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Subway Sweets (MF Cons)
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The following story contains descriptions of sex and sexual situations. You must be over eighteen to read this. If it is illegal or against your beliefs to read this, then don't.
I was working in Japan and daily had to ride the subway trains back and forth to work. It was July and ungodly hot, with humidity levels off the scale. During the morning and afternoon rush hours, the trains were horrible. Always packed to capacity, plus extra people. The subways were so over-worked and over-packed, that they hired 'packers'. During rush hours, these people showed up in uniforms, with little white pith helmets on their heads and did their jobs on the subway platforms. Their jobs? Train packing. When everyone had squeezed into a car, and it was obvious that no one else could fit, it was there job to force another two or three bodies into each car, literally tugging and pushing people to make them fit like sardines in a can.
Luckily, I boarded the train a few stops before it became completely packed and before these people did their jobs. I would position myself at an upright pole and stay there until my stop which also happened to be after some of the crowding abated, so it was easy to get to a door. In between though, people were packed in so tightly, that for one person to move to a door, eight to twelve people had to shuffle in tight circles to allow the passengers to pass. A New York pick pocket would have loved that ride.
After I'd been there a few weeks, I began noticing that the same woman was being pressed against me on almost every ride. When I first happened to notice her, it was because of her perfume. It was heady and was all I could smell during the trip to work. Considering myself lucky that it wasn't stale raw fish or burnt rice breath, I didn't try to adjust my position (not that I could have).
I did try not to notice her contact with me, though. Her buttocks were pressed tightly to my right thigh. Her left shoulder and back was resting against my chest, and her right hand was resting dead on the crotch of my pants. With the swaying of the train, I don't know how I managed to make that ride without a hard on. I think it might have helped that I did not look at her. I kept my head high and straight, looking over her head and trying to watch the buildings passing through the window. Like those around me I was maintaining the anonymity of the situation.
That afternoon, I assumed my normal position, pole at my back, feet slightly spread for balance, arms relaxed at my sides as the train began it's usual forty minute trip to my stop. At the next stop, I noticed that perfume again. Much more subdued than this morning, but noticeable on the breeze as the doors opened and people boarded. There was only one woman in the group and I thought she was stunning. Bright yellow, skin tight summer sweater. Obviously bought too small by the way it hugged her figure the knit spreading slightly throughout and revealing peeks of a black brassiere beneath. Flat pink hot pants so tight I thought she'd have to lube up and use a shoe horn to get into them. Her thighs flaring slightly where they exited the leg opening. Simple nude hose sheathed her shapely legs to the tops of her three inch yellow heels.
Her black hair was not long. In fact, the cut was almost mannish in it's shortness and styling, parted slightly to one side of her head, and laying across her brow in a wave very similar to my own hair style. Make up lightly and tastefully applied, highlighted her beauty, rather than making it.
She glanced towards me as she entered and took a position standing beside an open seat, holding the rail at the end of the bench. At this point, there were no more than a dozen people in the car. The influx began at the next stop. As people crowded into the car, she moved from her position taking two step closer to me and grasping an overhead strap.
I believe I was doing a good job of non-attention, eyes cast downwards to an English paper in my hand. Yet observing her movements from one eye's corner. Next stop. It was getting crowded now, and as people boarded the train she moved to a position directly before me. The paper was folded and stuck into a back pocket to conserve space. The tips, just the tips of her high pert looking breasts were just touching my chest through her sweater. Looking down I found her eyes had closed and her mouth was slightly open as the train swayed in it's travels. I'd love to think I felt her nipples hardening against my chest, but know I didn't. Wearing a light Sport Coat, shirt and T-shirt, and her in the sweater and a brassier, there were simply too many layers of clothing, and too light a touch.
The next stop was the first of the sardine stops. As soon as the doors opened, before the departing passengers had finished exiting and the first of the boarding passengers came aboard she had moved into me. crushing her breasts against my lower chest and molding her torso and hips to mine. Her feet came to either side of my left leg as her pelvis thrust forward into my leg. Her right hand went behind me to the upright chrome pole as her left moved directly to my crotch and rested there.
As soon as she began to move I raised my eyes, pretending to look over her head, but keeping her fully in my lower peripheral vision as she snuggled in against me. She looked up askance for a moment, then simply laid her head against my upper chest as the train swayed on.
She held that position, not moving, not squeezing or rubbing any more than the simple movements of the train ride caused. Simply standing against me in as complete a contact as she could manage unobtrusively. There were four sardine stops, roughly 30 minutes of the trip. As soon as the crowd began to lighten, she first stood away from me until it was simply breast contact again. At the next stop, she moved away, back to the bench seat railing. The stop before mine she exited.
For the next week I watched and experienced the same dance twice daily. My attire was always basically the same, pants, shirt, and sport jacket, sometimes with tie, most often not. This was work, after all. Her attire varied quite a bit, but basically was always made up of pants or shorts, with a tight top of some kind. Mornings, her perfume was heady, strong, almost over-powering. Afternoons, it was more subtle and profoundly alluring. but it was always the same scent. We did not make eye contact, and did not speak.
Monday of the following week, I made a change to things. At the second sardine stop, she was jostled from the side by another passenger. I didn't think about it, I simply wrapped my arms around her and held her as the train hit one of it's numerous 'sway' points. Her arm behind me had tightened at the jostling the one at my crotch moving to my other hip for a stable hold as my arms closed around her. She looked up and for the first time our eyes met.
I did not squeeze, nor did I release her. I simply stood looking into her eyes for a moment before once again looking out the windows, my arms yet around her, almost protectively. Her head returned to my chest and her hand to my crotch as the ride continued. At the normal stop, as the press withdrew, so did she.
The rest of the week was basically a repeat of the earlier days, with the exception being that as she moved in tight to me my arms went around her. Her hand behind me, instead of holding the chrome pole, was flat to my back. No smiles, no words, no extra gestures, simply a gentle cuddle twice daily. It made the rides more enjoyable.
It was Wednesday morning two weeks later that another change was made. When she arrived on the train, she was holding a kerchief to her nose and as the doors closed she sneezed. She was wearing looser clothing and no make up. Her eyes were puffy, her nose was red slightly swollen. She looked miserable indeed. I was actually looking forward to our cuddle, planning a few extra squeezes to try and cheer her as we rode. But as soon as she entered, she sat and I knew there would be no cuddle that day.
Thursday and Friday she did not ride the train.
The following Monday, she was back with a vengeance. Dark raspberry tube top, obviously braless, with a bright white mini-skirt and white shoes. No hose or socks that I could detect. She made direct eye contact and smiled as soon as she entered the car. She was carrying a single piece of paper in her hand, and as soon as she was in her normal position at the bench rail, she dropped it. Looking momentarily beyond me and around the car, she stepped beyond the paper, turned her back to me and bent from the waist to retrieve it. The view thus afforded took my breath away.
Her forward bend was done slowly, purposefully with legs together and what appeared to be practiced motions. Her white skirt rising slowly like a curtain, in a fine theater play. Revealing first the tops of her thighs. Then the tips of fine silky black hairs came into view. The full length and thickness of her fur coat was revealed as her plump vaginal lips and the edge of her buttocks came into view simultaneously. The display continued to unveil itself before my startled eyes until fully half the length of her vagina was revealed. Then she had her paper and stepped back to the bench before turning to see my eaction.
I had been happy that she was turned away from me during the unveiling, as it allow me precious moment to recover from my surprise. When she finally turned she met only a slightly raised eyebrow, a small grin and what I hoped were smiling eyes.
As the crowd increased, the dance began playing itself out normally. She moving first to within steps of me. Her eyes occasionally travelling to my face, which I was once again holding impassive. Then to within breast touch, and finally into our normal full contact. In the past she had always kept her arm and body contact to the outside of my sports jacket as we stood. Today, her arm went inside my jacket and encircled my waist. My left arm travelled to it's normal place behind her back, but she trapped my right arm and guided my hand to the front of her short skirt before placing her left hand in it's customary position over my groin.
The hand was not still today as she pulled herself tightly to me, but hidden by the length of my jacket was rubbing slowly and squeezing gently at my scrotum. Her hips, instead of pulling tight against my leg, she held back slightly, allowing me to use my fingers to raise the front of her skirt slightly for access to the treasures beneath.
Once there, I found her legs together and some access denied to me. I satisfied myself with rubbing small circles at the front of her Labia, varying the pressure and direction from time to time to vary the stimulation. Twice during that ride I was sure I felt her breath catch. My hard-on rose, coming into a painful, half-folded position beneath her hand. She adjusted the position for me as it stiffened and it was quite comfortable again.
For the thirty minutes of our sardine ride, we each continued our ministrations. Twice I almost came, but managed to hold on to my marginal control. It would not have been a comfortable day had I begun it with sticky shorts and pants. As the press lightened, before she began her normal dance away from me, she hugged me tightly, quickly, then moved to breast length. Looking down I saw the finest patina of sweat beaded on her upper lip and across one temple. Her hand moved in a quick motion to insure her skirt was straight.
Next move and I was buttoning my Jacket to hide the bulge in my pants. When I looked her lips seemed to be forming the smallest of smiles. Looking further down, her upper thighs seemed to glisten slightly just below her skirt's hem. There were two very obvious points in the front of her tube top. Two more stops and she was gone to wherever she went each day and I had pleasant thoughts til my departure at the next stop.
That afternoon, when she boarded the train she was dressed the same, with the addition of a knee length knitted sweater vest in a white that matched her skirt and shoes.
The dance progressed normally, and I must admit that I was already hard when she reached me. She again cuddled tight, inside my jacket, only this time she stood with her legs parted. her rubbing hand went into her vest pocket and through. Apparently she had removed or cut open the pocket just for this, so her hand was fully hidden as she not only rubbed, but squeezed gently jacked me as well, stopping every few minutes so I wouldn't orgasm.
My hand was travelling the length and breadth of her labia and vagina. rubbing and gently pinching all. Finding and flicking or rubbing at her clitoris. Entering her with sometimes one finger and sometimes two. Her lower lip seemed permanently trapped between her teeth. I was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain what I hoped was my normal impassive expression as I looked out the windows and scanned the crowd around us. No one seemed to notice.
Two stops before our parting dance, she spoke her first words to me. "Do you speak Japanese?"
"Yes"
"Leave the train with me."
When she exited the train, I followed seemingly reading the paper in my hand as I exited. She did not turn to see if I followed, did not stop, look or acknowledge me in any way. I continued to follow, remaining six to eight feet behind her as I 'read' my paper.
Our walk took us into a narrow empty hallway, I guessed it was for employees and maintenance. I dropped the pretense of the paper when we entered it. A small movement of her hand and I stopped as she tried a door to her left. Locked. The door to her right was open however, and she looked first ahead, then behind us before ushering me into the room ahead of her. I heard a lock click behind me as the door closed.
We seemed to be in the employees locker room. There were lockers lining two walls, a long table in the center of the room, cupboards, refrigerator and counter against the wall to the right and even a washing machine and dryer in one corner. In the wall straight ahead, between lockers, were two toilets with the doors standing open.
"That is what I need," she said as she stepped from behind me and headed towards the toilets. Her vest and tube top were already off and in her hands when she appeared. She placed them on the table and paused to remove her skirt as she passed. Nude, except for her shoes, she stepped into the toilet and squatted without closing the door.
A word here about Japanese toilets. Many public toilets were not the stools common to either Europe or the US. They were simply an elongated bowl set into the floor, with a step on flushing button beside and behind them. Men stood to pee and everyone squatted straddling them for all other business.
As she relieved herself, I stripped off my clothes and laid them on the table beside hers.
When she returned we kissed our first kiss, long and hot and passionate as our hands explored each others bodies. We followed our hands with our lips, tongues and teeth. We fucked hot and hard on that long table. I have no idea how many orgasms she had, but I had three. Each time I came she quickly had me going again. Except for a few soft grunts and groans, some heavy breathing and a soft curse as she dug furrows into my back with her nails. Everything was done in silence.
When we were done, dressed and once again in the deserted hallway she turned to face me. "Next week I marry. I will be moving away and not be home again for many years. I could not go without trying what I have dreamed of since first I saw you. Without saying this goodbye to you." A quick gentle kiss on the cheek and she was gone. Walking away from me and into the crowds of the main room.
It was a day of firsts in more ways than one for me. It was the first time I'd been 'picked up' in such a manner and without the woman making it seem to have been all my idea. It was the first time a woman had managed to take all of me into her mouth and throat. It was the first time I'd ever orgasmed during oral sex. It was the first time a woman ever buried her tongue in my asshole (it took that to stand it for the third round - she was taking that much out of me). It was the first time a beautiful woman said she was dreaming and fantasizing about me.
Thursday and Friday she was again dressed in slacks and more concealing blouses. We danced our dance, but simply held each other as we rode. On the ride home Friday afternoon, she cried into my chest the whole trip.
Monday, she did not board the train.
End