“Hey look, this’ll do,” you say, and plump your bag down on a four-seater table. It’s good to get a table to ourselves, although this mid-week afternoon train from King’s Cross is almost empty. It’s much nicer than travelling at the weekend, when the train to Edinburgh is often packed. It was a good idea of yours to get to our friend’s hen party this way, rather than drive. It’ll be more relaxing, and no need to worry about still being over the limit when driving back afterwards.
For the first half an hour or so, as the train speeds smoothly northwards, we each happily do our own thing. I alternate between reading my book and looking out of the window, watching the landscape flash past. You text a few people on your phone, then fiddle about in your bag, but you don’t seem able to settle down to anything.
After a while, you start playing footsie with me under the table. I smile and respond, stroking my foot up your leg, teasing you. You do the same to me, but go further, sneaking your foot up under my skirt and rubbing against my thigh. You’ve kicked your shoes off, and your bare toes feel rough against the skin of my legs. It’s nice. Your foot ends up on the seat between my legs, pressed against the crotch of my panties. I wriggle against you, enjoying the gentle stimulation. I suspect you’ve been feeling a bit horny all day, and now I’m starting to feel the same way. My boyfriend doesn’t mind if I have a bit of girly fun, and I don’t suppose yours does either.
I eye you across the table. You’re wearing a plain white blouse, but it’s quite tight and your large breasts look quite snug inside it. The way you’re leaning against the table is squeezing them together, putting a bit of a strain on the top two buttons. Casually, I push my bag to the edge of the table, which acts as a sort of shield. Then I put my arms on the table, before reaching over and stroking my hand over the curve of your left breast. Gently I start to knead it, then squeeze slightly harder as you smile. You peer around to make sure no-one is watching, and I can feel your nipple getting hard inside your bra. I love the way your breasts move as I stroke them.
Getting bolder, I insinuate a finger between two of the buttons, and feel the lacy surface of your bra against my finger. I wriggle it up and down, getting two fingers underneath the mound of your tit and bouncing it up and down. This is fun, but your bra is getting in the way, and that’s starting to frustrate me.
I lean across the table and whisper, “Go take your bra off.”
You act shocked. “No way,” you say.
“Go on, do it. I dare you!”
“Damn it, Annie, you’re dreadful.”
But you slide out of your seat and head off down the aisle towards the toilet, taking your bag with you. A few minutes pass, and you’re back.
Mmmm, nice. Without your bra, your large breasts seem almost out of control inside your tight blouse. They swing loosely as you edge back into your seat, and between the buttons I can see glimpses of the pale skin of your chest. I lean over and gently knead your breast through the cotton top, the flesh moving under my touch, feeling loose and supple now it’s not supported by your bra. I can see the dark patches of your nipples, and let my fingers slide over the right one. Almost immediately it gets hard, pressing against the material. I tweak and rub it. You are flushing slightly, little beads of perspiration breaking out on your forehead. You’re embarrassed at how aroused you are getting, and I wonder if you’re going to pull away.
But instead you lean forwards, letting your breasts rest on the table, your hands clasped nervously in front of you. My bag on the table is still shielding us from view, at least partially. You’re biting your lip, getting more excited. I wonder how far you are willing to let me go. I leave your nipple and find the button closest to your breasts. I start to push it through the buttonhole. Your eyes widen, and you put your hand on my wrist.
“No way,” you whisper, a pleading look on your face. “You can’t!”
“Why not?” I murmur, and with a little “pop” I push the button through the hole. You gasp softly. The sides of your blouse hang apart, and I can see more of your skin and the full curve of your breast. Gently I stroke the edge of your soft tit. You close your eyes, your breath catching in your throat. Slowly, daringly, I slide the edge of your blouse across, revealing more of the front of your breast.
“Annie, what…” you whisper urgently.
“Shhh,” I whisper back, interrupting you. “Just keep still!”
As I pull the front of your blouse open, I see the edge of your dark areola peeping out, then (oh wonderful) the rest of your nipple, followed by your whole bare breast. I hold the front of your blouse open with my thumb and fingers, the top button straining. I spread my hand over your lovely tit as it hangs out. It’s so exciting to see it exposed like this, smooth and pale and vulnerable. I can feel it moving as your heart beats faster.
“Oh Jesus, Annie, please no.”
“Oh babe, what a lovely boobie,” I whisper with a smile, squeezing it with my hand.
I lean across the table, looking into your eyes as you lean into me, trying to hide your bare exposed breast in the space between us. I circle your erect nipple with my finger, the pink bud harder than I have ever seen it before. I squeeze it, stiff but flexible, like a nodule of rubber. You gasp.
A movement behind you catches my eye: a woman is walking down the aisle towards us. I push my bag so that it covers your exposed breast, but give your nipple an extra hard squeeze as she walks past. You let out a little squeak and kick me hard under the table.
As she disappears behind me down the aisle, I pull the bag away, but leave my hand where it is. I love the feel of your nipple. Your cheeks are pink, but I can tell it’s as much with excitement as embarrassment. You’re nervous, but massively turned on.
I lean over and whisper to you.
“I dare you to go down to the buffet and get a coffee, just as you are.”
“Ok, you can tuck your tit back in, but you have to leave the buttons undone.”
You bite your lip and nod your agreement. As you shuffle sideways out of your seat, your bare breasts swing from side to side inside your almost unbuttoned blouse. Taking your handbag, you walk off towards the buffet, using the seat backs to steady yourself against the movement of the train.
While you’re gone, I slide my hand under the table and press it against my plump mound, pressing and kneading it, feeling my clitoris tingling. I pull my dress up at the front and push my hand underneath. I push a finger round the edge of my panties and slip it between my labia. I take it out and look at under the table, glistening with my sticky juices. I casually lift it up and smell it, before licking it, tasting my tangy pussy juice. The game has got me at least as turned on as you.
You seem to be taking an awful long time. I’m almost getting worried, when suddenly you’re sliding back into your seat, carrying a couple of coffees and a brown bag.
“I got you a treat,” you say, giving me the bag. I open it, and see a packet of biscuits, on top of what I think at first is a bright red napkin, but realise with a thrill is a pair of knickers: your knickers.
I put my hand into the bag and feel them. I can see there is a damp patch on the crotch.
I smile at you. “They’re a bit wet.”
“I got so turned on, standing in the queue,” you say. “On my way back to my seat, I slipped into the loo and took them off.”
“Did anybody notice you had no bra on?”
“There was this guy, I think he noticed straight away. He was standing behind me and I’m sure he was looking over my shoulder down the front of my blouse. I felt a bit embarrassed at first, but as I stood there in the queue the thought of him looking at me, and enjoying the unexpected treat, began to get me excited. I thought what fun it would be to tease him a little, so I leant over so the front of my blouse gaped open. I felt my bare boobs swinging loose, and I knew he’d have been able to see the whole of them if he looked down. I had a quick look myself and my nipples were just so hard. I wondered if his cock was hard too, and I imagined him ripping my blouse right open, pulling up my skirt, dragging my knickers down to my knees, and fucking me right there, in front of everybody. Just getting his hard cock out and sticking it into me, fucking me until he squirted his cum right up my cunt. Then he’d pull it out, stick it back in his trousers and leave me standing there, his cum dribbling out of me and trickling down my legs.”
I can tell how aroused you’re getting as you tell me about your dirty little fantasy. You’re blushing, and I can see your nipples are still hard even now; little dark, hard peaks pressing against your blouse.
“Sit next to me,” I say.
You get up out of your seat and I move up to let you sit down. I look down the front of your blouse. I can see the pale mounds of your large breasts, a few cute little freckles sprinkled over them.
“I bet that guy was thinking what fun it would be to put his cock between your boobs and have a tit-fuck,” I say.
“I bet you’d have loved it if you’d looked down and seen my tits covered in his cum,” you whisper excitedly. “Do you think I should have made him do it? I could have unbuttoned my blouse and made him stick his prick between them, then rub and squeeze them ‘til he came all over them. I’d have walked back to my seat, smelling his cum on my tits, feeling it running down between them over my tummy. ”
You really love this game of dirty fantasies, and I’m happy to join in.
“Can you imagine if you met a woman coming down the aisle towards you, and you had to squeeze past each other?” I suggested. “What if you turned sideways facing her, so she was staring right at your cummy tits as she passed you? Big sticky creamy blobs of it all over your boobs, in front of her eyes. She’d be able to smell it too, fresh and musky.”
“What if she looked up at me with a big grin on her face, and leant over and licked a big lump of it right off my tit? Showed me her tongue, with the cum hanging off, then put it in her mouth and rolled it round, before swallowing it right down.”
You’re turned on by this filthy talk. You’ve pulled your skirt high up off your thighs, and slipped your hand underneath. I can’t see exactly what’s going on but by the movement I can guess you’ve got at least one finger inside your vagina. I reach down and pull your skirt up even higher, and sure enough I can see two fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy, glistening with your juices.
“If it was me, I’d put my hand up under your skirt while I was doing it,” I continue. “I’d stick my fingers right up your cunt while I was licking up the cum.”
You grab my hand and put it on your warm mound. I tickle my fingers over your labia, moving them apart to give me access to your hole, then slip two fingers into you.
“Oh yes, just like that.”
I raise my head slightly and peer casually down the aisle of the train. Oh my God, there’s a guy sitting in the aisle seat a couple of rows down, and he’s watching us. He’s pretending to read, but his hand is rubbing over a big bulge in his crotch. That’s so exciting.
“Look,” I whisper, “That guy’s watching me finger-fuck you.”
“Oh Jesus,” you gasp, squeezing your thighs closed around my hand, and trying to pull your skirt down.
“Don’t you want him to see your wet cunt?” I say, using the filthy word again, that I know will shock you but also turn you on even more. At the same time, I put my other hand on your thigh and pull it to one side. “Go on, open your legs again.”
“Oh shit,” you whisper, but you do it. Slowly, you part your legs even wider than before, and I thrust my fingers faster and deeper into you. Even over the sound of the train, I can hear the slurping noise this makes.
I glance up at the guy again. I want to catch his eye, but his gaze is fixed on what is going on under the table. He is stroking his cock inside his trousers.
“Would you like him to take his hard cock out?” I whisper to you. “Wouldn’t it be cool to watch him wanking it faster and faster, until he comes all over the seat in front of him?”
“I want him to get up and come over here with it hanging out of his trousers. I want him to stick it in your mouth. I want to watch you suck him and suck him until he comes in your mouth. I want you to open your mouth so I can see it full of his cum.”
As you say this, you’re rubbing at your clitoris faster and faster, your breath coming in short bursts as you speak, your voice rising in pitch as you near your climax.
“I want to eat his cum out of your mouth.”
As you say this, you come, squeezing your shaking thighs together and biting back your orgasmic cries. Your face is pink, and your whole body is trembling as your orgasm overwhelms you. I withdraw my fingers, and you fall back in your seat, exhausted.
This time, I look up at just the right moment and manage to catch the guy’s eye. He looks away quickly, though Lord knows it’s me who should be embarrassed. I’m still on a high, turned on by the thrill of him watching me make you come. I think of your fantasy.
“Wait here,” I whisper.
“What? What are you doing?”
I walk up the aisle towards the guy. My fingers are sticky with your juices. As I pass, I show them to him, and whisper, “Follow me.”
I don’t even know if he will follow. I keep on walking, my legs starting to tremble.
“Oh fuck,” I think, “What am I doing?”
But it’s too late to change my mind. I hear him leave his seat. I look up at the illuminated sign by the toilet; thank God, it’s empty. I slip inside as I pass, then close the door. I lean against the wall, breathing heavily, my mind spinning. Quickly, quickly, before I change my mind.
The door opens, and he slips in. Before he has a chance to speak, I grab him, locking the door as I do so.
“It’s a game,” I say, urgently. “Do you want to play?”
“My friend wants to eat your cum out of my mouth. Will you do it?”
He nods again. “Fuck yes, ok. But…”
He doesn’t have a chance to say any more. I pull down his trouser zip, and put my hand inside. I can feel his cock inside his boxer shorts, and for a second I fumble to find the hole, before finding it and pulling it out. It’s still semi-hard, and the knob is a bit sticky with pre-cum secretions. At least he hasn’t come yet, so I don’t think this will take long.
I kneel down and put his cock in my mouth. I slurp at it, swirling my tongue around it, and give the shaft a few pumps to get it up to size again. It swells inside my mouth, quite a lot thicker than it looked, so I have to breathe through my nose.
I run my tongue around the sensitive rim of his knob, tickling at the little “v” of skin underneath.
“Oh shit,” he moans. I feel his hands fumbling at my t-shirt, and I let him pull it up. He pulls my bra up off my breasts, and rubs roughly at them. My nipples get instantly hard at his touch, and he tweaks and pulls at them as I suck harder at his cock.
He starts to push his cock deeper into my mouth, and I can tell by his breathing that he’s going to come. I pull it out slightly, resting the knob on my tongue, and pump on his shaft. With a groan, he ejaculates, and I make sure I catch every drop in my mouth: creamy, hot and tasty.
My instinct is to swallow, but I close my mouth and hold it there. Quickly, I stand up, pull off my loose bra and stuff it up the front of his shirt, as a souvenir. I smooth down my own t-shirt over my now-unsupported little breasts, and signal to him to wait a second while I leave. I open the door and peep out. Thank goodness, no-one is waiting. Keeping my mouth firmly closed, I walk back down the aisle, hoping the train doesn’t lurch suddenly, making me lose control.
I see you sitting there, looking a bit calmer now, your legs firmly together.
“What the fuck have you been?” you whisper as I slide back into the seat next to you. I hold up my hand to stop you, then I open my mouth and let you see what’s inside; a swirly white sticky mess of semen. Your own mouth falls open in amazement, changing quickly to excitement.
I shut my mouth again, and look up as I see the guy slip back into his seat. I look at him with a grin, then turn to you. I open my mouth, and plant it firmly over yours. I make sure our kiss is long and deep, as you bathe your tongue in the pool of semen, slurping it back into your own mouth.
You swallow, and I do the same, gulping what’s left of his cum down my throat. We slide apart, gasping. I can still taste the tangy cream in my throat. You are giggling, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
“Annie, I can’t believe you just did that, you slut.”
“You’re the slut, it was your idea,” I giggle back.
The train is slowing down. I look out of the window; we are just coming into Doncaster, and the guy is getting his bag off the luggage rack. He smiles as he walks past.
“Enjoy the rest of your journey,” he says. “I hope your game isn’t over yet.”
“Did you notice he was married?” you say as we see him get off and walk down the platform towards the exit.
I shake my head. I’m not very good at noticing that sort of thing.
“Do you think he’ll tell his wife?” you wonder.
“She’ll never believe him,” I say. “Would you?”
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