She was on the train, tired after a long day at the office. She stood near the back of the car, holding onto the metal pole for balance. Night streamed by outside as the train rattled and shook down the tracks. She looked pale and worried in her reflection in the window of the car. The train rumbled into a tunnel, night replaced by darkness and sulfur-yellow lights.
Her straight, dark hair hung to her shoulders. She wore a suit. It fit her well. Her shoulders slumped a bit from the day. She would be glad to get home and curl up on the couch. She was so tired.
There was only one person in the back of the car with her, also standing. There were plenty of spots to sit, but he wasn’t sitting. He probably wanted to keep on his feet, like she did. The idea of getting up again after sitting was just too tiring.
The train rumbled out of the tunnel. Apartment buildings flashed by in the night. Then the car rocked as it entered another tunnel, tossing her from side to side. She had to hang on to the pole to keep from losing her balance. She stumbled backwards on her high heels just enough. He caught her, stabilized her. She got a whiff of cologne. He smelled nice as he always did.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, not looking at him. She righted herself. Then she felt his big hand on the small of her back. It rested lightly, testing her. She knew it didn’t belong on her. But she liked the feel of his touch. She didn’t move, didn’t protest, just waited.
He slid his hand lower, gradually lower, until it was sliding over her slacks, cupping her ass cheek. She sighed, the caress sending little tingles up her spine. She knew it was wrong for her to be touched like this, but it felt right. She leaned back into him a little, just letting him know that she appreciated his touch. She wondered what he would do next.
His big fingers caressed her butt crack through her pants. She found it crazy sexy to be felt up like this on a train. No one else was looking, they were all toward the front of the train, as he pressed his fingers between her butt cheeks through the fabric. She pushed back. She liked this. She felt herself getting wet.
She knew he would go for skin next and he didn’t disappoint. He found the small of her back and lifted her blouse to trace the tattoo. She shivered as he touched her. His fingers were calloused. They felt a little rough on her soft skin, but it made him seem more real.
He slid a hand down the back of her pants. It was a tight fit. She unhooked the front to give him a little more room.
His fingers found the hem of her underwear and dipped inside. Those big, rough fingers traced the line of her ass. She gasped as his fingers went almost as far as her wet pussy, then back again. She heard him sigh as he touched the soft flesh of her ass. She pushed her butt out so he could find access to her easier.
Still no one in the train was looking. All they would have seen was her standing with a guy close behind her. Not a sign on the train.
He traced the length of her ass crack again, his fingertip flirting with her wetness. Then she felt his middle finger probing between her cheeks. Oh, god, she thought. He wants my asshole. And that thought turned her on so much that she could feel herself flushing with the heat of it.
Sure enough, his big fingertip pressed right against her little asshole. She wanted to press onto it, wanted the squeeze as it pushed into her. But she squirmed her hips away, suddenly nerves mixing with excitement. The hand caressed her ass cheeks again, the slowly slid back to her asshole. She felt tension and thrill welling up inside, a dirty excitement like she’d almost never felt. She wanted to bend over, to make it easier for the finger. It pressed on her asshole. It felt rough, and she loved that feeling. She found herself panting, opening. The finger rubbed her puckered hole, just rubbed it.
God, she wanted to bend right over and let the hand fuck her ass. To feel the fingers inside of her. But there she stood, in the back of the train in her business suit with a strange man touching her asshole. The dull light washed everything out. The other passengers toward the front of the train looked like zombies, tuned out, uninterested. There was no romance. Just the unexpected thrill of forbidden contact.
The train started to slow to a rumbling stop. As the breaks started to squeal and the momentum made her lean forward, she felt the press of his finger, a pinch, a stretch as he entered her. She leaned forward with the train, her gentle brown eyes wide, her mouth open in a soundless gasp as he pushed his finger into her ass. She loved to feel him inside of her, forbidden and yet completely what she desired. He stroked her insides like a pet with that finger. As the train halted, the lights flickered. She felt the finger slip out of her ass, the hand out of the back of her pants. She felt suddenly alone.
The guy walked by her, the doors opening. She looked at her pointy shoes, watching his shiny black dress shoes walk past. She never looked at him in the train, she never wanted to see his face. She knew that he wore suits, but had no idea his age or name or any of his interests.
All she cared about was that he was interested in touching her asshole. It was the simplest relationship that she ever had. It now was her secret fantasy, stoking her desires for everything else. She would go home, take a shower, fix some dinner, then get naked and spend the rest of her night in bed thinking about having a finger in her ass on the train. Meanwhile, her own finger would find her pleasure over and over and over again.
It didn’t feel lonely.
She knew he was out there. They never needed to talk or meet, yet she knew that he would always be there. Waiting for her in the back of the train. Wanting her the same way that she wanted him.
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