Five Oclock Commuter Fantasy

We have stopped at Macarthur station, grey sky outside and the doors standing open, waiting for the Concord-bound train to come by for the transfers; the wind is whipping by, lashing sheets of rain across the platform. You come up the escalator into a flurry of cold water, a gust right in your face that blows your short coat open and spatters your shirt with cold drops, then once again before you manage to get in the door right in front of me. The front of your shirt is soaked through, clinging and nearly transparent--I can see the flesh of your belly and the curves of your breasts through eh thin material; one fat drop landed directly over your nipple, making it both hard and visible at the same time, and I look you up and down over my book, not shying away from staring at the shape of your body. You catch me looking, but I don't look away, and as the train doors close, you hold my eyes, and when the train starts moving, you breathe deep and turn sideways so I can see the outline of your nipple against the wet fabric.

We climb the slight rise and then drop into the tunnel leading to the Ashby station; the whole way, I am staring at you, smiling a little, imagining you naked, or soaked head to toe, or maybe just on your knees--you can't tell anything except that I am definitely concentrating on you. At Ashby, the doors open again, and a departing passenger shoves past you, pushing you into me, and I reach out to steady you--at least partly to steady you. but my hand lands just below your shoulder, fingers over your collarbone and the palm of my hand firm against the upper slope of your right breast. You jostle into me, and as you press up against me, I shift my hips so you can feel me brush my semi-hard cock against your side; my hand slips down just a little , the bottom of my palm just touching your nipple, hard, firm. I can feel how firm your breast is, supple under my hand. You step back as the door closes, not as fast as you might, and I draw my hand down and away, my finger trailing down and slipping across the erect bud, and now I can see that the other one is hard too, and you're breathing a little more heavily. The train pulls away, and we both sway with it.

A crowd pours in at the Berkeley station, pressing you against me, and I spread my feet a little wider, straddling your hip and pressing forward; you can feel the hard bar of my cock now, rigid through the fabric of my pants, and this time, as you stand against me, I take your wrist and press your hand down until your fingers are on my erection, and then I flex the muscles in my cock so you feel it throb; when I let go, you leave your hand where it is for an extra second, and then you snatch it away--more than you expected. You were lost for a moment, feeling the hot flesh, imagining it in your hand, in your mouth.

We pull out again, and the train begins one of those slow jerky progresses through the tunnels--another train is delayed in front of us--and you keep staggering as the cars shudder to a halt and jerk up again. Looking directly into your eyes, I reach out and hook my fingers in the waistband of your skirt and draw you toward me; the train is stopped int he tunnel and when you are pressed against me, your open coat forms a little tent around the front of your body, open to me, not hiding you entirely, but enough that when I move my hand up slowly to your nipple and take it between my fingers, almost no-one notices. Almost no-one--a man is watching my hand from behind a newspaper, and two teenage girls are staring openly from a cross the car, whispering behind their hands and giggling. I pinch your nipple, rubbing with my thumb, and your knees shake a little--I can feel them against my legs, your thighs pressed against mine now, my cock hot and hard against your hip and your belly; you can feel the warm length of it. I raise my other hand and take your other nipple, and another jerk of the train almost makes you gasp--I'm almost holding you up by them, not too tight, but a firm grip. I raise my leg a little, tense my thigh, and you can feel that big muscle press against your cunt, lifting you up on your toes, solid against your clit and rubbing between your legs. Another jerk as the train moves forward, and now you're just rubbing your pussy against my strong thigh.

One of the teenage girls is looking away and then back, the other's mouth is a round o as I catch her eye and smile a little, nodding my head once. I let go of your right breast and circle my arm behind you, pulling you up farther onto my thigh, pressing my cock harder into you, thrusting a little, throbbing, and then my hand drops to your ass and I start to pull your skirt up, rucking it up as I squeeze your ass cheek, walking it up until you can tell that another inch will begin to expose your ass to the people behind you. I turn you sideways so your back is to the door, and as the train pulls into the North Berkeley station, I pull the skirt up more, letting you back a little so you can feel the cold metal of the doors against your bare ass. The doors open--there's no one on the platform, but the doors are open on the train across the way, headed in the other direction, and a half dozen people who happen to be looking in the right direction are treated to the sight of your bare ass, skirt hem hanging over it like a theatre curtain, your legs spread wide enough for my knee to be wedged between, you on your toes, supported by my thigh and my hand on your ass.

The closing doors cut off their view, and when we pull out again I let the skirt drop as I move my hand up under your shirt, my fingers on your bare back, lifting the tail of the shirt. My right hand dips down too, away from your nipple, only to slide up your belly and cup your naked breast openly. The teenagers can see me kneading your firm mound; they can see too, that you are cupping my cock in your hand now, massaging it through my pants, stroking and caressing it. you're breathing through your mouth now, knowing that they and others are watching us. The whole train doesn't know it yet, but everyone in our immediate vicinity knows that we are practically fucking. Every now and then a little moan escapes you, and you blush harder each time, trying to avoid their eyes, trying to get closer to me. I drop my right hand to the front of your skirt and slide a knuckle between your pussy lips; your tits heave with a convulsive breath and I pull you into me, extending my finger and drawing it across your clit. I can feel the warmth and the wetness between your legs. I begin to rock the knuckle back and forth, making you moan under the train noise, sliding deeper, holding you up as your knees shake, and the motion of the train adds to the rhythm, syncopates with it, and you duck your head forward into my chest as your teeth grit and you come, screaming quietly, shuddering, threshing, body jerking against me. The taller of the two girls is pale, panting, and her friend's hand has made its way into her own lap, cupping her pussy. The doors open at El Cerrito Plaza and I step out; a look back at you pulls you after me, and as the train pulls away, we stand on the empty, across from the people waiting for the westbound train, separated from us by thirty feet of electric track.

I pull your hand down to my cock and set your fingers at the button on the front of my pants...