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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
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On Hungerford Bridge
by Jezza (ouirup4it@yahoo.co.uk)
***
Wife fucks stranger she meets on train. (MF, wife-
sharing, husb-voy)
***
Where sex was concerned my girlfriend and later my
wife was full of surprises. Never conventionally
monogamous, neither of us were particularly
territorial with each other though I confess I was
turned on by her transgressions whereas I suspect she
tolerated mine. We were only recently married in the
early seventies and had a flat in Teddington. We
often went up to town to see bands or get a meal in
one of the trendy but cheap bistro's that were
opening around Notting Hill. It was after one such
outing that the incident I am to relate occurred.
After a few drinks in a little pub in Bayswater we
sauntered out to the tube. It was a warm July Friday
evening. Les had on a blue dress with orange polka
dots which fitted her upper body snugly before
flaring out to finish well above the knee in a
ruffled hem . That and the low cut ruffled neck line
gave it a sort of Spanish look I suppose. She was
tanned, carried a shoulder bag in the same colour as
the dress with white platform sandals.
All night long she had attracted plenty of attention.
Hardly surprising. Her long auburn hair shone and
with her aquiline features she could well have been
Spanish or Italian. The dress without being overly
snug showed she had the firmness of body appropriate
for her twenty two years and her 34a breasts clearly
didn't need the help of the lacy push up bra that she
wore. Needless to say I felt like a cat that got the
cream. It was unusually busy.
Whether there was major event on in the vicinity or
not I don't know but from being arm in arm we had to
put up with holding hands in the crowd on the
platform. When the train came it to was pretty full
but when you're young it's part of the fun and we
allowed ourselves to be carried by the tide of people
into the carriage.
We were separated in the jostling for a space to
stand and could only exchange mouthed messages to
each other between the heads and shoulders of our
fellow travellers. At Notting hill gate we had the
opportunity to get a bit nearer each other but it was
no less congested. The train rattled along the circle
line towards South Ken. Before we reached Gloucester
Road she mouthed something to me and I struggled to
lip read. Something about a number I thought.
I responded, 'What are you on about?' Her lips
repeated their routine. This time with more
precision, or perhaps I was keenly attentive. Anyway
no mistaking she said "is this the queue for the No47
to Richmond", and raised her eyebrows indicating
behind her. This was a bit of an in joke between us.
She had come back from a shopping expedition in
Kingston one Saturday saying she'd been 'goosed' in
the bus queue by a guy.
At first she had thought he had pushed against her by
accident, but when he persisted in standing close
behind her even when there was no crush, she had
turned round to give him a warning look. He then
blurted out "Is this the queue?" And ran off. Since
then if passing her in the confined space of our
flat, I had often rubbed my groin against her behind
and made the same comment.
I stared at her quizzically, mouthing "the guy behind
you?"
She smirked back and nodded surreptitiously. I was
still separated from her by a number of bodies, and
was unsure what to do. Silently I questioned, "Are
you ok?"
She responded with another smirk this time
unmistakeably lascivious and "I'm enjoying the
attention!"
I was to say the least bewildered. When the Kingston
incident happened, she had been rightly indignant at
the bloke's presumption that he could get away with
touching her up uninvited, in public. Now, well who
knows what she was thinking. At least it resolved one
issue. I wasn't in the immediate situation expected
to throw someone off the train.
I turned my attention to man behind her. Difficult to
judge his age. Like many city types of which I
guessed he was one, he held a copy of the Standard in
his strap hanging hand which partially obscured his
face. His posture was straight, taller than me maybe
5'-11" (putting his tackle I estimated on a level
with Les's behind), his hair showing some grey
probably meant he was in his late thirties.
It was not possible to make anymore ground toward Les
until the doors opened at South Ken. With some
manoeuvring I was able to stand right I front of her.
The city gent made no move but then neither did my
wife. The doors closed and the rumbling train
accelerated into the tunnel. I stared at him over her
shoulder. He was, about forty, clean shaven and
looked impassively at his paper, nothing in his
expression indicting anything untoward was at hand.
I noticed his raincoat, worn no doubt over a pin
stripe suit, was open and effectively provided a
screen either side of Lesley. She had adjusted her
position and was now holding the same strap as him.
They rocked together with the roll and pitch of the
carriage.
Whispering to her again, "You ok?"
I was told in a breathless tone, "I can feel his
prick rubbing against my bum."
"You don't mind do you? It's just a laugh really."
Even if I minded on one level, my cock was already
twitching at the knowledge of what she was allowing.
Edging closer to her but not wanting to make her
molester aware of our connection I placed a hand on
her hip and was shocked to realise she was gently
flexing her buttocks against this strangers cock. He
was backed up against the partition to the door
access area. Les in front of him, left side to the
doors her left hand clutching her bag.
Their closeness suggested they could have been a
couple or maybe not to the casual observer. I was
both concerned that she should not be exposed in
public but wanted the assault to continue, so placed
myself to further obscure them from other passengers.
As the train slowed into another station I was aware
of Les shifting her stance, placing her feet slightly
apart. Momentarily her eyes closed and she bit her
lip. Then her expression resumed its composure. She
smirked at me, I lip read. "his hand is in my
knickers"
My cock was straining in my pants imagining the city
suit's fingers surreptitiously sliding under the
elastic of her white broderie anglais pants and
probing my wife's fanny. My attention flitted from
her to him. Neither of their faces betrayed the
intimacy of what was apparently happening between
them though Les' face had that look of distant
concentration I had seen sometimes when she was
trying to control the build up to a climax. The only
change was that somehow the guy had disposed of his
Evening Standard.
Screeching and squealing the train stopped and the
doors opened. We were at the Embankment. Our Stop. I
looked at my wife and said, "It's our stop." She was
motionless for a second then stepped away from her
clandestine partner. She followed me onto the
platform without looking back. As we came through the
barrier, she began to giggle. "He had his cock out
between the cheeks of my bum."
"You dirty sod!" I laughed back.
"Would have let him fuck me?" she asked.
"I would have watched you as well," I replied.
"Well, you're a dirty sod too then." And we held
hands and joined the homeward crowds on the
embankment pavement. As we paused to cross the road
to take our usual goodnight look at the river, I
looked over my shoulder. The city gent was standing
watching us from the entrance of the metro station.
I told her, "Your boyfriend is following us."
"I don't want to see his face," she whispered, "that
would spoil it." She led the way. Crossing the road
at a convenient break in the traffic, then up the
steps to the Hungerford footbridge to Waterloo. As we
reached the first landing I saw the man take the
first step in our wake. In a few seconds we were on
the bridge.
As usual it was gloomy, with patches of heavy shadow
where the lighting failed to reach. Some people
avoided it after dark but we had always enjoyed the
view of the river from here and the distant buildings
lit up. There were few people about not even the
drunks who occasionally begged for a bob to buy a
'cup of tea'.
Somewhere towards the middle, at a spot palely lit by
an overhead lamp Les stopped and looked out over the
river. Her chin barely cleared the parapet of the
bridge. "I want to let him have me. You want me to,
don't you? Will you wait a little way further up the
bridge?"
I nervously nodded. "Ok but I'll keep you in sight,"
and walked slowly towards the Southbank.
From where I stood I could see Les, bare armed, hands
on the parapet facing the river looking towards the
Southbank Centre. Even in the milky light her white
shoes stood out and her brown legs seemed to shine,
but maybe that's my imagination. I watched as the
city type emerged from the distant darkness through a
well-lit patch, his pale raincoat illuminated by the
weak light and walk up behind my wife.
Both of his hands slipped under the hem of her dress,
and there was a momentary flash of white as he tugged
her knickers down her legs. Her dress was up round
her waist as she stepped out of the flimsy pants.
Then she was enveloped by the folds of his raincoat
as he stepped in close. A couple arm in arm, giggled
as they passed then looked disapprovingly at me,
judging correctly that I was a voyeur. I could see
his right hand was foraging up around her front.
He leaned back, I heard the zip hum, and she dropped
her arms. The dress slid off her shoulders. She
returned her hands to the parapet and kept her gaze
over the river as his fingers pushed her bra up out
of the way and mauled her small hard breasts. From
behind me a group of lads sauntered through,
sniggering they shouted to the city guy to "give her
one for us" but continued on their way. The city
gents left hand was deep into her crotch pulling her
into him no doubt parting her downy pubic hair and
reaming her cunt.
For the first time in their encounter I could hear
Les murmuring. Relinquishing his handling of her
tits, city man's hand dropped to his groin. Les' body
was revealed for a few seconds naked except for her
dress, bunched around her hips and the white of her
bra like a scarf above her pert breasts. He was
clearly positioning himself and bent his knees before
thrusting his groin forward.
My wife accepted his lunge, hands on the parapet legs
akimbo and backside presented perfectly for his cock
to have no resistance. Briefly he paused, his groin
and her behind snug together, before commencing to
fuck furiously. Resuming his fondling of her breasts,
he grunted as he rammed into her, forcing her against
the wall of the bridge, his left hand continuing its
ministrations at the front of her fanny.
Though she had had sex with other blokes before and
since our wedding last year, sometimes with my
encouragement, this was the first time I'd actually
been there. I watched and felt my cock leaking cum
into my pants. "He can't last much longer," I
thought.
At which point his frantic assault stopped and half a
dozen convulsive jerks indicated he was shooting his
load .For a few seconds he held on to her then
stepped back. I saw his prick still half hard. He
wiped it on her behind, zipped up his trousers and
walked off in the direction of the embankment.
As I walked towards Les, I thought how disgustingly
sexy she looked in the lamplight. Her dress still
around her hips and sperm dripping down the insides
of her thighs. I wanted to fuck her right there, but
she had pulled down the hem of her dress and I judged
for the moment it was best to leave her alone.
She rearranged her bra and I zipped up the dress. We
walked in silence to our train at Waterloo. Luckily
we had a compartment to ourselves. "That was pretty
wild," she said.
I agreed.
"Did it turn you on?" she asked.
"I came in my pants," I admitted.
"Well then, you can make me come now," she laughed
pulling the hem of her dress up to expose her cunt,
pubic hair matted with her lovers spunk.
My dick was already stiff, as I pulled her onto her
knees in front of me and slid my hand under to part
her cunt lips. It slid into her easily. Suddenly I
was hammering at her with the same ferocity I had
seen from the city gent only half an hour ago. "It
really turns me on when you're dirty!" I gasped. "You
are such a filthy slut." Pausing only when the train
pulled into stations we fucked all the way back to
Hampton Wick.
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than a
trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 82