Underground

The tube train was packed as we journeyed for our anniversary across London to a special place at a special time. Mebbe I should have got ready earlier so we'd miss the crush, not be so fussy in dressing up for you when you'll probably tear me out of them when we get there. Trying to be prim and proper yet slightly wild and come-hither for you... my black hold-ups hitched high to almost touch the black stretchiness of my very skimpy lace thong... well, almost a g-string with only a slender strip joining the two neat triangles of mesh under my pleated mini-skirted modesty, bridging an excited quivering dampness.

First in, we're squeezed against each other, face to face, as your eyes lower to gaze admiringly at my boobs, bra-free under a sheer black see-thru scoop-neck body stocking, with only a neatly buttoned up, leather-effect waistcoat making me somewhat respectable instead of daringly sluttish.

I can feel how hard you are, pressed against me. Usually I'd feel its rigidty raw against my tum but in higher heels than usual your stiffness seems to rub against my mound, threatening to break out of your stretched boxers, rip through your zip and shoot up my skirt...

I gasp at the thought. Blush. Smirk. Look into your eyes. You can read my mind so easily when...

...my expression...

...says...

...ooh.

Parted lips.

Up here and down there.

Another stop, more bodies sardine in. You sidle round and beside me. I miss the feel of your erection, wonder who presses there now and gets a surprise...

Ooh!

Strong firm warm fingers lift what little hem of my mini there is, crawl down the cheek of my bum, tweak me naughtily before wiggling their way tween my tightly clamped thighs into...

Ooh!

Ooooooooh...

Eyelids flutter, teeth gnaw at a lip. That had better be you...

I look aglance at you. Your face feigns innocent. Badly.

A sudden halt, and I'm jerked round to face you again, both of us tween a barrier and other squashed commuters. Your hand comes up to hold mind as I grasp your lapel for support, and the slipperiness of your secret grope against my fingers, the unmistakeable scent of myself on you...

I'm driven wild by the thought of you inside me, want you now in some dangerously erotic way... but I'm no exhibitionist. I have my limits, and public sex is beyond them.

Or is it?

The train slows darkly, bumpily, and the lights go out inside the tunnel of darkness. Unaware commuters gasp, and whispered reassurances from others calm them into silence. We know the train ride well enough... this tunnel is usually power starved and lightless for a short couple of minutes as it chuggily-chugs through the darkness to its next stop. I let my shoulder-slung handbag slip down and let it make a noisy show of dropping to the floor but aimed between my heels. I know exactly where it is but sidle down, making deliberate searching grasps and muttered apologies to nearby commuters. All this time, my other hand quickly quietly unzips you, searches out the tight thin skin over rock-like hardness, warmly textured by throbbing veins and sticky slipperiness... and out it pops.

There's no time for coyness. The lights are fickle, flickering a lil here and there in the dark. I hope no-one looks down, and if they do my hair covers my indiscretion. My lips surround the soft-yet-firm tip, and my fingers grasp the swollen shaft while my thumb rubs deliberately but non-too-violently back and forth in covert arousal along the raw underside of your cock.

I can't let myself bob on you, so flick my tongue over the tip, swirling the dribbling ooziness around my mouth, while my lips grip you, sucking hard, as if a straw in a thick shake. I can feel the hotness of further drops trickle into my mouth, and your hands clasps the hair on top of my head, then grips tightly. I also don't have a choice, nowhere to spit, so relax and let the rush of you cum over my tongue and down my throat, while above me I imagine you trying not to let your pleasure, your release, colour your expression too obviously.

I let you slip back wetly, disappearing into the zip and folds of your damp boxers, and I do you up while gulping the hot sweet stickiness down. Grasp my bag and stand again as the lights come on and the trains bumps to a halt in the light of the station.

I smile meekly, and with a slight 'tsk' you raise a tissue to my lips and wipe a thin dribble of whiteness from the corner of my mouth as I go crimson.

"Y'know," you sigh, "Eating between meals can ruin your appetite... "

"Mebbe," I blush, "But I prefer to think of that as an apéritif... "