Fuck, I did it. I really slammed the door on that cursed apartment in Levallois-Perret.
Everything went to shit when I saw Lena’s OnlyFans notification that morning. A blurred thumbnail, but I recognised myself instantly: my chest, my hard cock, and her on her knees in front of me in my shower, the hot jet running down my thighs. She had posted it with the caption “My perverted neighbour finally fucked me… and he loved the golden shower 😈 New content coming soon.” The comments were already exploding: guys asking if it was in Paris, others tagging pseudos I vaguely knew from voyeur forums. I felt my stomach turn. If even one colleague stumbled across it… goodbye job at La Défense, goodbye bonuses, goodbye trader life getting hard in front of green screens.
I called the landlord that same afternoon, claiming a family bereavement. I packed my boxes in three hours flat, threw out half my clothes that still smelled of Gisèle and her cheap perfume, and took the first TGV to Poitiers. Heading back to my parents’ house, my teenage bedroom with the faded Ronaldo posters and old Star Wars sheets. Back to square one, 27 years old, cock still sore from the latest Parisian bullshit.
The return journey was long. Six hours on the train, stuck between a snoring granny and a teenager scrolling TikTok without headphones. I put on my AirPods, blasted a metal playlist to drown out the chaos in my head, but nothing worked. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw:
Lena laughing as she pissed on me in the shower,
Gisèle riding me and screaming “cum in my ass, big boy,”
the blonde and her brunette girlfriend licking each other on the sofa, knowing I was watching,
and even that anonymous guy at the window wanking in sync while I shot my load on my own glass.
I was supposed to be running away from all that. Becoming normal again. Going back to Sundays at mum’s, barbecues with dad talking football, beers at the local bar where nobody knew I could cum just from watching an old woman wreck her asshole with a dildo.
But fuck, even on this train, my dick wasn’t getting the message.
Around Orléans, the carriage emptied out. Only five or six people scattered around. I had a whole row of four seats to myself. The fatigue, the stress, the images looping nonstop… I felt the tension rising in my balls like a pressure cooker. I glanced around: nobody was looking. The granny was asleep, the kid had his hood up and was dozing too. Outside it was pitch black, just the lights of stations flashing by.
I slowly opened my fly. My cock was already half-hard, the head sensitive from just rubbing against my boxer. I pulled a paper tissue from my pocket – I always carried three or four since Paris, a public wanker’s reflex. I started slowly, just light strokes, thinking about Lena. About that exact moment when she spread the lips of her shaved pussy and let the hot jet flow over my chest, my cock, my balls. The salty taste on my tongue when I licked her afterwards. Fuck, it was disgusting, it was humiliating, and yet I had cum harder than ever.
My hand sped up. I lifted my coat a bit to hide the movement. The noise of the train covered everything. I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t moan. I also saw the guy from the opposite window, his hand pumping in rhythm with mine, his cum splattering on his glass while mine ran down mine. What if he had followed me? What if Paris had infected me with a sexual virus I couldn’t shake off?
I was on the edge. The head swollen, purple, a drop of pre-cum beading. I brought the tissue closer, ready to catch it all.
And then the controller appeared.
He emerged from the corridor like a ghost, badge around his neck, torch in hand. “Ticket inspection, please.”
I jumped like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. My cock twitched and I nearly came on the spot. I slapped the tissue over it, slammed my fly shut – a sharp flash of pain – and pulled out my ticket with my other trembling hand.
He looked at me two seconds too long. Maybe he noticed my ragged breathing, my red cheeks, the crumpled tissue I was holding like a grenade. “Everything alright, sir? You look very pale.”
“Yeah… yeah, just tired from the trip.”
He scanned the ticket, nodded, and moved on. I waited until he disappeared at the end of the carriage before reopening my fly. My cock was still rock-hard and aching. I started again faster, harder, imagining the controller had seen me, that he would come back, that he would force me to keep going in front of him. The thought made me lose it.
I came in silence, jaw clenched, powerful jets filling the tissue and overflowing onto my fingers. I quickly wiped up, threw it all into the empty coffee cup on the tray table, and tossed the cup out the slightly open toilet window when I went to wash my hands.
Outside, the night was flying by. Poitiers was getting closer.
I had come home to escape the debauchery. But even on this train, even while running away, I had shot my load like a pig thinking about everything I had left behind.
And the worst part? I was already looking forward to getting back on the train tomorrow morning.