Jeans

She nearly bit my tongue off, which was a good sign. Standing up against the clammy cold wall of the train station, I pulled her closer and slid my hand under her shirt, my fingernails grazing across her belly.

We were saying goodbye. Or waiting to. She was getting on the last train to her quiet suburb; I was going to look for a cab.

"Fuck, I'm horny," she purred into my ear. "I can't wait three days."

"Sure you can." My finger teased her bellybutton. "Just think of butterflies, little fairies..." With my other hand I pinched her nipple through her shirt. "Flowers. Songbirds..."

She straddled my leg, and I slid my knee up into her crotch - a move that a friend of mine calls "gentleman's rude knee," which sounds like one of those obscure aristocratic ailments that results from drinking too much fine port in badly heated mansions.

I couldn't resist. Noticing that we didn't have much time, I slid my fingers into the waistband of her jeans, down the front in between jeans and knickers, enjoying the smooth fabric under my fingers and the plump softness of her sex beneath. She pressed into me and wiggled down on to my hand.

The wet openness of her pussy was a pleasure to discover when I pushed the material aside and stuck two fingers inside her. No resistance, just the grasping lust, and her mouth pressed on to mine, her tongue hunting, pushing into me while my fingers were buried in her.

"Someone could see you like this..." I whispered when we came up for air. "Someone heading your way on the same train."

She ground down, fucking my fingers, her eyes shut. "Yes..."

"He'll see you like this, and while you're on the train he'll stare at you, thinking what a slut you are..."

"Mmm hmm."

"...having some guy finger you on the platform, in front of strangers, and then you just leave by yourself. When you've come."

"Fuck..."

My hand was moving fast now. She was close. "Any second now, someone's going to see what you're doing. How nasty you are..."

She pressed against me.

"You're so wet. Someone's going to smell you on the train. You're going to stink up the carriage and make the boys want to fuck you..."

Her pussy clenched around my fingers, and she moaned into my chest, riding the warm swell of orgasm, pushing me against the wall.

Three days later when we had the chance to take our clothes off properly, she asked me to blindfold her. "Tell me about the men on the train again." Which I did, with pleasure.