Hullo, readers.

Don’t trains in pornography have a kind of magical quality to them?

In the world of train porn, all non-plot-important characters have the superpower of sexual obliviousness. You can have full penetrative sex right beside them, or even in the middle of a crowd, and no-one will notice.

For reasons.

I’m fascinated by this phenomenon, which is why I chose today’s story, by ‘JuicyStarchild’ of ‘Literotica.com’.

***

She ran down the stairs to the tube train, the love eggs jumping and jostling deep inside her cunt with every movement. He’d been teasing her via online chat all afternoon, had instructed her to insert the eggs before leaving, and now she was horny as hell.

‘Jumping’ in your vagina?

Madam, may I recommend the excellent self-help series:

‘Kegels for Fun and Profit‘.

She’d been tempted to rub herself to a climax in the ladies restroom at the office. After all, He’d never know. But she knew she’d ultimately get more pleasure by obeying Him, and she wanted to please Him. Anyway, there wasn’t time, so she’d pushed the eggs into her squelching wetness and ran for the tube.

And the award for Most Revolting Euphemism goes to…

She made it just as the doors were closing, squeezing into a gap in the crowded train.

This is what we call symbolic foreshadowing.

The man sitting just in front of her half rose to offer his seat, but she shook her head. She wore no panties, at His instruction, and she was so wet she worried she’d reveal a damp patch on her skirt if she sat. Instead she held onto the vertical hand rail and stood, bracing herself against the movement of the train.

Careful, you might fall over and end up losing those eggs forever.

Each jerk and jolt of the train caused the eggs to move and push against the inner walls of her pussy. It felt like His fingers, deep inside, flexing to stimulate her, but not enough to make her come. She focused on the pleasure and several times almost groaned aloud. He’d given her permission to come on the train, where he knew the motion of the eggs would be enhanced, and she prepared to enjoy herself.

Could you not have just gone jogging? Bike riding? Something a little more eco-friendly than a train?

Why do you have to get your kicks at the expense of the planet, man?

That was when she noticed the man from earlier, sitting in front of her, eyeing her.

Does no-one notice the man turned around in his seat, silently staring at the lady behind him?

A gaze that can only be described as ‘rapetacular!’

His nostrils flared slightly, and she wondered for a second if he could smell her arousal. A jerk of the train made her stumble a little and the mound of her pussy bumped against his hand where it lay on the armrest. She couldn’t control the outlet of breath that escaped her, and his eyes glanced in interest from her face to her extended nipples.

She was standing closer now, her feet either side of his foot and, god, the lips of her pussy were throbbing with need and she wanted that touch. She allowed the movement of the train to keep bumping her groin onto his hand.

*Bump*

“Hey.”

*Bump*

“Hey.”

*Bump*

“It ain’t gonna fuck itself.”

The train stopped and she was shoved and pushed a bit from behind as some people exited and a larger group arrived. He adjusted his position slightly, glancing around at the oblivious passengers, and eased her skirt up so that it draped over his upturned hand.

Now, keep in mind, this is at eye-level for at least half the carriage. And all the other half would have to do is look down.

This story is apparently set in an alternate universe in which humans never evolved bendable necks.

She stood there with her legs apart, feeling her legs turn to jelly as he used his middle finger to press against her slit, finding the abundant juiciness there and spreading it around the lips of her pussy and up to her clit.

You’re not baisting a chicken, get on with it.

He rubbed at her hungry clit with swift strong motions and she closed her eyes, giving herself up to the delight of this mans hand bringing her off, while His love eggs bounced inside her. He pushed one, then two fingers inside her, comprehension dawning in his face as he felt the love eggs.

Why do you keep being surprised? You asked her to do all these things.

If I order a bacon sandwhich in a restaurant, I don’t then throw myself out the window in terror when the waiter brings me dead pig in bread.

He tapped them, once, pushing them against her g-spot, and manoeuvred his fingers to continue rubbing her clit. She couldn’t control her breathing now, and that was how the man standing next to her noticed. He had been facing her, but with his eyes focused on the middle-distance, as passengers do, politely pretending he wasn’t there. Now he took in her flushed face, her parted lips, and the subtle motion going on under her skirt.

Aha! Finally, someone notices.

He will, of course, do the sensible thing, and move away from this pair of quivering deviants.

He moved his bag to obscure her body a bit.

…or, he will collude in their wilful staining of a public floor.

That was kind of him, she thought, but really, she was beyond caring. Then she felt a thumb stroking her erect nipple, hidden by the same bag, and her eyes flew to his. He watched her intently, his eyebrows raised slightly, as if asking for permission. Her eyes half closed in blissful acquiescence, and his hand took a firmer grip around her breast.

You can’t just help yourself. She’s not a fucking buffet.

She was going to come. She could feel the sensation start to disappear from her extremities, closing in on those two points of contact. The guy fondling her breast made a signal to his friend who stood behind her, indicating with his eyes and a jerk of his head. She couldn’t see this third man, but she felt him move in closer, his hand move up her skirt from behind, his fingers curve around and under her buttocks to gather the wetness from her fanny, and then, incredibly, a thick digit pushing into her arse.

Once again, I am proven wrong.

One man stroking the slipperiness of her clit, His love eggs jiggling inside, a hand squeezing her breast, a digit in her arse … her mind flipped off and she rose onto her toes as an intense orgasm ripped silently through her. She slumped against the man behind, her legs shaking. Those generous men gentled their stroking and, one by one, removed themselves from her body, putting her clothing to rights as they went.

The man behind her presumably wiping his finger on her skirt as he, er, ‘disengaged’.

The man behind patted her bottom gently as he and his friend left the train at the next stop. She never did see the third guy’s face. The one sitting in front smiled sweetly at her and rose to leave at the following stop, offering her his seat again. This time she didn’t refuse – she was still a bit shaky. “Thank you,” she said to him, with feeling, meaning more than the seat. “My pleasure.” She wondered if she’d see any of them again, and if she’d be able to look them in the eye when she did!

I’d worry more about the poor unfortunate employed to wipe down that seat.

***

His name is Jose, and he is paid in sour looks. He hates your vagina.

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– Alex