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From: Bob Dangles <bob_dangles@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Strangers in Motion {Bob Dangles} (MF flash)
Date: Fri, 17 Oct 2003 20:10:08 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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This is my first story to be posted to ASS*.  Whether you enjoy it or 
not, please give me feedback!  You can email me at 
bNoOb_dSaPnAgMles@yahoo.com (after first removing NO SPAM from the 
address).

**********
Copyright 2003 Bob Dangles <bNoOb_dSaPnAgMles@yahoo.com> (remove the 
letters NO SPAM to email me). All rights reserved. Any use other than 
personal archiving requires the permission of the author. Do not 
repost.  This story contains adult material. The author takes no 
responsibility if reading this is illegal where you reside.
**********

Strangers in Motion

By Bob Dangles

He normally loved the Metro, especially Line 1. It had amazed him the 
first time he had stood in its center, and seen it stretch out hundreds 
of feet on either side of him, a solid tube of writhing metal. Usually, 
he loved to lean against one of the support poles, feeling the shifting 
of the train as it slithered along the track. It was relaxing, almost 
hypnotic, and helped him unwind from work. Today, however, he was 
unfortunate enough to have to be riding it during rush hour. It hadn't 
been too bad when he'd climbed on, but it seemed that every stop made 
everyone huddle that much closer. He found himself staring out the 
window, his shoulders hunched, trying to pretend his personal space 
wasn't being violated.

The man was still looking out the window as the doors opened at 
Bastille. As the customary load of tourists squeezed in, a firm but 
gentle pressure on the front of his left hip made him glance down. He 
was pleasantly surprised to discover the pressure was caused by the 
right hip of a petite brunette in her early to mid thirties. The hip 
was soft, yet firm, and yielded against him in the gentle rocking of 
the train. He reveled in the simple touch, the warmth of flesh pressed 
against flesh. It wasn't arousing, just sensual, comforting. The simple 
touch reminded him how long since he had held a woman in his arms. It 
had been far too long, not since he had moved to Paris, 6 months 
earlier.

His reverie was broken by the train easing to a halt once again. People 
crammed themselves into the already crowded car, their hurry making 
them ignore the discomfort of others. Trying to make more room, he 
released the support pole and pushed himself against the back wall of 
the car, reluctantly breaking contact with the brunette. But as the 
door closed, three more bodies forced themselves into the train, and he 
was suddenly aware that the whole of the brunette's deliciously curved 
back was pressed against him. Lust suddenly coursed through him as he 
realized his manhood was firmly sandwiched between the two firm globes 
of her ass. Aware of the same thing, her body suddenly stiffened, and 
an angry flush rose to her cheeks.

Though torn between his lust and her discomfort, his internal battle 
was short. He slowly arched his back, pulling his pelvis back and down, 
and was rewarded with a relieved sigh. She relaxed visibly, her back 
and shoulders pressing more deeply into his broad chest. His fiery lust 
abated, to once again be replaced by warm, sensual pleasure. With each 
rise and fall of his chest, she relaxed more against him, her breathing 
slowly matching his. The train sped along its track, stopping from time 
to time, but he was oblivious. His world consisted of this lovely woman 
pressed against his chest, moving as if she was an extension of him. He 
leaned down slightly, and breathed in her scent, the smell of lavender 
blending with the slight scent of perspiration.

The train curved sharply, flattening him against the wall, and her rear 
was again pressed against him. The earlier lust blended with the 
sensuous warmth, and he felt his cock start to grow. For a few moments, 
the man allowed himself to luxuriate in the sensation of his growing 
erection gently rocking between her pliant flesh. But, afraid of her 
reaction, he once again pulled back. This time, however, her back 
arched as well, maintaining the delicious contact. Taking the cue, he 
pushed himself back against her; In response, he felt her firm ass 
slowly slide up and down on his rapidly inflating cock. Emboldened, he 
reached his hand up and gently stroked her side with the back of his 
hand. A shudder ran through her at this affirmation of their illicit 
pleasure. She glanced nervously around, even as she ground herself 
harder against his turgid member.

Fully aroused now, his erection was almost painfully sensitive. Even 
through the rough prison of his jeans, he could feel the layers of 
cloth and flesh surrounding his member. The stretchy softness of her 
sundress... The cool slickness of satin panties... and beneath the panties, 
the man could feel her beautiful bottom, the muscles pulsing, clenching 
around him. Matching the rhythm of the train he ground himself back at 
her, using his fingertips to trace subtle patterns around her 
hip. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to 
fall into the sensations.

Images, sounds, and sensations flashed through him. Her overpowering 
scent as he peeled her sodden panties down her legs... The long moan of 
delight as he kissed his way up her spine... Her thighs clamped against 
his ears as she screamed in climax after climax... Her incredible heat as 
he was slowly enveloped by her grasping core. But she suddenly pulled 
herself away, shattering his fantasies.

His eyes snapped open as his consciousness was dragged, kicking and 
screaming, into the present. The brunette was standing about a foot 
away from him, and the car was only sparsely populated. She was 
breathing shallowly, her body flushed. Her face was a mask of hunger, 
but there was something more, something he couldn't place. When she 
tilted her head up at him, he finally saw her eyes. They were 
beautiful, but tinged with sadness, regret. The train slowed to a halt, 
the doors opened. Her hand touched his face, and her lips parted.

"Je suis vraiment désolée... je ne peux pas"

He understood even before his mind translated the words. Her touch 
wasn't just the touch of a lover. It was the touch of a wife; her ring 
slid along his stubble. It was the touch of a mother; the gentle yet 
firm grasp of someone who has held a life to her breast and watched it 
grow. Wordlessly, he watched her walk away as the doors slid shut.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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