It was late. We were both drunk and riding the metro back to the dorms after spending the night together in the city: a cheep dinner and a concert. We had been on a few dates. Her hair was a short, wavy bob. She wore a cheap black vinyl coat. It seemed new, but was already peeling and cracking in places.
It was a weeknight. The metro was empty. We talked in hushes. We touched. We kissed. We dared and challenged each other with our fingers, playing chicken. I touched her neck, dipping down her collarbone. She touched my chest through the space between buttons on my shirt. I ran my hand up the thigh of her tweed flannel pants, she teased my cock through my jeans. I pressed my index finger along her crotch. I was about to kiss her deeply when I felt her hands on my zipper. I wasn’t expecting us to go that far.
Her eyes flashed and she bent her head down into my lap, her mouth engulfing my cock. My heart beat in my head. She didn’t move really. She didn’t have to. The swaying of the train car did all the work, masturbating me with her mouth. Her soft breath ran down my shaft.
After too short a time the speaker dinged for our stop and she reluctantly pulled herself from my cock. I winced and struggled to get myself back into my jeans and almost didn’t make it off the train in time.
Off the train and out of the station, I was tempted to lead us down some alleyway, but I didn’t want to be interrupted again and home was only a few blocks away.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/chr5na/mf_getting_off_at_our_stop