A Chupada Imaginária na Rola do Desconhecido no Metrô

I don’t even know his name. I never will.

It was just after six in the morning when I climbed into the subway car. After a night shift at the hospital, I felt like a zombie. My eyes stung and my scrubs clung to me from a mix of sweat and the air conditioning. All I wanted was a hot shower and my bed.

Then I saw him.

He stood by the door, arms crossed, a backpack at his feet, as if nothing else mattered. Tall, light brown skin, shaved sides, a neatly trimmed beard. His white t‑shirt hugged his broad chest and his dark jeans outlined a very obvious bulge.

A flush of heat spread through me. My mouth went dry and my thighs pressed together. He didn’t notice, but as the train rattled forward, I started to imagine things — very explicit things I shouldn’t be thinking about.

The first thing that came to mind was the taste of his cock.

Yes, his cock. Not his name, not his voice. Only his cock.

I pictured myself stepping in front of him without a word. I’d bite my lower lip and stare at the outline in his jeans until he understood. Then he’d lead me into a quiet corner of the station. Maybe a maintenance closet or a back stairwell. Somewhere no one could interrupt us.

He’d unzip slowly, as if revealing a secret. His cock would spring free, thick and veiny, the tip already glistening.

It was hard, heavy, smacking my face, throbbing inside my mouth.

I’d drop to my knees on the cold concrete.

The chill under my knees wouldn’t matter. The scent of his skin would spin me. His hardness in my mouth would erase everything else — the exhaustion, the morning rush, the world.

Sucking on that cock was my mission.

I’d start slow, tasting the salt on the head, inhaling the faint smell of his soap. My tongue would trace from base to tip, and he’d stifle a low moan. That sound would make me greedy. I’d take him deeper until I gagged, hands gripping his thighs for balance.

He’d keep one hand on my hair, guiding me. His thrusts would be firm, driving my mouth up and down. I’d feel every pulse, every shiver of pleasure in his body. The quiet click of the station lights and the distant rumble of the train would fade away, leaving only the wet sounds of my mouth and his breathy groans.

Then he’d warn me:

— I’m about to cum...

His cock would stiffen and throb, and I’d tighten my mouth around the head. When he exploded, his hot seed would flood my mouth. I’d swallow every drop while looking up at him, proud and alive with desire.

Without a word, I’d stand, tidy up my hair, and walk away like nothing happened.

Of course, it was all in my head.

He got off two stops before mine and never even glanced my way. I stayed, panting, with my panties soaked and my pulse racing.

Sometimes all it takes is a single encounter...

Even an imagined one — to light you up.

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