Vernon Ch. 02


On his way to the office, Vernon would stop by the newspaper stand to visit with Rosie.

Rosie, a plump British woman, always asked Vernon how he was keepin' with an accent that made Vernon think she really meant it. She came across, at least to Vernon, as very appropriate for her job. She stood behind, or beside her newspaper stand, in her floral shift dresses that she always wore, warmly asking folk about their day, and suggesting what paper or magazine they may enjoy. Rosie always kept business and accounting magazines aside for Vernon, because (Vernon suspected) she felt he was rather special.

Vernon liked to have special visits with Rosie, but preferred this at the end of his day. At eight o' five am, he had only just ejaculated down Jane's throat less than an hour before, and even Vernon needed a little more time to gather his ... thoughts.

Paper in hand, Vernon blended into the crowd, his fawn trench coat, buttoned and buckled carefully over his navy suit, and red tie. Sometimes he wore a cap (hound's-tooth), if it were cold, and a fawn colour scarf. However, even in the heat of summer, Vernon wore his trench outside. He just didn't trust the train with his well dry-cleaned suits.

Vernon bustled, anonymous in the crowd, to the train. The crowds at eight fifteen (exactly) were heavy. Women and men of many ages clustered together like bunches of irrevocably entwined cherries, jostling their way on to the trains off the platform, swaying precariously as each body depended on those around it for support. It was the same every day. The shoving crowds vied for room on each and every overcrowded, hot sweaty train.

And very often, opportunities presented themselves to Vernon.

On this particular day, he stood on the hot underground platform, inhaling the coal smelling air, keeping his eye on the clock that hung over the platform that informed him he was on schedule. Usually, under these circumstances, Vernon could feel a woman breasts pressing into his back, or feel an ass press in against his own. Vernon always ignored these approaches, assuming they were part of the normal hustle of the busy crowd trying to get to work.

It simply never occurred to Vernon that not all men had these experiences. He assumed subtlety and social convention meant polite people didn't discuss it, and for Vernon, this was appropriate.

The rough tin foil train arrived, and its rumbling, quaking doors opened, spilling a wave of people out of it and into the waiting crowd. Somehow, against all odds, people made room for the folk alighting. However, tension remained in the air, as each person braced themselves for the forward thrust, as the last of the exists were complete and the new travellers had a chance to hop on the train.

As soon as the final person got off, the flood pressed forward, and Vernon felt swept, just like every other morning, in the tidal wave of commuters, onto the train, filing it to standing room only.

Vernon found himself, on this day, thrust down a set of small stairs to a heavily packed lower half of the carriage. As soon as he hit the bottom of the stairs, he belted into a large woman, her breast flesh giving under the pressure of his hand that clutched his brief case to his chest. He looked up in horror at her eyes, to find her staring at him with surprise, the faintest hint of a smile about her lips. As Vernon felt her nipple harden, he pulled away, as best he could, and turned to face the stairs.

However, a man in a darker blue suit stood on the bottom step, and his lower back, pressed firmly into Vernon's face prevented any chance of Vernon moving up the stairs. Wriggling to his left, Vernon peered around the man to see that bodies were completely filling and blocking the stairs, providing no where to move beyond where he stood.

Behind him, the fleshy, wheezing woman inched her way forward to lean into his back, and in front the immovable rigidity of the man's back wedged Vernon into a kind of rock and hard place.

As soon as the train began to move, it's first lurch propelled Vernon to his left, and the intensity of the squeeze he was in, slid him out from his hard place and almost into the lap of an angry woman who sat to his left, trying to read her paper in the cramped space. So as not to fall on to her again, Vernon reached past the man in front, while staying where he was, and grasped a little ways up the side rail on the steps, providing him with some clinging stability as the train rocketed toward his destination.

Vernon had a twenty-minute trip in this position. He couldn't actually see his hand. He couldn't see past the man's back, but he wasn't going to let go of that rail for anything in the world.

Vernon looked out the window. The black tunnel outside, gave the window the characteristics of a mirror. Vernon looked at everyone cramped into the train and thought, that this was just the way things were. Even though it was cramped and difficult, it was pleasant to know they were all in this together.

And then, Vernon felt something else rather pleasant.

His hand, the one on the rail, had soft, warm skin against it. At first, it felt like velvet, as though it were someone's velvet trousers. However, soon Vernon recognised it as human flesh. 'Probably', he deduced from the softness, 'female flesh'.

Vernon had no way of looking around the man in front, and even if he could, he wouldn't be able to see up into the sea of people to identify who was rubbing her bare leg against his hand, but Vernon chose to ignore it anyway. It was probably just with the business of the train.

Soon they arrived at a stop. The doors opened, and Vernon and those around him strained to see if people would get on. No one did, and soon there were more people trying to squeeze into the already crowded space of the carriage.

Groans and moans slipped easily from people's mouths now. 'There must have been an accident' Vernon thought. 'Or some cancellation with another train.'

As soon as the doors closed, Vernon felt the flesh hit against his hand again, bumping and rolling about with the movement of the train. When the train lurched forward, Vernon had the distinct feeling that the skin was back to stay. Only this time, Vernon could tell, his hands were against an inner thigh.

Vernon clutched the handrail for support, so only the back of his hand could be in contact with the inside of the bare leg. Vernon, not knowing whom he was with, decided that this was all right, and slipped his fingers off the rail, leaving only his thumb to clutch over the rail for support. It wasn't enough; But Vernon used his brief case hand to push against the side of the seat with the reading woman, so that he could support himself that way also.

Once his hand was freer, Vernon distinctly felt the leg move, so that his fingers were able to curl around the flesh. Now that Vernon stood there, braced against the seat, he was able to focus on what this particular woman may need.

Thinking he will take a chance, he used the rattle of the train to his advantage. Every time the train jostled or bounced, Vernon would bump his hand and edge it a little higher. The leg seemed bent toward the rail, so that his fingertips could easily caress the silky bare skin. With every jostle and bump on the train, Vernon allowed his fingers to slip higher and higher up this anonymous thigh.

Soon the train stopped at the next stop.

More people got on. But no one got off. As the people fought for a place on the overcrowded train, Vernon felt the thigh move closer it to his hand, and slip a little lower, so that Vernon could distinctly feel with his fingers, the place on her thigh were the two thighs met. Vernon, staring out of the windows on to the platform of the train, knew that his fingers were almost at the woman's pussy.

With a severe jolt, the train started again. Vernon, knowing he had only one more stop and the next was his, took advantage of the jolt, and edged his fingers up until he could feel the thin material of her panties.

The heat emanating from her cunt was incredible. The arousal of this mystery woman intensified as Vernon moved his hand slowly up her complying legs. Did she know who tickled her cunny, or not? Was she aware that Vernon couldn't see her? None of this mattered to Vernon, though he did notice that he had a raging hard on, and his crotch was almost directly pointed at the woman trying to read her paper.

However, Vernon wasn't about to stop. He could deal with his hard on later, and he wasn't going to cum in his pants. That wasn't the way Vernon was.

Instead, he spread his fingers that climbed up the inner thigh, and brushed them against the cloth covering the woman's pussy. Using the jolt and the bustle of the train, Vernon allowed his fingers to float around the material covering her private, secret place.

The carriage was silent except for the noise of the train as it sped its way through the tunnel toward Vernon's work.

Soon the train slowed down and came to a stop. Vernon realised he had only one more stop, he had to vacate the train.

If people got ion and off at this stop Vernon didn't know. He kept rotating his hands around the cloth covering that mound. He could feel wetness starting to seep through smearing deliciously over his fingers.

As soon as the doors slammed shut, and the train started its final part of Vernon's journey with a jolt, Vernon took the opportunity to let go of the rail, choosing instead to brace himself fully against the seat with the women reading. She looked up with distaste at Vernon again, and Vernon pretended not to notice.

His fingers had slid under the elastic that clung to the flesh between pussy lip and thigh. Twisting his hand quite painfully, Vernon lengthened out his middle and longest finger, up and into the warm willing folds of the anonymous woman's pussy. Straining to hear something, even a pant, Vernon could still only hear the rattle of the train, and a young woman talking with her friend at the other end of the carriage. As usual, Vernon observed, the morning train was filled to bursting with people trying to avoid one another.

Vernon reached with hand, and twisting in a very rough way, managed to softly spin the finger that was deep in the hot wet cunt. Vernon searched for a g-spot with the lurching and wrestling of the train, and allowed his thumb to rise under the panties, and massage against her clit. She was so wet, that the lubricant had left slimy snail trails all over Vernon's hand, and he could feel it pooling in palm. It didn't matter to Vernon. He kept massaging and massaging until he felt the walls of the tunnel clutch and pull on his finger, as if they were trying to suck it right off his hand.

As soon as she'd come, Vernon felt it polite to remove his hand as fast as possible. Fearing the exposure because of the smell, Vernon put it back on the rail, anxiously waiting for the train to meet its final destination. His dick was as hard as iron, but Vernon would have to take care of that when he reached work.

Almost right away, Vernon arrived at his stop. Commuters poured out at this station, and Vernon suddenly felt the pressure give way as the man in front stepped up the stairs, and made his way out of the carriage with the tsunami of commuters. By the time Vernon had made it to the stairs himself, the carriage in front of him had emptied, taking with it the woman who'd cum in Vernon's hand.

Discreetly, as soon as Vernon alighted, he found a bubbler and washed his hands under the water, taking care to avoid the spout where someone may put their mouth. He dampened his handkerchief, and wiped his hand clean.

Then Vernon pulled his trench straight, grasped his briefcase firmly, headed up the stairs, out of the train tunnel, and made his way to work.

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