Going to the Metro (Fiction)

She can’t tell if the chills are from the temperature or anticipation. She’s standing in her bath towel, looking at the outfit on her bed. She can’t remember the last time she wore something like this. Maybe once or twice with Paul, but mostly before they even began dating.

She looks at her phone one more time, hoping for another text from “Guy.” Nothing shows but the last message she received: “get on the orange rail heading north, board the third car from the front.” Just re-reading it is enough to give her butterflies.

The towel drops to the floor before she chickens out. She used to love the feel of lace on her skin, but of course years of dating and marriage molded her into craving comfort over style. Yet as the lace climbs her thigh, that old tingle returned. It only intensified as she donned the mini-skirt, professional enough where no one would say anything, yet hot enough where they would look. The perfect balance. Once the top and shoes were on, she was out the door before she could change her mind.

The metro appeared almost instantaneously. Then the orange rail, then one, two, three. She boards, her knees quaking, yet a smile on her face. There aren’t many seats, so she leans against a standing pole.

Her phone vibrates.

“I think I see you, is your hair down or up?”
Instantly the lace is damp.
“My hair is down, sir.”
“Put it up in a pony tail, so I know where you are.”
Her hands shake as she takes the elastic from her wrist, grabbing her long brown hair and putting it in a pony tail.

Another vibration.
“There you are. You look beautiful”
She melted right then and there.
“Scratch one ankle using the other foot.”
An odd request, but she knew it was a test. Her thighs were still shaking as she lifted her foot up, brushing against the other. She was pleading in her mind for those two words that she was addicted to…

“Good girl.”
“Thank you sir”
“Adjust your skirt in a way that shows me what you need.”

This was the now or ever. How many times did he condition her, asking her what she needs? Her body is screaming about her needs! Her lace alone is showing exactly what she needs. Her fingers fumble with her skirt, quickly flipping it up, like a pianist flipping the tails of their jacket. She knows that he saw it all.

“Get off here and take a left”
The train stops and she gets off, she’s almost sprinting with excitement.
“Take a right and face the wall.”
She does and is greeted by a dead end. She’s breathing so hard.

“Yes or no? Say it out loud.”
Fuck. She has been speechless this entire time. Finally she breathes as deep as she can, hoping the vibrations will do the job.

“Yes.”

First thing she feels is a hand on her waist. It was enough to send a moan to her lips, which was quickly stifled by a calloused hand. She was already swooning over the smell, a musky Cologne, someone who worked hard yet knew how to care. Then it was the lips on her neck that broke her. All she could think was thank God.

Thank God those hands left her mouth and went up her skirt
Thank God those calloused fingers found her desire. Thank God he knew what he was doing.

Then he pulled himself out and lined up with her.
Thank God.
Then she felt it, and everything melted. Her apprehension, her body, even her tears began to fall. Thank God somebody can fill this need. Thank God she can be touched again. Thank God it feels so good.

He goes faster and she feels the light at the end of the tunnel. It approaches and she gets louder. The fears all vanish, not just today’s, but fears that have been stewing for years now. As his warmth coats her insides, she expirences a rebirth of her own, allowing this shower of light to dance upon her skin, the highest high she’s felt in years. She rests there for a minute before adjusting and turning around. He’s already gone.

She goes into her phone and types out a simple message. “Thank you daddy”

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/p1qfzb/going_to_the_metro_fiction