I Fingered a Stranger on a Train

It was late, and I was posted up in the back of the train, in my usual seat, legs spread, just letting it breathe. I was layered up—an Under Armour compression top clinging tight to my chest under a thick sweatshirt, keeping me warm in the cool night air. But below that, I kept it real comfortable—loose gray sweatpants, my boxers hanging low, giving me plenty of space to let everything sit how it wanted.

I wasn’t thinking much, just zoning out, until I saw her at the park across from the station. She was sitting on a bench, legs parted just enough to give me a peek at her bright pink panties. My eyes locked on the dark, wet spot between them, and I swear my cock twitched right then and there.

She had short, dark brown hair barely past her shoulders, soft chubby cheeks, and the kind of dimples that made you wanna see her smirk again. Light freckles dusted her thighs, and just inside her left one, I caught a glimpse of a cute little birthmark—made me wanna put my mouth right there.

When she stepped onto the train, she could’ve sat anywhere—it was almost empty—but she chose the seat right next to me. Her thigh pressed against mine, and she gave the slightest shift, like she was testing the space between us. I felt the warmth of her skin through my sweats, and I knew she had felt the same from me.

She pretended not to notice me adjusting, but her eyes flicked down for just a second—just long enough to clock the way my thick cock was resting, outlined through the fabric. I smirked, letting her see it, making sure she knew it was real.

The train lurched forward, and she pressed herself against the vibrating seat, biting her lip like she was trying to keep something in. I let my leg nudge hers, real casual, but she didn’t pull away.

I dragged my hand up her thigh, feeling her warmth through her skirt. She inhaled sharply, but when she parted her legs just a little more, I knew she wanted it. I pressed my fingers against her soaked panties, feeling how wet she was before slipping my fingers beneath them, teasing her clit until she was trembling.

She gasped, grabbing my wrist, but not to stop me—to hold me there. I curled two fingers inside her, feeling her walls clamp down, her breath coming fast. I whispered against her ear, “You’re dripping for me already.”

Her body shuddered as she came, thighs squeezing around my hand. When she caught her breath, she turned to me, still flushed, and reached down, her small hand wrapping around the thick bulge stretching my sweats. She stroked slow, teasing, her fingers pressing against the loose fabric just enough to make me throb beneath it.

But just as she was about to slip her hand inside, the train slowed.

Her stop.

I smirked, leaning in. “Give me your number.”

She grinned, dimples deep, and shook her head. “No.”

And then she was gone.

I leaned back, still hard, still aching, watching her disappear into the distance.