[A QUICK PREAMBLE: This is a work of fiction and high fantasy, and is to be taken as such. If in the reading of this, you find yourself tempted to repeat the acts depicted herein, PLEASE read the Author’s Note at the end of this tale, thank you.]
***
It was entirely by chance that I sat where I sat, on the eight-carriage train that day. I’m very glad I did sit there, though.
I had put no conscious thought into choosing my seat, I never do. I’d arrived at the station a minute before the train pulled in. I stepped through the nearest carriage door once the train had stopped. The carriage was about half full, so I grabbed an open seat on the eastern side of the carriage, to avoid the glare of the afternoon sun — and that was about as much of a conscious decision about choosing a seat as I had made.
I was in a good mood that day. I’d just caught up with an old girlfriend over a long lunch, which had brought lots of laughs and memories, with great food and a very nice glass of wine to boot. I was feeling mellow and, if I may say so of myself, somewhat aglow; I had worn one of my favourite dresses, a flowing red summery number that billowed nicely about my hips but clung tightly to my curves and breasts, cut low at the neck and showing my assets off quite nicely. I had been feeling fine all day, a welcome break from the usual, all of which combined to leave me in a happy state that had not abated in the time it took me to sit down on the train.
And so, when a guy already sitting in a seat nearby, just across the aisle, caught my eye and said “hey”, with a friendly smile and a welcome lack of sleaze or leer, I was happy enough to return-fire with a “hey” of my own.
“You look like you’ve had a good day,” he observed.
I looked at him again. His tone was easy, conversational. He was smiling, unassuming and open. There was maybe something of a twinkle in his eye, mildly mischievous but nothing off-putting — quite the opposite. I’ve always been partial to the cheeky guys, it’s definitely a weakness of mine.
“I have had a good day, actually,” I smiled. “I had a really nice lunch, which was also a bit of a job interview.”
“Oh yeah?” he returned. He was a similar age to me. He was dressed fairly casual: t-shirt, jeans and work boots. He was tanned, his hands were clean but looked rough — he looked fit, as though he did a lot of physical work day-to-day, feeding and building the obvious strength in his shoulders, arms and abdomen, a jacket laying across his lap. “What sort of work do you do?”
“I’ll take whatever work’s on offer at this point,” I didn’t mind confessing. “It’s been a few months since my last job. My friend Karen, she’s growing her interior design consultancy, so she’s looking for some extra help front-of-house: admin, invoicing, client liaison, that sort of thing.”
“Sounds like good work,” he nodded. “Interior design, too — that industry is really taking off these days. Should keep you in work for a while,” he reckoned.
“Hoping so!” I beamed.
Our conversation was something of a treat, I was surprised to find. I’m a social animal, and I don’t always enjoy my solo train trips from the city back to my outer-suburban home. It was a welcome change from the usual stoic silence I endure, or the blank-minded scrolling through social media on my phone, or the occasional unwelcome entreaties from would-be suitors who didn’t seem to realise that non-committal, one-word answers were code for ‘I’m not in the mood for being woo’d, please leave me be’.
But this guy, just across the aisle: he seemed nice, he was emitting positive vibes, I was in a good mood… and he was kind of cute. “So what do you do?” I asked of him, to keep the conversation rolling.
“I’m a diesel fitter,” he told me. “I work at the local metro garages — keeping the garbage trucks, diggers and works vehicles on the road.”
“Good honest work, then?” I asked of him — slightly cheeky and needling, hinting at the reputation our local metro workers had earned for taking it very easy on the job.
He laughed at that, free and heartily. “I pull my own weight,” he was happy to inform me, with a huge grin. I saw his hand move beneath the jacket in his lap when he said it, but I didn’t twig — I paid it no thought, thinking he’d just gone for an unthinking crotch-scratch, as guys are wont to do. “I’m a crew leader, I work the morning shifts — five-thirty to two o’clock. We’ve got huge workloads, and if we fall behind, the city falls behind. So I always make sure the boys put in sixty minutes to the hour,” he assured me.
“That’s good to hear,” I smiled.
“My name’s Toby, anyways,” he supplied.
“Emma,” I returned.
Our conversation carried on for another ten or fifteen minutes; we spoke easily and laughed often, not afraid to give each other a little stick as we covered topics at random. The carriage was emptying fairly quickly, it was early in the afternoon and well before the peak times, where the crush of bodies would fill all of the seats, spill into the aisles and barely abated all the way to my station at the end of the line.
But on our early-afternoon service, there were now maybe half a dozen other passengers still in the carriage with us, spread out evenly — paying us scant attention, ear buds or books or newspapers keeping them well-occupied. Toby and I had been chatting as though we had the train entirely to ourselves, and I was really enjoying his company. He seemed to be telegraphing some low-key interest, and I had returned serve on that front, somewhat coyly. I had been wondering — and hoping — for a few minutes now that he might actually ask me out, when he went and asked something else:
“Hey Emma,” he began, after a short pause in conversation. “Can you keep a secret?”
I blinked, processing the unexpected query. “Uh, sure,” I invited.
“Well…” he said.
And he shifted his jacket away from his lap, revealing that he had his jeans unzipped and his cock exposed. His fingers grasped his shaft lightly.
And he was hard. Big, and hard.
I boggled slightly, before covering my mouth and breaking into laughter, embarrassed and surprised. I had looked away, in shock at the turn of events…
But I soon looked back, to take in the sight again, and then look him in the eye. “Toby,” I scolded — not too loudly though, not wanting to call attention on us. “What ARE you doing?”
Toby just shrugged. His endearingly mischievous grin had ratcheted up quite a few notches: unapologetic, but still somehow not with any real trace of leering or sleaziness, instead managing to come across entirely cheeky, engaging… beguiling, even. “Just a bit of fun,” he volunteered.
“It’s the middle of the day — broad daylight!” I admonished.
“That just adds to the fun,” he assured me.
I just shook my head, momentarily lost for words, though I couldn’t help but match his grin for his sheer, utter cheek. My eyes fell to his member again — fuck but he was a big boy, long and thick. He had the lightest grasp of himself, treating himself to the occasional stroke, up and down… which he did again as I watched.
“Aren’t you worried you’ll get caught?” I had to ask, murmuring, leaning slightly closer, again not wanting to get him in trouble — get the both of us in trouble, should anyone else see us.
“Not really,” he returned, also leaning in as he lowered his voice. “I can cover up well before anyone from up front comes within line of sight. I listen out carefully and grab the jacket if there’s any movement behind me, to be safe. And I’m sure you’ll tell me if anyone’s coming and I haven’t heard them,” he added, smiling as he turned me into his accomplice, aiding and abetting in his exhibitionistic, masturbatory conspiracy.
“Are you sure you can trust me?” I smiled, ever-so-sweetly.
“You wouldn’t want me to get in trouble now, would you?” he teased.
“Of course not,” I had to allow. “So…” I added, my eyes falling again to his twitching pride. “Is this something you do often?”
“Which part?” Toby asked. “The ‘having a play on a train’ part… or the ‘showing it off’ part?”
“Both!” I laughed.
“Well,” he smiled at himself. “Showing it off: very rarely. Having a play, staying hidden beneath the jacket: at least once a week, sometimes more.”
“Can you not wait until you get home?” I challenged him — still smiling, and still sneaking glances at his big old cock, though I knew he could see full well I was looking. “Does wrenching on garbage trucks really get you going so bad?”
Toby laughed at that, evidently enjoying my teasing. “It’s the thrill,” he confided. “Doing something so naughty, in public, only barely covered up, no one realising — getting away with it. It adds to the pleasure, big time,” he confided.
‘I bet it does,’ I thought to myself — unwilling to say such a thing though, for risk of showing how increasingly aroused I was becoming in this situation: my heart beating faster, breathing deeper as I took in his shameless display… my pussy moistening, as he stroked his cock again while I watched.
We were pulling into a station, and people around us were getting up to leave, so Toby reached for his jacket and covered up. As he did so, I saw what I hadn’t seen before: his far arm disappearing beneath his jacket; the bulge in the jacket being his hand on his cock, right there, to be seen if you were looking for it — which of course I hadn’t been, nor would anyone else really. No one would suspect him capable of such a devilish act, given his nonchalant façade, well-kept looks, genial manner and general air of not doing anything which might otherwise get him arrested.
As a few of our fellow passengers made to go, I couldn’t stop myself — I rose out of my seat and crossed the aisle, sitting in the open seat opposite Toby, face to face. I knew it was a dreadfully encouraging thing to do, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to be closer, to get a better look when that jacket was pulled away again.
And I wasn’t disappointed: the people left the carriage, leaving only two or three others around us, well outside earshot and not looking our way. The train pulled away from the station, and Toby shifted his jacket aside again, letting me drink in the sight of his long, veiny, thick, very nice cock.
“You don’t mind looking at it, do you?” Toby observed.
I affected a non-committal shrug, though I was sure my eyes confirmed the truth of it for him: I did enjoy looking at his cock, very much so. “So we’ve covered how often you have a play,” I said instead, taking up the conversation where we had left off. “How about… how often do you whip it out for display?”
“Pretty rarely,” Toby confessed, stroking his cock lightly again as he spoke. “I really don’t want to flash it at an unwilling audience — there’s no thrill in that, imposing myself upon unsuspecting innocents who won’t like it. That’s a big violation of a person’s rights, I’m not about that at all.”
“Plus it’ll get you arrested,” I threw in.
“That’s right,” Toby laughed. “I’ve only put myself on show twice, actually.”
“Oh yeah?” I echoed, intrigued, splitting my attention evenly between his warm, open face and his doubtlessly warm, naughtily open cock. “How did that go for you?”
“Mixed results. The first time, I struck up a good convo with a nice young lady. She was pretty receptive when I pulled the jacket aside,” he reported, still smiling away. “Even came on over and had herself a little fun!”
“Oh did she?” I giggled, conscious of the fact that I had only lived up to half of that story… so far. “How did things end?”
“Aww,” he began, suddenly looking rueful. “Once the fun was done, I asked her if she’d like to catch up again later on — she said thanks but sorry, she had a boyfriend!”
“What?” I cried, outraged on his behalf. “Why that cheating bitch!”
“I know, right?”
“And how about the second time?” I pursued.
“That went much less well,” Toby reported, cringing at the memory. “She was an older lady, fifties or so; very fit though, really easy on the eyes. It started off well, she seemed friendly and even a little flirty, and I thought she’d get a thrill from the reveal. Didn’t go like that though — she was very taken aback, then suddenly she was full-on triggered and raging, started yelling at me, all ‘how very dare you!’, telling everyone around us ‘this guy has just pulled out his PENIS!'”
I rocked with silent laughter at the mental image of some older, haughty, toffish-type woman, a picture of outrage as she went off at him and alerted everyone to his cock-out antics. “What did you do?”
“I bolted!” he laughed, his cock twitching marvellously as he chortled away. “I pulled up trou’, grabbed my shit and ran. Jumped off at the very next stop and hid in the station’s bathroom, convinced she had fetched a train guard and they were coming to haul me off in chains!”
“That would’ve killed your boner,” I reckoned.
“It sure did.”
“Did the law come for you?”
“Nah,” he assured me, stroking himself as though without conscious thought. “Nothing happened, I got away scot-free — but for the next few weeks I skipped the train and caught the bus instead.”
“Oh I’ll bet you did,” I grinned. “So you’re a bit more selective with your targets for flashing these days, then?”
“Oh yes,” Toby nodded, managing to look most serious even as he kept on playing lightly with his exposed cock, right in the middle of a daylight-strewn train carriage. “Realising that I had crossed the line with that lady, that I had put her in a situation she wasn’t at all up for — I felt awful about it, I really did,” he confessed, genuinely. “Took me a fair while to build back up to these sorts of hijinks. Even so: these days I do like to at least strike up a convo with people when I’ve got the meat out and in hand, under the jacket. It really adds to the thrill, big time. Most folk aren’t really in a chatty mood though, and fair enough too — trains suck. But sometimes people don’t seem to mind a chat, y’know?” he added, with a smile indicating he was very glad I had been so receptive to a chat — and more.
“And what made you so sure I wasn’t going to jump up and cry foul, once you pulled ‘the big reveal’ on me?” I asked of him.
“You can never be sure,” he allowed. “It’s always a big risk, which again, is a huge riling thrill — my adrenaline was pumping so hard when I was gearing up to flash you, I thought I was in for a coronary,” he confessed, making me laugh again. “But I don’t know — I guess while you and I were talking, I thought I saw something in your eye. Something encouraging, welcoming. Maybe, like a kindred spirit?” he added, goading.
“Oh really?” I returned, archly. “I’ve just got that look about me that says ‘she’ll enjoy an eyeful of my big old cock’, do I?”
He laughed at that, even as I saw his face light up as I paid him praise for his impressive member. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he tried to cover.
“Sure sure. You just looked me up and down and thought ‘this bird looks easy, let’s flash her and fuck the consequences, brag about it to the boys in the shop tomorrow’, eh?” I teased.
“It wasn’t like that, I’m not like that at all,” Toby assured me, with good humour. “But enough about me — what about you? Have you never found yourself of a mood to try something a bit naughty when you’re out and about?”
“Me? A filthy depraved flasher?” I asked, in tones of mock-affront — but then I thought about it. “Aww, maybe something a little like it, perhaps…”
“Maybe, perhaps?” he probed, grinning as he gave his cock a quick little pump — rougher than he had been treating himself, up until now. “Ooh, do tell!”
I don’t know why I was being so open with him, or so receptive of his flashing bad behaviour. There was something about him… the glint in his eye, the otherwise-respectfulness of his approach and manner, and of course the gorgeousness of that cock. “Well,” I began. “There might be the odd occasion where I might venture out into the world, in a dress or skirt, with no knickers.”
“Going commando?” Toby asked with delight, quoting that famous old episode of FRIENDS. “That’s brilliant! And what would make a lovely sweet young lady do such a wicked thing?” he added, grinning hugely at sharing in my own sordid little secret.
“Oh, I’m sure you know,” I returned, trying not to blush as I instantly regretted my openness. What was I doing? “It’s just: the thrill of getting out and about, doing something a little bit naughty, a little bit wicked, with no-one knowing… the sensations of being bare down there, free to the fresh air, feeling the breeze slide up my dress to caress my bits… feeling my dress move and touch me, cling to me, kiss me down there and knowing it briefly conforms to me, shows off my shapes and my contours, knowing that at any second someone walking by might catch a glimpse of how I look down there… seeing what my pussy looks like…” I stopped there — I realised I was getting a little carried away by the memory, my mound moistening ever-more as I thought back on the thrill of braving the world with my box to the air.
I wasn’t the only one getting carried away — Toby was stroking his cock quite hard now, his eyes unfocused as his mind painted pictures of me walking about, my dress or skirt clinging to my sex and showing me off to all and sundry. “That’s so hot,” he said shortly, full of praise. “Any chance you might be ‘going commando’ right now?” he added, his eyes falling to my own crotch as though searching for confirmation.
“Afraid not,” I informed him, smiling all the same.
“Are you sure?” he challenged.
I knew what he was pressing for. And I knew I really shouldn’t be indulging this guy, who seemed completely unabashed about pulling his cock out in public and showing it to innocent young women after barely fifteen minutes of banter.
Even so: I reached down, grabbed the hem of my lovely red sundress, and quickly pulled it up to prove that I was, in fact, wearing underwear that day — quite a nice black lacy pair, as good fortune would have it.
Toby drank in the sight of me, flashing my knickers at him, and he pumped his cock a few times more. “Thanks for the gander,” he grinned.
“Least I could do,” I told him, “considering the show you’ve put on for me.”
We were pulling into another station, so we both had to rearrange ourselves to present a more demure picture; I let my dress fall back into place, and Toby’s jacket was dragged back across the incredibly riling, muscular, inverted-triangle of his lap. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the show,” Toby told me, as the last few people around us in the carriage headed out, leaving us alone.
“I am,” I told him. I didn’t mind telling him now — flashing my knickers at him had thrilled me greatly. I had been toey before; I was horny as hell now, and I was sure it was showing in my eyes.
Even as we sat together, the train seeming to take forever to expel its passengers and get going again, my eyes kept falling to the tell-tale tent beneath his jacket, and the way his hand moved beneath it as he kept his ardour on the boil. “You can’t wait to see it again, can you?” he observed, loving that he had me so hooked.
“I really can’t,” I said, simply.
Without a word — before the train had started moving again, and with people still ambling unheedingly past our window on the platform outside — Toby moved the jacket aside again, bringing his cock back into full view.
“Toby!” I hissed. “They might see it!”
He shrugged. “I don’t care if they see it,” he replied, matter-of-fact. “You want to see it, and I don’t want to deny you.”
He was thrilling me immensely, taking this huge risk, right there in front of me. “Fuck this is hot,” I murmured, unable to wrest my eyes from his shameless display.
“My cock is aching, it’s so hard,” he told me. “This is such a huge kick, Emma. I’m sure ‘going commando’ was thrilling for you, too. But until you’ve put yourself to the air, in public, where anyone might see… you haven’t lived,” he grinned.
“You reckon I should give it a try, then?” I asked of him, reading between the fairly-obvious-lines.
“I can definitely recommend it,” he nodded, with that gorgeously endearing, enthralling grin of his.
Without quite believing what I was doing, I reached behind myself to undo some buttons on my dress. And as the train jolted and began to move, pulling us away from the station, I tugged the dress down my arms — first down the left, then down the right — until it brought my bra into view…
I unclasped the bra, slipped out of it, and set it aside, my heart aflutter and my head buzzing to the utmost with my tits bared and on display, for him and for anyone to see.
“Mmmmmm…” Toby growled, most appreciative, going to town quite freely on his cock as he drank up the sight of me. “Fuck but you’re hot, Emma.”
We were still pulling away from the station, people flitting past the window not as quickly as I might have liked; and to my combined dismay and immensely riling thrill, I saw a gent actually catch a glimpse of my bared tits, and with astonishment he looked up to lock eyes with me…
And in a flash, we were gone.
“Oh God, someone saw!” I gasped.
“Did they really?” Toby grinned.
“He saw me… a guy saw my tits, then he looked into my eyes…”
“How’s that for a buzz, eh?” Toby beamed as he pulled at his cock, pretty furiously now.
I looked to Toby, my chest heaving with reaction and desire. And I simply fell to my knees before him, took his cock in my mouth, and sucked him rough and hard.
“Mmm!” Toby groaned, with surprise and delight. “Fucking yes, Emma!”
“Make sure you tell me if someone’s coming into the carriage,” I warned him, momentarily coming up for air.
“Are you sure you can trust me?” he asked of me, stinging me with my own jape from minutes before.
“Shithead,” I groused, laughing all the same even as I went down on him again.
“Mmm yes Emma,” he said again, whispering with awe as I sucked his long fat cock. “Emma… fuck Emma, you’re sucking my cock, your mouth is on my cock on the train, in broad daylight Emma, fucking yes…”
And he was right. I was sucking him, sucking his hard cock. I love to go down on a guy — I just adore the feeling of submission, taking a man’s member in my mouth, him taking his pleasure from me and giving nothing back… that, mixed with a curious feeling of power, having his tender long rod trapped between my tongue and my cheeks, controlling his enjoyment, trapping him to the whims of my will, my teeth millimetres-near and forever threatening to do him an injury lest he mind his manners.
I drove up and down on him, keen to win his release. I pride myself on knowing how it’s done, sucking cock expertly, driving my man to distraction and teasing him, edging him out; to rest my neck muscles when they got sore I would leave off and look up to him, catching Toby’s gaze as I stroked his cock and worked the moisture of my saliva into his twitching long rod, biting my lip as he looked back at me with an incredible fire in his eye as I teased and caressed the bulging purple glans of his cock with the tip of my tongue and the palm of my hand, making him twitch and writhe with almost-too-much pleasure before taking his meatiness back into my mouth to plunge, and plunge, and plunge up-and-down on him…
And as I pleased him I pleased myself, tweaking and teasing my bared nipples roughly, thrusting my hand into my sopping netherwear and landing right on my clit, pressing down on it and swishing it hard, relishing the exquisite wonderful pleasure my rough self-treatment brought me…
“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” Toby warned me after a few scant minutes of my merciless worship of his cock. “Emma you’re gonna make me cum, fuck yes Emma yes,” he added as I didn’t stop, driving harder on him now to show him I wanted his shot in my mouth, “fuck yes fuck yes,” he moaned and groaned, beside himself as I pistoned up-and-down on him, harder and faster without a hint of sympathy or apology, “FUCK YES FUCKING YES EMMA,” he yelled now, “FUCK EMMA I’M CUMMING FUCK!” he hollered, he and I both thankful we had the carriage to ourselves as he bucked and rose out of his seat and he came, he shot his load and painted the back of my throat and he came for me, and I drank down the glorious velvety salty waves of his cum as I grabbed his hips possessively as though to take everything he could give me, and I drank and I drank as he moaned and groaned and sighed…
And he lifted me up, guided me up with his strong arms to climb up upon his chest and we kissed, I kissed him and he kissed me back, I lifted up his shirt to trace his strong abs and pecs and to press my tits against his bare skin, and we kissed deeply and longingly. I knew from the way his breath drove in and out through his nose and the way he held me, the way he grabbed me with his thrillingly rough hands, the way he caressed and claimed my body and my curves and my breasts told me that he was not done, his orgasm wasn’t the end of proceedings.
All at once, somehow both roughly and needingly yet with appreciation and respect, he stood me up and turned me around. I showed my back to him as he rose out of the seat and he pulled my dress back up over my butt and he quickly pulled my panties down low, and he was right behind me, immediate and near, making my heart pound anew as he loomed dangerously yet most welcomely, probing between my legs with his hardness, teasing my bare exposed folds with the end of his still-gorging beautiful cock…
And he was inside me, his cock slipped effortlessly into my sopping hot depths and he was fucking me, fucking me from behind, taking me doggy-style in the most efficient way available given the confines of our surroundings, and we fucked — not caring if anyone were to walk in and see us, almost lost to the sheer brazen publicness of our act as he drove into me, pounded me from behind, the scenery flashing past the windows and the bright light of day shining in and playing upon our bodies as he fondled my breasts roughly and wonderfully and we fucked, and my breath came harder and more urgently as he fucked me hard, building me higher and higher.
“Mmmmmm,” I cooed softly, sotto-voce, as though I was still afraid anything louder would bring the authorities a-running. “Fuck your cock feels good!” I added as Toby reached around and held my bared breasts strongly, possessively.
“You like my cock, then?” Toby asked, and I could hear the grin in his voice even as he fucked me, as he slammed that cock home deep and hard into my willing cunt, squeezing my nipples with his work-roughened fingers and making me sigh most exquisitely.
“I liked your cock the moment I saw it,” I told him. “I can’t believe you just flashed me like that,” I added, breaking off with a new moan as he reached down low to find my clit.
“I can’t believe you didn’t jump up and call the police,” he returned, feeding his cock in and out of me from behind as he tweaked and swirled upon my clit, making me chase an orgasm that seemed to run further away the longer he treated me.
“I was tempted…” I told him, earning a laugh even as I ground back down upon him, dropping my hand to land upon his fingers on my clit, forcing him to press into me harder, rougher, grinding me faster with his big fat textured digits. “But then I would have missed out on all of this!”
“And that guy on the platform would have missed seeing your tits, too,” Toby reminded me.
I cringed slightly at the memory, though it was overwhelmed by a new moan as Toby adjusted his angle and hit my spot more sweetly with his cock. “Shut up and fuck me, Toby,” I advised. “Fuck my cunt, Toby, fuck me with your big fat long cock. Fucking hell I want this, Toby I want this, fuck me Toby yes,” I implored, my voice becoming breathy and high, keening at the sweet treatment he applied with his fingers, his hands and his cock.
There was a new urgency to his thrusts in response to my talk, and I could tell I had brought him close again, he and I were nearly there. It hadn’t taken long but that was for the best, we moaned and gasped with exhilaration at the sheer utter danger of what we were doing, sucking and fucking right there in the middle of an open train carriage in the early afternoon — the thrill of the thought of being seen or being caught was real, it was getting us there extra quick, and I let go of my inhibitions and I moaned and groaned loud and free, Toby responded and he joined me in gasping and crying out, I felt his cock twitch and surge and the sensation of his second orgasm roaring along his cock tipped me over the edge and we came, he came and I came, that gorgeous hot long cock shot the rest of his load deep into my twitching grasping cunt and I came, I came long and hard and loud and he joined me, we came and we came together, until finally our hollering cries became moans and groans, settled down into sighs and we came down, and he turned my face and we kissed as best we could with his front pressed to my back while we enjoyed the last of his shots and spurts of cum easing out into me, until I could wait no longer and I turned and pressed my bared chest into his and we kissed proper, letting each other feel and know the appreciation and the wonder, the shared joy and the sheer danger in what we had just done to each other and with each other.
We kissed and we settled, and an announcement came over the train’s speakers — making me jump at the thought we were being called out and declared the wicked wantons that we were, until I realised the guard was making his customary call that we were nearly at the end of the line. “We seem to share the same stop,” I murmured, even as we reluctantly began to redress.
“Actually I was supposed to get off a couple stops ago,” Toby confessed. “I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, though.”
“You could tell I was up for it, hmm?” I grinned.
“I was definitely hoping so!”
We both laughed. “Well I’m very glad you did stay with me,” I told him.
“Me too,” he returned, as we moved in for another kiss.
Eventually the train came to a halt, and we stepped onto the platform, tits and cocks and arses safely re-inserted into dresses and jeans. Despite our newly-acquired decency, I was half expecting the constabulary to be waiting for us at the station, ready to haul us away after the imagined evil eyes of Big Brother had seen us in action — but I was almost disappointed to find that so far as everyone was concerned, nothing out of the ordinary had gone on in our carriage.
“Any chance you might like to go for a cup of coffee?” Toby asked of me, as we strolled along the platform, side by side.
Something in his tone made me turn — he was still offering that characteristic, never-ending smile, but this time there seemed to be a hint of hopeful, self-doubting uncertainty about him.
I frowned at that, until I remembered his story. “You’re expecting me to tell you I’ve already got a boyfriend!” I realised — and I couldn’t help but laugh as his face confirmed my theory.
“Well I’m happy to inform you,” I went on, “that there are no boyfriends, fiancés, husbands or sugar-daddies for me. I would love to go for a coffee with you.”
Toby beamed with relief. “Great!” he cheered — and he moved in to kiss me, as though in reward for me not being a cheating scag.
“Do you reckon you’ll keep it in your pants this time?” I asked of him, cheekily.
He laughed in reply. “Talk about first impressions,” he smiled, somewhat ruefully. “I usually do keep it sheathed, ninety-nine per cent of the time. I’m really not that much a wicked horndog, honestly.”
I affected to look disappointed. “Aww,” I groused. “And here I am,” I added, handing something to him, “thinking I’d be ‘going commando’ in solidarity.”
Toby blinked, and then he boggled as he realised he was holding my dampened knickers in his hands. “Emma!” he mock-scolded, even as he unsubtly patted about my hips and arse to confirm the absence of a pantie-line. “You wicked harridan,” he added as he slipped them into his pocket for safe-keeping. “How very dare you!”
We laughed as we exited the station, hand-in-hand, my mind singing at what had gone down during an otherwise ordinary train trip; and as Toby and I chatted and laughed as we shared the rest of that afternoon together, I thrilled at the sensations brought about by my unfettered box in the fresh air, and the thought that somebody somewhere might catch a glimpse of my form as the dress swished and twirled against my sex, and occasionally clung to my form.
And every now and again, as we sat opposite each other in the café, I would lift the hem of my dress to flash him with my cunt. And he would respond, most gentlemanly, with a flash of his cock.
Least he could do, really.
Our relationship lasted about six months. He was very nice, wonderfully respectful and always keen to keep things positive, equal and consensual — surprising perhaps, given the way he had introduced himself! And of course the sex was great, but we were young so our time together ended for the usual reasons. He did have quite an impact on my life though, which lasted well after our relationship was done…
At least once a week on my commutes to or from Karen’s interior design studio, I like to treat myself by ‘going commando’ as I board the train. I would sit easily in a seat by myself, with a jacket perched innocently in my lap, my skirt raised high and a hand buried discretely in my bare un-knickered mound: taking my time, drawing out the fun over the whole trip, tweaking and diddling my clit and teasing out my moisture, driving myself to the very heights of pleasure and keeping myself there, pegging myself out mercilessly.
Every now and again on these occasions, as I sat there on the broil, I would seek to catch a fellow passenger’s eye, and strike up a conversation if they seemed amenable and approachable. And if the conditions were right — if the carriage wasn’t too crowded, the mood was good and mutual and they, man or woman, seemed like they might not mind too much — I would say to them, with my best, most cheeky and endearing grin…
“Can you keep a secret?”
And they would indeed keep, and enjoy, my secret. And sometimes, they would even share with me a secret of their own…
***
AUTHOR’S NOTE / POSTSCRIPTUM
FOR ANY OF YOU FOLKS OF A MIND TO MAYBE GO OUT AND FLASH SOMEONE AFTER READING THIS, PLEASE REMEMBER — CONSENT IS ESSENTIAL!!!
I’m first to admit, our Toby did not gain Emma’s express consent to expose himself to her. Not at all.
In this piece of pure and utter fantasy, our male protagonist initiated a friendly conversation, tested the waters, used his empathy, and made a judgment as to the chances of his actions being welcome, or at least more welcome than otherwise. And even during the build-up, they spoke about issues of consent, the repugnance of acting when unwelcome, and his regrets at that one time where it all went to shit.
BEAR IN MIND: Toby’s chances — or your chances, or my chances — of enjoying similar success in the real world, in this situation of going out and flashing someone in public, are a million to one or worse. Anyone in Emma’s situation isn’t expecting such a thing; the likelihood of her reacting negatively is crazy high, if not a certainty. What must he think of her? Why can’t he bother himself to ask her out, wine her and dine her, woo her properly — and show her his cock once he’s earned the right? Is she not worth all that effort?
Guys (and gals), c’mon now. There’s a thousand videos on the old pornhub with the same plotline as this tale (significantly dumbed down though, thank you), and we all know those videos are staged, they are fake as fuck. The guy filming with a smartphone in one hand, and pulling his cock with the other, is flashing a consenting friend or partner or actor, not some random on the subway or in the park or in a carpark. No way is any of that shit depicting a genuine encounter — and in the very slim chance that it is, did they consent to his filming and posting it up to be viewed by millions?
It’s murky stuff, folks. Dangerous as hell, flashing someone like this, and once done it can’t be taken back. Even fiddling with yourself beneath a jacket while folks sit nearby is shifty as fuck — I wouldn’t want to actually come across someone else doing that, would you?
This is all pure fantasy, all of these tales on Literotica, and one would like to think this kind of disclaimer should not be necessary. You’re right, it shouldn’t… but sadly it is. We cannot condone actual unwelcome acts of exposure or sexual lewdness in public settings — leave those sorts of thoughts here, in our mutual fantasy world. Dream about it, beat the meat or rub ya nubbin at the thought of it, but leave it at that.
Don’t take such an awful, stupid, literally criminal risk in flashing your bits at someone. Ask them out, wine and dine them, woo the living shit out of them, go down on this lovely object of your admiration and affection before you even think about whipping it out, dammit! Be good and be right, and don’t do a damned thing until you’ve won ENTHUSIASTIC CONSENT. That’s not only essential, it’s hot as fuck when your partner actively wants it, needs it, is nearly begging for it. Work for it and win it, ya dickhead, and leave your piece leashed until enthusiastic consent has been won.
Cheers all — apologies again for the disclaimer, I hope you enjoyed the story otherwise. Leave me some stars and send me some feedback, share with me your fantasies or maybe your fun-times involving public shenanigans (with consenting partners only, please and thanks).
— aussie_101