The Commute
Why did Holly have to grow up? Work was terrible. She hated working. Her boss was mean, the clients selfish, and the work load arduous. The commute was the doe's only comfort. There she could just let go and let the streamlined machine take her away. She could let go, relax into the hard seat and barely hold on to conciousness before she arrived at her stop.
Every day held the same sights through those dingy windows. The same black tunnels, the same buildings, same skyline, same stops. Most of the faces she had long since memorized. The occasional odd face was like pepper on her morning eggs: The arrangement might be different, but it left the same taste. Although...there was that dusty brown hare she'd seen daily. Though her fur resembled something you'd find under your bed, she was very lovely. Her business suits were always clean and well pressed. Her back was straight and rigid. Even her tail pointed up as to align with her spine. Holly could never tell if she wore makeup. Often, in her boredom, Holly would make up little stories about the hare. Sometimes she was a lawyer, her mind troubled by a tough case. Other times she was a ruthless business women, showing men just how it's done. She could have written a book series about this woman with all the ideas she had; full of factual errors of course, but no less fantastic.
The only constant was the name. In her mind, the hare's name was Fiona. Somehow it seemed to fit her. She looked like a Fiona.
On this fine summer afternoon, the trains were packed. Holly did not know what had happened to coerce so many to the trains, but there they were, blocking the doorways, cautious not to be stuck when their stop approached. Her stop being at the end of the line, the doe pushed her way in, pressing into the doorway between cars. She looked down for a moment to fix her skirt, wary of any subway perv who'd gladly take advantage of her. When she looked back up, the crowd had moved, siting about like sand in an hourglass. And right in front of her was the hare she called Fiona. Her heart jumped into her throat. Through her imagination, she'd built her up to something great, powerful.
Fiona's ear moved subtlely, too miniscule to count as a twitch. Her eyes fell on Holly, sharp as wine and just as pale. Holly forgot how to breathe. More furs pushed into the train, forcing Fiona closer to the doe. She remembered how to breathe in time to fill her lungs with the hare's scent. It was mild and spicy with a hint of vanilla. She could have breathed it in all day. Fiona was not stupid or blind, she saw exactly what sort of spell she had unknowingly cast on the poor girl.
Truth be told, she had noticed her as well, seeing her drift away, lost in her thoughts. Now, as she had then, she wanted to capture her attention.
Holly nearly jumped when she felt a hand on her leg. Looking up, there was no doubt it belonged to the hare. Her expression was nigh unreadable: Set but not stern, hard but not cruel. Holly nearly trembled as that hand moved, lifting the hem of her skirt. Her own hands braced behind her, digging into the warm steel and plastic. She did not fight, she did not scream, she offered no resistance. This was something she didn't even dare to dream in her little imaginings. Their eyes were locked, conveying silent intent, quiet consent.
The hare's hand released the hem, ducking under and slipping into her panties. Holly's mouth gaped, muting her gasp. Her hand was so warm, palm cupping her vulva. More people pushed in, forcing them closer, helping to hide their deed. The added pressure from extra bodies increased the force of her surprisingly strong hand. Not just strong, but knowing. One of Fiona's fingers slid down her slit, down into the hidden pink flesh. Holly's whimper was silent under the rattle against the tracks. The finger slid back and forth, prodding spots Holly never knew existed. So close to the main pleasure points, but touching neither, it was exciting and torturous. Her clit was delicately brushed and her cunny only nudged at its edge. The hare's finger got wetter with each stroke, the only indication of the doe's growing satisfaction. And though she wanted to, she could not beg for more. She could only suffer under the will of the other.
She did not have to suffer long as the hand twisted, confined by her panties, the thumb pressing against her delicate pearl as the same finger slipped between her folds. Holly could not hold back a noise this time. Some glanced, none noticed. Fiona's expression softened, but only slightly. She was still clearly the one in control, but now it seemed she was completely enjoying it, her eyes devouring the poor doe. Her fingers pressed and pumped, moving with the twists of the train car. She felt every flex, every give of the muscles of her sweet hole. Holly gripped at the wall harder, pressing her back into it, not wanting a single thrust of her digit to go to waste.
Fiona's ear moved, catching the scratchy voice of the conductor over the intercom. Her hand twisted back to how it was when it cupped, slipping in another finger as she stopped pumping and truly fucked her. It was so hard to hold back, oh how Holly wanted to moan, to scream. It was glorious and wonderful and over far too soon. The pinkness clenched around those eager and hungry fingers, flooding her palm with sweet juice. Finally, Holly saw a true smile on the hare's face as she slipped her hand away. But it did not leave her completely.
Tugging at the elastic band, Fiona kept her open as she reached into her pocket and pulled a small rectangle out. "My card," she said, her voice surprisingly more high pitched than it had been in Holly's imaginings. Tucking the stiff paper into those panties, the hare pulled away, leaving the doe dumbfounded as she exitted at her stop. Catching one last glimpse, Holly noticed her licking her fingers as the train pulled away.
Five stops later, the train had reached its end and the still the card remained in her underwear. Between then and here, the crowd had dispersed enough that it was easy to catch her again. She hurried to her home faster than usual, the hard corners gently scratching as she ran. When she got home and shut the door behind her, she pulled out the card and the truth was revealed. The hare was a professional dominatrix, her dungeon only a few blocks from Holly's own job. Her eyes flicked quickly to find her real name, wanting to learn more. Sadly, the name was smudged from being in her juices. The search would continue ...