Riding Coach

"I don't think I can take it much longer," she gasped to Paul. "His thumb, it's on my, my..." Her voice became quieter, and in a very soft whisper, she said, "my clitoris." And, in case he didn't appreciate the importance of that admission, she added, "That always gets me so excited."

"There, there," he said, patting her back, like he was trying to reassure a scared little girl.

She snuggled her face deep into his shoulder and gasped, "It's so wrong, I know. It's so naughty and bad, but I so very much like it when a guy diddles my clit."

Paul's dick was straining in his pants at the eroticism of her words. He rubbed himself against her, trying to pretend that it was the train causing his hard, erect cock to grind against her rather than his hips.

"I just can't help myself." If he had any doubts of her intense arousal, her hands reached inside his suit jacket and were feeling, gripping, clawing, and scratching at his chest, while her hips were jerking, squirming, and wiggling against his crotch, against his hungry, yearning, throbbing cock.

"This is so embarrassing," she confessed. "Don't look at me, please," she pleaded. "I'm so ashamed."

He was not about to do anything now that might disrupt the moment.

"I'm getting so close," she gasped. "His fingers feel so good. My pussy is so hot, so wet. He's so, so good." She looked up into his eyes. "You must think I'm so bad."

She undid two of his buttons on his shirt and slid her left hand inside, so that she could feel his naked, masculine, hairy chest, and she lustfully clawed, clenched, and clutched his skin.

"You're being so kind, so considerate," she whispered. "I know this must be hard for you."

She was certainly right about that, but perhaps not in the way she meant. "I know this must be, um, well......exciting you." Apparently she might have meant it that way.

She took her hand from his shirt and reached down, farther down, squeezing her hand in between their bodies until she reached the front of his slacks, and felt the very obvious stiff bulge.

It was his turn to gasp as he felt her frenzied hand grasp hold of his cock through his slacks. His immediate reaction was to double check to see that nobody was still noticing her, and now him, although he couldn't imagine how anybody would not. It was like she was in heat on the train, wiggling her cunt on the fingers of a guy behind her while she worked the cock of another guy in front of her. It wasn't too often you would see that on a train, and such an anomaly should draw at least some attention. But, frankly, at this point, he didn't want to know. He just wanted to enjoy the pleasure of the feel of her hand clutching, gripping, squeezing, and stroking his cock through his slacks as she gasped breathlessly into his chest, her own big round boobs pressing deep into him, her lovely perfume continuing to tickle his nose, as her bottom wiggled and squirmed on the man's fingering and diddling.

And then, much to his surprise, he felt her grasp the zipper of his slacks, pull it down, and slip her hand inside, into his slacks and soon after into the flap of his boxers to grasp in her hand his hard, naked, stiff cock.

"Oh my," she said, "You're so big," she gasped. "So big, and hard, and stiff," she moaned as she fondled and stroked his cock within his boxers. "He's fucking me so hard now, he's diddling me so hard."

He was himself stunned and speechless, and delighted. His eyes opened wide with shock, and excitement.

She even suddenly yanked his cock from his trousers, bringing his hard, stiff naked cock out into the open air, into the viewing eyes of anyone and everyone on the train that might in fact notice, including the seated woman to his left, and openly slid her fist up and down its thick length as she cried and shuddered, "I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I just can't help it, oh my, oh my, oh my," she repeatedly gasped as she fell into him, her body shivering and shuddering with her intense orgasm, her hand pounding and squeezing his cock.

The train lurched again as it arrived into Highland Park. Passengers jostled, jogged, and jolted as the train shook, jerked, and rumbled to a stop.

The woman pulled herself away from Paul's chest, looked him meekly, apologetically, and shamefully in the eyes, but also gratefully. It seemed to him that hers were among the prettiest and most attractive eyes he had ever seen, at least at that moment, and then she quickly turned around to exit the train, following the tightly packed crowd of commuters as they pushed, pressed, shoved, and squeezed their way out.

Paul quickly shifted his briefcase to his front, jamming it against his crotch, against his momentarily exposed erect cock. He glanced hurriedly to his left and right. It did not appear to be the case that anyone had seen it, surprisingly so, although the man standing to his right did appear to have a little smile on his face.

He looked to the gentleman who had been fingering the young woman. He had politely let the woman get by him. It was always courteous to let the ladies off the train first. Most men, however, do not display any such consideration. The elder gentleman was a clear exception when it came to manners.

Paul expected to see a look of apprehension and fear on his face, worrying that perhaps Paul would turn him into security. Or, perhaps, the complete opposite: a look of arrogant, forceful, threatening defiance, daring him to do or say anything.

But, instead, he did not look away in embarrassment, shame, or guilt, nor did he look at all threatening. Instead, he just smiled at Paul, as if they were good friends, as if he knew something that Paul did not know, or was not willing to acknowledge.

It was in fact Paul who quickly looked away. He was clearly in the more difficult, vulnerable position, having his erect dick sticking out. Obviously, he would not be contacting security with an erection sticking out of his pants. The gentleman even stepped to the side to let Paul pass, and Paul got into line right behind the woman who had extracted his cock. His eyes went to the back of her dress, to her bottom.

She was walking rather awkwardly. She was trying to fix and straighten her skirt as she was moving through the crowded train. Her panties were still bunched up on her thighs, just below her bottom. Her movements would be a bit awkward just from that. Plus, she was probably also a bit weak in the legs.

She did not turn around to say goodbye as she got onto the platform. She instead just hurried off.

Paul kept his briefcase clutched to his crotch as he got out onto the platform and, as he proceeded to the platform's exit, he took one quick look back. The gentleman got off the train but did not immediately head in any particular direction. Paul could see him still smiling at him as he hurriedly made his way through the crowd to a restroom.

Clutching a briefcase to one's crotch was not a particularly effective way at appearing inconspicuous. Not too many persons walk with briefcases jammed against the front of their bodies. He did get a number of quizzical glances, and even a few smirks. He imagined they must figure he spilled some coffee onto an embarrassing location, thinking that he was one if those first-time, inexperienced, novice commuters. Or, even worse, perhaps he did indeed have a bladder accident. But, none of that was worse than actually letting anyone see his hard-on sticking out of his slacks. That would indeed arouse far more problematic reactions than just confusing and amusing glances, to say the least. He moved quickly to a stall in the men's room in the lobby of the station, hoping desperately that nobody he knew would notice him. Imagine if his boss came upon him?

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

Paul was quite shaken up over that experience. He repeatedly scanned the platform and the train in subsequent days for any sign of the gentleman, or the woman. He could not make sense of it. Perhaps it had been some sort of adult candid camera. But, that was clearly absurd, wasn't it? More likely, he considered, it was some sort of reality show from an adult web site. But, that would be illegal, wouldn't it?

For weeks he saw neither the gentleman, nor the woman. But, an understanding was finally attainable, as he again spotted the gentleman. He was sitting on one of the platform benches, waiting for his train to arrive, whatever train that might be, as he hadn't seemed to be particularly consistent in the trains he rode. Paul had arrived early for his own train, and so he immediately approached the man, to confront him.

"Excuse me," Paul said, as he sat down next to him. "I believe I know you."

The gentleman calmly turned to him, smiled, and said, "Yes, I believe I know you as well."

That was not the response that Paul had been expecting. He had expected the man to deny any recognition whatsoever, to say that he must be mistaken, that he must be confusing him with somebody else, that they had never met or seen each other before. Instead, the man quite calmly acknowledged their mutual recognition. Paul though would not be put off. He pursued his point.

"You know what I mean. I saw you on that train, with that woman."

"You certainly did," he replied, his relaxed, confident smile not wavering. "And, did you enjoy what you saw?"

Paul certainly had, having obtained a pretty darned hard erection and he was a briefly derailed by this man turning the question around, as if he was the one who should feel defensive.

"You're lucky I didn't have you arrested."

"Why didn't you?"

"She didn't want the police to become involved."

"And, why do you think that was the case?"

"It was too embarrassing for her." Somehow he was now the one answering the questions. "Listen, you pull that stunt again and I will have you arrested, no matter what the young lady's preference." "Is it not possible that there is another reason she did not want the security service involved?"

Paul was silenced. He had not considered another possibility. He had understood, or assumed, that the first woman was the gentleman's wife, or lover, but this was obviously not the case with the second woman, who clearly did not know the man. He did not understand what he was suggesting, or at least was unable to acknowledge it. "What are you saying?"

The distinguished gentleman explained.

He stated that she was in fact a quite willing participant, that her protestations to Paul, her embarrassment, her pleas for help and consideration, were not entirely sincere, or at least they were part of her own pleasure, how she enjoyed the act, or the game, as the gentleman preferred to call it.

"The game?" Paul replied.

"Yes, yes, of course, the game. It's a lovely game that we play, every few weeks or months or so."

"You and her?"

"Sometimes, but not often. No, no, I have not played our game with her since that last time. There are others though that have played with her before, and since then."

"There are others?"

He explained further. He indicated that there were indeed many others, all willing participants, members, if you will, of a club, a secret club, a very select society, of men and women who enjoyed this sort of play, this innocent, delightful dalliance.

Paul shook his head. He didn't believe it.

"Is it really so unusual? There is of course the mile-high club, ocean clubs, nudists, glory hole clubs, swingers, cosplay, all sorts of groups who share particular predilections. Is this really so difficult to imagine?"

"Those are not really clubs. It's not like they have meetings, officers, and dues, and stuff."

"Actually, some of them in fact do, but a club doesn't need to be so formal to exist. All that one needs are regular, repeating participants who in time begin to recognize each other, develop mutual understandings, a regular routine. In our club, our society, we are actually a bit more formal and controlled, perhaps even regulated, one might say."

Paul's skepticism was dissipating, and he was now intrigued. "What do you mean?" "Well, our game is, quite obviously, pretty risky. We risk being observed by others, as you have done, at least twice that I am aware of. There were perhaps other times?" He looked at Paul quizzically, albeit still smiling, to see if he could detect that there had indeed been additional times.

When he received no response to his query, he continued. "We must also be very careful, to say the least, to avoid detection by security and, most difficult of all, be careful in the recruitment of new members."

The gentleman then proceeded to provide a brief history of the club. He opined that the beginnings of this club began originally in Japan, where crowded buses and trains have been really quite commonplace, and unintentional and intentional frotteurism not that uncommon. The practice slowly spread to other metropolitan locations. The origin within Japan could, though, be only urban legend. Who really knows, for instance, why it was that San Francisco became the haven for homosexuals, or why Dallas is a haven for voyeurists and exhibitionists? In any case, the key to its success was in part to have a degree of organization and structure. The distinguished gentleman was the de facto "president," of the local chapter, or as he preferred to call it, the conductor. His responsibility was in part to select which train, and which car, would serve as their next meeting place.

He would leave a ticket stuck to a subway billboard known only to the membership, which provided the identity of the train and car in which they would hold their next "meeting." It was useful to rotate the trains and cars for a number of reasons. It helped to offset the likelihood of detection, either by security or other passengers. It was also helpful to facilitate everyone's chance of participation, at least once in awhile. They were all, for the most part, on their way to work, or (less frequently) on the way home, and as conductor he wanted to be able to accommodate at some point everyone's busy schedule. He was himself self-employed, and so had a quite flexible schedule and could attend most every meeting.

Rotating to different trains also increased the chances of finding and recruiting new players. And, finally, if you decided that you did not want to participate that day (or any other day) it was relatively easy to avoid the specific car in which the game that day would be played if the location rotated along different lines. Everyone, of course, was allowed to quit the game at any time.

Confining each meeting to one particular car was also important. It allowed the club to load the car with members who would help provide cover. The gentleman explained that the two persons near to Paul, the one standing to his right, the woman sitting to his left, were in fact members of their society, as was another man standing to his left. Their job that day was to help keep the activity hidden from the unsuspecting passengers. The job of providing cover would naturally rotate, although the process of rotation was decided rather informally. The ladies had considerable authority and leeway in making last-minute decisions.

In a typical meeting, a female participant would choose her partner, providing him with some sign, some gesture, of her interest in being approached. A requirement of membership, monitored by the conductor (as best he could), was confidentiality and anonymity. Members were discouraged from approaching one another off the train, and from identifying themselves to one another on the train. The conductor could not effectively enforce this rule, but it was apparent that most everyone respected it, as everyone pretty much preferred the anonymity, for obvious reasons.

Some female participants did prefer to be chosen. Their interest in participating was simply announced by their presence on the car. These were the ones who especially enjoyed playing the reluctant victim.

Of course, the male participants would not necessarily know which woman or women on the car were members, and this added considerable drama, and skill, to the game. One had to literally feel the riders out for their membership, their interest, in being touched, rubbed, fondled, and perhaps even penetrated.

Sometimes mistakes would occur, but it wasn't as risky as it sounded. The men erred in the direction of backing away from a woman who did not appear willing.

Paul's skepticism began to rise once again. "No, no, I just can't believe that people are willing to do such things. No woman is really willing, or should I say, desiring, to engage in something like this."

The man smiled patiently "The naivety of Americans when it comes to sexual play is sometimes really quite amusing."

That was a rather personal and perhaps insulting assertion but, frankly, he knew it was true. He did not make an effort to defend his country.

"I think you would probably be quite amazed at what a lot of people are doing beneath the radar of general public knowledge or awareness. A few minutes on the internet will open your eyes."

He was again right about that. With some trepidation Paul had once surfed the net for aberrant sexual practices, just to see what was out there. It wasn't long before his computer was flooded by various viruses, cookies, and worms but he still learned quite a bit. No matter your interest, you can find others who share that interest, and once there are a group of persons who share a common interest, someone will develop a formal or informal network so that they can share that interest together.

An additional responsibility, as conductor, was recruitment. The gentleman explained that it was, naturally, more difficult to recruit female members than males. It was a very delicate skill, to literally feel out a woman's interest in joining the club. One had to proceed in a most heedful, cautious manner. Not surprisingly, a significant proportion of women are not that interested in joining. And, it was not surprising that someone who joined did drop out, some in fact rather quickly. At times the fantasy was much more thrilling than the reality. On the other hand, some eventual recruits at first expressed considerable reluctance but eventually became quite enthusiastic participants.

Recruiting new males also had its own caveats. On the one hand, it was not that difficult to find men interested in participating, at least a few times. But, it was important to recruit men who would be skilled, who would be respectful of the ladies, who would be conscientious and responsible, and who would be discreet. The society was no stronger than its weakest link.

"And," Paul inquired, "is the club currently strong?"

"Well, yes, at the moment. There have been some mistakes, some slip-ups, in the past, but at the moment everything is running fairly smoothly."

"And, so, that's why you're here now? The next meeting will be on my train?"

"Actually, no. I am here to invite you to join, to become an active member."

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

Paul had said no. It sounded way too risky, way too dangerous. After all, what they were doing was illegal, even if everyone, including the women, were willing participants. They could, he could, get arrested, at least for public indecency, and he certainly didn't need that on his record, or in the newspaper.

But, as the days passed he became more interested, more intrigued.

The gentleman had not appeared surprised or troubled by Paul's declination. He just gave him that knowing smile and told him where the time and place of the meetings is announced, knowing full well that he was providing Paul with the information needed to have their meeting raided, to have them arrested, but also knowing, confidently, that Paul would not do that, and would in fact eventually attend, and join.