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My cock unbelievably hard and a thick line of precome trailing from my swollen head are all symptoms of my new and favorite condition.
Natasha-itis.
I’m riddled with it, and the best part is I don’t want to be cured.
I’m happy to have this for the rest of my days.
Twisting my face in my reflection, I face a dilemma.
I need to nut so bad, I’m almost afraid to even touch my cock. It feels like a twitching grenade with the pin pulled. About to go off any second.
But no.
I have to save it for Natasha. For when I claim her properly. Fill her with our babies as well as the dick I know she’s craving as much as I’m driven to distraction wanting to give it to her.
I can feel the train still slowing, but my increasing desire for Natasha, to have her and keep her isn’t.
I don’t think it can now that I’ve felt her so close.
Tasted what I want every day from now on.
Her mom will be getting off the train and that only leaves us with Suzanna, her best friend.
And what about once the train stops for good, what then?
Then she’s coming with me. Going home with me when it’s time too.
The thought’s automatic for me, but it makes me realize I haven’t even asked Natasha what she’s doing once she gets home.
What she really wants.
Whether or not she wants to just up and leave with an older man who was, up until a few hours ago, a total stranger.
I’m not gonna beat myself up over it. I’m not totally selfish in my plans because I just know somehow that Natasha would want to go where I go, do what I do from now on.
Thinking about her as I dress actually helps, and I manage to stave off the intense need to empty my balls, knowing I have a higher purpose than just relief now.
I make my way through the train, noticing how everything literally gets more enclosed and tighter as I move from first class.
I usually travel first class, not to be an asshole about things, but because I always need more room.
A six-foot-seven guy who has to crouch for eight hours on a plane or anywhere else is never a happy one.
Trains I’m still not sure about. Never enough room on one of these for a guy my size.
But it’s brought me Natasha, so on the other hand they’re my new favorite thing.
I soon realize I don’t know exactly where I’m heading, but a few words to a passing steward, and I’m pointed in the right direction.
Not that I need many pointers.
The closer I get, the more I can hear raised voices, telling me I’ve found Natasha’s mom and best friend at last.
I stop to listen, eventually hearing Natasha’s calmer tones before I decide maybe it’s not the best moment to make myself seen.
Turning to make my way back, I overhear Natasha sounding suddenly upset, which only makes me spin on my retreating heel and head straight down to be with her.
All three are by the door closest to the approaching platform.
It’s late now, almost ten, but the station’s lit up with the train coming in at a snail’s pace. I can see people waiting outside the window.
Some eager to get on board, others waiting for loved ones to get off.
I’m moving faster than I realize, and in seconds I’m watching Natasha tell her mother again, “I don’t want to see him, okay? He’s your husband, but was never a real dad to me...”
Her last words seem to drown everything else out.
A silence only made worse by me suddenly appearing next to the group of three.
Suzanna clicks her tongue and groans to herself when she sees me.
Natasha’s mom Renee goes a deep shade of red, but Natasha herself seems glad to see me.
Her features soften, and the creased lines of anger around her eyes shift as her expression changes to one of relief.
“I said we’d all be here to see you off,” I say cheerfully. Deliberately ignoring everything I just heard and not showing I did catch the tail end of their conversation.
“I was just telling my mom I’d rather stay here on the train,” Natasha says, looking from me to her mom with an air of someone whose cavalry has arrived.
“I don’t think it’s really anyone else’s business,” Suzanna says, piping in with a raised voice as she looks up at me defiantly.
She’s a tall girl, her eyes flashing with real hate for me.
But she’s still well over a foot shorter than I am and not very frightening.
Renee seems torn, embarrassed by the whole thing.
“We could all stretch our legs, even just for ten minutes,” I offer. Feeling like a bit of relief from this sardine can couldn’t be a bad thing, but Natasha looks betrayed at the idea.
