As we continue along, enfolded in the muggy air of a subterranean London summer, I recall how this came to be. It was a party, the same as any other, so I thought, until I found myself in an intense conversation with a man I’d never before met. He judged my needs quickly, seeing how I needed release and sexual thrill to counteract the stress of a busy, professional life. Oh, how right he was. He told me that, with the right word in the right ear, he could arrange an encounter: one that would be discreet, safe, and unforgettable. How could I resist? I told him my fantasies; he told me he had a friend in management at London Underground. I was sold.
And, a few short weeks and various disclaimers later, here I am.
I recognise all my travelling companions from their photos, sent to me with a brief biography (with certain letters in their names carefully redacted) and recent medical test results: all squeaky clean, as indeed is the carriage I’m now in. It smells ridiculously fresh; the floor almost sparkles.
I was asked to submit a list of dos and don’ts of my own. My dos outdid my don’ts.
My breathing quickens. I want it to start. I want it so much. Judder and swish. The heat between my legs is unbearable. My tight skirt, already short, has ridden up, revealing the lacy tops of my hold-ups, perhaps more – I’m not wearing any knickers. That was part of the deal.
My knee touches the piratical violinist’s leg. He doesn’t move it away. As the train rumbles along the line, our legs bump erratically together. He moves closer, increasing the contact. I watch, hypnotized. On any other Tube journey I would shift apart and avoid physical contact with a stranger, but not tonight. The ache inside is unbearable. I tear my eyes away only to meet with those of Hip Hop opposite. His gaze then drops and he looks directly at where my skirt has risen even higher up my thighs. He can see right up me, right up to my sex, newly-waxed and growing wetter with each second that passes.
And then Violin Pirate moves the hand which has been on the armrest and brings it to my leg. His fingers slowly slide down around it and flex. I suck in air with delighted shock. He begins to stroke the inside of my thigh, each fingertip imparting a delicious building heat to my hungry skin. I want him higher, up, in me, touching my clit which is so ripe with need it physically hurts, but every stroke ends tantalizingly short.
Hip Hop’s gaze is now fixed between my legs, but still his head bobs to the music.
We reach the next station. The doors don’t open and a man on the platform hurries to get into another carriage. We’re off again.
My legs open instinctively, wider, welcoming the questing fingers of Violin Pirate. And there they are. Fuck! I nearly come instantly. He grazes my clit before slipping down to the opening of my pussy. Curling his fingers under, he pushes up into me and pumps, maintaining the pressure on my clit. Hip Hop stares, his face unfeasibly impassive.
Instinctively, I grab Violin Pirate’s wrist and slip down the seat to ease him further in. His fingers work quickly, stroking and rubbing my inflamed clit with certain skill.
My first come doesn’t take long, and I release it with an audible groan. The other men stare, none of them surprised, all of them aware. Only The Suit seems disinterested; his head is still in his paper. Violin Pirate brings up his hand and offers his fingers to my mouth. I suck on them avidly, delighting in the salty succulence of my own pleasure.
When I can refocus I look across to see Hip Hop’s cock free, lurching out of his pants. He raises his eyes to mine and waits, knowing what I’ll do. As if released from a pistol, I’m on my knees. The stupendous black cock before me bobs in welcome. Forcing myself to pause, I place my hands on Hip Hop’s knees and give him a little smile. His gorgeous dark eyes twinkle. The music has stopped and his headphones are now slung around his neck. I have his full attention. I dip my head and take him deep in one go, right to the back of my throat. He hisses out a low ‘Fuck!’ of pleasure before I rise off the thick, long shaft with slow deliberation. Hip Hop holds my head, guiding it along his rigid flesh. He gives me encouraging sighs and moans as I go about my task. I could suck cock all day, but never thought I’d do it quite like this.
It’s all going exactly as I hoped. Out of the corner of my eye I notice T-shirt Hottie approaching. At first he stands to one side and just watches, his arms crossed, a sly smile on his delicious mouth. I smirk up at him before tonguing the end of Hip Hop’s cock rapidly, eliciting a guttural, ‘Fuck, yeah!’
Painter Man is still seated, but he’s staring across and, after undoing his jeans, starts to pump his equally impressive prick fast.
My tongue becomes a blur, sweeping along the seamed undershaft to take Hip Hop’s heavy balls in my mouth before swirling back up and delving into the slit. He’s very vocal in his appreciation, which causes my cunt to leak ever more desperately. And just as I almost cry out for someone to touch me, it happens. Hands, I’m not sure how many, are running over my arse, slipping over my clit, pulling off my skirt so that I’m fully exposed.
Then long, warm fingers undo my shirt, slide into my bra and toy with a nipple. Second only to sucking cock, I could have my tits toyed with all day. Oh, I am being well and truly toyed with now.
At the next station I glance out on to the platform. A young guy tries the door, but when he looks into the carriage his mouth drops open and his eyes widen. He tries the door ever more desperately and his hand moves instinctively to his crotch. I give him a little wink as the train moves on, leaving him stranded. The thrill of exposure makes me sink down deep onto Hip Hop until my eyes water.
‘Hold it, hold it, hold it,’ he moans, his hands pushing me on to him. Only when my lungs beg for air do I pull up strongly, right off his cock which drips my saliva, and gasp in heady, exhilarating gulps. ‘F-finish it,’ he stutters, motioning me back to suck hard on the head. I pump the shaft with my hand and almost instantly he tenses. Come floods my mouth. Bloody hell, it’s a lot of come. Luckily for him, I love it; I love the taste and the feel and the slip and slide of man juice gliding down into me.
And instantly there’s more.
‘Turn around.’ I turn my head to see the equally stunning cock of Painter Man mere inches away. ‘Open,’ he demands. I gape for him. He comes hard on my tongue and lips, each burst accompanied by a litany of rapturous cursing.
He tastes stronger than Hip Hop but still I gulp him down. I’ve never had the chance for a direct comparison of spunk before; another first, I realise with a grin.
I’m pulled to my feet and motioned over to stand at the pole in the middle of the carriage. I hold it for dear life as there is now an onslaught of sensation over my body. T‑shirt Hottie’s fingers are reaching up inside me from behind. I crane my neck and offer him my mouth which he takes hard as his fingers delve deeper.
My shirt has been removed – I missed how and when – and Violin Pirate reaches into my bra cups and places my breasts on top so that they jut out prominently. The nipples, dark and hard and hot, are perfectly positioned for toying with. And Violin Pirate does just that. My right nipple disappears into his mouth. And what a mouth. He manages to suck and flick the nipple at the same time, while T-shirt Hottie continues to enthral my cunt and clit. Oh God, I’m going to come again any second. I groan so loudly it reverberates through the usually silent carriage.
Painter Man sees the other nipple sitting there ignored and applies himself to it, slipping my bra fully off as he does so. He is soon sucking away assiduously, adding his teeth to send little sparks dashing through me. Clearly he thinks it’s the least he can do after I guzzled his spunk so merrily. I can think of many other things he can do later.
Hip Hop, meanwhile, is recovering. His magnificent cock is slumped, for the time being, in post-come relaxation, but I doubt it will be long before it’s stirred into action again. For now, he’s content to sit and watch.
The Suit is still reading the FT. His hair is greying at the temples and his sharp cheekbones lend him a fascinating masculine beauty. He is, quite simply, deliciously, decadently do-
able, but I can wait. After all, I have more than enough to keep me busy.
Another station. A young couple waits outside the carriage. I meet their eyes and they stare in disbelief. T‑shirt Hottie slips down to tongue my clit at just that moment and I come with a wail, looking directly into the eyes of the woman on the platform. The train moves on, leaving them standing, gawping.
‘Gorgeous come, hey?’ says Painter Man.
‘Uh-huh,’ I slur, unable to voice more.
‘She hasn’t been fucked yet,’ someone says.
‘Turn her around.’
Painter Man does, leaning himself against the pole and moving me so that my back is against him.
T-shirt Hottie is in front of me and, helped by Painter Man, he picks me up so my legs are straddling him. I’ve only just noticed his cock. Jesus! Whoever picked these guys knew what they were doing. I’ve never before seen such a shedload – or rather, a carriage load – of such stupendous man flesh. This one is long, not as broad as Hip Hop’s or Painter Man’s perhaps, but it arcs up towards his belly magnificently and, right now, it has the most succulent little drip dangling from its tip. I’d rather like it in my mouth, but I’m about to get it elsewhere. And why not? My cunt is on fire for cock. It’s waited long enough.
So, here I am, on the Tube, held up by someone I’ve never met before, legs splayed, pussy exposed, awaiting impalement upon the outstanding cock of a total stranger.
‘Ready?’ grins T-shirt Hottie, rubbing the head along my dripping opening.
‘Oh, fucking hell, hurry up.’ I’m desperate. I think he can tell.
Painter Man holds me tight round the waist, T-shirt Hottie grips onto my hips and – bam! – he’s inside me.
A primeval groan rises into the air, guttural and uncontrolled. I think it must be my primeval groan. But, Christ, does that cock feel good.
I look at him and smile, a vacant, sexed-out smile, but at least I manage it. He pulls out slowly, really slowly, studying my every reaction. Fuck, that is good. Fuck! That is phenomenally good. I knew that curve on his cock would work. It rubs against my G-spot and lights flash behind my eyes.
‘Again,’ I demand. He does. Nudging it back and forth, he notes my every ragged breath and smile of blissful delirium.
‘I can’t keep this up forever,’ he moans. ‘You’re too fucking tight. Need to start fucking you fast.’
‘Do it, do it, do it,’ I chant, lost to the perfect penis.
The others, meanwhile, are just watching. Painter Man is holding me up and I can feel his cock stirring again to nudge my arse, but the others just sit or stand around, occasionally stroking their own pricks, otherwise just staring, moving for a better vantage point. I’m ecstatic, not just because of the rapid rise of what may well be the perfect come, but because this is it. This is what I wanted. This is what I dreamed of.
Sex. In public. On a train. With total strangers. Oh, thank you, God of Cock!
T-shirt Hottie is going at me ferociously now. His cock still catches my G-spot with each thrust and, when I meet his eyes, we’re both gone. He comes first, his face creasing into a look of agony, and explodes into me. ‘Shit! Coming so fucking much!’
With that I follow him, shaking, grateful for the strong arms of Painter Man who grips me so tight the air is forced from me as my orgasm holds and shakes.
Afterwards, they guide me over to a seat. Little drops of leaking spunk splatter the floor as I go.
‘Just take some time,’ murmurs Violin Pirate, whose cock I now see for the first time. He’s naked from the waist down. Judging on what I’m looking at, I’m not going to want to take that much time. He smiles and kisses me.
I let my head fall back against the seat and lock eyes momentarily with The Suit. He’s still bloody reading his paper. OK, not everyone has to take part actively, I know that, but … I really, really want him. His arrogant disdain is turning me on more than anything. I’m gagging to reach into those bespoke trousers and take him out and ride him. He averts his eyes and turns back to the peach pages of his newspaper.
We rumble through some more stations. Liverpool Street – still a long way to go.
‘Open.’ It’s Violin Pirate again. He’s kneeling on the floor now, pushing my legs apart, and before I know it, his mouth is attached to my cunt lips. His tongue seeks far up into me and he sucks hard, clearly enjoying the taste of another man’s come as much as my own juices. That thrills me even more and I grind onto him.
And in the midst of hot, questing mouth, there’s something else. A finger. It’s probing up my arse. Another favourite. These guys read their notes very well. And another joins it. I can feel my sphincter stretching to take the two digits. It can handle them; it’s had more. Hopefully, it’ll have a lot more before this journey is over.
I simply sit back and enjoy the feasting on my body, letting my eyelids flutter shut. When I open them I see cock. It’s Painter Man, standing on the seat beside me; he is risen again. It would be rude to ignore him. I open wide. He slides in and immediately starts fucking my mouth. I don’t have to do much, he’s happy to plough in and out through my plumped-up lips while I concentrate on the delicious feelings fluttering through from my cunt and arse. Violin Pirate’s tongue is out and along my clit now, teasing and flicking. It responds yet again; can I really keep on coming like this?
The answer is a resounding yes. God, he has a dream mouth. With sucks and licks and nuzzles and pecks, he brings me to a staggering orgasm within a couple of minutes. I take my lips off the gorgeous specimen in my mouth to moan out my pleasure, but I’m soon back to it. Violin Pirate stands and places my hands around his length. I stroke and pump it while still sucking off Painter Man. It’s not long before the cock in my hand empties warm spunk over my fingers. I abandon Painter Man’s prick briefly to suck them clean.
And, just as the train continues its progress, I now continue mine.
Hip Hop is sitting with another enormous hard-on. Guiding Painter Man over with me, I move closer to Hip Hop. With barely a pause, I straddle him and sink down onto the thick, long prick. Oh, fucking hell, he’s big. I’m stretched like never before. Yes! Love it, love it, love it. I start to fuck him instantly, rising and falling on the massive shaft as it forces its way in and out of my tight, hot pussy. My hand is still gripping Painter Man’s cock and, turning my head, I take it back into my mouth. It’s a struggle to carry on mouth-fucking him while riding Hip Hop, but, impressing even myself, I manage it.
The train slows and stops again. Cock in mouth and another in cunt, I meet the eyes of another would-be passenger – a bewildered looking man in overalls. He too misses the train; he’s a little distracted, understandably.
The ride continues. I grind my clit onto Hip Hop every time I plunge down on him and … here comes another.
As pleasure grips again, Painter Man releases full into my mouth. I gasp in orgasm, and a lot of his spunk escapes to dribble out of the corners of my mouth, but I don’t notice. Hip Hop is coming now, his hips bouncing me up and down so hard with the force of his climax that my tits leap rapturously before his eyes. He releases a series of expletives which eventually blur into a moan of inarticulate rapture.
This time, I do have to take a moment to recover. Surely I can’t come again? I can’t remember a session where I’ve ever had so many orgasms in quick succession. My body is limp: wet and dripping and heavy and full. Shit, I may even fall asleep. Perhaps I do. My eyes close for a time. The last part of the line takes a while. I can afford the time.
When I do open my eyes, they’re all still there, looking across at me with appreciation and awe. ‘Are we there yet?’ I blearily murmur, with a smile.
‘Not quite,’ replies Violin Pirate.
‘Can you kneel again?’ asks T-shirt Hottie.
My knees are sore, but my lust overrides it. Without hesitation, I slip down between the seats onto my hands and knees, wriggling my arse for more.
T-shirt Hottie is soon behind me. His fingers ru
b along me again but end at my arse. Oh, yes, please. He spits onto my arsehole and squeezes a finger in. I push back, propelling it as deep as possible. My arse has been feeling a little neglected and loves the attention. He pushes in another. Not enough. I want more and resort to demanding it. ‘Oh, Christ, fuck my arse.’
I presume he’s preparing to, but, suddenly, words break the expectant silence. ‘No. That’s mine. Get her up.’
It’s a voice I’ve not heard yet. It’s The Suit. I’m raised carefully to my feet and I turn to face him. He is at last folding up the paper, which he then places on the seat beside him.
He looks me straight in the eye. My belly writhes for him.
‘Come here,’ he states, a smooth, crisp demand.
I walk over as straight as I can in tottering heels. My legs have been turned to jelly over the course of the journey and the train is still lurching along erratically.
‘Stand there,’ he says again. ‘Right in front of me. Legs slightly apart.’
I do as he says. Then, letting his eyes take in the length of me – my clothing has been reduced to heels and hold-ups – he slowly undoes his trousers and takes out his erect cock. Another glory. I must be the luckiest girl on earth.
Holding my eyes in his, he extracts a bottle of lube from his bag beside him and coats his cock in it before starting to stroke, spreading the lube liberally. I practically sob with longing.
‘Now,’ he states in those well-mannered, deep tones, ‘I’m going to fuck you in the arse. You’re going to sit with your back to me and take my cock up your arse. Do you understand?’
I nod.
‘Good. Turn around.’ I do.
‘Move back towards me and bend your knees so that you sit on me.’
The others have fallen silent. They simply watch.
I move so that I’m standing just in front of him then start to lower myself towards the tip of his magnificent cock. ‘Wait. Slow down,’ I try.
‘Stop!’ he demands. ‘There’s something missing.’
Watching Me, Watching You Page 22