Public Transport Sex Stories

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Public Transport Sex Stories
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Pretty blonde gets taken up the ass on the train.
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It was a gorgeous balmy summer's day in London, and Annabelle was deciding what to wear for her second date with Jack. It was humid, so she had opened all the windows of her small apartment to let the breeze in as she changed. As she unwrapped herself from her bathrobe, a delicate gust of wind rippled over her sun-kissed skin, causing her pink nipples to stiffen slightly in surprise.
She thought of Jack, a tall, refined lawyer she had met at a party last week. Tall and broad, with green eyes that twinkled as he spoke to her, cajoling her gently when she accidentally spilled wine on the cuff of his shirt as she had brushed past. He had touched her lightly on her shoulder, and she tingled at the feeling of his palm against her skin. She wanted him immediately, but chastened herself, for she enjoyed being chased -- there was more enjoyment in delayed gratification.
She picked out a pretty grey wrap dress that she slipped into. It was tight and silk, so she knew that she would have to go without underwear to avoid ruining the effect. Still, if all went well she knew that might just make things easier, later on. So, she wrapped the soft, smooth dress around her naked body and fastened it in place around the waist. It was demure, just to the knee, so no one would be able to tell.
She glanced in the mirror and knew she looked the best she had ever looked -- her pretty face framed by a mane of wavy, shiny blonde hair, bright blue eyes and plump, pink lips. Her dress had a deep v-neck that revealed the pert, inviting cleavage of her 34D breasts, and she turned herself around to view her tight, small bottom that the dress displayed to the best effect.
She jumped on the London underground tube system at rush hour, and managed to squeeze her petite frame just into a space next to the partition and the door. She was squeezed between so many people it felt almost claustrophobic.
Fortunately, it was only a short tube ride from Bond Street to Green Park, as she was meeting Jack at the Wallsing, an upmarket restaurant near his office. His taste in food was clearly impeccable, she thought.
Suddenly, the train came to an abrupt halt and she had to cling on to the handrail above her for dear life to avoid falling. Several people moaned and shouted as those standing had stumbled. This kind of thing happened regularly in the British transport system, so Annabelle wasn't surprised.
A tannoy announcement crackled and a nasally sounding chap muttered something about dysfunctional wiring. Typical, she thought -- no mobile reception and no way of contacting her hot date either. Dammit.
The lights inside the train carriage suddenly flickered out, and Annabelle felt a slight sense of alarm as the train was completely in pitch black. She just felt herself grip onto the overhead grab rail for stability, feeling safer for knowing where she was, kind of. It was very quiet, as people resigned themselves for a long wait in the dark.
It became very warm, and after a few minutes she felt a man's hand trying to move away from her from where he had clearly been behind her, as he placed his hand on her waist from behind to move her slightly out of the way. She moved slightly, and suddenly felt his other hand on the opposite side of her waist. Annabelle couldn't move, or she would be lost, unable to find her way in the pitch black, so she wriggled.
The man moved his hand to her face, and pressed his finger up against her mouth, indicating for her to be quiet. Annabelle felt as if she had no choice -- if she screamed, there would be pandemonium, and she would fall, and be trampled upon, pushed out of the tube door in a panic.
His hand brushed down her delicate neck and slowly he stroked the top of her breast, above the neck of her dress. His hands found the neckline of the dress, and he slipped his hand underneath the silky material onto her ripe tits. He worked his way smoothly, tracing a line to her nipple and then quickly began to massage it, rolling it between his fingers, tugging it slightly, until it hardened against his touch.
Annabelle felt her breasts firm as he took advantage of her vulnerability in the dark. As he continued to pinch her, she felt a warmth between her legs, betraying her already against her will. One of the man's hands moved from her chest and quickly moved to the back of her thigh, as he pulled up the back of her dress and felt her ass.
She could hear him breathing on her neck, as he held her firmly, one hand holding her breast and the other on her backside. Despite her holding her legs together, she felt him push his big hand in between them, and he jammed his knee in between them so she could no longer deny him what was there. His hand went straight to her pussy, and he stroked it in a full movement, finding her clit at first and rubbing it, making her weaker, knowing the effect this would have whether she wanted it or not.
He moved his hand back, and thrust two fingers in her wet pussy, and she heard herself gasp despite trying not to.
He held her in a locked position as he pushed his hand into her wetness again and again. Then, he pulled his hand out, and Annabelle thought it was over.
He whispered in her ear quietly -- "Not yet". Her heart sank. Then she felt his wet finger prodding at her asshole. She moved away slightly, and he pulled her tighter, as he quickly rammed his finger up her hole. He began to slowly thrust his finger in and out, occasionally fully out and then back in so she felt it. Temporarily, Annabelle forgot what was happening, and felt her body tighten from the heightened new sensation. She was awoken out of her trance as he pushed another finger into her ass and carried on regardless.
Her pussy was now soaking wet, as he had massaged her nipples and played with her clit to make her body get into this state in the first place, and now she felt something rising in her as she began to... she was repulsed... enjoying her ass being tried. She had never been finger fucked in the ass before -- it was new to her.
He then pushed a third finger into her, and Annabelle knew what he was getting her ready for, and she began to squirm. She felt his hand move up to the back of her head and grasp on to her hair, holding her head back, so she was completed locked in. He pushed her over a little, extracting his fingers from her, and she heard him slowly unzip himself, clearly trying to avoid making a lot of noise.
She felt his cock press up against her asshole, and then he moved it away, and with his hands he stroked her pussy, smearing her juices up around her hole. He held her head and pushed his shaft onto the entrance of her ass and began to push into her. It hurt, and Annabelle thought she would whimper as his huge cock began to enter her forcefully, pushing and pushing, until he was in, and her body gave way to it. She resigned herself to it, and began to accept what was happening, as she gave in to the arousal she felt as he pulled himself out and pushed his way in again, over and over, taking her fully. He began to quickly thrust himself up into her, quickly, and she felt him move his right hand to her clit and begin to rub it, making her cum when she hadn't wanted to.
She felt the waves of orgasm rush over her, and as she came her asshole tightened in short bursts, and then with a final thrust he pushed deep into her and she heard him grunt in her ear as he came inside her.
She saw at the other end of the carriage, through the window, that the lights had begun to turn on slowly, and felt him quickly remove his cock from her, and he roughly pulled the skirt of her dress down. The train began to move, with the train carriage still in partial darkness, and it brought to a halt at Green Park.
"Sorry for the inconvenience, ladies and gentleman" said the man on the overhead tannoy system.
The train doors opened, and Annabelle felt a rush of cold air sweep through, and people began to quickly climb out. She turned around quickly to see the face of the man, but there was no one behind her. He had gone, leaving her fucked, literally.
Being over an hour late and needing a cold shower, Annabelle ran to the nearest taxi rank to queue for a cab home. She looked in her handbag for change, hoping to find a £20 note to get back, and rummaging around in her handbag she pulled her wallet out, and as she did so, a small card dropped to the floor.
She picked it up off the grimy pavement, and turned it over. The card read Jack Riley, Corporate Lawyer, Beadles & Beadles.
The thing is, she thought, Jack had never given him her business card. Until, it seems, he had found her on the train...
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A rather erotic encounter on a public New York bus.
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Favorited by daredanalman4fem , mel26 , justtakeme and 15 others
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Camelia couldn’t wait to get home. Clutching her Gucci handbag firmly and clicking her Manolo Blanhik stilettos maniacally against the concrete, she waited impatiently for the public bus to arrive. She normally took a cab, but, inexplicably, she wanted to take the bus today. Perhaps her lapsed choice in public transport was due to the disastrous day she’d had at work. She wanted to order a Chinese meal and settle herself in front of the tube. She was grateful that she lived in the thirty-minutes-or-less food emporium that is Manhattan. Who needs a kitchen and a stove nowadays when you have take-out?
“Hey,” a messy-haired man in a sloppy white t-shirt and run-down jeans greeted.
Camelia nodded absently—inwardly hoping that he wouldn’t talk to her. She hated it when strangers initiated conversations. Didn’t they know that this was New York—a.k.a., the snob city capital of the world?
She tucked a strand of her straight dark hair behind her ear and huffed, “Downtown.”
“Really? Me too! Gotta have a chat with my ex. She don’t wanna return my stereo. Well, she gon’ have to, that’s all I know.”
Camelia smiled politely and looked away. She’d had a lousy day at the office. She wasn’t about to have a conversation with a man with a fourth-grade level in English grammar.
She’d just about had it with her boss’s tantrums. It seemed that the only thing she was ever asked to do lately was redo designs. And she’d once thought that being a freelance fashion designer was glamorous! Camelia’s latest creations had received a lousy review by Penelope Porizchova—the eccentric woman whose name was used for said garments. “Unique!” Penelope had shouted. “I want unique! Can’t you grasp the meaning of the word unique? This”—she’d picked up a pile of Camelia’s latest inventions and dumped them flat on the floor—“is rubbish. All of it! Rubbish! The same uninspiring crap you’ve designed for four bloody years. I want to see something so un-fucking-believable that the people at Vogue would beg for exclusive footage. Have I made myself clear?” Camelia nodded meekly and scooted out before Penelope uttered another stinging retort.
Now all Camelia wanted was an uneventful commute to her apartment. Was that too much to ask?
Luckily, the bus arrived. Unfortunately, the messy-haired guy—otherwise known to Camelia as Mr. Chatty—also got on it. Camelia hoped that he’d sit somewhere else—preferably thirty feet away—but Mr. Chatty sat on the empty seat next to Camelia, though the bus was empty. Chatty plopped on the seat and took a deep breath. “God, I’m tired,” he said. “Can’t wait to get my stuff and go home.”
Camelia remained cool and closed, hoping he’d take the hint. But Mr. Chatty carried on. “You’re very pretty, eh? Bet you got a boyfriend waiting for ya . . . a pretty girl like yourself gotta have one of them investment bankers eating out of your hand. Lucky dude, I’ll take ya that!”
She shot him a sharp look and hoped that that would shut him up. As she did so, she noticed something arresting. By God , she thought, Mr. Chatty is gorgeous! His greasy brown hair flopped around his chiseled face, adding a majestic air of enigma to his hazel eyes. His rampant chest was visible behind his sweaty t-shirt, and his jeans revealed an enormous bulge that could be nothing more than a massive erection. Camelia’s breath caught in her chest as she felt a surge of excitement swift through her loins. Heat rose between her legs and she continued to take in his beauty. What was happening to her? How was it possible for a man to go from a sloppy pest to a sex god in a matter of seconds?
Dazed, Camelia shook her head and said, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Well,” he replied as he smiled provocatively, “that wouldn’t be the case if it was up to me, babe.”
His bad grammar and poor dress style no longer bothered her; she had to have him. Now. On the public bus. With the driver stealing glances in their direction. Camelia scarcely behaved this way, but fucking a sexy loser on a public bus after a disastrous day could well brighten up her day.
But how would she initiate the courtship?
As if reading her thoughts, Mr. Chatty grabbed Camelia and walked her to the back of the bus, where he bent her over, removed her pink lace La Perla thong and massaged her crevice using two fingers.
“You’re wet,” he marveled. “You see? I knew you’d want me. ‘S why I started talking to ya. Spoiled rich girls like you just want a real man to take charge and fuck ‘em senseless. Ain’t it the truth? Do you not want to be fucked senseless on the back of this filthy bus, baby?”
Camelia wanted to tell him that she was neither rich nor spoiled, but his fingers probing into her swollen sex had made her speechless with shock and ecstatic with desire. This situation would have seemed frightening in other circumstances, but she couldn’t help but admit to herself that she indeed wanted to be fucked . . . fucked hard by a stranger in the back of a dirty public bus.
She felt him rummage through his jean packet. He produced what could only be a condom. “Gotta protect the good stuff, babe,” he confirmed.
He unbuckled his belt, dropped his pants to his ankles, put the condom on and, before he entered her, asked tentatively if she was sure she wanted to do this.
“Yes!” she shouted in uncontainable excitement. “Yes . . . please!” She arched her back and spread her long legs wider apart to indicate that she was ready.
“That’s my girl,” he cooed, running his hand up and down her opening. She twitched with desire.
And then she felt it—his cock gingerly making its way inside of her. He entered her with an artful skill that made her melt. He made his way inside of her slowly at first. Then his thrusts became harder and rougher as his animal hunger increased. She couldn’t help but notice that the wall of flesh entering in and out of her was very well endowed.
Camelia was facing a window and moaned to the passersby as the most euphoric waves of pleasure contracted and paralyzed her entire body. Mr. Chatty pulled her teal-colored Valentino top up so that her breasts rolled free. They bounced rhythmically with his thrusts. Camelia had always considered her breasts to be her most desirable asset, and she knew that men went gaga over them—after all, she paid a handful of money on implants to ensure that that would be the case. She tossed her head back and moaned as his fingertips teased her hard nipples.
They pumped and groaned in unison, until Camelia was hit with the most exquisite eruption known to womankind. She came again a few seconds later. Then she came again. And again. An orgy of orgasms. Camelia was flabbergasted. She’d scarcely experienced great orgasms, let alone ongoing ones.
His breathing quickened and intensified, announcing an explosion of his own. “Oh yeah,” he groaned, his hands pressed against her hips. “Oh yeah. Oh shit!”
He collapsed on top of her, panting like a dog. Camelia, too, was wiped out—goose pimples pricked her skin like an aftershock.
Finally they composed themselves, and Mr. Chatty put on his jeans and walked leisurely toward his seat. Camelia donned her top and noticed that she had missed her stop. She requested an exit to the next one.
Before she left, she walked to Mr. Chatty, who was all smiles and dimples, and deposited her panties on his face. “A souvenir,” she said.
He laughed, took a whiff of her panties and placed them in his jean jacket. “Thanks,” he said.
They gazed at each other, smiling. “Ain’t you gon’ tell me your name?“ he asked.
“Sorry. Other than enjoying sex in unconventional places you and I have nothing in common.”
He nodded, disappointed. “Whatcha know. You’re even wilder than me.”
“Whatever. Goodbye, stranger. And thank you for the lovely chat and for everything else. A fancy-looking chick like you shouldn’t ride on a bus alone. Someone might take advantage of ya.” He winked.
Camelia laughed. “I’ll take my chances. And good luck getting your stuff back from your ex-girlfriend.”
As she walked out the door, the bus driver smirked and said, “That was some show you got going there! ‘S why I didn’t let anyone in!”
Camelia stared at her reflection in a shop window. Her glossy raven hair was smooth and flawless and she looked poised and pristine in her suit—certainly did not look as though she’d just been ravished by a stranger on the back of a public bus. Her skin, however, glowed with post-coital contentment. Her green eyes sparkled. It was a great conclusion to an otherwise dull day. Perfect , she thought, I look perfect.
With a flourish, she click-clacked her Manolos through the downtown traffic. She hailed a cab that would take her to her stylish SoHo loft, where her investment banker boyfriend awaited.
without using any curse words, it conveyed the deeper emotions and motivations of a young woman with a public transportation fetish - well done
love bus/car quickie stories. yours was great.
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