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.


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