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.
