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Rush Hour (MF, public)
(c) Copyright May 1998 by Robert Mitchell
(apstarre@pipline.com)

***

This story's copyrighted, so don't change it or sell it without my
permission.  Permission is granted for this document to be reproduced 
and distributed as long as it remains intact, including all copyright
notices and email address.

***

Riding home from work in the New York subway was something I did
every day, but this time it was different.

It was rush hour, and it was crowded in that car. Always is, and usually
I hate it.  Squeezed into a corner of the train, clinging desperately to 
the handrail above me as I'm surrounded by men and women coming
home from work or shopping or whatever it is they did that dragged
them out into the misery we shared. I feel arms and knees and elbows
and backs all around me, crushing me alive.  People reading newspapers
or magazines or looking out the windows or talking to each other, trying
to forget how uncomfortable they all are.  Every bump and lurch of
the subway car causes us to sway, and I'm forced to sway with them.
It's all I can do to hang onto the rail, yet I feel like if I let go, 
I'll still remaining standing, held up by the flood of people surrounding 
me.

It was in this state that I was in the train pulled into the Cortelyou
Station. At this stop, as at every stop, I was hoping silently that some
of the people would get off and ease up on the pressure. I watched some
of them filing off with relief, but not enough of them left. And more 
began to file in. Then more. I grit my teeth as they forced themselves 
into the already crowded train, being compacted slowly. Finally, the 
doors closed and we began moving again, even more crowded than before.

It was only when we had been going for a while that I noticed the
woman in front of me. She was very attractive as she looked down at
a newspaper she was reading. Her long red hair fell down over the
shoulders of a green blouse, and I glanced down to see her curvy
body was being hugged by a light black skirt.  She was facing away
from me, and I realised with a jolt that the crowds had positioned us
so that my crotch was pressing up against her rear.

I tried to look away and not think of the awkwardness of the situation.
She didn't seem to have noticed. Yet, as the train swayed on the tracks,
I found myself being pushed up against her, again and again. I could
feel the curves of her asscheeks through her skirt against my body, and
with every bump I was pressed up against them.  It didn't take much
imagination to feel as if I was thrusting into her, over and over again,
guided by the movements of the train. The only thing preventing it
from being a reality were the thin layers of our clothes. 

It was so easy to imagine those clothes being gone. I couldn't help
thinking about it. In fact, it wasn't an unappealing thought. I glanced
down at her, then tried to focus on a cigarette ad on the wall as I
was bounced into her again and again. She shifted a little, and her
butt rubbed against my crotch.

It was too much for me. I felt a chill of horror as I felt my body begin
to respond. I swelled in my jeans, and the sensations increased as
I moved against her, causing me to swell even more. Within seconds,
I was hard as a rock.

Sweat broke out on my face as I realised she was going to notice.
She would feel my hardness against her, and realize she was pushing
up against a pervert. She'd be disgusted and react with horror and
scream or pull away, which would be just as bad because I was
enjoying it despite myself. I bit my lip, trying to will my body to
respond, and waiting for her to react.

Yet nothing happened. She continued to read the newspaper as I
bounced against her rear, as if nothing was happening. She had to
have noticed. Maybe she hadn't, was all I could think of. Maybe
she would think it was just an elbow or something and I'd get away.
I felt a little relief, but decided not to push it. I had to end this
before it got out of hand.

I shifted myself around a little to turn my crotch away from her ass.
Then I felt a shock as a hand touched my hip. It tucked a finger
into the pocket of my jeans and pulled it until it had turned me around
again, so that my crotch was buried in her cheeks again.

The woman in front of me glanced up from her newspaper. Her blue
eyes locked on mine, and I felt the full impact of what was
happening in that brief moment before she looked down at the paper
again. It was her hand that had pulled me back. It was she who had
pushed me back into her. The message was clear. She didn't
want me to stop.

Daring not to breathe, I began to sway with the train a little more.
I tried to make it look like as if it was just the movements of the car,
but moved with it to push myself against her. My hips bounced
lightly against her rear, deeper against her. I felt pressure with
every thrust. She was pushing back. Among these crowds of people,
we were silently fucking.

I leaned my head back as I pushed harder against her. Pleasure flowed
through me as I felt her soft body against mine. Looking down at her,
I could see her cheeks were growing pinker and she was gripping
the newspaper tighter. I glanced around us. No one seemed to notice
or cared. It was just the two of us.

I let go of the rail with one hand, and slid it down casually. I let the
hand drift between us to cup one cheek of her ass. I squeezed it
lightly, and I heard her inhale sharply as she pressed against it harder.

When I felt her hand again, it wasn't as surprising as the last time.
Her fingers slid to my zipper and pulled it down. Then her hand
slid into my jeans and pulled my swollen shaft free of my briefs. Freed,
it sprang out and pushed against her ass. I used my hand to lift her
skirt. It was only then that I discovered she wasn't wearing panties,
because my cock buried itself inside her bare ass.

She clenched her cheeks together, gripping my shaft tightly as I
thrust back and forth against her. I clutched the handrail tighter
and heard her newspaper rustle as she tightened her grip on it as
well. She was breathing heavily as I began to push harder and
faster into her, rubbing her crack with my hardness.

Then she bit her lip and gave off a soft squeak. I felt her cheeks
clenching in rhythm as she came, and the sensation sent me over the
edge. I couldn't hold back a grunt as I climaxed with her. I felt my
juices ooze down the soft valley of her body. We were pressed together,
shuddering, surrounded by people, but not caring.

The train gave off a whine as it pulled into the next station. I
flushed with panic as I hurried to tuck myself into my clothes
again and zip up the fly. Her hand swept her skirt into place. We
arranged ourselves just in time as the train came to a stop and the
doors opened.

People began to file out. The woman turned away from me and I
heard the rustle of paper. Then she tore off the edge of her newspaper.
She slipped it into my hand as she looked up at me once more. Her
expression was calm and neutral, but I saw a flicker of amusement
in her eyes for a brief moment. Then she walked out with the others.
I caught a glimpse of lines of wetness running down her thighs as
she walked away.

I looked down at the paper she had given me. It had a hastily-
scribbled message on it that read: "Let's try Again Where It's
Not So Crowded." And there was a phone number.

I guess rush hour isn't so bad, after all.

THE END

