Stolen Moments

I felt the stirrings in my crotch as soon as she stepped on the train. Young, probably early twenties, fit, and stacked; she was a wet dream come to life – and she knew it. Her short skirt covered only the first half dozen inches of her smooth, tanned legs. No jewelry distracted from the bare expanse of her chest or the upper curve of her breasts and the deep cleavage above the snug, low-cut tank top. The lace bra peeking over tank’s neckline strained to contain her firm D breasts, doing little to hide the hard knobs of her nipples. Turning slightly she gave me the chance to confirm that her ass was as round and tight as her bust. Tight was also what my jeans were feeling as my cock responded predictably to the stimulation the girl was providing.

Once I would have suffered frustration, just as all the other men I could see watching her from their seats on the train. That was before the box. Now that I had the box there were things I could do about my urges, I could give free reign to the sexual predator hidden inside me. Reaching into my pocket, I pressed the switch.

Time stopped; for the rest of the world, that is, except for me.

Standing, I carefully edged around the other passengers (no need to disturb anyone I didn’t intend to) until I was right behind the little cock-tease. Reaching around her I cupped her firm breasts in my hands. Oh, they felt sweet! The bulge in my crotch pressed into the small of her back as I let my hands explore those beautiful mounds. She didn’t move a muscle as I did; the time freeze the box created meant she wasn’t even aware of what I was doing to her.