Last summer Paul and I went down to London for a long weekend. We

travelled down on the Thursday evening and didn’t arrive at the hotel

until 10pm, so there wasn’t time to do much more than unpack.

On the Friday we had a leisurely breakfast, then slowly sorted ourselves

out. We had tickets to see Billy Elliott – the Musical and then a

table booked at a nearby restaurant. We don’t get much time together

like this so it felt like a special treat. The weather was quite hot

and it was forecast to stay that way all weekend. I wore a very summery

dress and some turquoise underwear which Paul bought me a few months

back. They’re a particularly vivid colour which we both like.

As I finished dressing I looked in the mirror and I hope it doesn’t

sound conceited if I say I thought I looked alright. Even though I’m

forty eight years old I work out at the gym three times a week so I’m

in pretty good shape. I’ve got longish dark hair, a 36D bust and I was

wearing medium heels which helped shape my legs.

Paul certainly seemed to approve. As we prepared to leave the room he

grabbed me from behind and told me how nice I looked. At the same time

his left hand was squeezing my bum.

I liked that; after all what middle-aged woman doesn’t like to feel that

she is still desirable. But I knew there would be plenty of time later,

so I told him to be patient and he would get a treat. He was obviously

pleased to hear that. Good sex had definitely been on the agenda for

this weekend, but he was happy to have it confirmed.

We headed out into the street and walked the short distance to the

Underground station where we caught a tube train into the centre of

London. The warm weather meant the Underground was stifling, so I was

glad when we were back above ground.

The theatre was close to Buckingham Palace and we had a bit of a wander

in the area before having a light lunch. After that it was time to head

to the show. I expected to enjoy it and I wasn’t disappointed; the

colours were really vibrant and the show had a lot of energy.

Next stop was the restaurant. It was an Italian one which had been

recommended to us and though I wouldn’t rave about it, it was a nice

meal.

Whilst we were eating Paul remarked on how the guy next to me in the

theatre had obviously fancied me. I asked him what he meant.

“Well they went to the bar at the interval just like us and he kept

looking at you.”

“Oh come on, he was about ten years younger than me and anyway he was

with his wife.”

Paul shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s hardly going to stop him looking.”

I didn’t say any more, but I knew Paul was right. I had seen that man

eyeing me up and when we went back to our seats they were already there

and I had to squeeze past him. He didn’t exactly leave much room for me

and inevitably there was some bodily contact. It wasn’t done in a

blatant way, but I didn’t think it was accidental.

I changed the subject to the weather and we agreed how nice it was to be

out on a warm summers evening.

“Mind you I bet the tube train will be stifling again. It’s a good job

this dress is light and I certainly won’t need my jacket.”

“Well if you want to stay cool you could always remove something.”

“What do you mean?”

Paul just smiled knowingly and raised an eyebrow. I realised he was

suggesting that I removed my knickers. It was something I had done very

occasionally. Paul seemed to find it quite a turn-on and it made me

feel very different. Obviously no one could see anything, but it always

made me feel semi-naked and somehow rather vulnerable. Anything could

happen – a gust of wind could come along and my pussy would be exposed

to a complete stranger.

It was a weekend away, I’d had a few glasses of wine – it did seem the

perfect opportunity for a bit of sexy fun. I’m rather conservative and

I know Paul wishes I was less inhibited. I was a virgin when I met him

and I’ve always been faithful to him (and I believe he has to me), but

he has asked me whether I would ever consider a threesome or swapping.

I said no, but I haven’t admitted to him that just occasionally I

wondered what I would do if the ideal situation arose.

I looked back at Paul.

“Maybe later,” I said with a trace of a smile.

The restaurant became very busy and we decided to move as soon as the

desserts were finished. Paul caught the waiters eye and asked for the

bill. While he sorted that out I said I was going to the toilet.

“I know,” said Paul.

The waiter raised his eyebrows.

“You can always tell the married couples. It’s scary the way they get to

predict what the other person’s doing.”

I had to smile at that. The waiter didn’t know what we knew and there

was no way I was going to explain to him!

When I came out of the toilets Paul was waiting for me and we headed out

onto the street. The first thing we did was join hands and though it

probably looked like we were holding hands what I actually did was pass

my knickers to Paul. He smiled and stuffed them in his jacket pocket.

It was a five minute walk to the tube station and as I expected Paul

couldn’t resist a quick feel of my bottom. He commented how different

it felt; the dress sliding freely over my skin with no knickers in the

way.

It was just after ten o’clock when we got to the tube station and it was

pretty busy. As we went down the stairway the hot air rose to meet us

and we both groaned when we saw the announcements regarding reduced

trains due to staff shortages.

A train arrived after ten minutes and we got on but ended up standing a

couple of feet apart. At the next station more people crowded on and

Paul and I were now stood about six feet apart. It was distinctly

crushed and it would take about fifteen minutes to get to our stop.

The train jolted and I took an involuntary step backwards and my heel

went down on the foot of the person behind me. I twisted my head and

apologised to a man in his late twenties or early thirties who told me

not to worry, it’s one of the hazards when the underground was crowded.

Another jolt pushed me back against him and his hand steadied my hip. I

again apologised and he again said it wasn’t a problem.

At the next stop even more people boarded and I was crushed back against

him and there was no way I could twist round to apologise. As soon as

the train set off I felt his hand settle on my hip. I didn’t need

steadying so as a gesture it was unnecessary.

I could see the reflection of his face in the window. It wasn’t one

hundred per cent clear, but his expression was completely neutral. He

was quite tall, nearly six foot, reasonable looking and with dark,

almost black hair.

The train jolted again and my bottom rubbed against his crutch. It was

only then that I remembered that I wasn’t wearing any knickers. I

didn’t feel threatened, but it was disconcerting. I looked at Paul, but

people were stood between us and I couldn’t really see him.

Even so I wouldn’t have asked for help. I was crushed against a man on

the tube – it wasn’t exactly a big deal. To be honest part of me was

getting a buzz out of the situation. It was a weekend away and I’d had

a bit to drink, so, next time the train jolted, instead of trying to

lean away from him I pushed back against him.

I could sense his surprise in the way his hand suddenly gripped my hip,

but the other thing I could sense was his erection. It was sticking

firmly upright and pressing against me. Now both his hands were on my

hips and the left one was moving down – safely out of sight of everyone

in the carriage he touched my bottom. I didn’t flinch, nor did I move

away or do anything to discourage him.

His left hand was basically cupping my left buttock, then he began a

very gentle stroking motion. I could feel myself responding, there was

a definite damp feeling between my legs, and of course I had no

knickers on, which he must have realised by now.

His next step was to slide his hand across to a more central position.

Then he began to probe forward with his fingertips. My heart started to

beat faster as his fingers closed in on my pussy. My legs were

together, so he didn’t really have access, but he was just an inch or

two away from my most private place.

My husband was stood just a few feet away. What would he think if he

knew that a stranger was touching me in an intimate place? With a rush

it came to me that he wouldn’t be annoyed, he would be excited.

My mind was made up. I parted my legs and his fingers explored eagerly.

Now he was able to stroke my pussy with only the thin material of my

dress protecting it. I parted my legs further and he reached down and

slid his hand up inside my dress.

At that moment the lights went out in the carriage. It does happen

sometimes and doesn’t last long, but in inky blackness the stranger’s

hand settled on my cunt. Once, twice he ran a fingertip along my cunt

lips. Then he probed into me, his finger sliding easily into my pouting

wetness, I sighed and pushed back against him.

The lights came back on, but even so a second finger slid in alongside

the first and I tried to part my legs wider. Despite my calm exterior I

was almost frantic inside – a stranger was finger fucking me in public!

If this carried on much longer I was going to come. Then I glanced up

and realised that Paul was looking at me with a puzzled expression on

his face. I froze not knowing how to respond, then I saw we were

pulling in to a station and it was our stop.

The doors opened and I squeezed my way out, not daring to glance back at

the stranger whose fingers had just been exploring my cunt. I hurried

along the platform and Paul strode alongside me.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“Wait. I’ll tell you later.”

All the way up the escalator he kept asking what had happened. We passed

through the ticket barrier and Paul grabbed my arm and pulled me to one

side.

“What happened back there?”

“That man, the one stood behind me. He put his hand up my dress.”

“And he….”

“Yes, he played with my pussy.”

People were hurrying past paying no attention to us, but even so I was

surprised when Paul stuck his hand up my dress and got the confirmation

he sought of my highly aroused state.

“Come on, let’s get back to the hotel,” he said, taking my arm.

We headed up a short flight of stairs and out onto the street. The

evening traffic kept us waiting on the kerb briefly, then we crossed

the road, past the shops and community centre I’d noticed earlier and

then down a side road and in through the hotel doors.

A few people were at reception, but we went straight across to the lift

and waited while one returned. We rode up in silence. It was just two

floors, then out of the lift and along a silent corridor.

Paul opened the door and we entered the room. I turned to kiss him, but

he whirled me round and pushed me face first against the wall. His hand

slid between my thighs.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered. I did as I was told and he slid a finger

into me.

“Is this what he did?”

“Yes…I mean no. He had two fingers in me.”

I gasped as Paul thrust another finger into me. He was quite rough, but

I was very wet and took them quite easily. To be honest I’m rather

submissive and I like it when a man takes charge and Paul was certainly

doing that.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes it was nice, it turned me on.”

“What turned you on?”

When you’ve been married a while you develop a form of shorthand and I

knew that last question of Paul’s was a request for me to talk dirty.

It might make some more extrovert couples laugh, but it’s only recently

that we’ve discovered how arousing a bit of dirty talk can be and

tonight I was particularly happy to oblige.

“I liked being touched by him. I liked having his fingers in my cunt. It

turned me on and if we hadn’t reached the station I think I would have

cum.”

“Would you have let him fuck you?”

“Yes, yes. If he’d got his cock out he could have fucked me.”

Actually I don’t think that was true, but I was too far gone to care.

Anyway it encouraged Paul to get his prick out and rub it against my

cunt lips. I stuck my backside out to make the angle better for him and

was rewarded by the feel of his prick sliding into me.

“Is that what you wanted?”

“Yes I wanted him to push his big hard cock into me and fuck me until he

fired his sperm inside me.”

“Would you like to have another man’s cock inside you?”

I knew this was a genuine question, not a fantasy one. He’d tested me

with it a few times before and my answer had always been no. But

tonight everything seemed to conspire in one direction. The man at the

theatre, the wine, walking around knickerless, the stranger on the

tube, the hotel room – everything.

“Yes.”

Paul stopped fucking me and I could sense his surprise.

“Do you mean that?”

I thought hard.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

Paul gave what I can only describe as a growl and slammed his prick deep

into me with fierce urgency. There were a few seconds of frantic

fucking then he roared and I cried out his prick rammed into my depths

and we both came with a passion I’d hadn’t felt for years.

He clung onto me until his prick retreated and slid out of me of it’s

own accord. I went to get a tissue, but Paul grabbed me and kissed me.

He unzipped my dress, removed it and my bra and then quickly undressed

himself. He pulled me into the bed and I knew what his first question

would be.

“Did you mean what you said back then.”

I nodded; it was easier than saying yes.

“We’re away for the weekend. We can make it happen if you want.”