Riding Coach

He did though also get a good, albeit brief, view of the face that belonged to the full soft breasts. Her eyes, which were in fact quite pretty, were large and green and did not seem to register at all any emotion or appreciation of what was happening right before them. She must not in fact have noticed. Or, perhaps, she really didn't care. She obviously didn't care about her boob mashing into his back. In any case, he also naturally noticed that her facial features matched well her body, in that she was as pretty as her breasts were big. His dick swelled now to full erection, knowing that a very pretty woman, with disproportionately large breasts, was thrusting her big soft boob against him, while he gazed upon the upskirted fanny of a woman just to his right, and his swollen, stiff cock pressed into the butt of a woman in front of him.

He felt a rush of panic. He had momentarily forgotten about the woman in whose butt he was sticking his now stiff dick. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. He tried to shift to the left but he was just too packed in. He clearly could shift to the right, pushing the gentleman's hand away from his girlfriend's panties, but he hardly wanted to do that. Nor was moving forward or backward even an option. Turning was even no longer really an option, at least turning right, so that he explicitly faced the man to his right. He, and the woman behind him would clearly see his erection, nor did he want to cause him, and his girlfriend, any difficulty with their private game. Frankly, turning in any direction would risk them losing their privacy. He sort of felt that he should just stay where he was.

The only consolation was that the woman in front of him continued to act oblivious to the fact that the man behind her had a hard-on stuck into her soft, cushy, feminine ass. How could she not know? And, assuming that she did know, how could she not be offended? But, there it was, rammed up against her butt, and she was doing nothing about it.

The train lurched again, and the woman in front fell a bit forward and away from his cock, but when righting herself pressed back even more firmly against him.

Well, she must be some sort of incredibly naive woman, Paul thought. Whatever the explanation, he wasn't about to deny himself the pleasure of the moment, and he contemplated how nice her soft bum felt against his stiff cock as his eyes returned to the couple to his right. He was amazed to see that their play was in fact escalating.

The man's fingers were now slipping into, under, the lower edge of the woman's panties, along the lower part of her left round bum, slipping under her panties to work their way over to a most treasured prize: her cunnie. He was actually going to finger her on the train, right in front of all of the other morning commuters.

Paul's own dick was now yearning for touch as well. He was caring a newspaper in his right hand, his left holding onto one of the steal bars that ran along just above the passengers' heads. But, he could hardly squeeze his right hand in between his dick and the lady's bottom, and certainly not for the purpose of playing with himself.

Nevertheless, he did actually have something perhaps even more enjoyable with which to rub his cock: a woman's firm, yet soft, quite round derriere. He pushed forward, just a little bit, just ever so much a little bit. Hopefully not so much as to reveal that it was in fact intentional.

She didn't seem to notice, or at least she hadn't reacted. But, it also wasn't that much of a shove, or a rub. It was more like a gentle probe, rather pleasurable for him, but hardly satisfying; more like a nibble at her bum cheek rather than a bite. He could feel his balls stirring, his cock instinctively twitching.

It would be so nice to dry hump this soft derriere. He had experienced really quite wonderful lap dances at various gentlemen's clubs. They weren't always great. Some of them were essentially air dances with no real contact, but some girls really got into grinding their soft, pliant, bubbly bums against his hard stiff dick, bringing him eventually to that very delightfully delirious happy ending. It would leave quite a mess, but it was always well worth it. He softly, gently, rubbed his hard dick against the woman's bottom, hopefully not too much so as to arouse suspicion or anger, but hopefully enough to further arouse himself.

The gentleman's fingers had apparently found their way to its goal, beneath the gusset of the woman's panties. They were now quite clearly exploring, caressing, and perhaps even fingering her cunt.

Paul was shocked, and so fucking hard. He could see the gentleman clearly sliding his fingers around and around under the woman's panties, her bottom beginning to shift, to squirm, with his subtle, surreptitious, cautious fingering, although it was perhaps stretching it to say that any fingering of a girl on a subway was actually being cautious.

Paul tried to get a view of the lady's face. There's something nice about looking into the eyes of a woman becoming sexually aroused, watching her passion grow, particularly when you know she is struggling to hide it, to deny it, being embarrassed and ashamed at being so wanton, so lustful. But, there was simply no way to maneuver into a better perspective, at least for that, and certainly no way without exposing the couple to the view of others. He would just have to be satisfied with watching her pantied bottom squirm with the gentleman's fingering.

"Oh!" the lady exclaimed, as she felt the man's finger slip up into her cunt, and Paul saw her face suddenly turn left and right, looking to see if anyone was noticing what just happened. They briefly caught each other's eyes, and her face appeared to instantly redden with embarrassment.

The man began to slowly, sensually, slip and slide his finger in and out of her tight, wet, hot cunt, all the while still diddling her clit with another finger. He appeared to be really very good at this.

The woman cursed herself for yipping out loud like that, possibly giving away their little game to the other passengers. She tried to keep an even expression on her face, trying desperately not to reveal her intense level of arousal, of excitement, of thrill.

She was a young lady, twenty-three years old, and she had, of course, been fingered many times before. But, there was something uniquely special about it being in public. Something quite naughty, sexy, dangerous, and thrilling. She could feel herself getting closer and closer and closer to her climax. She thrust her bottom back to the man behind her, back to his finger, trying to get him to do it harder, quicker, faster.

And, so he did, now plunging his finger rapidly in and out of her sloppy, drippy tight wet cunt, her bottom responding with more instinctively spasmodic twitches and jerks. She was feeling faint and weak.

The train suddenly lurched left and then as quickly right. The passengers were jolted to the right and then back to the left. The woman's hand slipped from the bar with the first jolt and she almost fell completely over with the second, falling back and to the left, the man's finger still lodged up her cunt, perhaps fortunately so, as it was helping her to keep her balance, to remain on her feet. She reached out to break her fall and fell into the arms, or more accurately the hands, of Paul.

It was not unusual for passengers to fall into each other when the train made a series of sudden jolts and jerks. The passengers' sense of balance was always tenuous, at best, with the rapidly moving, bouncing, gyrating coach car, speeding through the subway like it was a roller coaster. But, this was the first time that Paul actually caught a woman, protected and saved a woman, from falling down, by grabbing hold of her breasts.

Actually, he only got a hold of one of them. She had not turned all the way around. She had just slipped to the left and partially turned toward him, and as she fell he naturally reached out, but with the jolting and shifting of the train, his hand missed her shoulder, his intended target, and grabbed instead her breast, her very wonderfully soft, round, pliant, squishy breast.

"Oh my, oh my," she gasped breathlessly, as the feel of the man's hand, the stranger's hand, wrapping around her breast while the other man's finger continued to plunge her cunt and squeeze her clit. She gave herself over to her orgasm, sweeping through her in delirious waves of dizzying, swooning pleasure. For a moment she felt like she might in fact black out, her mind was so overwhelmed, her consciousness so disrupted, so engulfed, by the tremors coursing through her body. For a moment, she just leaned into the man who had caught her, who had gallantly caught her breast in his hand. In her wonderfully confused state of mind she looked up at him and said, breathlessly, "Thank you."

Paul was perhaps equally confused, although not due to any dissociative disruption of consciousness. Once the woman's breast fell into his hand, or perhaps once his hand had grabbed her soft full round boob. His natural instinct was to quickly remove his hand, but she appeared to be so confused, so unstable, that he wondered if she might in fact indeed fall.

Of course, he was also thinking in part with his hard dick. His mind never worked with full rationality and sound judgment when he had an erection. It was as if priority was given to its needs, its concerns, its desires, over and above sound reasoning and common sense. And, so, he left his hand there, clutching the woman's squishy breast much longer than was normal subway courtesy, and even gave it a little squeeze as he rubbed against the other woman's bottom in front of him. If this moment could last a bit longer, perhaps he could also have a happy ending.

But, the train lurched again, now coming into his stop, his destination, which brought him out of his own reverie, his own mental confusion. He quickly removed his hand from the woman's boob and replied, belatedly, "You're welcome."

She looked up at him again, her face flushed red, for a couple of reasons. Her lovely large green round eyes were twinkling with passion, with bliss. She briefly smiled at him, grabbed hold of the steel bar and then righted herself, using her other hand to try to fix her blouse, her hair, and her skirt, although finding it rather difficult as she also had to use that hand to hold onto her purse.

Paul looked to his right, at the gentleman who had been fingering her, but with all of the jolting and the arrival at the station, he was now shifted away from them. In his spot was the girl with the big breasts, no longer pressing into his back and, with the car doors opening, many of the passengers hurriedly extricated themselves from the train, pushing and bumping like cattle as they squeezed through the exit door, two to three at a time.

Once onto the platform everyone established a more comfortable and decent amount of space amongst themselves. Paul watched as the lady who had been fingered hurried off to the left, the older gentleman leisurely walked to the right. Paul was at first confused by that. He would assume that they would naturally leave together, as husband or wife, or some sort of couple. But, they had not. However, he quickly realized that they were probably just naturally separating for the simple fact that they did not work at the same location, although he was still surprised that they didn't even take the time to say goodbye, let alone share a goodbye hug or kiss. Such a gesture would seem the appropriate courtesy after a fingering.

Paul though smiled at the thought of having shared their morning rush-hour dalliance. A little fingering on a train would be a nice way to start the day. However, he then realized that he was still sporting a rather obvious erection. He shifted his briefcase to the front of his pants as he was swept along by the crowd of commuters exiting the station.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Paul Reed did not have another experience like that for quite some time, and he was disappointed. It was back to the usual cattle car experiences of personal space violations, body odor, hacking coughs, spraying sneezes, and pointed, jabbing elbows.

He did feel like he saw the older gentleman once again. As he stood waiting for his own train to arrive, he felt that he spotted the well dressed, dignified man on the platform bench for the commuter train going in the other direction, across the tracks from him. How odd, he thought, to have the man this time going in the opposite direction. However, his view was cut off by the arrival of his train, and he then doubted that it was in fact the same man.

He did though see the man for certain almost three months later, this time on the same platform as himself. But, strangely, he did not get on the same train. He was apparently waiting for a subsequent train, but that hardly made any sense.

Paul eventually stopped thinking about him until, once again, they were in fact on the same train, quite coincidentally so, as it was not Paul's normal run. He was taking Metro Center past his employer's stop, having some business in city central.

He did not immediately notice him, but the situation turned out to be quite similar.

He was in the awkward position of being jammed back against the side of the car, in the last row. There's a bit more room in the back, with seating that allows more space to stretch out your feet. But, he was rarely lucky enough to get a seat and, even if he was, he was gentlemanly enough to offer it to a woman. One could not, in any case, take advantage of the potential space for one's feet, as the area in front of the seats was always quickly filled by persons standing, and eventually cramming and jamming, into whatever open space was available.

Today, Paul was one of those persons cramming and jamming, his back against the side of the car, his feet almost entangled in the feet of the woman sitting to his left. He would like to give her more room, but he simply couldn't move his own feet without inadvertently kicking someone else. In fact, if he didn't firmly hold his ground he would be shoved into her lap, as the man to his right was pressing hard up against him. It is striking how oblivious some passengers can be in their violation of your personal space. The man to his right didn't seem to notice at all that their bodies were in fact touching, if not pressing, against one another. Instead, he appeared to be lost in some newspaper article.

What did help minimize his discomfort was the person who was pressed up against him in front. In fact, he could hardly call it uncomfortable, although it was discomforting, psychologically.

She was strikingly attractive, with short, very curly blonde hair, rosy and dimpled cheeks, and large blue eyes with long fluttering lashes. She immediately reminded of him of that female character in "All in the Family," Gloria: cute, pretty, bubbly, and with very big round tits that were pressing right into his chest. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more this woman made him think of similar woman, like Kelly Bundy, Dee Twiddle, and certainly Carol Connors, who was the nurse in Deep Throat (and eventual mother to Thora Birch). The fact that this woman's big breasts were thrust against him did probably have something to do with his more lascivious associations.

However, unlike how he would imagine (or fantasize) how Dee Twiddle or Carol Connors would react, this young woman was clearly distraught by the forced embrace, and he could hardly blame her. He would certainly have been very apologetic and even more embarrassed if he had seen the face of the woman against whom he had been pressing his erection during that earlier train ride. In this instance, avoiding eye contact was really quite difficult, as they were facing each other and there was really no way for him to turn away, at least without shoving aside the man on his right.

"It's a little crowded today," he said politely, as he felt those lusciously large soft cushions pressing into his chest, trying to pretend though that he wasn't noticing them.

She was a bit shorter than him, and she looked up at him, her large blue eyes looking so plaintive, so distraught, so stricken. "I'm sorry," she replied. "I just can't move."

He shook his head reassuringly, as if he wasn't even aware that there was any problem. "No, no, it's fine, don't worry about it."

It was a lame effort, or at least it was easy for him to say not to worry about it. He wasn't the one with his breasts being crushed into the chest of a complete stranger, as if she was trying to literally force herself upon him.

With the last persons being squeezed on board, the train lurched as it started down its track, and the woman momentarily lost her footing, falling even more heavily into Paul as well as a bit off to the side.

He let go of the steel bar above his head, braced himself against the wall of the train, and wrapped his left arm around the waist of the woman to help keep her from falling down onto the seated woman.

"Thanks," she meekly replied, as she felt his arm go around her and pull her against him even more snugly, as if he was trying to embrace her.

He smiled back. "Not a problem, happens all the time." It wasn't like he saved her from a pit full of snakes, but it did always feel good to help a woman in distress, and she certainly did feel good pressed against him. He could tell by his arm around her waist that she did indeed have a very nice figure, as her waist was really quite small. He imagined that she must look very well without her business suit, his penis swelling at the thought, and the feel, of her feminine figure. He kept his arm around her for a bit more, as the train did tend to jerk and shake as it left the station, and she did not seem to protest.

When a train first begins to move, many of the standing passengers will adjust their positions to become more firmly, safely planted. This was obviously necessary for the woman, but there was really so very little foot room, with the two of them essentially standing amidst the feet of the passengers sitting in the back row. She did the best she could though, trying to find a position for her feet that would minimize the likelihood that she would slip or fall when another lurch of the train occurred. All of this movement and adjustment, however, also had the appearance, or at least the effect, of shifting, rubbing, massaging her breasts into Paul's chest.

Paul tried to move his chest away from the lady's breasts, or at least he gave the appearance that he tried. It would be the polite, respectful, and gentlemanly thing to do, but he had to admit that it wasn't an unpleasant experience, at least for him, to have those full soft melons pressing into him, and perhaps largely harmless for her; at worst only some minor embarrassment. In fact, his own movement had the complementary effect of seemingly returning the favor of their unfortunate, or fortunate (depending upon your perspective), embrace by pressing, rubbing, and shifting his chest against those big, luscious boobs.

The woman reached above with her left hand to grasp hold of the steel bar. It is really quite difficult to ride a commuter train without holding on to something. To do so would be essentially surfing the rails, and you're really quite liable to lose your balance entirely when you do so. She had in fact almost fallen when the train first pulled away.

Her choices for support though were minimal. There was the steel bar that ran along the middle of the train, which was well behind her, and the one that ran along the edge of the train, which was just above Paul's head. She reached up for that bar, and that pulled her even more closely into him. They were essentially occupying a space that was intended for only one person. "Sorry," she again apologized.