I meet you at work, downstairs near the revolving doors. We embrace, and the scent of your perfume, fruity smell of your hair, and feel of your breasts against my chest conspire, as always, to arouse and captivate me, and I begin to consider possible places where I can satiate my desire.

I whisper into your ear as we embrace, questioning your obedience, as I  requested that you have no panties on when we meet tonight. You stammer an excuse, citing work, and claim to have made it up to me by wearing your favouritelacy thong. I give you the impression that all is fine and we depart.

Hand in hand we walk, heading for the tube. I watch as you go in front of me, down the narrow stairwell and I can just make out the sensual curve of your thong high on your hip, making a slight impression against the fabric of your slacks, which is snug across your shapely bottom.

As we go through the turnstile, and onto the platform, I am surprised at the lack of people around. But it is nearing a holiday weekend, and most people probably have taken the entire week off. We go to the far end of the platform and embrace once again, kissing this time. As our tongues intertwine in a wet, seductive dance, my hands travel down to your hips, and cup your cheeks, kneading the full, firm, soft round flesh. You moan softy into my mouth, pressing into me, and your warmth radiates throughout me. I reach under your blouse, furrowing my hand into the elastic waistband of your slacks, until I reach the desired goal, the waistband of your thong. I pull up on it, quickly and tightly, until the crotch-band digs into the tender flesh of your vagina, parting the full lips, and applies firm, unceasing pressure to your clitoris.

You gasp, and bite into my bottom lip in shock and surprise, moaning softly.  Our activity is interrupted, however, as the sound of a train grows progressively louder and soon it comes into view, and stops, a giant, silvery worm here in its subterranean, concrete tunnel. We enter the crowded train and stand, my back against the door facing the next car, you directly in front, facing me. We are pushed together as the train departs the station, by accident, not design, and I seize the opportunity given to me by fate and the trains engineers. My hand travels upward, to your right breast, and I begin to feel you up, there on the crowded train. Your nipples respond instantaneously, growing hard and hot under my touch. They begin to show through your bra and your blouse, and I am glad that I am achieving the desired affect.

We maintain eye contact, as I work, reveling in the ironic privacy that a crowded train can sometimes give.  The train stops, and a large number of people depart, and I sit in the only available seat, puling you onto my lap. The surrounding people that notice smile and laugh at our antics and grin as I feign to be upset as you wiggle off and I stand to allow you the seat. What is not a laughing matter, however, is the bulge that you see within my slacks as I stand in front of you, swaying with the train, inches from your face. It is evident that I did not wear underpants. My throbbing erection is a direct result of your lovely, full breasts, swaying in unison with the motions of the train, erect nipples pushing forward against confining fabric.

You attempt to maintain composure as we stop yet again, and the train nearly empties, save for a sleeping, older gentleman, at the other end of the car. I take the momentary privacy to convey my disapproval of your choice to wear panties, however sexy they might be.

I ask that you stand, which you do, curiously. Once you do, I undo your slacks as you mummer a protest, glancing nervously towards our sleeping companion. I ignore your complaints and your slacks slide over your wonderfully thick hips and slide to your knees. As you franticly scan both doorways at either end of the car, I pull on the crotch of your thong with my index finger. They are perfect. Nice and tight. They will work fine I tell you, as you stare back, incredulous. I produce a slim, shiny, gleaming silver object from the bag I am holding. It takes you a second to realize what it is. A vibrator. You gasp in disbelief as I turn it on low speed, an insert the small, cold, metal toy into you fully, about four inches. As the conductors voice crackles intelligibly over the antiquated speaker system that a stop is approaching, I tuck it neatly in, and pull your tight thong back into place, securing it inside you. You almost pass out right there from the sensation, the pleasure, and the thought of standing there, slacks around your ankles, vagina stuffed with a vibrator, speeding along in a train.

I pull up your slacks, and sit us down, facing each other across the aisle. I 
watch in delight as you squirm in your seat, legs tightly pressed together, your breathing increasing, slight beads of sweating forming on your temples as you fight to control your convulsing vagina as it attempts to deal with its intruder. As the train comes to a stop, momentary silence fills the car, and I can just make out a faint hum, coming from the small motor, emanating from within your moist insides.

You fight climaxing as the doors open and people flood in, scrambling for seats. My eyes maintain contact with yours as we pull off again, chugging along. Suddenly, you almost cry out, as you feel the vibrating increase in intensity. You shift in your seat, praying that your fellow passengers cannot smell your wetness and slick crotch. You spot me grinning, as you struggle to understand why it sped up, and then spot, in my hand, and small, wireless, remote control. Your eyes widen, and you shake your head as I play with the speed, raising and lowering the intensity, watching you squirm, cross and uncross your legs, and shift in the seat, trying not to climax here on the train. A young kid asks if you are ok as he notices you sweating and gripping the rail tightly. You nod nervously that you are fine, offering an excuse of the flu as justification for your abnormal behaviour.

We stop again, and again most people exit, save the same sleeping elderly 
gentleman. You slide to the seat next to me, and beg me to remove it. I tell you fine, and you stand. Once you do, I stand, reach behind on my belt and retrieve a shiny pair of handcuffs. Before you can refuse, I have you shackled to the overhead bar, facing the window. Your protests fall on deaf ears as I again quickly lower your slacks and thong, exposing those beautiful cheeks. I spread the, growing painfully hard as I spy the seeping juices running down your inner thigh in creamy wetness. You beg me to stop, and to remove the toy, as you have climaxed four times already as I played with its tempo. I whisper into your ear that I am not listening, as you did, by wearing underwear when I told you not too. I undo my pants, and use my fingers to spread your unbelievable wetness up to your anus, saturating the little tight, puckered hole. I push into you gentle, squeezing past the tight inner rim of your rectum, throbbing in the incredible hot and tight, most intimate of places. I have left the vibrator in your vagina, and can feel its motion and hardness inside you, through the thin wall separating us. You cry out in passion and disbelief of the double penetration, thrusting back onto my viciously, driving me into you full, causing you cheeks to shake and wobble wickedly.

As I stroke, I reach over, into your handbag, and locate your cellular phone. I look at the display, and recognize the last number as your "other -half". As the train raises up from the tunnel, up onto the elevated tracks a turns express, daylight streams through the windows, as well as the abandonment of our privacy.

Shocked faces watch as we sped past them, too fast for and quick true recognition of exactly what we are doing, but enough for them to know it is sex. I smile, I feel your anal muscles contract around me, nearing climax, and it returns my thoughts to the task at hand. I hit send on the cell, placing a call to "him". Once he answers I place the phone against your face, and your moans echo into the handset. Tell him what you are doing, I say firmly but sexily, and you are to close to orgasm to care or refuse. You stammer that you have a vibrator up your pussy, a dick up your arse, all while handcuffed to the rail in the Northern Line train.

You climax after thinking about what I have you doing, the hardest you have ever, and slump down as I do as well, spurting semen onto your quivering, sweaty arse. I uncuff you, exhausted, and remove the vibrator. We dress just as the train makes its first of the express stops, and laugh as we spot the elderly gentlemen, who we thought was sleeping, struggling to zip up and wipe the semen from his hands.