Frotting

Some years ago, on the London Underground, some of the lines used to replace smashed bulkhead glass with metal plates. This wasn't much fun on a crowded train where you could find yourself mashed into one of these dead ends, with a crowd of people pushing in behind you. Especially in a hot summer when the frotters were out. Some days it seemed like the carriage was full of perverts who couldn't control themselves, grabbing at you and rubbing their cocks up against you. My usual defense was to change carriage, but when you find yourself stuck in a tight corner, with someone behind you, and one of these metal plates in your face, it's often impossible to get out, so you're stuck there, with some creep behind you getting his jollies while you just want to get home and have a shower!

This particular summer seemed to have gone on for ever, and London sweated under its blazing heat day after day. The tube was unbearable, sweaty, clammy air unbreathable as the tiny tunnels concentrated the heat from all our bodies. And here I was, Friday night, heavy shopping bags in tow, on a crowded platform waiting to go home. The sigh of the train breaking wasn't the only sigh, it was as though the scant breeze pushed ahead of it through the tunnel was being absorbed by every soul there, in grateful relief, before they crammed themselves, sardine like, onto that lethal tin box. I'd deliberately taken a later train as I'd been plagued by one particular frotter who was completely creeping me out. So I thought this way I'd get my shopping done and be able to get home unmolested. Some hope.

Joining the pack I crammed myself onto the train, managing to find enough wiggle room for my feet that I could place one of the bags between them, whilst I held onto the overhead rail with my free hand. There was no way I was putting down the bag with the wine in it, that hand also contained my handbag, and that was staying right where it was, where I could feel it against me. The train jostled as we moved away, and the rocking of the carriage lulled us in our smelly, silent sauna to the next station. As ever I hoped that people would leave at this stop, but they didn't, we got crammed in harder, and I found myself forced further back into a corner, with my face at the crease of two metal walls. I couldn't see behind me, couldn't turn my head, could hardly breathe for the pressure against my body.

"Please God," I thought. "Don't let me faint." I lowered my head submissively and patiently as I waited for the next stop, knowing I still had a long way to go.

That's when it started. I could feel my skirt moving. I was wearing a summer dress, all buttons down the front, light cotton, little straps at the top. As comfy as I could be in our un-air conditioned offices. And now my damp and creased skirt was being eased up over my legs. My jaw went slack at the audacity, I couldn't believe it. I tried to move my legs together, but was caught out by the shopping. I tried to push backwards, but couldn't push him away, we were so tightly jammed in. The skirt rose, up to my hips, then stopped, wedged between us. And his hands slid back down, over my thighs, round and inside them, then up again to my sex. I jumped and my head hit the curved roof above the carriage door. While I was stunned I felt a tug, and my tiny thong snapped, torn away from me. My last vestige of protection as I saw it had been stripped.

Damn the man, what did he think he was doing?! How dare he! I tried to wriggle away, but he pressed my chest harder against the bulkhead, forcing the breath out of my body. As he did so I pushed back with my hips again, but this only gave him his opportunity. His hand was quick as lightning, round the front, against my waxed smooth pussy and his fingers slid between my wet lips. I tried to scream, but it caught in my throat. It sounded like the weak mewling of a kitten. And it did nothing to dissuade him.

I could hear the train brakes screeching.

"Please?" I prayed. "Please let people get off here so I can escape. Please?" But no one did. The doors opened, yet he continued his fingering, rolling my clit between his digits and making me even wetter, the train waited for a moment, then the doors slid closed. I was still trapped. A sob rose in my throat. I wanted it to stop. But even while I wanted to be released my body was betraying me, adding it's own juices to the sweat that ran down my body. I felt my muscles tense and in my head I screamed at them for doing so. How could they? How could my body enjoy what was torturing my mind so much!

He seemed to sense that my body was following his course as his fingers slid away, attacking again from behind, slipping inside me. My body betrayed me again, my bottom lifting to let him in, giving him better access to the treasures within that were starting to ache for him. I was panting, and not because of the heat. My face was flushed, my mouth open, and I could smell the sex rising around me. If I could smell it I was sure others could, too, surely they wouldn't let this torment go on? But they did.

My body let go, releasing my tensions and flooding his hand with my cum as my mind began to swim, giddiness overtaking me. I didn't hear the zip open, I didn't notice that he'd changed his grip. I only noticed as the pressure on my lips increased, as his hands lifted me a little, getting the angle right as he pushed his cock into me. I gasped, my hands scrabbling behind me, desperate to push him away, but he held me tight, using the rhythm of the train to help his thrusting, going deeper, harder, he bit my neck and then I heard him grunt as he filled me.

The train brakes squealed again, and we slowed to a halt as he subsided against me and I in turn subsided against the metal walls that enclosed me. He slipped from me as the doors opened, I heard an excuse me, a polite, crisp voice, but by the time I had space to turn he had gone.

Leaving me crumpled, half way to the floor, sitting on my shopping, my skirt around my waist and his semen oozing from me. No one saw. No one noticed. No one helped.