Friday Ride on the Subway

The subway was packed, which was usual for a Friday afternoon. I hadn't bothered to find a seat, just staked out a support pole and hung on tenaciously. Bodies pressed from three sides, and I was feeling distinctly like a sardine in a can. With each stop, people flowed into and out of the car, crowding us further. As the doors slid shut, I was jammed tightly against my pole, nearly knocked off my heels by the surge of humanity. I reached up and snagged a ceiling strap, clinging like a barnacle as the train jerked into motion. The tide behind me swayed alarmingly, and I was shoved hard, stumbling forward. I felt an arm slip around my waist and haul me upright.

"You all right?" a warm voice in my ear murmured, and I nodded, starting to turn my head to look at my rescuer. "Don't look back," he ordered, and I froze. "There now...perfect..." the voice was mesmerizing.

I felt a hand skim my hip, reaching lower to where the short skirt gave way to stocking-clad thigh. The other hand deftly took mine in a firm but gentle grip and towed it back, placing it on warm, hard, bare flesh. I barely stopped my gasp as that registered and I understood his intent. My fingers encircled him as best they could, with quite a large gap between. His grip around my waist tightened. I paused, firming my grip, and heard a soft groan.

"Oh yesss," his voice was a hiss.

I stroked slowly, casually looking around to see if anyone was taking notice. I felt something brush my knee, and glancing down, I spied a bit of very good quality material, probably a trench coat. I repressed a giggle, thinking of flashers, but was glad his coat was shielding us. No one looked my way, except one tall man who was standing a few feet away. He smiled impersonally and turned his gaze over the heads of our fellow train mates to stare blankly out a window. My companion pressed closer, his hand now under my skirt, caressing my hip. His fingers were firm and warm on my skin, making slow circles, inching forward. I sucked in my breath, my knees feeling weak, but was kept upright by his arm and the press of the bodies around us.

"So hot..." he almost growled, the hand finding its goal and cupping my wetness. I stiffened as he squeezed, but relaxed as he murmured soothing nonsense and started to caress me through my skimpy thong. I moaned low, the noise of the crowd masking my sound of pleasure. "You like that," he whispered. It wasn't a question. I nodded and his fingers nudged aside the thin silk, slipping one long digit inside me. I barely repressed a loud gasp.

He stroked slow, directing me to match his rhythm, and a surge of dizzy desire shot through me like a bolt of lightning. A second finger joined the first, teasing, exploring, curving to brush the spot inside behind my clit. I came, not intensely, but enough to soak his hand. My thighs felt slippery as I clamped his hand between them and shuddered. I didn't dare look down, afraid I'd direct someone's attention to what he was doing to me. I glanced around, but no one seemed to be watching. Then he moved his hand to my hip, steadying me.

"Drop your purse," he ordered, and without stopping to think, I let go of the overhead strap and made a theatrical grab for the pole, allowing the strap of my handbag to slide off my arm and hit the ground. I was vaguely amazed there was any room for it to fall.

"Pick it up."

I bent, my hips pressing against his hardness, groping for the purse and gasping in dismay as it slithered away. I stretched out my hand, ignoring the grumblings of the people above me. Setting my feet in their tottering heels firmly, I dove lower, managing to get a grip on the handles. The movement caused my ass to push back and up, and I felt him quickly shove aside my thong and slide home. I hoped the growl in my throat was put down to frustration as I lost purchase on my bag. He was impossibly big inside me, and I felt every inch as he drove to the hilt. I wished I could see how we looked, and prayed we didn't get arrested. I caught the elusive purse and tried to stand again. A helpful grip on the neck of my jacket got me upright again, his cock firmly lodged inside me.

I was glad my short skirt was full enough to look normal in the front; the back was pushed up to my hips. He wound his arm around my waist again, not stroking, just letting the sway of the train's movement make tiny electric movements that made me whimper. I covered the sound by faking a sneeze, using the moment to clamp hard and was rewarded with a low moan. Smiling to myself, for the next three stops I tightened and released with a steady rhythm, caressing the thick cock lodged deep inside my sopping pussy.

"God, you're tight," he breathed, his grip around my waist pulling me even closer.

As we approached the next to the last stop, he eased out, letting my skirt fall back into place. He had not come, but I had, several times. I felt a kiss on my neck and a swift movement behind me as the doors whooshed open.

"Meet me at the car, darling," I heard, and felt an affectionate pat on my hip. I turned and caught a glimpse of a tan trench coat disappearing into the crowd on the platform. Now I knew why he had insisted I wear my highest heels today, and couldn't help but smile like a cat as the train lurched into motion again.