Adelthrup

Part 1

It's a boiling hot summer day in  June. It's Tuesday afternoon, and I'm stuck on a small, nearly empty, train travelling slowly across the north Midlands. The train has ground to a stop. Looking out of the window, I can only see trees, fields and the ruins of a platform from a station abandoned decades ago, the collapsed sign reading, "Adelthrup."

There's just me and one other person in this whole carriage, a big guy maybe two years older than me, 25 or 26. He's  sat, manspreading, taking up the whole space of two facing rows of seats. I sit a couple of rows away, watching him.

He isn't especially handsome. His face has got a rather pudgy English look, not helped by the fact that his nose is massively sunburnt. But the rest of the package is good in a rough kind of way.

Mostly, he's just big, at least 6'1, and built. His dark reddish hair is cut to a zero fade, there's a wide black and grey tattoo - dragons and smoke - twisting round his neck and down beneath his shirt. He's wearing dirty white trainers,  light grey joggers that his leg muscles bulge through, and an oversize, stained, neon orange t-shirt from a dance festival that happened only a few days ago.

An electronic announcement, "We apologise for the late running of this train" and then a bored sounding real person. "Yes ladies and gentlemen, we seem to have a complete electrical breakdown.  It's going to be at least an hour before .." The sound hisses and dies with the last of the train's electrics.

"Fuck" The big guy smashes his fist into the plastic panel lining the train walls. I peer through the gap between the seats in front of me, see the panel dented, cracked.  Scared, I hide down behind my seat, determined not to peek at him again.

The guy calls his mates one after the other, obviously eager to share out his frustration at the delay. Speaking with a strong Yorkshire accent, he slowly calms himself down, telling his friends about his week, complaining about the train. 

"The boss guy was like "Five you're going to be lead security, big job." Fuck was it,  fuck all money  - already blown it - and  now I stink man, been living in a field at that cunting festival."....

"No I SAID, some shit club and then at Andy's last night, his place don't even have a proper shower anyway. No wonder I didn't  get any."

No course I'm not going to fucking be there you fool. I just told you  about this shite hole of a train"... 

In short, I work out that the guy, oddly, seems to be nicknamed Five. He's spent the past week being the hired muscle at some small dance festival with limited washing facilities. He's blown all his cash on an unsuccessful night out in a northern town. Now, he's hungover and on his way to meet up with more friends down south.

I'm not a very brave person. I'm a PhD student, mixed-race, slight and small. Gay and not very experienced with men.  My one strength is a nice shaped ass, but not many people have seen it: I'm too shy and top guys have too many other options to hit on a small geeky boy like me.

 I'm not sure about being alone with this guy, so while he's distracted on his calls,  I walk up and down the train carriage. I try the doors at either end that would let me into a different part of the train.  But they're locked shut and I go back to my seat.

The train doesn’t move. Five gets his phone out, puts his music on loud. It's not what I expect, cheery early 2000s pop. But he soon runs out of power and we're back in silence.

I sit back down. Ten minutes pass. The temperature rises. The windows won't open and the train's limited air conditioning died with the electricity.

"Fuck it's too hot, I got to take this shit off." Five does that male thing of just saying something loudly, to the air, though he's obviously sort of starting a conversation with me -  I'm the only one there. So bravely, to be polite, I stick my head through the seats and smile.

He nods back. The shit to be removed turns out to be his dirty T-shirt. Underneath he's wearing an equally stained loose white stringer vest designed to show off rather than hide his body. The dense tattoo on his neck spreads down over all the curves of his built shoulders.  His wide chest is covered with an impressive mat of hair. He puts his hands behind his head, stretches and yawns, flexes his massive biceps.  The hair in his armpits is dark, thick and wet. The strong, meaty smell of his pits hits me - two rows of seats away - a second later.

Releasing the stretch he says, again loudly to no-one in particular, "I need to fucking piss."

And then finally, looking at and speaking directly to me, "There's no way to the other bits of the train? And no pisser?"

I nod to both.

He sniffs loudly, runs his hand under his nose. "Fuck it I'm going to have to do it in the corridor. I'll go down the other end, so we're not sitting in it."

Though I'm a bit scared of this big guy, my well brought up boy-scout alarm kicks in. He can't just piss inside a train carriage.

"Wait, are you sure you cant get the side doors open?” I ask. Though I'd tried to open the two end doors, I hadn't bothered trying to open that actual exit doors, along the side of the carriage.

The  guy's evidently far less worried than I am by the idea of him soaking the carriage in his urine.

Kicking back in his seat, he says,  "If you want to try opening the doors, boyo, knock yourself out."
He squeezes his crotch. "I'm fucking busting though, so get on it now."

Guys like this just always know that they can boss me about, within 3 seconds of meeting me.

I get up and start testing each of the side doors. Most are electric and don't move, but one set of doors has a low, manual handle that can lever the doors open just a few centimetres before the lock kicks in.

I call to Five, who walks up to join me. I explain that - if he's desperate - he could go through the narrow gap in the partly open door.

To show him, I kneel down and pull on the handle to open the crack in the door as much as I can.  I'm trying to see if I can get the door to to lock in this slightly open position.  But Five apparently thinks I'm going to stay there, kneeling, holding the door open for him to piss through, like some sort of medieval servant. He's already lining himself up in front of the door, starting to lift up his vest.

"Don....." I start to object, but my mouth dries as I look up at Five, standing only a foot or so away from me, his waist level with my head.

He's dropped his sweatpants. There are no underpants to be seen. A thick, not-recently-trimmed bush of reddish pubes spreads upwards to merge with  more hair on his slightly plump belly.  And his uncut  penis is in scale with his big body, long and thick, a slight bend two thirds of the way down. His balls are hairy and heavy in the heat.

 He pulls on his dick a bit and it lengthens even more, the blood immediately swelling into the head as soon as he touches it. It's big and it obviously works well. But its also disgusting. Kneeling so close to him, I can smell his body - his ball sweat and dick. And when he pulls the foreskin back his lack of showering is even more obvious; I can  see the white ring of dick cheese where the head meets the shaft.

Still, I can't look away from it and, a second later, he lets out the first burst of his heavy stream. I'm stuck now, I'm going to be kneeling next to him until he's finished draining his bladder.

Five takes a step back, childishly making a game of it, aiming a huge, high arc of his piss through the narrow gap of the door. When he misses a bit it splashes inside the carriage, some of it onto me. 

Then suddenly I can feel Five looking down at me, noticing me watching his prick. Fuck. 

"Hey gay boy, stop staring."

 But my own penis is rock hard. I really try, but I just can't stop looking. 

And so Five punishes me. 

He shifts his hips round, angling himself so the piss isn't arcing to the outside and instead is aimed straight at me. Laughing as he does it, he hoses me down in the wide warm stream, into my hair, into my face. Then he's aiming at my lips, holding it there, the jet powerful enough that at least some of it fills my mouth, making me gag before I manage to swallow the bitter warm liquid. He plays the stream down my neck and lets it drench my shirt. 

I let it happen. I could just stand up and get away. But I don't. Part of me, that I've never known before, wants this.

Finally, Five points his cock back outside. And, after several seconds more - still laughing - he steps towards the door as his stream weakens and he shakes it to finish off.

Stuffing himself back into his joggers, he looks down. He seems to think the fact he's pissed in my face is a form of introduction. He grins, says, "Sorry man, I'm Jackson." 

Soaked, my glasses steamed, I mutter, "Toby."

"Toby, you're at uni right." 

I nod. The piss is still trickling down my face, down my chest and stomach to pool around my crotch. Its a hot day, there was a lot of it and it stinks already. 

 "You're a clever guy, but did you really set all this up, with the door, just to see my piece?" He doubles over with laughter.

"Though I guess it hasn't gone so well for you." He snorts as he looks down at me, soaked. It's like this is the funniest thing that's happened to him all week.

"I can't believe you did that," I say.  It sounds pathetic; I should be angrier, shouting or something. But what can I do? I'm not exactly going to start a fight with him, and, in the end, I hadn't made any effort to stop him.

"Eh corn't believe you were looking at my toooal" he says, badly mimicking my accent which to him sounds posh and (to him and everyone else) gay.

"Come back and sit down Toby, I've got a towel. you can dry off a bit," he says.

Quite a bit of his piss went into my mouth. I swallowed it without thinking but now I can still taste it,  salty and smelly and strongly bitter. It's horrible but, at the same time, I have a strong urge to lick the drips left on my face into my mouth as well. Worse, the image of drinking more straight from that big dick keeps coming unwanted into my mind. 

Mostly, though, I feel filthy and disgusting as I trail him back to our seats, down the carriage. He keeps looking back at me, still giggling to himself.

I sit down in my seat two rows apart from him.

"Aw don’t be grumpy, come and sit with me, Toby,"  Five - Jackson - says.  At the same time, he digs in his bag and pulls out a small towel that might once have been pink.

So I move round to his bank of seats.  He tosses the towel to me. Obviously its dirty, but it's also stiff, clearly more a wank rag than a towel. Still I'm already soaked in this guy's fluid, so I just use it to mop my face and dry my hair.

PART 2

Five sits, starts chatting. I'm angry but he's warm and friendly. I guess he's the sort of man whose male friendships usually start with him humiliating, asserting some dominance over, the other guy. And he's certainly done that to me.

He's surprised that I'm from a town not that far away from him. I explain my posh accent in terms of the private secondary school my parents sent me to, the university I've been at down south. 

As he talks his hand keeps drifting to his crotch, even rubbing himself a bit without thinking. The heavy bulge stretching the front of his sweatpants immediately thickens whenever he does. I'm not stupid enough to think he's hot for me - he's about the straightest guy I've ever met. But after the third time, he sees me noticing. 

"Can't stop looking, eh?" he says.

"Sorry man, I had a lot of beers last night. Day after a session always sees me horny as fuck - need to, like, beat at least four out just to feel normal again."

"And its been fucking crazy today, haven't had time to get even one out yet."

He looks in genuine pain and I feel a bit sorry for him. I'm not exactly a big drinker but I know what it feels like to need to wank on a hungover morning, and his big hairy body must have twice as much testosterone pumping round it as mine.

"I can go down the carriage, leave you to it," I suggest.

"No man, not going to work. Can't do that thing of just getting off in my head. I need something to look at or feel, a girl or at least some porn to watch, and my phone's dead."

"Mine too," I lie, hastily.

He changes the subject, nods to my backpack, "What's in your bag, Toby?"

"Just some stuff."

"Open it."

I shake my head; there's a bottle of water I'm saving in there, and other, private stuff. 

But you don't say no to Five. He leans over, grabs the bag roughly, pours its contents out on the table between us.

Socks and underpants spill out as well as the water bottle: he drinks two thirds of the water immediately. He picks up a book, scowls at it briefly, then tosses it aside. Then he sees my small, discreet, travelling dildo and lube lying on the table.

I blush furiously as Five laughs.

"Wow you're quite a slut aren't you, Toby."

I try to explain. Like him, I need an aid to wank, in my case, something in my ass.

Five just laughs and changes the subject again. He  complains that I smell, which seems a bit unfair both because it's the smell of his piss and because his armpits stink nearly as much. He tells me to take my wet shirt off with a security guard tone that means I don't have a choice.

And that's it for the conversation for a while,  Five leans back, looks out of the window. I sit there embarrassed, bare chested, the dildo on the table between us.

Again, I notice his hand drifting to his crotch. Its transparently obvious that in the heat and his hungover horniness, he can't stop his mind turning to sex.  His dick is now close to fully hard - its so thick I can nearly see the full shape of it - the head, the shaft - through the thin grey fabric of his sweatpants. He knows I'm looking but I guess he's too horny to care.

 It seems hard to believe he can't just wank, but maybe he really does have to have visual stimulation because of what happens next.

He can't quite look at me when he says it. "Toby go and lean over that table there. Do your gay thing with the dildo. Reckon as long as I don’t have to look at your face, your ass is probably enough like a girl's for me to jack off to that."

I stare at him. But, as soon as he says it, even though its the last thing I'd ever normally do, I know I'm going to show him my hole. Even though this guy's bullied me, covered me in his piss - perhaps because he did that - I'll do what he wants.

"What if the ticket guy comes in?" I ask him.

He shrugs, "I'll tell him to fuck off."

So I stand up, take the dildo and lube. I go over to the table opposite a metre or so away, I pull my still-wet jeans and briefs down and squirt some of the cold lubricant into my hand.

I lean over the table, its hard plastic edges digging into my stomach. With one hand I pull the left cheek apart as far as I can. 

"Ermm can you see it?" I ask shyly.

Five grunts a yes. I want to look back, see if he's got his dick out, but I doubt I'm allowed to.

My ass is smooth, round, well shaped. And I know my hole is tight, shaved, clean. I want Five to like it. With one hand holding the crack open, with the other I run my finger around the rim of my pussy, enjoying the slutty, girlish feeling of doing a  show for him.  I slowly work the lube inside me, stretching my hole open slightly as I do so.

In response, Five grunts again, this time a noise of definite, uncontrolled pleasure. The dead train is quiet and I can hear him spit in his hand and the quiet wet rubbing of him wanking. 

Proud of myself, I  reach round for the dildo and play with it against my hole, warming myself up. Then i slide it in, it's only small and narrow but still I shiver in pleasure, letting it work up inside me until it's against my prostrate - feeling the satisfaction as my hole gets filled.

And then I hear Five standing up. 

PART 3

I don't look back but I can tell he's standing behind me. Then his hand is forcing my head down onto the table, stopping me moving. At the same time,  there's the deep sting of a strong slap across my ass.

Anyway, assuming he's about to fuck me, I  barely have time to think why. Perhaps this was his plan all along: he was just ashamed to admit he wanted to do more than just wank. Or perhaps my tight hole, my well-shaped  butt was better than he expected.

I start to panic. Doing a show for him is one thing but I'm not someone who has sex with strangers in public.  Certainly not bare sex -  and I know there's no way Five's about to put a condom on. 

I struggle a bit to stand up, I want to at least discuss this, but he's much stronger than me. He's effortlessly pinning my head down. With the other hand he's  squeezing my butt cheek painfully. I'm shaking, scared by what's happening.  His thick fingers are struggling for my crack.  When he gets there, his fingers close around the dildo and he pulls it out, I hear it clatter across the floor.

 Seconds later,  I feel his dick pushing against me, trying to find my hole.  And, now I'm certain he's going to fuck, suddenly, somehow, the panic is over. I submit. I want to be powerless, to let this guy take me however he wants. 

He leans forward over me, covering me like an animal, the weight of him on my back. The hair on his chest is rubbing against my back, rubbing his sweaty stink onto me. His hot breath, still smelling of last night's beer, is in my ear. He's using his hand to try to guide his huge cock into my hole.. I feel him thrust and miss repeatedly, the thick slimy warmth of his cock head pushing hard against the crack either above or below my hole.

He's panting, hard, frustrated at not being able to penetrate me, muttering abuse into my ear, calling me a bitch. 

And then he aims right and my hole is suddenly stretched wide. 

I whimper,  cant breathe, I feel like he's far too big for me, like I'm  splitting open, like he's killing me. And he's just got the head in. Then, aaargh, fuck fuck he's jabbing his hips  forward, driving himself into me.

He doesnt give a shit. "Take it Toby." He grunts then another thrust hard, deep, fully  impaling me, the thick wiry bush of his pubes tight against my ass cheeks.

I'm out of it for a few seconds. When i come round again, though, somehow it's right:  the pain in my stretched-wide asshole, the crushing weight of him, his smell.  Five needs to cum - that's all that counts.

He doesn’t know what he's doing, doesn’t pace it, just bangs it in over and again.  The heat of train is suffocating. Fat drops of sweat trickle off him, falling down my face, neck. 

He's only got one pace, hard. Over a few minutes the grunting gets louder.  I'm slammed hard into the edge of the plastic table with each powerful thrust of his thigs.

Then suddenly there's a hairy arm tight round my neck, pulling me up into him. He's levering his dick as deep into my guts as it will go. His whole body's stiff, hard, then suddenly he's releasing, tensing again, as he shoots.  He groans hard with each thick injection of cum. He spasms  four, five times, flooding my ass. 

And then he's off me, leaving me gasping for air, my ass feeling  raw, suddenly empty.  

I hear him slump back into his row of seats. I stay where I am, leaning over the table, drained, my back wet with Five's sweat.  I gingerly touch my wet,  open asshole to check I'm not bleeding, but no, its just the stickiness of what feels like litres of cum, starting to drip out already.

Dazed and sore, I pick myself up from the table, turn around to face Five.

He's collapsed back on his row  of seats, arms and legs thrown wide. He's basically naked apart from his dirty trainers: his sweatpants are hanging off one of his ankles, and the stringer vest is now just a soaked rag bunched up under his chest, above the slight bulge of his hairy belly. He's red faced and panting from the heat and the effort of his fuck; sweat is visibly tricking down his face, chest and from his armpits. His dick has deflated a bit but is far from soft - it juts out, heavy and thick, wet and shining from the thick bush of dark red hair between his legs. A last trickle of cum is dangling from its tip.

As I turn towards him, I'm nervous. What's he going to say? Is he going to somehow think I tricked him into fucking him, regret it now that he's shot his load. But I should have guessed: he just needs more. He grins at me, nods down to his prick.

"You gay boys are dirty fuckers. Why don't you clean it for me." 

 I hazily wonder if Five's ever fucked a girl in the ass. If he has, I'm sure he didn’t ask her to clean his dick off with her mouth afterwards. 

Still, I'm kind of drunk from the all the cum inside me. And I'm not worried his cock is dirty from my ass. I'm always weirdly, scrupulously clean down there, inside and out. 

 I stumble over to him and drop down between his legs. As I kneel, I'm aware of my pussy gaping, still stretched, and dripping. I feel like his whore.  I only feel more of a slut when I lean my face into his hairy crotch, breathing in the deep stink of days of his unwashed sweat. 

He tugs on his dick twice to get it back to fully hard. I cant believe I'm so close to it- its like a dick from porn, fat and long, a slight bend in the middle. The head is broad but only slightly wider than the thick veiny shaft.  Its slimy from my ass and the lube and most of all, his cum.

 I watch him angle it down towards my open mouth with one hand;  he's holding the back of my head with the other. I want it back inside me, desperately. He slowly slides it between my lips.  My mouth is so full and I  struggle  to find space in my mouth, to lick like he wants. I can only lap a bit at the edges of the head, around the foreskin.  The taste of my ass juice and lube isn't great, but mostly it's Five - his cum, masculinity and dick filth - that I’m tasting.

Greedily, guided by his hand, I push forward, eager to take his cock, to please him. He hits the back of my throat before I'm even two-thirds of the way down his shaft. Of course that doesn’t stop him; he just pushes my head harder, making me gag and choke as he forces himself into me. He pulls back and then thrusts it into me like that five, ten more times. My mouth is full of cock, I'm coughing, spit and mucus are running down my chin and bare chest. 

But as I hold my mouth open for his manhood, I'm aware of his body flinching a bit as he thrusts, a bit of discomfort.  its obvious his dick is still too sensitive from fucking my ass to fully enjoy the tightness of a my throat. So, Instead, once he's happy he's proved he owns my mouth, he grabs my hair, pulls my head off his dick. I'm shoved instead down to the heavy sack of his balls, while he starts wanking himself. 

His balls hang down round and heavy. I have to drop down onto my hands and knees to lick at them, like a dog. I'm rewarded with a rough slap across my face. 

"Fucking suck them." 

So I open my mouth wide and take the heavy, hairy balls into my mouth one by one. They're far bigger than my own and as I hold them in my mouth I poke at them gently with my tongue. He groans in a way that lets me know he likes that, and I spend a few minutes switching between his balls, sucking and licking one then letting it slide wetly out of my mouth before I take the other between my lips.

Five's ass and crotch is hanging off the seat - he's put his feet up on the seat in front to give me full access to his balls and his big frame barely fits on the seat anyway. I risk letting both balls out of my mouth and duck further underneath him. I start licking and cleaning him deep between his legs,  doing the job of the several showers he's missed. I'm enjoying the strong taste of him and, as I lap at the smooth skin behind his ballsack, I can tell my tongue is arousing him. There's sharp breaths and short grunts as he wanks, as he gets close to his second load.

I'm basically lying on the floor now, my head buried high up between  his thick hairy thighs, my tongue getting ominously nearer to the dark haired forest of his ass crack. So I hardly hear the click as the end door of the carriage is unlocked. 

It's only when I hear the buzz of a radio. "British Transport Police on standby please"  that I slide out from under him, sit up, turn around hastily.

PART 4

A heavyset, middle-aged man in a polyester uniform  is looking at us with disgust. He speaks in a quiet, matter of fact voice. "This,"- he gestures broadly at Five's nudity, legs spread wide and large erection, at me kneeling on the floor,  bare chested, sweat and spit soaked  - "is gross indeceny, which is a criminal offence."

The man carries on, "Show me your tickets - if you've got them - and ID. Put some clothes on and tidy yourselves up. There'll be a police officer waiting for you when we arrive at the next station."

"And," nodding at Five's dirty trainers, "take your feet off the seats - that's against railway by-laws."

Five's unembarrassed and just looks disdainfully at the inspector.   "Yeah funny, why don't you just fuck off and get this fucking train moving."

The ticket guy stands his ground, "Show me your tickets and proof of ID."  

Five slowly pulls his sweat pants up over  his big dick and then stands up, steps towards the guy. The inspector is less confident now he's face to face with Five's muscular bulk. He clicks nervously on his radio, "I'm contacting the police," he repeats. But out here, in the deep countryside, nobody's responding.

Five puts his face up close to the inspectors, literally growls, then doesn't move. He's angry his second load of the day has been interrupted: I can see his fist clenching and unclenching. 

The inspector, scared, has an idea to save his shrinking authority. He nods to the overgrown, broken platform of the abandoned station, Adelthrup, outside the window. "You get off here, now. I'll forget about it."  For the first time the Inspector looks at me, appealing for my help.

"Please Five" I say. "Let's just get off. We can find our way back."

Five takes his eyes off the man, glances at me. His angry expression fades into a look that's slightly guilty for getting me into this mess. He's still angry, but he pauses, then nods and steps back. The inspector sighs with relief.

Using his emergency key the inspector unlocks the side doors, ignoring the wet, smelly stain on the floor where Five pissed on me. He just wants us gone.  The big guy and I take our bags and step carefully out on to the crumbling concrete of the long-abandoned platform.

As soon as we're off the train - standing in the still hot, but much fresher air of the summer day - the train suddenly, somehow recovers its power and within a few seconds has slid away. Once it's gone, the deep silence of the countryside is broken only by the loud tweets and songs of the birds nesting in the bushes.  There's a view over the railway tracks  towards miles of fields and woods,  no town or village in sight. I didn’t even know there was this much countryside in England. 

 Five's anger at the ticket inspector has vanished immediately.  He doesn't even seem too worried that we're lost in the middle of nowhere.  I guess this is the sort of chaos that's normal in his life.  He grabs my head playfully in a head lock, holding me against his belly. My hole responds, twitches: I feel another thick trickle of his cum run down my crack and the inside of my leg. 

Five looks down at me, as he holds me by the neck, close to his waist. "Well then Toby boy. How are you going to get us out of this one?"