I met Trevor, my husband, after work a Grand Central. Trevor was a banker and normally worked late. I usually left the ad agencywhere I worked much earlier and took the five fifteen train to get home in time to make dinner – like a dutiful wife. But this summer Friday, Trevor was taking the early train with me. He’d made reservations at a rustic inn and we were going to dine and spend the night there together. It was just after five and the platform was packed with commuters as well as travelers leaving the city for the weekend. Trevor and I were crushed together. I tried to make conversation, but he was engrossed listening to a podcast through his headphones.
The train came in and we scrambled aboard with hundreds of others. There were no seats and we stood in the middle of the car. In the push of the crowd, I was separated from Trevor – he was only about a yard away, but there were two men between us. More and more people crowded into the car till I was squashed in the mass of bodies. My personal space was invaded from all directions. Well, we’re all in the same boat, I thought, resignedly. Fortunately, I am not claustrophobic.
Both Trevor and I are tall, so we could see each other. I thought of the romantic night ahead with my husband and felt a warmth between my legs. I let it take hold, for I had a slow fuse. Trevor was not a stellar bedmate and when we made love, I always needed my fantasies to cum. I usually fantasized about the black janitor who cleaned our floor at the ad agency. He was enormous, built like a tank, with massive muscles and a bull neck. He had a set of even white teeth and elaborate tattoos on his powerful, coffee-colored arms. I thought of him now and luxuriated in a private erotic dream. The press of humanity around me faded into my subconscious. The warmth between my legs grew.
* * * * *
The work environment at the agency was relaxed. However, I was an account executive and often had to meet clients, so I always dressed very professionally – though I did wear a belly button ring! I was wearing a gray business suit with a short jacket and knee length pleated skirt, white chiffon translucent blouse, and a choker pearl necklace.
In preparation for my night of passion with my husband, I had spent an hour that morning, trying on combinations of lingerie to make myself look sexy. I began with black stockings, a black garter belt with straps and a sweet little yellow bow.
Next, I tried on black self-supporting stockings and a cute violet thong that had a pretty bow on the rear triangle.
I finally settled on grayish stockings that had a black pattern, tie-on ribbon garters, and a simple black silk thong.
I matched the silk thong with a black demi-bra. It was constructed of see-through lace mesh with a silk underbody and straps. It showed quite clearly through my translucent chiffon blouse. There were tiny black silk bows on the rear triangle of my thong and on the bridge of my bra.
I wore dangly silver earrings because Trevor loved to feel the metal against his cock when I took him in my mouth. He always wanted to start sex with a blowjob – and invariably came very soon. Then I to wait almost half an hour before he could get it up again. I usually had to suck on him to get him hard again. I fantasized about the black janitor to keep my excitement up.
* * * * *
I clutched my big purse with one hand and my laptop bag hung on my other shoulder. I reached and grabbed the overhead strap just as the train moved forward with a sharp jerk. Everyone in the car lurched. I fell against one of the men between me and Trevor.
With both my hands occupied, I could not stop myself. My jacket was splayed open with my clutching hand above my head on the strap. My firm breasts pressed against the stranger’s hard, well-muscled chest. I did not look up to see his face. The train jerked several times again, and I was thrown against the man repeatedly.
My earlier fantasies had me in precariously sensual state. The repetitive intimacy of my breasts squeezed against the man’s hard chest prompted my nipples to harden. With my right hand high above head to hold the strap, my breasts were pushed up. My swollen right nipple escaped from the low top of my demi bra and pressed against him through my wispy chiffon blouse. My nipple grew even harder and my face reddened.
“Sorry, sorry,” I muttered, turning away so that my face was away from him. I could see Trevor out of the corner of my eye. He was still engrossed with listening to his podcast, but I kept looking at him till I caught his eye. He smiled at me vacantly.
“That’s okay,” I heard a whisper in my ear. It was a very masculine voice. “You have lovely breasts.”
I ignored him and concentrated on NOT looking toward him, trying to preserve anonymity. Then I felt a hand on my buttock. I hoped it was an accidental touch, much like my unintended squashing of my breasts against him. But it rapidly became clear that this was premeditated. He groped my firm, round derriere aggressively. There was nothing between his probing hand and my pert behind but my skirt.
His fingers explored, found the panty lines of my thong, and began to trace them, up and down. I twisted my body to try and break the contact, but there was nowhere for me to move. I tried desperately to get Trevor’s attention, and finally got him to meet my eyes. But he just smiled benignly and continued listening to his podcast.
The train was an express and I knew it was a good half an hour till the first stop – where Trevor and I would get off. I resigned myself to being felt up for the remainder of the journey. I hoped he would get bored and find something else to occupy him.
He seemed to realize that I was relaxing, and his other hand joined in. He had one hand on each of my buttocks, massaging without pretense. The crush of the crowd was so tight that his hands were out of everyone’s sight. The two of us were the only ones who knew what he was doing to me. My fantasies about the black muscle-bound janitor began to invade my thoughts again. The warmth between my legs was rising dangerously.
I didn’t know what was worse – that I was begin groped by a stranger on a commuter train on my way to a romantic sexual tryst with my husband. Or that I was beginning to be excited by it. I knew I had to stop myself right now. I had always had a fairly easy time controlling my sex drive, so I was not unduly worried.
“Please stop,” I whispered over my shoulder.
“Why?” he murmured.
There was something attractive about his voice – gravelly, commanding, and yet rather gentle.
“I’m a married woman,” I whispered back. “My husband is just a few feet away. He can see me.”
“Lucky man.”
“I’m lucky he married me,” I whispered. “He’s a good man.”
“I can sense your sexual strain,” he whispered. “But your husband is oblivious. He seems more interested in listening to what’s playing in his headphones.”
“We’re going on a romantic getaway,” I blurted, my voice rising a bit above a whisper. “He’ll pay attention to me there.”
I couldn’t believe I was talking to this stranger who was still running his hands over my lower body. As we were whispering, his hands found their way around me to rub the front of my upper thighs. They traced my ribbon garters through my pleated skirt and approached dangerously close to my crotch. Then, to my horror, I felt his erection behind me against my buttocks. At first, I thought it was something he had in his pockets. But then I felt his heat through the thin layers of cloth and knew it was all him. Even through our clothing, it was obvious that he was huge.
“No!” I whispered urgently.
His hands that had been moving so slowly, so sedately, and building up voluptuous tension, now moved very suddenly. His fingers found the hem of my skirt and hiked it up to my waist. One hand found the triangle of my thong and his fingers forcefully probed my thick pussy lips. His thumb found my clit. The silk of my thong offered scant protection – it was already damp.
His fingers and thumb worked me. I could not believe how quickly I became wet and soaked my thong.
“No, no, no,” I whispered. There was an undercurrent panic in my tone. I did not want to draw attention to cause a scene.
But in spite of my words, my hips began to undulate, pushing into his hand rather than away from it.
“You want me, Ryder,” he whispered.
“How do you know my name?” I asked in shock, striving to keep my voice low.
“Your business card is in the address tag on your computer bag. Ryder Fox.”
“Shit,” I whispered.
“You’re certainly a fox, Ryder.”
His hand continued to stimulate me, and my breath began to grow short. Fortunately, the thundering of the commuter train on the rails and the whistling sound of the wind through the vents offered a great deal of covering noise.
Then his other hand began to unbutton my blouse. With one hand on the strap to hold me upright in the swaying train, my other hand holding my large purse, I was helpless.
“Please, please,” I whispered. “Don’t do this to me. I’ve never cheated on Trevor.”
“You want it Ryder.”
He was right behind me now, and I felt his organ against the bare skin of my rump. It was fleshy and HUGE – somehow he had contrived to release it from his pants.
His chin was on my shoulder, his breath was in my ear. He kissed my ear, tongue darting in. No one had ever done that to me before – it was incredibly carnal.
“Please don’t,” I begged.
My words no longer had any meaning, for my actions contradicted them. My hips were moving synchronously with his hand. I was so wet that I felt my sexual juices running down my inner thighs. I was dimly aware that he had allowed my skirt to drop down and conceal his hand on my pussy.