All characters in this story are at least 18 years of age.
Amy stood on the platform watching the train come in and sighed. Carriage after carriage swept past already rammed. Traveling with Southern was always like this these days since they reduced the timetable. As the train drew to a halt she picked up her bag and headed towards a carriage that looked a little less packed than some others. But she would still have to stand.
Once on the train she found a spot where she could at least lean on one of the upright hand rails, put her bag down and tried to make herself comfortable as possible. It wasn’t easy – more commuters had piled in behind her and as the train picked up speed bodies jostled together.
In such a cramped environment it was inevitable that people pressed up against each other as the train bumped and jolted along. But they hadn’t been moving long when Amy became aware of a touch that seemed a little more intentional – a hand pressed against her arse, initially immobile but then it began to move, feeling, stroking almost caressing.
Abruptly she swung her head to the side, looking over her shoulder. A girl in school uniform, 18 she would guess, glasses, hair neatly bobbed. No, not her. She looked the other way. Ah yes, middle aged man in suit, business type, pretending to read the paper. She lingered for a second. Should she shout at him, call him out for the dirty perv he was? But she’d never been one to make a scene, so she contented herself with glaring at him sharply over his newspaper and twisting her body round to place her bottom well out of the reach of his prying hands.
She settled herself again, finding a position that was comfortable, but not as much so as before, thank you Mr pervy man. But it was then that she became aware that the hand was still there, in fact it was moving down over her arse cheeks and onto the exposed skin of her thigh. Amy always dressed smartly for her work, but had always been of the opinion that smart did not have to equal frumpy. She may be the wrong side of 30 but she looked after herself and had a good figure, and why shouldn’t she show it off. She had been blessed with particularly fine legs and her wardrobe contained a number of outfits designed to show these off – skirts designed to accentuate her long smooth thighs while still having a hemline that fell low enough to be decent in an office environment.
It was one of these she had on today, a loose fitting black number with a slightly weighted hem to foil any passing breeze. A hem that the insistent hand was now moving past on its way back up her leg, stroking and caressing the back of her thigh it inched slowly higher.
She looked round again. They had passed another station and the additional passengers meant they were all squashed Casibom even closer, but still the only one in the right position was the schoolgirl. It couldn’t be her, surely. Why would a teenage girl want to feel up an older woman like her?
Amy focussed on the hand stroking her. It felt a bit large to belong to the petite youngster behind her. Or maybe not. It was stroking her gently, and the skin of the fingers felt soft enough to the touch. Certainly not the hands of an older person or a manual labourer.
Whoever’s hand it was it certainly felt nice. Having made gentle progress up the back of her legs the fingers gently pushed themselves between her thighs and began to stroke the soft, smooth skin it found there, up and down first her right thigh then her left, just the right touch, almost tickling but not quite, sensual. The fingers were teasing her, running all the way up nearly to her crotch, stroking round the softest skin right at the top of her leg, pausing there, tantalisingly close, then withdrawing again. Time and again, each time wondering if this would be the time they would stroke that bit further.
The train jolted over a rough bit of track and Amy momentarily lost her balance. She swayed a little. The hand slipped too, upwards, coming to rest cupping one of the cheeks of her arse. She froze. So did the hand, then it began to move again, running itself over her behind, stroking round the edge of her plain cotton knickers, running over the material, occasionally cupping a buttock and giving it a gentle squeeze.
Amy shook herself. This had gone far enough, she had to put a stop to it now. She took a deep breath and spun herself round, steeling herself to confront whoever was violating her by feeling her up like this. But again the only person she saw was the young girl in uniform, who met her gaze calmly and smiled slightly, but in a friendly way not sinister.
Amy still couldn’t quite believe it was her. But whoever it was had obviously misinterpreted her turning round as an invitation to take things to the next level, as the hand was now openly stroking the front of her underwear, tracing over the slit beneath, fingers pressing ever so gently around her clit.
Amy was suddenly embarrassingly aware of just what those fingers would be feeling – the wetness of her knickers would be unmistakable, her body reacting to the unwanted touch, betraying her. But was it really that unwelcome? John her husband was a good man and a real friend, but a useless lover. She had spent the first two years of her marriage trying to show him how to pleasure her. He seemed to want to get it right but somehow was always clumsy and just missing the right spot. After a while she had given up trying, resigning herself to unsatisfying sex, and even Casibom Giriş that was infrequent these days. She had masturbated a lot in those early days, but now she seemed too busy and to have too little time to herself to do even that. She suddenly realised she was struggling to remember when she had last even thought of sex, and certainly her last orgasm would be calculated in months rather than days or even weeks.
Slowly she found herself relaxing and just enjoying what those fingers were doing. She glanced again at the schoolgirl, who met her gaze levelly, but with just the hint of a smile around her lips. Amy still wasn’t sure why she was doing this, but it must be her fingers that were making Amy feel so good.
She had found Amy’s clit and was rubbing around it, pressing in gently as she moved her fingers in small circles over the button. Amy’s knickers were soaked, and she could feel the wetness of the cotton being pressed against her throbbing clit. Meanwhile another finger was pressing a little lower down, pushing the fabric a little into the hole of her wet pussy. She rocked herself gently against the hand, trying to guide where it was pressing to get the most sensitive spots. God that felt good!
But she wanted more. Nice as the cotton felt against her clit she wanted that hand inside, the fingers pressing directly against her clit. But the hand seemed content at the moment to stroke on the outside, in a teasing sort of way, enough to feel really good but keeping her on a level when she wanted to go deeper, she wanted to really enjoy this.
The train was pulling into another station and Amy took the opportunity to let go of the handrail and shift position as even more passengers piled in, pushing the girl who Amy was now convinced was the source of her pleasure even closer against her. Seizing the moment she moved her hands into the waistband of her skirt, tucking in her plain white blouse where it had slipped out as she stretched up to hold on to the handrail. But she allowed her hands to push just a little lower, to grip the top of her knickers and push them down ever so slightly – just enough that they would still stay on but would now be much looser between her legs.
She held her breath. And the girl responded as she had hoped she would, pushing her fingers in under the sodden fabric. Amy felt briefly embarrassed about the mass of hair those fingers would now be feeling – John went there so rarely these days that he had really let things go. But it didn’t seem to faze her lover, whose fingers quickly found Amy’s clit again and began to ease the hood back and forward over the nub beneath. Amy shuddered, that felt so good. The carriage faded into the background as every sense she had seemed to focus themselves on that small Casibom Güncel Giriş patch between her legs. She shut her eyes. All she could hear was her own breathing, all she could feel was those fingers, rubbing against the throbbing hardness of her clit, poking just a little into the tight wetness between her lips.
She shifted her position slightly, spreading her legs, and the fingers responded by pressing a little deeper into her, teasing and stroking round the edge of her pussy that tightened involuntarily at their invasion. Then back to her clit, stroking, rubbing. God this felt so good, if she kept this up she was going to cum.
Then suddenly the hand withdrew. Amy opened her eyes and realised with a start they were in a station. Not just any station, Victoria, the end of the line. All around her people were pushing out of the train, and her schoolgirl friend had gone, vanished into the crowd, taking her loving fingers with her.
Amy took a deep breath. She was shaking. She grabbed her bag and stumbled from the train, trying to compose herself. Her brain was in a whirl. And her clit was still throbbing away, so close to the edge of orgasm. Just a couple more minutes was all it would have needed.
She walked down the platform in a fog. She couldn’t get her mind of what had just happened. Her knickers were still pulled down around the top of her thighs and were beginning to slip – if they went much further they were going to drop down below her skirt. She was so wet, and a trail of her juices had dripped from her pussy and was rapidly following her knickers down the inside of her thigh. And her clit, God her clit was so sensitive, every step she took seemed to put more pressure on it, winding her up into greater and greater heights of pleasure.
She had to get somewhere private. Through the fog of her desire she spotted a sign to the toilets and stumbled through the doorway. Barriers blocked her. Flashing lights. 20p, did she have 20p. She fumbled in her bag for her purse and pulled it out, unzipping it. Her fingers felt huge, they couldn’t grip the money. She yanked at a 20p piece, coins flew out everywhere but she was beyond caring. She stuffed the silver coin into the slot and pushed through the barriers, down the steps, into the toilets.
First cubicle on the left, empty, she staggered in and slammed and bolted the door. Sat down on the toilet, hand thrust straight under her skirt, fingers finding her throbbing clit, slick with juices, running gently over it. Oh God. It took just seconds for her pussy to spasm and her thighs to clench tightly round her probing hand as the orgasm of her life rolled over her in waves, deep satisfying waves. Her body went limp as she surrendered to the pleasure that flowed out from between her legs and seemed to reach every nerve. She was panting and tingling all over, never had she felt anything like it.
But as she came back up for air she had only one thought, good as that was, she wished she’d had it on the train.
To be continued…
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