The Underground

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Dear readers:


Book One is still available as a free download on Smashwords. Book Two is now out and is available for purchase on both Smashwords and Amazon:


Book Two on Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/83238


Book Two on Amazon: http://www.amazon.co.uk/My-Life-Sex-Gram-ebook/dp/B005IYY0CM


See below for a sneak preview of what's coming up in Book Three. Available to read in full for one day only.




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Anyone who has been to London knows that the Underground is an absolute nightmare at busy times. Sometimes the carriages are so full you cannot physically squeeze another person onto them. I have frequently been on trains where I am pressed up against someone’s armpit or back. No one speaks to anyone, unless a group gets on together, then it’s like they compensate for everyone else’s reticence by making as much noise as possible – or maybe it just seems that way to the rest of the passengers. But otherwise, there is generally silence, except for the tinny “ts-ts-ts” of music coming through earbuds. We Brits don’t talk to strangers, except an eccentric few, who gabble away to whoever they sit next to, who in turn smiles politely and uncomfortably, and breathes a silent sigh of relief when the chatterer gets off.


This one day I was coming home from central London. I hadn’t been working – I’d had a friend over for a visit and was taking her to Euston to see her off. I’d done a bit of window-shopping afterwards and forgot the time – stupidly got myself stuck in rush hour traffic.


So there I was, getting gradually pushed further and further back in the carriage as more work-weary commuters got on, filling the increasingly limited space with briefcases and laptop bags. The lucky, seated ones hid behind newspapers and avoided eye contact so they didn’t have to feel guilty about having a seat. Hot bodies pressed against me on all sides; one woman’s flabby bingo wings pressed against my upper arms and a tall man elbowed me in the chest as he lifted his hand to hold onto the grab rail. The train started and I lurched backwards into someone behind me, who caught me agilely. I glanced back to say a brief thank you for his quick instincts and found myself staring, dry-mouthed, at one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen. He wasn’t especially tall, maybe 5’ 10” or so, Mediterranean in appearance, with thick black wavy hair and deep brown eyes. His tan stood out shockingly against his bright white t-shirt and his muscled arms held me steady as I just gazed into his eyes. A smile appeared on his delectable mouth, and I looked away, heat flooding my face.


“Thank you,” I managed to mumble, pulling away from him and holding onto the nearest rail.


“Prego,” he said, inclining his head in a slight bow. I must have looked blank because he elaborated with a heavily-accented, “You’re welcome.”


I turned away from him, surprised and a little amused at the intensity of my physical reaction to him. I see men every day. I have sex with men pretty much every day. I don’t usually feel like this from a single look. More people crowded onto the carriage at the next station, and the one after that until I was forced still further back into him. His body heat made me tremble. I wasn’t quite pressed against him but there couldn’t have been more than a centimetre between us. I could hear him breathing into my hair. I wondered what would happen if I closed that final minuscule gap between us, and pressed my body up against his, pushing my bottom into his crotch and my back against his chest. Would he be offended? Maybe he was married, or had a girlfriend. I wasn’t used to wondering if a man wanted me or not; it was usually a given. I closed my eyes and inhaled his closeness.


I jumped half a mile into the air when I felt a warm hand on my waist.


“Shh,” he said in my ear, gentling me with a slow stroke of his thumb on my back. He placed his other hand on the other side of my waist and pulled me gently backwards towards him. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back onto his chest. He rested his cheek on my hair and inhaled. I felt his hands moving infinitesimally slowly on my waist, stroking, caressing. I shivered as he moved his hands around to my stomach and stretched his thumbs up to trace the outline of my bottom rib. His fingers traced circles on my belly and his thumbs reached still higher to graze the underside of my breasts. He shifted behind me and I felt a long firmness pressing into me from behind.


Of course, this man thought I was a normal girl, one who could well turn round and slap his face for daring to touch her. How long could I drag this out for? I wondered, with a little inward smile.


I kept very still, not giving him any encouragement, but also not pulling away, which itself was encouragement enough. Very slowly the Italian trailed his thumbs along the lower curve of my breasts. I glanced down at my cleavage, girded up to maximum with the padded bra I was wearing to further enhance my already ample assets. I knew he was looking down my top over my shoulder – he had a perfect view. I could feel he was starting to get excited now – he took firm hold of my hips and pulled me back into him, pushing his erection into my lower back.


My own breath was starting to come more raggedly, but I stayed motionless, letting him do what he pleased. He seemed to relax for a moment, leaving his hands on my hips and taking a deep breath, as if to calm himself.


Il Italiano inched his hands up and under my top. The touch of his hot hands on the bare flesh on my waist sent tingles to every extremity. I desperately wanted to turn round and grab his cock. I wanted him to rip off my clothes and fuck me, right there on the filthy carriage floor. I bit my lower lip till the sting brought me back to my senses. The guys that book me aren’t big on foreplay, which is usually fine. But I was determined to enjoy this.


He left his hands on my bare waist for several minutes, just stroking my bare skin and nuzzling into my hair. Then, one hand started to explore. Very slowly, millimetre by tantalising millimetre, it began to descend down past the hem of my skirt until just a fingertip landed on my thigh. Butterfly-light, it began to trace circles on my skin. When I didn’t object to that, it continued back and round, continuing to inscribe patterns on the back of my thigh. The finger snuck under my skirt and drew an invisible line on the crease between buttock and leg, making me weak-kneed with longing. My pussy was beginning to throb and I had to stop myself very firmly from pushing my cunt onto his hand.


He began to murmur into my ear, quiet words in Italian. The only word I recognised was, “Bellissima,” everything else was a jumble. He could have been calling me anything for all I knew. The exploring fingertip was joined by its fellows and now both hands were flat on my ass cheeks, squeezing and kneading.


Then I felt that impertinent finger again, sliding behind the string of my thong. Teasingly at first, it moved slowly up and down – I could feel it tickling, so close, so close, then pulling away. I knew my thong was wet from my juices – he rubbed it between his finger and thumb, then pulled away unexpectedly. In my peripheral vision, I saw him lift his finger and thumb to his nose and inhale.


The fingers returned. One hand moved my thong aside and the other ventured between my thighs, cupping my entire pussy. I glanced around. No one was watching. Everyone else in the carriage was glassy-eyed, staring into nothing, or busy prodding at flashing, beeping bits of technology, those with iPads sneering at those with iPhones, who in turn looked down on those who only had Blackberries. The front of my skirt hid the activity at the back. No one was paying attention.


I inhaled sharply as Il Italiano began to move his long middle finger around my pussy area, touching and teasing my slick flesh. I longed to feel his cock inside me – but a finger would have to do. Despite my resolution not to, I pushed down on him ever so slightly – it was all the invitation he needed. He slipped two fingers up inside me, moving them around, pressing hard up towards my belly button. I smothered a moan and shut my eyes as the middle finger slipped out again and teased my clit gently before slipping back in and finger-fucking me firmly. I ground my teeth in frustration as he teased and touched, rubbing my clit almost to the point of cumming before diving back inside. I couldn’t speak – couldn’t tell him to fuck me right now – I just had to endure it.


I opened my eyes and happened to catch the glance of another young guy who was standing further over in the carriage. He had a smirk on his face that told me he knew exactly what was going on. His eyes dropped to the point at which my ass was backed up against Il Italiano’s crotch and when he looked back at me I knew I was meant to see it. I knew that he knew that I knew that he knew! I looked at the bulge in his crotch. At least he was enjoying himself.


Il Italiano’s fingers resumed their teasing of my clit and, with difficulty, I schooled my face to a blank expression. This time his long middle finger was joined by his fore-finger and the two fingers alternately kneaded my clit, like a kitten’s paws on its mother. I looked at the other guy right in the eyes, staring him down as Il Italiano made me cum right there in the middle of the crowded carriage. I spasmed and felt myself squirting all over his hand. My hand flailed behind me and grabbed a handful of belt and denim, clutching his jeans waistband in an attempt to stay upright as my orgasm ripped through me. Despite my best efforts, a tiny involuntary mew escaped my mouth, but the train was making so much noise I was drowned out. Certainly no one looked round. When he sensed my tremors had stopped, he withdrew his fingers, replacing his hands firmly on my hips as if to say, “You’re not going anywhere!”


I had no intention of going anywhere. I still wanted to feel his cock and to give him the same pleasure he had given me.


People had started to get off now as we headed out into surburbia. The crowd in the carriage thinned. Il Italiano and I stayed where we were, as did the young guy who had been watching us. I could still feel his erection undiminished, pressing into me from behind. As soon as the last remaining straggler had left, I bent over, held onto the grab rails and looked back at Il Italiano with my best “take me now” expression.


He looked from me to the other guy and back again, raising his eyebrows in surprised query. I smiled my encouragement and waggled my hips at him. He quickly unzipped his jeans and released the hard-on I had been craving for the past twenty minutes. Flipping up my skirt, he slid it into my wet and needy pussy with a groan, reaching one hand around to cup my breasts as he pumped me rapidly, murmuring in Italian the whole time.


The feel of that long Italian cock inside me was divine. I closed my eyes and reached down to play with my still-tender clit, bracing myself against the rail with my other hand. He said something in a chiding tone of voice and pushed my hand away, replacing it with his own. He rubbed me harder as he fucked me; I held onto the rail with both hands, pushing back to meet him. I could feel it coming, and this time I could be noisy.


“Fuck me, oh God yes!” I gasped as he thrust faster and harder. His fingers moved convulsively on my clit and I shuddered again and again, letting out all those noises I had kept in last time. The carriage echoed with my orgasm followed by loud Italian sex words as, all restraint gone, he held hard onto my hips and pounded me with one last barrage before subsiding behind me with a sigh.


I could see the other guy standing waiting for his turn, but no sooner had Il Italiano zipped himself away than the carriage doors opened and a family got on.


I sat down on one of the many vacant seats, feeling his hot Italian cum dripping down onto the seat beneath me. The other guy stood glaring daggers at me, which wasn’t really fair. It wasn't my fault the family had got on, and I hadn’t offered him sex anyway. Tooting Bec station was up next – my stop. I stood up to leave, prompting a, “Ciao bella!” from Il Italiano. I gave him a smile and stepped off, disconcerted to see the other guy following me.


“Hey!” he called as I made my way swiftly up the platform. I didn’t turn round. “Hey, slut!” he called again, running to catch up with me. He grabbed my arm and spun me round. “So what’s your game?” he said, a sneer on his face as he looked me up and down. “Is it my turn now?”


“I don’t think so!” I said, wrenching my arm away.


“Not good enough for you, am I? You’ll fuck him on a train, but not me?”


“That’s right,” I said, glancing about for assistance. The platform was deserted. I had no choice but to make a sprint for the escalators.


“Oh no you don’t!” he said, making a lunge for my arm. I pulled away and ran for it, sprinting up the escalators. I was half way up when I stumbled and fell, grazing my leg on the escalator step. Blood trickling down my shin, I limped up the remaining steps, but he was gaining on me. I mustered all my energy. I might not have been wearing my running shoes but I ran at least three miles every day – I could certainly outrun this muppet. I dashed out of the station and across the road, diving into The Wheatsheaf. I made it to the Ladies, deliberately standing at the door until I saw him come in and look around for me. As soon as I knew he had spotted me, I gave him a nonchalant little wave and disappeared through the door, locking it behind me.


Once safe inside the Ladies, I checked the graze on my shin, washing off the blood with a wad of sodden toilet paper. It was long but not too bad – I made a pad of some dry folded toilet paper and stuck it to my knee, using the blood itself as an adhesive.


A banging on the door made me jump. “You can’t hide in there forever!” came the angry snarl from outside.


“Wanna bet?” I called back.


I got out my phone, typing, “RU anywhere near Tooting Bec?” and sending it to my friend Mark, who just happens to be a policeman and my occasional booty call.


“Give me ten mins. Wassup babe?” came the reply.


“Trying to shake off an idiot. I’m in the Ladies in the Wheatsheaf.”


“OK – be there soonest.”


It wasn't even ten minutes before a text came through. “I’m outside. Want me to arrest him?”


“No, just scare him a bit,” I sent back. I let myself out of the Ladies. Sure enough, he was still hovering outside, glowering at the world. As soon as I came out, he came close to me, pressing me against the wall and stopping me leaving.


“Listen, if you don’t let me go, you’ll be sorry!” I said, letting a pretend shiver of fear enter my voice. I saw Mark approaching quietly over his shoulder, looking edible in his uniform.


“You’re the one who’ll be sorry, you prick-teasing little cunt,” he growled, running a rough hand down my body and looking down my cleavage.


A second later he found himself grabbed and slammed against the wall next to me. “No, I think the lady was right!” Mark said, twisting his arm behind his back.


“What are you doing, mate? She’s my girlfriend. We’re just having a bit of a row,” he protested immediately. My whole face contorted with amused horror at the enormity of the lie.


“Funny that, as she’s MY girlfriend!” Mark said, giving an extra twist to the arm. My stomach gave a funny little jolt when I heard Mark describe me as his girlfriend.


“Really? Well, it looks like she’s cheating on both of us then. She’s not worth it mate – she’s just a fucking slut!” he gasped out.


“Do you want me to arrest him, sweetheart?” he said, looking at me with a wink.


“No, just leave it,” I said, with a sniff.


“All right – you can go. This time!” Mark said with a glower.


“Seriously, mate, she’s cheating on you. I saw her fuck some guy on the tube right in front of me.” This last he said with a giant smirk, looking right at me, clearly thinking he had dropped me in it with my copper boyfriend.


I gasped hugely and brought all my acting talents to bear. “Oh, what a huge lie,” I said, screwing up my face as if I was about to cry and let a sob enter my voice. “I didn’t! Sweetheart, I swear I didn’t. He’s making it up!”


“No I’m not, you bitch and you know it. You’re a cheating dirty whore and I hope he dumps you. I wouldn’t touch you – you’re probably riddled with the clap,” he said as a parting shot as he stood at the door. Mark held his arm out to me and I snuggled in close to his side.


“I didn’t. You do believe me, don’t you, honey!” I said, turning huge innocent eyes on Mark.


“Of course I do, baby,” he said, dropping a kiss on my hair.


The guy shook his head in despair and let the door slam as he left.


“Need a lift?” Mark said, taking my hand as we walked towards the exit.


“Wouldn’t mind,” I said.


“So, did you fuck some guy on a train?” he said as he drove me the mile to the flat.


“Might’ve.” I shrugged, meeting his amused glance in the rear view mirror.


“You are such a bad girl!” he said, shaking his head.


“And that’s why you love me!” I twinkled.


“It certainly is!”