Subway

It had been several days since my invisible lover had last visited me. I was coming home from work, where wearing a skirt had been appreciated and complimented. I was standing on the subway handrail when I felt my skirt ride up. I looked up, ready to curse the pervert, but no one did. A voice in my head, which I recognized, said:

-Shh, you don't want to attract attention while I'm about to fuck you against this handrail.

I felt his invisible fingers slowly and deliberately trace their way up my thighs, every millimeter of bare skin quivering under this spectral touch. My skirt flew higher, exposing my trembling flesh to the ghostly stares I felt pressing down on me. The subway lurched around a curve, and I had to grip the handrail, feeling a cold pressure pull me apart without any gentleness.

"No... not here..." I managed to breathe out, but already the sensation of a hard, invisible body pinned me against the metal bar.

A low laugh echoed in my head as his spectral hands mercilessly pulled me apart, exposing my throbbing flesh to the icy drafts of the train car. "Too late, bitch." The metal bar bit into my stomach as an implacable pressure **** me forward, my breasts crushed against the cold surface.

First, I felt the tip of his invisible member trace a moist path along my cleft, slowly, too slowly, as if savoring every guilty shiver through my body.

I clenched my teeth to stifle a moan as the tip of his invisible sex finally penetrated, burning and massive, stretching me with cruel slowness. The subway vibrated beneath our phantom bodies, the rhythm of the rails marking every inch he sank deeper. Drops of icy sweat trickled down my back as his spectral hands twisted me apart, my fingers whitening on the chrome pole.

A raucous laugh echoed in my skull as my nails clawed futilely at the polished metal, my ragged breath fogging the cold surface. His phantom hips slammed against my buttocks with a **** that threw me against the pole, the metallic impact reverberating between my ribs.

"Look at them..." the voice whispered as an invisible hand gripped the back of my neck, forcing my gaze toward the other passengers. "They can't see anything... just a little slut rubbing herself against the carriage." Luckily, there were so many people that most couldn't see me, but my neighbors must have been wondering what I was doing. I bit my lip to stifle any moans as he pounded into me so hard I slammed against the pole.

His lips parted, a trickle of silvery saliva escaped my lips as his thrusts made me dance like a disjointed puppet. Invisible fingers closed brutally around my hips, impaling me deeper with each push, until I felt his spectral member throb inside me with an almost painful heat.

Tears stung my eyes as he held me mercilessly impaled, each pulse of his invisible member flooding me with guilty heat. The train car still vibrated beneath our ghostly bodies, the rhythm of the rails merging with the last spasms of my belly.

"Can you feel how wet you are?" the hoarse voice whispered in my head as his spectral fingers traced lines of fire across my damp skin, drawing lines of fire.

Another thrust pinned me against the pole, the cold metal bruising my breasts with each impact. I felt his invisible member slowly turn inside me, widening as if it wanted to mark every inch of my flesh. Suddenly, he groaned and ejaculated inside me, his sperm flowing into me. My skirt slipped down as I felt his semen trickle down my thigh. He left me there, feverish, without my having come, red with shame under the sometimes mocking gaze of my neighbors.

I staggered against the pole, my knees trembling, as a last warm drop trickled down my inner thigh. The fluorescent lights of the train car danced before my tear-filled eyes, the muffled laughter of the passengers piercing me like needles. A hand—a very real one—brushed against my elbow.

- Are you all right, miss?

I turned my head toward a middle-aged man, his raincoat wrinkled, a concerned crease between his brows.

- Uh, yes, yes, excuse me," I said in a timid and ashamed voice.

I rushed out of the subway at the next station, ashamed. My ghost had **** me shamelessly in front of everyone. I was going crazy; no one would believe me, and I'd end up in a psychiatric hospital.

I ran through the station corridors, my heels clicking on the damp tiles, each step making the warm liquid still trickling between my thighs tremble. The neon lights pierced my skull, too bright, too cruel, revealing every suspicious stain on my crumpled skirt.

An icy breath brushed the back of my neck—he was there. I could feel him.