"Now departing Fujisawa Station. Next stop: Ofuna."
The automated announcement echoed in the subway station. You gritted your teeth, forcing your legs to pump harder against the concrete of the platform, your unbuttoned blazer flapping like a broken wing behind you. The chime was already sounding. That familiar three-note melody that signaled that the doors were about to seal.
"Dammiiittt!"
With a vocal shout, you twisted your body sideways, slipping through the gap before the train doors sealed shut with a soft hiss.
You stumbled into the train cart, catching yourself on a metal pole, chest heaving. A few glances were thrown your way but for the most part, no one gave you a second look. You weren't the first person to run for a train and you certainly wouldn't be the last. You wiped a sheen of sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.
It was your own fault, really. It wasn't as if you had been busy doing anything important after school. You just hadn't wanted to go home. You'd spent the last two hours smoking behind the gym and napping in the audio-visual room, ignoring the vibration of your phone which resulted in you nearly missing your train.
"Phew."
You straightened up, shaking out your damp hair, and that's when you saw her. She was standing three feet away, holding a strap with delicate, manicured fingers. You recognized her immediately because, well, of course you did. Anyone at school would have. Alisa Mikhailovna Kujou. Treasurer for the Student Council and an undeniable beauty at the academy. Not to mention infamously standoff-ish.
At least to people like you.
She looked immaculate, as always. Her uniform was firmly pressed – a stark contrast to your own mess – the ribbon at her throat perfectly symmetrical. Under the light of the train car, her silver hair was unmistakable. Surprisingly, she was one of the few in the train who took notice of your grand entrance. Alisa was staring at you – or rather, she was staring at your loosened tie and the untucked shirt with the kind of disdain usually reserved for lesser beings.
"Oh, hey, Kujou. Didn't see you there," you said, flashing a crooked grin.
Alisa stared at you, a hint of annoyance etching across her features at your casual use of her last name. Her cool blue eyes stared at you for a moment longer before looking away. "You're late. And you smell like menthol cigarettes."
"It's cologne, actually," you lied easily. "You heading home? Thought you lived in a castle or something."
"I am commuting. Please do not speak to me. People might think we're friends."
"Cold…"
Well, she's called Princess Alya for a reason, I guess.
You moved to stand next to the door, leaning your back against the glass. The train swayed, metal screeching against metal. For a few minutes, there was a comfortable distance. You pulled out your phone, scrolling aimlessly, ignoring her presence just as hard as she was ignoring yours.
After a bit of time passed, the train began to slow for its next stop. You briefly looked up from your phone, already preparing for the wave that you knew was coming. It was a busy station, and the downside of leaving school late meant you'd inevitably run into people getting out of work. Sure enough, when the doors opened, a wall of humanity flooded in. Salarimen in grey suits, students from rival schools, exhausted shoppers, and everything in between. The space in the car evaporated in seconds.
"Watch it," you snapped.
You tried to hold your ground against the glass, but it was pointless. A heavyset man with a briefcase shoved backward, forcing you to shift your stance.
"Excuse me," someone grunted.
You were pushed forward while Alya was pushed backward. With nowhere to go you ended up boxed in, trapping her between your body and the row of seats behind her, but she refused to sit. Instead, she stood her ground, clutching the handrail. As the crowd surged again, the gap between the two of you closed completely. Your chest collided with hers, though it wasn't exactly chest-to-chest. You felt the buttons of her blazer digging into your shirt. You felt the warmth of her breath against your collarbone. She was tall for a girl, but you still had the height advantage, looming over her. Her hands came up to rest flat against your chest, creating a barrier. Her palms were small, but she pushed with surprising strength.
"Watch it," she snapped in Japanese, "Back up. You're crowding me."
"Would if I could," you replied, looking over her head at the sea of black hair and suits. "I'm pinned, Prez. Unless you want me to climb onto the luggage rack, this is it."
"I'm not the President!"
It was honestly impressive how Alisa managed to hold onto semantics at times like this. Her face was flushed, likely from the sudden heat of the car and the indignation of being touched by the school delinquent. Being this close to her you could actually pick up a bit of her perfume. You felt her knee knock against the inside of your thigh. She flinched, trying to pull her leg back, but your legs were tangled then, your feet bracketed by hers.
"Unbelievable. Of all the people to be stuck with..."
You felt a perverse thrill at her muttered discomfort. Despite her pristine image, in this situation, you were both stuck on the same level. You turned your head, staring out the dark window behind you to give her a shred of privacy, watching your own reflection.
"Just ignore it. Close your eyes or something."
Alya didn't give you a response. The train doors slid closed, sealing you in as it began to depart. It steadily picked up speed, the cart rocking rhythmically back and forth. With every sway, your thigh unintentionally slid against hers. The soft fabric of her skirt offered zero resistance to the motion. You were doing your best to think nothing of it but that was when you heard it. It was barely a whisper, too low for anyone else to catch over the rumble of the tracks. The tone was entirely different. It wasn't the sharp, commanding clip of a member of the student council. This voice was breathy, lower, almost whimpering.
"
You froze in place. Rather than react you managed to keep your eyes locked on the reflection in the glass. But the words had been unmistakable and they had absolutely come from Alya.
"
Your grip on the handrail tightened until your knuckles turned white. Was she muttering to herself in Russian? The thought crossed your mind as you continued to try to act indifferent.
It was likely that Alya thought you were just a dumb delinquent. A class skipper who had gotten into the prestigious academy through means she didn't quite understand. She didn't know about your father's job in Moscow. Or that you had spent two miserable years in a boarding school where the only way to survive was to learn the language. Or to put it more simply, Alya had no idea that you understood every single word.
"
No way.
The thought looped in your head, repeating her words. You must have been hallucinating. Maybe the lack of sleep finally caught up to you. Maybe the fumes in the train were toxic with this many people pushed together. There was absolutely no universe where Alisa Mikhailovna Kujou, the girl who once gave you detention for wearing the wrong color socks, just said she wanted you to crush her.
You held your breath, straining your ears, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For her to reveal the game or expose you perhaps. You shifted your gaze, scanning the people around you in the glass reflection. A middle-aged salaryman asleep on his feet, someone who kept checking their phone frantically. Nobody else was close enough to whisper like that.
The train hit a patch of uneven track, lurching violently. You lost your footing as your weight leaned forward, pinning her hard against the closed doors behind her. Your hips ground together, a solid, heavy impact that knocked the wind out of her.
"Watch it!" Alya snapped.
Her hands shoved at your chest, her nails digging into the fabric of your shirt. She turned her face to the side, away from you, her brow furrowed in evident disgust. "Can't you at least stand still?"
"I'm trying."
But as her head turned, her cheek pressed against your bicep. Her mouth was hidden from the rest of the car, mere inches from your shoulder. Yet, again, the whimpered Russian reached your ears.
"
The cognitive dissonance nearly gave you whiplash. One second she was calling you uncouth in Japanese, the next she was begging for physical contact in Russian. Her body language screamed anger and revulsion but her words spoke of desperate need. You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. It was real and it was coming from Alisa. She was actually using the language barrier as a diary, narrating her own dirty thoughts in the open where she thought no one would know.
Your mind began to race with the realization and its implications. When you looked at her, Alya was still staring down at the floor, eyelashes fluttering and her legs precariously bracketing your thigh. Most notably, she wasn't pushing you away to escape. If anything Alya was gripping your shirt to keep from sliding down the door and sinking onto your knee. It was said that Alya had a body women would kill for. Honestly, you had never cared enough to pay attention. But being pressed up against her this way, you understood that sentiment fully.
Sandwiched against you, your body couldn't help but react to her position. Your cock hardened against the zipper of your trousers, the sudden tightness uncomfortable and undeniable. Still, you needed to know for sure what was happening. You needed to test this theory that you had stumbled upon.
You shifted your stance, widening your legs under the pretense of finding better balance. It was a calculated move. You slid your right foot forward, forcing your knee between hers. It parted her legs, forcing her skirt to ride up slightly.
Alya gasped as her eyes snapped up to yours. For a second, you thought she's going to slap you. But the strike never came.
"What are you doing? Move your leg."
You threw her a lop-sided expression, doing your best to give a 'what do you want me to do' vibe. Honestly, maybe you should try out for the theater club after this.
"Sorry, I can't. The guy behind me is pushing, I'm trying to brace myself."
It was a weak explanation but you couldn't care less. Your attention was focused solely on what would come next. She couldn't step back, yet she didn't try to twist away either. Instead, you felt Alya's thighs squeeze inward, clamping down on your intrusion.
"
Alya bit her bottom lip, her face flushing deep red.
"
The train continued to rattle over the tracks as it headed for its next destination. It was the perfect cover. You kept your expression bored, eyes half-lidded as if you're about to fall asleep standing up, but below the waist, you were completely locked in. With every jolt that shook the cart, you pressed your thigh upward against the apex between her thighs. After only a few jostles you could feel the shift start to happen. The dampness seeped through her panties and started to stain your pants. Alya's body stiffened against you, her nails digging into your shirt. Had she realized it as well?
"S-stop fidgeting."
The command lacked the initial bite she had addressed you with. Instead, her voice had come out breathy, almost whining when she spoke.
You decided not to give her a response, instead looking out the window as if there was something on your mind. Let her think you were completely unaware of what you were doing to her. That any intentionality on your part was merely a figment of her own interpretation. Even as you rocked your thigh against her rapidly soaking core.
She really must have nothing else under there. Just a pair of frilly panties. No shorts or anything!
Alya shuddered, her head dropping forward, her silver hair falling to conceal her face. To anyone else, it might look like she was exhausted after a long day. But you could feel the way her pelvis tilted, instinctively chasing the pressure of your thigh.
"
You had to strain your ears to hear Alisa's mumbled comments over the rumbling of the tracks. Was she…insulting herself or you? A bit of both it seemed. Though if that was the case then you had never been so happy to be called trash in your life.
That's right Alya, and you're getting off on this trash's thigh.
The high-and-mighty Princess Alya, melting down on the rush hour train, begging the class screw-up to ruin her. To get her off on her depraved kinks.
"Hey," you called, faux concern in your voice. You leaned down, bringing your mouth close to her ear so only she could hear. "You okay, Kujou? You're shaking and you look kinda red."
Alisa jerked her head up, trying to glare at you but only managing a flustered anger with her eyes bleary and a deep flush coloring her cheeks. Her lips had started to swell from where she had been gnawing on them. To be perfectly honest, it was hot as hell.
"I am fine. It is just...hot in here. S-stuffy having to be so close to someone like you."
"Maybe you should take your blazer off."
The suggestion was made casually, almost innocently, or at the very least like the kind of crude teasing a delinquent like yourself might offer. It just so happened to coincide with the upward jerk of your thigh, pressing against her. Her eyes widened as she clenched her teeth. Alisa's knees buckled and she effectively collapsed onto your leg, her full weight riding the friction.
"
A little late for that princess.
Before she could recover, the train began to decelerate causing the crowd behind you to shift forward like a row of dominoes. A heavy guy with a briefcase slammed into your back, shoving you against Alya.
"Whoa!"
Instinctively, you tried to brace yourself, but as a result, only ended up with your hands on Alya, leaning into her. You expected a slap, or at least some form of righteous indignation. However, neither came. Instead, her hair had fallen to mask her face again, her body trembling with what you had assumed was rage.
And then you heard it.
"
Alisa Mikhailovna Kujou had broken. Not metaphorically either. Here she was, openly hoping, begging even, that you would touch her. Here in a crowded train where salarymen were scrolling their phone and staring lifelessly out the window. Here where her desires were being muttered in a foreign language hoping that you could somehow act upon them.
And they call me a degenerate for smoking.
The crowd shifted again as the train began to move, but you no longer needed the illusion of crowd surge as an excuse to act. Your hands moved from where you had braced against her, drifting lower over her school uniform.
This is what you wanted isn't it?
Your hand moved towards the hem of her skirt, feeling her flushed skin. You shifted your knee out of the way, replacing it with your hand, your large body shielding her from the view of others. Then again, Alya hardly seemed to care about that fact at the moment. Your fingers confirmed what you had already known: her arousal already soaked through her panties.
"You're soaking wet, Kujou…"
"It's the humidity. D-don't. Don't touch me there."
But her actions betrayed her words, her hips giving a traitorous, inviting rock against your hand. You took the invitation further, escalating as your fingers rubbed against her pussy through the cotton fabric. You watched as she shuddered, holding the train pole tighter. It was subtle but she began to grind herself into your hand, seeking a release she had been worked towards.
"
Your fingers worked back and forth, rocking against her sex. It was like her swollen lips were trying to suck your digits in, clothing and all. Your cock was undeniably hard, egged on by the barely audible gasps that would leave her at a particularly good touch. But this wasn't about you, not yet anyway.
Your middle finger traced along the outline of her slit, pressing just hard enough to part her folds through the material. Alya's thighs trembled on either side of your wrist, her hand briefly moving to grip your forearm, fingers digging into muscle.
"
Her Russian cut off as your fingertip found the swollen bud of her clit, circling it with light pressure. You watched her bite down on her lip so hard you thought she might draw blood.
"You sure you're okay? You're breathing pretty hard, Kujou," you asked, your voice low, barely audible over the train's rhythm.
"Shut up. Just…don't talk to me."
The words came out strangled past Alisa's lips, any interest in conversation clearly gone. Did she really only confess her desires in Russian? Even when she was to the point of delirium, she refused to confess her desires aloud. Amusement crossed your features as you continued your actions. Your free hand moved to her hip, steadying her as you hooked your finger under the elastic of her panties. You paused there, knuckle pressed against her lower belly, waiting.
"
That was all the permission you needed. You tugged her panties to the side, the cool air of the train car hitting her slick folds for barely a second before your fingers replaced it. The first contact of skin on skin made her whole body jerk. She was impossibly wet, dripping arousal coating your digits the moment you dragged them through her slit.
"Nn–!"
Alya's hand flew up to cover her mouth, her eyes squeezing shut. The train rattled on, the world indifferent to the way you were penetrating her.
"
You paid no attention to the world around you, instead you were solely focused on what was between her thighs. The swollen outer lips, slick and parted, practically begging for your touch. The sensitive hood hiding her clit. The fluttering entrance that clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled. Your middle finger circled her entrance, teasing.
"You were right, Kujou, the humidity really is brutal today. Maybe I should've taken an earlier train," you commented, your tone almost bored.
Alya's eyes snapped open, glaring at you with a very specific kind of hatred. Usually, it was the kind of look you got when you smoked cigarettes too close to the locker rooms. Now it was because you were making idle conversation while finger fucking a student council member. Alisa's initial response stuttered as your fingers applied pressure.
"Are you…making small talk right now?"
"Of course. Just trying to pass the time, y'know?"
Your casual comment was contrasted with you pushing past her folds. A single finger, sliding into her up to the second knuckle. The sound it made was obscene, wet and sucking, but thankfully swallowed by the ambient noise of the train. Alya's inner walls clamped down on the intrusion immediately, clenching around your finger.
"
Alya's hips bucked involuntarily, trying to take more of you. You obliged, flexing your wrist until your finger was fully seated inside her. Your palm ground against her clit with the motion, and you felt Alya's legs nearly give out. Your free arm wrapped around her waist to keep her upright.
"Careful, you don't want to fall. The train moves fast."
""
Smirking, you curled your finger, dragging it against her front wall, searching for that spot. You knew you'd found it when her entire body seized, a choked whimper escaping past her fingers.
"Found it."
"F-found what? What are you—ah!"
You answered her by pushing in deeper, finding a sweet spot that made her jaw clench. Each stroke pulled back to your fingertip before pushing deep, curling at the apex. The train's natural sway helped mask the motion, your body shielding hers from view. To anyone glancing over, it might look like you were simply holding up an unwell classmate. If only they knew how degenerate this classmate really was.
"
You kept your pace maddeningly steady in response.
"Busy train today," you observed, glancing around with feigned disinterest. An older woman nearby was absorbed in her phone. A salaryman had his eyes closed, swaying with the motion. "Wonder if it's always like this at rush hour."
"Why…Why are you talking about the train?" Alya demanded, her voice cracking.
"Hm? What, is there something else I should talk about?"
She glared at you, muttering under her breath.
"
Her inner walls fluttered around your finger, squeezing rhythmically. She was getting close. You could feel it in the way her arousal dripped down your palm and in the desperate little circles her hips were grinding. So naturally you added a second finger. The stretch made her gasp, her hand leaving her mouth to clutch at your shoulder instead. Two fingers deep, you could feel every clench and flutter of her pussy as it tried to pull you deeper. Your thumb found her clit, pressing down firmly as you resumed your thrusting.
"
"You're gripping me pretty tight, Kujou."
On the surface, you were commenting about the way her fingers were digging into your shirt. Very unlady-like if you said so yourself. The reality that only the two of you shared was that you were talking about how her pussy was squeezing around your fingers.
"I don't…I'm not…"
Still, she refused to plead openly for it. It was impressive really how much resolve she showed in that area. It also had the adverse effect of making you want to hear her come undone even more.
"It's hard enough to move in here as it is," you said, weaponizing the double entendre. You curled both fingers, grinding your thumb in a tight circle.
"
'Now approaching Totsuka Station. Totsuka Station.'
The automated announcement cut through the haze, and you felt Alya stiffen in your arms.
"Isn't that your stop?"
You didn't slow your fingers with that reminder. Alya's eyes went wide, panic flickering across her flushed features. You could see the calculation happening in real-time. The realization that she was seconds away from orgasm and the train was seconds away from the platform.
"
"Looks like we're almost there."
Again your words served two purposes. Your fingers pumped faster, abandoning all pretense of subtlety.
"I–I can't–"
"
The train began to decelerate, the momentum pushing her harder against your hand. You took full advantage, curling your fingers with each thrust, your thumb grinding mercilessly against her swollen clit. You didn't know if it was the dirty talk, the stimulation, or the sheer degradation of the situation, but Alya crashed over the edge.
Her whole body clenched, her inner walls clamping down on your fingers. A barely muffled sound escaped her as she buried her face into your blazer. You felt the rhythmic contractions around your digits, the gush of wetness coating your palm and dripping down your wrist.
"
Her Russian dissolved into incoherence. Just fractured syllables and desperate breaths as she rode out her orgasm against your hand. You worked her through it, continuing the squelch of your fingers as the aftershocks rippled through her.
At the same time, the wheels of the train began to screech to a halt. The crowd began to shift and surge in preparation, ignorant of what had just taken place between Alisa and yourself. The doors slid open with a cheerful chime.
'Totsuka Station. Please watch your step when exiting.'
Passengers began to shuffle, some moving toward the doors, others repositioning for more space. You slowly withdrew your fingers from her still-twitching sex. Alya made a small, whining sound at the loss.
You glanced down at your hand, fingers glistening, coated with evidence of what you'd done, and made a decision. Casually, without breaking eye contact with her dazed expression, you wiped them on the inside hem of her skirt. The crude action seemed to snap Alya out of her daze. She jolted back, her blue eyes wide with realization as she looked up at you, reality crashing in on her.
"You…! Move!"
Her hands shoved against your chest, quickly moving to fix her skirt as she re-secured her bag on her shoulder. Alya practically ran out of the train before the doors could begin to close. You could only chuckle as you watched her silver hair retreating on the platform, looking down at your fingers that still glistened slightly and your aching erection.
"Jeez, a thank you would've been nice."
For the first time in your life, you found yourself looking forward to the next day at school.