On A Train - Sex Stories

On A Train

... the woman’s tits. I fondle them, feeling the soft, pliant flesh through the tight sweater. The train slows yet again. We are entering the station. The woman’s hand stops moving, just resting between her thighs. Her other hand is on her coat, in case she should need to cover up. As the train grinds to a halt people further down the carriage rise and head for the doors. I continue groping the woman’s breasts, squeezing and rubbing, adoring the feel of her soft, womanly anatomy. She looks up at me, nervous, anxious. She can hear the people moving, the sliding of doors, people exiting and entering. But she has nothing to fear. I can see what’s happening, see the other people as I continue squeezing and fondling the woman’s delightful bosom. More people exit than embark, and those that get on the train don’t come anywhere near our end of the carriage. The doors slide shut and the train begins to move. Once a new announcement has listed the coming destinations and the train begins to pick up speed, the woman becomes less anxious. She gives a little sigh as I continue squeezing her breasts, my thumbs searching for a swell of nipple under her sweater. I bend forwards and whisper in her ear, “You’re doing just fine, doll.” She reddens a little. I kiss her on the neck, removing one hand from her breasts. Her own hand is still lingering between her thighs as mine slides up the inside of one thigh, across the stocking top, all the way up. There’s a little gasp as I ease my finger ...

... between her pussy lips. There’s plenty of lubrication and as I find the entrance, I don’t hesitate to slide my finger inside her. I turn my head sideways on, pushing my ear up to her mouth to catch her breathing. Her hot breath eases inside along with soft sounds of arousal. I pull away and rest on the edge of my seat. With red cheeks but an unmistakable gleam in her eye, the woman parts her legs a little more, resuming her previous stance; one hand holding her pussy lips apart, two fingers on the other hand pushing up into her. Once again her eyes fall on me, as if her husband wasn’t here at all. The train picks up speed, dashing through the once more invisible landscape. It hardly seems to matter where we are. The people further down the carriage don’t matter. The woman’s husband certainly doesn’t seem to matter. He might as well be air as the woman’s ashamed yet shameless eyes lock onto mine, then glide downwards, searching for the bulge in my trousers. Well, why not? I unzip and pull my aching cock from my trousers. I’d be tempted to ask if she likes what she sees, if her eyes weren’t answering the question already. Her fingers work slowly inside her, but now she uses her other hand to make circular movements on her clit. I stroke my cock gently, enjoying the reluctant arousal in the woman’s eyes. Shame and shamelessness mix. Her lips part a little. I sense a slight moan, but the noise of the train drowns it out. Surely I have her now? Surely my wish is now her desire? Yes. Her ...