Timestop: The Train Ride Chapter 1

See the link in my profile to find all my stories and more chapters to this story

DISCLAIMERS

In this series, I write from the perspective of the VILLAIN. That means I don’t agree with his choices, and you’re not supposed to either. We’re all acknowledging he is evil and wrong. Obviously nothing he does should ever be done in real life! Please be mature adults and separate fantasy from reality. This SHOULD evoke visceral, icky feelings. That’s the POINT. This is HORROR.

This is more PORN than PLOT.

All characters are 18+.This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to events, locales, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

FETISHES / WARNINGS

-Gross and creepy sniffing / tasting (panties, sweat, asshole, everything)

-Non-con / sadism / violence

—————————-

Chapter 1

This bitch sitting in front of me will not shut up. My wife’s upset next to me in the window seat. I’m furious. Middle of the night. Everyone around trying to sleep. No one can. Bitch keeps coughing, on a packed train, in the middle of a pandemic.

We’ve all been stuck for hours here with her, an overnight train from Boston to Rochester. And she’s sprawled out halfway into the aisle. Shoes off. And coughing. “At least bring a cough drop,” I mutter to myself.

Old folks across the aisle from her shift uncomfortably, glancing over every so often, clearly nervous about catching something from her. Every time she talks, the bitch snaps at people, cussing at workers, an attitude like she’s better than everyone else. She looks like a college kid, late teens maybe. Rich. Dark hair, expensive clothing. She flaunts her good looks. And she keeps fucking coughing with her mask off, clearly sick.

I sit here wishing, imagining what I would do. If only I could. And then it happens. Everything stops. A low hum. Then calm. Peace and silence. I smile. I breathe in deep, taking in the moment. Then my mind races in possibilities.

I look to my wife on my right, bundled up leaning on the window, trying to sleep. She looks miserable. Plenty of other days she’s the first thing on my mind. Not tonight. I give her a kiss on the cheek, turn and stand.

I have only one thing in mind, but it can wait. Everything is perfect in the silence. I enjoy it for a bit, walking up and down the aisles, looking at all the people, messing around, touching women here and there. Not many women catch my attention, but there’s a few. Another time maybe I’d indulge my curiosities, but my mind keeps returning to the Bitch. I have to take these feelings out on her, not these innocent chicks. On the way back to my seat, I stop in the cafe and grab a few things, why not, i’ll probably make her pay for it all later anyway.

Back to my seat, toss the food down, look at the seat in front of mine. Let’s have some fun.

“God you really are fucking hot aren’t you?” I can talk openly to myself, no one hears. She’s laying sprawled out sideways, clearly having terrorized the poor older lady next to her, who has shrunken as far as she can get toward the window, trying to sleep, trying not to get sick. Bitch’s head lays on the aisle armrest, trying to make a bed out of a seat, at the expense of everyone around her. Her stupid pretty head, dark brown wavy hair pulled up in a bird’s nest, so effortlessly sexy. I kept noticing her do up her hair, one of those girls, always raising up her arms, like look at me doing my hair, give me attention.

She lays sideways in a sort of fetal position, seat leaned way back and leg rest raised to make a sort of bed, but somehow also sprawling out her legs so the lady next to her has less room. Clearly on purpose. And her head is on her armrest so much that her stupid hair is halfway in the aisle, people keep having to scoot around it awkwardly. And she even watches them struggle. Her body hard to see at all, she’s just a nest of blankets and shit. No shoes, only socks, against the rules. Bundled in too many blankets and pillows for a bed let alone a public place. But everything, her blankets, her appearance, her phone, her bags, she’s got money. The kind of person that clearly has more than others, flaunts it, her life probably so easy, yet it’s not enough. She complains constantly, looks down on everyone. My blood boils.

Her eyes closed, eyebrows dark and thick and done up nice. Makeup, kinda glistening. Her mask barely on her chin, blatantly ignoring all rules. But damn she’s fuckable. A face ready for Instagram even when she’s coughing, sick, trying to sleep on a fucking train.

I grab a handful of her nest of hair. She has so much thick, wavy, beautiful hair, bound up in a loose, lazy bun thing. Even with my blood pumping hot, I stop and admire the feel. Silky and soft, so much work goes into her hair, her whole appearance. I get close, kneeling down, and touch more, her soft blankets emitting so much nice warmth, her face smooth, her scent, god she smells good. I climb over her, practically lay down with her, really taking this girl in. I breathe in her hair, why do girls try to smell like desserts, what is that vanilla and fruit? Whatever it is, it’s perfect. I breathe more, nuzzling into her, breathing in her neck, her blankets.

I feel around, my weight completely on her. In this calm moment, my heart is racing, not letting me sit still, I feel soft shoulders and back from under blankets, she looked skinny but she’s squishy and fragile and womanly. I breathe in more of that hair and neck, feeling lower down the curve of her hips and ass. God damn.

I nibble at her partially exposed ear, the taste is slightly salty, she hasn’t showered in a bit since we’ve been on this train all day, but still kinda sweet.