1. Grown Ups


    Date: 7/8/2016, Categories: Straight Sex, Author: GoBigCatGo, Rating: 5, Source: LushStories

    the ubiquitous Sunday night ‘lovemaking’ . Why did they have to go? The spontaneous romps? When did watching porn replace... doing it? Meanwhile, the rocking carriage jiggled the punkette’s bits against Helen's leg. The girl shifted but it didn't help, if anything she made it worse. Helen tried to wipe her mind of the filth filling it, as if the girl might smell it on her. The train halted and Mr Angry got off. Helen sighed, but before she could move her leg out of the danger zone, the girl bambied her knees and clamped her thighs to it, holding her in place. Bare skin to bare skin. Helen’s heart lurched then hammered. There was no innocent reason for this. Her brain crashed, and her mouth went dry. Then, as the train pulled away, the punkette unclamped her soft vice, slowly. All Helen had to do was slide her leg back and everyone would carry on their merry way. She leant into the girl, putting more pressure on their secret coupling, and twitched the muscle against her in case that wasn’t “yes” enough. She had cyclist’s thighs from all her spin classes and was very proud of her muscular bottom and legs. The stranger caught a breath. The train picked up speed and jiggled them together and the girl rolled her hips, too. Hungrily. Helen wondered if her dirty thoughts were contagious – and she had infected this poor girl with her insatiable itch – but it was more likely the boyfriend got her fired up with all that hip action and snogging. Though it certainly appeared the young ...
    stud’s tongue-stud clearly wasn’t doing its job, after all. Helen’s hands trembled with illicit pleasure and she bit her lip to stop it quivering. Her head was full of the image of the girl’s mound, resolved from its impression on her thigh. She fancied it was puffy and bald with a fat, throbbing clit. A hole slavering for her massive boyfriend's massive cock. She hadn’t touched a girl since she met George, let alone made one cum. The thought that she might now, secretly, on a crowded train right under her husband's nose, made her deliriously horny. The girl leant her forehead against the window and her lips parted. She tugged her skirt from where it was tucked between them. Spellbound by dampness in the girl’s gusset, and drunk with the blood of her quickened pulse, Helen lifted the front of her own skirt. She bunched it high on her abdomen, her black reflection indecent and widening the girl’s eyes. She was Helen, ‘The Trojan Whore’. Her skull carrying a whole invading army of porn out of the pay-per-view world and into the sensible world of commuters. And there she was, lifting the trap-door and letting it run riot. The girl cleared her throat and the same small, black-nailed hand that moments ago had petted her boyfriend’s bum squeezed Helen’s cotton-covered sex. Helen faced into the corner where a tube door met the wall, a tiny and intimate space visible only to her and the stranger. No-one could see them, but this was still a frightening, exciting place to be so impolite. ...
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