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.