In Chapter Two of "Strangers on a Train," it takes place on a Tuesday.
It had been a taxing day, remembered for its irritants rather than pleasures. Interrupting the flow of events were those who wasted time before saying they'd think about it, never to be heard from again; the ones expressing dissatisfaction because they'd been informed their accommodation would be more of an artistic rendition than a physical building; and the female client in tears over a boyfriend's betrayal - dumping her for her best friend, canceling her holiday, and possibly ending their engagement.
With these experiences, she was eager to leave the store, escape the present moment, and be free of overbearing Liz's feigned interest and self-centered Stephanie's inability to perceive people's human emotions. What she yearned for was to go to the subway station, meet her mysterious male acquaintance, and dare to hope he'd speak to her as opposed to only smiling at her.
As the clock approached 12:00, she logged off her computer and closed its screen. It was now 5:30 pm, and she had to be at the station before him so she could greet him upon his arrival. Over the past few weeks, some customers had kept her at the shop after hours, provoking a deep-seated fury within her.
Evenings at the station were like reruns of mornings. She maintained the same position on the platform each day and he always glided past her, triggering a melt in her heart and arousal in her genitals through a smile and a lingering look. He wasn't intentionally ignoring her, as he didn't acknowledge anyone, nor was he deeply engrossed in reading or using a phone. He appeared content, happy, lost in thought.
Though it was irrational to lust after a man she encountered for less time each day than it took to finish a cup of coffee, she now considered various aspects of her life to accommodate him. She couldn't change her uniform to intrigue him, but she did plan her underwear to pique his interest. In the morning, she set her alarm earlier to ensure her undergarments were matching and alluring. She started wearing stockings as opposed to tights. And during her shower, she meticulously smoothened her legs and shaved her pubic area to please him.
Lastly, she exited the store with a thoughtless goodbye to her coworkers and rushed to the station, strutting in her heels with a sense of purpose and urgency. She'd get home before her husband, and there was a vibrator waiting to provide relief from the pent-up sexual tension between her thighs brought on by the mere thought of seeing him.
Arriving at the platform, she navigated the crowd with a sense of expectancy lodged in her lower ribs. Longing for more than his smile and seductive gaze, she raised her chest, displaying her generous breasts which were normally covered up. Unbeknownst to her, they had previously drawn attention from passersby, but now she sought his acknowledgement. Feeling herself up for him, her chestnut hair bounced like a curtain on her shoulders.
Her excitement for his imminent arrival triggered an increased heart rate and faster, shallower breaths - an anxiety simulating the thought of impending punishment. Her pink thong stretched slightly with each flex of her thighs, accentuating the moisture already seeping from her vagina.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" she asked herself, yet it didn't curb her pleasure from gently grinding her legs together and then relaxing the tension.
Terrified by the approaching sound, she realized he wasn't present. Her heart began racing as he was usually there, apart from when she was late. Except, now he wasn't. There was no option to board the incoming train without seeing him. Yet what if he didn't turn up? Should she wait, hoping he'd finally show up? Or would she let the trains pass one after another?
Darting her eyes along the platform, she recognized the disturbing sound closing in. With growing dread, the train was drawing nearer, but there was no sign of him.
A wave of panic swept through her, and her mind scrambled to find a solution. He still wasn't here.
'Damn,' she mumbled to herself.
Suddenly, she spotted him, rushing along the platform, his expression tensed, clearly running late. Relieved by his presence, yet disappointed that their encounter would be brief, she watched as he hurried to catch the train. They would both arrive at the platform at once, claiming their separate corners.
Unable to remain standing and face him, she made her way to the edge of the platform, barely managing to catch a glimpse of him before she turned. With a deep breath, his gaze found hers and he held it til she felt pinned, unable to walk away.
After a brief hesitation, the train doors opened, her eyes rooted onto his, and he slipped in, swallowed by the surrounding metal.
She hissed in frustration, for there was no option but to board the train. The busyness of the train meant no free seat was available. Urgency dictated her decision: she would stand.
Gripping the metal handrail, she took a deep breath, imagining him silently. Glancing around, she thought about how he appears to her and considered the event just passed. Truly regretting her situation, she couldn't help but picture him lost in her temptations: imagining his mouth on her breasts or his hands caressing her body.
'Why am I here?' she wondered.
The train picked up speed, shaking her precariously. She blinked as her mind wandered to her previous encounter with him.
'Confession wasn't something that Tammy relished. She never believed she required forgiveness for her acts, as none were evil or hurtful, only little white lies that smoothed life's edges.'
'It was pleasantly sunny for mid-October, hot enough to don a summer dress and pumps, revealing her well-tanned legs. She wore a flowery green dress, which, perhaps, isn't the best choice for confessing. However, she had no intention of residing there for an extended period. She planned to apologize to God for her misdeeds and return home to embrace the lingering autumn sunshine.'
'Diligently, Tammy admired the church's architecture. As she meandered towards the confessional, she allowed her fingers to glide over the oak pews and pondered the sanctity that enveloped the space. The church was a modern structure, but it resonated the essence of every church: pews neatly arranged in rows, shelves sprinkled with religious artifacts, darkness shrouding the building while light streamed in, like a holy aura. She sat, contemplating what she wished to confess that evening.'
'She often considered making up her sins.
'Father, I've sinned. It's been 15 years and 3 months since my last confession.'
'[...]'
'Father, I've been bringing idols into existence. I've commended the Devil on several occasions. I've experienced physical attraction for the caretaker of my grandmother's care home; he's 87, I believe. I've stolen cricket balls from a sports store and utilized them in a form of protest against the construction of a new crematorium in sight of the demolished adult store, and any ball that I didn't throw I would sit on and practice erotic movements on, while observing the local cricket team, forced to climax with my screams, causing women to drop their cakes and resist rolling their eyes.'
She wondered how many Hail Marys it took to wipe away those transgressions.
TL;DR
Tammy waited anxiously for the annual appearance of the love of her life at the station in case she missed her favorite train, only to be devastated when, for once, he failed to show up and she had to board without him. Frustrated, she turned to the only refuge she knew. Confessing her sins at her local church, she entertained thoughts of lies but ultimately remained honest. Having been inspired by recent thoughts of love, she used her fantasy of him as an excuse to get close to another man, faking attraction and sexual satisfaction at the sight of her local cricket team. She wondered how many Hail Marys and Glory Bes it would take to absolve her.
The voice, well, it wouldn't be truly disembodied. This new priest was something else; young and way too attractive for the role. Such a waste, really. Tammy wasn't a regular churchgoer (she went only when she was visiting her hometown because her mom insisted). But this guy could definitely make her think about that. Whenever he read the liturgy or passed her communion, she couldn't help but speculate if he, you know, had a tiny, shriveled, unimpressive member. Or was it the opposite—arousing and required some regular relief by jerking off due to his experiences at the nunnery.
No matter what, she couldn't help but wonder. How often did he jerk off? And what would he think about when jerking off? Nuns? When he was in the process of jerking off, did he fantasize about nuns wearing wimples while he held and squeezed his own thing? Or did he just do it like any guy, fantasizing about anything?
Over the previous few months, she sat through his sermons without really paying much attention. Her mom was a bit uncomfortable with her choice of clothing for church, something too revealing and showed too much skin. Too much of her legs. Too much cleavage for a conservative church setting.
But all attempts to get him to notice her failed. He seemed impervious to her, almost as straight-laced as any Catholic priest she had seen before. Waiting for the confessional door to open, she glanced at her tightly wrapped dress that was now very short in the crotch area, which she had raised higher and higher with each moment, showing more and more thigh. How short is too short? She thought, spreading her legs a bit wider and looking up at the crucifix above the altar. Then she pictured her thighs, her smooth, supple thighs. She considered how cold the varnished oak would feel against the soft flesh of her ass.
'How blasphemous is it to touch your pussy in church, anyway?' she asked herself with a smirk.
Just as she was about to come up with an answer for that, the door of the confessional next to hers opened, and her mom's neighbor stepped out. Smiling apologetically, the neighbor took her place in the pews in front of Tammy.
Quickly walking into the confessional, Tammy closed the door softly behind her and knelt. It was one of the older confessional booths, with the priest sitting in the dark and the people who came to confess sitting as if in prayer.
Tammy crossed herself and began.
'I'm sorry, Father, for I have sinned. It's been three weeks since my last confession.'
'Well, please continue, my child,' his familiar voice responded.
'I've been impatient, Father,' she went on.
'Why? he asked.
'I've been impatient when I'm driving or with people in stores, and I know they can't help it.'
'That can happen to anyone, dear. We just need to remember we're not the center of the universe and learn to be humble like Christ.'
'Yes, Father. I've also used some bad language, extremely bad language, Father.'
'Try to find new ways to express yourself, dear. Try to find ways to channel your impatience.'
'I've also had sex, Father,' she blurted out. 'With men and women. And one of them was married.'
Maybe it was the rush of being unshackled, but she wasn't sure how far to push it. But then, deciding to be a bit bolder, she decided to try one more thing.
'Yes, Father. I had sex with someone who is married—the wife of Mr. Tandy, in fact.'
There was a pause, and she wondered if she had committed an even grievous sin for confessing to this.
Finally, he spoke, 'We're all tempted, Tammy, but we must learn self-control, no matter how pleasant the temptations might seem.'
Her heart pounded as she heard her name. She wasn't sure how adventurous she should be, so she just nodded.
'I've committed many sins, Father, and given in to way too many temptations.'
He stayed silent for a little bit.
'Temptation takes many forms, dear. You must learn that self-control is essential.'
And that was that...
She confessed her constant thoughts about sex, knowing it's wrong but unable to control them. The more she thought about it, the more she desired it - with men and women, in every place and way. She begged forgiveness from the priest.
A moment of silence. The light behind her cracked open the door, illuminating the confessional's darkness. It was him, the priest. Confused, she didn't know what he wanted.
The door closed, plunging the room back into silence. She finally stood, facing him. "Father...what?" she asked, unsure.
Eternally silent, he stood before her. His hand reached under her arms, pulling her to her feet. Resting on the ledge separating the sinner's box from the priest's, she almost needed to be pinned there.
"What's happening, Father?" she quickly asked.
Without speaking, he leaned in closer, brushing his breath against her neck. His lips hovered near her skin.
"Innocent Tammy, you're a slut and I've noticed," he growled whisperingly. He observed her showing off her body with short skirts and revealing tops, the way her eyes lit up at any man or woman. She'd watched as he ogled her body, admiring her legs.
His finger pressed fabric into her damp panties, teasing her lips. As she tried to close her legs to remove his hand, it stayed put. Instead, his fingers moved within the material. Abruptly, they touched her clitoris.
"No, Father," she begged, stopping him. But his hand remained. The other hand twined around her neck. Her panties glistened with her arousal, her loud moans impossible to hide. Praying that no one would hear, she touched his collarbone.
He felt solid and determined, refusing her pleas to stop. She tried to pry his hand off, but he held tight. Sexual pleasure rushed through her as he rubbed her thigh. Her head dipped, the priest's collarbone her only support. Petrified, she touched his collarbone again, hoping to stop him.
His lips moved closer, his breath hot on her neck. Then, he spoke, saying she was a slut and discussing her outfit.
"No, you shouldn't do this," she begged repeatedly. Yet his finger never stopped brushing her wet lips. His free hand gripped her neck, not intending to stop. The thrill of being taken over by the priest made her slick with desire. She hid her moans while his fingers steadily undressing her.
His grip tightened, pinning her against the sill. Trying to hide her excitement from the outside, she tried to push away. The priest's indifference meant the fingers would stay. With his free hand, he touched her lips.
"No, Father," she repeated, failing to stop him from entering her.
She watched the priest's movements, hungry for his touch. His fingers tore her panties and sliding beneath her ass, his hand held her in place. He touched her clitoris, his other hand around her neck. Drowning in perversion, she enjoyed the priest's domination. She finally gasped in ecstasy.
"No more, Father," she begged, grasping his hand.
The priest had no intention of stopping. In the darkness, she succumbed to his fingers. She was wet, her skirt pushed up, her back curved, her breasts overexposed, her hips wriggling, her legs spread. In the clutches of this secret, perverse encounter, she enjoyed this lurid scene. Her breasts rose high, her nipples hard, her hands pulling and pulling until she could take him in fully. He stimulated her clitoris until she moaned uncontrollably. But he wouldn't stop.
His free hand reached between her thighs. His fingers explored her furry pussy, his hand sliding around. His wicked touch, the sound of her desperate breath, wet her lips. Her head dipped, her hands trembled. She touched his face.
"No more," she moaned, writhing in passion.
Pinning her to the ledge, he forced her to take him. Her clitoris sensitive, aching under his touch, she rocked her hips, the sweat gathered at her neck. He penetrated her deeply, taking control, oblivious to her whispers. She bit her lip, feeling her forehead damp. Grasping him, she whispered her desires. Only then did he explode into her.
There are smooth breaths on her neck and chin as he whispers again, his voice coarse.
'Now,' he says, 'get on your knees and show me just how filthy your mouth is.'
She resists, shaking her head.
'Father, you can't do this,' she protests quietly, urgently.
'You'll soon find out what I'm capable of,' he informs her. 'Get on your knees or I'll tell Mr. Tandy what you confessed, especially how you behaved with that scummy slut.'
'Father, please,' she begs.
'On your knees, now,' he commands.
He pushes her shoulders down forcefully, and she crouches and kneels in front of him. It is darker now, even in the dim light. She hears his zip slide down and in moments he has his hot, hard cock on her cheek. His hands move from her shoulder, and she sees him, in the faint glimmer, wrap one around his cock. Swiftly, he begins to stroke his cock.
'Now, wrap your mouth around my cock,' he directs.
Unable to choose what to do, powerless to ignore the pulsating desire between her legs, she obediently holds his shaft.
'I said suck it,' he snaps. 'I can wank myself.'
She leans forward in the fiery darkness and licks his cock's tip. He jumps. She tastes the sweetness of precum on her tongue, and her tongue surrounds it completely. His hips start to thrust slightly, and she feels his body moving, his hands now holding her head.
'Now, suck it, hard,' he commands.
Her mouth tightens around him as his hands hold her head even tighter. Feeling his knees soften and stiffen, he pushes his erection into her wet mouth while she sucks hard. She feels the pressure of his cock in her mouth as it pushes in and out, and his guttural moans fill the tiny box.
He wanks her more aggressively. She slides her mouth down his swollen shaft. Her lips are wet, and she feels the sweet tasting precum on her tongue as she licks her lips clean. She stands up, facing him.
Neither speaks. They are close enough that she can feel the heat from his body. He's leaning against the door frame. She backs up, leaning back as well, her back to the grate.
'Thank you, Father,' she says suitably, smoothing down her dress.
Despite her pleas to stop, she can feel the growing throb between her legs, her panties damp.
'We should go,' she suggests, 'before someone comes in.'
He doesn't respond. He stands straight, reveling in the view of her dress floating just above her knees and her breasts heaving from the collar.
'Take off your panties.'
'Excuse me?' she asks, confused.
'We're not done yet,' he answers, using his low, sinister voice.
She hesitates, unsure what to do. Her body is responding, her pussy wet, her nipples hard but she knows that everything is wrong.
'We are,' she states, trying to sound confident.
He seems unmoved. His erection still stands proud between them.
Hiking up her dress, she hooks her thumbs in her exposed thongs and slowly pulls them down her smooth thighs. As she bends to remove them over her knees, she catches a glimpse of his cock. Her hands tremble slightly before she closes her fingers around the bursting-with-passion panties.
'Give them to me,' he orders.
She lifts her hand, and he accepts them in his open hand. His hands move to her shoulders.
But they don't let her go.
He effortlessly spun her around, not saying a word. When she was facing the grill, he swiftly grabbed her shoulders, forcing her forward. He violently lifted the hem of her dress, exposing her naked bottom. With one hand, he held her hips, while the other thrust her down. The force of his movements caused her to lumber toward the windowsill.
"Father," she whispered, "What are you doing?"
"I know what you desire," he bluntly retorted.
His fingers moved between her thighs, penetrating her wet pussy. "I can feel how soaked you're," he expressed.
She let out a moan, her hips involuntarily settled in his hands, gripping the sill tightly.
"Father, no," she begged as she pulled back, "We can't. You should stop."
Disregarding her words, his fingers drew out of her pussy and up to her ass. He touched his wet fingers to the taut flesh of her anus, causing her to gasp loudly.
"I intend to fill your ass," he declared, solemnly and maliciously.
"Father, stop! Not in this impermanent shelter!" she implored.
She was overtaken by a sharp gasp as he positioned his cock against her anus.
"Unholy fuck," she whimpered.
"I understand the longing in your heart," he spoke softly, in a threatening tone. "You desire my shaft."
She insisted softly, "Father, cease!"
Her heart was set aflame with his hands firmly gripping her buttocks and spreading her cheeks apart. She glimpsed at him as he strained, capturing his gaze for an instant.
"You can't do this, Father," she warned.
As his tip penetrated her anus, she yelled, "Fuck!"
He slowly and steadily worked his cock into her, telling her, "You crave my cock. Ungodly, you can't reject this."
Hesitantly, she moaned, "Father, we shouldn't! It's a sin!"
She tensed as he filled her, his gigantic cock inundating her completely. She gripped the sill even more firmly as he thrust into her, audibly panting.
"Fuck, after seeing your flawless legs and surgically enhanced breasts, I've been craving you ever since. You always prepared me for this moment."
She gasped in response as he bolstered his pace, and reached the height of ecstasy in seconds. He held her hips tighter, his breath rapid as he lashed forward, pounding her with every thrust, skin smacking against skin.
She arched her back, feeling his cock deep within her. He prowled furiously, while she hung on to the sill as she could, hoping she could endure the whirlwind of ardor, almost desperate for it. Finally, he began to rapidly breathe and clenched his buttocks.
"Holy fucking Christ," he groaned fiercely. She, in turn, clenched her butt cheeks, and their juices intermingled over her thighs and ass.
"Father," she lamented, "Your vows to your divine Father forbid you from consummating this desire. Your zeal has led to your downfall."
As the doors opened, the strange priest stood outside, and she left the confines of the confession booth, the memories of their encounter still lingering. He was already a passenger on the next train, gone before she could recognize him.
Her pussy still raged with want, and she decided she couldn't wait until tomorrow, so she briskly disembarked and angrily quickened her pace as she crossed the echoing station to satisfy her need.
One of the doors of the church creaked open, revealing the familiar face of the priest. She was startled, realizing that this man of God, who had been devoured by his own sinful desires for her, had assumed his duties at the very confessional booth she'd just vacated. She studied him, righting her mindset before hurrying home, wondering what confession he'd be making tomorrow.
The train slid to a stop, and she ended her reverie. As the doors opened, she grasped his reality and understood that she needed to find another outlet for her passion. She clambered out of the train, keen to return home and satisfy herself from this overwhelming ache. She was alarmed to spot the priest hurriedly exiting the premises, leaving no trace of his deed behind.
