With half a dozen of filthy stories sitting half-written in my drafts, I’m glad that I was set a writing assignment by a very pretty girl – essentially domming me into actually finishing a blog post. She tasked me to write about wanking or fucking on the sleeper train, and seemed delighted when I proposed the following fantasy…
Most of the bunks on the sleeper train, even those in the first-class cabins, are too narrow to obtain a good night’s sleep on. There are clean sheets and plump pillows, but the bunks are hard and really too narrow for comfort. Mine is much bigger, but that’s not for my comfort, and I never get a good night’s sleep.
It’s part of the service, you see. Or rather, I’m part of the service. I’m not listed as one of the features in the official promotional material for the site, but there are whispers and rumours and scratched graffiti, notes slipped under doors and quite words spoken as money changes hands. Those who want to find me have no problems in doing so. And then doing me.
There’s a slut in coach J, cabin twelve. Yes, you can do anything to her. If she struggles, that just means she likes it. Hold her down and use her. That’s what she’s there for: to be used.
The single rule I have to follow is simple: I must be ready to be used at any time. That means no knickers, not ever – which is a shame in some ways because I’m sure many of my visitors would take great delight in tearing them off me and stuffing them in my mouth, maybe even adding a strong hand over the top so I am quiet while they fuck me. I admit, though, that there are other ways to make me quiet: my favourite of these being a firm hand on the back of my neck, pushing my face into a pillow while I’m fucked from behind.
People come to my cabin – and indeed come in or on me – at every hour of the night. I’m always excited when I can hear a small queue of visitors waiting patiently and somewhat sheepishly in the narrow corridor outside my cabin. I like to imagine that they rub at their hardening dicks through their jeans as they stand there, listening to the sounds of fucking and thinking about what they’re going to do to me when it’s their turn.  Occasionally, on quiet nights, I’ll fall asleep, only to be woken with a cock in my mouth or my cunt, or someone roughly flipping me over and getting me ready to thrash with their belt.
Oh yes, while my function is to get my visitors hard and to get them off, some of them want me as more than a hot, wet hole to fuck. As well as filling my holes, they pinch my nipples until I squirm underneath them, and bite my neck until I moan. They take me over their knee and spank me until my arse burns red and I’m begging for their fingers inside me. They use the straps that usually keep travellers from falling off the top bunk to tie me up so I’m forced to stay in just the position they want – the one where I look the most appealing and will clench most tightly around their cunt – while they fuck me.
Some push me down on to my knees and make me choke on their cock, giving me only a few seconds to gasp and splutter before grabbing my hair and continuing the rough throat-fucking. Others prefer to lie back on the bed, giving me orders to suck them or ride them in the calm, almost arrogant tones of someone who knows they will be obeyed. I like the ones who fuck me quickly and eagerly, hands squeezing my tits or occasionally slapping my arse. I like it when they fuck me slowly with control as well, each thrust precise and hard and so deep inside me that it hurts.
As I’m lying underneath them, their full weight pinning me down, I wonder if they know how much I love it. Do they know that I as I rest on the spunk-stained sheets I imagine all the ways they’ll use me and it makes my cunt wet? Do any of my visitors guess that I bask in the afterglow with their come on my beaten arse and frantically rub at my clit, and then lick my own arousal off my fingers after I’ve come? They call me a slut, use me in every filthy way, but I don’t think they know when they hurt me and fuck me and whisper deliciously dirty ideas in my ear that I really like it.
But I’m the sleeper train slut, and I do.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a freelance journalist, sex writer, and professional transsexual. His work focuses on dismantling shame and queering sex.
