I wanted to write a story of seduction and sex, in the sense that there is little flirting or preamble about this fuck. This piece is inspired by both these posts by GOTN, and by someone who I find continually frustrating because of how attractive I find them, despite my best efforts. It’s also inspired by my post-Eroticon adventures on the London underground, because who travels by tube without fantasising about fucking on them?
He looks like you.
Not enough that I think it’s you, but enough so I take a second look. Enough that said second look is lingering as I size him up. If I wasn’t thinking about you as I tapped my card against the gates at the tube station, I might not have noticed how similarities in the man standing a few steps below me on the descending escalator.
It’s something in the way he stands, I think. You don’t know how attractive you are, but there’s something in how you hold yourself with confidence, in how your grin borders on cocky, and in your stupid magic hands. It’s in the way you look at someone when you talk to them, as though they have all of your attention, and your fucking accent, saying all those clever words until I want to snog you just to shut you up.
Let’s face it: it’s you I want to fuck. But he’s here, and you’re not, and I’m desperately horny.
The escalator ride is long enough that snapshots of filthy fantasies flash through my mind as the warm wind of the underground washes over me. I imagine sucking him off in an empty tube carriage – or in a tube carriage that isn’t empty but filled with an eager audience who want to watch me choke on his dick.
I watch his arse as he steps off the escalator, and grin when he turns left. He’s heading the same way as me then, meaning it would be stupid not to follow him. It’s not that all I can think about right now is sitting on his dick. Honestly.
Even though the platform isn’t too crowded, I find an excuse brush past him. I put an extra sway into my hips as I walk away from him, hoping his eyes will follow me. We enter the tube carriage at different doors but end up standing just a couple of metres away from each other. He’s facing me now, and I can’t stop myself from glancing down at his crotch. When I look back up, I realise he’s caught me staring. I blush, but he grins.
One stop. Two stops. He doesn’t get off the tube and the surge of people push me deeper into the carriage and closer to him. I stumble against him as the train accelerates – not entirely accidentally – and he catches me. I apologise as he helps me stand again. His grip on my arm is strong, and I can’t help but think about what those thick fingers would feel around my neck. Or buried deep inside my cunt.
He holds me a few moments too long, and it feels as though he can see right into my head and poke around my filthy thoughts as he looks at me. The tube stops and people stream out of the carriage. It’s empty now, so I go to step away. He takes my hand, ever so gently, and tugs me back.
I grin, pressing against him, and feel the unmistakable bulge of a hard dick encased in denim. He looks down at me hungrily, and I swear that my cunt skips a beat when he licks his lips. He bends down, and I’m sure he’s going to kiss me, but instead he growls into my ear.
“A tube train fuck is difficult, but I’m very tempted right now. Know that if we were anywhere else you’d already have your legs spread for me.”
The train, squealing on its rails as though it really needs some lube, pulls away from the platform, and I bask in the moment of reciprocated lust. The fact that he wants me, the fact that we’d be fucking right now if we could, is exceedingly hot. Even though there’s no possibility for us to fuck now, I will go home later and wank while thinking about him bending me over and fucking me hard.
The train rattles to a halt, but we’re not yet at the next stop. Instead of bright lights and the bustle of people that demand us to not be eye-fucking. A spark of hope makes my cunt clench, and I know we’re both thinking the same thing.
“How tempted?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. He grins.
A second later he has me bent over, my face rubbed against the tube seat and him pressing down on the small of my back. He pulls my knickers aside, perfect to slide right in for a quick and functional fuck. My cunt is wet and greedily welcomes his cock, and I moan into the scratchy fabric. He fucks me fast and hard, and my cunt clenches as he pushes down harder to muffle my groans so he can concentrate on fucking me. The fact we might get caught only makes this hotter.
A crackly announcement informs us of the delay, and maybe – just maybe – we will finish this fuck before the train starts moving again.
“Harder,” I pant. “I want you to come inside me.”
“Wish there was time to make you beg for it,” he says, his voice low and rough, but he thrusts harder and is coming only seconds later.
By the time the tube pulls into its next station, we are standing a respectable distance apart and my knickers are back in place. I blow him a kiss as I step off the train, and by the time I’m stepping on to an upwards-moving escalator I can feel his spunk dripping out of my cunt in the most delicious way.
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Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.