Peak Hour – Min (POV) /Bree – NSFW

by asynca

READER DISCRETION STRONGLY ADVISED – MATURE CONTENT

 

 

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t imagine what it would be like to have a dick. I do. I just would never tell anyone, because can you imagine how it would go? ‘I don’t want to actually be a guy – at least, I don’t think so – but I want to look like one and, sometimes, I like the idea of having a dick’? Yeah, like people aren’t already fucking confused about what’s going on with me. So if they ask, even if Sarah asks, the answer is always ‘no’.

But it’s not ‘no’, not completely. It’s true that day-to-day I wouldn’t want the hassle of dealing with one, because it would just be another thing I’d need to worry about how to hide. And, seriously? It wouldn’t be right. For me, there’s a big difference between sometimes wearing a packer and actually having a dick.

It’s just sometimes I like to lie in bed while Bree is fast asleep and imagine what it would be like if I had one. How things would be different, what I’d do with it. And there’s a few things I really like to imagine I’d do. Things I’d probably never do if I actually had one. But, boy, are they fun to think about.

There’s one in particular.

For some reason, in my fantasy I’m on the train during morning peak hour. It kind of doesn’t matter why, but I guess it would be because of work. For some insane reason I’m obviously working in an office again, because I’m in a full suit, and it’s winter, so I’d be wearing a long coat, too. The train is too hot with all the people in the carriage to keep it buttoned up, though. So I undo it and leave it hanging open across my front.

Also, despite the fact that it’s the twenty-first century and no one reads full-sized newspapers on the train anymore, in my fantasy, I am. It’s especially ridiculous because there are always a million people squished into the carriage and I can’t turn the pages properly. I try for a little while, knocking the people around me. They pretend to accept my apology, but I can see they wish I’d just put it away and take out my phone, instead.

Once we get to the city stations, all the school students start to pile in. And if it wasn’t cramped already, it certainly is with dozens of kids squashed in there, too. It’s mostly the older kids at this early hour of the morning, and they’re all in neat private school uniforms. And, look, I’m not normally the type of person to check out school kids because that’s just fucked up, and I don’t even normally check out the soon-to-be-graduates, either. This morning, though, one of them catches my eye.

She’s shorter than the two girls she gets on with, but while my eyes gloss over them, they get stuck on her. She’s got a Shirley Temple mop of curls and the rosy cheeks to match, but what really gets my attention is something crazy that only Bree would do; maybe that someone’s drawn a villain moustache on her and she’s just left it there. Yeah, that’s a good one; just the right level of crazy. Someone has drawn a villain moustache on her with texta. Her friends and her are deep in discussion about whatever, something unrelated, and no one seems to be paying any attention to the fact she has a moustache. It’s surreal. I probably would have forced myself to look somewhere else much earlier if I hadn’t been trying to figure out who does that.

She busty. I hate myself for noticing that, but she is. She’s short, and busty, and she has full hips and nice calves under those long, salmon-coloured school socks. She’s a nice shape. I can’t believe I’m thinking that because, Min, she’s a schoolgirl, but I kind of want to touch her. I want to feel all those shapes under my hands, feel the soft skin of those bare thighs and I want to sit her across my lap and push that short little skirt up around her waist and wow, Min, you’re in public. Get a grip. I try to focus on my newspaper.

At each station, everyone has to shuffle around to let the people who need to get out through the door. At one of them, she bumps into me and has to press her side way up against my front so someone can edge through. As if that wasn’t awkward enough, she accidentally brushes the crotch of my pants with her arm when she moves away again.

“Whoops, sorry!” she says brightly with a big, cheery smile. I mumble something, no idea what, because all I can think is, fuck, you’re gorgeous. I hope to god there wasn’t anything in there for her to feel when she bumped me. I’d check, but she’s standing right there and she’d probably notice me reaching for my pants.

She’s been separated from her two friends by a group of people who got on at the last station, and now they’re on the other side of the doorway. They’ve basically forgotten about her, and they each have an earbud and are watching what appears to be a video on the screen of a phone. The cute girl makes a face at them, and then, looking around, catches me looking down at her.

Shit. I pretend I’m reading the edge of my page and try to act like everything is perfectly normal, but I see her smile to herself. Then, knowingly, she takes off her blazer and folds it over her bag on the floor. Underneath she’s wearing a white school shirt, and underneath that I can see the lace of a brightly coloured bra. She’s done that on purpose, I realise. She wants me to see that.

It’s pretty warm in the carriage, but not so warm that she needs to fan herself like she’s doing. The ‘it’s so hot in here’ ruse gives her a reason to loosen her school tie and undo the top three buttons on her shirt, though. Then, she glances up at me from under her lashes to make sure I’m still trying to pretend I’m not watching her, and takes out her phone to check her email like she’s not being the world’s biggest tease.

I’m taller than her, much taller. With those buttons undone I can see the top of that bust I was admiring earlier, and her skin is creamy and smooth and fuck, I can feel it’s doing something to me. It’s not a total disaster getting hard on a train, especially not with my enormous coat that I could just button up if I needed to. But it’s wrong, so wrong. She’s a schoolgirl and she’s flirting with me, and I like it. She’s enjoying how much I like it. If I stare down at her for too long and think about that too much, I’m going to end up rock fucking solid on public transport on my way to work.

There’s a particularly boring article about Centrelink in my newspaper, so I focus on trying to read that. I’m enunciating all the words in my head and trying to concentrate on what they mean when we get to another station and all need to squish together again. This time, though, a whole stack of people get on, and the girl gets trapped a lot closer to me.

There aren’t enough Centrelink articles in the world to keep me front noticing I can see down her top, or that she knows I’m looking and keeps tilting to give me a better view. Still, I have my newspaper half-open between two people and I’m trying to give all my attention to asset tests and income limits and whatever the hell that means when I feel her arm brush my crotch again.

There’s something there now, I know there is, because when her arm brushes it I can feel I’m starting to get a bit hard. I die inside hoping she didn’t notice, figuring it’s another accident because we’re standing so close together. She doesn’t say ‘whoops, sorry!’ this time, though, she just thumbs through her phone like nothing happened. While I’m trying to figure out what that means, I feel her do it again, and this time, I feel the backs of her fingers.

She smothers a grin by pretending to press her lips together. She’s felt it, I think. She knows what’s there. And I’m right, because after a few seconds, she runs her knuckles along the shape of it through my pants. Fuck, it’s… yeah. Wow, that feels good and she shouldn’t be doing that here.

I glance frantically around me, but everyone is looking at their damn phones and not at us. I’ve never been so glad to live in the smart-phone era, because everyone couldn’t look more disengaged from their surroundings. I wish I could relax knowing that, but I can’t: there is an attractive schoolgirl touching me through my pants on a train.

I should stop her. I should stop her. I should stop her. It’s like a mantra in my head. I could just push her hand away, or shake my head, or even move away from her, but I can’t. I want her to keep touching me. And, fuck, I want to touch her, but I can’t. That’s something that people would notice.

She explores all the shapes inside though the fabric of my suit pants; first with her knuckles, then with her fingertips, and before long she’s rubbing her palm along me, pressing firmly and dragging her hand up and down, and it’s making my pants fucking tight. I look down at her, at those breasts I can see through her shirt, and I can see her chest rising and falling. She’s breathing really quickly; she’s turned on, I realise. She likes what she can feel and it’s turning her on, and fuck, I want her.

I want you, I think, looking down at the crown of her head and willing her to hear me. I want to take you somewhere and continue this. I want to rip open that shirt of yours with buttons popping everywhere and fill my hands and my mouth with what’s underneath it. I want to sit you in my lap and I want to fill you up, because if you’re breathing hard now…

My face is red. I hope no one else can tell, but she certainly can. I’m actually surprised there’s enough spare blood left for my cheeks, because most of it is currently resident in my groin. I am hard. I am painfully hard, in a weird position in these pants, and it’s getting more and more uncomfortable by the second as she keeps rubbing me.

She’s dragging the smooth fabric of my boxers along the length of me with the heel of her palm… and the coy little smile at the corners of her lips and, fuck, that gorgeous body she’s got in there that she’d clearly like to show me and she’s breathing so heavily and I wonder how this is making her feel… and, god, I….

Fuck. Fuck, no. No, no.

I nearly lose it in my pants. Right there, on the train, I nearly let a schoolgirl make me come inside my boxers. I stop it though, grimacing and focusing on the face of an ugly old politician in the newspaper. If I can just avoid coming, I think. If I can just stay here, where I’m hard and being given hand through my pants on a train, when I get to my stop I can just button up my coat and find a men’s somewhere to finish myself off.

While I’m thinking that, she stops. It’s both an enormous relief and a huge disappointment. I can’t believe I’m admitting that, I should be rightfully happy that the schoolgirl who had her hand on my crotch has stopped. But now I’m just thobbing. I can feel my pulse in my groin, and I’m going to spend the rest of the trip wishing she’d kept going. Come on Min, I tell myself, that’s better than blowing in my pants somewhere that I can’t do anything about it.

While I’m taking deep breaths as quietly as I can to try and calm down, I feel fingertips down there again and I actually smile at that. Yes, I think. Yes, keep going. But instead of returning to the motions she’s been making before, her fingers trace up my zip to the slider. Before I can stop her, she’s very slowly undoing my fly.

Oh, fuck, I think. On a train? She sees my expression and pauses, I think worried that I’m not into it. I am, I’m just… no, we can’t do this. It’s wrong. It’s a fucking train and there are people everywhere.

I think she understands my hesitation. She also knows that while I am absolutely determined that we can’t do this, I’m basically nearly busting in there like an overfilled balloon and part of me is internally begging her to finish me off.

She just looks up at me with that ridiculous villain moustache and gives me this coy little smile as if to say please? Then, she undoes another one of her buttons and I can see right into that shirt. The curves of those soft breasts in that technicolour bra. It’s a calculated move, because now I’m fucking helpless to stop her from undoing the zip the rest of the way.

She reaches in, inside my pants and then inside my boxers and then oh fucking god she takes it. She takes ahold of it, delicately at first like she’s worried she’s going to hurt me, and then when it’s clear that’s definitely not going to be a problem, she grabs it and fuck. Fuck. I want her. Looking at her right there with that top undone far enough for me to see inside from the this angle and with her hands inside my pants, not being able to reach out and pull her against me is killing me. I want her against me. I want to tip that chin up and get texta all around my mouth from kissing her. And while I’m imagining how amazing that would feel, she does something unexpected.

She guides my erection out of my pants so it’s just out there, inside the folds of my coat and underneath the pages of my newspaper. Right there, out on the train. I can’t even hurriedly push her out the way and shove it back in, because that’s going to get the attention of the people around us. Everything she’s doing, she’s doing under my coat and newspaper. But I’m holding the newspaper.

She starts stroking it again. She can get a better angle on it now, and her fingers wrap around it as she moves. I can tell she doesn’t really know what she’s doing, and that makes it even more fucking hot. I want to show her, but I can’t. She’s learning anyway, because I’m sure she can feel when she does it right. And, fuck, she’s really starting to do it right.

I am so fucking close. She she’s going to make me come if she keeps doing that. God, she’s going to, and I’m going to come everywhere, and how the fuck do I prevent that? We really should stop now. This is fucked. But at the same time as I’m thinking that, I can feel that enthusiastic little hand on me getting me there and I want to let her.

I can’t, though. I can’t, I can’t, I try to focus on this stupid newspaper. Aged Pension. Newstart Allowance. Adjustments for annual inflation rates and CPI, but the dole is only adjusted as a percentage of the minimum wage, and… if… god, and if she keeps looking up at me like that… I notice her eyes are blue, that’s no surprise. I worry for a second about how old she is, but then I see Year 12 embroidered on her loose tie and that makes me feel a little bit better.

We come to another station and need to huddle again, and she steps up to me, letting me press against her torso. She’s so short that hard up against her, my dick is nearly pushing up under her breasts and that gives me another delightful mental image of things I want to do with this girl. I’m looking down at her in front of me, panting like I’ve run a marathon, and she’s looking up at me with a cheeky smile. I can’t touch her because my hands are on my newspaper. She’s right there, gorgeous and turned on by my reaction to what she’s doing, and I can’t touch her.

Her hand is still on me as she kicks her schoolbag over to my feet. It’s right below us, and a couple of her books are falling out of it. She looks down at them and then up and me, and smirks. Then, she lets go of me and bends down to put them back in her bag.

She doesn’t get up though. Fuck. She doesn’t get up. She just kneels there on the floor, between the wings of my open coat and under my newspaper, and grins up at me before looking at what’s jutting out of my pants beside her head. God, she’s not going to…? She wouldn’t, would she…?

She does, though, she leans back a little and circles the base of it with her hand, and then smiles up at me. I nearly lose it just over that. I’m so glad I waited when she opens those beautiful little lips and lets me slip inside her.

I just… fucking hell, I…

Fuck. Fuck. God, her… her mouth is warm. And her lips just… fuck. It’s too much, it’s way too much, and I have to seriously try and step outside myself for a second before I finish way too soon. It’s a good thing she has no idea what she’s doing and has to spend some time trying to figure it out, or… yeah. Because if she’d just started off with the right motions I’d be gone.

Fuck, though. What are we doing? Seriously, what are we doing? I’m being blown by a stranger, and she’s blowing a stranger. Doesn’t that trouble her? I look down at her, and she doesn’t look troubled. She looks like she’s really enjoying herself and, seeing that, I nearly lose it again.

She finds a rhythm quickly, and that’s a big problem, because, yeah. I’ve been nearly there for the last five minutes, and I don’t fucking know how in god’s name I’m going to hold it.

I can feel her tongue, her lips sliding on me, and I realise that even that ugly old politician’s face in the newspaper isn’t going to save me now.

She’s going to make me come right here. Here, on a crowded public train, surrounded by high school students on their way to school and people on their way to work. And they’re all oblivious to what’s going on.

I need to stop her, I think. I can’t come here. If she stops now, it won’t happen. I try to push her away with my knee. She doesn’t let me, and she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t fucking stop, and that’s when she looks up at me with those big blue eyes. Her blonde curls are everywhere, bouncing around as she bobs at my crotch. Underneath her chin I can see so much of those beautiful breasts, and they’re moving, too. But it’s watching what she’s doing to me, watching every movement, every pump and twist and lick that she’s doing that’s going to finish me off.

She knows it, and she stares up at me, her tongue swirling over my exposed skin. God, those lips… watching them wrap around me is just…

God, we can’t do this…

I can’t do this. I can’t do this to her, I’m going to… No, I can’t do this to her.

I shake my head, struggling to mute my breathing, willing her to pull away. Doesn’t she understand I’m going to come in her mouth if she doesn’t move? While she’s looking up at me, she winks. I have to struggle to smother a deep, throaty groan. Fuck, she wants me to…?

God, it’s too much, it’s too much. What I can see her doing down inside my coat, the feeling of her lips and tongue and every surface in her mouth, how warm her mouth is, how wet her mouth is…

I hold my breath so no one can tell what’s going on, and it spaces me out. I can hear my pulse throbbing in my ears and feel my heart pounding in my chest and every little movement this gorgeous schoolgirl is making on me and she’s going to…

Fuck, I’m going to come. I’m going to. I gaze helplessly down at that crown of gold curls and those pink lips lingering on me and… fuck. I’m… no, I can’t… Min, you can’t…

My legs want to shake. My hips want to thrust, but they can’t. I can’t do anything, I can’t hold on to anything because I’m not close enough to the handrail. I can’t groan, I can’t speak, I can’t even breathe or people will know. I’m trapped there, in the middle of a train trying to pretend I’m not about to bust in a schoolgirl’s mouth, and when it comes, when finally I can feel it build up and wash over me I want to pull away from her at the last second so I don’t choke her or hurt her or force her to do anything she doesn’t…

She holds me there, so I can’t move. So I can’t pull away. I have no choice but to just let her take it. When I come it’s helplessly and it’s into her, somewhere in that warm, curious mouth. Her throat bobs and her mouth keeps moving on me, up and down, and it doesn’t stop, god, it doesn’t fucking stop… and my legs are shaking and my newspaper is quivering and my jaw is wide open but I can’t make a single tiny sound… all I can focus on is that mouth. That mouth moving on me.

After a few seconds she does stop and I want to sigh with relief as she releases me and sits back. She looks pretty pleased with herself. I came in that mouth, I think, gaping down at her as she smiles up at me. Why on earth did she let me do that?

She waits until I’m softer, and then she helpfully tucks me back in my boxers and does up my fly. Then she does up all her buttons, reaches into her bag so she can retrieve and fix her lip gloss, and then she pops a stick of gum into her mouth. Standing stiffly up with her schoolbag over her shoulder, she steps away from me.

It’s a let down; I don’t want her to do that. I want her to come here and stand against me so I can cuddle her, and kiss those lips and ruffle those curls. I want to put my arms around her and hold her close. It feels wrong for her to just get up and walk away like that after what we did, it feels like a break up for a relationship I never had.

When we arrive at the next station, though, her and her friends are the ones who are going to get out this time. My stomach bottoms out; I’ve never seen her before, and I probably won’t bump into her again, and I want to return the favour. I want to do so much more than just that, though, is that weird? A stranger blew me on the train which doesn’t exactly scream ‘romance’, and now I want to cuddle her and take care of her and take her home with me? Maybe I am just a sentimental idiot.

She doesn’t make any move to give me her number or tell me her name, but she does turn around and give me a cheeky little grin before she steps off. She then gets carried away by the rush of people out of the carriage before we can even say anything to each other.

And then I’m standing in the train, still a bit breathless and my body singing from what’s just happened, wondering what the fuck just happened.

“Hey, are you okay?” Bree’s voice knocks me out of my fantasy, and when I open my eyes, I’m looking into hers. She’s propped up on an elbow beside me in bed, bleary because it’s the middle of the night and she’s obviously still got a lot of sleeping to do.

“That’s a very interesting question,” I deflect. “Do you mean psychologically? Because I am in a relationship with you, so I’m pretty sure I lose points for–”

She puts her hand over my mouth to shut me up. “Shh,” she says. “You were breathing funny. I thought you might be crying.”

Ahah, yeah. Crying. “Nope.”

She squints at me. “Your cheeks are red.”

“Told you we didn’t need three blankets.”

Slowly a grin grows across her face. “Oh my god, are you actually jerking off for once?” she asks, looking amused. She doesn’t wait for me to answer because she knows she’s on the right track, so she she shoves me. “You should have woken me up! I’d totally be up for it. Is it too late?”

By this point I probably have a Gemma-level blush going, and I’m not actually sure what to do about it. “I wasn’t really doing anything, I was just thinking.”

She kisses my shoulder, and then my collarbone and then the corner of my mouth. “What were you thinking?” Her eyes are twinkling. She knows it has to be really juicy or I wouldn’t have tried to deflect.

I consider lying about it and just making up something tame, but Bree is unfortunately usually able to tell when I’m not being honest with her. Plus, there’s no real reason to lie. If I can’t tell my girlfriend it gets me off to imagine I have a dick, who can I tell?

Shit, though, I know I’m going to seriously regret telling her as I start to.

I am never going to be able to catch a train with her again.