Date: Thu, 01 Dec 2005 02:18:59 +0000
From: Bill Drake <billdrake@hotmail.com>
Subject: White Collar Tales 5: Late Train on Metro North

White Collar Tales
Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail.com)

WARNING: The following is for adults only. It contains depiction of sexual
acts between men. If this offends you or is inappropriate for you to read,
go no further.


I've been feeling there aren't enough good stories (hell, not enough
stories period) out there about white collar men. So I decided to start
this series of stories featuring hunks in suits and ties getting their
rocks off. It will be a range or story types, with some shorter pieces as
well as longer ones.


For more of my stories, check out the Authors page here at Nifty, or my
Yahoo Groups: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/drakestories/ Comments or story
suggestions to billdrake@hotmail.com.


White Collar Tales #5
Late Train on the Metro
North


My name's Grant and I'm a 36 year-old tax lawyer who works in downtown
Manhattan for a Fortune 500 company. It was tax season, so that meant extra
long hours for me, and I spent a few weeks taking the last commuter train
back to Fairfield. Well, one Tuesday there seemed to be another guy in the
same boat. Our late train wasn't very crowded but we somehow ended up
sitting in the same berth in seats facing each other. Not as unusual as
that sounds: seats could be cramped on the MetroNorth, and both this
commuting businessman and I were tall enough to really enjoy a little extra
leg room.

By that hour, I'm useless for much, even reading the morning's paper I
never got around to, so I stared out the window and occasionally took in
the sight of the man sitting across from me. A couple years younger than
me, handsome, obviously doing well in his career. He was dressed impeccably
in a gray suit, my guess was Hugo Boss - too flashy for Wall Street, too
conservative for Midtown. Probably a management consultant for an
established firm. That's it. An AT Kearney or Accenture guy. Whatever he
was or did, I had to admit he was strikingly good looking, like someone
hired a male model to play a financier for some TV series.

It wasn't until the first station stop that my silent train buddy noticed
me. He didn't smile but gave a nod of acknowledgement. I gave him a
friendly grimace back, and turned my attention back to the passing
Connecticut suburbanscape.


Only I couldn't ignore him for long. My eyes were drawn back, back to his
fit body, his nice suit and dimpled face. Green eyes met mine, and neither
of us turned away this time. Fuck! This wasn't supposed to happen. Not in a
public place like this, though admittedly by this point only one woman sat
up front, and a couple of men in the back chatting together. All faced away
from us.

Now, my consultant smiled and spread his legs. The wool-clad quads made
contact with the insides of my knees. My breath stopped and my cock
hardened. My first impulse was to back away, to shift my seat, anything to
avoid touching him. But I held still, pressing my legs inward slightly to
signal to him. By now, we were openly looking each other up and down. I saw
his dick sticking up in his trousers. I guess we were in the same boat:
overworked so much we didn't have time to even think about sex during the
week, til BAM! it hits you like a sack of bricks.

With a sly grin, the man pulled up his ankle as if he were going sit with
his leg crossed. He unlaced the oxblood wingtip shoe and quietly removed
it, setting it down on the seat next to him. Then, slowly, he inched the
toe of his stocking foot along the inside of my thigh. When it made contact
with my suited crotch, it was like electricity. The guy's foot was big,
size 13 or so, and it felt great massaging my hard shaft through the wool
of my trousers. My cock was responding in kind, dancing an age-old dance of
hunger and desire against his expert foot.

I took a look around the car and, seeing the other passengers oblivious,
removed my own right shoe. I nudged it right underneath this stud's balls,
getting an appreciative biting of the tongue and roll of the head. I
wiggled my toe, then traced the curvature of his balls then cock. He was a
big fella, and I felt like my toe would never reach the end of his
stalk. It did only at the edge of his belt.

We played with each other, in mirror image, just like that for a full five
minutes.  Finally, I couldn't take anymore. I reached down and unzipped my
suitpants.  My cock popped up through the hole in my boxers. Jesus, it was
sweet, the soft buffing of his sheer-sock toes against my dripping
cockhead, the pressure of the ball and arch of his foot against the several
thick inches of lawyer cock I had sticking ramrod rigid up out of my
pinstripe trousers.

"Next stop Stamford!" The conductor was walking down the aisle, so quickly
we withdrew our feet and I slapped an unread section of the Financial Times
over my lap while I pretended to thumb through the other one. It was close,
but we escaped detection, though I suspected my gentleman friend's balls
were aching blue as mine were getting.

Finally, the train pulls away after the passengers disembark and our car is
even emptier.  Quickly, we get back in position, only this time, his
trousers are unzipped as well. His ample-sized meat feels great underneath
my heel and foot. It's funny, I never thought of myself as a "foot" guy but
the sheer silk feels unlike anything else in this world rubbing against
your cock. I can't help myself, I start thrusting up into his foot,
grabbing it and guiding it into my crotch, pushing it hard against my
cockshaft.

I'm really fucking him know, and he starts doing the same with me. We both
need to get our rocks of bad, and before we know it, we're choking back
grunts and nodding our heads as orgasm hits us simultaneously. I'm shooting
a mammoth wad all over his foot and can feel my own sock getting royally
soaked with his seed.

Right there on the goddamned MetroNorth, two white collar strangers unload
without so much as a word passing between us. We're both smiling like crazy
and hyperventilating as we come down from an intense nut. Slowly,
reluctantly, we withdraw our feet. I see him take his cum-soaked foot and
slip it back inside his dress shoe. I follow suit and smiled as I felt the
fresh potent splooge squish between my toes.

It wasn't long before Fairfield came and surprisingly it was my foot
friend's stop as well. As we got up, grabbed our briefcases and put on our
overcoats, the hunk leaned over and whispered in a low pleasant voice,
"Man, you sure shoot a huge load. My foot's soaked in your cream."

I turned and grinned. "Sorry about that," I reply.

"No problem," he said, his hand clasping my shoulder. To others, it would
look innocent but considering what we'd done the gesture seemed
particularly sexy. "I thought what we did was pretty damned hot."

"I'm going to be on the same train tomorrow, guy." I don't know what
possessed me to say that, only the endorphins from one incredible orgasm
were still swimming in my head.

"I will now," he said before separating and walking down the aisle to get
off.

Julie had come to pick me up at the station. I gave her a peck of a kiss
and as we walked toward the parking lot I saw my new friend in a similar
embrace with his blonde, suburban housewife.

Maybe tax season wasn't so bad after all.