Happy Tuesday, everyone!
Here we have the conclusion to last week’s erotic subway flash fiction story. If you haven’t read part 1, or, if you’d like to reacquaint yourself with the story and characters, click here.
Otherwise, enjoy!
♥
Leila’s handsome new friend trailed feather-light strokes along her outer thighs and up into the hem of her dress. She swallowed. Her cheeks burned and she prayed that no one would notice the sweat beading at her hairline and on her upper lip.
He caressed her, kneading her with his fingers. Leila closed her eyes, savoring the illicit contact and wishing that they were alone instead of crammed like sardines into a train car with a bunch of strangers.
Then again, he was technically a stranger. She buried the thought.
The man teased the backs of her thighs with his knuckles before sliding his thumbs to the interior of her legs. She inhaled sharply; her eyes snapping open. He skimmed his palms upward, pausing just below the crotch of her panties.
She bit her top lip and held it.
“Excuse me?” A woman spoke from somewhere behind her. Leila bristled.
“Yes?” her new friend replied. His hands stilled.
Please, don’t notice, Leila prayed.
“Can you tell me if this train goes all the way up to Bedford Park?”
“I believe it does.”
“Excellent, thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Cheeky bastard. Leila’s heart sank as the train once again slowed to a stop.
The conductor’s voice crackled over the intercom: “125th Street.”
Shit. The next stop would be hers.
Leila expected his fingers to vanish, but they remained poised just below her buttocks.
A handful of people departed and even fewer got on. Again, the train car pitched to life. Her new friend continued to stroke her inner thighs, gliding down and skimming back up. Leila chewed at her lip and considered bending her knees to speed his ascent.
His fingers made contact with the crotch of her panties. She squeaked, grateful for the train’s incessant droning. He drew a firm line back and forth over her slit, grazing the spot just below her clitoris.
Leila’s nails cut into the heel of her hand as she tightened it around the bar.
Two fingers prodded at her, engraving a trench between her folds. Slipping between the elastic and her thigh crease, he made contact with Leila’s bare skin.
She gasped.
His fingertips were warm. He drew them back and forth over her lips before wedging himself between them, and Leila swore she heard a sharp intake of breath as he learnt just how wet she was, for him. The man distributed her juices, gliding upwards and forwards.
He found her clitoris.
Leila gritted her teeth as he prodded the tiny bundle of nerves, buffing it with his moistened fingers. Each circular stroke elicited a sharp twinge of arousal and threatened to send her into hysterics.
The man slid his other hand up and over her buttock. He cupped it, massaging it with his broad palm. She swayed with the train as it banked left, her feet slipping a few inches and placing her even deeper into the vee of his legs.
Gasps became whimpers; twinges deepened into throbs. His touch was light, yet insistent, unrelenting as he thrummed her sensitive bud. She bit down hard on her tongue as the muscles in her groin tensed, spasmed—
The conductor’s voice crackled over the low roar of the train car. “Now approaching 149th Street, Grand Concourse.”
Fuck. She came; her knees liquefying. If it hadn’t been for her vice grip on the overhead bar, she would’ve collapsed into his lap. The man drew slow circles over her, prolonging the ache.
The brakes squealed as the train coasted toward the 149th Street platform. Leila tapped the man’s foot with hers. He withdrew from her panties, gliding his fingertips down the backs of her thighs—including the two that were now slick with her juices. The stranger shuffled and stood, his torso flush against Leila’s back. His right hand covered hers on the overhead bar as the left planted itself on her backside. His breath washed over her, hot and moist upon her neck
Leila’s heart threatened to bust a hole through her chest.
The train car stopped and the doors slid open. She leaned back against the man’s torso and then snaked her palm out from beneath his. The last thing she felt of him was his hand as it uncoupled with her rear and the resulting chill as her skin grew accustomed to the lack of touch.
Weaving through the crowded car, Leila stepped onto the station platform. She breathed deep, letting the mob take her.
Is he following me? She wondered.
Leila pushed ahead, her pulse sprinting. Where do I go? Should I lead him to my apartment?
No, that’s insane. What if he’s dangerous?
Panic and arousal coalesced in her belly as she debated whether or not to duck into a bathroom or find an attendant. The stairs loomed and she climbed them two at a time, cursing the slow pedestrians ahead of her.
Oh, God, Leila thought. What do I do? She found it impossible to take a full breath. Gripping the banister, she hurled herself onto the top step and out into the street. She scanned the busy intersection, afraid to turn around, to face his expectant stare—after all, she’d let him get her off; now it was his turn.
This is crazy—crazy hot, but still crazy.
She jogged across the street and allowed herself to be swallowed up by the crowd. Footsteps thundered in her ears along with car horns and distant sirens. The crotch of her panties was practically soaked through and, even amidst the fear, she found herself longing to put all of that moisture to good use.
You’re willing to let a handsome stranger finger you on the subway but not in the privacy of your own room?
She sighed, trying to swallow the enormous lump in her throat. She swore she heard his heavy footsteps trailing behind her as she rounded the corner of the Bronx General Post Office.
But what if he wants to hurt me? Sweat trickled down from her hairline.
What if he’s as good with his mouth as he is with his hands?
Leila stopped short and spun around.
“Hey!” A girl’s voice barked.
Leila winced as she collided with a well-built teenager in a red sweater, the impact knocking her back against a lamppost.
“The hell did you stop for?” the girl shouted. “Dumb bitch.” The girl brushed herself off and stormed down the sidewalk, muttering obscenities.
Leila blinked; her chest tight and hands shaking. A drop of rain tapped her forehead and trickled down her temple, followed by another. The gray skies rumbled as the wind sent discarded newspapers whipping about the street.
Panting, Leila leaned against the lamppost and scanned the sidewalk for a familiar face, but there was no sign of the beautiful man with the skillful hands from the 4 Express train.
Damn, she thought.