I was working in Japan and daily had to ride the subway trains back and forth to work. It was July and ungodly hot, with humidity levels off the scale. During the morning and afternoon rush hours, the trains were horrible. Always packed to capacity, plus extra people. The subways were so over-worked and over-packed, that they hired 'packers'. During rush hours, these people showed up in uniforms, with little white pith helmets on their heads and did their jobs on the subway platforms. Their jobs? Train packing. When everyone had squeezed into a car, and it was obvious that no one else could fit, it was there job to force another two or three bodies into each car, literally tugging and pushing people to make them fit like sardines in a can.

Luckily, I boarded the train a few stops before it became completely packed and before these people did their jobs. I would position myself at an upright pole and stay there until my stop which also happened to be after some of the crowding abated, so it was easy to get to a door. In between though, people were packed in so tightly, that for one person to move to a door, eight to twelve people had to shuffle in tight circles to allow them to pass. A New York pick pocket would have loved that ride.

After I'd been there a few weeks, I began noticing that the same woman was being pressed against me on almost every ride. When I first happened to notice her, on a morning ride it was because of her perfume. It was heady and was all I could smell during the trip to work. Considering myself lucky that it wasn't stale raw fish or burnt rice breath, I didn't try to adjust my position (not that I could have).

I did try not to notice her contact with me, though. Her buttocks were pressed tightly to my right thigh. Her left shoulder and back was resting against my chest, and her right hand was resting lightly against the crotch of my pants. With the swaying of the train, I don't know how I managed to make that ride without a hard on. I think it might have helped that I did not look at her. I kept my head high and straight, looking over her head and trying to watch the buildings pass through the window. Like those around me I was maintaining the anonymity of the situation.

That afternoon, I assumed my normal position, pole at my back, feet slightly spread for balance, arms relaxed at my sides as the train began it's usual forty minute trip to my stop. At the next stop, I noticed that perfume again. Much more subdued than this morning, but noticeable on the breeze as the doors opened and people boarded. There was only one woman in the group and I thought she was stunning. Bright yellow, skin tight summer sweater. Obviously bought too small by the way it hugged her figure, the knit spreading slightly throughout and revealing peeks of a black brassiere beneath. Flat pink hot pants so tight I thought she'd have to lube up and use a shoe horn to get into them. Her thighs flaring slightly where they exited the leg opening and simple nude hose added a soft shimmer as they sheathed her shapely legs to the tops of her three inch yellow heels.

Her black hair was not long. In fact, the cut was almost mannish in it's shortness and styling, parted slightly to one side of her head, and laying across her brow in a wave very similar to my own hair style. Make up lightly and tastefully applied, highlighted her beauty, rather than making it.

She glanced towards me as she entered and took a position standing beside an open seat, holding the rail at the end of the bench. At this point, there were no more than a dozen people in the car. The influx began at the next stop. As people crowded into the car, she moved from her position taking two steps closer to me and grasping an overhead strap.

I believe I was doing a good job of non-attention, eyes cast downwards to a newspaper from home in my hand. Yet observing her movements from one eye's corner. Next stop. It was getting crowded now, and as people boarded the train she moved to a position directly before me. The paper I folded and stuck into a back pocket beneath the jacket, as always, to conserve space. The tips, just the tips of her high thick looking breasts were just touching my lower chest through her sweater. Looking down I found her eyes had closed and her mouth was slightly open as the train swayed in its travels. I'd love to think I felt her nipples hardening against my chest, but know I didn't. Wearing a light Sport Coat, shirt and T-shirt, and her in the sweater and a brassiere, there were simply too many layers of clothing, and too light a touch.

The next stop was the first of the sardine stops. As soon as the doors opened, before the departing passengers had finished exiting and the first of the boarding passengers came aboard she had moved into me. Crushing her breasts against my chest and molding her torso and hips to mine. Her feet came to either side of my left leg as her pelvis thrust forward into it. Her right hand went behind me to the upright chrome pole as her left moved directly to my crotch and rested there.

As soon as she began to move I raised my eyes, pretending to look over her head, but keeping her fully in my lower peripheral vision as she snuggled in against me. She looked up askance for a moment, then simply laid her head against my upper chest as the train swayed on.

She held that position, not moving, not squeezing or rubbing any more than the simple movements of the train ride caused. Simply standing against me in as complete a contact as she could manage unobtrusively. There were four sardine stops, roughly 30 minutes of the trip. As soon as the crowd began to lighten, she first stood away from me until it was simply breast contact again. At the next stop, she moved away, back to the bench seat railing. The stop before mine she exited.

For the next week I watched and experienced the same dance twice daily. My attire was always basically the same, pants, shirt, and sport jacket, sometimes with tie, most often not. This was for work, after all. Her attire varied quite a bit, but basically was always made up of pants or shorts, with a tight top of some kind. Mornings, her perfume was heady, strong, almost over-powering. Afternoons, it was more subtle and profoundly alluring, but it was always the same scent. We did not make eye contact, and did not speak.

Monday of the following week, I made a change to things. At the second sardine stop, another passenger jostled her from the side. I didn't think about it, I simply wrapped my arms around her and held her as the train hit one of it's numerous 'sway' points. Her arm behind me had tightened at the jostling and the one at my crotch moved to my other hip for a stable hold. As my arms closed around her, she looked up and for the first time our eyes met.

I did not squeeze, nor did I release her. I simply stood looking into her eyes for a moment before once again looking out the windows, my arms yet around her, almost protectively. Her head returned to my chest and her hand to my crotch as the ride continued. At the normal stop, as the press withdrew, so did she, yet our dance had changed.

The rest of the week was basically a repeat of the earlier days, with the exception being that as she moved in tight to me my arms went around her. Her hand behind me, instead of holding the chrome pole, was flat to my back. No smiles, no words, no extra gestures, simply a gentle cuddle twice daily. It making the rides more enjoyable.

Evenings, sitting alone in my apartment, in a restaurant or while striking out in one of the local clubs, I'd often find my thoughts turning to her and our twice daily dances on the subway trains. I so wanted to know more of her, to speak to her, to bed her. But she was the initiator. The moves and contact had all been hers, her choices, her will and somehow I knew if I were to push, even the least little bit, it would all end. That was something I did not wish to face. So I maintained my passive attitudes, beyond adding the gentlest of squeezes, a minor hug, at each of our partings, I made no overt advances of my own.

It was Wednesday morning two weeks later that an interrurtion occured. When she arrived on the train, she was holding a kerchief to her nose and as the doors closed she sneezed. She was wearing looser clothing and no make up. Her eyes were puffy, and her nose was red, slightly swollen. She looked miserable indeed. I was actually looking forward to our cuddle, planning a few extra squeezes to try and cheer her as we rode, but as soon as she entered, she sat and I knew there would be no cuddle that day.

Thursday and Friday she did not ride the train. I felt both alone and lonely, saddened almost beyond measure and almost worthless at work, being distracted in the extreme, my thoughts locked away elsewhere.

The following Monday, she was back with a vengeance. Dark raspberry tube top, obviously braless, with a bright white mini-skirt and white shoes. No hose or socks that I could detect. She made direct eye contact and smiled as soon as she entered the car. She was carrying a single piece of paper in her hand, and as soon as she was in her normal position at the bench rail, she dropped it. Looking momentarily beyond me and around the car, she stepped beyond the paper, turned her back to me and bent from the waist to retrieve it. The view thus afforded took my breath away.

Her forward bend was done slowly, purposefully with legs together and what appeared to be practiced motions. Her white skirt rising slowly like a curtain in a fine theater play. Revealing first the tops of her thighs, then the tips of fine silky black hairs came into view. The full length and thickness of her fur coat was revealed as her plump vaginal lips and the edge of her buttocks came into view simultaneously. The display continued to unveil itself before my startled eyes until fully half the length of her vagina was revealed. Then she had her paper and straightened stepping back to the bench before turning to see my reaction.

I had been happy that she was turned away from me during the unveiling, as it allowed me a precious moment to recover from my surprise. When she finally turned she met only a slightly raised eyebrow, a small grin and what I hoped were smiling eyes.

As the crowd increased, the dance began playing itself out normally. She moving first to within steps of me. Her eyes occasionally travelling to my face, which I was once again holding impassive. Then to within breast touch, and finally into our normal full contact. In the past she had always kept her arm and body contact to the outside of my sports jacket as we stood. Today, her arm went inside my jacket and encircled my waist. My left arm travelled to it's normal place behind her back, but she trapped my right arm and guided my hand to the front of her short skirt before placing her left hand in it's customary position over my groin.

The hand was not still today as she pulled herself tightly to me, but hidden by the length of my jacket was rubbing slowly and squeezing gently at my scrotum. Her hips, instead of pulling tight against my leg, she held back slightly, allowing me to use my fingers to raise the front of her skirt slightly for access to the treasures beneath.

Once there, I found her legs together and some access denied to me. I satisfied myself with rubbing small circles at the front of her Labia, varying the pressure and direction from time to time to vary the stimulation. Twice during that ride I was sure I felt her breath catch. My hard-on rose, coming into a painful, half-folded position beneath her hand. She adjusted the position for me as it stiffened and it was quite comfortable again.

For the thirty minutes of our sardine ride, we each continued our ministrations. Twice I almost came, but managed to hold on to my marginal control. It would not have been a comfortable day had I begun it with sticky shorts and pants. As the press lightened, before she began her normal dance away from me, she hugged me tightly, quickly, then moved to breast length. Looking down I saw the finest patina of sweat beaded on her upper lip and across one temple. Her hand moved in a quick motion to insure her skirt was straight.

Next move and I was buttoning my Jacket to hide the bulge in my pants. When I looked her lips formed the smallest of smiles. Looking further down, her upper thighs glistened slightly just below her skirt's hem. There were two very obvious points in the front of her tube top. Two more stops and she was gone to wherever she went each day and I had pleasant thoughts 'til my departure at the next stop, a truly wonderful beginning to my day's labors.

That afternoon, when she boarded the train she was dressed the same, with the addition of a knee length knitted sweater vest in a white that matched her skirt and shoes.

The dance progressed normally, and I must admit that I was already hard when she reached me. She again cuddled tight, inside my jacket, only this time she stood with her legs parted, her rubbing hand went into her vest pocket and through. Apparently she had removed or cut open the pocket just for this, so her hand was fully hidden as she not only rubbed, but squeezed gently jacking me as well, stopping every few minutes so I wouldn't actually orgasm.

My hand was travelling the length and breadth of her labia and vagina. rubbing and gently pinching all. Finding and flicking or rubbing at her clitoris. Entering her with some times one finger and sometimes two. Her lower lip seemed permanently trapped between her teeth. I was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain what I hoped was my normal impassive expression as I looked out the windows and scanned the crowd around us. No one seemed to notice.

Just before our parting dance, she spoke her first words to me. "Do you speak Japanese?"

"Yes"

"Thank you. I will see you again, tomorrow." She once again danced away and I was buttoning my coat.

Thursday morning and she boarded the train in an almost subdued more demure attitude about her. Some of the boldness she'd been showing seemed to be missing from her demeanor. Her eyes were downcast, and she didn't glance in my direction on entering the car. Her attire was also changed and of a much more conservative cut than she'd previously worn, for the most part that is.

Her outfit this morning consisted of a vest, skirt, top combination. The skirt was of some grey linen-like material that extended to her knees, a very tight, narrow cut, well-tailored affair that seemed taken from a 1940's movie. The vest, from a matching material, was also finely-tailored and held closed by two buttons just below breast level. Even her hose had a light greyish hue to them and disappeared into a pair of plain black flat shoes, the first non-heels I'd seen her wearing. The only detractor from the basic conservative nature of attire, was her top, beneath the vest, which appeared to be another simple white tube top. As she walked into the car and raised her hand to the rail beside the bench seat, there was a momentary glimpse of bare midriff along the lower edge of her short vest.

She stood with her shoulders slumped, with her chin lowered and her face and eyes downcast she had a dejected almost defeated look about her as she held her position and missed the first steps of her by now standard dance. Across the distance I could see a single tear at the corner of one eye as she stood chewing on her lower lip. Her look was one of almost unendurable sorrow.

At the next stop, I took the initiative and moved as the doors opened. Making it seem that I was being forced towards the doorway by departing passengers, I moved to within a few steps of her before stepping sideways, out of the moving flow. Reaching up I took hold of a hanging strap and waited for the next stop, the first of the true sardine press stops. So intent was she on her own thoughts, on whatever it was that so troubled her, that she had not noticed my moving and although I stood no more than two feet from her and my shoes and lower body had to be within even her lowered area of vision she appeared completely unaware of my presence. It wasn't until the train began slowing for the next stop that she finally looked up slightly and became aware of me, following the line of my legs upwards with her eyes, past my open sport jacket and finally to my face and eyes.

For the briefest moment, a variety of emotions played across her lovely features, a confused realization, followed by pleasure, yet finally supplanted again by the sorrow. Her lips parted as if she were about to speak, her head moved minutely as if for a negative shake, the corners of her lips moved first upwards, then down slightly, all in a matter of a single moment as the car finished coming to a stop and the doors opened.

The cars that we rode in were designed so that there was the barest of spaces between the edges of the doors and the railing beside the long bench seats. No more than a foot in total width, there wasn't supposed to be room for people to stand in this narrow space, yet as the doors opened, it was into this space that I backed her. As I stepped forward, she moved away until her back was wedged into the corner formed by the wall and the seat, her hands coming together between her breasts as the open flaps of my jacket spread around the outsides of her shoulders and upper body. With my left hand I grasped both the jacket edge and the handrail just where it joined the train's wall, as my right hand performed a similar move with the other jacket flap and an abbreviated upright rail just inside the trains doorway. I was not quite touching her, yet she was completely encased and obscured by my body and my surrounding jacket. Almost, I thought she was going to duck under my arm and out the open doorway beside us. She seemed unsure of my intent and movements as if she feared me becoming an aggressor.

I had to brace myself then. Using my arms and slightly spread legs to prevent my being forced more tightly against her and holding firm to the upright railing as one of the 'packers' tried to pull me loose and force me further into the car. I wasn't moved and we stayed in that position as the doors closed and the train began to move.

Between that station and the next neither of us moved. My head was slightly downcast, eyes gazing at the wall just above her head so I could observe her using my lower vision as I held myself inches away from her, surrounding her but not touching her except where the narrowness of the space forced my inner wrists against her shoulders. Her eyes remained locked to the center of my chest as she continued to clasp her hands over one another in the small valley between her breasts. For long minutes her breathing was deep, coming in gasping gulps of air as an over-all tension seemed to have it's grip on her body. Mouse-like, she was drawing her shoulders inwards, pushing her back hard against the sheet steel grey walls behind her, seeming to want to shrink away from me or the very thought of me. Twice I saw her hands move towards my chest as if to push me away, yet withdraw and return to their valley without quite touching me. Although I could not see them, I had the feeling her eyes were wide and round as she held herself so tightly to the wall that even the normal swaying of the car could not cause even an incidental contact between us.

Finally, just as the feel of the drive motors disengaging beneath my feet announced the short coasting before braking for the next stop, a kind of shiver seemed to pass through her. She raised her head then and looked up into my face, searchingly, and I lowered my eyes to look softly into her own. As our eyes met, whatever dam of pent up emotion was locked within her seemed to give way and a visible sob passed through her chest and shoulders as she moved into me. Sliding her arms behind my back and pulling herself to my chest, she began to cry as great wracking sobs and shudders passed through her and the moisture of her released tears soaked through my shirt. I could feel the movement of her stomach against my abdomen as it first completely withdrew from contact, then returned to flutter and shake against me.

She was lost in a full on over-powering bawl, and as much as I wanted to hold and comfort her further, I could not... for if I were to have released my holds on the railings to either side of us, we would have been moved from our position as we passed through the following stations. She would have been exposed and we may actually have been separated with the movement of the surrounding press.

I simply held on and she hugged me close and continued to cry and sob throughout what remained of our journey through the sardine stops. I remained in that position beyond the point where we would normally have parted. The car was still crowded, though there was enough space to allow 'air' between passengers. But she had yet to stop crying, and I believed she had lost track of time and location so deep was she in whatever sorrow that had gripped her. As soon as the train had pulled away from the station and was moving smoothly once again, I took a small risk and released the left railing to retrieve a kerchief from my inner jacket pocket. Placing my fingers under her chin, I raised her head until her eyes met mine and raised an eyebrow. It took long seconds from that point, but finally she came to herself, moving away against the wall behind her once again where she accepted the proffered kerchief and began rubbing at her tear streaked face.

From somewhere, she actually produced a small mirror and examined herself before wetting the fabric with her tongue and wiping at her streaked mascara. Clearing the majority of the damage she made a face at herself in the mirror, shrugged her shoulders minutely and reached into my jacket, slipping the used kerchief into a pocket. She raised her eyes to mine and smiled once before sorrow once again showed through and she began to lower her eyes. It was then that we saw the damage she had done to my shirt. Tear soaked and streaked in lines of blue and black with heavy smears of tannish face powders below it looked like nothing so much as some ocean shore mosaic I'd once seen in a coffee shop back home and may well have been completely ruined by the morning's episode. A look of chagrin and concern appeared as she looked into my eyes and one finger gently touched the stained area.

The doors were opening at that moment though, and I gently stepped away from her as I deftly engaged one button on my jacket and with a grin wrinkled my nose at her. The top of the stained area was just visible above the buttoned jacket, but that couldn't be helped as I took two small steps back and one to the side (almost a foxtrot move), because of the jostling crowd. Reaching for an over-head strap for support I was once again simply another relaxed rider. She seemed lost in her sorrow and I studiously avoided any direct interest until the doors opened and she departed. She looked like nothing so much as a young student dispatched to the principal's office unfairly.

That afternoon, as she entered the car, she was smiling broadly. There appeared to be a new resolve about her as if she had come to some decision and was gladdened by it. With one hand on the railing beside her, and the other hanging non-chalantly beside her grey skirt, she managed to catch my eye and unobtrusively moved two fingers of her hanging hand to indicate that I should again move to her, rather than she to me. As the train moved through it's first series of stops, this is exactly what I did until we were once again standing with her hidden by my jacket and her back against the wall.

No sooner were we in position, with her obscured from view, then she unbuttoned her vest tucking the flaps behind her and against the wall. Her hands moved then to her left side and the hooks securing her skirt, releasing them, unzipping the skirt she let the waistband fall free, it's position now held only by the pressure of her buttocks against the wall behind her. As the front of the waistband sagged down, it revealed a black lace garter belt and matching black bikini panties, a few individual pubic hairs curling whisp-like over the top elastic band. Hooking her thumbs into the elastic, she pulled the panties out and away from herself, providing a clear view of a thick tangle of heavy black matted hairs looking for all the world like a three inch wide, neatly trimmed racing stripe leading to the hidden treasures below. I groaned in my throat, bringing a sudden smile to her lips and a devilish glint to her eyes.

Releasing her panties, she transferred her hands to her hips, and shifting slightly rolled the fabric downward until it was gathered taut just below her hips and buttocks, the bottom panel resembling a small trampoline between her slightly parted thighs. Moving to the tube top wrapping her breasts she slid it down, freeing them to the air and my sight. This was the first glimpse I'd had of these delectable morsels and I found them enticing indeed. Standing proud and firm, they extended not far from her chest, yet appeared wide and thick with broad flat areole and heavy, already rigid nipples extending straight out from their centers. Her smooth, almost glossy skin was slightly flushed as she thus exposed herself and I found what I could see to be completely blemish free. Thankfully, I had begun the habit of repositioning my 'equipment' before boarding the train this time, so, as I hardened, there was no real discomfort.

Once fully exposed to my view, she grasped her nipples with the sides of her fingers and thumbs and pulled, twisting them, rather savagely I thought, as she did so. Unbelievingly, to me, they actually became a little longer and firmer seeming to twitch momentarily in place as she released them. My already rigid cock gave another surge at the sight, only my underwear keeping it from making a tent of my slacks. She began to slide her right hand towards her pelvis and reached forward with her left, as if checking the condition and reaction of my cock to her display. As she felt it and tried to close her hand about it, she smiled.

Her other hand moved straight to her crotch at that point, and as I watched she held her pinkie straight and rigid as she curled the other three under and seemed to 'push' suddenly, the hand mostly disappearing beneath her. The heal of her hand was pressed tightly against her lower pelvis and moved against her, sliding the thick matt of hair and the skin below as it rotated in tight quick circles. No more than a dozen heartbeats later, and her hand stopped as her lower stomach jerked once, twice, three times against the inside of her wrist, a small shiver passing through her upper body and breasts, the nipples there gently quivering with the passing tremor.

Long seconds she stood unmoving, then her palm relaxed away from her groin as she began quickly plunging her fingers into herself. Her left hand began moving back and forth between her breasts, squeezing and pulling at them, twisting the nipples savagely as she frigged herself there in the crowded train. We arrived at the second sardine stop and passed beyond it with her never missing a stroke. Sweat was standing out across her forehead and upper lip small droplets sliding their slow way down her cheeks as she seemed to be trying to hurry herself to completion. Occasional small slapping sounds rising between us when she forgot and plunged her fingers too far, too fast. Finally, before we reached the next stop, she reached her goal, pressing herself backwards, harder against the wall and her shoulders outwards against my wrists, I felt she was trying to keep from collapsing under the physical and emotional overload she seemed to be experiencing.

I squeezed my wrists inward as much as I dared, trying to help her but not able to do too much for fear of changing the nonchalant outward appearance or the hang of my coat and stance. Watching, I saw her mouth open wide, her tongue extending straight outwards, eyes rolling upwards and back into her head as her legs twitched and her entire upper body jerked and shivered through what seemed an almost over-powering experience. Small squeaks were coming from deep in her throat as I felt she was fighting against literally screaming or crying out loud through the seeming fit she was having. Finally though, as we slowed into the next station, she came down from it all and began repossessing her own body, her eyes rolled back down and a spark of life and intelligence reappeared there, her breathing, which she had held for long minutes began again with a deep shuddering gasp.

As the doors opened and people began squeezing in and out of the car again, bumping and scraping against me, I held firm as she looked up into my eyes and smiled broadly, contentedly and impishly at the same time. With people moving and jostling around us, she again pumped her still imbedded fingers within herself, the wet squishy sounds plainly visible to my ears and, I thought, to those moving in and out of the car around us. Yet no one seemed to notice. She only did this for a few moments before she removed her obviously sopping fingers and raised her hand to her mouth, inserting her ring finger and sucking it dry. As she did this, she raised her eyes to mine and deftly raised one eyebrow. As the doors closed beside us and the train took it's first lurch forward, I lowered my head to my chest, as if tired, and opened my mouth as she raised her hand and guided her middle and index fingers into my mouth where I tongued and sucked the gathered fluids from them. Pure sweet ambrosia.