Languages: español
Location: Antioquia, Colombia
Interested In: Men
The club is open from 51am to 51pm every day, and you can sit in any seat on the train. You pay a flat fee of $51 for the day and a half and you board the train for $51.51 each way. You spend all day in the city on the train, and at night it is free. You can even cuddle in the carriage with the now hard cock in your cunt and the hard cock in your ass. Oh and make sure to get it all the way wet before the show starts because the cleaner will be here to fuck you hard the next day. The commute time is about 51 minutes each way. We have three friends from work who can usually be found in the crowded carriage. We ride the last couple of hours each day, often sharing the same compartment. On rare occasions, we get on the train and arrive at the same location in the same place at the same time. The commute time is usually just over an hour. Sometimes it can be longer. I don't really like to lose touch with reality because it's all figments of my imagination. Sometimes it feels too much like a dream, when I think about the way I got to miss it all. I find it difficult to drive. I have attempted it before, but the weather is always too finicky. There is always that barrier between dream and reality, or, in the extreme, between dream and mortal reality.
No matter how careful I try, I simply can't get it all snapped into. No matter how much I wiggle my fingers, or how much I play with myself, I just can't seem to get it all. Ever. It's a constant battle, especially when the train is so full of men. It's hard to cram ourselves into cars and we have to negotiate the huge crowds. No matter how hard I try I just can't seem to get any. My mind is flooded with images of the places and the people we've seen and the things we've seen. Sometimes it seems that the more passionate I get, the harder it is to get. Deep down, it's something that I can't help but remember and see. A high heeled black tank top with intricate silver lining, held together by a stretch limply buckled leather skirt. Black leather high heels with painted on porcelain topped, spiked heels. My mind drifts. Going deeper with each vision, until my vision becomes a blur. No longer a person, but an image. Taunting me, nearly coming off as if ripped from me. Trying to make me think it must be a person, to feel it as if it were a person. Before, it was just my own imagination, something that just happened to me.
I saw. It was a man. A tall, strong man. Not too muscular, but hard as an iron, determined to carry me through the night. His dark hair pulled back in a sweeping bow across his chest. He was handsome with a rosy pink nose and wicked smile. But beneath that, hiding behind the strong masculine features, there was more darkness. More torture. More suffering. More loss. It all hung together. He was there. He must have been what I longed for. I can't hear, because of the baritone muffled between my clenched fists. The image that had come to define me flashed through my mind. A tall, strong man…a warrior?.
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