What Happened to Me in the Last Subway Car

Hello, darlings. They call me Valeria, although most people who cross paths with me on the street see me as just another guy. I’m a closeted transvestite, and I’m bringing you something nice and fresh, from this very week. Let’s just say someone made sure to see me off at the end of the month the way God intended.

It all started like any other day. I was on my way to work; it was around seven-thirty in the morning and the subway was half full, that hour when people still have sleepy faces and nobody talks to anyone. As always, I got on the last car. Anyone who rides it often knows very well why one chooses that car and not another.

That day I wasn’t wearing anything out of the ordinary: tight pants, a black T-shirt, and my usual sneakers. The only special thing was underneath. A pair of lace panties that marked the curve of my ass and kept it standing up, round and appetizing. Nobody could see them, but I knew they were there, and that changed the way I walked.

I’ve been told a thousand times that, even when I dress like a guy, I give off a feminine charge I can’t hide even if I wanted to. And it must be true, because as soon as I stepped into the car I felt more than one head turn toward me. In the crush of rush hour, without a word being said, I ended up surrounded by men.

None of them dared make the first move. You could feel that tension in the air, those held-back desires. I pretended not to notice, watching the tunnel pass by through the window, but inside I was enjoying every second of knowing I was being watched.

That was when one of them stood right in front of me.

He had beautiful brown eyes, the kind that hold your gaze and don’t let go. He was a mature man, around forty-five. Not very tall, but strong, broad-shouldered, and he gave off a smell that undid me: a clean man’s smell, a man with desire. A rutting male smell.

He kept looking me in the eye as he came closer, millimeter by millimeter, until there wasn’t even room for air between us. With one hand he adjusted the bulge in his pants, slowly, as if inviting me to check what was down there.

So I decided to stop pretending to be innocent.

I slowly raised my right thigh, as if the movement of the car were pushing me, until I pressed it against him. And there it was. Hard, thick, hot beneath the fabric. Feeling it turned me on instantly and I lowered my hand almost by instinct. His eyes stayed locked on mine while my fingers ran over his package through his pants.

—Easy —he whispered to me, so softly only I could hear—. No rush.

But I didn’t want to wait.

He was clearly enjoying himself, because every so often he narrowed his eyes and relaxed his jaw. I felt something like responsibility: I had to make him finish right there, before my stop. I discreetly pulled down his zipper and took it out quickly, with the ease of someone who has done it before.

I started slowly, stroking it from base to tip without taking my eyes off his face. It began to flush red, his ears first, then his cheeks. Then I sped up. I moved my hand up and down with a steady rhythm, squeezing a little harder each time I reached the glans. The man was going crazy and had to bite his lip so he wouldn’t moan in front of everyone.

***

The man standing next to him noticed what was going on. He said nothing. He just lowered one hand and started stroking my ass over my pants. My body reacted on its own: I pushed it out a little more, offered it to him, let him know he could keep going.

With my free hand I unfastened my pants in the back, just enough for his hand to get in. He understood instantly. His fingers slipped under the fabric and, when they brushed the lace of my panties, I heard him let out a sigh. He felt his way to my opening, slowly, testing.

When he found it, he pulled his hand out, wet two fingers with saliva, and put them back in. This time he went straight in. His fingers were aimed at my little hole, which was already waiting for them eagerly, and when he pushed them inside I couldn’t help moaning like a little slut. Several people turned to see what was happening. I lowered my head, flushed, but I didn’t stop what I was doing with my other hand for a single second.

I was so hot, and I was giving the brown-eyed man first-class service. My station was coming up, so I picked up the pace to make him finish with me. And he did. There was nowhere to unload, so he came on my pants and I felt the hot stream slide down my thigh and over my hand.

What I did next left more than one person with their mouth open. I brought my hand to my mouth and cleaned it all off, slowly, looking him straight in the eyes as I did it. It was thick, delicious. He was breathing hard, still unable to believe what had just happened.

The other man was satisfied to keep his fingers inside me a little longer. When the subway stopped at his station, he pulled his hand out and gave my ass a gentle slap, as if to say thanks. He got off without looking back.

I got off at the next stop, straightening my clothes, my legs still trembling and a smile too big for my face. I thought that was the end of it. A hot morning on the way to work, and that was that.

I was wrong.

***

The next day, at the same hour, the macho with the pretty eyes was waiting for me on the platform at Las Lomas, which is the station where I always get on.

I saw him from far away, searching through the crowd with those eyes that melt me. When he found me, his face lit up and he waved at me. But he wasn’t alone. He was with two other men, and that made me nervous. I ignored his gesture and got on the car. They did the same.

Inside, he wouldn’t stop looking at me. I pretended to be looking at my phone, but I could feel his gaze like a hand at the back of my neck. He waved at me again, this time telling me to come closer. Shyly, I took the steps that separated us.

—Don’t worry —he told me softly—. I already told them about you.

He said it while pointing to his two companions, who were looking at me with a lust they made no attempt to hide. He introduced them to me. They were coworkers, two older men who clearly weren’t from the city: they had that clumsiness of people not used to this kind of thing.

—We’d like to see if you can come visit us tomorrow —one of them blurted out, almost out of breath.

I was petrified. They were inviting me to give myself to the three of them.

—Come on, we’ll pay you something —the other added, as if he needed to sweeten the offer.

I looked at the brown-eyed one. He, without saying a word, nodded, a coaxing little gesture. And those eyes... oh, those eyes. I couldn’t resist.

—All right —I said, and I felt my pulse quicken just from hearing myself say it.

They gave me an address. We agreed I’d go on Friday, after work, well into the night. I said goodbye to them by brushing their bulges through their pants, one by one, and felt all three of them get hard just from imagining it.

***

Friday came and I was a bundle of nerves and desire. Until the last minute I didn’t know if I was going to go or not. On one hand I was scared: three strangers, a house I didn’t know, a neighborhood I’d never been to. On the other, just the idea of handing myself over to those three men had me wet all day.

I also had to think about what I was going to tell my partner. She doesn’t know I’m sluttier than she is, haha. I’d come up with something; I always come up with something.

I dressed normally, like a man, the way I go to work every day. Only this time, under my usual clothes, I was wearing black nylon stockings, extra sheer, with an opening in back to make things easier. A tiny thong in the same color and a transparent top clinging to my skin. Since it was cold, I put on some short, coquettish socks. Nobody on the subway would notice, but I was fully armed underneath.

The house was in a quiet neighborhood, one of those with dark streets and dogs barking in the distance. I rang the bell with my heart racing. He opened the door, the brown-eyed one, and when he saw me that smile of his appeared again, the one that had already got me hooked.

—I thought you weren’t coming —he said.

—I almost didn’t —I answered, and let him lead me inside.

The other two were waiting in the living room, beer in hand and a tension you could practically chew. As soon as I crossed the door, all three of them fell silent and stared at me. I felt like a plate being served.

There wasn’t much preamble. The brown-eyed one came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed my neck while his hands found the edge of my pants. When he pulled them down and exposed the nylon stockings and thong, he gave a growl against my ear.

—Look at what you were hiding.

The other two came closer as if hypnotized. I sat between them on the sofa and started with the one nearest to me. I pulled down his zipper, took him out, and took him into my mouth slowly, savoring him, while with each hand I grabbed the bulges of the other two. I wanted to take care of all of them equally, so none would feel left out.

The brown-eyed one knelt behind me. I felt him pull the thong aside through the opening in the stockings and wet me with saliva. Then one finger, then two, making his way in slowly, while I kept my mouth busy. The room filled with moans, mine muffled, theirs rough and broken.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he whispered in my ear.

—Can I give it to you?

—Slowly —I asked, letting go of the one I had in my mouth for a moment—. Slowly at first.

And he did it slowly. I felt him enter me millimeter by millimeter, felt him filling me, felt his strong hands gripping my hips. I had to clench my teeth and breathe deeply, but when the pain turned into something else, I started pushing back, asking for more without words.

The other two didn’t stay still. I took turns between the two cocks with my mouth while the brown-eyed one fucked me from behind, setting a rhythm that grew firmer and firmer. At some point I stopped thinking. There were only bodies, heat, hands everywhere, voices saying things in my ear that turned me on even more.

The first to finish was the one I had in my mouth. I swallowed everything without thinking. The second held out a little longer, until he pulled out and came all over my chest, over the transparent top that by then wasn’t transparent at all. And the brown-eyed one, the owner of this whole story, finished inside me, holding me tight against him, biting my shoulder so he wouldn’t shout.

We ended up the four of us lying there, breathless, laughing like teenagers who had just pulled a prank. The brown-eyed one stroked my hair and kissed my temple, a gesture I wasn’t expecting and liked more than everything that came before it.

—Next week, again? —one of his coworkers asked, still trying to catch his breath.

I laughed and didn’t answer. But you already know me.

I got dressed, straightened my stockings, picked up the tip they left on the table more because they insisted than because I wanted it, and stepped out into the cold street with trembling legs and my body ruined in the best possible way.

On the way home, already in the empty night subway, I was thinking about what excuse I was going to make up for my partner. But I was also thinking about those brown eyes and the platform at Las Lomas, where I know that on Monday, at seven-thirty, someone is going to be waiting for me.

Thanks for reading, darlings. As always, I ask for your messages, the ones that keep me nice and hot. Kisses.

Valeria.