Sometimes, after we’ve fucked and I’ve come good and hard round his cock, he pulls out and lies back on the bed, holding me tight around the shoulder or waist with one arm, and stroking himself with the other. I like to watch him come. And while he’s pushing himself to come, if I can tear my eyes away from the sight of his beautiful hand gripped skilfully round the head of his fuck-wet dick, I put my lips right up against his. Almost – but not quite – kissing. Feeling his body tense and shake, inhaling as he breathes into my mouth.

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OK, yeah, this one’s weird: ages ago I wrote a story about Katie, who was given a sex challenge by her partner, Sam, that involved nipple clamps and photographs and the DLR (the Docklands Light Railway – a London train line that winds through Canary Wharf, the Docklands and more). It was originally written as part of an improv erotica challenge for Patreons (where they give me a bunch of prompts and I have to write a sex story that includes them –  this story had the prompts ‘Katie; praise kink; airport; allotment; the DLR; nipple clamps). Seeing as I’ve recently published a couple of other sex stories set on trains (gang banged on the Central Line, and surreptitious fucking on the Victoria Line), I thought I’d throw this one into the ‘tube line erotica‘ series too – you know, the series that absolutely no one asked for but that delights my nerdy, pervy little heart anyway. It’s quite a cute one, I think.

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Continuing the series of erotic fiction set on tube trains (I heart TfL), here’s some aching, surreptitious fucking on the Victoria Line. Note that this story is fiction. Don’t do it in real life. 

The carriage is already rammed by the time we get on – him, me, a few friends. All of us slightly tipsy from the gig, but eager to continue the night back home in Walthamstow. Home, where the booze has been pre-bought from Tesco and we don’t have to queue behind Gen Z amateurs at the bar. The train is packed by the time we get on but we squeeze down to the end of the carriage anyway. When someone gets up to push past us, in deference to his ever-present backache I offer my boyfriend the seat. Then, because my feet are hurting and I’m a little bit pissed, I sit on his lap.

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We’re both quite sweaty, that’s the first thing. This picture is all the hotter because of that. There’s a light sheen on the side of his face, but I – as ever – am the sweatiest. Hair in wet curls plastered to my neck and forehead, the white shirt I’m wearing absolutely drenched to near transparency. The photo was taken at a fun, bouncy gig. We’d been dancing.

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It’s fucking outrageous that I, a massive London Transport fangirl, have never written up one of my favourite wank fantasies about getting gang banged on the tube. During a recent exchange with Patreons I casually mentioned the idea of having my wrists tied to opposite hand rails in one of the carriages while I got tag-teamed by rugby players, and one of them suggested I write it up. Who am I to refuse the request of someone who kindly supports my work with money? HINT HINT – if you join Patreon you can be among the first to hear this story as audio porn. So – with a switch from it being an actual team to a group of supporters (I’ve done ‘fucked by a team‘ before and I like to keep things as fresh as possible even though my kinks are relentlessly samey where gang bangs are concerned), and football rather than rugby (feel free to guess in the comments why this might be) here goes. As with a lot of my other wank fantasies, this one is pretty aggressive and leans heavily on my kink for misogyny. It is a ‘live in’ fantasy – one I want to live inside my head, not one I want to ‘live out’ in real life, and it is definitely not how I would ever want anyone in real life to behave. It contains degradation, humiliation, pain/slapping, barely lubed anal, people standing on tube carriage seats while wearing trainers, and elements of non-consent. If that’s not your cup of tea, go browse the other filth instead. Got it? OK sweet. Let’s go get gang banged on the tube!

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