The Metro

The subway rides for the first couple of days of the week before Christmas were as they always tended to be -- the usual people in their usual seats; the usual sights interspersed with the occasional fender bender or maintenance crew trying to get one last project in before the snow began to fall; and the usual smells at their usual points along the route, their intensity never changing from morning to night, from one day to the next. That last detail, however, changed on the 21st. Clacking along the rails on the way home I couldn't tell you when I noticed the .... To call it a "smell" would give it a negative connotation; bouquet, fragrance -- that would make it seem too light and fleeting. "Scent" would be closer to what it felt like, and I do mean that it had a feel to it -- I could detect it with my nose but it also pressed into me, found its way inside me, and created a memory of itself that satisfied a longing that I didn't know I had until that moment.

I looked around the car as we clattered along one of the emptier stretches of track. Strange how I thought I would be able to just look at my fellow passengers and somehow figure out where this richness was coming from. How would my eyes help me pick out something as invisible as a smell? Again, too harsh a word but you know what I am getting at.

I don't know why I looked at the seats behind me first. Did I feel a breeze on the back of my neck and expect the newness to be wafting from the back of the train? Nothing and no one seemed to catch my attention and make me think that I had found the culprit for my curiosity. As I shifted back into my half of the bench, something caught my eye when the tracks curved and a few of the passengers standing at the front of our car jostled to regain their balance. I would like to think that I first saw her strawberry blonde hair, or something as noble as the fact that she was reading a book (which always impresses me in this digital age), but I should be honest with you and say that what caught my attention was her shoulder. More accurately, the patch of fur coat that covered her shoulder and the bit of her jawline that popped into view and then disappeared as the commuters standing around her swayed with the loll of the "el.".

I could tell from what little of her that had appeared between the hips and coats blocking my view that swayed with the motion of the train that I had learned the source of the ever-developing ache in my chest. The sight of her, and what I could tell was a glorious fur even from what little I saw of it, quickly brought my self-consciousness to the fore. How could I not stare at this woman, fill my mind with her features and my lungs with the perfume that had coaxed its way through the knot of seemingly disinterested passengers right to my seat? And why was no one else staring at her? How could a woman as beautiful and innately sensual as her go unseen?

I pretended to look at the route map near the ceiling of the car and read a few of the advertisements hanging by the doors in an attempt to appear less obvious in my leering. As I tried to let my eyes wander casually around the subway, I couldn't help but be amused when I spotted a kid in his late teens trying his best not to ogle a girl wearing a really cute, fuzzy mohair turtleneck puffed out from underneath the collar of her jean jacket. He kept stealing glances whenever he thought she was looking the other way but somehow I could tell that she knew exactly what her admirer was up to. Stolen glances must have been the theme of the day.

When I was sure that I could safely turn all of my attention back to the beauty at the other end of the train, I looked for more puffs of fur through the hips, knees, and shins that were interrupting my view. As the other passengers shifted around the carriage, jostling for position as the train approached each stop along its route, I was able to get a better picture of the thick yet seemingly weightless fur that outlined her body. From the woman's neck all the way down to her ankles, the coat seemed to be sculpted just for her. Well, maybe in this case, it was created just for me, too, or at least that is how I felt as I willed more and more people to leave the train so I could get an unobstructed look at the woman and the fur that was causing my chest to cave in under the burden of the pining that I had for this complete stranger, a woman whom I had never before seen but who made me feel like the missing piece of me had finally been found on, of all places, a commuter train heading out to the suburbs.

I knew I was safely able to watch her for a while since my stop was still a ways down the line. It was this apparent level of comfort that almost got me caught as the train slowed down for the next station and the woman got up and pivoted from her seat to be in a position to slip out the sliding doors with the rest of the passengers that were already prepared to surge onto the platform as soon as we stopped.

I tried to act as natural as I could as the enormity of the fur showed itself when she stood up. It was incredible. I know my mind must have been embellishing a little but it seemed like the coat swelled as she got out of her seat, like a cartoon fur when it has been filled with static -- full beyond full. Golden Island fox. It was a thick, deep fur; a fur you could watch your hands disappear into, right up to and maybe even past your wrists; a fur that would fold effortlessly over your flesh were you to try to scoop it up in your arms.

I shifted my gaze and looked across at the window on the other side of the train and caught the reflection of the back of her coat. It wasn't perfectly clear but I was still able to get a sense of just how magnificent her coat was. I briefly thought about getting off at her stop just so I could stand behind her and be close to what was making the ache in my heart almost shatter my chest before the doors opened and she slipped into the crowd of commuters heading home for the night. With her gone from the train I felt a deep loss in spite of the fact that I hadn't said one word to her, nor her to me. The subway resumed it journey and I settled back into my seat and managed to comfort myself with her lingering fragrance and the hope that I would see her again.

The following two days passed very slowly and the weather was proving to the city that Winter was just around the corner. My ride into work was typical and brought no relief to my need to see the woman in the fox fur coat. I had brought a half-read paperback from home with the idea that if she saw a fellow booklover that she might strike up a conversation over our common interest. I probably shouldn't have had a novel as engrossing as the one I ended up bringing for my trip to work since I almost missed getting off at my stop.

I collapsed into my usual seat on the way home, pulled my novel out of my bag, and looked around the train for the woman in fur. I don't know why I thought she had gotten on at the stop by my work but after a few less-than-subtle strainings of my neck trying to peer around the other passengers on the train my eyes and my desire came up empty so I leaned forward and cracked open the pages of my book and continued reading.

I was flipping through the pages for what seemed like countless stops and starts of the train as it filled and emptied along its route. Suddenly I was aware that my chest had begun to swell with the bouquet and the yearning that had left me so gutted on Monday. I did my best to keep my cool and to be as restrained as possible in my search for the origin of what was becoming my favourite smell in the whole world when I glanced over the edge of my book and saw the tops of a pair of Mongolian lamb legwarmers. I froze for a moment and then allowed my gaze to slowly move up over the top of the curly fur, the leather boots and onto the black leggings that were directly in front of me. I pulled my bookmark from underneath my thigh and inserted into the pages of the book and shifted back into my seat, keeping my gaze flowing from side to side as if I was simply people watching.

"That's a really good book, isn't it?"

I looked up and couldn't speak for what seemed like an eternity. It was, as I had so craved, the woman from Tuesday. She was even more stunning than I had remembered. She wore a cropped Mongolian lamb jacket that had that same exaggerated puffiness to it as did her fox coat, black to match her furry legwarmers, with a perfectly-sized hood that flopped idly across her back with the jostling of the train, the glistening curls peeking around one shoulder and then the other in response to the motion of the subway car.

"Should I spoil the ending for you?," she asked, looking slightly amused that I was still staring at her having yet to reply to her first question.

Her voice penetrated me just as much as did her perfume, and I drank both in deeply before I found the energy to speak.

"Yes," I said. "To your first question," I stumbled quickly, "not your second one. I would prefer to find out if my guesses come true at the end."

She gestured to the seat beside me that came available as we approached the next stop and I shuffled over -- more of a gesture than a requirement, as there was enough space on the bench -- to let her know I would welcome the company.

"So," she continued, "do you always try to figure everything out as you go along or are you ever able to switch off the analytical part of your brain and just welcome a big ol' surprise?" She spoke in a tone that made it seem like we had been friends forever.

"I am going to have to say 'Yes' again. I enjoy the challenge of a good plot but I also like being proven wrong. There's nothing wrong with learning you don't have all the answers."

I did my best to maintain eye contact with her even as my peripheral vision was drinking up every inch of the bouncing, curly fur that was wrapped around her torso and that occasionally brushed her cheeks, the silky hairs seemingly lingering on her skin as if they were touching a lover.

"Well, if you like that author then I would gladly recommend an independent bookstore where you could very easily add probably way too many books to your collection. And I promise not to spoil their endings, either."

She laughed and briefly put her hand on mine, gently emphasizing her point. Her touch instantly drew the warmth in my chest out to my arms, my legs, and solidified the longing that I felt for this... stranger? But she wasn't, was she? From everything I felt, she was my most intimate of companions -- someone who knew everything about me, and to whom I was connected like no one and nothing else in my life in spite of us only having exchanged a few words.

I managed to break through the craving that was overtaking every inch of my soul and said that I would really appreciate the tip.

"Is it close by?," I asked.

She pulled back the cuff of her puffy jacket and looked at her watch.

"You know what," she said, "it's around the corner from the next stop and if we hurried we could make it there before they close. The owner is a friend of mine and we could have a look around at our leisure and I could treat you to one of her incredible hot chocolates."

I must have seemed hesitant because she touched my hand again.

"It's the least I could do for interrupting your reading time." The gentle coercion in her voice was overwhelming.

"It would be my pleasure," I replied as genially as I could.

"Lesley," she said.

"It would be my pleasure, Lesley." I must have told her my name, although my thoughts were beginning to dissolve into one another by that point.

The train pulled into the station and as we stood up, Lesley slipped on a pair of black knitted mink mittens that she had in one of her pockets. She tucked the tops up the mittens underneath the cuffs of her inky, full sleeves and we headed across the platform to the stairs, and down into the street.

The air was rather cool, however the conversation and the company kept my mind off the temperature, and before I knew it we had reached the door of the bookshop. The store was a quaint, well-stocked, two-storey building with every kind of book imaginable stacked on every available flat surface. As I was closing the door behind us, Lesley had already gone over to the counter and was chatting with the owner. She was motioning to me to follow her to the basement. The sign over the threshold read 'Poetry and Photography.'

"Oh, and Cyn, could we get a couple of your to-die-for hot chocolates?"

Cyn nodded as she finished dealing with the customer at the register. Judging by the number of people in the store I got the impression that she was in the middle of closing up for the night.

I finally caught up to Lesley as she was sliding off her coat and mittens and dropping them into an empty chair in one of the reading rooms that was set up in the basement.

"Is your friend going to mind us being here this late? It seemed like the other customers were on their way out of the store as we were coming in."

"Don't worry about that," she said, "Cyn knows I would only bring a true booklover with me this late in the day."

We talked effortlessly for quite a while about every topic that popped into our heads. To anyone who was watching us it would have appeared that we were two old friends catching up after not having seen each other for years. Lesley had an affectionate way about her, and she would frequently lean over and touch my hand until it seemed like not touching it was just not how things were done in polite society, all the while she was absentmindedly playing with the locks of fur jacket that was curled up in the chair beside her.

I was only about halfway through my hot chocolate when I started feeling drowsy. At first I had assumed the dim lighting of the basement was getting to me. Then I realized that I was struggling to keep my mind focused on the conversation Lesley and I were having. I glanced around the room to see if I could clear my head by concentrating on book titles or the various book club notices on the bulletin board but it was no use.

"What's the matter?," Lesley asked. "Are you feeling okay?" She smiled tenderly at me without a hint of concern glinting across her face.

"Feeling... sleepy," I said. "Something in the... hot chocolate?"

"Nope," she replied. She slipped on her mink mittens without looking at me. "I better put these on so you don't overdose."

Lesley picked up her Mongolian lamb coat off the chair and glided back into it, tossing her hair over top of the hood.

"I know you don't like spoilers but I should probably tell you -- it was me," she said, wiggling her fingers inside her mittens as she gave me a wink.

"Am...?," was all I managed to say.

"Dying? No, my lovely. I just put a little of my venom inside of you to make you a little more compliant. Someone will explain the rest to you when you wake up in a few hours."

As Lesley spoke, her canines began to protude more and more.

"Vvvvv...."

"Oh yes, my precious, tasty little human -- I'm a vampire. Surprise!"

•

When I awoke, the feeling that Lesley's perfume had had on me on the subway train was increased ten-fold. Every part of my body thirsted for her as if I were unable to survive without her presence. I also wakened from my trance with an incredible hard-on, and soon grasped that I was being given the most unbelievable fellatio I have ever experienced. I struggled to clear my mind of the fog of Lesley's venom while the agile and skilful tongue danced lightly over my penis; moist lips kissing and spreading saliva over my glans, pushing it down the length of my shaft, and then moving slowly back up to the tip again to start the process all over again. The movements over my cock were methodical and random at the same time, and each time the mouth travelled down the length of my penis it discovered new ways to delight me.

Heightening my enjoyment was the fur that I felt filling the space between my legs, around my waist, and occasionally brushing across my belly as I was swallowed deep inside the mouth, the head of my cock cupped by the back of the throat that was creating just enough pressure to draw the blood flow into my penis, engorging it just a tiny bit more with each suck. I tried to reach down to touch the fur and found that I was strapped into a chair-like device that had both my arms and legs splayed apart, Icelandic sheepskin cushioning my skin at every point.

"Oh goody, you're finally awake," said a voice from the darkened room. It wasn't Lesley's voice but it had a similar timbre and its unfamiliarity didn't seem to matter to me as the blowjob continued unabated.

I was now clear-headed and looked around, first settling my gaze between my legs as the warm, fleshy onslaught of my penis persisted. There was no body to see, only fur-covered arms, fur-covered shoulders, and a massive fur hat, all covered in the plushest marble fox I have ever seen. As if sensing that she was being watched, the woman devouring my shaft sped up her movements for a few brief moments before settling back into her torturous rhythm, causing me to cry out with delight.

"Don't worry," the voice in the shadows said, "she can keep this up forever."

"I don't know about that," I panted, "I am about to have the biggest orgasm of my life."

"That's so cute that you think so." I could at last make out the other person in the room. She, too, was dressed in fur. She wore a full-length silver fox fur coat, thick, with a thick lapel that travelled up and down the coat from neck to hem. As she walked over to where I was restrained (by both straps and tongue), she tilted her head and looked at me with a wry smile.

"You're not going to be cumming anytime soon. In fact, in a little while you're going to go flaccid and if you're lucky then Michelle will stop sucking on you until you get hard again. I wouldn't count on you being lucky, though. She tends to be a little on the evil side."

As if on queue, Michelle hugged my waist with her furry arms and pushed me even farther into her mouth.

"Oh god," I called out, "I think I am about to cum!"

"You'll be begging for release before too long, sweetness, but Lesley's venom will be making you hard and soft, hard and soft, and unable to ejaculate until she releases you, and not a minute sooner." The woman in the silver fox coat was now kneeling behind Michelle, and without breaking eye contact with me she pulled a strap-on dildo from the pocket of her coat, and fitted it around her waist. She lifted up the back of Michelle's fur and curled it under itself, resting the fluffy bulk on the small of Michelle's back, and squirted lubricant over the length of the shaft and slowly, patiently slid it inside Michelle.

"Mmmpphh!," Michelle gasped with a certain carnality, never breaking her tempo as she licked me with boundless fervour.

"You see," she continued, "the venom that is flowing through your veins keeps you from cumming until Lesley drains enough of your blood to make it impossible for your to fight back, and then -- well, that's where the fun begins."

The woman waited for a few moments to let what she was saying sink in before continuing.

"When your body loses enough blood, your heart rate goes up, and once Lesley has drunk enough of your blood you will start ejaculating as fast as your heart is beating. Have you ever had your cock spurt at 180 twitches per minute for as many minutes it takes until you were dead? From everything I have seen, it's an excruciatingly lovely way to go."

I stared transfixed at the woman in the dark fox as she fucked Michelle, their furs nudging each, mingling, every time the woman staring at me brought her hips forward. Each thrust inside Michelle brought out a tiny whimper from her, and added a light vibration to her throat which resulted in a maddening tickle over the head of my penis.