Morning Train

As always, the morning train is incredibly crowded. Physical contact with other passengers is unavoidable. Pressing deeper into the car I’m resigned to impersonal touches and to the occasional very personal grope from a chikan (subway groper), getting his Lolita fix.

In an effort to be the only one groping me if groping needs doing, Yuki shuffles so closely behind me that the toes of his street shoes are tapping the three-inch rubber soles of my platform Mary-Jane’s. Bishonen, pretty boy, Yuki is beautiful in that uniquely androgynous way of pretty Asian men, and has been groped more than once himself…an occurrence which never fails to amuse him.

Countless apologies and three glancing gropes later we manage to make a “Yu” shaped spot near the middle of the car. Yuki is tall and grabs the overhead rail, slouching in such a way as to subtly fit his lanky frame into the curve of my body.

We don’t speak.

I love riding this way. So does Yuki.

The vibrations of the train and the sway and the press of people snug him tighter and tighter into my bottom, giving both of us sweet, if frustrating, little sizzles of pleasure at every mismatched piece of track. At every whining stop, our car will regurgitates commuters onto crowded platforms and new passengers are shoved into the over-crowded confines of the car, forcing us closer still. Porters, neatly uniformed, complete with nifty little hats, polite and ruthless, work the rush hour platforms using any means necessary, short of a shoehorn, to wedge more commuters onto the trains.

Today is just like a hundred other days. Masses of bodies, mostly salarymen, dark suited and cinched up neatly in narrow ties that look identical to my casual glance. The inside of the car smells of the urban human animal - sweat, deodorant, cigarettes, ginger, hairspray, cologne, starch… I can smell the berry scent from my new strawberry flavored MAC lip-gloss and a million other sweet-sour smells I can’t name.

I’m butt to crotch with Yuki and loving every minute bump and every deep breath taken by another passenger that forces us closer. I clutch my ‘Fruits Basket’ book-bag to my chest and hold it so that the buckle closures rub my nipples. I don’t even bother to hold onto the overhead handles. Instead, I arch my back, relax my legs and settle against the front of Yuki’s black uniform pants, his cock nestled in the cleft of my bottom.

Every jostle, every sway of the train, and god, the pleasure that tingles through my tummy makes me press my knees together and hug ‘Fruits’ a little tighter to my chest.

A Salaryman is facing me, but I don’t look at him. I know this because I’m staring at the ends of his shiny black loafers, only inches from the rounded toes of my own shoes.

I close my eyes when a particularly rough stretch of track vibrates and shimmies Yuki that much closer to sodomizing me while we’re both still fully clothed. Heat suffuses my face, my neck, my chest, my pussy. My skin shrinks and I’m aware of nothing so much as the drumming of my heart in my ears and the feel of Yuki behind me, trying to press himself inside me. My eyes remain closed.

I’m silent, throbbing, riding on a river of lust named Kimura Yuki.

We are about ten minutes into our 26 minute journey when Yuki whispers my ear, his voice no more than a breath of sound, “That man is watching you…he knows what we’re doing.”

I start, pulled from foggy pleasure in a fantasy where Yuki and I are the only ones on the train and he is leaning on a support pole, with his cock buried in my rear while we simply stand and ride out every hitch and bump on our twenty-six minute commute…

Momentarily disoriented and caught doing something naughty in a society that frowns on merely holding hands in public, my heart stutters – a lifetime of learned politeness and societal expectations are warring with a teenager’s rebellious streak and my craving for Yuki. Hot with lust and embarrassment, I bow my head further and try to ease away.

Yuki stops me with firm hands on my hipbones, “No, stay where you are, baby.”

I remain rigid against him but don’t try to fight Yuki’s hold. I’m afraid now of drawing more attention.

“Don’t you know he’s wishing, imagining, that he’s the one behind you.” Yuki whispers in that deep hoarse voice that has so much power over my body…my soul. “He’s picturing your ass notched on his cock like you are on mine.” Yuki’s voice goes all rough like it does when I’m sucking him, “He’s imagining how hot and squishy your sweet pussy will be when he picks you up and slides you down his prick like some sort of Lolita fuck doll.”

“Stop it.” I whisper. I can hear the shame, and the sex, in my voice.

Yuki hears it too and knows I’m turned on by his nasty words.

Slowly, dreading, embarrassed, aroused, I raise my head enough to peep at the watching man through heavy lashes. He is tall. Taller than Yuki and he is wearing glasses with horn-rimmed frames. I see short thick hair, spiked bangs and a suit that fits him to the nth degree. His face is very fierce, very Japanese and right now there is enough space between his black leather briefcase and the front of my uniform that he can see Yuki’s fingers curled into my hips.

I feel Yuki’s hands flex and tighten, kneading my hipbones. Then he levers me more snugly against him.

My lips part on a stifled gasp and involuntarily my back arches in an effort to accommodate the further press of Yuki’s meaty erection into the cleft of my ass. My eyes close in a heavy slow blink of arousal and when I open them again, our watcher has a flush across the high cheekbones of his brown face. Maybe he really is imagining that it is his cloth covered cock, instead of Yuki’s, pushing the bunched up fabric of my skirt between the widening cheeks of my bottom.

And dirty girl that I am, I like both the idea of the stranger wanting me and the feeling of my ass cheeks being forced apart by Yuki.

Yuki laughs softly against my neck. His nose nudges a stubby pigtail. The ends of the bright yellow ribbon securing it, tickle my neck like the touch of his lips. I shiver and my nipples, already little pebbles, itch and tingle. I hug my bag in tiny little rhythmic pulses, self-stimulating my braless breasts against the heavy weight of my Physics book.

I almost moan out loud when the train grates over rough track, vibrating me against the hard-on now pressing fully into my ass. I want to tell him to stop playing, but I know I don’t ever want him to stop.

The pleasure is too heady.

The lust is too powerful.

So instead of telling Yuki to stop talking dirty and dry humping the tender crack of my ass on a public train, I watch the man with the glasses and the handsome, flushed face and I try not to visibly respond to the feel of Yuki’s hand now on the back of my thighs, under my skirt. Our bodies fit so tightly that I can still feel all of him and I know that he must be pressing against his own cock in the process of touching me.

I shiver.

“Umm, your thighs are so soft.” Long, nimble fingers dance across the sensitive skin. “You know what I would like to do, Yui?” Yuki drags his nails up my thigh, hard, and I know without looking that he has left marks. The callused pads of his fingers flirt with the elastic edging the leg of my underpants. “I would like to lift up your skirt and finger fuck you right here in front of all these people…”

His hand stills. “Will you let me do that, Yui? Will you let me show them all what a sweet hot little pussy you have?”

My breathing stutters and hitches.

Hot and wanting, breathless, needing Yuki like I need air, I make solid eye-contact with Mr. Glasses…contact that sticks. He doesn’t look away and neither do I. My cheeks are warm with a sex-flush and I know I must look like the personification of a debauched school girl in an anime porn movie. I’m a living, breathing “Creamy Yui”.

I exhale a gusting rush of warm moist air and inhibitions. My glossy lips form a shiny strawberry flavored “O” as my sex clenches and twists in sharp creamy jerks.

Mr. Glasses’ lips part slightly. A dark pink tongue licks his lips and I wonder if he’s imagining what it would be like to lick the gloss off my mouth.

Yuki’s breathless, aroused laughter is a silent damp furnace gust against my neck. His breath smells like mint toothpaste and wends its way inside the neck of my shirt, ghosts across the fragile contours of my collarbone and though it is impossible, I swear I feel it drifting through my clenching womb.

“Ohh…Yuki…” Just a mouthing of words, a breath of need more than anything else, but Yuki hears me and silently laughs again, and I can hear the aroused triumph riding him.

“Oh, Yui-baby, you’re going to let me do it, aren’t you? You’re gonna let me stick my fingers your juicy little peach, right here, aren’t you, baby?” His whisper is tight and excited.

Though I know I should, I don’t tell Yuki no. I don’t move away. Instead, I concentrate on two suddenly impossible tasks – keeping still and breathing.

“Just keep watching him want you and I’ll take care of everything else.” The train lurches, sways and as a collective body all the passengers, save Yuki, I and the man with the glasses, tolerate the resulting the touch of strangers with the oblivious stoicism of good commuters. For the three of us, any touch is now electric.

“What color are your panties?” Yuki asks right before he reaches them.

When I don’t answer immediately, because all the air has left my lungs, his fingers strum the crease of my bottom through the warm panty fabric. He’s strumming my ass and his cock at the same time. That realization and anticipation make the plump lips of my pussy swell and press still more tightly against wet cotton.

I watch the man with the glasses and though I’m sure it’s impossible, when his nostrils flare, I’m convinced he can smell the sex-musk radiating off Yuki and I. Yuki’s question, coupled with the fact that my panties are already coated with mine and Yuki’s spunk from our earlier fun fuck in the laundry room…ohh… And now, the thought that this man in front of me can smell me, smell my creamy puss, takes me to that anything-goes-level of lust that makes good girls do nasty things in front of strangers.

I hump Yuki’s hand with a quick little twist, pressing it tighter against us both. This time it’s his breath that leaves in a heated rush. “Yellow. My panties are yellow.” I whisper almost soundlessly, head angled back toward Yuki, but not breaking eye-contact with the stranger, wishing he could read my lips and I could share all our nasty little forbidden fuck secrets with him, “and they’re already wet from when you came inside me this morning.”

“Oh god.” Yuki moans, head down, forgetting our audience for an instant, wet moist breath and maybe his tongue against my ear.

Yuki moves his hand again and I feel a brush of movement low between my legs. The swollen lips of my pussy, open, pulsing, pushing against thin yellow cotton are weeping creamy tears in want of his touch. At last, after a million years or only seconds, I feel him, warm and strong against my needy flesh.

The rush of desire is so intense that I bite my lower lip until it hurts. Yuki presses hard against my soft mound with four fingers. Palming me, he slides his thumb into the crack of my ass and presses up high, against both his cock and my little chocolate star.

Mr. Glasses shifts inside his space, breathing through his mouth, and I suddenly wonder what he would do if leaned forward and licked his lips. What would he taste like?

He stares, never taking his eyes off mine. I pant and try to act like I’m not panting while Yuki thumbs my asshole and taps my clit through gummy cotton.

I hear a chime and then a robotically efficient feminine voice over the loudspeakers announces the next station, our stop. There is a collective shifting, a gathering of sorts among the passengers and Yuki uses the shift of bodies to ease beneath the elastic leg-band of my panties and stirs his fingers into and around my pussy.

I stand very still, straddling his hand, panting softly.

Round and round my pearl his middle finger glides eased by creamy lubrication that is a combination of my arousal and his own slippery spend from earlier in the morning. Yuki’s pinky and ring finger ease into my tiny sweet slit. The initial pressure inside my tight channel and against my clit forces me up on my toes and then I sink slowly the back down, mounted now, on his fingers. Yuki takes over from there – shoving his fingers up inside me and tugging them back out while he screws my pussy with a savage sort of tenderness.

My eyes close and when I open them Mr. Glasses is staring at the apex of my thighs, red faced and breathing hard. It’s almost as if he can see exactly how expertly Yuki is fucking my tender hole. I look down my narrow body, past my book bag, behind which eraser shaped nipples want, and I notice for the first time that Yuki’s left hand is holding a twisted fistful of my navy blue uniform skirt.

He is holding it so that the crotch of my bright yellow panties is visible to the stranger.

The crotch is a darker yellow, wet from my dew…Yuki’s hand is trailing out of the right side…pushing the sodden cotton aside enough so that one slick little pussy lip, displaced by Yuki’s fingers, shows nearly to the “V” notch above my clit.

The stranger is watching Yuki fuck me, his eyes riveted on the exposed skin and the writhing yellow crotch of my panties which undulates with each lewd thrust of Yuki’s fingers.

Seeing myself like that - navy skirt raised to show long legs, knee socks and smooth thighs… My girly yellow panties, have the word “Angel” on the front spelled out in little white clouds, and are full of Yuki’s fucking brown fingers… And a perfect stranger is watching, how with every slippery thrust, the little pink puss lip that’s exposed bulges slightly, making room inside me for Yuki.

Feeling both nasty and sexy, I lean slowly toward our stranger. He leans toward me. His face is close enough that I see a tiny chicken pox scar over his right eyebrow. I feel his body heat and I smell cinnamon and cigarettes.

Mere centimeters are between us when I breathe, “I’m coming.”

And I do.

My toes curl, my nipples itch and tingle and that knot in my belly tightens until it snaps and every muscle in my body releases in a scalding rush that coats Yuki’s hand. I continue ride Yuki’s fingers with tiny thrust as my pussy pulses, deep strong pulls, trying in vain to milk nonexistent semen out of Yuki’s fingers and into my womb.

Yuki stands perfectly still, letting me ride out my climax, his fingers in me as deep as he can force them. His chest moves with each laboring breath, his cock twitches like mad against my ass.

The man with the glasses is pressing his briefcase against his front with pressure that has to be painful. He watches Yuki’s now still hand in my panties and how my pussy is pulsing around the fingers of that hand.

My legs are trembling.

The train is slowing for our stop and Yuki eases his fingers out of my still clutching sheath. I sigh long and drawn out, loving the glide of his fingers on my warm satiny folds. I don’t protest when he pushes the crotch of my panties aside as far as the elastic allows, showing the stranger the naked dewy wet folds of my pussy. I lean against Yuki, revealing in the heat of his body and in a slutty, sated feeling. Yuki uses his index finger to rim my swollen, creamy, bright pink cunny while Mr. Glasses to watches.

The train brakes and once more there is that collective gathering as people prepare to disembark and the remaining through passengers jockey for the premium positions near doors and on benches.

Yuki releases the leg of my panties after a final deep finger thrust and then drops my skirt. The stranger continues to stare at the spot between my legs for one beat, then two, before finally looking up at our faces. His eyes landed on me, and then swing to Yuki. He takes one deep open-mouthed breath, clutches his case in a white-knuckled grip, closes his eyes and shakes like an old man.

I look at Yuki and he’s sucking the taste of us off his fingers. “I love to taste myself in you.” He whispers and I pulse hard, wanting him.

We stare at each other and I know, as I look into much loved black eyes, that we’re not going to make it to school without finding someplace to finish what we’ve started. I know I’m going to lift my skirt and pull my panties down around my knees, bend over and take his meaty cock inside me. I’ll spread my legs. I’ll spread my ass. I’ll open my mouth and swallow his cum. Whatever he wants I will give it to him until his balls tighten and he fills me up with his spunk.

Yuki bends stiffly; his hard cock presses tightly against his fly, and gathers his book bag from the floor at his feet. His fingers encircle my wrist to keep me with him as bodies ebb and flow around us. The fingers are still slightly damp from my pussy and where he cleaned them in his mouth. I find that dampness, and the forbidden secrets it represents, incredibly erotic.

We move through the open double doors of the car, riding the exiting tide of people, to emerge on the industrial worker-bee bustle of the platform. Yuki moves quickly, pulling me along in his wake like a child. I don’t mind. We are almost to the steps leading to street level when pedestrian traffic bottlenecks and slows to a halt.

I’m thinking about how much I want to suck Yuki’s cock and trying to figure out how to make it happen. I don’t know what Yuki is thinking, but judging from his sustained erection and hot eyes, it is something along those lines.

Foot traffic jostles slowly up the stairs and I’m teasing Yuki’s cock under the cover of his messenger bag, my actions not noticeable between the bag and the press of bodies. I close my eyes, hand stroking the warm cotton over Yuki’s hard cock, and I smell a hundred different scents, from hot electrical wiring to perfume, to sweat to starch, and beneath it all I swear I can smell the spice of Yuki’s sex.

We are stepping into bright morning sunlight when we hear a voice behind us say, “Excuse me. I’m sorry. Excuse me…”

Yuki and I turn to see the stranger, still handsome in the sunlight, horn rimmed glasses glinting, briefcase held tightly at waist level. I’m shocked that he is speaking to us as politeness dictates that we pretend nothing happened.

Or perhaps seeing a girl’s pussy finger-fucked on the subway negates such societal niceties…

He smiles sheepishly, looks at nothing over Yuki’s left shoulder and shifts uncomfortably, obviously embarrassed. “Do you…” He begins, stops, and starts again. “Do you…Would you come with me…someplace private?” He asks in a rush. “I only want to watch…you don’t have to…me…I won’t touch…I’m sorry…” His voice fades as his discomfort rises.

Looking anywhere but at us, he laughs a short miserable laugh while Yuki and I just stare at him. I’m trying to decide how I feel about being propositioned by a voyeuristic Saleryman when he blurts, “I thought when you first got on the train that you were siblings, not lovers.” He rushes on in explanation, “You favor…your eyes…a little around the eyes…and mouth…the shape of your mouths…just a bit that’s why…I’m sorry…I’m very sorry I should not have said that…”

Yuki and I look at each other. Mr. Glasses, Yuki and I are standing close, facing each other, forming a little triangular world. Yuki leans close to the stranger and whispers, “Her pussy is the sweetest tightest thing I’ve ever seen, eaten or fucked.”

Mr. Glasses is breathing in quick little jerks, his eyes focused between my legs.

Yuki isn’t finished. “She likes for me to fuck her pussy…” He moves closer, “Her mouth…” Closer still, “Her ass…”