Late Train on the Metro North

My name's Grant and I'm a 36 year-old tax lawyer who works in midtown Manhattan for a Fortune 500 company. It was tax season, so that meant extra long hours for me, and I spent a few weeks taking the 9:51 commuter train back to Fairfield each evening. The long hours sucked, but that was part of the job. I'd get enough Friday afternoons off in the summer to compensate, maybe, but for now my life was work, work, and more work.

Well, one Wednesday there seemed to be another guy in the same boat. Our late train wasn't very crowded but we somehow ended up sitting in the same berth in seats facing each other. Not as unusual as that sounds: seats could be cramped on the MetroNorth, and both this commuting businessman and I were tall enough to really enjoy a little extra leg room. I guess I could have moved to the empty berth when a couple of businessmen got off in New Rochelle, but I had a comfortable perch at the window and felt just tired.

By that hour, I'm useless for much, even reading the morning's paper I never got around to, so I mostly stared out the window at the darkness and streetlights passing like flickers, but occasionally would take in the sight of the man sitting across from me. A couple years younger than me, handsome, obviously doing well in his career. He was dressed impeccably in a gray suit, my guess was Hugo Boss - too flashy for Wall Street, too conservative for advertising. Probably a management consultant for an established firm. That's it. A Kearney or McKinsey guy. Whatever he was or did, I had to admit he was strikingly good looking, like someone hired a male model to play a financier for some TV series.

It wasn't until the first station stop that my silent train buddy noticed me. He didn't smile but gave a nod of acknowledgement. I gave him a friendly grimace back, and turned my attention back to the passing Connecticut suburbanscape.

Only I couldn't ignore him for long. My eyes were drawn back, back to his fit body, his nice suit and dimpled face. Green eyes met mine, and neither of us turned away this time. Fuck! This wasn't supposed to happen. Not in a public place like this, though admittedly by this point only one woman sat up front, and a couple of men in the back chatting together. All faced away from us.

Now, my consultant smiled and spread his legs. The wool-clad quads made contact with the insides of my knees. My breath stopped and my cock hardened. My first impulse was to back away, to shift my seat, anything to avoid touching him. But I held still, pressing my legs inward slightly to signal to him. By now, we were openly looking each other up and down. I saw his dick sticking up in his trousers. I guess we were in the same boat: overworked so much we didn't have time to even think about sex during the week, til BAM! it hits you like a sack of bricks.

With a sly grin, the man pulled up his ankle as if he were going sit with his leg crossed. He unlaced the oxblood wingtip shoe and quietly removed it, setting it down on the seat next to him. Then, slowly, he inched the toe of his stocking foot along the inside of my thigh. When it made contact with my suited crotch, it was like electricity. The guy's foot was big, size 13 or so, and it felt great massaging my hard shaft through the wool of my trousers. My cock was responding in kind, dancing an age-old dance of hunger and desire against his expert foot.

I took a look around the car and, seeing the other passengers oblivious, removed my own right shoe. I nudged it right underneath this stud's balls, getting an appreciative biting of the tongue and roll of the head. I wiggled my toe, then traced the curvature of his balls then cock. He was a big fella, and I felt like my toe would never reach the end of his stalk. It did only at the edge of his belt.

We played with each other, in mirror image, just like that for a full five minutes. Our eyes smiling at the unexpected naughty fun of the whole situation. Finally, I couldn't take anymore. I reached down and unzipped my suit pants. My cock popped up through the hole in my boxers. Jesus, it was sweet, the soft buffing of his sheer-sock toes against my dripping cockhead, the pressure of the ball and arch of his foot against the several thick inches of lawyer cock I had sticking ramrod rigid up out of my pinstripe trousers.

"Next stop Stamford!" The conductor was walking down the aisle, so quickly we withdrew our feet and I slapped an unread section of the Financial Times over my lap while I pretended to thumb through the other one. It was close, but we escaped detection, though I suspected my gentleman friend's balls were as aching blue as mine were getting.

Finally, the train pulled away after the passengers disembark and our car was even emptier. Quickly, we got back in position, only this time, his trousers were unzipped as well. His ample-sized meat felt great - thick and firm - underneath my heel and foot. It's funny, I never thought of myself as a "foot" guy, but the sheer silk felt unlike anything else in this world rubbing against my cock. I couldn't help myself, I started thrusting up into his foot, grabbing it and guiding it into my crotch, pushing it hard against my cock shaft.

I was really fucking him know, and he started doing the same with me. We both needed to get our rocks of bad, and our built up sex drives were asserting themselves with a vengeance. Before we knew it, we were choking back grunts and nodding our heads as orgasm hit us simultaneously. I was shooting a mammoth wad all over his foot and could feel my own sock getting royally soaked with his seed.

Right there on the goddamned MetroNorth, two white collar strangers unloaded without so much as a word passing between us. We were both smiling like crazy now and hyperventilating as we came down from an intense nut. Slowly, reluctantly, we withdraw our feet. I saw him take his cum-soaked foot and slip it back inside his dress shoe. I followed suit and smiled as I felt the fresh potent splooge squish between my toes.

It wasn't long before Fairfield came, and, surprisingly, it was my foot friend's stop as well. As we got up, grabbed our briefcases and put on our overcoats, the hunk leaned over and whispered in a low pleasant voice, "Man, you sure shoot a huge load. My foot's soaked in your cream."

I turned and grinned. "Sorry about that," I reply.

"No problem," he said, his hand clasping my shoulder. To others, it would look innocent, but considering what we'd done the gesture seemed particularly sexy. "I thought what we did was pretty damned hot."

"I'm going to be on the same train tomorrow, guy." I don't know what possessed me to say that, only the endorphins from one incredible orgasm were still swimming in my head.

"I will now," he said before separating and walking down the aisle to get off.

Julie had come to pick me up at the station. I gave her a peck of a kiss after I got in the passenger. But not before I managed to look eight parking spaces down to see my new friend in a similar embrace with his blonde, suburban housewife.

Maybe tax season wasn't so bad after all.