His hands moved to my hips and he turned me around, my back to him. This Puerto Rican kid wanted to fuck me in the ass on this subway train. I'd never been fucked in the ass before, but I was overcome with sexual need and as he spread my ass cheeks I reached for his prick and guided his cockhead to my asshole. I sucked harder on my panties as he pulled my hips back and slid his prick into my virgin ass. He slowly worked his cock up my asshole. At first, it hurt as his large prick filled my tight rear hole. I began to move my ass along his prick on my own. His hands left my hips, one returned to my exposed breasts, the other again lifted the front of my skirt and fingered my cunt. As his finger touched my clit, I came in his hand. The Puerto Rican kid fucked my ass and fingered my cunt and tits for several minutes. The his hands returned to my hips and he moved me hard along his ass fucking prick. I felt him tense and seconds latter, his cum was spurting into my asshole. He held me close as he shot his second load of the morning. He did not pull out of my asshole. Instead, he rocked slowly back and forth and played with my breasts with both of his hands. One hand moved to my face and he took my panties from my mouth. "Ladies and Gentlemen," The conductor announced over the loudspeaker, "we have just been informed that in order to com- plete repairs, they must shut the power in the third rail off. This means the train cars will go dark. They expect this will last 10 to 15 minutes. Please remain calm, there is no danger." A minute latter, the lights in the train went out. The Puerto Rican was still in my ass. He pulled his cock out and, his hands on my hips again, turned me around to face him. In the dark I couldn't see him. I felt his lips touch mine as he kissed my opened mouth. His tongue passed my lips as it found mine. He kissed me passionately for a minute or so, then, he moved his hands from my hips to my shoulders and pushed down firmly. I came again as I realized he wanted me to blow him. My mind was in a daze as I slowly dropped to my knees. I felt his cock along my cheek. I moved my mouth to it and took his semi-erect prick between my lips. I ran my tongue over his cockhead as I sucked more of his prick into my mouth. I tasted the remains of his cum as well as the flavor of my asshole. His prick stiffen under the workings of my mouth and lips. I was able to take the entire shaft down my throat I moved my head back and forth along his hard cock. I heard him unsnap a fastener, then felt his pants dropping against my cheek. I reached up and touched his balls. He took my head in his hands and guided my cocksucking movements. I continued to suck his cock from head to root. I flicked my tongue all along his shaft. I next time my lips were at his cockhead, I moved my mouth to the underside of his prick and licked down to the root. When I got there I sucked one of his balls into my mouth. I worked on his balls for a short time. I felt him move. He turned around and his ass was in my face. At this point, I would do anything. I spread his ass cheeks and searched for his ass hole with my tongue. When I found it, I licked, kissed and sucked at his tight asshole. I made my tongue as rigid as pos- sible and probed as far into his asshole with it as I could. The thought of kissing some Puerto Rican's ass was enough to make me come again. As I sucked his asshole I encircled his cock with my hand and jerked him off. When he had had enough of my ass sucking, he turned once more and my lips returned to his cock. This time. he held my head steady and fucked into my mouth. His cock pistoned in and out of my mouth rapidly. I used my tongue on his shaft as best I could. He suddenly buried my face in his pubic hair, his cock down my throat and shot his load of warm sticky cum into my mouth. I licked up every drop I could. He held my head and kept his cock in my mouth. I felt his prick go limp between my lips. He wouldn't let me get up. I was afraid the lights would come on and someone might turn around and see me on my knees, my sweater and bra opened, my breasts exposed and a Puerto Rican cock in my mouth. Still he held me there. Suddenly, I felt liquid flowing from his limp prick . He was pissing in my mouth. I tried to yell stop but his cock filled my mouth and muffled my protest. I had no choice but to try and swallow as much of his piss as I could. As his piss filled my mouth he began to withdraw his cock. I couldn't swallow fast enough and piss overflowed my mouth onto my chin and down my neck. Still pissing, he pulled out of my mouth and aimed his cock at my head. His pissed all over my face and my hair. The piss flow then moved down to my neck and chest. I don't know why, but I knelt in front of him obediently as he pissed on me. My only movement was to lift my breasts so they would get completely covered with his warm piss. He gave me my panties to hold open so he could piss on them also. When he was finished, I moved my tongue to his cockhead and licked it clean. With his hands, he motioned me to stand up. When I did, he lifted my skirt with one hand and took my panties in the other. By some actions he did, I knew he wanted me to put my panties, now soaked with his urine, back on. I re-tied the bows and slipped my panties on. His piss seeped into my cunt. I re-hooked my bra and buttoned my sweater as he let go of my skirt. I heard some cursing noises and people yelling `where are you going' and `what's that smell'. The lights came on a little while later. My Puerto Rican lover was gone. There was piss on my face and clothes. The train started to move. As it was now past the bad section of track it travelled at normal speed. People kept commenting on the smell. Fortunately, their backs were to me and they didn't realize it was me. At the next stop, I got off the train. I couldn't go to work looking the way I did. I got the first train back to Queens. As I was going against rush hour now, it was almost empty and I got a seat. As I sat thinking of what happened the last hour, someone sat down next to me. It was my Puerto Rican...
[Fujikake blushes a bit.]
Fujikake: (This is just my good fortune.)
[He suddenly catches sight of something.]
Fujikake: (That's...)
[He sees a hand on the brunette's butt.]
Fujikake: (A molester!)
Molester: Ow-ow-ow-ow! I said: "What the Hell'd I do"?
[At the station, a blushing, but angry, Fujikake holds the molester's wrist in a painful grip.]
Fujikake: Don't play dumb! Weren't you groping this girl?!
Yoshiki: Ummm...
Molester: Wha-at? "Girl"?
Molester: Take a good look! That's a guy!
Fujikake: Eh?!
(*)
[A mortified Yoshiki stands, suitcase in hand.]
Yoshiki: Ummm...
Molester: Take a good look! Are you blind?! (etc.)
[A stunned Fujikake stares at Yoshiki.]
Fujikake: (It's a guy...)
Fujikake: Oh, so that doesn't make you a molester?!
[Molester wanders off muttering.]
Fujikake: And you! It would have been nice if you had said something!
Yoshiki: S- Sorry!
[Fujikake watches Yoshiki walk away.]
Fujikake: (Even though he's a guy he got groped by some stranger. I bet he was embarrassed and yet he
didn't say anything. I don't get it. I wonder if he's a junior high student.)
Fujikake: Darn. When I took him for a girl I thought he was really cute.
Narr: A kind of weird first step...
(*)
Narr: At that time, they were still separate. [Untranslated stuff]
Narr: From then on, for several days [??]
Narr: Before long...
[Untranslated stuff]
[Fujikake is walking down the school hall alone. He hears a voice.]
Voice: One! Two! Three! Four!
[Fujikake opens the window and sees Yoshiki outside, dressed in gym clothes.]
Fujikake: Ah. It's Watanabe.
[Fujikake heart FX: doki.]
[Yoshiki turns and sees him.]
[Fujikake heart FX: DOKI.]
[Yoshiki smiles brilliantly.]
Yoshiki: Fujikake!
[We see a confused Yoshiki through the open window. Fujikake is crouched below window level, where he
can't be seen from the outside. His eyes are wide and he's blushing like mad.]
[A classmate is bending over him.]
Classmate: What's wrong, Fujikake?
[Fujikake breathing FX: Haa...Haa...Haa...]
Fujikake: (Why do I feel I have to hide?! It's unacceptable!)
[Fujikake heart FX: DOKI DOKI.]
[Fujikake puts his hand over his heart. Heart FX: DOKI! DOKI! DOKI!]
Fujikake: (This...)
[Yoshiki and Fujikake are in their room. Yoshiki looks confused. Fujikake is huddled with his back to Yoshiki.
His face is in his hands. He's still blushing and has numerous sweatdrops.]
Yoshiki: What was wrong today?
Fujikake: N- Nothing.
Fujikake: (It can't be. It can't be...that.)
Yoshiki: Was there some kind of emergency? I was surprised. Hey! (I'm talking to you!)
(*)
[In Fujikake's imagination, a child-Yoshiki is being tempted by a molester.]
Child-Yoshiki: Me don't know the rules.
Beckoning Hand: I'll teach you. Come here. [Heart symbols.]
Fujikake: (No way! There's no reason to think that!)
Fujikake: (It can't be! I -)
[Fujikake's hand touches Yoshiki's and he recoils violently. We see they're at the neighbors' playing Mah
Jong.]
Neighbor 1: What are you doing?
[Fujikake stares at his hand. A trusting Yoshiki looks at him, blushing slightly.]
Fujikake: (Aaaaaa! Calm down, Fujikake! Get a grip! Yoshiki's a guy! A guy!)
Fujikake: (So then. This is what is known as... The famous...)
Fujikake: (HOMO!!! Isn't it?!)
[Fujikake is clutching his head in horror as lightning flashes around him!!!]
[Fujikake stands up.]
Yoshiki: [Concerned] Fujikake...
(*)
Official File #116/99 and the earlier Investigative Report and #05/00996/9904 show that Ms. Campuzano's testimony, corroborated by both the station guard and another eye witness, states that Jose Servando Solares Morales, officially now the victim in this case, grabbed her right buttock and vulgarly asked if he could accompany her. Ms. Campuzano turned around to defend herself, wherein a struggle ensued, culminating in injuries to both of their heads, according to the report which is in this news agency's possession.
Following the fight, the subway guard unit called the police. Both Campuzano and Solares were taken in separate patrol cars, she to Station 5 of the Public Ministry in Cuauhtemoc, where she was verbally harassed by a succession of police agents, while he was taken to Ruben Lenero Hospital where he was examined by doctors.
The report states that the injury to Solares' eyebrow will leave a permanent, visible scar on his face, which constitutes a crime under Mexican City Penal Code. The report issued by the Institute of Mexico City Health Services stated that she had a non-life-threatening wound to the eyebrow which would require no more than 15 days to heal.
Therefore, Claudia, who stands just 5'2" and weighs less than 110 lbs., found herself behind bars, with her guards saying: "Keep a close eye on Claudia del Carmen Campuzano--she is disobedient and aggressive." This statement was repeated at her sentencing, following a trial filled with irregularities.
At the request of this reporter, trial attorney Eduardo Casillas made a preliminary review of the case file, and believes that may be a case (donde mientras el denunciante di� un seguimiento preciso del caso, la parte defensora desperdici� algunos recursos, dado que la ley prev� el delito de hostigamiento sexual.)
Today there is official recognition of "violence by the State against women," a topic that is taught in a course given by attorney Patricia Bugarin Gutierrez, a deputy official of one of the justice institutions in Mexico City. She is referring to sexual crimes committed in public transportation vehicles. She says there is scant interest in pursuing these types of sexual crimes even when they are of a serious nature. The authorities tend to be more interested in questioning whether or not the victims were somehow at fault, by wearing certain types of clothing, for example.
Women frequently complain of being touched inappropriately by men while using Mexico City's subway system. According to official records, the accused perpetrators consider their actions justified if the women are wearing short skirts or plunging necklines. For this reason, in February of this year, a "Metro Operative" was established, which networks subway vigilantes with various public safety groups, with the purpose of establishing a culture where women will come forward and complain about this type of sexual harassment. This action is supported by Patricia Bugarin. Unfortunately for Claudia Campuzano, reality is much more complicated, if not downright risky.
Before the train pulled out of the station, the car was more than half full. At Union Square, nearly fifteen minutes later, there was barely any standing room, and they had three stops to go before most of the passengers would disembark at Grand Central. Not a single rider took a second look at the well-dressed older woman clinging tightly to the pole in between the two sets of doors. For that matter, no one offered the lady a seat, which bothered Murdoc, though he had no desire to sit. By his own estimate, he now looked about sixty-five - certainly old enough to command the respect of the younger passengers. Grudgingly, he conceded that his height might have worked against him. With the heels on, he was over 5�9" - short for a man but a respectable height for a woman. He suddenly thought of himself as a Bea Arthur impersonator, and smiled. In all honesty, he wouldn't have given up his seat for the formidable actress, either. Not that he would have expected to find her riding the New York subway. Murdoc's smile widened at the notion, only to fade briefly as the conductor announced that they were being held in the station by a red signal. No further information was given.
Looking around at the annoyed New Yorkers, Murdoc smiled again, more privately. Unlike most of his fellow passengers, he had time. If he missed his target at the planned location today, he would have another chance tomorrow. The Trust had gone to great lengths to work out all the details of this assignment; since they were the ones who'd insisted he take the subway, he wasn't concerned about being late. HIT seldom cared just when he carried out his plans, so long as the results were the same in the end. As one of their top operatives, Murdoc was allowed a certain leeway in these areas.
A chime signaled the closing doors and the subway inched its way forward. The progress from 14th Street to 42nd Street was slow, but eventually the train arrived at the platform and the car slowly emptied. Murdoc fanned himself in the newfound space, smoothing back a stray lock of silver hair from his wig. The sudden emptiness didn't last; Murdoc's eyes went wide at the sight of what seemed like hundreds of people waiting to get onto the Lexington Avenue local. Time abruptly took on new importance: bracing himself, the assassin prayed he wouldn't be so late he'd have to stay in New York another day.
Then the assassin spotted someone he hadn't expected to see before reaching his destination. Swept along with a mob of strangers, a tall blond man boarded the train, looking terribly out of place among the businessmen and women in their uniformly conservative suits. As the determined crowd shoved its way aboard, filling the subway car to the bursting point, the blond man was forced away from the door until he was standing beside Murdoc. The killer smiled knowingly to himself as he gazed up at an unsuspecting MacGyver.
Mac was as handsome as ever and remarkably calm in the throng of rush hour. With one hand, he reached over the woman in front of him to get a firm grip on the pole; draped over his other arm was a leather jacket which went nicely with his black jeans, white shirt and black vest. When he had to, the troubleshooter knew how to dress. Once again, Murdoc smiled.
The doors of the subway finally closed, leaving more than a few angry people on the station platform. As the train picked up speed, Murdoc looked in vain for something to hold on to, having lost his own spot by the pole during the first rush of boarding. The need was more instinctive than practical: with people packed so closely around him, the killer couldn't have fallen had he wanted to. But the instinct remained, and it was in that search his hand first brushed against MacGyver's thigh. Hastily, Murdoc withdrew, afraid of drawing attention to himself but Mac didn't even glance around. A delightful idea struck the assassin. Cautiously, he eased his hand into a strategic position just in front of Mac's waist - or, to be accurate, a little lower. If the occasional jolt of the train pressed the troubleshooter into Murdoc's waiting hand, it would pass for a simple accident.
He waited patiently for the fateful moment, surreptitiously flexing his fingers, brushing the fabric of MacGyver's pants so lightly it did not draw the other man's notice. Though the last thing the killer wanted was a scene on the crowded subway, he would have liked an acknowledgment of some sort - a glance around, a startled look - anything. There was nothing Murdoc hated more than being ignored.
Before reaching the next station, the wheels screeched to a halt, and the train sat still in the dark subway tunnel. The overhead lights went out, leaving only the yellow glow from the emergency bulbs. Noting that the following car was unaffected, Murdoc grinned in the dim light at his good fortune. People moved restlessly around him, shoving and pushing as each vied for that extra bit of breathing space. There was an announcement about a train stuck in the station, which elicited a unanimous groan from the crowd. Murdoc laughed amid the din and moved his hand slightly to the right.
It was not until Murdoc laid his hand on Mac's thigh and kept it there that the Phoenix employee seemed to realize something was amiss. He looked around, trying to spot the owner of the errant hand, as if a smile or a wink might give the transgressor away. Finding no obvious suspects, and clearly not inclined to think ill of an older woman, MacGyver tried to move, but the crush made that impossible, and he was actually forced to apologize when admonished by another passenger for pushing. Murdoc's fingers made their way from thigh to crotch, pausing as Mac's expression took on the look of a deer caught in headlights.
Murdoc suppressed a giggle as he watched MacGyver from the corner of his eye. He'd had fantasies of kidnapping his foe and having his way with him, but the pleasure he now felt - here, on the 6 train - was beyond anything he had dreamed. They were in public, and MacGyver was patently unwilling, yet some hidden desire seemed to compel him not to protest. Murdoc began to hope that they both might enjoy this.
No one around them seemed to suspect what the assassin's hand was doing under cover of the knapsack pressed against MacGyver's chest. The trouble-shooter coughed and shifted uncomfortably as Murdoc gently squeezed his testicles through the tight-fitting denim. Arousal stirred within the killer as he continued to fondle his enemy, disregarding the obstruction posed by the cloth. Murdoc closed his eyes and, for one precious moment, he and MacGyver were alone on the subway, frozen in time. This was the ultimate position of power.
Pleasure surged through the killer's body as a growing erection stirred beneath his hand, and he glanced back up at his foe. An increase in pressure and a quickening of motion was rewarded by a bite of that tempting lower lip as MacGyver tried visibly to suppress a moan. Murdoc wondered what the man must be thinking, and what had possessed him to enjoy an anonymous encounter in public. Had the assassin been the one groped in the subway, the perpetrator would have had a knife in his chest by now. Unless, of course, Murdoc were sure that MacGyver was the erring party; in such a case, he would gladly lie back (so to speak) and enjoy.
MacGyver had stopped searching the crowd for a guilty face and had closed his eyes instead. His lip quivered with every breath and with each expert stroke of the assassin's hand. Murdoc wanted more, wanted to push the limits of what common sense dictated. He wanted to have MacGyver on the train, in front of all the other passengers - wanted to take this man, to give him pleasure and make him beg for more. But even if all sense should abandon him, practicalities intervened: with no room to maneuver in this throng, Murdoc couldn't move to stand behind the troubleshooter, however much he might long to take the chance. There was, however, a viable alternative.
With a sly smile, Murdoc noiselessly tugged at the zipper of MacGyver's pants, relishing the sudden look of panic on the troubleshooter's face. He slipped his fingers through the small opening in the fabric, grasped the waiting erection and pulled it free. The skin was hot to his touch; in sharp contrast, the tip offered a single drop of liquid that cooled quickly on the assassin's hand. A tiny, precious sample of what was to come. Licking his lips, Murdoc began to caress his foe's impressive length.
He couldn't imagine what MacGyver was thinking. Obviously the trouble-shooter was enjoying their little encounter, but who did he think would do such a thing? Had he pictured a gender to go along with the touch, or was it the anonymity he found so appealing? Did he have someone specific in mind? And could that someone possibly be Murdoc? Keeping his eyes open with an effort, the assassin played out his fantasy even as he ran through possible outcomes. Were MacGyver to discover his molester's true identity, he might recoil in horror, rejecting his advances. Or it might excite Mac to know who was taking these liberties; he might beg Murdoc not to stop, ask to see him again, even willingly agree to a passionate affair. Better still, he might be angered into seeking retribution - might turn his rage and desire against his adversary, forcing Murdoc to submit to him. The idea both excited and terrified the killer, and his grip tightened on the troubleshooter's burning erection.
Suddenly the train lurched forward and the lights flickered on. For one terrible second, Murdoc's hand grasped empty air, and then MacGyver's arousal was pressed firmly into his palm. MacGyver looked around nervously in the newly brightened car as the train made its way forward and caught his breath when Murdoc squeezed one last time. A cheer rose from the crowd as the subway finally reached the station, providing perfect cover as MacGyver moaned his release. But the sheer joy on his face quickly turned to shock and horror as Murdoc withdrew his hand, leaving the trouble-shooter exposed.
As the doors opened, Murdoc fished through his oversized handbag for his gloves; though he'd tried to avoid the sticky warmth of MacGyver's ejaculation, he did have visible traces on his hand, and the gloves would provide cover, if not comfort. He wondered idly where the rest of the incriminating fluid had landed. The most likely victim was the young woman with the large knapsack; she looked like a militant feminist, and would no doubt be suitably outraged when she discovered the gift bestowed on her by Murdoc's skill. Not his problem, the killer reminded himself, dismissing the thought altogether. He held the bag in front of his waist to conceal the conspicuous bulge that would certainly draw attention if noticed, and concentrated on calming himself. There was a job to do, and he could not afford to let his desires cloud his mind. Tempted as he was, he did not even look back as he exited the train, though he knew MacGyver would be right behind him. He wanted so badly to see the expression on his enemy's face - wanted to know if the troubleshooter's walk would be affected, and if he was still searching the crowds for the culprit. And he couldn't help wondering whether MacGyver had had a chance to properly readjust himself, or whether he'd been forced to improvise, no doubt making use of his jacket to conceal the evidence.
A slight smile quirked Murdoc's lips as he proceeded up the stairs without a glance to left or right, mentally reviewing his instructions. At the hotel, he would check in under the name Annette Peckenpaugh and would be handed a suitcase that had been dropped off earlier that day. The room he would occupy for an hour would be in perfect position: one story up and across the courtyard from where MacGyver and his contact would be. With the job finished, he would leave, unnoticed, and head for Dallas to await his next instructions.
Finally, in the hotel lobby, Murdoc allowed himself to sneak a look at MacGyver, watching covertly as the troubleshooter greeted a nervous, middle-aged woman who introduced herself as Susan Wallack. Tearing his attention away, Murdoc checked in, retrieved his suitcase and proceeded to the fourth floor. Inside the room, he locked the door, opened the window very slightly, closed the heavy curtains, and turned on a single light in the bathroom. He removed his wig and women's clothing and washed off the heavy makeup he'd worn. Before removing his panty hose, he poked his toe through the foot and forced the run halfway up his leg, only then discarding them in the wastebasket. Completely naked, he stared at himself in the mirror, mixed emotions all too apparent on his face. But this was not the time to get distracted. He had work to do.
Murdoc dropped the worn clothes on the bed, opened the suitcase he'd been given and hung up the other skirts and blouses he found there. At the very bottom was a large briefcase and a man's suit, shoes, coat and all. He dressed himself in the new clothes and opened the briefcase. Inside was everything he needed to complete this assignment. The killer unpacked it all, took the wig and makeup kit into the bathroom and set to work. When he was done, he looked like a balding, overworked executive who spent as much time squinting at pretty secretaries as he did tending to his job. Murdoc laughed at himself in the mirror.
Before proceeding, he slipped the items he would be taking with him into the briefcase: the woman's gray wig, his plane ticket and the keys to a green Dodge parked in a garage three blocks away. One last check of the room, and Murdoc was ready. The final item left for him in the briefcase had been a disassembled rifle and scope; now he prepared the gun with swift, expert moves. Taking his place by the window, Murdoc parted the curtains slightly and counted the windows visible across the courtyard. Finally, he spotted his target.
A loud whistle through the air and the sound of breaking glass were the only indications that a shot had been fired. The assassin watched as his victim fell and the room's other occupant leaped to the window. The job was done. The mark was dead. Murdoc could leave...yet he remained, his sights now focused on MacGyver, who stood there looking hurt and confused. Murdoc stroked the trigger with his finger, hesitated and then put down the gun. He had made a discovery on the subway and now could not kill his longtime nemesis. Murdoc had wanted MacGyver to know it was him, had wanted Mac to look into his eyes and recognize him and still be unable to cry for help. It was a disturbing revelation.
The assassin shook his head. He'd wasted enough time. Quickly, he wiped the gun with the handkerchief in his pocket, laid the weapon on the floor by the open window, picked up the briefcase and left the room. Taking the stairs down to the lobby, he exited the hotel unnoticed. A sigh of relief escaped him as he turned the corner of Madison Avenue. Then he smiled, and began plotting his next encounter with the elusive MacGyver.