Re-nationalise the railways (pegged by a stranger)

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor

Today’s post is a little out of the ordinary – it’s a piece of erotic fiction, also recorded as audio porn, about a guy getting pegged by a stranger in a train station toilet. It’s not the sort of thing my brain would usually spit out, but thanks to my fabulous Patreons, who gave me suggestions for new erotica on a recent Zoom call, I have a crop of new ideas to play around with. When we do live calls, we come up with ‘improv erotica’ – Patreons give me a character name, kink, location and object and I try to weave those into a sexy story. Not gonna lie: I fucking loved writing this one.

Pegged by a stranger in a train station toilet

The prompts for this story were provided by Boo, to whom I am eternally grateful! 

Character name: Tom

Kink: Pegging

Location: Train station

Object: Camera

When they check the CCTV camera, all they will see is a woman in a black mask and long coat walking into the gent’s toilets. If they cared to study it, they might wonder why she chooses those ones – at the far end of the platform, door bashed and paint fading – as opposed to the ladies’, which are much closer to the ticket office. Less fucked-up. Better lit. Closer to where the crowd ebbs and flows as people start and end their journeys.

If they cared to look closely, they might wonder why she was in there for so long.

They probably won’t look twice at the man who follows her inside, though. Stooped and running quickly, like he’s desperate to go. He moves in a way that is calculated to look natural. Insignificant. A stark contrast to the bold way she shoved the door open with her elbow and strode inside.

If pressed, someone studying the CCTV might have wondered if they’d encountered each other. But no one will press. No one cares. That’s why she picked this station.

‘Tom’, his name is, though she doubts it’s a real one. He answered her ad with exactly the shy-hopeful tone she’d been hoping to sift out from the chaff of the rest of the internet. The ‘huge cock, will travel’ guys and the ones who called her ‘ma’am’ and offered to drink her piss. She didn’t want a bold one, she wanted someone humble. For this adventure, at any rate. She wanted someone she could delight and frighten in equal measure. Someone she could truly claim as hers.

“I want to take your virgin ass with my strap-on,” her ad had said: no-nonsense. “Somewhere anonymous. Somewhere filthy. Somewhere you don’t see my face. If this makes you both nervous and excited, get in touch.” Attached a picture of her face, complete with mask, and a picture of her cock for good measure.

When ‘Tom’ replied, she knew he was the one. The only thing cuter than his single-kiss sign-off was the series of questions he’d asked her about prep. What should he wear. What should he do. Did he need to… you know… douche? She liked how easily he submitted to her instructions, and she cradled his nerves and anticipation so delicately in her eager hands. When she was satisfied that he was serious, and he was assured she was safe, she sent him the map of the station, plus date and time. And the stall in the gents’ on the end marked with a big, red X.

You won’t see this on the cameras, though. Nor will you see what happens when they’re inside. When he arrives, and secretes himself in the stall on the end, no one will hear her knock softly on the wall between their stalls, drawing his attention to the hole that was carefully cut at waist height long, long ago. Even she can’t hear him gulp with nerves, or see how his hands flick automatically to the comforting pulse of his cock.

The first she hears of him is when his lips start slurping at the smooth blue silicone of her strap-on. Sticking neatly through the hole, as if to give him warning of what’s to come. If it surprises her how quickly he wraps his mouth around it, she doesn’t let on, instead pressing her body tight up to the wall, to slide as much of the length through as possible.

“Get it nice and wet,” she thinks, but doesn’t say, as she feels him push against it, taking the full length to the back of his throat. She cannot picture what his face might look like, and she doesn’t care anyway. The sound of him gagging on her dick is plenty to go on for now. The noise of him half-choking as he eagerly swallows her will keep her in fantasies for a good few months. And that’s before they even get to the best part.

When he’s good and ready to get fucked, he knocks softly on the wall – their pre-agreed signal – and she gathers up the small bundle she’d placed on the floor – bag, gloves, coat. Hand towel, spare mask, lube. She listens at the toilet door to make sure no one’s about to walk in to the block, then slips out of her own stall and into his.

He’s already in position, exactly as she’d told him to be: face masked up just like hers, hands supporting him against the wall. Fingers splayed wide just like his legs: bent over and presented for her. His thighs tremble with nerves and chill and anticipation.

Closing the door with a soft ‘click’, she presses herself against him. Not inside, not yet: just resting her cock against the crack of his arse, letting him feel how wet he sucked it. Letting him fully compute the weight and heft of the dick with which she will fuck him. She can’t possibly know this, but he bites back a whimper. What she does know is that his own dick is hard as granite. Shining with precum and straining taut and pretty. She reaches forward with one hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

This time his whimper echoes around the toilet walls.

“Ssssh,” she tells him, lubing up. It is the first and last thing she will ever say to him.

One finger first, slathered in huge gobs of thick, white lube. Pushed deep into him as he squirms. Then another, again: dripping with that slippery, cum-like slick. A third and final one, twisting and stretching as she finds the right place – just inside, that nub of his prostate. She rubs it gently and his cock twitches like he’s startled.

If she were to say anything right now it would be ‘good boy’, but she holds back. Mesmerised by the sight of his trembling legs and the way he pushes eagerly back onto her fingers as she fucks him, she thinks he deserves praise. But today isn’t about praise – it’s swift and anonymous and will be over soon. There’s a tension in him now, and not a nervous one: he’s trying very very hard not to come.

So he’s ready.

Pressing the tip of her lubed-up strap-on against his ass, she grips his hips and gets ready to slide in. Long, slow, firm. The first stroke lasts ten seconds – maybe more – as she savours the squirm and wriggle in his hips. The second stroke, still slow, but quicker, this time going all the way down to the base so he bucks and lifts his head. She pushes it down again.

She’s taught him both the safeword and the gesture: belt and braces, two ways for him to say ‘stop’ if he wants. Sometimes strangers get tongue-tied so she likes to give them more than one option. He makes no move towards the gesture, though, keeping his hands firmly planted on the wall, and even pushing off a little, to get her cock further in.

She speeds up. The slap-slap-slap of her thighs on his arse start to echo around the block, but by this point neither is listening out for the telltale creak of the door. He’s biting his lip and shuddering with the shock of his first anal fuck. A train arrives, then leaves, but no one comes in. She’s building to a rhythm that he echoes in the shove of his hands, silently but physically begging her: more and harder and don’t stop please don’t stop.

The CCTV on the train station cameras shows nothing but an empty platform and the door to the toilet block, firmly closed. No one will know that behind that door his cock is straining and twitching as he tenses his muscles and tries not to come too soon. She feels a sympathetic tautness in her own thighs, as – feet planted firmly for balance and hands gripping tightly at his flesh for purchase – she fucks him with all the power she’s been building up to using. Forearms and biceps flexed with the effort of manhandling his body, cunt slick with the thrill of making him shudder and twitch.

The toilet walls replay the slap she lands on the flesh of his arse and his brief, involuntary outburst as she reaches one hand round to grip his cock. He gasps in shock and spills over, unable to hold back any more – the tight, rhythmic thrusting of her strap-on and the neat, hard ring of her fingers around the solid ridge at the head of his cock. It’s all too much. Too intense. He can’t stop – won’t make it. Has to come.

Afterwards, she wipes her hands on a towel she brought with her, and he keeps his eyes down as per her instructions. Looking at the splatters of spunk on the toilet seat, floor and wall, he tries and fails to suppress a wave of self-disgust.

Of shame.

The CCTV gets saved to disk. Unwatched. Unexamined. Eventually, deleted. Six months’ later, nothing remains of their encounter except the towel she dropped at his feet before she left, and the memory of the way he cried out ‘sorry’ when he came.


If you liked this story about getting pegged by a stranger, you can see more improv erotica over on my Patreon page including a bunch of stories that haven’t yet been published here on the site. Or come visit the audio porn page to hear more sexy stories read aloud.


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