Bawdy Bloke Erotic Story Competition Story 26
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I never knew her name; she never knew mine. We couldn’t have done it any other way.
Whenever I remember her, she is Victoria, as we met on the Victoria Line, but she could have been anyone; the young professional, resplendent in her black business suit and white blouse travelling to soulless employment on a soulless Monday. I never knew her story, but she had my attention from the moment I was squeezed up against her at the back of the moving train, spearing its way underground into London.
I looked apologetically into her brown eyes, but said nothing; it was usual to be pressed inhumanely against fellow commuters in a London peak-hour, but with her gorgeous body and long, cascading blonde hair, if I had to be pressed against anyone in a hot, crowded carriage, she would definitely get my vote!
But it was undignified; I was in her personal space and she was in mine. Her hair smelt of woodland fruit. Her eyes twinkled like sunset on water. Her cherry red lips radiated warmth, and longed for a kiss. Not like my fellow passengers, absorbed in their free newspapers and ignoring everyone else, Victoria was different: she looked over her shoulder into my eyes and smiled. She was commuting sunshine.
That’s when I felt it: a hand … no, a soft woman’s touch, floating lightly over my suited crotch. She was gentle: like a summers breeze kissing and whispering to my sensitive cock, and I nervously froze as she subtly explored my manhood through my trousers. How should I react?
I did nothing; allowing her subtle touching, and coaxing my dick into an erection. It felt incredibly naughty and I glanced at the bored expressions of our fellow commuters: what were they thinking? What did they believe we were doing?
But what were we doing? She was gently rubbing her fingers across my trousers and no-one had said a word. No-one had objected or noticed. I closed my eyes and savoured her exquisite touch, pressing harder and firmer on my cock, as she rubbed it through my cotton garments.
I slid my hand alongside her flanks, subtly gliding my fingers into her waistband. She said nothing, but wordlessly looked over her shoulder to fleer contemptuously. Was she challenging me? Was she daring me to go further or about to tell me to stop. Adrenaline flowed: I looked at her reflection in the window as the tunnel roared past, and unbuckled the button on her skirt to give me access to her crotch.
She was without underwear; only my tentative inhibitions stood between me and her hairless mons. My arousal doubled at the thought, and her eyes sparkled in her reflection. She was waiting to see how far I wanted to go; how far I dared to go. I rubbed her crotch and pressed my fingers against her slit. She groaned as I pulled her body closer to mine and mewed as my fingers danced lightly over the top of her slit.
Did she want me to go further? She had done nothing to stop my intrusion into her clothes and, as the train lurched violently, she moved her feet to steady herself: I took advantage of the involuntary parting of her legs, to run my finger along her warm, inviting slit, and pressed against her hood.
Her face was entranced: plastered with steely concentration, as her clammy fingers slipped on my zip. Her moist pearl squirmed around my finger, groaning obscenely as I glided around her inviting wetness.
I felt her excitement: inches from my fellow commuters as I pressed against Victoria’s pearl, savouring every lust-filled squeal over the screeching of the brakes, and the flashes of excitement in her desperate eyes reflected in the glass.
She needed … it. She wanted it. She fumbled at my trousers, and I flinched as her cool hands touched my cock for the first time. It was gloriously taboo, yet so incredibly intense. Every touch she made felt a ten times, a hundred times, if not a thousand times better than it would have done if I was safely at home with this girl in the bedroom. Every depraved, illicit, shameless contact was ecstasy.
She silently gripped me, pumping my erection as hedonistic delight flowed from my waist. We both played to the same rhythm; appreciating the vibrations and movements from the 25 tonne vibrator taking us to our work and our orgasm.
It was heaven and I stopped caring about my fellow commuters; I had intense pleasure clawing at me, desperate to escape as the train jolted aggressively; I groaned, Victoria’s face was flushed as I thrust passionately into her grip.
I was nearing the point of no return; she sensed it with her twinkling eyes and as the train noisily rocked over some points, pumped several streaks of cum onto her hand.
That was the last time I saw her; she left me with a dripping cock and a smile a mile wide at the next station.
As I said, she was commuting sunshine.
