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From: The Bawdy Bloke <john@bawdybloke.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Commuting Sunshine {MF-hand. exhib}
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Date: Thu, 24 Apr 2014 07:10:02 -0400
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As ever, I love feedback; please hit me back via email or drop a comment 
on my blog at http://bawdybloke.com/flash-fiction-commuting-sunshine/
It helps me to become a better writer. ;-)




I never knew her name; she never knew mine. We couldn't have done it any 
other way.

Whenever I remember her, she is Victoria, as we met on the Victoria 
Line, but she could have been anyone; the young professional, 
resplendent in her black business suit and white blouse travelling to 
soulless employment on a joyless Monday. I never knew her story, but she 
had my attention from the moment I was squeezed up against her at the 
back of the moving train, spearing its way underground into London.

I looked apologetically into her brown eyes, but said nothing; it was 
usual to be pressed inhumanely against fellow commuters in a London 
peak-hour, but with her gorgeous body and long, cascading blonde hair, 
if I had to be pressed against anyone in a hot, crowded carriage, she 
would definitely have gotten my vote!

But it was undignified; I was in her personal space and she was in mine. 
Her hair smelt of woodland fruit. Her eyes twinkled like sunset on 
water. Her cherry red lips radiated warmth, and longed for a kiss. Not 
like my fellow passengers, absorbed in their free newspapers and 
ignoring everyone else, Victoria was different: she looked over her 
shoulder into my eyes and smiled. She was commuting sunshine.

That's when I felt it: a hand ... no, a soft woman's touch, floating 
lightly over my suited crotch. She was gentle: like a summers breeze 
kissing and whispering to my sensitive cock, and I nervously froze as 
she subtly explored my manhood through my trousers. How should I react?

I did nothing; allowing her subtle touching, and coaxing my dick into an 
erection. It felt incredibly naughty and I glanced at the bored 
expressions of our fellow commuters: what were they thinking? What did 
they believe we were doing?

But what were we doing? She was gently rubbing her fingers across my 
trousers and no-one had said a word. No-one had objected or noticed. I 
closed my eyes and savoured her exquisite touch, pressing harder and 
firmer on my cock, as she rubbed it through my cotton garments.

I slid my hand alongside her flanks, subtly gliding my fingers into her 
waistband. She said nothing, but wordlessly looked over her shoulder to 
fleer contemptuously. Was she challenging me? Was she daring me to go 
further or about to tell me to stop. Adrenaline flowed: I looked at her 
reflection in the window as the tunnel roared past, and unbuckled the 
button on her skirt to give me access to her crotch.

She was without underwear; only my tentative inhibitions stood between 
me and her hairless mons. My arousal doubled at the thought, and her 
eyes sparkled in her reflection. She was waiting to see how far I wanted 
to go; how far I dared to go. I rubbed her crotch and pressed my fingers 
against her slit. She groaned as I pulled her body closer to mine and 
mewed as my fingers danced lightly over the top of her slit.

Did she want me to go further? She had done nothing to stop my intrusion 
into her clothes and, as the train lurched violently, she moved her feet 
to steady herself: I took advantage of the involuntary parting of her 
legs, to run my finger along her warm, inviting slit, and pressed 
against her hood.

Her face was entranced: plastered with steely concentration, as her 
clammy fingers slipped on my zip. Her moist pearl squirmed around my 
finger, groaning obscenely as I glided around her inviting wetness.

I felt her excitement: inches from my fellow commuters as I pressed 
against Victoria's pearl, savouring every lust-filled squeal over the 
screeching of the brakes, and the flashes of excitement in her desperate 
eyes reflected in the glass.

She needed ... it. She wanted it. She fumbled at my trousers, and I 
flinched as her cool hands touched my cock for the first time. It was 
gloriously taboo, yet so incredibly intense. Every touch she made felt a 
ten times, a hundred times, if not a thousand times better than it would 
have done if I was safely at home with this girl in the bedroom. Every 
depraved, illicit, shameless contact was ecstasy.

She silently gripped me, pumping my erection as hedonistic delight 
flowed from my waist. We both played to the same rhythm; appreciating 
the vibrations and movements from the 25 tonne vibrator taking us to our 
work and our orgasm.

It was heaven and I stopped caring about my fellow commuters; I had 
intense pleasure clawing at me, desperate to escape as the train jolted 
aggressively; I groaned, Victoria's face was flushed as I thrust 
passionately into her grip.

I was nearing the point of no return; she sensed it with her twinkling 
eyes and as the train noisily rocked over some points, pumped several 
streaks of cum onto her hand.

That was the last time I saw her; she left me with a dripping cock and a 
smile a mile wide at the next station.

As I said, she was commuting sunshine.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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