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Subway Sweets by Ray1031 (MF Cons)

I was working in Japan and daily had to ride the subway trains
back and forth to work. It was July and ungodly hot, with
humidity levels off the scale. During the morning and afternoon
rush hours, the trains were horrible. Always packed to
capacity, plus extra people. The subways were so over-worked
and over-packed, that they hired 'packers'. During rush hours,
these people showed up in uniforms, with little white pith
helmets on their heads and did their jobs on the subway platforms. Their jobs? Train packing. When everyone had
squeezed into a car, and it was obvious that no one else could
fit, it was there job to force another two or three bodies into
each car, literally tugging and pushing people to make them fit
like sardines in a can.

Luckily, I boarded the train a few stops before it became
completely packed and before these people did their jobs. I
would position myself at an upright pole and stay there until
my stop which also happened to be after some of the crowding
abated, so it was easy to get to a door. In between though,
people were packed in so tightly, that for one person to move
to a door, eight to twelve people had to shuffle in tight
circles to allow the passengers to pass. A New York pick pocket
would have loved that ride.

After I'd been there a few weeks, I began noticing that the
same woman was being pressed against me on almost every ride.
When I first happened to notice her, it was because of her
perfume. It was heady and was all I could smell during the trip
to work. Considering myself lucky that it wasn't stale raw fish
or burnt rice breath, I didn't try to adjust my position (not
that I could have).

I did try not to notice her contact with me, though. Her
buttocks were pressed tightly to my right thigh. Her left
shoulder and back was resting against my chest, and her right
hand was resting dead on the crotch of my pants. With the
swaying of the train, I don't know how I managed to make that
ride without a hard on. I think it might have helped that I did
not look at her. I kept my head high and straight, looking over
her head and trying to watch the buildings passing through the
window. Like those around me I was maintaining the anonymity of
the situation.

That afternoon, I assumed my normal position, pole at my back,
feet slightly spread for balance, arms relaxed at my sides as
the train began it's usual forty minute trip to my stop. At the
next stop, I noticed that perfume again. Much more subdued than
this morning, but noticeable on the breeze as the doors opened
and people boarded. There was only one woman in the group and I
thought she was stunning. Bright yellow, skin tight summer
sweater. Obviously bought too small by the way it hugged her
figure the knit spreading slightly throughout and revealing
peeks of a black brassiere beneath. Flat pink hot pants so
tight I thought she'd have to lube up and use a shoe horn to
get into them. Her thighs flaring slightly where they exited
the leg opening. Simple nude hose sheathed her shapely legs to
the tops of her three inch yellow heels.

Her black hair was not long. In fact, the cut was almost
mannish in it's shortness and styling, parted slightly to one
side of her head, and laying across her brow in a wave very
similar to my own hair style. Make up lightly and tastefully
applied, highlighted her beauty, rather than making it.


She glanced towards me as she entered and took a position
standing beside an open seat, holding the rail at the end of
the bench. At this point, there were no more than a dozen
people in the car. The influx began at the next stop. As people
crowded into the car, she moved from her position taking two
step closer to me and grasping an overhead strap.

I believe I was doing a good job of non-attention, eyes cast
downwards to an English paper in my hand. Yet observing her
movements from one eye's corner. Next stop. It was getting
crowded now, and as people boarded the train she moved to a
position directly before me. The paper was folded and stuck
into a back pocket to conserve space. The tips, just the tips
of her high pert looking breasts were just touching my chest
through her sweater. Looking down I found her eyes had closed
and her mouth was slightly open as the train swayed in it's
travels. I'd love to think I felt her nipples hardening against
my chest, but know I didn't. Wearing a light Sport Coat, shirt
and T-shirt, and her in the sweater and a brassier, there were
simply too many layers of clothing, and too light a touch.

The next stop was the first of the sardine stops. As soon as
the doors opened, before the departing passengers had finished
exiting and the first of the boarding passengers came aboard
she had moved into me. crushing her breasts against my lower
chest and molding her torso and hips to mine. Her feet came to
either side of my left leg as her pelvis thrust forward into
my leg. Her right hand went behind me to the upright chrome
pole as her left moved directly to my crotch and rested there.

As soon as she began to move I raised my eyes, pretending to
look over her head, but keeping her fully in my lower
peripheral vision as she snuggled in against me. She looked up
askance for a moment, then simply laid her head against my
upper chest as the train swayed on.

She held that position, not moving, not squeezing or rubbing any more than the simple movements of the train ride caused.
Simply standing against me in as complete a contact as she
could manage unobtrusively. There were four sardine stops,
roughly 30 minutes of the trip. As soon as the crowd began to
lighten, she first stood away from me until it was simply
breast contact again. At the next stop, she moved away, back to
the bench seat railing. The stop before mine she exited.

For the next week I watched and experienced the same dance
twice daily. My attire was always basically the same, pants,
shirt, and sport jacket, sometimes with tie, most often not.
This was work, after all. Her attire varied quite a bit, but
basically was always made up of pants or shorts, with a tight
top of some kind. Mornings, her perfume was heady, strong,
almost over-powering. Afternoons, it was more subtle and
profoundly alluring. but it was always the same scent. We did
not make eye contact, and did not speak.

Monday of the following week, I made a change to things. At the
second sardine stop, she was jostled from the side by another
passenger. I didn't think about it, I simply wrapped my arms
around her and held her as the train hit one of it's numerous
'sway' points. Her arm behind me had tightened at the jostling
the one at my crotch moving to my other hip for a stable hold
as my arms closed around her. She looked up and for the first
time our eyes met.

I did not squeeze, nor did I release her. I simply stood
looking into her eyes for a moment before once again looking
out the windows, my arms yet around her, almost protectively.
Her head returned to my chest and her hand to my crotch as the
ride continued. At the normal stop, as the press withdrew, so
did she.

The rest of the week was basically a repeat of the earlier
days, with the exception being that as she moved in tight to me
my arms went around her. Her hand behind me, instead of holding
the chrome pole, was flat to my back. No smiles, no words, no
extra gestures, simply a gentle cuddle twice daily. It made the
rides more enjoyable.

It was Wednesday morning two weeks later that another change
was made. When she arrived on the train, she was holding a
kerchief to her nose and as the doors closed she sneezed. She
was wearing looser clothing and no make up. Her eyes were
puffy, her nose was red slightly swollen. She looked miserable
indeed. I was actually looking forward to our cuddle, planning
a few extra squeezes to try and cheer her as we rode. But as
soon as she entered, she sat and I knew there would be no
cuddle that day.

Thursday and Friday she did not ride the train.

The following Monday, she was back with a vengeance. Dark
raspberry tube top, obviously braless, with a bright white
mini-skirt and white shoes. No hose or socks that I could
detect. She made direct eye contact and smiled as soon as she
entered the car. She was carrying a single piece of paper in
her hand, and as soon as she was in her normal position at the
bench rail, she dropped it. Looking momentarily beyond me and
around the car, she stepped beyond the paper, turned her back
to me and bent from the waist to retrieve it. The view thus
afforded took my breath away.

Her forward bend was done slowly, purposefully with legs
together and what appeared to be practiced motions. Her white
skirt rising slowly like a curtain, in a fine theater play.
Revealing first the tops of her thighs. Then the tips of fine
silky black hairs came into view. The full length and thickness
of her fur coat was revealed as her plump vaginal lips and the
edge of her buttocks came into view simultaneously. The display
continued to unveil itself before my startled eyes until fully
half the length of her vagina was revealed. Then she had her
paper and stepped back to the bench before turning to see my
reaction.

I had been happy that she was turned away from me during the
unveiling, as it allow me precious moment to recover from my
surprise. When she finally turned she met only a slightly
raised eyebrow, a small grin and what I hoped were smiling
eyes.

As the crowd increased, the dance began playing itself out
normally. She moving first to within steps of me. Her eyes
occasionally travelling to my face, which I was once again
holding impassive. Then to within breast touch, and finally
into our normal full contact. In the past she had always kept
her arm and body contact to the outside of my sports jacket as
we stood. Today, her arm went inside my jacket and encircled my
waist. My left arm travelled to it's normal place behind her
back, but she trapped my right arm and guided my hand to the
front of her short skirt before placing her left hand in it's
customary position over my groin.

The hand was not still today as she pulled herself tightly to
me, but hidden by the length of my jacket was rubbing slowly
and squeezing gently at my scrotum. Her hips, instead of
pulling tight against my leg, she held back slightly, allowing
me to use my fingers to raise the front of her skirt slightly
for access to the treasures beneath.

Once there, I found her legs together and some access denied to
me. I satisfied myself with rubbing small circles at the front
of her Labia, varying the pressure and direction from time to
time to vary the stimulation. Twice during that ride I was sure
I felt her breath catch. My hard-on rose, coming into a
painful, half-folded position beneath her hand. She adjusted
the position for me as it stiffened and it was quite
comfortable again.

For the thirty minutes of our sardine ride, we each continued
our ministrations. Twice I almost came, but managed to hold on
to my marginal control. It would not have been a comfortable
day had I begun it with sticky shorts and pants. As the press
lightened, before she began her normal dance away from me, she
hugged me tightly, quickly, then moved to breast length.
Looking down I saw the finest patina of sweat beaded on her
upper lip and across one temple. Her hand moved in a quick
motion to insure her skirt was straight.

Next move and I was buttoning my Jacket to hide the bulge in my
pants. When I looked her lips seemed to be forming the smallest
of smiles. Looking further down, her upper thighs seemed to
glisten slightly just below her skirt's hem. There were two
very obvious points in the front of her tube top. Two more
stops and she was gone to wherever she went each day and I had
pleasant thoughts till my departure at the next stop.

That afternoon, when she boarded the train she was dressed the
same, with the addition of a knee length knitted sweater vest
in a white that matched her skirt and shoes.

The dance progressed normally, and I must admit that I was
already hard when she reached me. She again cuddled tight,
inside my jacket, only this time she stood with her legs
parted. her rubbing hand went into her vest pocket and through.
Apparently she had removed or cut open the pocket just for
this, so her hand was fully hidden as she not only rubbed, but
squeezed gently jacked me as well, stopping every few minutes
so I wouldn't orgasm.

My hand was travelling the length and breadth of her labia and
vagina. rubbing and gently pinching all. Finding and flicking
or rubbing at her clitoris. Entering her with sometimes one
finger and sometimes two. Her lower lip seemed permanently
trapped between her teeth. I was finding it increasingly
difficult to maintain what I hoped was my normal impassive
expression as I looked out the windows and scanned the crowd
around us. No one seemed to notice.

Two stops before our parting dance, she spoke her first words
to me. "Do you speak Japanese?"

"Yes"

"Leave the train with me."

When she exited the train, I followed seemingly reading the
paper in my hand as I exited. She did not turn to see if I
followed, did not stop, look or acknowledge me in any way. I
continued to follow, remaining six to eight feet behind her as
I 'read' my paper.

Our walk took us into a narrow empty hallway, I guessed it was
for employees and maintenance. I dropped the pretense of the
paper when we entered it. A small movement of her hand and I
stopped as she tried a door to her left. Locked. The door to
her right was open however, and she looked first ahead, then
behind us before ushering me into the room ahead of her. I
heard a lock click behind me as the door closed.

We seemed to be in the employees locker room. There were
lockers lining two walls, a long table in the center of the
room, cupboards, refrigerator and counter against the wall to
the right and even a washing machine and dryer in one corner.
In the wall straight ahead, between lockers, were two toilets
with the doors standing open.

"That is what I need," she said as she stepped from behind me
and headed towards the toilets. Her vest and tube top were
already off and in her hands when she appeared. She placed them
on the table and paused to remove her skirt as she passed.
Nude, except for her shoes, she stepped into the toilet and
squatted without closing the door.

A word here about Japanese toilets. Many public toilets were
not the stools common to either Europe or the US. They were
simply an elongated bowl set into the floor, with a step on
flushing button beside and behind them. Men stood to pee and
everyone squatted straddling them for all other business.

As she relieved herself, I stripped off my clothes and laid
them on the table beside hers.

When she returned we kissed our first kiss, long and hot and
passionate as our hands explored each others bodies. We
followed our hands with our lips, tongues and teeth. We fucked
hot and hard on that long table. I have no idea how many
orgasms she had, but I had three. Each time I came she quickly
had me going again. Except for a few soft grunts and groans,
some heavy breathing and a soft curse as she dug furrows into
my back with her nails. Everything was done in silence.

When we were done, dressed and once again in the deserted
hallway she turned to face me. "Next week I marry. I will be
moving away and not be home again for many years. I could not
go without trying what I have dreamed of since first I saw you.
Without saying this goodbye to you." A quick gentle kiss on the
cheek and she was gone. Walking away from me and into the
crowds of the main room.

It was a day of firsts in more ways than one for me. It was the
first time I'd been 'picked up' in such a manner and without
the woman making it seem to have been all my idea. It was the
first time a woman had managed to take all of me into her mouth
and throat. It was the first time I'd ever orgasmed during oral
sex. It was the first time a woman ever buried her tongue in my
asshole (it took that to stand it for the third round - she was
taking that much out of me). It was the first time a beautiful
woman said she was dreaming and fantasizing about me.

Thursday and Friday she was again dressed in slacks and more
concealing blouses. We danced our dance, but simply held each
other as we rode. On the ride home Friday afternoon, she cried
into my chest the whole trip.

Monday, she did not board the train.

End

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