Traveling to Mom's apartment was a journey of an hour or more but, as it turned out, I need not have worried about getting bored.

On this occasion, I walked the few blocks from the little apartment I share with Renie to the Metro station, enjoying the coolness of the morning under the palm trees that lined the street. From the clear sky and the weather forecast the PA had flashed at me as I left, it looked like being a hot one today.

The first part of the trip ran though the central downtown area and the cars were quite crowded, with standing room only as I got on. Several people got on after me and it was hardly possible to turn around.

The doors had barely closed behind me when I felt my fanny being touched by an anonymous hand. I could feel a firm and urgent pressure running down over my ass, lingering a long while on that narrow strip of soft flesh between the hem of my skirt and the leather-look skin that covers most of my legs.

I did not turn around or acknowledge the touch, other than to arch my back slightly and ease my legs a little further apart - as far as the press of the crowd in the train would allow. Encouraged presumably by my reaction, the hand made its urgent way upwards, now inside my skirt, running over the very sensitive skin on the inside of my thighs and gently carressing my outer lips. I barely stiffled a gasp - although it would probably have been virtually inaudible against the noise of the Metro car. The involuntary reaction to the touch made me push back against my anonymous admirer, feeling that body's heat and pressure against me.

The hand withdrew briefly - I thought it most likely to be a woman's, judging by the size of her fingers and the long nails that had been skittering over my skin - and returned a second or two later, two fingertips now dampened, whether by saliva or some other more intimate juices I knew not. Within seconds, her fingertips were expertly running over my clit, the length of the fingers themselves separating my rapidly moistening lips and some other appendege - I think it must have been the knuckle of her thumb - pressing firmly against my anus.

The woman must have been touching herself with her other hand - masturbating frantically, judging by the increasingly urgent movements I could sense against me. Her hands moved in synchronisation, rapid desperate movements against my need, and her own. I felt a jerk and an explosive breath behind me as she came, an urgent tightening of her body as the release caught her. It was infectious; I came too, a willy-nilly that made me gasp again, and again.

And not a moment too soon. The car came to a stop, the doors opened and people spilled out onto the platform. As the crush reduced, I turned just in time to catch a glance of a redhead disappearing along the platform. She was a little taller than me, dressed in high heels and a conservative grey business suit - although that skirt was exceedingly short and tight. I could have been wrong, but she might have glanced back at me watching her through the Metro's windows.

Perhaps she made a habit of touching up strangers - perhaps it was part of her morning ritual: a quickie on the train, masturbating on her way to work to help her through the day - or at least until coffee-break. I could imagine that she had a friend or two who would help her out in some quiet part of the office. I felt obscurely delighted that I was able to help her this morning; maybe, I thought, I should take the Metro more often.

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