Strangers on a Train

Jayne Renault
9 mins read
Published almost 4 years ago

It was with some reluctance that she made her way down the steps to the subway that night. The mere idea of the long commute home was always excruciating so late at night, but especially so at the end of what turned out to have been a very long week. All she could think of was tearing off her clothes, wrapping up in her sheets, and cozying up with her laptop…

Spinster living at its finestshe thought to herself.

Standing on the platform, she fumbled with the rat’s nest of headphone cords she had pulled from her coat pocket as she waited for the train to arrive. All was quiet, save for that subtle moan that creeps up from the belly of the subway tunnel before a train arrives.

When the train finally made its approach, she didn’t hear anything through the haphazard melody playing directly into her eardrums. Headphones are the most important piece of the modern-day commuter’s uniform, after all. No self-respecting person would dare endure public transport without being able to properly block out the people around them.

The doors opened, and invited her on board. She stepped into an empty car, and she was left to imagine the hissing sound they must have made closing behind her.

Despite the overwhelming selection in the empty car, she sat down in the seat right next to the door. She had a clear view of the next car in front of her, and as she peered through the window, she imagined stories for the few people occupying the space.

A tired young woman with frazzled hair and exhausted features looked as though she was about to cry as she fought through a yawn. She was almost definitely contemplating the execution of a murder-suicide deal with her two obnoxious kids spinning around the metal pole in front of her.

An older gentleman frowned through the white scruff salt-and-peppering his cheeks as he peered down his pointed nose, pretending to read the newspaper in his hands. As he adjusted his furry hat, he may have wondered how his ex-wife was doing and why his daughter never calls anymore.

A dark-haired man in a black dress coat was playing intently with the phone between his legs. The messages on the screen painted a perpetual smirk on his clean-shaven face. Dressed like that, he was probably on his way to snazzy date with a pretty, albeit vapid girl.

The sexy subway lady’s voice sang out a series of names and directives as the train approached each station. One by one, the passengers in the other car stood obediently to the sound of her siren song and disembarked from the train.

Her eyes wandered out to the platform and watched them trudge grudgingly towards the inevitable winter cold awaiting them at the surface. The doors whooshed shut, and they disappeared forever.

Looking back, she noticed the dark-haired man was still at his perch directly opposite her. He too was staring out at the passing darkness, absent-mindedly twirling his phone around with one hand between his legs. She discreetly traced the edge of his jawline with her eyes. He must have felt her gaze for as she reached his temples, he turned back to face in her direction. His intense, dark eyes found hers for a moment before she was able to look elsewhere, pretending to have been in the process of scanning her entire field of view.

She felt herself blush all the same for being spotted. He ran his free hand through his hair, and tugged at his scarf while looking down at his phone that did not require any actual attention. Though his head was down, she didn’t doubt that he was grinning.

As the next station materialized from beyond the obscurity of the tunnel, he stood up. She felt an odd sense of disappointment realizing that this would be the end of the line for their non-encounter.

Somewhat despondently, she looked down at her phone, scrolling through the infinite playlist of songs she had heard too many times before. She assumed that the doors had closed because she felt the lurch of the train’s inertia shift beneath her once more. When she looked up, she realized that he was now standing in front of her.

There was a soft determination growing behind his eyes. Why isn’t he saying anything, she wondered. Why don’t I say something?

Inexplicably speechless, she cautiously tugged the headphones from her ears. It was always stifling underground, but there was an unfamiliar heat beginning to burn from somewhere deep inside her.

He advanced towards her until the space separating them was minimal. He removed his glove and caressed her cheek. The tips of his fingers were cool, but a certain warmth swelled from his palm as it connected with her skin. She felt herself yield to his advance, and brought her own hand up to meet his and affirm her consent.

Reaching up towards his neck, she traced her hand along the length of his grey scarf. A sudden wave of conviction had washed over her as she tightened her grip around it and pulled herself upright to meet him.

She breathed in an aroma reminiscent of Italian Renaissance art and timelessly questionable decisions, and lingered in that moment before slowly moving her lips towards his. There comes a point where the physical magnetism tends to take over, allowing the poles to snap together as nature intended. This was one of those moments. She felt his smirk of satisfaction give way to the cool tingle of an anticipation mint.

With her left hand still anchored on his scarf, the other wrapped around the back of his head. She was so high in that moment that the thought of letting go gave her a sensation of vertigo. His arms reassured her safety as he wrapped them around her waist.

He ran his fingers under her hat and through her hair. As she resigned her head to his embrace, he gave the base of her skull a gentle, yet deliberate squeeze.

Her right hand moved from cradling his head to the back of his neck along the curvature of his strong spine. She sneaked her hand under his coat, and after a moment of deliberate hesitation, firmly grasped the flesh of his butt through his dark jeans. For a better grip, her left hand freed the scarf and swept up to clasp his strong jawline.

Though it may have simply been the shift of the train at the next station, she felt his whole body nod in agreement to the route her hands were taking.

As if she needed a moment to breathe, she pulled away and took a step back. She was, however, far from finished with him and encouraged him to follow her lead. Leaning her back against the wall behind them, he leaned his body into hers. Braced by his frame and anchored by the wall, she could simultaneously feel the surge of his arousal in front of her, and the vibrations of the train plugging along on the tracks pressing into her back.

He did a sweep of her face and neck again with his hand before sliding it down the front of her coat. His breath deepened with the pop of every button. Her coat opened to invite his free hand to slip behind her neck, and down over her chest to cup the underside of her breast. He then slipped into the curve of her waist and eventually down to her hip, which he gripped with the intensity of a mountain climber.

He slipped his cool fingertips under the edge of her cardigan and grazed the skin on her lower back. Her sharp inhalation of a gasp betrayed her approval. He pulled her back in towards him, and their hips rolled and flowed into each other like two waves meeting at sea.

His hand then moved unflinchingly down between them until it found the space between her legs, where he traced the seam of her leggings up towards her inner thigh. Once he reached the crook of her groin, he passed his hand gently over the periphery of her labia. The warmth from his palm encouraged a localized tingling sensation at the tip of her clitoris.

She sighed into his parted mouth as he palmed her entire vulva as one would a ripe mango; firmly enough so as not to drop it, but with a gentleness that would never dare to bruise or break the skin.

He nuzzled into the crook of her neck, and she felt the energy building in her clit surge along her lips towards her perineum and back again.

Her eyes closed, and her head rolled back to push against the wall behind her as he slid his hand up to find her waistband and back down again under her panties. He allowed his touch to linger with appreciation on her triangular patch of hair for a moment before moving gingerly towards the final destination.

Before putting his finger on anything in particular, he did a general sweep of the area. Like a blind man taking in a work of art, he used his hands to see the blood flowing towards the tips of his fingers, her labia swelling and her clit throbbing in response to the light pressure. He softly separated her labia with his index finger to release a swell of wetness that had been growing since the moment he put his hand on her, which was met by a quiet scoff of excitement. He pressed his nose a little deeper into her exposed neck and breathed in her racing pulse.

He dipped his fingers into the puddle, and backtracked slightly to acknowledge the pleasure button pleading for attention. He moved back and forth over the hood a few times, until his fingers danced like a ballerina swirling circles around the area. She felt herself swell and harden beneath his fingerprints.

Again, the train heaved to a halt. Still, no one interrupted their public display of gratification.

Mirroring the sigh of the doors sliding shut, she let out a subtle moan and felt her hips gyrate encouragement to his rhythm. Echoing the beginning of the encounter, she reached her hand down to meet his in order to guide him to her sweet spot.

“Why don’t you take a seat,” he said. His voice was laced with an accent she couldn’t quite distinguish.

She reversed slowly, trusting that the bench would catch her. He kneeled down in front of her, and placed his strong hands on her waist once more. In one fluid movement, she lifted herself as he coaxed her leggings along with her underwear down towards her ankles.

She lifted her feet up to the invisible stirrups on either side of her hips, spread her knees wide to reveal herself to him, and brought her middle finger down between her legs to take over the that job he had started.

He took a moment to admire her technique before acknowledging the invitation being extended by her coy smile. She clasped her hand behind his head and guided his mouth towards her finger. He kissed the crease of her groin, tracing her hairline up and down on both sides. Lingering for a moment, he breathed his anticipation towards the centre of her loins. She brought her other hand up to grab gently at his hair as the flat of his tongue embraced her clitoris.

His tongue massaged her clit in a consistent circular motion while he simultaneously began to tease the outer edges her vagina with the pad of his thumb.

Another stop comes and goes.

She couldn’t see anything through her makeshift blindfold; her eyelids were bound shut in ecstasy. She immersed herself completely in the moment, forgetting that the source of her pleasure was in fact coming from another person.

He maintained a steadfast stream of tongue circles and thumb massages, only to be interrupted by occasionally delving deeper into her vaginal canal with a curious index finger. He then traced back up the internal wall only to return to the pulsing shallow end.

There was a sudden shift in how the intensity was manifesting inside her. That mysterious understanding that distinguishes appreciation of pleasure and anticipation of something more.

It was subtle at first, as it always is. The heat trickling out from between her legs began to surpass that which was being produced by his mouth. She felt a spasm in her hip muscles and pressed into it. Her butt cheeks pressed closer towards each other and the edges of her vaginal opening wrapped tightly around the tip of his thumb. As this tension continued to grow, an imaginary wind passed over her shoulders and caused a shiver to swell, which moved leisurely down to the small of her back.

She fought the urge to tuck her tailbone under and pushed further into her hips, pressing deeper into his face. He didn’t falter, using his free hand to support her sacrum while she shuffled into the perfect position.

Her abdomen went taut, and her chin tucked towards her chest as her throat tightened up as if to prevent the rise from escaping through her mouth. Her knuckles went white on the edge of the bench.

Her breath grew deep and concentrated. Though every muscle fiber in her body was firing, she was paralyzed. After a moment of silence, the force of release washed over her and her hips began to collapse into his hand. She released her grip on the bench and grabbed on to either side of his head.

“Slow down just a little,” she gasped. He followed her direction and allowed her to relish in the hot-cold gush of liquid energy racing down the length of her spine and out the tips of her toes. She gulped in her inhales like she hadn’t breathed in years, and sputtered each exhale out through chattering teeth as she met the build and subsequent release of every mini pulsation that followed. Despite the gradual decrease in intensity, each clench of the muscular wall took a little longer to let go, as if clinging to a distant memory that was already gone.

He took a moment to admire her in her post-orgasmic bliss when the sexy lady voice interrupted with the announcement of the next station. He looked up as if responding to the call of a war trumpet. When he looked back at her, still no words needed to be exchanged. She understood that this next stop was his.

She finally felt her body go limp. The delusion of fantasy slipped away more abruptly than she would have liked and she suddenly became frighteningly aware that her pants were down in a public place.

As she pulled her leggings back into place, the train pulled up to its block. Because she remained mildly petrified by pleasure, he simply caressed her cheek once more.

“Have a good night,” he said over his shoulder at her as he debarked onto the platform.

He didn’t look back as the doors closed. She watched him pull out his phone and mount the stairs as she was swallowed up by the darkness. She let the empty train car rock her back and forth as it carried her further along on its snaking path, like shaking everything on an Etch-A-Sketch screen into oblivion.

With one hand on her forehead in disbelief and a dumbfounded smile on her face, she listened as the sexy lady voice declared the name of a station she did not recognize.

“Please take note that this is the terminal station,” said the lady. “All passengers must now get off.”

More by Queen Jayne:

The Birthday Bash
Chicago Rare
Comings and Goings
Compliance Risk
Condemned Desire
Conservation Area

Devotee
Diamonds and Pearls
The Edge of Glory
Expressions of Grief
For Dommestic Use Only
Hey, Babe.
Just Dessert

Lucky Shot
Marked
Summer Heat
Strangers on a Train
Up Top

QJ
Written by
Queen Jayne Renault

comma chameleon. word witch. smut queen.