I usually try to avoid travelling on the London underground during the evening rush-hour, but today I have a late tutorial and it’s already five o’clock before I get to Holborn station. You’re waiting for me by the ticket office, and greet me with a lingering kiss. You hold me tight as we stand on the escalator, descending into the hot maelstrom of commuters, shoppers and tourists, all fighting to get to wherever it is they are going.

I feel your hands stroking my bum. I know from the text messages that you have been sending me that you’ve been feeling horny all day, and wanting to have me. They have made me feel sexy too, and I have been rubbing myself through my thin jeans all afternoon whenever I am able. Now your sensual touch starts to make me feel tingly already, and I long to get back to your flat, knowing what we will do when we get there.

The platform is packed too, and we let the first train go, hoping that the next one will be less crowded. But it is just as bad, so we decide to squeeze on anyway and hope that it will empty further on. We find ourselves pressed together at the end of a carriage, wedged into the corner by the single door. Your face is nuzzling at my neck and I can feel your warm breath on my skin, your hair brushing against my cheek, fresh scent of shampoo. I feel very close to you: not just physically, but emotionally too. Normally I hate standing in a crowded tube, but with you to cling to it becomes a pleasure; a special time of intimacy. I rub my leg against yours, like a friendly cat. I feel your mouth on the bare skin of my neck; you press your lips against my skin and suck at it. Is that your tongue I can feel, rough and wet? I purr deep in my throat. I can feel my breasts pressed against your chest, moulding together. I imagine how it would feel if we were both naked, my pale bare skin contrasted with your fit tanned body.

More people squeeze on at Oxford Circus. We are squashed even closer. Somehow you have got your hand behind me, and I can feel it stroking lightly over my bum, then sliding round my hip and lingering on my thigh. I feel a little shiver of pleasure run through my body. Your hand moves round to the front; I suck in my breath as it reaches the plump bulge of my pudenda in my tight thin jeans. My arm is round your back, resting on you, but now I pull you against me, acknowledging your touch. Your hand stays where it is, and I feel your finger pressing against my mound, finding the little depression where my slit bisects it. I feel my face flushing, both with excitement and embarrassment. My eyes flick left and right, trying to see if anyone is watching. People nearby are reading papers, doing crosswords, listening to music, each absorbed in his or her own private little world. But you are in my world and I am in yours.

Your hand rests casually against my pubic mound. Slowly at first, as if by accident, you start to massage it, two fingers pushing between my thighs. Squeezing and rubbing, you crease and wrinkle my jeans tight against my pussy. I feel them rubbing directly against my bulge, pressing between my labia as you rub more vigorously, trying to keep your arm still so that no-one will notice what is going on. The noise of the rumbling tube muffles the occasional sound of thumb rubbing across tight jeans.

Your mouth is still at my neck. Your teeth nip at my skin.

Your fingers are fiddling round my crotch. I realise you have found my jeans zip.

You wouldn’t, would you?

You would.

I realise you have slowly pulled down the zip. I whisper your name, fearful yet not wanting you to stop. Your hand pressed against the opening, fingers slip inside, now sliding against the thin silky covering of my little cotton panties. You can feel every detail of my plump little mound, stroking it gently. Moulding it, squeezing it. I feel a tingling in my pussy; know I must be getting wet down there.

Your finger finds the firm little core of my clitoris nestling in its protective folds of pink flesh, rubbing and rotating against the delicate button. Your fingers grip the front of my panties and pull the material tight. Oh god. I feel the thin strip round my crotch begin to stretch and squeeze hard against me. You pull tighter, and the material slips between my moist labia into my slit.

I gasp sharply at the sensation: a little squeak escapes from my throat.

I feel your body trembling against me. You too are aroused and excited. Now your fingers find the lacy edge of my panties and tug at them, pulling them to one side, nuzzling into the dark wiry hairs of my bush. Oh god – what if anyone can see my pussy hairs? Sliding down, burrowing down through my bush, catching and pulling on the hairs as they go, your fingers find the top of my slit.

You wouldn’t.

Ah. I feel something slender and flexible enter me.

Carefully, you have positioned your body so I am pressed up into the corner of the carriage. You are blocking the view as much as you can, as your fingers push up inside, caressing the moist internal walls of my sex. I tighten my thighs, welcoming you, moulding my soft spongy flesh around your digits. But just then I feel the tube train slowing and people start shifting to get off. We shuffle sideways to let people out. Your fingers slip out of me, although you leave my zip undone, my panties bundled up to one side, exposed to any unsuspecting glance.

Casually, you bring your hand up as if to steady yourself, and I see the sticky glistening coating of my lubricating honey on two of your fingers. Wet beyond the second knuckle - you went in deep. You part the fingers slightly and I see a short ribbon of sticky secretion hanging between them. You raise your sticky fingers to my nose and I smell the familiar salty musky sexy scent of my cunt. The scent of sexual arousal. You put your fingers in your mouth and suck them, tasting my juices.

Luckily more people squeeze on to replace those who got off, and soon we are pressed into the corner again. Without hesitation this time, your fingers burrow back inside my jeans, past my panties and through my bush straight into my sloppy wet slit. Holding your hand still, you push your fingers in and out. It is lucky that the sound of the tube drowns out the squish, squish, squish, of your fingers.

My breath starts to come in short gasps. I can feel a dribble of my pussy juices running down my inner thigh, caused by your flickering fingers. Flushing, I press my face into your shoulder and breathe into your neck. I am whimpering under my breath as I feel myself losing control, my legs starting to tremble. Your fingers are now circling over my clit, rolling over the soft folds of flesh, knowing exactly how to take me with you. I push back against your fingers, totally forget where I am, let myself go, feel my orgasm welling up from deep inside me. I feel as if I’m going to take off; my clit tingling, every one of its nerve endings ready to explode.

Here it comes: oh Jesus it’s big; swelling and rolling and mounting and spinning and bursting. I hold my breath, it’s so intense I can’t breathe and come at the same time, hanging from you.

Ah.

Oh, oh, oh, oh. And I come; releasing my breath in a great burst, gasping in more oxygen to stop myself fainting as my whole body shakes with the intensity of my orgasm. I strain to hold myself steady, to cover up from people what has just happened. Amazingly no-one seems to take any notice: perhaps people come on the tube all the time.

Your fingers slip out from inside my panties and you carefully pull up my jeans zip. You whisper in my ear, telling me how turned on you are. I relax, knowing that the evening is only just beginning.