What Happened to Me in the Last Subway Car

Hello, darlings. They call me Valeria, although most people who pass me on the street see me as just another guy. I’m a closeted transvestite, and I’ve got something fresh for you, from this very week. Let’s just say someone made sure to give me a proper send-off for the month: with my mouth full, my ass open, and cum streaming down my legs.

It all started like any other day. I was on my way to work, it was around seven-thirty in the morning, and the subway was half full, that time of day when everyone still has a sleepy face and no one talks to anyone. As always, I got into the last car. Anyone who rides regularly knows exactly why you choose that car instead of another: that’s where the naughty stuff gets cooked up, where hands get lost between clothes, and where a little slut like me can end up with her panties soaked before reaching the office.

That day I wasn’t wearing anything out of the ordinary: tight pants, a black T-shirt, and my usual sneakers. The only special thing was underneath. A pair of lace boyshorts that outlined the curve of my ass and made it stick up, round, and tempting. No one could see them, but I knew they were there, and that changed the way I walked. I could feel the lace brushing my crack with every step, slipping between my ass cheeks, and I imagined a stranger’s hands pulling them down to my knees.

I’ve been told a thousand times that, even though I dress like a guy, I give off a feminine energy I couldn’t hide even if I wanted to. And it must be true, because as soon as I got into the car I felt more than one head turn toward me. Amid the rush-hour shoving, without anyone saying a word, I ended up surrounded by men. I could smell cheap aftershave, freshly washed sweat, coffee breath. I could feel their bulges brushing against me, accidentally on purpose, the fabric of their pants pressing against my hip.

None of them dared take the first step. You could feel that tension in the air, those restrained urges. I pretended not to notice, watching the tunnel rush past the window, but inside I was enjoying every second of knowing I was being watched. The imaginary pussy I have between my legs was already throbbing, and my little cock, tiny and trapped by the lace, was beginning to dampen the fabric with that treacherous drop that always gives me away.

That was when one of them positioned himself right in front of me.

He had beautiful brown eyes, the kind that stare straight at you and never let go. He was a mature stud, probably around forty-five. Not very tall, but strong, broad-shouldered, and he gave off a scent that undid me: the smell of a clean man, of a man who wanted something. The smell of a horny male, of a hard cock beneath his pants waiting for someone to milk it.

He never stopped looking me in the eyes as he moved closer, millimeter by millimeter, until there wasn’t even room for air between us. With one hand he adjusted the bulge in his pants, slowly, as if inviting me to find out what was down there. And what was down there was clearly a fat cock making a mountain between his legs.

So I decided to stop playing innocent.

I slowly raised my right thigh, pretending the movement of the car was pushing me, until I pressed it against him. And there it was. Hard, thick, hot beneath the fabric, throbbing against my leg like a trapped animal. Feeling it turned me on instantly, and my hand dropped almost instinctively. His eyes stayed locked on mine while my fingers traced his package through his pants, following its length, gauging its thickness, squeezing his balls from underneath.

“Relax,” he whispered, so softly that only I heard him. “There’s no rush.”

“There is for me,” I answered in his ear. “I’m getting off in three stops, and I want to leave you dry before then.”

A smile escaped him. It was obvious he was enjoying himself, because every so often he narrowed his eyes and loosened his jaw. I felt a kind of responsibility: I had to make him come right there, before my stop. Discreetly, I lowered his zipper, slipped my hand through the opening of his briefs, and pulled it out quickly, with the practiced ease of someone who had done it before. It was even thicker than I’d estimated. Fat at the base, with swollen veins and a shiny red head already wet with precum. I licked my lips without meaning to.

I started slowly, stroking it from base to tip without taking my eyes off his face. I jerked him with my palm pressed firmly around the shaft, feeling it throb in my hand, feeling the foreskin slide up and down, covering and uncovering the glans. His face gradually turned red—his ears first, then his cheeks. With my thumb I spread the bead of precum all over the head, circling it, wetting it so it would slide more easily. Then I sped up. I moved my hand up and down in a firm rhythm, squeezing a little harder each time I reached the glans, twisting my wrist slightly at the top, the way I know drives them crazy. The man was going out of his mind and had to bite his lip to keep from moaning in front of everyone. With my free hand I pulled his briefs down enough to grab his balls and massage them, feeling them tighten and rise toward his body. That’s always a sign they can’t hold out much longer.

***

The man standing beside him realized what was happening. He didn’t say anything. He simply lowered one hand and began stroking my ass over my pants. My body responded on its own: I lifted my cheeks a little higher, offered them to him, letting him know he could continue. I felt him squeeze one entire cheek in his hand, feel along my crack through the fabric, and a muffled little moan escaped me, going straight into the ear of the brown-eyed man.

With my free hand I undid my pants from behind, just enough for his hand to get in. He understood immediately. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, and when they brushed the lace of my boyshorts, I heard him sigh. He slowly found his way to my entrance, feeling around, following the line of the lace until he found the gap between my ass cheeks. There he lingered, stroking my asshole through the fabric, the tip of his finger making circles that made me clench my ass involuntarily.

When he found it, he pulled his hand out, spit on two fingers without the slightest attempt at discretion, and put it back in. This time he went straight for it. He moved the lace aside and aimed his fingers at my little hole, which was already eagerly waiting, throbbing, opening and closing on its own. He pushed the first finger in to the knuckle, and I couldn’t stop myself from moaning like a little slut. Several people turned to see what was happening. I lowered my eyes, flushed, but didn’t stop for even a second what I was doing with my other hand. I felt his finger moving in and out of my ass, twisting inside me in search of my prostate, then adding a second finger and gradually opening me up. Every time his fingers touched that spot inside me, I squeezed the brown-eyed man’s cock harder, and he answered with a tremor in his legs.

I was incredibly horny, and I was giving the brown-eyed man the blowjob of his life. I jerked his cock with both hands now, one over the other, twisting them in opposite directions whenever I reached the head. My station was getting close, so I picked up the pace to make him finish with me. I grabbed his balls and squeezed them gently, while with my other hand I worked only the upper half, the most sensitive part, quickly and firmly. I felt his cock grow even harder, felt it pulse in my hand, felt the head swell suddenly.

And he came. There was nowhere to unload, so he came all over my pants. The first jet was so strong it struck my thigh, and I felt the heat through the fabric. Then two, three, four more spurts, each one less violent than the last, running over his fingers, over my hand, sliding down my leg. His cock kept trembling in my hand even after the last spurt, and I kept milking it, squeezing from base to tip, drawing out every last drop.

What I did afterward left more than one person standing there with his mouth open. I brought my hand to my mouth and cleaned it entirely, slowly, looking him in the eyes while I did it. I sucked each of his fingers one by one, feeling the thick, salty, hot semen sticking to my palate. It was delicious. I swallowed it without hurry, licking my lips, sticking out my tongue to catch the last bit left at the corner of my mouth. He was breathing hard, still unable to believe what had just happened, his cock hanging out of his pants and dripping the last threads of cum.

The other man was content to keep his fingers inside me a little longer. He put in a third and began pumping them harder, no longer caring if anyone was watching. I leaned against him, moving my ass backward, riding his fingers like a bitch in heat. When the subway stopped at his station, he pulled out his hand, brought his fingers to his nose, and smelled them in front of me before giving my ass a gentle slap, as if to say thank you. He got off without looking back.

I got off at the next stop, straightening my clothes, with the semen stain still warm on my pants, my legs trembling and my ass throbbing from all those fingers, and a smile too big for my face. I thought that was where it would end. One hot morning on the way to work, and that was it.

I was wrong.

***

The next day, at the same time, the stud with the beautiful eyes was waiting for me on the Las Lomas platform, the station where I always get on.

I saw him from a distance, searching through the crowd with those eyes that melt me. When he found me, his face lit up and he waved me over. But he wasn’t alone. Two other men were with him, and that made me nervous. I ignored his gesture and got into the car. They did the same.

Inside, he couldn’t stop looking at me. I pretended to be looking at my phone, but I could feel his gaze like a hand on the back of my neck. He gestured again, this time for me to come closer. Shyly, I took the few steps separating us.

“Don’t worry,” he told me softly. “I’ve already told them about you.”

He said it while pointing to his two companions, who were looking at me with undisguised lust. One of them was rubbing his bulge through his pants without the slightest shame. He introduced them to me. They were coworkers, two older men who clearly weren’t from the city: they had the awkwardness of men unaccustomed to this kind of thing, but also the pent-up desire of men who had been holding out for a long time.

“We want to know if you can come visit us tomorrow,” one of them blurted out, almost breathless. “This bastard told us what you did to him yesterday, and he won’t let us sleep.”

I froze. They were inviting me to give myself to all three of them.

“Come on, we’ll pay you something,” the other added, as if he needed to sweeten the offer. “And we’ll show you a good time, promise.”

I looked at the brown-eyed man. Without saying a word, he nodded, an encouraging gesture. And those eyes… oh, those eyes. I couldn’t resist.

“All right,” I said, and felt my pulse quicken just from hearing myself say it.

They gave me an address. We agreed I would come by Friday, after work, late at night. I said goodbye by brushing my hand over their bulges through their pants, one by one, squeezing them with my open palm just enough to feel the shape, length, and thickness. I could tell all three of them were hard just imagining it. I gave the brown-eyed man an extra squeeze, a playful pinch at the tip, and he winked at me.

***

Friday arrived, and I was a bundle of nerves and desire. Until the last minute I didn’t know whether I was really going to go. On the one hand, I was afraid: three strangers, a house I didn’t know, a neighborhood I had never been to. On the other, the mere idea of surrendering myself to those three studs, of having three cocks all to myself, three mouths biting my neck, six hands squeezing my ass, had me wet all day. At work I had to go to the bathroom twice to jerk off so I could concentrate.

I also had to think about what I was going to tell my partner. She doesn’t know I’m sluttier than she is, haha. I’d think of something; I always do.

I dressed normally, like a man, the way I go to work every day. Except that this time, underneath my usual clothes, I was wearing black nylon stockings, extra sheer, with an opening in the back to make things easier. A tiny thong of the same color that barely covered my little cock and left my ass bare, and a transparent top clinging to my skin, showing my erect nipples. Since it was cold, I put on some short, coquettish socks. No one on the subway would notice, but I was fully equipped underneath, with the thong wedged between my ass cheeks and the stockings rubbing against my thighs with every step.

The house was in a quiet neighborhood, the kind with dark streets and dogs barking in the distance. I rang the bell with my heart pounding. He opened the door—the brown-eyed man—and when he saw me, that smile that already had me trapped spread across his face.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” he said.

“I almost didn’t,” I replied, letting myself be led inside.

The other two were waiting in the living room, beers in hand and tension thick enough to chew. As soon as I crossed the threshold, all three fell silent and stared at me. I felt like a meal laid out on a plate. The smell of men, beer, cologne mixed with sweat, hit me in the face and made my knees go weak.

There wasn’t much foreplay. The brown-eyed man came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed my neck while his hands searched for the waistband of my pants. He yanked them down to my knees. When he discovered the nylon stockings and thong, when he saw my bare ass framed by the black elastic, he growled against my ear.

“Well, look what you were hiding,” he said, running his open hand along my entire crack. “You’re one whole meal, slut.”

The other two approached as if hypnotized. They took off their shirts and lowered their pants without the slightest embarrassment. Both had hard cocks poking above the elastic of their underwear. One had a long, skinny cock with a purple head. The other was short but very thick, one of those chunky ones where you’re not sure it will fit in your mouth.

I sat between them on the couch and started with the one closest to me, the man with the thick cock. I pulled down his briefs, took it out, and slowly put it in my mouth, savoring it, feeling my jaw open to make room. At first I could fit only the head and a few inches, but I gradually went lower, wetting it with saliva and letting the string of drool run down my chin. With each hand I grabbed one of the other two men’s packages and jerked them at an even pace. I wanted to attend to all of them equally, so none of them would feel neglected.

The fat cock filled my mouth completely. I ran my tongue along the underside, around the crown, sucking him eagerly and making wet sounds that echoed throughout the room. Whenever I looked up, I found him with his eyes closed and mouth open, head thrown back against the couch. I let him go for a moment to lick his balls, sucking them one by one, and heard him let out a “motherfucker” that sounded like a compliment.

I moved on to the other one. The skinny, long cock slid all the way down my throat without much effort. I deep-throated him until my eyes filled with tears, and when I came back up, a strand of saliva hung from my mouth to his cock. I wiped it away with the back of my hand and went down again. The man grabbed my head with both hands and began moving me himself, fucking my mouth at his own pace, taking my throat as if it were a pussy.

The brown-eyed man knelt behind me. I felt him move my thong aside through the opening in the stockings, felt him spread my ass cheeks with both hands until I was completely exposed. He spat right on my asshole, and I felt the warm saliva run down. Then came his tongue, broad and wet, licking me from my perineum to my little hole, circling around it, penetrating me with the tip. I let go of the cock in my mouth from sheer pleasure and cried out into the couch. He continued eating my ass as if it were a delicacy, squeezing my cheeks, spreading them apart, working that tongue deep inside.

Then the first finger, then two, opening me up slowly while I returned to the mouths of my two diners. The room filled with moans—mine muffled by the cock in my mouth, theirs hoarse and broken. I could hear the wet sounds of the blowjob, the smacking noises of the brown-eyed man spitting on my ass, the sound of balls hitting my chin every time the man with the long cock pushed my head all the way down.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, the brown-eyed man told me in my ear.

“Can I give it to you?”

“Slowly,” I asked, letting go for a moment of the man I had in my mouth. “Slowly at first, daddy. Then fuck me however you want.”

And he went slowly. He spat on my asshole once more, spat on his cock, and I felt the head settle against my entrance. He pushed little by little, feeling the ring give way, feeling me open. I felt it enter millimeter by millimeter, felt it fill me, felt his strong hands grip my hips. I had to grit my teeth and breathe deeply, bite the back of the couch, because it felt thick—much thicker than I’d calculated. But when the pain turned into something else, when his cock touched that little spot inside me that makes me see stars, I began pushing backward, asking for more without words, rocking my ass and squeezing him with my sphincter so he could feel how tightly my ring gripped him.

“Fuck,” he growled, holding me more tightly. “What a tight little ass you have.”

And he started fucking me for real. First, long thrusts, almost pulling it all the way out and then driving it back in to the base. Then shorter, faster ones, slamming my ass cheeks against his pelvis with a sound that echoed throughout the room. I rocked back and forth, impaled, sweat running down my forehead, the brown-eyed man’s semen—he still hadn’t come—dripping inside me with his precum.

The other two didn’t stay still. I took turns between their two cocks with my mouth while the brown-eyed man thrust behind me, setting an increasingly firm rhythm. One grabbed my nipples through the transparent top, pinching and twisting them. The other stroked my cheek and shoved his cock all the way down my throat, not caring if I gagged. At some point I stopped thinking. There were only bodies, heat, hands everywhere, saliva, sweat, voices whispering things in my ear that turned me on even more: “slut,” “little slut,” “that’s it, that’s it, swallow it all,” “what a delicious ass, baby,” “we’re going to leave you like a colander.”

The first to finish was the one I had in my mouth at that moment, the man with the thick cock. He drove it down my throat, pressed my head against his pelvis, and I felt the first spurts hit the back of my throat. Then he pulled out and kept coming over my tongue, my lips, and my chin. He emptied himself completely, and I swallowed it without thinking, sticking out my tongue afterward to show him nothing was left. I licked my lips and gave the head one final suck, drawing out the last drops.

The second one held out a little longer. He made me sit up slightly and put it back in my mouth, fucking my face eagerly, until he said he couldn’t hold back anymore. He pulled out and came over my chest, over the transparent top that by then was no longer transparent at all, soaked with semen, saliva, and sweat. The first jet reached my collarbone, the others fell over my nipples, and one of those streams ran down to my navel. I ran a finger over my chest, scooped up a big drop, and brought it to my mouth, sucking it off with my eyes closed.

And the brown-eyed man, the owner of this entire story, came inside me. He sped up his final thrusts, grabbed my hips with both hands, and pulled me against him until he buried himself to the balls. I felt his cock swell inside me, felt it throb, felt him release the first jet of semen deep inside. He bit my shoulder to keep from shouting and filled me completely, spurt after spurt, grabbing my hair with one hand and squeezing my waist with the other. When he finally pulled out, I felt the semen begin to stream through the opening in my stockings, warm, sliding down my thighs and running between my ass cheeks.

The four of us collapsed there, panting and laughing like teenagers who had just gotten away with something. My chest was covered in someone else’s semen, my ass was open and dripping, and my mouth still tasted of all three men. The brown-eyed man stroked my hair and kissed my temple, a gesture I hadn’t expected and liked more than anything that had come before.

“Same time next week?” one of the coworkers asked, still out of breath, his soft cock resting on his thigh.

I laughed and didn’t answer him. But you already know me.

I dressed as best I could, with semen still streaming from my ass, soaking my thong and stockings. I adjusted myself as well as I could so it wouldn’t run through my pants, collected the tip they had left on the table—more because they insisted than because I wanted it—and went out into the cold street with my legs trembling and my body pleasurably wrecked.

On my way home, already on the empty subway late at night, I could feel my thong getting wetter and wetter, my ass throbbing with every movement of the car. I thought about what excuse I was going to invent for my partner. But I also thought about those brown eyes and the Las Lomas platform, where I know someone will be waiting for me on Monday at seven-thirty, hard cock in hand.

Thanks for reading me, darlings. As always, send me your messages—they’re what keep me nice and hot. Kisses.

Valeria.