Four-foot-high club [FM]

Through my thin socks and the fabric of his shorts, I felt something twitch. By the time I turned the page in my book, it had become unmistakable: he was getting hard under my feet.

The train was crowded, full of students heading home for the holidays, nearly every seat taken. Besides the rattling and rumbling of the train, the car was quiet, the chatter of the early trip replaced by the soft hum of people dozing, snacking, watching TV shows on their phones. I didn’t dare say anything, or make any quick movements, or I’d risk calling attention to myself. So I turned the page and flexed my foot slightly against his stiffening cock. His cock flexed back at me, and now I could see it, a thick ridge pressed against his left thigh.

He turned his head to me and we traded tiny smiles. Almost unconsciously, my hips lifted a few centimeters, rising to the thrill of being so naughty in public. He must’ve noticed my shifting, because slowly (so slowly) he slid his hand from where it had been resting on my thigh, letting it slip down to my hip, then under my ass, then fully cupping my cheek. I was wearing a short dress and a pair of pink cotton panties with tiny bows at the top of each thigh, and I could feel them start to tighten against my pussy as my lips swelled.

I’d been anticipating his progress under my skirt for two excruciating minutes when he finally let his fingers rest full and firm against my now-aching pussy. His palm was hot against my swollen labia, and he let the tips of his index and middle finger press in gently toward my clit – but he didn’t move them, just let me feel their weight. I concentrated hard on keeping my breath steady, but I couldn’t stop my abs from twitching or my hole from dripping.

I turned my head slightly toward the aisle to see if we’d caught the eye of anyone nearby. But everyone I could see was still focused on phones, books, and tablets. The passenger just across the aisle was facing away from us and seemed asleep, head lolling against a giant backpack. There was a hoodie draped across my lap, and the spine of the book rested against my thighs, so even I couldn’t see his roaming hand. Satisfied that nobody was looking, I turned a page for plausible deniability, though I hadn’t read any words since his fingertips started teasing at my clit.

I’d been horny for hours. We’d been playful that morning, grabbing at each other and teasing as we got ready to go, but we were running too late to get off properly. The train hadn’t gotten crowded yet when we boarded it in the morning fog, and after we stowed our luggage we explored a little. I love the sound that train doors make, the loud fwoosh, the way the rattling gets suddenly louder and then muffled again when the doors close. Walking between cars while the train is moving always makes me feel like I’m in a James Bond film.

At the very front of the train was a dining car, with microwaveable pastries and burgers, but no other passengers present. We greeted the bored employee at the register, then walked back down the length of the train, fwoosh after fwoosh. A few cars back from where we boarded was an empty first-class car, the seats extra wide and plush. Nobody who’d boarded yet had paid for a first class ticket, apparently, so it was just the two of us and the rattling train – which rounded a curve to deliver an incredible view, cliffs overlooking the ocean. He slid into a seat for a better look and pointed at something out the window. When I started to sit back into the seat next to him, he grabbed my hips and pulled me into his lap instead. I twisted my head back to kiss him, and then he buried his face in my neck and started feeling up my front, palms finding my breasts over my shirt. I pressed my ass back against him, enjoying the way his thigh bounced up into me with the pitch and roll of the train. I planted my feet more solidly so I could grind properly against his leg, and his fingertips gently pinched my nipples through my dress.

Then, suddenly, I heard the fwoosh, and I made eye contact with a porter in a train company uniform. I felt my skin go cold and my face go hot. I moved to slide off the knee I’d been straddling, but hands tightened around my hips.

“Morning. Y’all have first-class tickets?”

He found his voice faster than I did. “Oh no, we were just sitting here for a minute.”

“All right, you’re fine for now, but by the next stop you should get in your real seats.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

Another fwoosh, and the porter was gone.

I laughed and squeezed the arms wrapped around me in relief.

“You were going to get off my lap.”

“Yeah.”

“Were you embarrassed?”

“A little.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.” He pulled my face back to his own and kissed me deeply.

Between kisses, I pointed out that the porter hadn’t moved toward us from the front of the car, just talked to us from up there. We were fully clothed, keeping things PG-13, but from the front of the car the porter couldn’t have known that.

“I could’ve been inside you.”

“You’re giving me ideas.”

We made out a little more, but when the loudspeaker announced the next stop I remembered the warning and stood up. Riding the high of getting caught without consequences, we giggled our way through the fwooshes. Back at our seats, my heart still pounding, we settled in for the ride: I pulled out my book, and he put in headphones. I took my shoes off and he pulled my feet into his lap.

For a half-dozen stops, we stayed like that, as the car filled up around us. Someone stowed a large duffel on the rack above us. Someone checked our tickets, a different porter from the one who’d caught us. I became engrossed in my book.

And then, of course, his cock started twitching. And I started teasing it with my foot, trying to find the frenulum with my toes, sliding my arch along the shaft. He’s not especially into feet, but I could’ve been fooled by his response, the way he throbbed against my sole, the way he was grinding his hips slowly, pressing his tip against my toes. I turned my foot so the heel was nestled more firmly in his crotch, pressing into the seam against his balls. I dug the heel in deeper, to give some pressure against the perineum the way I knew he liked.

Meanwhile, his fingers continued teasing just over my clit, that warm firm pressure that drives me wild. Sometimes he’d slide his hand down to squeeze my ass again, or to tease at the edge of my panties, or to press into the spot just to the side of my opening where the lower legs of my clit are close to the surface.

Really, I think people undersell the joys of sex with someone who you’ve been with forever. He’s been playing my game so long he’s got all the high scores. He can nail a speedrun if he wants. But that time on the train, he was hitting all the Easter eggs in Level 1, accepting every possible side quest, collecting every coin.

So I was a slick mess when he finally worked a fingertip under the edge of my pink panties. I managed not to gasp, but I couldn’t help a deep breath. He was watching my face, and I’m sure he could see the moan I was holding off in my knit eyebrows. He slid his fingers up and down my slit, pressing just a little more firmly at the clit, then at the opening. Immediately, I was silently begging him to put his fingers inside, but he was still playing the long game and kept teasing. Circling my clit. Pinching my swollen labia between his finger and thumb. Spreading my wetness all over my pussy.

He pulled his hand out and let my panties slide back to cover my messy mound. At first I was indignant, annoyed (don’t stop!). But then I watched him – slowly, expression neutral, staring straight ahead – bring his hand up to his chin. His fingers slipped into his mouth, and he sucked off my juices. I stifled another gasp.

He let his hand fall back down between us and made his way under my panties much quicker this time, and then almost immediately slipped a finger inside me. I was white hot horny, out of my mind with need, and his long thick middle finger sliding into me was the closest thing to satisfying I’d felt. I closed my eyes and reveled in it for a while, feeling his knuckle slip past my aching opening again and again.

Yes please, I beamed silently at him. Exactly like that, I thought.

When I settled fully into pleasure of being fingered, I realized I’d been neglecting my foot tease of his cock. But he was still rock hard, still slowly rolling his hips against the pressure of the ball of my foot.

A plan hatched itself, the way horny plans do, with lots of momentum and little consideration of risk.

I tapped his arm and gestured for him to take out an earbud. He leaned in toward me, and I whispered into his ear.

“Meet me in the bathroom in a minute.”

He nodded.

I pulled my feet off his lap and laced my shoes. Stood up. Straightened my dress. All the passengers I could see were still absorbed in their own media, but I didn’t dare look around too hard, or I knew I’d risk catching attention with my gaze. So I stared ahead as I walked down the corridor to the bathroom at the end and slid open the door. Dingy, but I’ve seen and smelled way worse. A couple of toilet seat covers on the floor, graffiti scratched into the mirror, but mostly clean. It was a handicapped stall, which I didn’t realize when I made the suggestion but was grateful to recognize. I closed the door but didn’t latch it, then took a quick pee while I waited. I marveled at the thick clear juices that stretched into strings as I peeled my panties down. My pussy was hot and needy. I let a fingertip swirl against my clit for a delirious moment, then pulled my panties back up.

As I stood, the door slid open, and there he was, looking a little bashful and a lot horny.

He’d managed to tuck his cock up into his waistband, so I wasn’t sure if he was still hard until he latched the door and lifted his shirt, the precum-slick tip barely peeking out the top of his shorts. I reached for his belt, unbuckled, and he helped me pull his shorts and boxers down over his hips. I kneeled gingerly on the toes of his shoes (as is our custom in places where I wouldn’t want my bare knees on the ground) and licked up one side of his shaft then down the other. I traced the ridge of his head with the tip of my tongue, slid his tip against its flat warmth, and then plunged him deep into my mouth. I sucked up and down the shaft, one hand circling the base, the other cupping his balls. When he was once again throbbing, I pulled back.

I stood again and slid my panties to my knees, turned around, held onto the rail, and bent my ass to him.

“I need you to fuck me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He ran his tip once along the juiciness of my slit, then plunged in. All the way, all at once.

“Oh god,” I breathed.

Usually I need a moment to let my walls relax and let him all the way in, but I had become a perfect vessel, slick and swollen, every inch of me begging for every inch of him.

My mind emptied itself, arrived at that pure vast open plain of sexual relief, and for a while I just let myself sink deep into full, yes, finally, yes, just like that, yes, keep going, yes. I concentrated on pressing my ass back, holding tight to the railing, keeping my arch firm against his thrusting. He picked up the pace, and I allowed myself to moan a little.

“Touch your clit,” he ordered, and I took my right hand off the rail, slipped it between my legs to find my button. I circled it rapidly and started to push my ass back against him in time, so his thrusts went deeper and deeper, his hipbones slamming into my cheeks.

If this were fantasy, I’d’ve built with him, risen to a crescendo at the same pace. But reality doesn’t deliver that way always, and this time I realized I wasn’t going to be able to build fast enough for this quickie.

So as his thrusting got more intense, I put my right hand back on the rail and made myself rigid so he could set the pace. Relieved of the expectation of orgasm, I dropped into full awareness of the moment. I’d just been fingered in a crowded train car. I was being fucked in that dingy bathroom. I needed his cock, and he was giving it to me, perfectly, completely, again and again, again and again.

I could feel us reach the steadiness that meant he was getting close, the tightening of his hands on my hips, the rising hunger of each thrust – and then, sure enough, he warned me.

“Should I cum?”

“Yes, please, cum in me.”

How many times have we traded those words? Hundreds, easily, before and since, but I may never have meant “yes, please” so fully, so completely. I was desperate for his cum. I couldn’t think about anything but how much I wanted to feel him shudder and shake into my pussy. He’d turned me into a perfect vessel, and all that was left was for him to fill me with his perfect liquid.

His goosebumps were contagious, as I steadied myself against the rail for the finish. The thrusts got faster, faster, faster – then suddenly slowed for one, two, wait for it, three deep firm plunges, and I felt his cock pulse inside me as his balls drained.

“Oh god yes.”

It was the most pleasure I’d felt from someone else’s orgasm, and I felt flushed and whole, fully complete as he eased his cock out of me. I dropped a hand between my thighs, cupped to catch the first few drips.

Once he caught his breath, he asked if I could cum.

“Nah, not now. But I’m good. More than good – that was amazing.”

“We’ll make sure you finish later.”

After steamy bits were dabbed and hands were washed, we peeked out the door. No one was in the corridor, so we left together to go back to our seats.

Back to my book, his headphones. Back to the quiet hum of the train car, sun getting low in the sky.

When we got up to visit the dining car an hour later, I felt a familiar gush of liquid between my thighs.

Between fwooshes, between cars, I let out a laugh.

“Oh man.”

“Oh?”

“I just felt – you know.”

“Ohhh,” he said, knowingly, and gave my hand a squeeze. “Nice.”

When we settled into a booth with our microwaved pastries, I smiled at him. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

“I know, right? I’ve been trying to figure out what to call the train equivalent of the mile-high club.”

“I dunno. It’s a little less glamorous.”

“The four-foot-high club, maybe?”

“I like that.”

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/re6dyo/fourfoothigh_club_fm