Story: Mind the Gap

It’s late. The train is almost empty; the commuters long since tucked up on their expansive sofas with in their kaleidoscopic onesies holding oversized glasses of red wine and watching uninspiring programmes on their immense televisions. It’s predictable, and they think their lives are hard. We’ve all heard the moaning: their boss, the length of their commute, their pay, the costs of their commute, their children, the stifling crush on their commute, their life, their choices, their frigging commute. It’s all about them.

But I see you with your friend, looking around the train and wondering; I’m there, but I’m listening to my music, oblivious to the world around me. I’m not a threat to you two: I’m no mugger nor a problem. Just a guy on minimum wage travelling home after his shift. I just want my bed and my book.

That lingering look you give anyway; just checking before train departs. Seeing if I return it. I don’t. It’s not that I don’t think you’re hot, because you’re pretty gorgeous: long, bronzed legs, short tartan skirt and a beautiful white blouse that captivates. I love the plunge of the neckline between your breasts, and the bob on your brown hair. I love your smile too: it’s coy and sexy. I’ll be masturbating to you later.

But travelling is a solo activity and your friend looks a little anxious. Scared almost. She’s pretty nice too: her darkened skin suits her red summer dress that shimmies as she moves to her seat. It’s thin; I can almost see through it to the delicious curves underneath. And they are very delicious curves.

However, it’s you that has captured my attention. You, with your feminine wiles. The swing of the hips, the pout on your lips, the sultry glance towards me. Girl, you are sexy and you definitely know it. Do you want me to look through the gap in the seats? Are you wanting me to stare and ogle your tight-fitting clothes?

So I glance up, causing a wry smile to escape from your lips. So that is what you wanted! Sliding back on the seat causes your skirt to rise up. Your eyes glance; first at your friend and then at me. I can see you, as I am looking directly at you through the gap in the seats, writhing on your buttocks and adjusting your blouse.

No, unbuttoning your blouse; revealing the outline of the soft, orbs underneath. A flash of heaven, my prick rises at your teasing but then you want that! My eyes cannot help but stare at the milky white bosom, not noticing the flash of pink between your legs.

No knickers. You came onto the train with no knickers. My cock is straining to escape from my shorts, as you taunt me with your sexiness. I’ll be wanking to you for a long time, dreaming of your exhibitionism and feverishly imagining sex acts you would never dream of.

But you’re not alone; I glance at your friend sitting next to you and her dress is to her waist. I barely notice the train start, but focus on the hairy mound staring at me. I want it. I want to kiss you, kiss you both. I want to caress your pert breasts and then plunge my tongue between your delicate mounds. I want you.

My music long since discarded by my attention, my mind focused solely on the two lovely ladies in my direct sight. My throat feels dry, my hands anxious as I wait. Wait for something. Waiting for your next move.

A finger tracing your body, landing between your legs. A groan escapes from my mouth as your friend does likewise, sliding her outstretched finger between the scarlet hem of her flimsy dress. If I’m staring open mouthed, there is nothing I can do: I don’t think I’ve seen anything like this before and stray whimpers escape from my mouth.

I know I am staring, but you can’t see: your eyes are closed as you look away, your finger openly sliding over your clit. No pretence now; you’re masturbating on public transport. I watch every movement: the twist of your knuckle, the swell of your chest, the grip of your bosom and the lick of your lips. I can feel your pleasure, a delightfully heady mix of lust and desperation.

I watch your friend too: she’s taken to parting her legs fully, giving me an amazing view of her sopping pussy. Are you two competing for my attention? Is this a bet you have with your friend? I feel like I’m a pawn, and am being used, but I don’t care.

My erection presses against my shorts. It’s dirty. Filthy, sexy and amazingly arousing. I can sense your arousal. Taste your excitement.

Then you kiss her; leaning across her lap and kissing her. Not a gentle peck either, but a grab of the back of her head as your tongues twist and writhe against each other. Passionate. Raw. Sinful. This is no act, but a glorious expression of lust that I am privileged to witness.

But the fingers start exploring again, wandering and probing. Two sexy women playing with each other on the train as the aged engine jostles over uneven tracks. I feel the heat of your passion, exploratory fingers sliding against moist cracks and swirling against engorged clitorises.

I hear the first delicate whimper, I think I make the second. I want to join in, running my hand along my shaft as I watch.

My eyes transfixed on the show as your bosom rises with your desperate panting. Your friend knows exactly how to get you off and with every swirl of her fingers I see your legs tremble. The sensation has taken you nearly there. I can feel you approaching your cliff face; suddenly I don’t exist to you, this is about you not me.

I hear your escalating mews and feverish cries. I feel your visceral expectation as your body inches ever closer to that moment. I can taste your desperation as your hips buck faster and faster, eager to take in the swell of your climax.

But most of all, I see. See the trembling orgasm, the long breaths and the clenched fist. See the relief on your face as you redouble your efforts on your friend, forcing me to watch her explode into a million pieces of sheer orgasmic delight.

You dress before the station, alight at the platform. “Hey,” I cry as you walk away. “What was all that about? Was that for me?”

“An exhibitionist can have no fun unless there’s a willing voyeur!” You reply, blowing me a kiss as you walk away down the platform, sexily swinging your hips.

That may be true. But just so you know: I’ll be masturbating to you tonight. A wanker can have no fun unless there’s a willing fantasy. And now have two gorgeous women to think about.

Featured image from here and used a CC-license.

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