The carriage was packed with the rush hour hordes. Bodies crammed together uncomfortably; commuters sharing their discomfort with a stoic lack of eye contact.
Once again, the train shuddered to a halt.
She staggered against him; mumbled an apology. He smiled down at her in unspoken reassurance that no apology was required. Their eyes met, breaking the unwritten contract between those that travelled below London’s streets. She returned the smile, a twinkle of mischief in her emerald green eyes acknowledging the unintended intimacy.
A garbled announcement; something about a breakdown on the line ahead, an apology for the inconvenience. They smiled at each other again; a shrug of resignation, a symbol of their silent companionship.
Minutes ticked by; long, drawn out, minutes that slowly sapped the resolve of the crowded commuters.
He heard her sigh and felt her lean slightly against him. She looked up, fatigue clear in her face. Smiling, he shook his head, indicating that he didn’t mind. A whispered, “thank you,” just a hint of an accent, and she rested her head against his chest.
Time ticked along slowly. Without being aware of how it happened, he found her small, almost childlike hand in his. Did he imagine the slight movement of her body against his?
A soft moan, and she pressed herself more firmly against him.
Again, that barely perceptible movement. Despite the situation, his body reacted. A soft chuckle. He looked down but she did not meet his gaze. Instead, she squeezed his hand a little more tightly and slowly, but very deliberately, pressed herself more firmly against his growing bulge.
Not quite able to believe what was happening, he cast a furtive glance around the carriage. For once he was grateful for the characteristic indifference of his fellow travellers.
He felt a fingertip run along thew front of his suit trousers. She turned slightly and the fingertip brushed against his cock through the material. He coughed to disguise a moan as he grew harder at her touch.
He let his hand be guided to the front of her jeans. He wasn’t surprised to find them undone. He accepted her unspoken invitation and slid his fingers inside her knickers.
Her skin was soft and smooth beneath his fingers. It was her turn to cough as he touched her wetness. His movements were restricted, both by the crowded confines of the carriage, and by necessity, but he slowly worked a finger inside her. He marvelled at how wet she was as his fingers found a rhythm inside her.
Pressing her forehead against his chest, her free hand snaked around his waist to grip his belt. She rocked her hips gently against his hand, drawing his finger into her.
He allowed himself to be used, feeling her cunt tighten around him.
The train jolted back into life. The sudden, unexpected movement forced her harder on to his fingers. He felt her shudder, felt her grip him, felt her juices flood over his fingers as she came.
As the train pulled into the station, she released his hand. Finally she looked up at him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes flashed. “My stop,” she said in a soft, lilting brogue, I don’t suppose it happens to be yours too?”
The invitation was clear; even without the playful wink and a last squeeze of his now painful erection.
The doors opened. She stepped out on to the platform. With a smile, he followed her…
©Kilted Wookie January 2016