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Author’s note:

This is my entry for the Literotica Summer Lovin’ Story Contest 2024, so please vote.

My sincerest thanks to AwkwardMD, Bramblethorn and NoTalentHack for beta reading. You guys rock.

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I was far from home, and Emi was my lifeline.

“Lifeline” sounded melodramatic. Still, that was how I felt, ascending the stairs to the dimly lit subway station, following her white summer dress in a sea of other dark-haired people of similar height. I stood out like a sore thumb, a head taller than the rest and with dark blonde hair.

The Japanese didn’t stare. They were all very polite, very subdued. I had been in Tokyo for a week, and in that time I had almost gotten used to the prickling in my neck from so many eyes aimed at me. Eyes that always were aimed anywhere but at me if I turned to look.

Emi gestured to a door further down the corridor. “Me go, you wait?”

I nodded. The crowd parted easily for Emi, and she quickly detached from the subway-goers and hurried down the hall. I followed her with much less grace, muttering sumimasen, sumimasen, every time I bumped into someone or stepped in their way so that they needed to slow down.

Even at this late hour, there were people everywhere. The stream of people going down the stairs thinned a little as I waited. Many wore dark suits, and my light colored linens made me stand out all the more. On street level, in the oppressive damp heat of the August night and small bars we’d just visited, the businessmen had looked overdressed, many sweating visibly. Down here, in the crisp coolness of effective air conditioning, I shivered in my short sleeved shirt.

I was trying to not ogle the door to the women’s toilet too openly as I waited. Emi was a friend of a friend of a friend; Jacob had reached out when he’d found out I’d be visiting Tokyo. Good thing, too. The locals were very polite and friendly, but it was rare enough to find anyone with passable English that I would’ve been thoroughly lost without Emi. Not to mention all the places she’d taken me that I never would’ve found on my own. This was our last evening together, and she’d taken me bar-hopping–not the first activity I would’ve expected when I first met her.

All of the Japanese were subdued and well-mannered, but Emi had some subtle impishness to her that had revealed itself in our time together. Her English wasn’t superb, but occasionally she’d crack a joke, usually deadpanning with only a glint in her eye or a subtle small smile. She was quick-witted and had a good sense of humor. I was sorry I didn’t know any Japanese, so that our communication was flatter than it needed to be. Still, I enjoyed her company.

Here she was, the white sundress pillowing around her nimble body. It buttoned all the way down, with blue embroidery near the collar and hem. It was modest, like all the dresses I’d seen on women here, but thin enough to show an outline of her body with bright enough backlighting. She flashed a little smile, almost a grin, and the glint was back in her eyes.

“All ready! Sorry you wait.”

“No no,” I said as I turned to follow her down to the platforms. “I’m in no hurry.”

There were people on the platform, and Emi took a light hold of the crook of my arm, guiding me along to where fewer people were waiting. She smiled up at me and then we waited.

Even drunk, the Japanese were subdued and orderly. There was no drunken singing or hollering; everyone waited for the train, talking with each other in hushed tones or reading a magazine. When the train came, Emi ushered me inside and pushed me along the corridor.

“Here,” she said, gesturing at the very end of the train car. There was a free seat between a passed-out businessman and the wall, narrow enough for one. I raised my eyebrows.

“Very many people,” she said. “You sit, me sit in lap, save room.”

She pushed me to sit, and surprised, I did, thumping on the bench. I didn’t even have time to pull my hands out of my lap before she backed up to sit on my legs, curiously straddling them even though I had them spread apart a little. The hem of her dress flowed on my lap, and she pulled my left hand from under her and placed it on her thigh, patting on it twice and then leaving her hand over mine. My right was still trapped under her, not tightly between us because she didn’t sit all the way back on my lap, but still in a place where I couldn’t easily slip it out because the wall was blocking me from bending my elbow.

Emi sat in my lap, looking forward. The doors closed and the train started moving, jostling the drunkard beside me.

I eyed the car. It was full, but not abnormally full. Some people stood, swaying and holding the overhead handles, and all the seats were occupied. In situations like these, we had previously both remained standing. I looked at the back of Emi’s neck, puzzled. A few black escort hairs had escaped her bun, and her white swan’s neck curved toward her small ear.

The train screeched, tilting to a bend, and Emi tilted her hips forward almost imperceptibly. It had the effect of putting my hand in contact with her skin briefly. She stayed close enough that I felt the heat radiating from her posterior. Was it intentional?

I hadn’t tried to flirt with Emi, mostly because I had difficulty reading her and didn’t want to insult her, afraid I’d lose not only my shot for some travel-time fun with her but her guiding services. Now I replayed the past evening in my head. Had she smiled at me more than usual? Had she touched my hand more than she had in previous days?

My slightly drunken mind was kicked into gear. All my senses were heightened. I moved my hand a little, heart thumping, my fingertips grazing her butt. She didn’t flinch, didn’t jump up, didn’t start shouting at me, so I pressed a little more firmly. My fingers marveled at the absolute smoothness of her skin.

…only skin. I spread my fingers, cupping one of her small, firm buttocks in my palm. She had no underwear on! My mind raced as I replayed the night in rapid motion: had she been going commando this whole time? Did she have a bra on?

I stared at her back, seeing no hint of any kind of lines through the thin fabric of the dress. Her hand remained over my left one, modestly closer to her knee than her crotch. She held it, lightly, and then squeezed a teeny tiny amount. She kept looking forward. The drunk beside me hadn’t moved, his thigh pressing into mine, his briefcase inexplicably clutched in his arms even as his head had bobbed backward against the back of the seat.

Emboldened, I reached a bit more to the side. The heat emanating from her pussy was amazing, unbelievable. My fingers hovered millimeters from touching as I hesitated, feeling like I was crossing some kind of line. The train swayed, and I made contact. Emi’s thighs, hot against mine through the thin layer of fabric between us, tensed minutely, but probably not enough to be noticeable from the outside.

I held my breath. Her outer labia were warm, amazingly soft and puffy, and as I wiggled my middle finger her lips opened up to reveal the slick, silky soft inner lips. I couldn’t move my hand a whole lot, so I tried to undulate my finger against her, massaging and pressing gently with my other fingers. She didn’t move, but the train’s motion helped me somewhat. She had been wet to begin with, but slowly the moisture seeped down to my palm, making my finger slip and slide. I reached, stretching my finger as far as I could. Emi’s grip on my hand grew stronger, and her thighs tensed again when I caressed the underside of her nub.

Speakers announced the next station, and the train began to decelerate. Alarmed, I glanced at the businessman next to me, but he hadn’t stirred. I was grateful that I was mostly hidden behind Emi’s back. I had no idea how she could keep her face impassive, but she must have, because nobody was giving us a second glance.

The train stopped. Doors opened, people stepped out, there was an announcement. All I could think of was the slick, moist heat on my hand, how I wasn’t sure if I felt or only hoped that my fingertip reached Emi’s clit. She sat still, but the grip of my hand on her thigh was tight now. I couldn’t stop touching her. I wondered if someone could hear the tiny wet sounds we had to make, if someone could smell her pussy, exposed to the air like it was, spread open and fingered like this.

The thought of her pussy’s scent made my mouth water. Fewer people came in than had gone out, and the doors closed again. The train swayed leaving the station, and Emi took advantage and tilted her hips a little more.

Now I was certain I was touching her clit. It was a slippery little bump under the pad of my finger, and I massaged, vibrated, hoping I had the freedom to fully experiment and find what she liked. As it was, my range of movement was very limited, and I was afraid to do anything that would flex my arm muscles too visibly. I inched my finger back toward her opening, scooping up the copious amounts of viscous liquid she was now producing, and then up to slather it on her clit the best I could.

My cock was hard; how could it be otherwise? It pulsed, straining against my thin pants and the loose boxer shorts underneath. Jacob had recommended wearing silk boxers for the heat. It had been good advice until now, when the sensation of silk rubbing against my burning shaft every time I twitched my arm to touch Emi made me more aroused by the second. Not half as much as touching her, but the effect was noticeable.

I poked and prodded, slowly, with alternating pressure. Emi held my hand in an iron grip. I stared at the back of her neck, at the tiny black hairs on her hairline. A bead of escort bayan sweat rolled down the back of her neck, slowly. I had to suppress the urge to lean forward and kiss it off.

Could she come like this? Someone was bound to notice if she did, right? As unbelievably as she had managed to stay motionless until now, she couldn’t possibly orgasm without any outward signs, could she? What would happen if she came, and someone noticed? Would we get arrested? Was this illegal? Sweat glued my shirt to my back, even though the train was cool.

I let my gaze travel over the other passengers, trying to look bored and indifferent. Nobody seemed to be looking at our way, but then the Japanese never stared openly.

Emi shifted in my lap, turning her head sideways to my direction, and said, “Next stop our one.”

She was a little breathless, but that could have been attributed to speaking in polite, hushed sounds like one did in the train. I nodded, and she turned back the way she had been. I resumed tickling the tip of her clit. My finger was now perfectly positioned for it, my palm full of her pussy. Her pubic hair was matted with her nectar. It wasn’t until I heard the announcement for the next station that I realized I would have to get up from my seat, and that my raging cock was probably not easily concealed in my thin, white linen pants. I was sure I had made a wet spot, too.

Concealed weapon, I thought and suppressed a panicked grin. I wonder what’s the conviction in Japan for this kind of concealment.

Emi stirred, which was enough heads up for me to withdraw my hand. She got to her feet slowly, a little unsteadily, and keeping her in front of me as a shield I got up too, quickly reaching into my pocket to grab my cock to try and hide my erection. It wasn’t ideal. I was sure it looked suspicious as hell, and because this was the same hand that had been thoroughly drenched in Emi’s pussy juice, my cock surged in my hand. I tried to stay as close behind Emi as was plausible and made my best impassive face.

The doors opened, we stepped out with a few other passengers. Luckily, the platform wasn’t quite as brightly lit as the train had been. No chastity police forces awaited us. Others headed toward the exit, Emi among them, and I followed her. She lingered a little so that we got to the back of the line, which I appreciated. I glanced that there was no one behind us and breathed a little easier.

When we got up the first flight of stairs to a corridor, Emi also looked around, suddenly alert and quick. She looked at me, her dark eyes bright, her pale cheeks decorated with the cutest pink blush. “Come, fast.”

I wondered if this was an intentional pun, because I did feel like I would come extremely fast if she touched my genitals. She hurried along the corridor, turning a corner. Public toilets were ahead, but instead of going for either women’s or men’s, she stopped in front of a disabled toilet. After one more quick glance around, she opened the door.

The toilet was spacious, probably to be maneuverable with a wheelchair, and spotlessly clean like everything in Japan. I took in the toilet seat, the handicap rails, the sinks at two heights, one normal and one lower for the disabled, both embedded in a counter. I stopped in the middle of the floor, my hopes rapidly rising.

Emi locked the door behind us, then turned toward me in a swirl of her summer dress. She stared at me, straight into my eyes, and smiled radiantly. She stepped toward the higher counter, setting her purse on top. With quick motions she dug out a condom and handed it to me. The pink spots in her cheeks darkened, though her smile got even wider, and she started to unbutton her dress swiftly.

Her small, white fingers danced on the buttons, revealing more of her alabaster skin with each one. When she got the last one, she spread the dress open like a robe, showing off her slim frame, the dark triangle of her pubes, and her small, perfect breasts, which were indeed braless. They rose rapidly with her breathing, those lovely soft mounds, topped with cherry pink nipples.

I couldn’t stop staring, and without looking, hardly paying any attention, I unzipped and released my raging erection. Emi giggled breathlessly, looking at me in the same direct and shameless way. She released her hair, unclipping what had held her bun in one easy motion, and dark strands flowed on her shoulders. She sat up on the counter, her bare skin on the hard, cool surface, the dress bunched behind and around her.

I ripped open the wrapper, sparing the rubber the tiniest amount of attention to get it the right way, and rolled it down. Emi leaned back, supporting herself with her hands, pushing her boobs out. She looked at my cock, mesmerized, and bit her lip when I stepped closer. She opened her legs even further, and for a moment I stopped to look at the pussy I had just spent bayan escort the train ride fondling.

It was exquisite. Her dark pubes covered it partially, but the pink nub of her clit peeked out of its hood, jutting proudly. I could see the shadow of her opening amidst the pink, glistening folds. She was dripping wet, like she had been on the train. I wanted to taste her, but I didn’t know how much time we had, and the way she beckoned for me made me think she wanted me inside her right away. I grunted and stepped up to the counter.

Emi’s tiny hand reached to touch my cock. She cooed, then giggled, her fingers circling the tip and taking the measure of my girth. I held the base to keep it steady, and together we guided me to her entrance. Emi gasped, looking down, when I made contact and pushed the first half an inch in slowly. Her dark eyes looked up at me, her cheeks blushed, her mouth agape. I pushed deeper, reaching to hold her hip with one hand. She arched her back, letting her head roll backward, and gasped again.

She was tight, and hot, and wet. So wet. I swirled the tip just inside her slowly, pushed a little more in and then retreated, then again. She was breathing rapidly, her lovely breasts rising and falling, and the blush spread down her neck onto her chest. God, I wanted to kiss those perfect, pink nipples.

Slowly my latex-wrapped cock made its way into her amazingly heated pussy. I marveled on every inch, taking it as slow as I could possibly muster. Emi’s reactions were so cute, so pure, she seemed unbelievably excited to be impaled by me. I had never felt more wanted, nor more like I had a golden cock. Her heat surrounded me, my hard flesh sinking into her slick pussy with resistance but still smoothly. Seeing how her flesh opened and swallowed my hard shaft was amazing.

When I was all the way inside, I paused. Emi looked up at me, quizzically. I slid my hands up over her smooth sides, cupping both her breasts, my fingers rolling and squeezing her nipples. She let out an adorable little whimper. I could feel her pussy squeeze on me, and I took it as a prompt to start moving.

We accelerated quickly. Soon I had to let her boobs bounce on their own and grab her hips again, for leverage, as I burrowed deep inside of her again and again. She moaned, low and almost inaudibly, and the blush on her chest deepened. She slid one hand down to touch herself, and I could feel she was approaching her peak rapidly. Her pussy clenched, her thighs quivered, her fingers were a blur on her small pearl.

I was also rapidly approaching mine. I could smell her now, the fragrance of her pussy surrounded us, mixed with the latex and my cologne. Sweat ran down my back. I pounded her, struggling to keep at least some kind of pace and keep her steady while I fucked her. There was a sloshing sound to us, combined with the thuds of my thighs meeting hers. Emi made a rhythmical, low “oh, oh, oh” sound, and I grunted as I took it up another notch.

Emi looked up at me, her dark eyes widening, and then her eyelids fluttered. Her thighs trembled, her pussy squeezed rhythmically, milking me, and that was all I could take. Groaning, I bottomed out, my cock letting go of its seed with matching rhythmic pulses.

For a few moments, we stayed like that. Me deep inside her pussy, she with her head lolling back, me gripping her hips. Every time her pussy twitched my cock matched it. A few strands of hair had plastered on her neck, so dark against her skin. Awkwardly, I bent down, pursing my lips and kissing one perfect, tight, cherry-pink nipple. Emi gasped, breathlessly, then giggled. She pushed my head away, then me altogether, and with great regret I let my cock slip out of her.

Emi hopped down from the counter and slipped her shoes on–I hadn’t even noticed when she had removed them. I turned toward the sink, suddenly bashful, and rolled off the condom which was now equally slimy both inside and out. It was intact, and I tied it into a knot before turning to look for a bin to toss it in.

Emi had already buttoned up her dress, which made me regret I’d spent the last few minutes not looking at her. She didn’t look at me, instead staring into the mirror, and with a nifty turn of an arm tied her hair up to a ponytail. Emi’s eyes found mine, an impish grin on her face as she sat down on the toilet. She held my gaze as she peed, only breaking eye contact to rummage in her purse. Then, taking out a pair of panties, she slipped them on. I remembered her going to the toilet before we boarded the train; had she taken them off then?

I stood, leaning on the sink, my brain slow and sluggish and my cock limply hanging out of my pants. Emi got up, checking her appearance in the mirror once again. I was trying to come up with something to say. What is it exactly you were supposed to say in this kind of a situation?

“Five minutes, then you go,” Emi said.

I raised my eyebrows, trying to connect the dots. She just nodded, and before I could say anything she had opened the door and vanished. I got just enough wits to scramble to the door to lock it again, so that nobody would walk in on me.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bo�altmam� ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32