Lena is Taken on the Paris Metro

It was a sweltering day in Paris, slow moving and sweaty. The streets were teaming with people, laughing and drinking with their friends after work. Lena left her cool office, where she was interning for her summer holidays in a fashion house on the Champs Elysees, and took her jacket off, stripping down to just to a silver satin biased cut vest top, which showed her nipples and in the clammy 35oc heat, clung to her perky 30dd tits. She couldn't face wearing a bra in that heat, and besides, it's Paris— anything goes. She'd swapped her usual formal pencil skirt and blazer combination for a loser fitting black denim miniskirt, which showed off her long legs, golden from days soaking up the summer sun.

She was on her way to meet friends in the Marais for some drinks, so was heading towards the metro station, fanning herself with her one free hand. She looked to her right and saw a figure, standing still near the entrance of the metro stop. He was tall, with long dark hair, wearing a blue button-down shirt. He looked at her unfalteringly, unsmiling. She stared back, and felt his hungry eyes drift down her body, at her barely hidden generous breasts, down to her hips and legs. It happens all the time in Paris, people undressing each other with their eyes. Lena felt a quick surge of something that felt like flattery, or arousal, and quickly forgot about the exchange of eye-contact. As she approached the platform, she was counting the stops to her own, Hotel de Ville, in the Marais.

The line 1 metro train was packed. Hot, sweaty bodies pressed up against each other. Rush-hour in the heatwave is just something that has to be endured. Lena ended up pressed up against about six people on every side of her, bodies and bags pressing against her, threatening to push her over at any moment. She reached up with her free hand and clung onto a handrail high above her head. Once the train started moving, she felt something strange, some feather light pressure against her bottom, and then on her bare inner thigh. It was probably just someone's knee, or maybe a brief case.

****

Ben saw her as soon as she left her office. She put her magnificent mane of chestnut curls into a messy bun, and peeled off her black jacket. Watching from the other side of the road, closer to the metro stop, he couldn't take his eyes of her tits, braless and bouncing as she marched confidently towards the station. She looked a lot younger than him, but the size of her tits, and the confidence with which she wore them, convinced him she was at least 20 years old, around 15 years younger than he was. Ben wondered if she knew her hard nipples were practically bursting through her flimsy top for all of Paris to see? Maybe she liked the extra attention.

He caught her eye briefly as she was entering the metro station, her dark almond eyes, accentuated the sexy fox-like flick of eyeliner and dark brows, plump lips slightly parted. But he just couldn't stop looking at that juicy rack. It was nothing like his wife Marine's flat, 32b, almost muscular chest. He noticed she smile and blushed. Interesting. His eyes followed her all the way down the steps. He was now walking behind her, and was pleased to see her ass matched her tits- it was high and round and almost out of proportion for her slim waist and legs.

He entered the train, the squeezing between the other over-heated, disgruntled passengers. She was stood facing away from him, and couple of metres away, arm reaching up to support herself. She was a lot taller than the other women, and some of the men around her, so luckily he could still see her golden, slightly sweaty, inviting cleavage over her shoulder.

As passengers got off the train, he managed to edge around to her. He couldn't believe his luck when he was eventually positioned himself right behind her plump ass. I wonder if I could touch it... she might not notice, he thought. She's happy for her tits to be almost totally visible in public, maybe she'd even welcome a harmless grope. Overcome with pure lust for this gorgeous girl in front of him, he gently reached out and lightly ran his hand over her round ass, applying no pressure. His cock grew hard in his pants, and he noticed her stiffen a little, and turn her head slightly to the side. After a few moments of feeling her up like this, he dared himself to slide his hand under the skirt, touching her inner thigh, creeping slowly upwards, towards her pussy, testing the waters. He was rubbing his cock against her now, through his jeans.

She wasn't resisting, but she must have known, so, encouraged, he started rubbing her pussy through her underwear. Hungry for more, he rapidly pushed them aside, to feel her bare pussy. She tensed a little and moved forwards, away from him a little. But then seemed relaxed again. Her pussy lips were totally hairless, and so smooth to the touch he felt his cock surge with desire. Her inner labia were neatly tucked away. It was as if she'd shaved or waxed for him, for this very moment, he thought to himself, jokingly. Only proper whores keep themselves totally clean shaven he thought, or maybe this is just what younger women do? He thought of his wife's perennially hairy snatch. Either way, he'd picked the right girl. She seemed to be growing wetter.

Maybe he should say something? But that might break the spell. He took his other hand, and placed it on her waist. On her bare skin just underneath her vest top. He ran his hand up the side of her waist, before reaching those tits he'd been staring at up at street level. He cupped her breast, feeling its weight. They were heavy, and firm to the touch. He squeezed them and sighed in pleasure, quietly to himself. They were big enough to squeeze together around a cock, real womanly tits, something his wife's smaller chest had always disappointingly failed to achieve. He imagined covering those incredible tits in his cum.

He began groping her tit almost so enthusiastically he almost forgot about the fingers on her now soaking wet pussy lips. Ben, having been expecting just a surreptitious grope, couldn't believe what she was allowing him to do to her body as he slowly worked his middle finger into her tight cunt. He finger-fucked her perfect bald little pussy hole for a while, and then added another finger, still grasping her boob in the other hand. He heard her gasp quietly as he forced his second finger inside her. Alex felt like his cock was about to burst, still grinding against her ass. Without thinking to much about what he was doing, and with only a quick glance at the other passengers, who all miraculously had their backs to the two of them, Ben unzipped his jeans and took his rock-hard cock out, and in one movement hid it under her skirt, against the entrance of her wet, smooth cunt. Was this gorgeous slut really going to let him use her tight fuck-hole in public?

*****

Lena was frozen. She couldn't move. She'd been groped on the metro before, a sly hand here or there, and it had always given her a slight thrill, but this was on another level. A stranger's hand, complete with what looked like a wedding ring, was brazenly squeezing her breast under her top, and not only that, but he was violating her pussy with his fingers. She felt conflicted. The assault was incredibly arousing. It would be hypocritical of her to push him away now, as she'd been grinding against him almost involuntarily, and his fingers deep inside her could surely feel the wetness streaming out of her. Her body was betraying her. She knew she should be resisting, but part of her wanted to let this stranger behind go ahead and use her body as he pleased.

His fingers left her pussy, to her initial disappointment. But suddenly she felt another kind of pressure, the familiar feeling of an erect cock pushing up against her wet opening. He lingered there for a moment, as if giving her the opportunity to stop him, daring her to push him away, before plunging his cock in. She had to bit her lip to stop herself crying out. She felt warm breath at her ear, and then "wow, that's a tight pussy you've got there. You're going to take it like a good little slut aren't you?" and she nodded, arching her back for him.

He fucked her hard and fast, efficiently. A fuck on a train leaves no room for a drawn out build up. He was almost fucking her pussy like a fleshlight— no concern for her pleasure, he just needed to relieve himself, use her tight hole until he came. Her ignored clit ached, and she wished she had a free hand to rub her clit as his cock filled her. His disregard for her pleasure only made her more aroused. Save it for later, she thought to herself. One of his hands was on her hip, the other still clamped around her breast. She felt him speed up, approaching climax, and panic hit - he won't cum inside me will he?!

*****

Her 20-year-old pussy was tight like nothing he'd felt in years. Her entrance seemed to grip him like a prostitute's lips around a cock. He'd been fucking her for only a few minutes when he could already feel the inevitable point of orgasm approaching. I could fill this tight little cunt up with my cum, he thought. But no, I'm not that much of an asshole. I have a better idea. He removed the hand still groping her heavy, beautiful breast, and came into this hand, onto his fingers. He moved his cum filled hand back to her tits and spread his cum onto them.

Then, still behind her, he moved up to her face, and parted her lips with his fingers, and slid them inside her mouth. She was instantly sucking them clean. "And that's for you. Thanks, whore. See you next rush-hour" he whispered to her, with a derisive laugh. Cock now zipped back into his trousers, the train doors opened at Bastille (she'd long missed her stop), and he darted out of the train, leaving her covered in cum, without a backwards glance.