Metro Mischief

Summer’s interruption of my law school studies in London meant that I was going to be at a loose end for more than six weeks. My father, a successful Indian businessman, suggested that I might take myself off to Spain.

“You know you’ve always wanted to be fluent in a second language and there are excellent private language schools in several Spanish cities. I’m happy to pay.” I needed no second prompting and by the end of the morning had enrolled on a residential course with the famous Don Quixote Academy in Barcelona.

July that summer in London had been hot – but nothing compared to the stifling temperatures which greeted me in Barcelona. The language school had billeted me with a lovely old Spanish widow who lived alone in the city’s exclusive Monjuic district. Each morning I travelled down to my classes on the Metro network. For my breakfast, I usually bought a coffee and a pastry from a vendor by the station entrance.

The underground station’s platforms were lovely and cool and I would often let two or three trains go through while I ate my breakfast. As a further ‘aid’ to remaining cool all day, I would invariably leave off my panties. On this particular morning I had rather recklessly decided to go to my classes bra-less, even though the cotton floral sari I’d chosen had a particularly ‘plunging’ neckline! Though not an exhibitionist by nature, I enjoy attracting admiring glances of my shapely body.

I finished my breakfast and was checking the messages on my smart phone when it slipped from my hand and fell onto the platform. I leaned forward on the bench, but before I could retrieve it a handsome young Spaniard stepped forward and scooped it up.

Gracias, senor.

De nada, senorita.” He gave me a lovely smile and as he bowed and handed my phone back I saw him sneak a quick look into my cleavage. Though I hastily pulled the edge of my sari up, I realised from his smile that he had had a good view not only of my ample bosom but of my nipples and my large dark brown areolae too! I was slightly flustered and decided I should let the next train go through.

I crossed my legs and let the hem of my sari fall open – not so much as an act of ‘flashing’ but so that the cool air currents flowing out of the tunnel entrance would waft across my pussy. I hastily ‘covered up’ (and blushed somewhat) when I observed that the young man who had retrieved my phone was lounging against a nearby column and was deep in conversation with another youth. They both looked about nineteen. He glanced in my direction, whispered to his friend and then smiled at me again. There was now barely half-an-hour before my first class began. As the next Metro train approached, I stood up and walked to the edge of the platform.

The train was crowded, with many standing passengers holding onto handles and rails. I headed for the quietest part of the carriage. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that the two youths had also joined the train and had chosen to stand in the same space as me. I clasped a support post with both hands, not realising how vulnerable this made me. More commuters piled in at the next stop and many of our bodies were now touching.

As the train rumbled out of the station I felt a hand run slowly across the cheeks of my bottom. Then a second hand began to ‘explore’ the front of my sari until it had found an opening between the folds. Meanwhile the hand on my posterior had located the recess between my bum cheeks and was now pressing a knuckled finger gently against my sphincter. I clutched the post firmly and stared at the floor in an attempt to conceal my feelings of heightened arousal. Now the youth at the front had ‘gained entry’ to my most private place and was slowly rubbing two fingers against my clittie. I was too scared to make eye contact lest he might see how much I was enjoying this dangerous game, though I was sure he’d felt my moisture.

With only two stops more before we reached Las Rambla, the train ground to a halt in the tunnel. The carriage lights flickered and went out. We were stationary in the pitch dark.

The youth behind me continued with his subtle ministrations of my backside; but my admirer at the front (I was pretty sure it was the one who had rescued my phone) was no longer teasing my clittie with his fingers. Taking advantage of the blackout he had unzipped his slacks and was now brazenly rubbing the tip of his cock across my slit. I could feel droplets of his pre-cum merging with the love honey I was excitedly secreting. Ravaged from behind, ravaged in front and I was loving it! Still the train remained motionless and dark, though the temperature in our carriage was rising rapidly and I was perspiring profusely.

Eventually our train moved forwards and the lights went back on. Several passengers shuffled towards the exit doors ready to disembark at Las Rambla. Amongst them were my two silent assailants. Each had thoughtfully left me a ‘calling card’. Trickling down the inside of both my thighs I felt streams of their fresh warm semen! Light-headed, I stepped down from the carriage.

Riding up to the Plaça de Calalunya on the long escalator, I cautiously slipped a hand inside my sari, stroked the inside of my legs, removed it and wiped one finger across my lips. It tasted divine.

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