Fun with Fingers

Girls' weekend in Amsterdam! It was for work, but me, Mel and Nicola weren't going to let that hold us back. The forecast was for glorious weather, and we had all the time in the world from Friday lunchtime until Monday morning.

The conference was in a hotel on the outskirts of the city, but with a direct tram connection to the centre. So after an early flight and four hours of an overweight man in a suit talking about the company's new marketing drive, we headed to our rooms to freshen up and prepare for a weekend of fun.

I was sharing a room with Nicola, and she let me shower first. After a quick rinse, I spritzed myself with deo and a light perfume, and pulled on a cotton top and loose skirt. A handbag and pair of flat sandals completed my outfit. Nicola was already in the bathroom by the time I was ready, so I headed down to the lobby to wait for them there.

Mel was the first to appear. The self-proclaimed slut of our little group, she'd flirted shamelessly with the instructor that morning, just to see his face get redder and redder. She had a room to herself, but as soon as she stepped out of the lift I knew she wouldn't be sleeping alone that night. Her dress ended just below her arse, and the neckline was cut so low I could probably have seen her bush if I'd wanted -- and if she didn't keep herself smooth and hairless, as she'd told us often enough.

Nicola arrived a few moments later. She was the quiet beauty. Very tall, very elegant, very softspoken. A redhead with a serene smile and skin as pale as a porcelain doll. Unlike Mel, she made men blush just by being around them. She never flirted, but somehow she never lacked for attention. She was dressed in loose-fitting linen trousers and a sleeveless blouse. She was bunking with me, but I had no doubt she could make other arrangements if she wanted company.

If I wanted attention with these two around, I'd have to bend over to spill my boobs and show off my thong. But I was quite happy letting them attract all the drooling men.

The truth was I was bored. Bored with the relationships I'd had, bored with the men I'd had. It was all becoming a drag. So for this weekend I was looking forward to enjoying the sunshine, having a few drinks and letting the company pick up the dinner bill. Maybe even visit a museum -- wasn't that what people came to Amsterdam for?

The tram was a big blue-and-white affair. The stop where we boarded was near the beginning of its long journey to Centraal Station, and there was plenty of room for us to sit. So of course we stood, holding on to the steel uprights to keep from falling over as we made a sharp left turn, then another to the right and one more to the left.

I preferred to stand. I'd been sitting all day, it seemed. First in the plane, then in those uncomfortable chairs during the presentation. Besides, I wanted to see as much as I could of the city.

Mel wanted to stand because she could keep an eye on the men, and bend forward to expose her cleavage when she caught them staring. Nicola just smiled and said she was happy either way.

The early part of the ride was dull. Of course it was. The outskirts of a city like Amsterdam are never very pretty. Shabby post-War apartment blocks and shabby turn-of-the-millennium office blocks. Cars, bikes and pedestrians. Lots of traffic noise, loud music and shouting teenagers. The mood was cheerful, though, like the whole city had been waiting for the sun to show its face and now everyone was determined to make the most of it.

People were certainly heading into the centre. At every stop more passengers boarded, and soon we were squashed together. A student who couldn't be arsed to take his pack off his back bashed it into an elderly gentleman's face, and stared blankly when the other passengers berated him before returning his gaze to his phone. A mother was yelling at her children to stop yelling. A man in a dark suit was talking loudly into his phone in the stilted version of English that so many Dutch speak.

And still more people crammed inside. It was getting stifling, the atmosphere thick. Occasionally a hint of fresh air would slip in through the narrow window and tease us. I swear, I saw one man biting at the air like a dog. The temperature outside was rising, but inside it was soaring, with dozens of people packed together while the sun blasted down on our self-inflicted metal prison.

So when I first noticed the sensation, I thought it was a drop of sweat trickling down my thigh. Unpleasant, but inevitable, I supposed. No room to reach down and wipe it away, even if I'd wanted to in public.

Then the sensation travelled upwards. Not sweat then. A fly, crawling up my thigh towards my arse? I take pride in my personal hygiene, so the thought was mortifying. What if someone sees it? They must think I'm disgusting!

Trying not to give anything away to the girls as we talked awkwardly over our shoulders with each other in the press, I shook my leg to remove my unwanted visitor. It didn't budge, just kept crawling up further towards my arse. Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly. The idea was horrid, but the actual sensation was quite pleasant. It had been a long time since anyone had taken so much time to explore my body so deliberately.

It reached the curve of my cheek and stopped, then it moved from side to side. That's not a fly! I realised. That's someone's finger!

Again I wiggled my arse, trying to dislodge the teasing digit. It didn't work. Whoever it was, they were determined. I peered round, craning my neck and pretending to look at the street passing by outside. No-one was looking at me creepily. Mel was nearly pressed against my back, voice loud as she told Nicola, next to her, how she liked a man in a suit. Mr Telephone looked up at that, his own voice wavering as his eyes met hers for a moment and then dropped down to the expanse of bronze flesh on display.

The seats around me were occupied by a group of women clutching large shopping bags, caught up in their own gossip. A trio of school-aged kids were staring at their phones. A young couple, tourists to judge by their outfits, were arguing with their heads together over a guidebook.

The only obvious candidate for Mr Handsy was a tall man beside Nicola and me. Shaved head, shirt collar unbuttoned, staring out of the window. One hand was gripping the strap over his head, but the other was out of sight in the press of bodies. He must have felt me looking, because he glanced up, then turned away when he saw my angry glare.

The tram had come to a stop, I realised. Necks were craning as people tried to see what was going on. Traffic, seemed to be the consensus. A voice announced something unintelligible. I caught Sorry and Vondelpark. Great. At least we'd stopped in the shade with a nice view of a canal and a procession of small boats.

The finger hadn't interrupted its motion, gently stroking the underside of my cheek. If the anger on my face had embarrassed Mr Handsy, he wasn't letting it stop him. Telling myself I'd done what I could, I decided to let it be for now. After all, the sensation had been pleasant when I'd thought it was a fly, and surely someone's finger was the lesser of two icks?

The more I thought about my situation, though, the more it excited me. Two strangers sharing a secret in a crowd. Well, it wasn't boring, and "not boring" was more than I'd had for a long time.

Mr Handsy had a delicate touch, I had to give him that, and he knew how to stimulate a woman's skin. His fingernail was dragging ever so lightly along the crease where arse met thigh, slowly going from left to right. It wasn't just the thought that was exciting, I admitted to myself as I felt my body respond.

The tram started forward, then came to a sudden stop again immediately. Everyone who was standing was jolted around. I clung on to my steel tube to steady myself, but even so I had to take a small step to keep my balance.

Mr Telephone took the opportunity to press up against Mel, who reciprocated by taking deep breaths, complaining how stuffy it was. His mouth fell open, his eyes bulged, and he stammered into his phone a few times before he recovered.

The finger had disappeared from my thigh. For an instant I wondered whether I was relieved, or disappointed. Then, as people around us were cursing and laughing, it returned. This time it was gliding up the inside of my thigh -- thighs, actually, because there was one on either leg.

Alright, it was getting to the point where I had to tell Mr Handsy to stop. But did I really want him to? I was torn. On the one hand, yes, of course it was creepy and I had to end it before those fingers explored much higher. On the other hand, why should I? What was wrong with having a little anonymous fun with a stranger's hand?

If I slapped him away, that was that. The whole encounter would be over. As long as I didn't, I could keep my options open. I could always end it if I felt uncomfortable, I reasoned.

And so the fingers crept ever higher between my thighs. They didn't take the direct route, but then I hadn't expected them to. Up an inch, then down again. Forward, back, along my thigh to my cheek. Then between my legs again and up another inch or so.

"Are we going all the way?" Mel called over the noise of the tram. I twisted my neck, searching for a reply. "I mean, all the way to Centraal Station?" she clarified.

"Leidseplein," Nicola replied in her calm voice. She didn't shout, but her words were clear over the hubbub. "A few more stops."

I turned back to stare out of the window and enjoy the skilful teasing of the fingers. By the time they brushed along the satin of my thong I was almost shivering with anticipation. If I move now, I'll probably squelch!

Mr Handsy didn't pick up the pace, though. Ever so gently the fingers explored the soft material covering my gash. He's going to burn his fingers! I thought, and had to stop myself from giggling.

The fingers now made their way back and slid up the line of my crack. Not pressing between my cheeks, just tracing the outline. This time I really did shiver.

Then they made their way down to the front and I had to cover my gasp by pretending to cough. The woman seated before me looked up, then turned her face away as I smiled an apology.

One fingertip began to burrow its way insistently between satin and skin. This was getting serious! But any thought of stopping it had fled long ago. I wanted to see where this would end!

Soon the finger had reached its goal and touched my lips. It glided back and forth easily, lubricated by my juice. Tight circles around my entrance. A quick tease up to my clit. More circles around my entrance, a gentle probe, then up along my crack.

The tram juddered into motion again. This time the exploring finger stayed firmly in place, pressed just inside my entrance. There it remained, neither teasing nor entering further, while the tram continued along its route. The vibrations from the motion were enough to set me to gasping again.

We reached the stop and the doors opened. We were nearly at Leidseplein, I realised, and people were getting out. The tourist couple, still arguing over their guidebook. Mr Telephone, who'd reluctantly dragged his gaze, if not his thoughts, away from Mel's boobs. And Mr Handsy.

My eyes followed him as he got out, and it took me a moment to realise that he hadn't taken his finger with him. Or perhaps he had. I actually looked, and yes, both arms ended in hands with a full complement of fingers. But I still had a delicate finger inside me! Before I could look round I was surrounded by new passengers and the tram set off again.

The finger at my entrance was more brazen now. It thrust in suddenly, sending sensations ripping through me. Then I felt another fingertip join it at my entrance, and a thumb slid forward to rub at my clit.

Nicola looked over her shoulder. Over the noise of the tram and its human cattle, she said in her steady voice, "Next stop is us. We have to get off here."

Get off? I was nearly there! The mysterious fingers seemed to know. In and out they plunged. I could feel myself clenching around them, trying to feel every sensation to the fullest. The thumb was pressed down on my clit, then it rubbed back and forth. I could feel the wave welling up inside me, growing, pressing against the dam, eager to be released.

The tram turned the final corner and slowed, and the thumb spun in hard circles around my clit. The dam burst.

I pushed myself back onto the thrusting fingers as my climax swept over me, spreading from my pussy to my chest and through my limbs. My body shuddered once, twice, as the unseen thumb pressed harder. The fingers thrust inside me once more, then withdrew. I clamped my mouth shut, but was unable to stifle my moan entirely. Fortunately, no-one seemed to hear over the grinding of the tram's wheels and the chatter of the other passengers.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, the doors were open and the tram was nearly empty. Mel was already by the door, peering around. Nicola still stood next to me. "Coming?" she asked, and headed after Mel.

I straightened up on shaky legs, clutched my handbag and followed after her. Who had it been? There was no-one around anymore. Deciding I'd never know, I climbed down the steps onto the street.

Mel, her eyes shielded against the bright sun, was pointing at a bar with a crowd of suits. Nicola was standing beside her, as serene as ever. As I watched, she casually raised her fingers to her lips, then sucked them into her mouth.

I halted, stunned. Am I imagining things? Her fingers had already been glistening with moisture before they passed her lips.

She half turned and saw me staring. Then she gave that serene smile of hers. "You look like you need a cold drink. Did you enjoy the ride?"