On the Underground
When I was about 19 I think, I was working in an office in Central London and commuting in from Clapham Common, where I lived at that time. If you know London you will know that this means using not just the tube (underground) but the Northern Line, which is the most overcrowded and unreliable part of all. It wasn't so bad at night coming home for some reason but in the morning it was always packed with people, pushing and shoving and, being summertime also stiflingly hot.
Some people try to read on the tube, others listen to music but however you do it, the important thing is to transport your mind away from where you actually are! I used to do this by daydreaming, mostly about my immediate boss whom I really fancied, having no boyfriend (or girlfriend!) at that time, I was permanently horny and desperate for sex! Wetting my knickers had been a major sexual kick for well over 10 years by then so naturally this also was something I fantasised about on the train journey to work.
As the days passed, my sexual frustration got worse and worse, my boss was ignoring me and my fingers in bed at night just weren't enough. My fantasies became more vivid and when my mind wandered to the inevitable mental image of David putting me over his knee like a naughty girl and smacking my bottom, I would wee just a tiny bit in my knickers, before regaining my senses and somehow stopping myself. When I am spanked, I do wet myself, hence the physical reaction to my fantasies I suppose! So I would wiggle my way off the tube at Bank station in my high heels and wiggle my way up the steep stairs then the escalator, well aware that my bottom looked fabulous in the short black silky skirt that was the assistants uniform in the office. I always wore stockings too, not hold-up's but proper black, seamed stockings with suspenders (it was quite a well-paid job - shame it didn't last!), and the suspender clips and the faint outline of my knickers were visible through the tight, silky fabric.
There was always some lad behind me, admiring my rear end and hoping for a glimpse of stocking top. They were rarely disappointed, I am a terrible tease!! What they didn't see was the wet gusset of my knickers where I had peed myself a little bit on the tube. The thought of teasing these poor, young city guys while all the time having wet myself in my little, usually white, cotton knickers, just made me so incredibly horny, the first thing I did when I got to the office was visit the Ladies to rub myself off through my wet cotton crotch. One young lad in particular, clearly in his first job with his poorly fitting high street grey suit, would often be waiting for me at the bottom of the escalator. I would give him a special treat by walking up, instead of standing, quite slowly to allow him plenty of time to admire my stockings. I don't think he ever saw my knickers and it was far too public to give him a flash.
One morning, when I happened to be feeling particularly horny, I was standing in the crush on the tube, quite near the door. Daydreaming as usual, just getting to the bit where David was smacking my bottom over my little white cotton knickers and I had just started to wet myself, I felt something hard pressing into my bottom. In reality being pretty much scared of my own shadow at that age, I didn't turn round and confront the owner of the umbrella, which is what I thought it was, I just shuffled forward an inch or two, to releive the pressure of whatever ob
We passed one station and then stopped in the tunnel, as often happens. The train jerked to a stop, throwing everone into one another and I felt something else behind me, on my behind. This time there was no mistaking the firm caress of a strong hand roaming over the silky seat of my skirt, fingering my suspenders, tracing the outline of my knickers. I can only explain what I did next by the fact that I was so incredibly aroused and sexually frustrated. I pushed my bottom back firmly onto the groping hand. The strain wasn't moving so it was clear to my fondler that I was enjoying what he was doing and wanted more. As I said I had already got to the knicker-wetting part of my wet(!) dream and the gusset of my cotton knickers was already soaking wet with my pee.
Briefly, the hand lost contact with my bottom but only to reconnect lower down, on the top of my left thigh under my skirt. Rubbing my stocking tops and the naked flesh between there and my knickers, I squatted very slightly and parted my legs, inviting the hand to explore further. I felt the hand stop as the fingertips made contact with the wet gusset of my knickers, its owner clearly discovering but not quite believing that I had wet myself. I was so pleased the train started to move then, very slowly and jerkily, as expert fingers were now rubbing my crotch vigorously and I couldn't help but press down on the exploring digits as they massaged my swollen clittoris. Three times those fingers tried to invade my knickers but each time I closed my legs, making it clear where the limit was.
The rubbing of my knickers, over my bottom and deep between my legs was surely going to make me come and doing that quietly was something I could not often manage! So I thought I would have some fun with my new friend, parted my knees as wide as I dared, contracted my stomach muscles and pissed my knickers, soaking the ************ hand, pee running down my legs and soaking my stockings. I reasoned that the skirt would show nothing, I could bin the stockings and no-one would be any the wiser, except for me spending a horny day in very wet knickers. He did make me come, just as the train pulled into bank station so I managed to hide my reaction, ******* hips, grunting etc., among the crowd piling off the train. I did look back but had no way of identifying the lovely man who had given me a lovely ****** amid the crowd.
When I got to the escalator, trying to stay in the midst of the crush so my wet stockings would not be noticed, sure enough my young stalker was waiting for me. This time though, he wasn't pretending to be invisible, he was looking straight at me and smiling as I approached. Stepping in front of me, just as I was about to step into the escalator, with a sweeping gentlemanly gesture of his right arm, he indicated that I should go first. Imagine my surprise when I noticed that the bottom three inches of the arm of his grey suit jacket were very dark in colour, very wet looking in fact!