A Cold Morning Train Ride

It's so cold. My breath makes tiny puffs of white with every short exhalation. January is always the coldest month here, bitterly cold. Having to take the train is probably the worst part of January in the city. You have to wear 17 layers not to freeze on your walk to the stop, then you're crammed like sardines for 40 minutes on the brown line to the loop, bored, and uncomfortably hot and sweaty under your coat, but your limbs are still cold. How does that even work? How is that FAIR?!

Then you get to work all sweaty and your hair is flat and you repeat on the way home just to collapse exhausted on your couch, trying to warm up just a little bit under 2 blankets and the normally uncomfortable heat of your laptop.

I mean, that's usually what happens anyways... Today was different.

I had an important meeting so I couldn't dress as warmly as I wanted to. I was wearing a navy blue, loose, a-line skirt that came to my knees - a cute pattern with tiny bluebirds on it, grey tights and a pair of demure teal flats. I tried to at least wear a long sleeved shirt and a cardigan underneath my peacoat for some additional protection from the biting wind, since the lower half of me was going to hate this.

I plunked my hat on my head, sighing. "My hair looked really nice," I thought to myself, regrettably. A wrap of a scarf around my neck, and a shove of my hand into mittens and I sprinted out the door, late as usual.

My first inhale was cut short as the air froze in my lungs. I gave a little whimper of protest. My legs, already cold, started walking towards the train station, quickly, briskly, hoping the buildings would protect me from at least some of the wind.

Not that it mattered. A normally pleasant 10 minute walk to the train in the spring is a grueling Arctic journey in the winter. One block left. My legs are numb and I still have to wait on the platform. (Why do I live here.)

I wave my fare card in front of these new sensors that never seem to work and it beeps me through. I take the escalator steps two at a time, moving faster. I can hear the rumble of the train approaching and I don't want to miss it. Not on a day like today. I can't stay out in this weather anymore.

It arrives with a clatter just as I reach the top, and I step into the closest car just as the chime rings. "Doors closing."

It's morning rush hour, and I'm late, of course the car is crowded already. I move to the front of the car, in the little hidden alcove, where at least there's a little breathing room and a small bit of separation from the rest of the car. My hands and legs and face are freezing.

I like being able to stand here. It's less claustrophobic.

Next stop. More people get on the train and a man in a long, black wool coat squeezes past me while the lady sitting in the seat next to where I'm standing leaves. He offers the seat to me, and I smile and wave a polite no. He sits and I grip the train pole in my mittens like my life depended on it. I'm not falling over with a sudden stop, with God as my witness that isn't happening today. More commuters crowd in to the car. The chime, and the doors shut again with a gust of cold air, and the train lurches forward and I stumble a little bit.

The man's hand reaches out, almost on instinct and tries to keep me upright in a gesture of politeness, landing on my thigh. I regain my balance, but his hand... His hand stays. I stand immobilized, a little shocked, if I'm honest, as it slips down to the hem of my skirt. His fingertips hook underneath the hem, and he trails them back and forth along my thigh. I look around, my face has suddenly flushed red and warm, but I don't think anybody notices.

Everybody is exhausted, not having had their morning coffee, cold, heads buried in their phones. I take a tiny, imperceptible step forwards, closer to this man, this stranger. I see a tiny smile play in the corners of his mouth and his eyes flicker up to me, then back down.

His hand slips between my thighs, and up. I feel a sudden heat grow between my legs, spreading down my legs and up into my stomach. My glasses fog a little by my nose from the heat coming from my face.

He gently caresses my inner thighs, petting me idly, like a kitten. I exhale sharply and step a little closer, blocking the view of the other passengers. He moves up my thigh, closer, brushing his hand, ever so slightly, against my pussy lips, over the tights and my panties. Back and forth, delicate little touches. The fabric is thin, and it's a horrible tease. He's so close to touching me, and I'm starting to ache between my legs. God help me.

I'm so wet. I can feel my pussy get hot and sticky. The realization that I'm turned on at this violation. He shouldn't be touching me. I shouldn't be letting him. I squeeze my thighs shut and frown. He looks up at me with a raised eyebrow and makes a quiet tsk tsk noise, only audible to me.

My clever plan of squeezing my thighs shut backfires on me spectacularly. His hand is trapped between my legs, and when I tightened my muscles I inadvertently squeezed his hand flush against my body, pressing against my embarrassingly swollen clit. I close my eyes, and bite my lip with a pained look, trying not to moan.

He studies me carefully, and pinches my pussy lips. My eyes widen in surprise and I try not to whimper. I unclench my thighs and let this dark stranger access my body. He stares straight ahead and begins rubbing my clit through the fabric. My breathing gets deeper, fogging up my glasses even more.

I rock my hips back and forth against his hand, ever so slightly. Oh god, I'm so wet. I am so wet and I want him inside me right here. It's impossible though. The layers of clothes between him and me. Will he make me come just by rubbing me in this train car? Part of me hopes he does. (The other part of me, protesting, keeps getting quieter.)

I feel his hand pull away slightly and pinch my tights between his fingers. I feel him pull, and the nylon tears. He makes the hole bigger and hooks his index finger inside the soft cotton crotch of my panties. The feeling of his cold finger against the hot, slippery smoothness of my lower lips makes me want to cry out, and I whimper again, a little louder this time. His finger slides up and down my slit, then pulls my panties to the side. He roughly shoves two fingers inside me, and I bury my head inside my scarf and moan, the noise barely audible over the loudness of the train clacking down the tracks.

I can feel him inside me, stretching me. I feel tight. The fear and adrenaline flow through me with every beat of my heart. I can feel my clit throb along with that same tempo. He crooks his fingers forward and my eyes roll back in my head and I can feel myself melting, oh god it feels so good. I am on fire, waves of warmth spill over me from between my legs. A tiny trickle of sweat runs down my back.

He draws his fingers out, and pushes them back in, pressing his fingers into the front of my cunt, his thumb making tiny circles against my clit. I move my hips gently, in time with his hand movements. I'm close, so close. So close to work, so close to cumming. I need to get off before my stop. Before his stop. I don't even care anymore. I need this. I need this stranger to make me come.

I feel my thighs start to tremble, and I stumble forward slightly into him and whisper, "oh god" against his hair as my pussy tightens rhythmically around his fingers.

The train approaches the Library stop. He pulls his fingers out of me gently, and brings his hand wet to his mouth, tasting me as he grabs his briefcase with his other hand. He smiles and walks past me without a second look. The door opens, a cold gust of air fills the car, and he walks out into the gray city, leaving me shaking, but satisfied.