Story: The Red Coat (Part 2)

This story continues where Part 1 left off.

...

Twenty minutes on a platform seems like twenty hours, but also twenty seconds. I stay huddled against my sheltered portion of wall. Feeling the cold air on the exposed skin of my neck and throat, swirling under my coat, around my thighs and swishing coldly against slightly moistened flesh- from the sweat of anticipation and fear, and from... other things.

Twenty minutes pass and the train approaches. It's not packed full, but it's not empty either. I move towards the door, ever so conscious of my predicament. My boots and stockings giving off an impression of respectability, or perhaps just normality when in reality there is only just a corset, and this coat. This coat which is my only protection. And the single ticket which I can't seem to let go in my slightly sweaty fingers.

At first I push into a partition wall. Sitting presents a problem- how will my coat respond? Of course, knowing that this was the future plan, I have tested the coat in various circumstances, and it is because of that testing that I am particularly reluctant to sit. I know, that even with every so careful positioning, the coat edges will pull apart slightly. That more of my legs will be revealed, and the lack of a skirt. Not enough to negate the possibility of a mini-skirt, but enough perhaps to be noticed. The last thing I want is to be noticed. Still, it's not a problem initially, there are too many people. But this presents another predicament- the anonymous pressing up of a strangers body. My heart skips a beat when I feel the pressure of a stranger against my hip. Can they tell? Do they know? I shift slightly and the contact ceases. But it happens again, as people move to get on and off the next few stops. Each time, my heart stops, then pounds, each time the heat rises to my cheeks, each time I clutch my ticket that much more firmly.

Halfway through the ride, the train is more empty and I determine that it is perhaps more obvious to be the only person standing. Sitting is required. Luckily, there is an empty seat by the corner- away from the doors. I go over and sit, every so carefully, towards the window, away from the aisle. The coat parts, as I knew it would and I tug it as best I can back into place.

Another stop passes and the train empties even more. I grow more brave. There isn't anyone who can see me where I am sitting. I can see the tops of heads in front of me, I check the reflections and see that I am protected. Brazen maybe, or just charged from the whole experience, I let my coat part. I am not revealed, but I am revealing far more than I would be comfortable with if anyone were to see. I pat myself outside my coat, feeling my own nakedness, feeling the tightness of the corset. I pull on my lapel and look down my own chest, seeing my breasts free, my nipples hard from the cold. I reach in and touch one- see how easy it is to pass through the veil of normalcy into the unexpected.

The train shuttles on in the darkness. Lights pass outside and now I am anxious with anticipation. And though I know the night will be long, I am impatient with this train, that there is no one here to enjoy my predicament but me. I wonder how far I can go. Since my coat closes right over left, it is my left hand that I slip between the layers. Feeling the slick stocking on my leg, reaching the lacy top, fingering the edge. I am hyper alert to ensure I am not discovered, I cannot conceive of how embarrassing I would find that. It must not happen.

I shift my position and spread my legs enough that eager fingers can reach hot and yearning flesh. Still, this is not ideal. I'm not left handed. I never do this left handed. I think I am making my situation worse. Were someone to suddenly stand up and pass by me now, I would not be able to hide what I was doing. The thought is disturbing but also exciting. I try to find the right angle, the right pressure, the right movement- I am so wet, my hand is so wet, and I am yearning with every fiber of my being.

But it's not to be. The train jerks and I shift, losing contact for a moment. I realize that I am not going to find satisfaction this way, and my frustration is already great enough. I withdraw my wet hand, raise my hips slightly to adjust my coat back to a more demure alignment. I wipe my hand on my coat. For the second time this coat has been marked this evening. I think to myself I will need to take it to be cleaned.

Watching the lights whizz by, wishing I had a watch, had anything so that I could be distracted. But the point of this evening is not to be distracted- it's to be very much aware at all times of my predicament. Of the pleasure that I know he is gaining from placing me in this situation, and my compliance with his plans. Of knowing I stood on that platform, and boarded a train, with only a ticket in my hand. Of knowing whatever it is that he has planned for me still, and knowing that I don't know anything, but that I will come (both figuratively, and literally) and that I will do as I am told, and that I too will be pleasured and astounded and satisfied by the evening's adventures. These are the thoughts that occur to me as the train rattles and continues along it's iron rails.

There are only two stops to go.

Now there is only one.

I stand up, facing away from the other seats to avoid any surprises, and tighten the belt on my coat, pulling it tightly around me. The train pulls into the station, and I leave with the other passengers, who remain clueless as to what was sat right by them. I walk towards the exits, with my next set of previously discussed instructions firmly in my mind. I remove my single ticket and slide it into the machine- the ticket disappears and the gates open. Now I have nothing. Walking carefully, keeping my coat pulled tightly around me, I head out of the station into the night, onto the next leg of my journey.

(I see that my next installment is going to have to be split in two- stay tuned for Part 3)