She had woken up to the beat of her throbbing pussy. Days like this weren’t easy, tired by the end of it she entered the train, her pussy still wailing for attention. The air conditioning was cold, she shivered – she had only worn a dress, underwear, bra and sneakers today. She felt her nipples harden in the cold air, her underwear wet with constant arousal now clung close to her body. There were no seats. ‘Of course’, she thought. Finding a handle to steady herself, she closed her eyes willing her body to stop. Her nipples rubbing against the lace of her bra with the rise and fall of her breath, felt so good. Opting not to moan loudly, she opened her eyes searching for a visual distraction.
The houses and street lights flew by in the dusk. She noticed a man staring at her, their eyes met. She looked away, but he didn’t. He was tall with brown hair, possibly around her age with sinewy arms and hands. She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, her breasts swaying, nipples swollen with the cold, sent electric shocks of pleasure straight to her clitoris. He was still staring, she looked into his eyes again – he was gazing at her with curiosity. He was beautiful. She was an artist – she found beauty in all human physicality, and imagined sketching his figure in charcoal rubbing her fingers against the paper, shaping his contours. Read more »