The Stranger on the Subway Pinned Me In During Rush Hour

By seven fifteen in the morning, I already hated the day. I had a meeting on the other side of the city at nine, and the only way to get there on time was to squeeze onto the subway in the middle of rush hour. Reforma station was always a madhouse at that hour, but that Wednesday seemed worse than ever: the platform packed full, people craning their necks to see if the train was coming, the air thick and electric with people who were done waiting.

I tapped through the turnstile and took a spot against a column, as far from the platform edge as possible. I pulled out my phone to pretend I had better things to think about, and that was when I saw her.

She was standing three meters away from me. She was wearing a dark blue dress, fitted at the waist, with a V-neck that ended exactly where the promise began. The skirt reached mid-thigh and shifted a little with the draft coming from the tunnel. Her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, her eyebrows were filled in, and she had red lips that did not belong to the morning. She looked like she was headed to a date, not an office. Beneath the dress her two big tits were outlined, braless or in something very thin, because the nipples were clearly straining against the fabric.

I looked at her for maybe too long. She noticed. She lifted her head, pinned me with her eyes for a second, and went back to her screen.

Heat in the back of my neck. Again.

I don’t usually approach strangers on the subway. I’m not that kind of woman. But something about that morning—the combination of the heavy air, the delayed train, and those red lips—made me take three steps toward her, pretend I was just moving spots, and blurt out the first thing that came to mind.

—Looks like even the subway can’t be bothered to get out of bed today —I said.

She looked up again. This time she smiled.

—And I’m already late —she replied. —If it doesn’t come in five minutes, I’m done for.

—Same problem —I said.

—My name’s Florencia.

—Camila. Nice to meet you.

—Where are you headed?

—Plaza del Norte. You?

—One stop before that, Catedral.

I was about to say something else, but just then the screech of the train pulling into the station rang out. People pressed against the platform edge as if the front row were going to save them from something. Florencia and I ended up back to chest, laughing for no reason, while the crowd shoved us into the car.

***

The car was packed to bursting. Years ago I’d learned not to fight that: breathe slowly, don’t look at anyone, wait it out. But that morning, the only person less than two centimeters from me was her.

We were face to face, separated by a handhold nobody was using. Her chest almost touched mine. She smelled like something citrusy and body cream. I was a couple of centimeters shorter than her, so my face was right at the level of her collarbone, and from there I could see the edge of the neckline rising and falling with every breath. I could see the beginning of her tits, the shadow between them, the skin a little damp with the heat of the car.

—This is ridiculous —she said, laughing, speaking into my ear because it was the only way to talk without shouting.

She had a deep voice, almost with her mouth closed, and when she spoke near my ear I felt her breath sliding down my neck and farther, until the skin over my nipples hardened inside my bra.

—I know. And we still have four stops —I answered, also into her ear.

—We’ll survive.

—That depends.

She laughed. A short, soft laugh that I felt against my cheek because there was no space left between us.

The subway lurched hard as it started up. Everyone tilted to one side. Florencia lost her balance and fell against me. Her leg slid between mine, right into the seam of my pencil skirt, and her firm thigh pressed my cunt over the fabric. Her free hand, the one not on the handhold, ended up at my waist to keep from falling.

She didn’t take it away. And I didn’t close my legs either.

—Sorry —she murmured, but her hand stayed there, firm, and so did her thigh.

—It’s okay.

And I met her gaze. At the same time I spread my legs a little to trap her thigh between them. She felt it and dropped her eyes for an instant to my mouth.

There was a pause. One of those pauses that last too long to be an accident. The car was shaking, people were talking, someone coughed at the far end, and the two of us stayed still, looking at each other from a distance where any movement felt like a declaration.

—You’re very beautiful, Camila —she said into my ear, in a voice so low I almost had to guess it.

I felt something drop from my chest to my stomach and straight down to my cunt. I licked my lips. I rested my fingers on the handhold, just above hers, and answered in the same tone.

—So are you. And I don’t know if this is a good idea.

—Neither do I. And I don’t know if I care anymore.

I laughed nervously and used the laugh to shift my hips just enough to rub against her thigh. It was a second. She noticed it all the same. Her mouth opened for an instant and closed again.

The subway braked at the first station. People got on. Nobody got off. The pressure against us doubled. Florencia’s leg slid a little farther between mine, and her hand moved from my waist to my side, just under my breast. My body trembled. With her thumb she brushed the base of my breast over the silk of my blouse, back and forth, very softly, as if deciding. I gripped the handhold so I wouldn’t make a sound.

***

I was wearing a pencil skirt, one of those tight ones, and a thin silk blouse. My bag hung from my shoulder and I felt it brushing my hip with every sway. Florencia had on that very short dress, and because we were pressed together it had ridden up a little. When I glanced down for a second, I saw the hem grazing her thigh halfway up, and above that the edge of a black thong was visible.

Without thinking too much about it, I put my free hand on her hip. Over the fabric. Just to see what happened.

She didn’t move. She just breathed a little deeper and spread her legs slightly.

—Does that bother you? —I asked in her ear.

—No. Keep going. Don’t stop.

My hand slid down a little. I found the hem of the dress and slipped my fingers beneath it, over the skin of her thigh. It was hot and firm, with that softness of freshly applied lotion. I ran my whole palm up the outside of her thigh to the curve of her ass and stayed there a second, squeezing the flesh with my fingers spread. Florencia closed her eyes for a second and opened them just as a man with a briefcase, moving to get off at the next stop, shoved us even more tightly together.

Her chest crushed mine. I felt her nipples through both layers of fabric, hard as little stones, pressing into me.

—God —she whispered.

—Shh.

Her hand, the one at my side, moved up. She covered one breast over my blouse, slowly, without squeezing, like someone making sure I wasn’t going to stop her. I didn’t stop her. On the contrary: I arched my chest into her palm so she could feel how much I wanted it. Then she squeezed, with her whole hand, and pinched my nipple between her thumb and forefinger through the silk. A gasp escaped me, and I covered it by coughing against her shoulder.

I slipped my hand under her dress and brushed the inside of her thigh, two fingers above her knee, then a little higher, then a little higher still, until the pad of my middle finger touched the elastic of her thong in the crease of her groin. She was wet through the fabric. It had seeped through.

We arrived at Catedral station. Her stop. She didn’t move.

—You’re late —I whispered, smiling, with my finger still planted there.

—I’m going to be even later —she answered.

The train started again. Nobody around us seemed to notice anything: everyone was looking at the floor or the ceiling or their phone screen, like people do when they get onto a packed subway and learn not to see.

My hand moved up another inch. I found the elastic line of her underwear. Florencia opened her legs just enough—just what the space allowed—to make me understand I could keep going. I ran my fingers over the fabric and rubbed her cunt all over, up and down, feeling the bump of her clit through the cotton. She was soaked. The fabric gave way and clung to the folds. I dragged my finger from top to bottom through her slit, very slowly, and felt the thong sink slightly into her under the pressure.

I bit her shoulder through the fabric of her dress so I wouldn’t moan.

***

She didn’t hold back. Her left hand left my breast and slipped between our bodies. She found the hem of my skirt and, with a skill that only comes from having done this before, lifted it just enough to get her hand underneath. Her fingers found me over the fabric and pressed. I let out a sharp breath. She was massaging me with her whole palm, pressing my pubis against the bone, and with her fingertips she parted my lips over my underwear.

—I told you you’d survive —she murmured.

—Don’t be so sure.

She pushed the elastic aside with one finger. I did the same with hers. I felt the cool air of the car hit my wet flesh and then the heat of her fingers sliding over it. Two of Florencia’s fingers forced their way between my lips and sank into me, to the knuckles. My whole belly tightened. Two of mine sank into her at the same time, and I was surprised by how tight and hot she was inside, the soft flesh closing around my fingers as if it wanted to swallow my whole hand.

The tip of her thumb found my clit and began to move in slow circles, pressing exactly the right amount, while I did exactly the same to her. Fingers moved in and out to the car’s slow rhythm, and when the subway jolted, they drove deeper without meaning to, tearing a muffled moan from the two of us.

The car shook harder. I took advantage of the sway to add a third finger. She did the same. I felt my cunt open in a way I hadn’t felt in months, with those three of her fingers going in to the knuckle, and her palm bumping my clit every time the train rattled. Nobody looked at us.

I clenched my teeth. I pressed my forehead against her shoulder to hide my face. Florencia grabbed the back of my neck with her other hand—she had already let go of the handhold because, with so many people pressed in, she didn’t need to hold on—and forced me to lift my head to look at her.

—I want to see you —she said softly—. I want to see what your face looks like when you come.

I looked at her. Her eyes were shining, her pupils blown wide, her lower lip trapped between her teeth. She let it go only to speak again.

—Don’t stop. Go deeper.

—I’m not stopping.

I curved my fingers inside her and searched for that rough spot on the upper wall. When I found it, her eyes went wide and she dug her nails into the back of my neck. She kissed me. It was a short kiss, almost a brush, because any bigger movement would have given us away, but she slipped her tongue into my mouth for a second, hot and wet, and then pulled it out. She moaned against my mouth and disguised the sound with an exaggerated cough.

A woman standing thirty centimeters away glanced at her sideways.

—Air conditioning —Florencia said to the woman, smiling, with my three fingers still buried inside her.

The woman nodded as if that made sense and went back to her phone.

We held back our laughter. As soon as the woman looked down, Florencia pinned me with her gaze and whispered, barely moving her lips: “Fuck my fingers, whore.” My whole body clenched at the sound of it. I started moving my fingers in and out of her faster, feeling the slick run down my wrist.

***

I don’t know how many stops passed. Three, maybe four. Our fingers moved slowly, careful not to shift the fabric too much, but the pressure kept building. She was fucking me with three fingers, going in deep, pulling out to the tip, and with every thrust her thumb dragged over my clit. I did the same, feeling her flesh cinch tighter and tighter around my fingers, each time more slick, each time more slippery. I felt my legs start to shake. Florencia leaned in again to my ear.

—I’m going to come —she said, almost no voice at all—. I’m going to come on your fingers.

—Me too. I can’t hold it anymore.

—Together.

—Together.

I sank my teeth into her shoulder at the same time she buried her face in my neck. I felt her clench around my fingers in waves, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, while she drenched my palm hot. I came almost at the same second, with a spasm that ran from my hips to my feet, the flesh tightening over her three fingers so hard I nearly pushed them out. I had to disguise it as a long sigh, my mouth buried against the fabric of her dress and my legs pinning her wrist.

For a few seconds we stayed like that, still, breathing fast and looking at each other as if we were the only two people inside the car. Her thumb was still making slow circles over my swollen clit. My fingers weren’t moving but they were still inside, feeling the last little tremors of her cunt around them. Neither of us wanted to be the first to pull away.

—More —I murmured, surprised by my own voice.

—Here?

—Here. Make me come again.

She smiled, almost amused, took the fingers that had been fucking me into her mouth—very discreetly, hiding behind her shoulder—and sucked them from tip to knuckle, staring straight at me. Then she lowered them again and slid them back into me, even slicker with her own saliva. I did too. The second time was faster and dirtier. I fucked her cunt with three fingers to the hilt, without stopping, seeking the splash under the clothes. She did the same, and every so often she pinched my clit between two fingers so I’d start trembling. Bites on the shoulders, firm hands, looks neither of us could hold for long without losing composure. When I came a second time—harder, longer—she grabbed my neck and kissed the side of my face to shut me up, and I felt a warm little spill escape along my thigh, under the skirt.

She almost screamed herself. She covered it by dropping her eyes and making an absurd comment out loud.

—Sorry, I stepped on your foot.

—It’s fine —I answered, though she hadn’t stepped on anything.

I felt one last contraction around my fingers, long and deep, and she buried her forehead in my shoulder for a second, eyes closed and mouth open without a sound.

***

We pulled our hands out at the same time. My fingers felt sticky, hot, and the smell of sex rose between us for a second before getting swallowed by the stale air of the car. We straightened our skirts. We looked at each other. I still didn’t quite understand what had just happened, and my panties were still soaked and clinging to the lips of my cunt.

—Your stop —I murmured.

—Passed two stops ago —she replied, laughing softly. —I’m getting off at yours and walking back.

—You’re going to be very late for that meeting.

—I don’t care anymore.

Very carefully, hiding her hand in the fold between our bodies, Florencia brought the fingers she’d been fucking me with to her mouth and sucked them slowly, never taking her eyes off me. I did the same with mine. I tasted salty, thick, a little like hand soap. I pressed my legs together beneath my skirt to hold back the tremor still running up my thighs.

We reached Plaza del Norte. We got off together. The station smelled like coffee from the kiosk by the exit, and the light outside hit our faces after the tunnel’s orange gloom.

Florencia opened her bag, took out a card, and put it in my hand.

—Call me —she said. —I want to take you out. And I want to finish what we started, but in a bed, and with my mouth.

—I’m going to call you. But next time you’re the invited one. And I want to eat your cunt until you beg me to stop.

She smiled. She leaned in. She gave me a short kiss on the mouth right there in the middle of the avenue, with people walking past—a tongue kiss, brief but shameless—and then walked away backward, looking at me until the first traffic light forced her to turn around.

I stood there for a second on the sidewalk, the card clenched between my fingers, still feeling the taste of her lipstick and her cunt mingled in my mouth.

I got to the meeting forty minutes late, with my panties stuck to me and my legs still weak. That night I called her. We made plans for the next day.

And from that Wednesday on, I started taking the subway during rush hour even when I had nothing to do on the other side of the city.