After a long day, she entered the subway, head down.

Make no eye contact.

That was the unstated rule of the subway.

She was pissed that she’d left her book on the kitchen counter this morning. Nothing to read on her breaks at work. Nothing to read on the train home.  Miraculously, a seat opened and she slid into it as the car rocked to and fro.

Another stop, the whoosh of doors. She watched the people ooze their way through the throng of  “standers”, watched the new people squeeze into the little spaces that opened.

He was tall, a head taller than anyone he stood near.  His shoes were shiny. His suit was gray, a rich charcoal.

The doors hissed shut, the train clicked and clacked up to speed. The girl by the door had a skirt so short that her butt cheeks almost hung out.  She giggled with her boyfriend; a high girlish giggle as his hand crept under her skirt and fondled one round moon.

She looked away, embarrassed. Glanced back surreptitiously. It made her squirm. So naughty. So sexy. She pretended not to feel the yearning to be that girl.

The train slowed, the doors whooshed open again. Again the dance of bodies jockeying for exit and entrance. People shifted. It was almost a dance.

The dance of the subway, she smiled to herself.

Mr. Shiny Shoes was closer now. Almost in front of her. She noted that the gray suit had fine black lines running through the fabric. The jacket fell just low enough that she couldn’t really speculate about ….there.

For just a moment she flashed a look up at his face.

He was looking at her, a half-smile on his face.

Like he could read her mind, knew where she had been looking.

Mortified, she looked away.

At 125th Street, she rose, brushing against him, and exited the subway.



After a long day, she entered the subway, head down.

Rain up above meant more travelers down below the city streets.  Last night she’d been restless, and finished her book in bed.  Today she’d stared out at the wet and gloomy city from her office window, thinking of the park. She’d almost gone out, almost taken a break, almost enjoyed the  scent of rain on grass and gardens.


The doors hissed and shooshed open, closed. People pushed harder today, wanting, needing the comforts of home. She was bumped, prodded, moved deeper into the belly of the train.

A hand rested just above hers, warm, despite the chill of the silver railing.

A large hand.

She  looked at it for a moment, then dropped her gaze.

Shiny shoes. And today’s suit was black, jet black.

She felt the heat of his body pressing against her side. He was so much hotter than the heavy woman to her right. Her body yearned toward his heat. She drew in a breath, scenting the exotic smell of sandalwood and male musk. She closed her eyes, imagined running into him in another time, another place.

“Nexxxt stop, 125th Street”  hawked out the driver.

Her eyes flew open, she turned.

He turned.

She looked up.

Eyes so blue. Shocking. Intense. And those gently curved lips.

As she slid across him, through the morass of humanity between her and the door, he whispered “Tomorrow…wear blue.”



After a long day, she entered the subway, glancing around at her fellow passengers.

The day had dawned foggy, but by noon only the tip of the Chrysler Building hung onto the cloud; by days end, the city was stretching, reaching upwards into glossy blue skies.  Her dress was almost that sky color, while her feet wore  a snappy cobalt. Around her throat, a single sapphire, a bequest from her grandmother, winked its blue smile.  She slid into the subway crowd, her purse slung across her body.

Her heart beat fast as she watched for him. She hadn’t ever noted which stop he entered on.  She watched feet come in, crowding, ebbing, flowing. There! Shiny shoes!

51st Street.

She felt his heat against her, her heart racing. She wanted to look up. She didn’t dare to look up. Was that a hand on her hip?

She chanced a quick flick of her eyes to the left.

The handbag of the heavy woman who was always on the train before her. She tried to not let the disappointment puncture the thrill.

The conductor called her stop. She glanced up as she turned. His face was solemn, but his eyes smiled.  Her eyes flicked down as she slid past him. Yet she heard his whispered “Good girl. Tomorrow, black”



After a long day, she entered the subway, head up.

She slipped into a seat almost as soon as it was vacated.  Her book was tucked into her handbag; she’d read it today in the little park near her office. The weekend looked promising, and she planned a little picnic for herself in Central Park.  She smiled as she looked around the loaded car.

She noticed the loving look of the tired mom standing in the alcove framed by the door, a young child strapped in an umbrella stroller, while her toddler sat quietly on the seat next to where she stood. The mother’s fingers danced quickly through the young boys curls in reassurance as the train jiggled and shook around a curve.

She watched the business woman across from her, eyes busily scanning the NY Times she had folded into thirds, while next to her,  a teen sat, eyes closed, enraptured with his ipod. The white earbuds glowed against his ebony skin, and his head nodded with the silent beat of music.

At 52nd Street, he entered the train and worked his way to where she sat, his crotch inches from her mouth. She felt as though she was kneeling, looking up into his face. His incredible eyes roamed the deep vee-neck of her tight black sweater. Her jacket lay across her lap, while her demure mid-thigh skirt rode half way to her crotch.

She was so slutty and daring, she mused with wonder, her eyes and face turning back to look at his feet. His gaze was so intense.

His finger lifted her chin, his smile full, making her heart thunder. Their gazes locked, and the world shifted to just her. To just him.

His finger slid to her lips, demanding entrance, fucking in and out of her mouth.  As the train drew up to her stop, he removed the wet digit, wiping the spit-slicked skin across the top curve of her left tit just above the neckline of her daring sweater.

She rose, brushing against him, for a moment, crotch to crotch. She felt the hardness bulging outward against his navy suit pants as if seeking her. Her pussy responded with a thick lurch. He pressed  a card into her hand, and she wrapped her fingers tight around it, like a treasure.

She smiled as she exited the train.



She stepped onto the train with a lilt. The air above ground was warm, the breeze had gently tossed her hair to disarray. She didn’t notice.  Her heart thudded against her teal tank top. Her nipples pressed against the cotton, announcing her arousal to the world. Her bra was clasped in her hand, rolled as tightly as she could.  Her pussy was wet and weeping, as it had been all day.

She counted the swooshing of doors opening and closing, her anxiety and awareness growing as they neared his stop.

He slid up behind her. His fingers took the bra from her. She heard the rustle of his clothing; she imagined that large hand slipping up under his suitcoat, pressing her intimate apparel into his pants pocket.

She didn’t turn, didn’t look;  she had been given her instructions on the back of yesterdays card. There’d been no  ‘good girl’. No smile. Nothing but that finger, fucking her mouth. Right there, on the train, in front of anyone who happened to look her way.  And she understood.

He was training her.

She had wrestled with that.  All that night, as her lips continued to tingle with the memory of his touch.  He was more than just a business man, just as she was more than just a business woman. She’d never met someone on the train before.

It wasn’t the done thing.

It wasn’t safe.

Nor the ‘proper’ way to meet a Dom.

Yet, here she was, her bra in his pocket. Pantiless.  Heart thumping. Cunt drooling with want.

She felt a hand on her hip. The train was crowed, the press of people desperate for the weekend to start, as soon as they reached their exit, and freedom from the week’s toil.

The fingers began to walk on her hip, slowly sprocketing her skirt higher. She felt the whoosh of air as the doors opened, closed, against the bottom of her ass, and tried to quell the shiver.

So fucking naughty.

So dirty.

She felt the finger slipping along her ass crack, felt the sharp and sudden pinch of flesh between fingernails. She rose to her toes with a gasp, hidden by the screech of the train as the brakes slowed them for the next stop.

The questing finger found her wetness, smearing a path to her asshole. Pressed deeper, upward.

She wanted to protest.

She wanted more.

Pain. Lust. Embarrassment.

She had a stranger’s finger up her ass.

She shifted, pressing back against it. Felt the chuckle against her asshole as his body shook with his laugh. The wisp of warm air against her ear as he spoke, low-voiced.

“Tomorrow. Central Park, Alice in Wonderland. Dusk. Dress…enticingly.”

The finger pulled out of her ass, even as the train slowed;  the doors opened at 125th street. She exited slowly, delaying the moment when the doors would separate them. The door snicked shut behind her as lust leaked down her thigh.


Her skirt billowed in the shifting winds. The day had been full of puffy clouds, gusting breezes. It was cool, but bearable. Her top was silk, blue, and pressed against her breasts in the wind. Her nipples rose in the coolness, with the stimulation of silk and air.

And arousal.

She was so aroused.

She sat on the edge of the platform, looking at the creatures of the massive statue. Alice rose above her, her face full of joy. She caught a flash of movement through the branches that blocked the view from the east path. Her attention shifted. He strode towards her. Her heartbeat thickened, slowed, then sped up, while her breath came in short bursts.



They rode at a furious pace within her.

His hand came out to cup her cheek, to capture her chin. His lips touched hers, gently.

“Let’s see where this takes us, hmmm sub-girl?”

With a laugh, she slid her hand into his, and they began their journey together.

18 thoughts on “Subway

    • I’ll have to keep that in mind…there are so many …aren’t subways awesome for that? Thanks Sweets, so glad you liked this one…


    • Glad to see you back S.Sir…the look is new as of Thursday…and the story grew from a trip to NYC last weekend.


  1. O, ‘Nilla, a wonderful story, wonderfully told. i love this, love this.

    And i like your new look a lot too! {Did i say that yesterday?}



    • I am so glad you like this! It is one of those stories that just blossomed and grew, all from a chance encounter with a tall dark stranger on the subway (whom i didn’t interact with at all!) So many stories on teh subway!

      Glad you like the new look! This time, no naysayers (not so far as i read through comments, anyway!)


  2. great new look -to the blog — easy to read

    and a wonderful story — ahem
    he was never on any subway I was on
    that’s for sure


    • 🙂

      Glad you like the new look. And glad it is more “readable”…and people can comment without having to scroll up to the top. Convenient and classy, too!


  3. I used to ride subways.. and there were some enticing strangers. None like this one.. great story~
    New look is great too…

    • thanks enticing stranger was indeed the catalyst for this one… 🙂

      Glad you are enjoying the new look!


  4. Great story-dangerous in RealLife® but very hot in fiction! One more vote for the new look-especially the changing colors by the time you get down this far!

    • Yes, this is not a primer for finding a Dom, just fiction!


      Glad you enjoyed the tale! And the new blog-look. I spent literally? about three hours auditioning looks from the templates!


  5. Nilla, you really have me in a pickle on this one. It is a great start to what could be volumes of a story, or just a short quick hitter to get the brain and juices going. Love it either way. Tip

    • so glad you liked this one. It came to me on the subway in NYC. And I *remembered* it…which is awesome in and of itself.

      I can see “scenes from a subway” as a novella, actually… 🙂


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