just the fact that Mason Kane had actually planned and gotten us into one of the hottest restaurants in New York City with a reservation list of at least a month.

  It's that he was standing at my desk, telling me that the car was waiting.

  That he was acknowledging me in full view of the people on my floor.

  That he held out his arm as I got up and we walked out, arm in arm.

  That he opened the door for me to the car, and before I got in, stopped me.

  I could tell the words going through his brain.

  But how is the Bad Boy of Wall Street supposed to tell a girl that he loves her?

  Instead, he did the next best thing.

  "I will do anything for you, Becca Lowell," he said. "I promise."