The “Couples Talk” [NSFW] [F/M] [Mast] [Oral]

Martin and I had the “couples talk”.

You know the one – the talk where you confide to your significant other about what you can both do to spice things up in the bedroom. It was a gentle talk, mixed with a glass of wine (or two) and a bit of handholding. Martin and I were in our late 20s, he was a doctor, me (I’m Cathy – but he calls me “Cat”) I’m a successful financial advisor with my own business. We’ve been married for four years now and kids were not on really on the horizon. Marty was furthering his training to become a radiologist so between us our future seemed financially solid. However, some things can’t be fixed by money.

Our sex talk was constructive and the upside was that we were both pretty happy with each other and with that of our sex life, generally. I confided to Martin that I loved sex with him but would like to have it a lot more than we do now. For his part, he said that our lovemaking lacked a degree of spontaneity. He suggested that we mix things up and try the occasional crazy thing. I asked him what he had in mind, but he just kept on saying we should try some “wild stuff”. This lack of specificity with Martin sometimes frustrated me, but I got his general proposition. For a doctor he could do with improving his communication skills, I thought. As to my complaint about wanting more sex, he led me into the bedroom and proceeded to rock my world.

Still, for days I was left thinking about what he said. That he/we could use some spontaneity. Some “wild stuff”! I shall have to think upon it further. My chance came the next weekend and I never planned a thing – I just went for it.

On Saturday night we left the wedding reception very late. It was an exciting party, great music and fantastic dancing. Martin was dressed in a black tailored suit with a gold tie that looked absolutely smashing on his tall frame. We were both a little drunk and, as it was a very humid night. You might say that we were a little hot and sweaty from the all the dancing too. I was wearing a new short green skirt with a white sleeveless top with earrings the exact same matching shade as the skirt. My legs were bare as stockings would be way too uncomfortable on a hot night like this. My hair was down, but only after being persuaded by my best friend to leave it out for the wedding.

We arrived at the station and battled the crowd to find our platform. The train was still ten minutes away, so I ducked into the grotty ladies bathroom beforehand so I might “go” before our long trip home. It might have been the wine, but whilst I was in the ladies I acted on impulse and decided to surprise my dear husband.

“Here’s to, spontaneity”, I thought nervously.

I left the ladies room and my doctor hubby and I crashed through the crowd to board the very last train going to our home on the bay. God, the train was packed to the walls with loud, tipsy commuters. Everybody looked as cheerful as I felt – noisy but cheerful. We have done this train trip before at this time of night. Our journey is fifty long minutes and it was standing room only for at least half of the trip. The crowd thins out slowly as we go on and we usually get a seat in the last ten minutes or so. For the most part we stand and we stand and we stand some more, buffeted by the throng of swaying humanity. I was happy.

Martin stood with his back to the wall and I stood directly in front of him as the train started moving. People everywhere, mostly talking too loudly. I decided to put my little plan into action, but I didn’t know how it would end exactly. Perhaps nowhere?

As subtly as I could I began pressing my backside into his crotch. Not continually, but as if the motion of the train was rocking me into him. It was actually rocking us both, of course, but I kind of helped it along a tad. Still nothing from him? Was he even awake? I pressed slightly harder into him. I was gently rocking back and forth. Still nothing? “Come on boyo”, I thought, “time for the big guns”. I pressed my butt deeper into him and was rewarded at last by a sign that not only was he awake, but that he had noticed what was what. His bulge was rubbing my arse crack through our clothes. And, man, did that feel nice!

This fine state of affairs continued for about three or four minutes as we swayed along oblivious to our happy fellow commuters, and they oblivious to us and what we were doing. Martin, bless him, decided to ramp thing up a notch and slip a hand up the back of my emerald green skirt. What he found evidently shocked him by the fact that his body stiffened behind me. As you, no doubt, already surmised, before boarding the train, and in the women’s toilets, I had removed my panties and thrust them inside my purse. I was – how to put this – rocking a bare vag under my skirt. It felt pretty good too, on this hot night. It felt even better as Martin was deftly exploring my naked arse in front of about 1000 strangers (I never actually counted, but let’s settle on 1000).

So there we were, hemmed in by all these people, and yet Martin had the absolute freedom to explore my backside with his fingers. There is one thing about this guy – he knows women, and more than that, he’s a killer tease. He never just dives in, he caresses and softly brushes my bottom in a fashion that would send any women into a gooie heap. And I simply adored that shit.

Occasionally – and I mean very occasionally – he would slightly brush the very tips of his fingers across my labia. Just the merest touch but it would send blue bolts shooting up my spine. Every time the bastard touched my pussy lips in this way I would urgently try and grind my cunt into his fingers. But, he refused to penetrate me. This refusal both annoyed the heck out of me, but also increased my arousal tenfold.

How can I bring up the subject delicately? Well, it’s probably not possible with any delicacy. After all, we are becoming good friends, you and I, aren’t we?

As I was swaying along with the crowd and with my husband’s roving hands on this pleasure train of ours I started to become incredibly aroused. I’m not sure if this is the same with all women, but my vulva was as wet as hell, soaking in fact – but only on the inside. I could feel the wetness, but as Martin had not, “broken the seal”, as it were, the wetness was all internal. I was both soaking “inside” and dry as a bone “outside”. As I was rocking into him as the train moved, I was trying to hook his escaping fingers into my cunt; I knew that eventually something would have to give. After all, my pussy lips were not the Hoover Dam.

As we were doing all this sexual waltzing I noticed a girl in her mid-twenties wearing too much makeup and a cute brown miniskirt. She had started watching Martin and I very intently. Obviously she could not see his hand up my skirt, but I had difficulty controlling my facial expressions as he carnally probed me. I began to suspect that she knew what was going on, and she was digging it. I smiled at her and she returned the smile. Yep, she knew something was going on at that point. And, at that point, I was a little past caring.

At last Martin pushed a finger past my labia and the “seal” broke well and truly. All the built up wetness gushed onto his fingers and hand. There was quite a bit of liquid too. I knew it would be messy. Still his talented hand did his stuff upon my pussy. This guy should have been a surgeon as his hands were magical!

The crowd was starting to thin out a bit as people got off at their station. Martin began his fantastic trade mark fingering technique that was guaranteed to make me moan. He was slowly pumping two fingers into my sopping vagina from behind, and with the ball of his thumb he lubed my arsehole with my own wetness. He was kind of rimming my back passage with his thumb. It is hard to describe, but holy fuck! The thumb doesn’t quite enter my bum, but it feels as if it just might. There is this kind of slippery “suction” where my now wet hole wants to capture his thumb, but slips away. And all the time his two fingers were slipping in and out of my cunt, and for variation, now and again, caressing my clitoris. Aggghhhh, it felt soooo good. I’ve never really been all that keen on anal sex, but at that moment he could have rammed me right there and then up to the hilt. But, as we were on a moving train, it didn’t look like that was going to happen.

The crowd was definitely thinning out now. The miniskirt girl who never stopped watching us grabbed an available seat opposite us and couldn’t stop gaping as if we were a Netflix mini-drama. Which, I suppose we were. I kept ramming my husband’s hard penis with my arse/hips as he fingered the life out of me. I wouldn’t – couldn’t last much longer. The miniskirt girl was sitting down drinking in the scene. She now had her coat in her lap and she starting doing something undefined underneath that was probably just as out of place as what we were doing. She looked a bit flushed too – more than a bit flushed.

The moment for me came when Martin, timing things perfectly with the rocking motion of the train, slowly pushed his entire wet thumb up my arse as his middle finger slipped across my clit. The timing of these two actions almost caused my legs to buckle. My head dropped almost to my chest as I leaned into him. He said later that he could feel me squeezing his fingers as I came. Such was the strength of my orgasm I felt that I might pass out. The train was pretty empty by now, there were available seats aplenty. Our audience of one was fumbling like crazy in her seat and under her coat. We had exactly two stops before we had to get off the train. Action on my part must take place right now!

I eased Martin’s fingers from my body as elegantly as a lady might and grabbed his sticky hand. I led him to the nearest seat – which was the seat opposite the masturbating miniskirt chick. He slumped down into the seat awkwardly; as well he might on account of his huge erection. In front of the astonished miniskirt girl, I fumbled for Martin’s zipper, who became quite alarmed and started nodding in the direction of the girl opposite. God grief, he was so focused on finger-banging me he never noticed how into it Ms miniskirt actually was. Honestly, men, they never notice anything! After all that, I was going to finish what I started. We had one station stop to go, and no time to waste. I manhandled his hard pulsing cock out of his ruined goopy pants and as soon as it was exposed to both the night air and to the fascinated gaze of our miniskirted companion, I dropped my head onto Martin’s lap and sucked his dick as if it was an Olympic event and I was two points from winning a gold medal. It didn’t take very long.

My wet mouth moved up and down his penis about a dozen times before I felt his body stiffen. The girl opposite appeared to be furiously typing an invisible letter under her coat. Martin’s cock stopped pulsing for a split second before he came in great throbbing bursts into my mouth. He sighed with every squirt, and I was in danger of gagging from the hot spurting liquid. But, kept it all under control until he stopped ejaculating, after which, I swallowed his warm cum. As I raised my head from his still oozing cock, Martin opened his eyes as if he had been hit by a train instead of riding in one. He motioned to my upper lip with a finger that until recently been buried deep inside my body.

“Cat, I think you have a spot of mustard just there”, he said.

I tried to lick the sperm from my lip but it was too high, it was almost touching my nose. Being a lady, I reached into my purse for a tissue. I was out of tissues, never mind. So, I wiped my upper lip with my emerald green panties. At which point, our dear traveling companion in the miniskirt lost it completely under her coat.

Hand in sticky hand, Martin and I exited the train.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/480kbl/the_couples_talk_nsfw_fm_mast_oral