I enjoy flashing. I've done so mostly in my car by showing off my tits to other drivers, and once or twice in the darkness of a movie theater. I love the feeling of arousal that engulfs me, even when my displays don't lead to sex with the men who see me. But today, I want something more. I want some action. I want to be fucked.
I dress carefully. First of all, I choose a knee-length knit skirt, demure enough to be ignored, but cut so that it drapes loosely and catches a breeze. No panties or stockings today; I want the breeze to caress my intimate skin. As a top, I choose a stretchy loose top meant to be worn over a tank or tee. The neckline is a wide one that can either be worn off the shoulder or cowled into a very deep vee. The large wide sleeves are elbow-length, with armholes large enough to fold my arms through while I'm wearing it. Today isn't a normal day, so I put the top on by itself over nothing but my bare breasts. Already I'm excited, playing with my tits in anticipation. I complete the outfit with a pair of heels and a small crossbody bag - the better to leave my hands free.
Leaving the house, I immediately feel self-conscious. I shouldn't go out without a bra, and my double-ds are bouncing and jiggling with every step. I keep my arms close to my body, squeezing my big tits together, to minimize their movement and to keep the top from exposing too much before I'm ready. In the safety of my car, I exhale and arrange myself, again putting my hands inside my blouse to caress my already erect nipples.
The point of today is to expand my horizons past my previous comfort level, so staying in the quiet of my car won't do. Today, I opt for public transport over private. I drive a few neighborhoods away, and park in the lot of an elevated train station. Breathing slowly to gather my nerves, I check the schedule on my phone and wait until just before the next train is due to arrive before getting out of the car and onto the platform. It's the tail end of the morning rush hour, when trains have fewer cars. I'm hoping this means there will be enough passengers in my car to see me, but not too many to handle. Once I get out of the car, I'm again gripped with self-consciousness. I feel like everyone is staring at my bouncing boobs as I swipe my fare card, even though that can't be the case when so many people haven't yet had their morning caffeine. Right?
Luckily, the train arrives and I get on board. The car I choose isn't completely full, but most of the seats are occupied and there are a few standing passengers. My nervousness gets the best of me; I grab an empty seat near the conductor's booth in back of the car, next to a man in freshly pressed work clothes. We do not exchange looks. My skirt falls over my knees, a perfect disguise. I continue to hug my arms to show as little as possible. But after a few moments I feel ready. I re-cross my arms under my breasts, squeezing them up and out. They begin to bounce and sway to the movement of the train. I look around to see if anyone notices. I think I see a raised eyebrow or two, but I can't be sure. Blood is pounding in my ears.
In a few stops, the car fills further. The man sitting next to me reads his paper. The car jostles, and I feel his arm press against my breast for a moment. I wonder if he's aware of what he just touched, and am answered when he shifts his arm so that it nestles into my curve. By this time, I'm calm enough to begin to play. I respond to his pressure by ever so slightly moving my tit against his arm. My movement is almost imperceptible: will he notice? Ah, he does. He presses more firmly, stopping and restarting. I notice that he hasn't turned a page of his paper in several minutes. By the time the train stops at the next station, our mutual jostling has moved the fabric of my sleeve so that his arm is touching bare skin. Ah, goody!
Just at this moment, a woman pushing a baby stroller enters the car. No one gives up a seat, which really annoys me, so I do, despite my rising heat. My seat partner looks at me in undisguised disappointment, but recovers, sliding into the seat I just left, offering the newly vacant seat next to the aisle for the arrival. She occupies herself with her baby. I grab the bar above the seat and face Work Clothes, with my back to the rest of the car. My tits sway freely beneath the thin jersey fabric; he gazes up at them wide-eyed. His paper is still open on his lap, but by now I think he needs its camouflage over his crotch more than anything else. His legs are splayed slightly, so I position myself with one leg between his and other on the wall side of the seat. The hem of my skirt front drapes over his knee. My pussy dampens. By this point, my arousal has crowded out all the earlier feelings of self-consciousness.
Now I see that the car is full enough so that nobody has a clear view of our little corner. I put both hands on the overhead bar and look down at him. The strap of my bag hangs between my tits, pushing the neckline of my blouse to one side. All of my cleavage is visible, as well as the swell of one boob. The fabric drapes over my stiff nipple, holding at least that much under cover. Well, now, we can't have that, can we? I lean forward, releasing that last bit of coverage. My blouse now hangs away from my breasts. Work Clothes has a clear view of all of my pink-nippled assets swaying along with the train. He smiles and purses his lips. I purse my lips in reply, and then ever so lightly bite my lower lip.
I can see he wants to feel me up, but can't figure a way to do so discreetly. Since I would like to be felt up, I twist my torso enough to expose the wide armhole of my top, through which Work Clothes gets an epic eyeful of sideboob. You know: to be helpful! His left hand next to the wall slips in the opening just as the train jostles. I twist back and lower my outside arm to give him cover. His strong fingers grope and massage my right boob under the cloth, flicking my nipple. My ovaries wince in pleasure.
The stroller lady departs, seemingly unaware of the playdate next to her. My new friend finally speaks to me. "Where's your stop?"
"Don't have one," I confess, smiling mischievously. He grins in response, sliding his right hand under my skirt and up my inner thigh. The back of my skirt is long enough so that his hand can't be seen by anyone else.
"Now, now, you're gonna make me late." His fingers discover that I'm panty-free as they brush against my bare, bald vulva.
I chuckle low and sigh: "Oh no, you're
