Commuters

There's an old saying about ships passing in the night. Our protagonists took it to the next level on the stalled subway car.

All characters are at least 18 years old.

*

Her body weighed down by exhaustion, Olga Green trudged down the subway stairs. With drooping shoulders and a pale complexion, she seemed starved for sunlight. She tightly gripped her shopping bag containing the remnants of her lunch and work clothes, wary of the purse snatchers who haunted the subway at night.

Every evening, she donned her cleaning gear and embarked on a twelve-hour journey through the maze of cubicles and conference rooms. This was a necessary but not glamorous job.

Life had thrown Olga an unexpected curveball. Her husband, once a steady source of support, was laid off. Suddenly, the burden of providing for their household fell solely upon Olga's shoulders.

Working overtime became a necessity for Olga. She knew every extra hour she put in meant more financial stability for her family. The long days and nights took a toll on her body, but she soldiered on.

The breeze blowing up the subway stairs caught the hem of her dress up, blowing it up. It billowed around her plump thighs, revealing her blush-colored high-waisted bikini panties. She absentmindedly pushed the hem down and paused briefly to pat her dress down. She adjusted the straps of her lace contour plunge bra. This bra was old and smaller than she needed for her 38G bosom.

Money was tight, and she could no longer afford her secret passion for sexy lingerie. Besides, her husband had not touched her in years. Why waste money?

Her husband was more of a habit than a helpmate. Their sex life was laughable. Her pussy was more intimately acquainted with her fingers than his cock.

She groaned as she settled onto the graffiti-covered plastic benches. The stench of stale urine and old sweat assaulted her nose. The city was in a budget crunch and deferred routine cleaning and maintenance.

Fatigue overcame caution, her eyes closed, and her chin drooped to her chest.

Jesse Woodward eyed the old bag lady sitting across the platform from him. She, like he, caught the same train at the same time each night. They had a nodding acquittance, though he didn't know her name.

Their nodding acquaintance, though devoid of words, spoke volumes. It was a silent understanding, an unspoken connection between two souls who shared a common routine. Each night, as they waited for the familiar rumble of the approaching train, their eyes would meet, exchanging a knowing glance that conveyed mutual recognition.

She wasn't bad-looking if you were into grandmotherly types. Her threadbare dress was nondescript, swelling over heavy breasts and thick hips. Her legs were thick, supporting a broad behind. She wore her steel-grey hair pinned up in a loose, messy bun.

Olga jolted awake, her head snapping back and her eyes popping open. She anxiously surveyed her surroundings, her gaze darting from one shadowy corner to another. The subway station at 3 AM was no place to doze off.

The dimly lit platform was a magnet for all sorts of unsavory characters. Weirdos and druggies shuffled past, their presence sending a shiver down Olga's spine.

She nodded at the big Black man seated opposite her. His dark skin radiated strength and resilience, a testament to his challenges during the night shift. She knew him by sight, just as she knew the usual coterie of the night shift workers. Tonight, it was just the two of them to share this journey.

He was a decent-looking guy, probably in his late 30s. But what caught one's attention was his size. He was massive! He stood at an impressive 6'3" and weighed around 230 pounds.

.His clothing spoke volumes about his occupation. Dressed in rugged jeans, a worn-out flannel shirt, and a battered hard hat perched on his head, he exuded an air of someone familiar with the world of construction and maintenance. The dirt smudges on his boots and the patches on his clothes hinted at a life spent toiling away at building sites and fixing things others couldn't. With every step he took, the faint sound of tools clinking on his tool belt echoed through the air.

They never spoke, but Olga felt she knew him. Tonight, he clutched a brown paper bag with a long-necked bottle of some kind, probably alcohol.

Lord knows I could use a drink!

Olga found solace in alcohol. It was her sedative, lulling her into a deep, dreamless slumber amidst the chaos of her life. But it was not just a sleep aid; it was her balm, soothing the persistent ache in her arthritic knees. With each sip, she felt the weight of her troubles momentarily lifted, as if the alcohol held the power to grant her respite from her struggles.

A column of air rushed across the platform, and a distant rumble signaled their train's arrival. Jesse stood, stretched, and walked to the platform's edge, nodding at Olga.

The column of air from the approaching train blew her dress up, exposing her legs to her lower thighs. Reflexively, she pushed it down and held it until the train came to a stop and the doors opened.

Jesse's eyes widened, and he smiled. Nice legs! They were thicker than the average. But he liked women with a bit of meat on their bones.

He stepped into the car and sat at the rear of the single-car train. He watched as Olga took a place halfway down the car.

They dozed in relative safety as the train left the station and entered the tunnel leading under the river. A few minutes into its transit through the old tube, the train lurched to a stop.

The suddenness of the stop woke the sleeping commuters. Olga myopically looked around, wondering why they stopped. She gave her fellow commuter a tight, nervous smile.

"What the fuck!" Jesse exclaimed as the lights flickered and went out.

The battery-powered emergency lights snapped on, bathing the subway car in an eerie yellow glow.

Jesse shook his head in resignation. He was bone tired and looking forward to getting home to a hot shower, a stiff drink, and, if he was lucky, a hot fuck! He sighed with resignation. It seems it was not to be tonight! These breakdowns were frequent and lengthy.

"Oh, my God," Olga exclaimed.

Olga's hand flew to her bosom, a gesture that betrayed her unease in close spaces. However, her discomfort was not rooted in claustrophobia alone. It was a peculiar fear, more akin to the dread of being trapped and unable to escape at will.

She shook her head. Somebody needed to do something about the city's transportation network. It was old, decrepit, and prone to frequent breakdowns.

"Sorry, folks! We lost power." The motorman, a woman, exited her compartment.

"So, how long will we be stuck this time," Jesse asked, eyeing the buxom motor woman

Olga fidgeted. She had been riding this train for years. She was always uneasy when it went through the tunnel under the river. She had nightmares about the tunnel failing, water rushing in, and drowning! Now the damn car was stuck in the section of the track she feared the most!

"No idea, sir! I lost communication with Central. I will walk down the tracks to the emergency phone and see what's happening."

"I'll go with you!"

Jesse stood, towering over the petite subway operator. He didn't want to be trapped in the subway car with only the bag lady for company. She was alright, but he would rather be busy doing something.

"No, sir! You and the lady should stay here. The power to the third rail could come back on at any minute. It's safer if you stay here!"

Big guy, she thought! Kind of sexy! Any other time...!

"Do you think we'll be okay?" Olga's voice squeaked, her anxiety increasing.

She looked warily at the Black guy, realizing she didn't really know him! Now, she was trapped alone with him.

"You'll be fine, ma'am! Just stay calm!"

The motorman caught Jesse's eye, and she rolled her eyes. The old woman was close to panicking.

Jesse leaned out the subway car door, watching the subway operator's flashlight disappear into the gloom of the tunnel. A plaintive wail caused him to turn toward the bag lady.

"We're going to die here!"

Olga paced back and forth in the car, wringing her hands with unease. With each step, her eyes would dart towards the ceiling as if searching for reassurance. But instead of finding comfort, her irrational fear of the tunnel collapsing and being engulfed by a deluge only intensified. The mere thought sent shivers down her spine as her imagination played tricks on her, conjuring up vivid scenes of chaos, peril, and death.

"No, ma'am! No, we're not! The motorwoman went for help. We need to stay calm!"

Jesse was not as confident as he sounded. They could be trapped here for quite a while. He recalled seeing news reports of panic on a New York subway when they lost power in a tunnel. The report said the heat was stifling, and fights broke out among the passengers. It was getting warmer in this car, and his fellow passenger was freaking out.

"I don't like this," Olga whined, "what if no one knows we're here? What if the tunnel floods? What if...?"

Jesse wasn't worried about the tunnel collapsing. Maintenance was horrible on the subway. However, the tunnel collapsing was the least of his worries!

"Stop...uh...what's your name?"

The last thing Jesse needed was for this woman to panic. He hoped to calm her by talking to her and distracting her from their dire situation.

Jesse again considered following the lady motorman, weighing the risk of accidental electrocution against dealing with a panicked elderly White woman. He shook his head, acknowledging that the train operator was right. It was dangerous to stumble around in the dark subway tunnel.

"Olga, my name is Olga!"

Her voice quivered as she paced up and down the railcar. She imagined the walls were closing in on her. Short times in an elevator or on a train were manageable. Being trapped like a rat in a cage was intolerable!

"I'm Jesse! We have to stay calm! Panicking will do us no good!"

"Easy for you to say!" Olga ran a finger under the Peter Pan collar of her print dress. "It's stifling in here."

"Without constant ventilation, the heat load builds. We need to keep calm! It'll slow the heat buildup."

Jesse slipped off his reflector vest and laid it on the seat. His swear-moistened t-shirt clung to his muscular chest.

"What if there's a fire? What if that's why the power went off? We'll burn up!"

Olga was losing it! Despite the warnings about the third rail, she considered leaving the train and finding a way out! In her imagination, all kinds of horrible things could happen. She made her way toward the door to the subway car. She had to get out of here!

Jesse grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, causing her large breasts to jiggle. Sweat streamed off her, soaking her dress, causing it to cling to her body. Her eyes were wide with fear.

The last thing I need is something to happen to this old White woman! They'll probably blame me!

"Look! The operator was right! You don't want to be stumbling around out there in the dark. When the power comes back on, you could get fried!"

"We're going to die down here!" Olga wailed.

Frantic, she twisted from his grasp and wrapped her arms around Jesse's waist.

"We'll be okay!"

Jesse stood awkwardly with his hands at his side. Olga's pillow-like breasts pressed into his abdomen. He resisted the urge to embrace the woman while comforting her. He knew little about her except they rode the same train.

He had a 750 ML bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey in the paper bag he intended to drink with his married neighbor down the hall. Her husband worked the midnight shift. Jesse hoped to circle the bases with her tonight. Last night she let him finger fuck her while she stroked his cock. She stopped him when he tried to eat her pussy.

"Do you drink? I've got some liquor! Let's have a drink! It will help you calm down!"

Olga watched Jesse step to the back of the train to get the alcohol. She could use a drink. It would settle her nerves.

The walls were closing in. Her heart pounded in her chest. Adding insult to injury, the temperature was rising.

"I don't have any cups...!"

He ruefully smiled when Olga snatched the bottle from his hand. She twisted off the cap, turned the bottle up, and drank deeply.

"This stuff is strong!" She gasped and coughed, spewing saliva and whiskey.

"Yes! It is! You have to sip this! Else it will knock you on your...!"

He caught himself. She was an older woman. Probably his mother's age. He needed to watch his language.

The temperature rose in the subway car as Jesse gulped down some whiskey and handed the bottle back to Olga. Jesse took off his tool belt and laid it on the bench seat.

"Thank you!" Olga took a more measured sip this time.

The potent alcohol and the rapidly rising temperature had her perspiring. Her clothes felt clammy, clinging to her body. She shook the hem of her work dress, trying to get some air.

"You know, I see you on this train most nights. What do you do that has you working so late," Jesse asked, making small talk to calm her down.

"I do janitorial work. I clean offices in an office building!"

The alcohol DID calm Olga. She eyed the big Black guy with his sweat-moistened t-shirt clinging to his muscular physique.

She thought there was a time, thinking of her youth and the men she fucked!

"What do you do?"

"They're turning that old warehouse on the river into condos! We're working 12-hour shifts, 24/7, to have them ready in time for the grand opening."

"Look! I'm dying from the heat! I'm going to unbutton my dress!"

"Wait! No! What would people say if they found you half-dressed?"

"I don't give a shit! I'm dying here!" Olga unbuttoned the bodice of her dress and pushed it down to her waist.

Jesse was surprised at her frayed lacy bra. It seemed out of place on this woman. Her nipples were large, making a considerable dent in the bra.

He took a pull on the bottle and handed it back to Olga. He noticed how her big jugs jiggled when she drank.

His eyes moved from her jiggly tits to how her lips covered the neck of the bottle. They were pressed so tightly around her neck that her lips wrinkled. Her hand slid from the slim neck to the large part of the bottle. It was as though she were...!

I'm drinking too much! I'm fantasizing about this old White woman sucking cock!

Olga noticed Jesse ogling her breasts, causing her to reminisce about her younger years. Many men admired her bosom in the years before and after she married. They sucked her sensitive nipples, fucked her tits, and spewed their seed on her face.

It had been years since a man took an interest in Olga. Since her titties sagged and her ass widened, the night watchman in the office building where she worked was the only one who fucked her.

They met in a different office every night, where they stripped and fucked. Olga particularly liked fucking on the desks in the offices facing the river. She fantasized about the residents of the high rises opposite the office building watching her fuck.

Sex with the night watchman was a tawdry affair more to relieve the boredom than to sate a need.

But this Black man liked what he saw if the bulge in his skin-tight jeans was any indication. Olga fantasized about him ripping her clothes off, forcing her to the dirty floor, and taking her!

Olga often had these fantasies as she got older. They harkened back to her kinky single life. She dated a guy who liked to tie her up and fuck her. She loved the kinkiness of being helpless. It gave her an excuse for indulging her fantasies of sexual excess.

That boyfriend occasionally brought friends with him. She would scream in faux terror as they took turns fucking her while she was tied up. Usually, she was airtight; all three holes filled at once. After they tired of fucking her, they pissed on her, a kink she came to embrace and look forward to.

She pulled the bottle down, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and handed it to Jesse. Olga eyed Jesse's chiseled forearms. He was a powerful man! The kind she fantasized about, a man who would force her to do all sorts of nasty things.

Her husband was the antithesis of this powerful Black man. He was short and fat with a beer belly. Since he lost his job, he rarely shaved or bathed.

The Black man was sweaty also, but his scent was manly. He smelled...different. It was a musky, sexy smell.

"Would you mind if I took off my shirt? The heat is unbearable!"

"Only if I can take my dress off also! I'm dying here."

They were halfway through the bottle and drunk enough that inhibitions began to fall. They eyed each other speculatively.

"Okay, I guess," Jesse said reluctantly. He was worried the old bitch might holler rape later.

Jesse's mouth fell open when Olga stepped out of her dress, carefully folded it, and laid it on the seat. Though past its prime, the dowdy dress hid a body that was still dick-hardening lush. The frayed lingerie suggested a woman who, at one time, was in touch with her sensuality but had fallen on hard times.

"Phew! That's better! This heat is suffocating!"

Olga eyed Jesse as she took a swig of the bottle. He was looking at her body as though he liked what he saw! She handed the bottle back to Jesse.

"Nice undies," Jesse said, nodding toward Olga.

The lacy bra struggled to contain the most enormous jugs Jesse had ever seen. The bra straps dug into her shoulders as they strained to contain her massive mammaries.

Her panties stretched tight across her hairy Mons with stray wisps of greying pubic hair captured by the elastic legs. The crotch pulled tight between the fat butterfly wing labia.

"Thank you," Olga said, flushing. "I have always had a thing about sexy underwear. This is a matching set with lacy boy shorts!"

"You look hot in them," Jesse laughed, his speech slurred.

He was drinking on an empty stomach. That and the heat caused the liquor to go straight to his head.

Damn, nice tits! And she doesn't look half bad!

"Uhhh! Your turn!" Olga nodded toward his jeans.

Jesse's fingers felt like unresponsive sausages as he unbuckled his jeans. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband and pushed them down, accidentally taking his boxers with them. His cock hung between his legs like an elephant's trunk.

Olga moistened suddenly dry lips. She hadn't seen a cock that size in years.

"Nice cock," Olga said, her eyes widened in surprise and appreciation.

"OOPS! My bad!"

Jesse had to push his rigid cock down to pull his boxers up to cover his massive hard-on.

The bottle was half gone. Sweat streamed off of them as the temperature in the subway car rose. The glow of the emergency lights dimmed as the old batteries expended their charge. The erstwhile strangers sat beside each other, passing the bottle back and forth. They made inane chatter, trying to pass the time, and control their nervousness and growing lust.

"It's been years since I saw a cock that big. And I ain't never seen a Black one. Could I see it again?"

"What are you proposing, madam? I'll have you know I'm not that kind of guy!"

Jesse was at the silly stage of drunkenness. He laughed at his weak joke.

"I'll bet," she giggled. "All men are 'that kind of guy' given a chance!"

Jesse fished in his boxers and pulled out his dick. It was impressive, even though it was only semi-hard. He absent-mindedly stroked it.

"That motherfucker is a thoroughbred! Can I touch it?"

"I don't know, Olga! What if the motorwoman comes back?"

"Just a quick touch, then you can put it back."

Jesse nodded, acquiescing. Why not, he thought. It would help pass the time, and old fat pussy was better than no pussy if things worked out.