Just pay attention to the chain

You tug at the leash as you turn and sit in one of the seats facing the cubicle doorway. I sit next to you on the floor in my usual spot, tucking my side in against your leg, my cheek pressed against your knee. You pull a book from your bag and open it, idly stroking my hair. I strongly suspect you're not reading it at all, just pretending while you listen for me. The train's rocking has picked up, and with it the chain's swinging, and I grit my teeth and do my best to swallow my reactions to the overwhelming sensation of it. The plug in my cunt, the size of your fist, doesn’t help in the slightest. It, too, is shifting in me as I rock with the train, the accustomed aching fullness of it no longer static. I tremble against your leg, twisting my face to bury it in your pants leg.

Then your cool fingers are under my chin, lifting my flushed face to yours. I bite my lip as the train goes over a slightly rough patch, making me sway even harder, but I can't suppress a quiet whimper as the chain pulls at me.

“Poor boy, trying so hard to be good for me. I love how the train gets you so worked up. So uncomfortable. Especially with your new jewelry.” You smooth back my hair, damp with the sweat of my effort. “I think you deserve… a reward for your efforts.”