Through The Tunnel

I got on the train at Waterloo, heading northbound, like I always did. The sense of dread I got from the crowd on the platform was only added to by the number of people already on the train. Being a girl I was smaller than most, so managed to weave my way in and just about fit on.

The evening rush-hour crush was at it's worst. I couldn't hold on to anything, but I didn't need to - I was being propped up by the sheer number of other people. My face was buried in a tall woman's back, and shoulders, hands and hips pressed into me from all sides. The smell of sweat was intoxicating, but it was mostly the invasion of personal space that suffocated me.

The train didn't stop at Embankment, my usual stop, due to works, but it slowed down as we cruised past the platform. As it started to speed up again at the other end, I felt the whole crowd being tugged gently backwards. I nearly lost balance, but was saved from toppling by the press of a man's shoulder. As I rightened myself, I got a tut from a woman in the crowd - and as limbs all around me shifted, a hand fell on my bum.

To be honest, at first I thought nothing of it. My personal space had been robbed of me, there was little space to put your hands - the person probably wasn't even aware that it was a bum that they were sandwiched against. But after a few seconds I realised that it was the palm of the hand that was on my arse. I tried it myself, twisting my wrist - my hand definitely didn't fall that way naturally. Was this person groping me on purpose? As the train jerked up and down the hand gently, subtly rubbed over my skirt. I coloured slightly in embarrassment, desperately trying to figure out whether it was intentional.

The train pulled up at Charing Cross. The train stopped moving, and so did the hand. I blushed again - had I imagined it all? The doors to the train slid open, and a few people squeezed off. The platform was packed full of impatient faces, looking desperately for a place to get on. One or two forced themselves into open gaps, but most were disappointed.

And then, just as I began to relax, the hand gave a squeeze.

This one wasn't disguised. There was no ambiguity at all - it was a definite squeeze. The hand had cupped around my left cheek, and slowly but firmly clenched. I gave a short, inaudible gasp, frozen to the spot. This didn't happen! He couldn't just grope me, in public! How do you know it's a she? a voice in my head muttered. But the hands were large, and strong, more likely to be a man's - especially given the circumstance, I reasoned. My round, supple bum gave way to his squeeze like soft dough.

Whether he took my lack of movement as an OK, or was just very bold, I don't know, but another squeeze came soon enough, and then another. By the time the train doors had slid shut and train had started pulling out of the station, the squeezes had merged together into a constant massage. How was he getting away with this? Well, certainly nobody could see, it was too crowded, and it's not like I had anywhere to move. Well you don't seem to be trying very hard. I pushed that thought away.

The hand gave a harder than usual squeeze, before drifting over to my right cheek. It continued the massage, moving with the rhythmic sway of the train carriage. My breath was shallowed, I was rooted to the spot. I couldn't believe what I was feeling. And I was in no way expecting what happened next. The hand rolled down, and slipped itself under my skirt. It was a short skirt, barely covering my bum, but I hadn't considered it. As soon as his hand was under, however, I noticed; I felt exposed, naked.

A curled finger lightly stroked my soft silt panties, taught against my swelling arse cheeks. A second joined the first, before the hand flipped around once more and massaged my now nearly bare arse. It no longer focussed on an individual cheek, instead moving between them seamlessly, running a finger or two between the cheeks. The forefinger stroked over my cotton-covered pussy, and the same with my arse hole, but only gently, hinting at more. Goosebumps flared up and down my body, which was frozen still. A thumb ran down the seam of my underwear, stroking in a curve down my arse.

And as the train pulled into Leicester Square, the forefinger slowly hooked round the bridge in my panties, shifting them aside and exposing my bare pussy. A bolt of shock went through me. The hand ran it's finger around the entrance to my wet hole, sending small sparks flitting through my body. As the doors slid open, the finger slid into me, slowly, taking it's time, testing all the pressure points, exploring all the way in.

I was completely immovable. My heart was pounding, my breathing had all but stopped. Hormones and adrenaline rushed through my body, an electric confusion between fear and primal pleasure. My eyes were fixed straight ahead, boring into the back of the woman in front of me. I let out an inaudible whimper as the finger rubbed over my G-spot.

Some people got off, but more got on and the crush in no way thinned out. The person behind me was pressed forwards, and the hand took the opportunity to push the finger in as far as it would go. My pussy clenched around it and it hooked inwards, rubbing over my G-spot again. The middle finger found my clit and a light spasm went through my body. The doors slid shut, and it drew out again, but pushed it back inwards as the train pulled off. I gave out another whimper.

As before, the hand's movements corresponded perfectly with the rocking motion of the train. The train became one big instrument for my pussy, one giant sex toy. I was terrified, completely petrified, and yet my whole body was in ecstasy. I began to subconsciously grind on the finger with the sway of the train, slowly moving my hips around over it. The middle finger edged in, clearly straining at the tight angle. They moved as one, reaching every nook and cranny of my pussy.

The fingers drew away again, both to my relief and disappointment, but the hand stayed on. The train by now had pulled into Tottenham Court Road. I nearly missed it, in my delirium. My pussy ached for the fingers again.

The forefinger traced backwards slowly from my pussy, gently stroking the underside of my pelvis. It reached the bottom of my arse crack and continued upwards, before slowly coming to rest of my hole. The finger was moist, and had left a wet trail across my perineum, and I had done anal before, but when it slowly pushed into me it was still a tight squeeze. I gasped as quietly as I could as I was entered, more sparks of fervour weaving their way through me.

Overcome in an intoxication of hormones, as the train pulled away yet again I reached my left arm around. I could only feel, but I soon found a crotch, encased in jeans but bulging nonetheless. I gave it a soft stroke, before undoing the button. The zipper fell open from the pressure of the bulge, and almost within the same second I popped open the button of his boxers and grabbed his dick.

I heard a gasp from next to me, but it took me a few seconds to register the significance of where it came from. My mind went through the angles, but one glance at my arm was enough to tell me what I needed to know. It was not nearly as far back as I had thought it was. I had grabbed the wrong guy.

Fear enveloped my brain, and I froze, and yet with a single twitch of the finger in my arse I woke up again. I paused for several seconds, but when there was no pulling away, I started to flex my wrist, slowly stroking up and down this other man's shaft. I could faintly make out some subdued gasps for air, and his dick twitched in my hand. I got it out of his boxers, but there was so little room it couldn't go anywhere except to point almost vertically downwards. My hand stroked harder now, pumping his dick in time to the thrusting of the finger in my ass. Even with the crush, I was surprised nobody had noticed.

After a few seconds I remembered I still had unfinished business. I reached my right arm behind me, stroking the hand on my bum as I went past to make sure I had the right guy, before landing my hand on his crotch. Yet again, I clicked open the button and his dick was out in seconds. I felt a shudder, and was rewarded with a second finger slipping inside me, this time back in my pussy so that I had one in each. My hands pumped alternatively, first one then the other, in time with the rocking of the train. My arms were awkwardly wrapped round in such a narrow, crushed angle, but I hardly noticed.

Daggers of pleasure tore through me with each thrust of the fingers inside me, working together in each hole to squeeze out as much zest as was possible. Biting my lip was all I could do to stop a moan from escaping.

The train pulled in and out of Goodge Street, and the crowd was still just as thick. I kept pumping on both dicks, trying to twist my wrist with each one to give an extra kick but struggling to concentrate with the strong fingers inside me. I fell into a trance the three of us swaying and thrusting in flow with the movement of the train. The train stopped again at Warren Street, and as a more passengers tried to pile on the man to my left was pushed forwards into me. I grabbed his balls and gently massaged them, making him shiver.

I grabbed his dick again and pumped as vigorously as I could without being noticed. His dick gave a few small kicks, before climaxing. Cum was pumped out, some hitting my skirt and bare arse and some going down onto his trousers. He nearly fell over with the force of the orgasm, but his hand on a bar and the general crush of people propped him up. He gave a short gasp, before snatching his trousers up over his dick and going still again, clearly terrified and unsure how to proceed.

The lack of a second dick in my right hand put all the more focus on my left. I was nearing orgasm - he had only one finger in each hole, so was edging me closer and closer without me being able to cum. I lent back against his fingers and rippled the pressure of my hand against his dick, stimulating as many areas as possible.

The train pulled into Euston, and the doors opened; and suddenly there wasn't as big a crowd anymore. The stations past Euston were mostly residential, and so a large part of the crowd siphoned off and the was space. The man behind me immediately jumped back and my skirt fell down. I didn't see whether he got his dick back in his trousers without anyone seeing, because I didn't look back. I fixed my eyes straight ahead at a pole, acting like nothing had happened. After a few moments, since there was no reaction, I assumed nobody had noticed a thing.

My whole body was throbbing. I was disappointed, hugely, but I was still glowing from the excitement and pleasure. I could feel how his fingers felt inside me, the naughtiness of it all. I would rush straight home and finish myself off. The pleasure ebbed away, but I lost myself in a trance of fantasy.

Tufnell Park! This was my stop. In my daydream I had missed four or five stops. The carriage was practically empty now. I spun round and jumped off onto the platform. It was completely empty, save for one man.

And as soon as I saw him, I knew it was him.

He was looking at me, not with a smile - his face was straight - but with an intense glint in his eye. He was tall and angular, with messy brown hair and a black jacket. I froze, facing him. We both stood there, completely still, just watching each other.

And suddenly, as if by telepathy, the stillness broke and we were on each other. He shoved me up against a wall, and with a cry of excitement I reached round and undid his button for the second time that evening. He hadn't had time to sort out his boxers, so his dick came straight out, familiar in my hand. He tore off my skirt and my panties with it, and roughly squeezed my arse. I reached round and pulled him into my by the collar.

With one thrust he was in me, inside of me, his bulging dick filling up my pussy. My body exploded with pleasure, and my high-pitched, primal moan clashed with his low grunt. I cried out again, words this time, something along the lines of "fuck me!". He pulled out, but before I could even notice he was gone he thrust back, causing my pussy to flare up. His thrusts were spasmodic, shoving me against the dirty wall of the Underground station. His hand reached round and squeezed one of my large, throbbing breasts. Our panted breathing and animalistic noises echoed through the tunnel.

My hips rocked in time with his thrusts, the rub of his head against my G-spot acting as the perfect stimulation for us both. He kept pumping rhythmically, like the train. My moans and cries became more and more urgent as I neared orgasm.

His other hand stuck two fingers back into my wet arse. The combination of his relentless dick in my pussy and the outside pressure from the fingers in my arse drove me over the edge. I screamed as I climaxed, tearing my nails into the side of his chest behind me. Lights danced in front of my eyes as I felt the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced. The spasms of pussy clenches drove him over the edge too, and he cried out just as loud as he pumped cum inside me. I could feel it filling me up, running over all my pleasure points. Our moans had become one, and it was some time before the echoes in the tunnel had died down to quiet.