Busty Solos

"Sorry to disturb you," he said, in the most incredibly gentle voice I've ever heard. He sounded for all the world just like someone trying to lure a strange kitten into coming over to be patted. "I saw what you were doing from the next car, and I just couldn't resist coming over to this one for a better look." What can you do when you're faced with a gentlemanly apology like that? Especially in New York! I did the ladylike thing. "Why don't you have a seat?" I said, pointing to the seat beyond my feet. Since I was sitting sideways, that seat was maybe five feet from my head, no more than two feet beyond the tips of my toes, directly in line with my pussy; sort of the pornographic equivalent of first row seats right behind the goal at a hockey game. "Perhaps you'd like to open your pants and do likewise?" "Thanks. I think I will," he said, with a sudden smile. The train was pulling out of the 79th Street station as he settled himself in the seat and opened his fly. He winced a couple of times as he worked his rock-solid cock out of the opening. They aren't the most maneuverable things, are they? Especially when you've got those silly jockeys to deal with. "Very nice," I told him, quite honestly, when he had it out and comfortably nestled in his hand. As he began to stroke it up and down, I resumed finger-fucking myself, thinking how silly I must have looked, carrying on a conversation on the subway, with a complete stranger, all the while with a finger deep in my pussy. After a minute or two, I switched to a masturbation style better suited to showing off, spreading my pussy lips open with my left hand, and rubbing my clit with the fingertips of my right. "Yours is very nice too," he said, his hand moving faster on his shaft. "You don't suppose we could..." His voice trailed off, as he tried to think of a good way to suggest that we stop fooling around with this masturbation stuff, and start fucking.

huge breasted chick masturbates
As soon as the doors closed, I turned sideways in the seat again, putting my back towards the guy at the other end of the car, lifted the front of my skirt to my waist, and buried a finger in my pussy. Ahhh, heaven. My eyes closed involuntarily as I began to slide the finger in and out, rubbing the palm of my hand across my clit. I was rapidly approaching orgasm, when something made me open my eyes. A man was standing in the aisle about ten feet away, his eyes riveted on my crotch, the bulge in his pants clearly showing just what he thought of my little show. I froze, my on-coming cum evaporating. Not that I have any objections to showing off, quite the contrary, in fact. It was just the unexpectedness of it; thinking I was alone, and then discovering I had an audience. Seeing that I had stopped, he looked up from my pussy and our eyes met. Neither of us even breathed for several seconds, until, finally, he broke the silence.

Fingerfucking
When the boat got back to the dock, we were pretty much partied out, and I, at least, was frozen stiff. We all went our separate ways, which for Gary and me meant heading straight for the uptown number 1 train. It turned out that he was frozen too, so once the train showed up we decided to try a little hypothermia treatment. We had one of the sideways sets of seats next to the car door to ourselves -- in fact we damn near had the car to ourselves. He sat down right next to the barrier between the seats and the door, and I sat in his lap, with his coat buttoned around both of us. Once I started to warm up a bit, I realized that Gary's lap was not the most comfortable place I'd ever sat -- somehow you never realize just how bony someone's legs are until you sit on them -- and I started to squirm around, trying to find a position that didn't include a bone poking me. Not surprisingly, this had something of an effect on him. I suppose you could say that I warmed him up a bit. The net result, though, was to make his lap even worse as a chair. If he wasn't poking me, I was squashing him, and all-in-all, I think we were both a bit relieved that Gary had to get off the train at Times Square and head for the E out to Queens. Losing my butt-warmer did have a few advantages besides easing my seat. Most notably, I could sit sideways on the seats, lean my back up against the barrier, and try to make my knees a little more comfortable by straightening them out in front of me. On the other hand, I did miss the warmth he had been providing, so I did what any normal person would do: I pulled my arms out of the sleeves of my jacket and hugged myself inside it. By 50th Street I was warm enough to realize how frustrated I had been with a hard cock against my ass and no time or opportunity to do anything about it. Without even thinking about it, I reached down, slipping my hand inside the waistband of my skirt, and began to rub my pussy through my panties. I was already wet, and after just a moment or so of rubbing, I knew that wasn't going to be enough. I was about to slip my hand into my panties, figuring to get a finger or two into my pussy, when I realized where I was. I took a quick look around, and was a little surprised to see that there was only one other person in the car: a guy sitting all the way down at the far end, his nose buried in a book. I only hesitated a second before I lifted my butt and slipped my panties off. I had my arms back into the sleeves of my jacket, my feet on the floor, and my panties in my jacket pocket seconds before the train stopped at 59th.

Men are basically lazy. Let's face it, who do you think invented the remote control for the television? It was a married guy who didn't have any kids to change the channel. We're also not the most patient of God's creatures. How many guys out there have, at one time or another, wanted a pocket knife while trying to take your girlfriend's or wife's bra off? Especially the ones with the hidden front clasps which, by the way, I believe are also used to secure the engines to the wings of a Boeing 747. Most of us become grunting animals with a sports game on the television in a bar too. Hell, if it weren't for the beer and car commercials, we'd probably piss in our pants before a televised game was over. As it is, I've seen some guys do just this, only because they didn't want to miss any of the action. Also, God forbid that a rational thought ever enter our head while we have a hard-on. I'm not really sure, but I think this is the criteria Catholic's use to elect a new Pope. I don't mean they pick a candidate who can still think with a hard-on, although this in itself would be a miracle, but that the new pontiff must be past the age of even getting a hard-on!

I turned on my side and placed my head upon the carpet, I turned to query the mirror with one final gaze. I again saw myself as glorious. I had never experienced anything like this before, nor had I ever dreamed of anything similar. I had felt my total womanhood . . . more importantly, I had seen her. I raised and crossed the hazy room once more. I pulled back the covers and slid into bed and fell into a deep slumber. The storm had ended...inside and out.

I turned on my side and placed my head upon the carpet, I turned to query the mirror with one final gaze. I again saw myself as glorious. I had never experienced anything like this before, nor had I ever dreamed of anything similar. I had felt my total womanhood . . . more importantly, I had seen her. I raised and crossed the hazy room once more. I pulled back the covers and slid into bed and fell into a deep slumber. The storm had ended...inside and out.