1. Tunnels, Tracks, and Trains


    Date: 2/21/2016, Categories: Hardcore, Author: Alexandra_A, Rating: , Source: LushStories

    that is. I was once much like you,' I nodded to her and then to the quietly masturbating schoolgirl whose fingers now played amid downy pubes, 'much like her too, and one day, if I'm lucky, I'll be exactly like her.' In the corner, to the man's right, a frail old lady snoozed in a haze of flowery perfume. Though undoubtedly expensive, her clothes seemed to have outgrown her; the winter tartan skirt, cream silk blouse, and crisp, navy blazer surely belonged to a much more substantial creature. Shoulder-length silver hair was thinning but beautifully cut and the string of pearls around her neck completed the middle-class clichė. Her shuttered eyes were framed by thick, gold-rimmed glasses and her mouth moved in silent conversation. For a moment, I managed to read her shrunken lips. 'Yes, I was. A judge. Court of Appeal... I think...' At intervals, she nodded, smiled, pouted, shrugged, laughed, then continued mouthing as before. Her feet barely reached the floor and were swollen so much they overflowed her flat black shoes; thick tan stockings could not hide the bandages on her ankles and calves. The starkly monochrome young woman to my left - a clichė of her own generation - cast caring eyes over the old girl, smiled softly and gently crooned. 'Yes. Me too.' I ventured a question. 'Where are you going?' My enquiry could have been philosophical and I think the punk knew it, yet she answered its literal interpretation. The softness disappeared and she was once again black, white, ...
    and brittle. 'Home. A squat. City centre. The old man's cut me off, the bastard, but I can easily earn enough to get by.' She barely raised the curved black lines that substituted for eyebrows and I shuddered at the connotation. As though pressing a rare and delicate flower, I carefully closed my palms around her pale hand then offered her the sum of my accrued wisdom. 'Life is...' I glanced around our comfortable rumbling cell, 'like this. Like this train; it speeds relentlessly forwards, almost exclusively on tracks of its own choosing. We are not the driver, but we can always choose how we behave within the confines of our own particular carriage. Always. Does that make any sense?' Introspection momentarily froze her features. 'Yes, I suppose...' Truculent conversation rudely trampled her response and I glared across at the man as he again raised his voice. 'Fuck that! Teens and twenties are where it's at. Any older than that and they're fat, flabby and past it.' The black shapeless blob next to him lifted its chin till the brim of the hat revealed a face, a tired face that had once been as pretty as the schoolgirl's, as beautiful as the punk's, yet had undoubtedly lived harder and seen more than either of them could possibly imagine. 'Look, mate, if it's sex you want, you need someone with experience. A milf, a magnificent milf like me. Fresh virgin flesh is okay occasionally, for a change... inexperience can be temporarily titillating too, but your staple diet should be ...
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