Strange Feelings in Strange Places

Have you ever walked down a crowded street and casually brushed a part of your body against a total stranger? Whether the contact was on purpose or by accident, have you ever felt an electric shock travel through your system, suspending you in mid-motion as surprise turns into arousal in the speed of an instant?

Well, being from New York City, that has happened to me several times-- again and again and again. It has almost become a fetish; the bumping, rubbing, and touching of strange people in strangle places, physically and publicly.

Sometimes it will be something as simple as a caress of a hand when standing side by side at a crosswalk. Other times it will be on a crowded subway, where my body is "forced" against another. Sometimes it's with my ass pressed against the soon-to-be-harden cock of a construction worker or with the front of my body wrapped around the ass of a Wall Street businessman. I would softly hump my pussy against his ass, all the while reading the New York Times, pretending my act of molestation is an unconscious effort.

If I had the good luck to be facing my victim I could hold my bag or briefcase at waist level and when the train cart makes that unexpected turn or I meet up against an oncoming wave of crushing rush-hour traffic, I would allow my hand to "accidentally" become trapped between our two bodies, with the back of my hand pressed into a well proportioned dick. Again, I would nonverbally deny that anything happened.

Other than an occasional knowing smile from my victim or an amateurish attempt to match me at my own game, nothing much came of my encounters. Until that one day.

It was the middle of rush hour on the number 4 train. We met at the Brooklyn Bridge station. He entered the train cart in his lightly wrinkled navy blue suit, looking tired and beaten, yet sexy and oh so very very fuckable.

What is it that made him appear to be fuckable material? Oh I don't know, maybe it was his smell or the way he moved or even the fact that he clearly had a well paid job, or maybe it was all three. Sometimes fuckability can't be explained or narrowed down to one element. What I did know was that I found myself a new play toy.

He came my way pushing through the crowded train, moving people out the way with that gentle, non-threatening, yet assertive shove all New Yorkers developed with time. I stood in the back of the cart, directly in front of the doors that would have connected to another cart if it weren't the last cart of the train. He probably moved my way because there seemed to be the most room where I was. When he stood directly in front of me he turned, presenting me with his back, facing the other passengers.

I took that moment to slide my hand along the side curve of his left palm. He noticed. He tilted sideways toward me and looked back at me as I continued to stare forward, away from him, with that vacant and disinterested stare. But the pressure of my hand was too consistent to be accidental.

At that moment someone wanting to vacate the seat to his left asked to pass by him, forcing him further back toward me, trapping him against me. I made my move. Leaning in close, I accepted the rhythm of the train, making it my own, making it ours. My body swooned against his; my pussy pressed against the soft swell of his ass crack, grinding against him. Grinding. Rotating. Pressing.

The woman sitting down to right side of us was snoring in a slow steady rhythm of her own. Again, the train shifts. Needing to grip something solid so I don't fall, my hand found its way under his suit jacket, underneath the fabric, to a place to rest against. There was a long solid pole-like object pressed against his left leg; his cock.

He let me touch. The naughtiness of my actions is hidden by the numerous bodies close together. It is difficult to look in any direction other than straight ahead. And that is how it began. My hand found his cock and I began to massage it right there on the subway train surrounded by dozens of men, women and yes children. With time, simply rubbing against cloth wasn't enough. I grew bolder and proceeded to slowly pull down the zipper of his pants.

He didn't resist as I slipped inside, passed his opening, into his briefs and made direct contact with a very hard, yet soft and smooth, hairless cock. The little guy jumped the moment we made contact: skin-to-skin and pulse-to-pulse. I softly traced the veins that bulge along the side, full, and pumping with red-hot lust. I traced and felt and grabbed all up and down his shaft, all the way to the very tip; a tip that leaked the sweetest of all juices.

You know I really don't understand how some women don't like to give head. It can be so much fun. No. I take that back. With the right cock it can be fun. With the wrong one, it can be boring. What's the right cock? A cock that can take everything you give. One who likes how deeply you suck, how hard you squeeze; one that doesn't flinch when you suck on a ball or two; one that can handle a light grazing of the teeth against its tip. And the way a man handles oral can also be a clue of how a man fucks. If you can't handle my mouth, then you sure as hell can't handle my pussy. Gentleness is not an option.

I felt his whole body rear up and tighten as I grazed the tip of my nail against his tip and its little opening. I heard the intake of surprised breath; I felt the pressure against my pussy and against my nipples increase. Then over his shoulder I saw someone move through the crowd, coming toward us. I let go and slipped out of his pants as silently and as quickly as I slipped in, leaving him open and nearly exposed. He turned and faced me.

Looking into my eyes he smiled. Leaning close to my ear he said, "Don't stop little girl. I like this game. Lets play." So I went back in. This time it was different, this time I pulled him out totally, exposing him while leaning back against the doors. There we were: his dick, the number 4 train, and me. Pulling him closer to me by his cock. I slide it up and between my shirt and rubbed it against my belly. I felt the warm, slick moisture, wet against my belly and pumped it against my skin. He helped with gentle rotating movements of his own, soft and subtle so not to draw any attention to himself or me.

Unable to resist, I wiped a finger against his tip, swapping up the precum. Lick. Lick. Lick. He was darker than me, which isn't saying much considering I'm very light. His skin contrasted with mine, something that I found very arousing as I witnessed the contrast of our skin, side by side; his on top of mine.

He slid his hands under my top and proceeded to find his way to my nipples caressing as he went, touching and smoothing my skin. With each contact between us I felt intense shivering as sexual arousal found its way from my breasts to my pussy. Every time he squeezed or massaged my breasts or my nipples, my pussy would in turn squeeze within its self, contracting, causing intense arousal and the building of tension in my body.

The tension was so fine-tuned you can hear it sing. We were surrounded by dozens of people and here was this stranger playing with my breasts, against a rocking train and it was not unrealistic to assume we could get caught. That is if no one noticed already.

Moaning, I leaned my head against the sliding door of the train, feeling the vibrations as it moved across the track. The humming entered my body, increasing my arousal. I placed more space between us and by doing this, increased the risk of exposing myself to the eyes of others. He, however, was board shouldered and tall, so maybe I had a chance. He pushed my shirt up higher, exposing me more, exposing the skin of my belly, exposing my bra cups that were pushed down around my breasts, exposing my breasts and my nipples. He exposed me to the air; he exposed me to his eyes; he exposed me to the world.

I could still feel his cock pressing against my pussy. Releasing me, he stared and watched. He stared at my breasts, round and pump, a mixture of light brown and dark. He stared at my nipples, which were so tight I thought they were going to contract themselves to death.

Can they get any harder? He stared at my hands, which were rising to find my breast so I could take his place and stroke my nipples, squeeze my breasts, and pull them and tease them as my pussy ached and ached and ached. He licked his lips and stared into my eyes, silently telling me he wanted them. He wanted to lick them, possibly suck them, to taste them and to eat them, but he couldn't. He couldn't feast on me because of our height differences. If he bent forward, what we were doing would become obvious to all those around us and that was not an option.

The train shifted and I fell to the side. He moved forward to better cover me. Reaching again toward me he lowered my top, removed my hands, and proceed to unfasten my bra clasp. Together we removed my bra. He slid it from my body and into his pants pocket. I, in turn, tuck him back inside of his briefs and zipped his pants back up.

Taking my hand, he leaned close and asked, "Are you going to work?"

"Yes, " I replied.

"Can you be a little late?"

I really couldn't, but I didn't care. He was so sumptuous. Reaching in my bag, I pulled out my cell phone and called my boss. I quickly told him that I went out with my father last night for dinner and woke up sometime in the night with food poisoning. At first I didn't think I could come to work, but I am feeling better, so I'll be in sometime this afternoon. He agreed. My boss has a crush on me and is always making cute little jokes about kneepads.

Once I hung up he reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell. He simply told someone named Alice that he would not be in today and to forward all his important calls to his cell.

Well now, he has a secretary, not that it matters. Right now I have one prime usage for him that is irrelevant to how successful he is.

"Ready?"

"Where are you going?"

He took my hand and we exited the next stop, it was 14th street and Union Square. We traveled down the long tunnel that connects 6th avenue and 7th avenue. It was crowded as usually as people traveled the divide to connect with another train or find the exit they desired. Along the tunnel there are several doors, leading to what? I have no idea. I could only assume offices. He tried each door.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding a place so I can finish what you started."

"Here? None of these doors will be open and if they are, I'm sure they are either occupied or places I don't want to be."

People rushed passed us, paying little or no attention to what we were doing. That's New York for ya. As we reached closer toward the end, he turned a knob and the door pushed opened. Inside was a large old scratched up oak desk covered with scattered papers and paper clips. In the center was a microphone and to the left of that was a panel of switches and knobs that I could only conclude were controls for the wall of televisions that surveyed almost every corner of the Union Squared Station. My guess was this was central security. Where was security? Who the hell knows?

Grabbing my hand, he looked around and pulled me inside. Closing the door behind us I heard the bolt slide into the lock. I was amazed. I had no idea that New York Transit's security system was so advance and through. As I watched, I witness captions of people lives take place right before my eyes. A mother is lifting her child from his stroller because he is crying and probably hungry. On the next screen, a man is hugging his wife from behind as she looks at him with love in her eyes, laughing at whatever comment she found to be witty and charming. Below them, two teenage girls-- oh shit!

His hands found their way under my dress and into my panties. He had his hand deep into my crotch. I automatically bent forward; our bodies formed a spoon position. The people in front of me no longer mattered. The lil bitch began to purr (that, for those of you who don't know from my pervious stories, is what I call my pussy).

His fingers found my hole and thrust inside. His whole hand moved with his pumping. The harder he pumped the further forward we bent. His cock nearly entered my ass despite the restriction of his pants. My pussy began to spasm, but I regained control as he hand fucked me over and over; deeper and deeper his hand pumped my pussy. The motion was strong and consisted. I've never been hand fucked and felt it this intensely before-- pumping and pumping and pumping. Soon I couldn't help but moan my appreciation as his thrust his palm over my clit and his fingers deeper, and it wasn't just a finger, or two, though that is how it started, but it was all five fingers. He slowed worked his way deeper with a thoroughness that blew my mind and my mind wasn't easily blown. But damned if my pussy wasn't.

Upon my moaning, my involuntary sigh of appreciation, my mystery man and soon to be latest fuck, began whispering lovelies in my ear.

"Oh you liked that don't you? You liked being fucked any, which way you can take it. You want it deeper? You want it harder? You want me to fuck that sweet wet pussy? Is my hand enough or do you want more. What can we use?

"Can we use the pen on the desk? No, that is a child's toy, perhaps we can use the handle of that microphone, how about that?"

I cried out again, in excitement, moaning.

"Ohhh. I think we found something the lady likes. Well, no some other time maybe. I have an 11 o'clock meeting, so you just have to settle for me. Me fucking you, fucking you in your pussy, fucking you hard, hard until you are sore. So sore you can't even move without remembering; remembering me inside you fucking you, fucking you so hard with my dick, my cock, your king. My cock will be king, king to all your desire, and you'll knell down in worship after I make you scream over and over and over. Scream as you cum and cum and cum. Oh yeah, baby, moaning is just the beginning."

Then he turned me around and we kissed. I had to stop myself from swallowing his tongue. I was so wet. His hand was moist and slick and he continued to rub my arching pussy, inside and out. He moved from my pussy hole to my clit; moving in soft and rough circles as I rose higher and higher on the edge of climax, and just when I was at the top he would pull away and enter me again, fucking me that way, with his hand, as I moan and pumped. I pumped my hips and smacked my pussy against his hand, trying to keep the friction and increase the pace, and he let me.

He let me rotate and smack and fuck and try and pull his shit deep in my crotch. The smell was as sexy as the sounds. The smell of my lil bitch and the heat of my body spread through out the room, musky and hot. It was an aphrodisiac, reminding me where we were and how nasty we were about to get, this stranger and I.

He griped my ass with his left hand while his right had its way with me. I could barely remember to breathe as I was sent to the edge and back again, repetitively. He moved his hand, soaked in my juices, to my face and smeared my face with it. My scent surrounded me and my nose flared as I took it all in. Squeeze, squeeze, answers the lil bitch. Yes, yes, she says as he rubs his wet fingers against my lips and I lick off each liquid morsel he provides.

Then he kisses me, licking off the juice I miss. Other tongues intertwined, enjoying our treat together. He pushes me higher onto the table and proceeds to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his shirt. My arms hang uselessly around his neck as I try and remember how to breathe. His jacket sails across the room. His necktie is pulled down and loosens. His buttons are released from their prison and his dick smacks up against me. He reaches for my hips again and spreads my legs wider then he lifts my lil bitch of a pussy up and slides her against his stomach, down his dick, unto his balls and grinds his hips into me. He repeated this process going back up then going back down. I was so wet I lubricated his stomach, his cock, and his balls and still had more than enough juice to fuck him. Settling me back down he took off his necktie. He proceeded to slowly push it into my pussy, inch by inch, almost stuffing me with it.

"What are you doing?" I asked

"I am taking your scent. I want to carry in with me as I going my meeting. When I enter that room with a dozen or so stiff neck business men, who have to pay hookers to sleep with them and grumpy old business women who haven't been laid in years because they put career over sex in their lives, I want to be able to know that just a few moments ago I was buried in your pussy. I want to shake their hands and have your scent rise around us. I can then watch as their eyes widening as they realize just what that scent is and wonder... wonder where I got it."

"Shit like that turns you on, huh?"

"Oh hell yes. It doesn't you?"

"Yes, " I smiled. "It's nice to met a kindred sprint,"

"Well we would have to be. After all, here we are."

He pulled out the tie and placed it back over his head. It made his shirt wet. He kissed me some more, sliding from my mouth, to my neck, and to my breasts, where he sucked and nibbled, just how I liked it. And I didn't even have to tell him how.

Then, he found that spot, where my belly button disappeared and he began to kiss, bite, and suck on that for a while. I found my way to his dick, but moved passed that until I found his balls. These disregarded stepchildren always seemed to be left behind. I found them and played with them.

I continued massaging and rubbing, pulling and squeezing, oh so gently, and he liked it. It had him moaning and thrusting as he sucked and licked. I found that spot behind his balls (come on fellas, you know that spot, and if you haven't found it yet, you don't know what you are missing). I found that spot and I pressed, ever so slightly. His body jerked and he pulled away from me.

He looked at me with complete and utter lust. I knew he just about blew in that near second. Stepping back he looked down on the ground until he spotted my purse. Picking it up he turned it and dumped all its contents on the table. On top of the pile, because it was at the bottom of my bag, laid a column of condoms. Selecting one, he detached it and ripped it open. I found it interesting that he assume that I had some. When I stared at him in question, he simply said, "You strike me as a woman always prepared."

I don't know if that statement was true or not or even a compliment, but I really didn't care. After he tore the packet open he gave it to me. Gripping the tip, I gently and firmly rolled it down his cock. The poor thing didn't make it to the base, but that's ok. It was still a good fit.

The he entered me. The glide was smooth and steady, but the ride was rocky, fierce and intense. He keep a constant rhythm that didn't bring us on the edge but kept us on a slow moving tide that was building subtlety upon itself. We were just enjoying the fuck. No rushing, no pounding, no attempt to get there as soon as possible. This wasn't marathon sex. This wasn't an attempt to show whom can control whom by making the other lose control. This was an in-the-moment-and-make-it-last-as-long-as-we-can fuck.

The sweat and juice began to combine, making the glide an easy one, a paste formed and the smell intensified. There is nothing sweeter than the smell of a hot fuck. The heat burned hotter and hotter and our bodies became more and more tense.

"Oh god!"

Was that he or I? I don't know.

"Oh Lord."

Perhaps it was both of us. I suppose it doesn't matter.

"It's coming!"

Okay, I said that one.

"Oh god"

Yep, that was from him.

And we pushed and we pulled and we fucked and we sucked, in and out, wet and hot, motion upon motion, wave on top of wave. We climbed, we climbed as the men and women on the screens came and went, watched and wondered. Wondered who was behind the camera at that very moment. They didn't know we were in there. They didn't know what we were doing. They didn't see as I fell back across the desk and lifted my legs higher in the air so he could thrust deeper. They didn't hear as he grunted harder and harder with each fuck, trying to make me scream. They didn't feel the spasm that started in my pussy and deep inside that I couldn't control. They didn't smell the musk that erupted when he did, when he pulled out and came across my leg.