I hear a murmer at the end of the car and look up from my phone.
Our eyes meet and hold. The rumble of the wheels over the tracks fades away as you slowly stalk towards me, your hands resting on your belt, your eyes never leaving mine. They hold a question, a challenge, a promise.
I know the answer to the question. When you are standing in front of me, your hips in line with my mouth, my eyes staring hungrily up at you, I accept the challenge.
I reach for the buckle of your belt, electricity jolting through my fingers as I brush your hands aside. I pull the leather through the metal loop with a soft pop and a quiet hiss. Though maybe that’s the sound your breath makes as I graze my knuckles over your hardening erection.
I slide the zip fly of your uniform trousers down, tooth by tooth. Looking back up at you to make sure you’re paying attention, I smile as you twine one set of fingers through my hair. Pressing a little, willing me closer. The final click of the zip and I level my eyes, surprised and delighted to see a pair of red plaid flannel boxers underneath the conservative navy wool.
One tiny button to open and your cock springs free, proud and tall, not out of place surrounded by the tools of your trade attached your belt. I lean forward and slowly, slowly ease you into my mouth. Back and fourth I slide, my hands grasping your hips under your radio, your gun, your baton, the creak of leather and jingle of cuffs ringing my ears.
I take you in fully, until my forehead is resting on the light blue fabric of your shirt, pressing hard against the unforgiving surface of your bulletproof vest. You’re holding the back of my head now, pressing me further into you, thrusting and swaying.
My cunt is wet. Saliva is dripping down my chin. Tears are leaking from the corners of my eyes. I’ve shoved my hands from your hips to grip the soft mounds of your sweet, unprotected ass, pressing you to me as close as I can. The sound of all your tools clanging in my ear. Making me wetter and wetter as I feel you hardening in my mouth.
You’re so close, I can tell by the way your fingers tighten in my hair, by the quickening jingle of the cuffs hanging on your belt, matching the speed of my racing heart.
With one final thrust, your cum shoots down the back of my throat and you moan low and gutteral and sated.
I rest my forehead against your vest. My hands draped around the back of your thighs.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Travel card please?”
“Oh yes, of course, sorry.” I dig in my wallet and reluctantly hand you my card, blushing from ear to ear, no doubt. You hand it back with a smile, and, was that possibly a wink?