Stories From The 6 Train

I’ve done this program maybe about half a dozen times and I never last through it. Two big strong men like Ethan are about to have their way with me.

I’ll tell you right now what's going to happen, hun.

They’re going to take off their boxer briefs. Then they’re going to force me on all fours on the couch.

Ethan One is going to stand next to the edge of the couch and force me to blow him. Ethan Two is going to slap my ass if I don’t blow fast enough while also taking time to bring his face lower and lick my ass.

Then Ethan Two is going to jam his cock in me as Ethan One keeps fucking my face.

By now, I’ll have cum at least once, maybe twice.

They’ll fuck every hole of mine. They’ll DP me till I pass out from pleasure. They’ll cum all over me and leave me a quivering mass of twitching flesh on the ground.

And then I’ll take the nondescript looking glasses off and be transported back to my apartment.

Only this time, I don’t get a chance to do any of that, because someone takes the glasses off of me.

“Hey!” I shout out.

And I realize that Ethan Kane—the real thing—is standing right in front of me.

“Figured you’d want me in the flesh?” he asks, a smirk, on his lips.

I smile at him and stan

d up.

I’m dressed casually, just yoga pants and a tank top. It’s a Sunday and neither of us has work today. Thank God.

I’m serious, hun. If you only knew the kind of year that we’ve had.

Oh, no, it wasn’t bad at all. In fact it was several orders of magnitude better than great.

First, let’s do the work bits.

So Conners Media and everything controlled by Simon Conners kind of blew up after the disaster that was Times Square. As one of the largest companies in the world of pornography began to implode, Ethan found himself on the front seat. Illicit Entertainment began to start picking up and buying pieces of Conners Media from the banks after they were sold off.

The final death knell came when HawkeLane Media, the direct Internet sex entertainment company run by Arsen Hawke and his wife purchased the rest of the assets at fire sale prices and fired Simon Conners.

After that, Simon began to try and nurse his depression and spent six months blowing through millions of dollars.

I mean, he made even Ethan Hawke look frugal. But he was burning out. Constantly strung out and finding no one who wanted to fuck his coked up limp dick, he began to do more and more drugs. He got busted a few times with massive amounts of cocaine possession. The busts were so big that the authorities wondered how he was even still alive.

They stopped wondering six months ago when his body went into a cocaine-induced overdose and he was found dead outside of his 3rd Avenue apartment building.

He died poor. And alone.

I never learned how he found out about Robert until Cheryl approached me a few weeks after the Times Square matchup.

“I hope you know I had nothing to do with Robert and his untimely ending,” she told me.

I looked at her, not believing her at first.

“His wife was inches away from killing him,” she continued. “And when I first went out there, it was mainly to do research and see what we could do to pay him off or scare him.”

I think I was a bit relieved when she told me this, but still a bit curious.

“Sure, we were probably going to scare him,” Cheryl continued. “Like have him wake up with a dead horse head in his bed like the Godfather or something,” she said.