27 Minutes

There was a further excruciating moment of nothingness as I geared up for him. Yet instead of the expected hot sword ramming into one of my eager passages, his fingers dutifully and gradually inched south again. They tucked into my wet folds as if they belonged there permanently. Then immediately something else: his thumb pressed against my backside, seeking my crinkled hole, circling and sending ripples through my hips, finding the target and quickly pressing home. I let him of course. The familiar, dull ache in my rear, senses igniting as he pressed forward to clutch me in the classic bowling ball grip: two in the slit, one up the arse.

Managing to catch my emotions just in time, only a tiny cry escaped my hastily bitten lip and I thrust back against his palm as he fingered me. Though I truly wanted it to be his cock -- and I'd have willingly taken him any way he dictated right then -- his fingers were a superb surrogate and I squirmed and writhed in ecstasy. The spasms set up around each orifice radiated and collided somewhere in the centre of my body just behind my clit; different types of message for sure, but ones aimed in a single direction: my satisfaction. It was as if my little jewel was an electromagnet, humming powerfully and trying to draw every atom of my body towards the source.

With every passing moment, the intensity grew. Proud and firm, the gatekeeper to my sloshing insides, my clit stood defiantly, begging to be touched; daring me to complete my Holy Trinity of erogenous zones and send me off into the orgasmic abyss.

I had one free hand. But could I really do it? Here? The people either side of me had their backs or shoulders squashed against me. Adam and his relentless invasion shielded me from behind. So the only wild card was the Frenchman. I took in what I could, with any remaining brain power that wasn't diverted to keeping me aroused, weighing the risks. Although he was reading, I noticed he wasn't altogether concentrating. His eyes kept flicking up in my direction, glancing at each part of me in turn. Maybe my earlier noises weren't as subtle as I'd thought and he was keeping tabs on me in case things became interesting. Perhaps he'd already figured what was going on and was biding his time, hoping to see more.

From his seat I guessed he saw a desperate, dishevelled, very hot woman, leaning forward from a strap with her mouth agape and her eyes partially closed. Definite signs of arousal if the prominent state of my nipples wasn't enough of a clue. Whether he could see Adam's hand driving fingers between my legs was questionable, but I couldn't rule it out. The thrill that he could guess or see what was going on knotted my insides.

Did I have the courage to touch myself in front of this stranger? I'd already shown myself during the day. I'd flashed Laptop Guy and the sales assistant, and it had given me a massive buzz to do so. Heck, I'd once masturbated into the night, naked against a hotel window, so how hard was this?

My bottom clawed Adam's thumb and my pussy tried to swallow his fingers as we set up a steady rhythm. I stared dead ahead through glassy eyes. It came down to whether I trusted the Frenchman to take this for what it was -- a horny woman taking advantage of a situation and giving herself ultimate pleasure -- or whether he would cause a scene. I was having trouble focusing and found it hard to process, waiting to see some validation of either outcome but unable to properly concentrate. We exited another tunnel and the station flashed by as we slowed, its name and the new wave of bustling commuters hardly registering.

As the train picked up speed and Adam did likewise, continuing to turn my insides to molten lava, I eyed the Frenchman. I could feel my thighs becoming stickier as my juice flowed freely; could practically smell my arousal over the unsavoury body odour. And if I could, there was a good chance those swaying against me might. If the Frenchman dared look at my legs, he'd see the gooey trails of liquid for sure.

Such a rush. The indecency of being there and wanting relief was at odds with my sensibilities, yet I found myself once more in that stage beyond reason. Some kind of primal desires welled up inside me, beyond anything logic could contain. One way or another I knew the decision would soon not be mine to make. My creamy, frothing pussy and tight rear being raided by Adam's fingers would soon be the party to which the rest of my body would attend. The question was whether I was content jogging towards a mind-blowing orgasm or wanted to accelerate towards it.

As if he could sense my dilemma, the Frenchman chose that moment to make eye contact and I detected willingness in his expression. While there was the initial possibility it was my skewed interpretation -- part of me reading into things that weren't there or my desire to do it anyway and to hell with the consequences -- his languid downward gaze that traced my figure and centred on my skirt was unmistakable. As was the forming of an erection in his flannel trousers.

He'd taken in my aroused state. No doubt he'd seen my wet thighs. He'd put two and two together and his body had responded. That simple reaction gave me the boost I needed -- the Power Pill -- and was my cue. With heart hammering and spin cycle in my belly, I drifted my free hand to the hem of my skirt, right in front of my pussy. And with the leading edge of my fingers, I started to lift it.

The Frenchman's eyes widened and he shot a nervous glance at his wife, then returned glued to the scene unfolding less than a metre from him, trying and failing to pretend to be reading his paper. If he hadn't been able to see what Adam was doing before, when I flashed my slick lips at him it was conclusive. I'm quite sure the repetitive spreading and closing of my wanton entrance as fingers entered and vacated would be forever burned in his mind. He couldn't possibly tell how delightful it was to be the recipient of the actions -- and from his vantage point had no idea my bottom was also part of the experience -- but had he the presence of mind to drag his eyes away from my snatch, the picture my features painted would go most of the way toward describing it.

But it was clear he had no intention of diverting his stare anywhere other than my sopping centre. Twice in one day I'd deliberately and despicably shown my wet bounty to strange men: I was so not going to heaven.

The tension was electric. I felt enrapt just revealing myself, like I was caught in the path of a huge wrecking ball swinging against my stomach. The commuters all around us, disembarking and shoving into position were of no consequence; it was just Adam, the Frenchman and me in the hot carriage.

The urge to touch myself spiked and I couldn't delay it a second longer. With the gritty resolve of someone hovering over the key to launch a nuclear strike, I hit the button and nearly sent myself through the roof. Fireworks immediately ignited in my groin, sending pleasure waves to the farthest reaches of my body and it took just a handful of desperately executed, ungraceful yet forceful, grinding circles against my nub before I came.

Incredibly hard.

Everything collapsed inward, sucking every emotion that was currently in my body into a vortex with its epicentre on my flaming clitoris, and then burst in a kaleidoscope of light and sound. A roaring in my ears drowned out the chatter and rhythmic clanking of the train around me and I felt myself involuntarily flop forward like a rag doll, mercifully still maintaining grip on the ceiling strap. Adam slowed his actions and then stopped, burying his fingers deep as he must have felt the contractions begin in my soaked tunnel and the winking spasms of my arsehole; clenching him; drawing him in; thanking him for bringing me such joy.

My spine was a pulsing superhighway, ferrying messages at what felt in excess of the speed of sound to each area. It prickled and fizzed as each zone in my body lit up, starting with overloading the circuits connecting my nipples to my belly. Lightning struck both pink tips of my swollen chest simultaneously and it arced across them, racing down my front to connect with the raging knot between my legs. My breasts tightened yet momentarily felt several cup sizes larger, straining against my clothes as hoops of fire raced down their slopes to spread throughout my rib cage.

The Y-shaped electric charge was quickly gone, dissipating its energy to nearby regions of my body, making them glow with an intense white heat. But the bolt still retained its power at the top of my pussy and dispensed its payload in rhythmic surges to every corner of my stunned frame. About once a second I was paralysed as a contraction took hold, my pelvis seizing up and firing a searing spark of energy outward, which was caught by my limbs, momentarily locking and warming them. I had fleeting glimpses of the Frenchman as my vision came and went, unable to focus on any one thing. Riding out each contraction as heat spread through my pulsing body, I basked in the fabulous high of orgasm.

Lolling this way and that with the swaying of the train, my mind took me on a journey elsewhere; a place where I was flying over deserts and seas, cities and villages. A place where nothing but the spirit of release could take me; impossible lands, a tropical paradise; open sea between them. In my head, cold water sprayed me from a speedboat as I lay spread-eagled on its nose and careened across the ocean; just me and my open sex between the boat and never ending horizon. No cares. No worries. Nothing but deep contentment and a hollow vacuum in the pit of my stomach as wave after wave of excitement effervesced from my groin to the extremities of each limb.

As quickly as each travelled outward, they were rapidly sucked back to the source in the next instant, eddying around my appreciative clitoris before the next would shoot out, carrying sexual current to the fringes of my body and over-stimulated brain stem.

Emotionally I felt nothing at first, it was purely physical: mechanical and electrical. The emotional response always came as my brain gradually switched that part back on and made sense of the feelings that the physical components induced. Now I felt full and satisfied; strong and invincible; terribly naughty and dangerous.

The endorphin rush washed through me and renewed juices drizzled from my core to coat Adam's clamped fingers. Without him to plug my saturated pussy I would probably have been standing in a sizeable wet patch.

Standing.

Shit.

My eyes shot open and body jerked to attention as I felt the train decelerate. Adrenaline flooded my system, unceremoniously putting the brakes on my orgasm, I blinked a few times and the commuter train reality hit me like a boxer's sucker punch. Snapping my head frantically from person to person, I noticed the Frenchman smiling, newspaper forgotten and tented in his lap. His wife was peeking past the nearest passenger and staring at me agog while the small circle of businessmen and women in my immediate vicinity were either gawping or shuffling uneasily and overtly avoiding eye contact with me.

What had I done?

I panicked and unsteadily bolted for the opening door, wrenching myself free of Adam's fingers and only just remembering to grab my shoe bag. Feeling more than a little empty, I wrestled my skirt down to cover what little of my dignity remained and charged through the wall of people for the doorway. With steely determination and angry grunts from the inconvenienced, I burst from the carriage, the cooler air of the station hitting me like a tidal wave. Adam followed at pace and just made it off the train as the buzzer ended and doors rolled shut. He ran after me as I stalked off through the crowd, and caught up with me by the stairs, spinning me round. Reflexively, I punched him on the shoulder.

"What the fuck did I...?"

"What?" He smirked just a little.

"Oh Jesus, did... was I loud?"

He smiled and I hit him again, gasping in a couple of lungfuls of air which I hadn't realised I'd needed until my body thanked me.

A nearby guard approached.

"Mademoiselle? Vous allez bien?"

"Oui," I panted. "Ça va."

He didn't seem convinced. "Il y a un problème?"

"Non. Pas problème... pas de problème," I corrected myself. "Merci, monsieur. Merci."

He remained a little unsure, but retreated when I grabbed Adam's arm and started to ascend the stairs. I hadn't noticed until then we were at Châtelet -- perhaps the biggest and busiest station on the line -- but I was fuming, mainly with embarrassment, so the rest of the ascent to the surface was in brooding silence.

At street level, things were still bustling and I led the way to an intersection. I didn't want to admit what had just happened and paced this way and that, not wishing to look anyone in the eye for fear of being recognised. What had I been thinking?! With my temperament, there was no way it could have ended in any other manner: I was a sexual train crash.

For the second time that day I cursed myself for getting caught up in events. And yet there was no denying how it had felt at the time. The release; the heat; the power. Being elevated beyond the physical constraints of my body and experiencing the electrical impulses on a metaphysical plane was something I had thoroughly enjoyed savouring. If I was being honest, parts of me were still aching with desire and whether I wanted to face it or not, deep down I knew I'd have to find a way to repeat those feelings in future because they were incredible and afforded me a balance I needed; a way to find out more about who I really was.

The packed streets seemed overbearing as commuters and tourists alike strode, ambled or nudged around us. I was still shaking inside as we threaded our way from the station -- destination anywhere -- but progressively began to calm the more distance I put between myself and the Metro.

Eventually I came to a standstill and allowed myself to take in the sights and occasionally sulphurous smells from the drains of the early evening city. People criss-crossed the roads ahead of me, some of them ignoring the green pedestrian walk symbols and risking their lives crossing lanes of stop-start traffic. Although in Paris, like in other major European cities, even a green man doesn't guarantee safe passage to the other side.

Adam caught up after being snagged behind a troupe of slow moving Japanese students. "We're a few miles from where we need to be."

"Which way?"

He pointed up Boulevard de Sebastopol and I followed his finger.

"Let's walk," I said, adding, "I've had enough of the Metro for one day."

Adam laughed and poked my ribs playfully.

We set off along the wide street and after a few minutes I reached for his hand. "Sorry for hitting you back there."

"Apology accepted."

"It's just... God, did we really...?"

He nodded.

"And, seriously, what happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"Well, yeah. Kind of, up until the end."

"Was it good?"

"Amazing."

"Then that's all you need to know."

"Oh come on!" I begged. "Please?"

He shrugged. "Yes you made some noise. A long, low groan which made a few people around you suspicious, but you might have got away with it until you started panting as well with your hand stuffed between your legs."

I blushed. "No! Really?"

"'Fraid so."

"Shit. I think we'll avoid that line tomorrow."

"Definitely."

We ambled arm in arm up the road a good kilometre or so, where the street became Boulevard de Strasbourg, stopping off shortly after for a light dinner at a nondescript yet perfectly Parisian brasserie.

As we waited for the bill to arrive, watching a shop owner opposite closing up for the evening, I sat back and looked at Adam while freeing my hair, shaking the kinks out and fluffing the life back into it, looping the hair tie round my wrist for safekeeping. I knew there was one thing he still wanted and, despite myself, knew I owed him an apology for humiliating us both on the underground. Even if it had technically been his fault. Plus he'd bought me an incredibly expensive pair of shoes for being his personal harlot for the day.

I reminded him about confiscating my underwear and whether he intended to make good on his promises in return. He considered it while I ran my foot up his leg under the table.

"I'm not sure. You've been a very bad girl."

"Yes, I have." I drained the remaining mouthful of house white. "But don't bad girls get a chance to redeem themselves? You know, through their actions maybe?"

He seemed amused. "After everything you've done today, are you throwing yourself at me?"

"Pretty much."

"You're incorrigible."

"Undoubtedly."

"What can you offer?"

"What do you want?"

"I asked first."

I submissively lowered my face a little and shot him a coquettish look. "How about a few more-than-willing places to slide into? I could really make your day."

"You've already made my day." He paused. "It's tempting, but you've been exceptionally naughty. I'm not sure you deserve such riches. Anything else to sweeten the deal? To make it worth my while lowering myself to your filthy level?"

After all the build-up I was a little crestfallen at the thought of him breaking his promise. But unlike me, he hadn't come yet and there was something behind his eyes, some flicker of thirst that belied the charade. Then I got it. Dammit he was testing me again. To see how far I'd go in my subordinate role.

I thought for a moment, playing along, trying to find something to fire him up. Something he couldn't resist.

Of course.

"Take my panties out."

He did as instructed, right there at the table, then waited.

As dirtily as I could muster, with bags of loaded intent, I hissed, "Smell them."

Adam didn't need asking twice to bring them to his nose, making sure to align them so the crotch stained with my earlier arousal was upward. He breathed deeply and I could see the desire well up in his face. Yes!

Knowing he'd be rigid beneath the table I ran my foot up and pressed the sandal against his groin like I'd done earlier, watching his excitement levels soar again. "How about I give you as much of that as you can take, directly from the source? And I promise to be a good girl from now on."

He sniffed again, clearly aroused and pleased with my offering, then hastily pocketed the garment as the waiter brought the bill.

Adam paid, left a customary tip and we continued up the Boulevard, towards our left luggage and ultimately the hotel. The suspense was killing. I pressed him for an answer. "So, do we have a deal?"

He looked across at me. "Yes. You surrender your buttery pussy to my face and this time you can be as loud as you like when you come."

I beamed, relieved. My kind of deal. "Thank you, Sir. You won't be disappointed."

"I should hope not. When you've had enough of my tongue I will take you in any manner of your choosing, on one condition."

"Name it," I breathed, already anticipating the feeling of my lover's hard pole inside my body as he pawed my tits and nuzzled my neck from behind.

He grabbed my bottom through the skirt and said, "Never stop being bad."

Then he ran ahead and I gave chase.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The luggage only just made it through the door ahead of us before it was forgotten. I wriggled out of my sandals and flung them in the doorless wardrobe as Adam hopped on one foot removing his second shoe, then we crushed together and spiralled into the room, kissing and groping as we went.

Stopping just short of the bed, he grabbed my butt again and hiked the skirt up to my waist as our tongues duelled wetly. The sexual tension of the day had made us both on the brink of boiling point and there was no need for foreplay; if anything, the entire day had been foreplay and this was our main event: raw, passionate, frenzied lovemaking.