The Train

By Duncan Cusic

After graduating high school, Kelli Templeton, flees a dysfunctional family in New York City for California. While on the train, she befriends John Thompson and adult movie producer Promus McGee, who entice her to become their playmate. They take her to Laura’s Place during a stopover in DC for her sexual training. Soon, the newly minted submissive is having sex with the black train conductor, teaching a virgin college student about the joys of sex, then performing him and multiple partners. Later, she’s purchased by wealthy, Emeritus CEO, Fitzhugh Aloysius Wellington Sand III and housed in a Bordello in Utah. It’s clear that she’s fallen prey to Mistress Laura, the handsome Aloysius Sand and their plans for her.

What was a grand sexual adventure at the outset has become a nightmare filled with debauchery and mind blowing servitude. The only question is; who will finally claim her, John Thompson, Promus McGee, Laura? Or will Aloysius Sand save her from them all?

Service to another, once ignited, becomes a way of life, and to be owned becomes her crusade. This is the story of a young woman’s awakening to the pleasures of sadistic enslavement and her submission to masochistic need.

Delving into bondage, discipline and mental subjugation, this story explores Kelli’s hunger for sexual humiliation and her proclivity for pain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pink Flamingo Media LLC
• Release date: Nov 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781945648083

Book preview

The Train

by Duncan Cusic

ISBN: 978-1-945648-08-3

A Pink Flamingo Media Ebook

Copyright ©2016 by Duncan Cusic

Smashwords Edition

Chapter One

The clack-a-tee-clack of the track and the click-a-tee-click of the wheel couldn’t be heard within the car, but she could feel the miniscule vibrations along her legs and up her spine as she moved along the corridor.

Take the Zephyr, her Grandfather had written, sending a ticket and a note.

It’ll take four days, leaving the Grand Central in the city, down toward Manassas in the south, west across the midsection to Chicago, up through the mountains to the Salt Lake, and then on to Emeryville. Grandmother and I will be waiting. Enjoy the trip and free yourself of New York. Layovers in Washington D.C. and Salt Lake City, great hotels, have a fun vacation. Poppy.

Daughters get in the way sometimes when families break apart, she guessed, noticing the tears clinging to her mother’s eyes as they hugged goodbye at the station.

It’s only for the summer, her mom said after the embrace.

But Kelli, anxious to leave the battlefield and the fighting behind, hardly heard the exchange, wanting desperately to lose herself in the fiction of the novel she carried.

A train ride. She had never been on a train before and she had never met her grandparents. She felt exuberant and flushed with trepidation as the ancient man led the way to the stateroom she would occupy with other travelers. As they passed the various doors and compartments, she gazed at reflections dancing on the chrome trim, pleased at the ballet they offered.

He was an old black man, gray in the temples, spectacles on his nose, and dressed in the white cloth coat conductors wear. Kelli was clad for fun. Below the flowing caramel hair, browner than gold, styled to her shoulders, her plump ruby lips led the way to a cream colored blouse and black mini skirt, long enough to barely shield her matching panties. She was pleased with her appearance, feeling sexy, alive, and hopeful.

She was slender, with long legs and a flat tummy, and she knew she was pretty. It was her breasts, however, that commanded attention. They weren’t overly large, but they bounced when she walked, and when unencumbered they jiggled. Her berry- sized nipples poked out the silk of her blouse like tiny moving top hats.

Madam, let me introduce to you Mister John Thompson, said the conductor while pulling open the door to an upgraded compartment.

Thompson appeared startled at their entrance but still extended his right hand in friendship

Miss.

Kelli. Kelli Stapleton, she stammered.

She had not expected to share a compartment with a group that included a man— a middle- aged gentleman, no less— perhaps twice her age. He had partially graying hair, a mustache and an attractive beard. He was a well-dressed man in striped dark suit, with a power-red tie, white shirt, and wing tip shoes. He was a handsome man.

After placing her bag above the shelf, with a wave of the hand and a wink, the conductor vanished like a magician’s practiced trick.

Miss Stapleton, Thompson pointed. If you want to freshen up, this door leads to a small lavatory. One never knows who else will join us, so you had better use the facilities while you can.

His eyes persuaded her to do as he suggested.

Not knowing previously that it was there, she was embarrassed at the bruise perched above her silk collar, now reflected in the lavatory mirror. She remembered the afternoon and the hickey. She prayed that John Thompson hadn’t seen it, nor the conductor, or her mother for that matter.

Robert had been overjoyed her mother had not yet returned from work, while she had a premonition this would be their final time together. He was going to college and she would probably end up burnt-out and alone, fucking shopkeepers as her mother did for some sense of happiness.

Excited as usual, Robert was rushed, anxious to squeeze the eraser size nipples on her unblemished breasts and to explore to her body. He yanked away her clothes. He pulled down his jeans and briefs and tore away his shirt. Restless to pummel her body, he pushed her to the bed and quickly mounted. He sucked and chewed on her neck until it hurt and there placed his mark. He groaned. His cock grew rigid, and then he blasted his seed up inside her with callous disregard. He abruptly disengaged. He pulled up his britches and offered some lame excuse about needing to get home—his customary method of escape.

Kelli wondered if it would always be like this: being pumped full and then left wanting. At least she was not at risk of having babies. Her mother had seen to it.

Be safe, darling, she counseled, months before Robert had discharged even the first dollop of sperm inside her body.

When young, lust has a way of becoming love. She and Robert had been in love for more than two years, more often than not arriving at similar finishes. Whether in his car, or hidden under the football field bleachers, or after the senior prom, he was always hurried, forcing her to complete a rushed coupling. She supposed it was his way, but wished for better consideration, for more fulfillments, for him to be more lasting, and to give her more pleasure before withdrawing and then making a retreat.

Once he used her mouth. She hadn’t minded; but, overcome with excitement, he discharged prematurely.

Oh, shit. It’s your fault Kelli! he had screamed, covering her face and clothes with the warm fluid before stomping away enraged.

Returning from the lavatory, she recalled his outburst, the shock and embarrassment of it, of being cast aside, and finally the excitement of humiliation. She recalled the pungent taste of discharge as her fingers traveled between his splotches and her mouth, and she remembered how her bells had chimed after masturbating. Was she wicked? Did other girls pet their privates as often as she, and did they conjure up sexual dreams and mysterious adventures? Did they fantasize about handsome strangers and intimate rendezvous?

Chapter Two

It was midnight, and nearly dark in the stateroom. One light bulb spread shadows across the ceiling. A man lay comfortably snoring, stretched upon a chair levered into a bed.

Promus McGee, said Thompson, indicating the sleeping man. He shrugged. Says he’s in show business. A talent scout. Who knows?

Kelli’s mind invoked visions of heroic crusaders.

You are a pretty thing, my dear, but even beautiful girls shouldn’t primp overly long. Time enough for the steward to lower the seats and spread the blankets.

John Thompson paused a moment before producing an endearing grin.

Thank you, Mister Thompson, Kelli said.

She turned sideways so he might not notice the hickey.

No matter, he said.

He patted the chair next to him where the coverlet was turned down. You had better come over by me.

All right. Of course, she whispered.

Thompson lifted an edge.

I’ll freshen while you crawl under, he said.

He nodded to the man lying coma-like nearby.

He is a bit of a rounder, isn’t he?

Kelli surveyed the man. He was a tub, she thought, resembling a salt shaker, and was rather triangular and squat. His pink face was spherical, and his round head supported strands of mud- colored hair, combed over. Hidden on either side of an overly developed, pock marked, bulbous nose, she suspected his eyes were small and round, and perhaps as black as coal.

He looks like a Promus McGee, she voiced respectfully, and in the process slipped off her tennis shoes, slid onto the couch and snuggled beneath the woolen cover, certain her clothes would be wrinkled by morning.

Thompson laughed at her joke. Moving toward the lavatory, he snorted in laughter, which she accepted in gratitude.

Afraid to make a sound or to open her eyes for fear of displeasing the man who had taken charge, she faked sleep. She was wondering what laying-over would be like, when she heard the lavatory door opening. John Thompson strolled toward his bed. Her seat-partner’s feet were bare, and his chest was lightly furred. Her heart danced as his body reclined beside her. She would be sleeping next to a nearly naked man in maroon-striped pajamas bottoms.

Thompson is as old as my dad, she judged— taller though, and more muscular. Even the bulge at his groin, even flaccid, seemed gigantic. Inadvertently she wondered if he coveted young girls like her father did. She fanaticized about kissing him and caressing him. Her secret angel was disgusted for thinking such thoughts, but her intimate membranes moistened and even her toes curled.

I’ve never kissed a man with a beard, she remembered.

She had never even kissed a man. Well, maybe she had kissed her algebra teacher.

Chapter Three

Through the window, she watched as weird wraiths and multi-colored lights levitated through space, and she was intrigued by telephone poles that ricocheted through the glass like marching soldier sticks. She found security and courage in one man’s snoring, and in the harmony of another man’s breathing. Her body became saturated with hunger and punctuated by the music of the night. In tune with the swaying and rumbling, her fingers crept across her body.

Shielded by the darkness, she thought she alone was awake and free to play. Her temperature climbed, her legs began to simmer, her temples began to throb, and she slipped into sodden surrender. A moan escaped her lips.

Aided by fantasy and subtle movements, a fingertip pushed into her folds. Beneath her skirt and inside the panties, she found the fleshy bud. Her middle finger began to circle and scratch and to occasionally slip deeper into the wetness, and her legs began to spread uncontested. She chewed on her lower lip. Her buttocks began to clinch, and her stomach began to arch, and her flesh began to quiver.

Oh my god, she wailed, when a hand interrupted and John Thompson entered the game.

Let me, he whispered, moving closer and forcefully stilling her hand.

Her breath caught and she whimpered like a child. She abandoned herself to his wishes and committed her soul to his care. She radiated. Her nub pulsed, her heart thumped, and her blood pumped with eagerness and anticipation.

Slut, her subconscious mocked.

His hands removed the blanket. They caressed her legs and thighs. He pulled down her panties and pushed away her palms. He flipped her half over on her side. Front to front, he popped the buttons of her blouse and with his teeth attacked a nipple. His finger delved deeply into her cunt.

Are you on the pill?

Her breath caught, and lust ran naked upon her skin. She began to babble incoherently.

Speak clearly, Kelli, he commanded. A yes gets you further enjoyment, and a no gets you sleep. What will it be?

Her eyes squeezed tighter. Still, she remained mute.

If you can’t speak, girl, or if you’re too shy, you must at least shake your head. Otherwise, I shall be finished with you!

Yes, yes, yes. Please! Please don’t stop!

Good, he said, pushing her legs apart. A finger traced her crease, while his thumb stimulated her clitoris.

Who gave you the mark? he asked.

No one, she said.

Must have been a vampire? I hate vampires, don’t you?

She clung to him. She offered her mouth to him and dueled with his tongue.

She pulled back and said, Yes sir! I hate vampires too!

He caressed her cheek. He guided her hand to his erection. He nuzzled his face close to hers and said, You will do as you’re told, will you not, Kelli?

She was panting now. Around his length, her fist adjusted.

Oh god, yes, Mister Thompson. Yes!

His hand returned to her pussy and her heat. Good girl, he said.

Oh! she whimpered.

Forcing her head to his cock, he said, Suck!

Without complaint, she offered her heated breath, and then her hot mouth and then her wet tongue. With token resistance she stabbed. She bobbed. She twisted and chewed. She sucked for his pleasure. Up and down, up and down, and deep into her throat. She licked his cock and kissed his sack.

Now, Mister Thompson. Come for me now, she whispered.

Not yet, girl.

He turned her around and set her astride. Along her thighs he kissed, near her knees he licked, at her nest