True Sex Stories: Half Naked At The Station, Orgasm On The Train

Adventures in public sex on public transportation.

Lunch time was interesting. I headed off early with James, and we went to our favourite cheapo store for Halloween costuming bits. He was inspired by the slutty little see-through witch dress on the mannequin by the front door, and he decided he wanted me to wear it at work, for Friday afternoon drinks. Yes, the dress with the split to right up the crotch! At work!

Well, I did wear it, but I kept my skirt on too.

I could see what was coming, though, oh my god yes. Uh-huh. On the way home. In the middle of the train station to be precise…

I still had that dress on, with my skirt underneath, but he had me stop by a pillar just in front of the escalators and stairs that go down to the platforms. That was where he had me take my skirt off.

I was dying initially. I mean like, hell, it is the middle of the freekin' train station, and it's busy as at 5pm on a Friday after work. I definitely felt naked then. Funnily enough, though, it is like every other fear I've gone through: there is that freaking-out space, then doing it (whatever it is), and then ta-daaaa, it turns out to be not nearly so bad as I thought it would be.

We strolled down to our platform and he took full advantage of every opportunity to stroke my legs and crotch – on the stairs especially, but just everywhere. While we waited for our train he had me blushing when he not only raised my dress over my ass, but he also pulled up my knickers to bare my butt cheeks – while my back was to the far platform, which was full of people waiting for their train. I refused to look back to see who was watching, but the excitement of being shown off had me smiling.

Was he done having fun? No! On the train he was rubbing my clit through my pants, and not particularly discretely either. I had to stop myself from squirting; I was so bloody close. Oh, oh oh! And he continued working my clit while the ticket collector was clipping my ticket. It was exciting anticipating the moment of orgasm, and then actually doing it. I wonder if the ticket collector knew and kept a massively straight face, or if he was just oblivious?

Hair pulling and kisses, scratches and small increments of pain were all layered to get me right into my subby space before I had to disembark at my stop. We talked and sat with our own thoughts as well, and he stroked my hair in the way that he does. It didn't fail to relax me. In fact it does more than relax me: it fuels me. It may be a physical action, but it affects me emotionally as well. I'm not sure I can quite describe the overwhelming sense of well-being and contentment it gives me.

Republished with permission from SapioSlut. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo from Public Disgrace.