The man fell into a deep funk after his last encounter with the dark-haired woman. She found him, touched him and made him feel more alive, more wanted, more manly than he felt in years. Their session lasted a few minutes, but the hangover lasted weeks.
Every night before going to bed he masturbated furiously. The image of her hand on his cock finished him in seconds. He replayed the scene repeatedly, complete with the smell of the subway station, noise of the platform, the warmth of her hands, the feel of her nails rubbing his balls.
The memory was so strong that he got hard every time his train passed the Chambers St platform. He watched the alcove in the wall as the train pulled away from the station and groaned to himself. While the memory was thrilling, the emptiness that followed hurt.
The same pattern repeated itself every morning. He'd become impatient on the ferry and speed walk up Wall St to the subway. On the train he'd frantically search every face. Later, he'd start thinking about the ride home and passing the Chambers St stop.
The man knew his feelings were ridiculous. The randomness of the encounters, the lack of information about the girl... it was all so strange. During calmer moments, he tried to analyze his reaction. Was it her, a younger, sexually charged woman with dark eyes and husky voice? Or the thrill of sex in public, the exhibitionism? No, it was the lack of control. She determined if they would meet. She told him what to do. She left when done. She was in charge and it was delicious.
November bled into December. His company hosted their usual Christmas party on the second Monday of December. The man, already drained by the holiday season, thought about skipping the party. The day of the party he changed his mind.. He intended to stay for two quick glasses of wine, but caught up with one of the attractive women from the trading floor. Two drinks turned into 5 with generous helpings of greasy appetizers and sugary cookies.
At 9:30 the attractive coworker excused herself and disappeared into the street. Tipsy, the man headed for the closest subway stop on 42nd Street. He waited on an empty platform, gently swaying as the last glass of wine made its way into his bloodstream. Announcements of slowdowns for track maintenance hung on the steel support beams.
After a brief wait, the 2 train pulled into the station. The man stepped onto the nearly empty subway car. He usually stood, but the car was empty and his stomach felt unsettled. He grabbed a seat next to the middle door and closed his eyes, mentally running through all the wine and snacks he had at the party. If only he skipped dessert, he wouldn’t feel so bad.
Someone kicked his shoe. Opening his eyes, the man saw the black-haired woman standing in front of him. She looked different. Her black hair was cut in a bob, making her face seem rounder, fuller. Her lashes seemed longer. Even her lips looked fuller. She wore an oversized red plaid shirt with a tight white V-neck tee underneath, grey leggings and bulky white sneakers. She looked like an off-duty version of her usual self.
She looked at him intently and winked. She held out her phone,
~Follow me <3 ~
She turned and walked to the back of the car as the train pulled into the 14th St station. The man stood quickly, forgetting about his gluttonous evening and hustled after her. As the door opened, she stepped onto the platform and into the trailing car. The man followed closely behind.
She unbuttoned her plaid shirt as she made her way down the length of the empty car. The woman reached the far end of the car, took off her bulky plaid shirt, and sat down. The man slowed as he approached her on the bench.
She pointed at the seat across from her. The man sat down lightly, quickly glanced around at the nearly empty car then stared back at the woman.
Placing her plaid shirt over her right shoulder, the woman put her middle and index finger slowly in her mouth. She slowly removed her wet fingers and slid them down her torso to her pant line. Looking down at floor of the subway car, the woman slipped her fingers under her leggings. From there she began slowly moving her hand in a tight circle. The man looked at her, wordlessly.
The woman began to breathe heavier. The circular motion of her hand became tighter and quicker. The man grabbed his crotch. Unsurprisingly, he was at attention. He began to squeeze himself over his pants.
The woman gasped loudly, then shifted the angle of her hand. She looked up from the floor to lock eyes with the man and began to pump her hand with short downward thrusts.
An urgent, burning sensation flooded the man’s testicles. Realizing that he had started vigorously rubbing himself, the man put his hands at his sides and continued to watch the woman. She stared at him intently, her dark pupils like burning coals. She raised her other hand to clench her breast over her shirt as the plaid shirt fell off her shoulder.
The man stood and stepped toward the woman. She froze and scowled at him. “Sit,” was all she said, in her low husky voice. The man sat back down. The woman resumed her work, locking eyes again with the man. He leaned back on the bench, crossed his legs and alternated his gaze from her eyes to the action in her pants. Again she gasped, rolled her eyes and then slowed the pace of her pumping.
Removing her hand from her pants, she grabbed her plaid shirt and pulled her phone out of the breast pocket. She began to type, then looked at the man and giggled. She slid over and tapped the seat next to her. The man pointed at the seat next to her and she nodded. He quickly got up, sat down heavily next to her, and said, “Hi.”
The train stopped and “This Stop: Wall St” came over the PA system. The man noted this was his stop then quickly pushed that thought out of his mind. He only wanted to focus on one thing. The door closed with no passengers entering the car.
She giggled again and leaned into him, nestling her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his left arm around her, surprised at how tiny her frame is. In his fantasies and memories of her she always seemed bigger, more forceful.
She placed her hand on his dick and gave his shaft a squeeze. “Yes,” said the man. “Yes indeed,” said the dark-haired woman. She swung her left leg over and straddled his left leg. Her lips were next to his ear. He began to ask what they would do, but she whispered, "Shhhh” in his ear. Her left hand began squeeze his cock as her right hand slid her leggings down, exposing her ass. The man glanced down at it. It was narrow but shapely, like an olive-colored heart. He grabbed her ass with both hands and squeezed as hard as he could. She yelped and writhed on his leg. Her hand stopped squeezing and began unzipping his pants. Zipper down, she pulled his briefs down and grabbed his manhood. The man groaned again and breathed deeply, trying to control himself and his embarrassing desire to cum right away.
The woman gave his cock a good squeeze. She ran her hand down his shaft and grabbed his swollen testicles. She got both of his balls out through the zipper.
While she was manipulating him, the man’s face was buried in the crook of her neck. Feverishly, he began firmly kissing and lightly biting her exposed flesh. He felt her skin tighten and warm under his lips. His left hand planted firmly on her bare ass, grabbing the fleshy lower half. His right hand awkwardly groped around for her pussy. Her straddling made this difficult.
She began to stroke his fully exposed cock. Her hands felt hot and soft. Pulling her head back to look at the man, she whispered, “I’m going to fuck you right here.” Her face in front of his, he craned his neck forward to kiss her, but she turned away, leaving just her neck. The woman took her hands and slid the front of her leggings down.
Just as she exposed her neatly trimmed pussy, she froze. The train had stopped and was in a brightly lit station. “Clark Street,” announced over the PA, and the doors opened. A large mixed group of twenty somethings shuffled into the car. The man covered his exposed self quickly with his hand, then pulled the front of his coat over his crotch and leaned forward. Looking up, he saw the woman walking swiftly away from the train, adjusting her leggings and holding her phone. The man tried to follow. Leaning back to push off the bench, he felt his engorged member flop to the side, outside of his coat. He stopped and leaned forward again, quickly tucking himself under his coat. The door closed, and the train began to pull away.
He stared at the floor and tried to casually place himself back in his pants. His balls caught on his zipper. The man looked up to see if anyone was watching. Most passengers were speaking loudly, facing each other. A petite woman directly across from the car stared at him, unblinking. The man lowered his gaze and froze.
The group exited 2 stops later, leaving the man alone in his part of the car. He put himself back together and stood to look read the subway map. Standing, he noticed the dark-haired woman's plaid shirt on the subway bench. Grabbing it, he felt something in the breast pocket. The man pulled out a phone case, sans phone. On the back were a few cards. An MTA card, a white plastic card with a barcode, and a small cardboard card with fields for name, address, phone number. Most of the fields were blank, except for the phone number. The man had her phone number.