I can't remember the last time I left work at a reasonable hour. It's usually way past 8pm as I close down my computer for the day and head out into the evening air to catch my tube home and I'm sick of it. Glancing across at the clock on my office wall, I see that it's almost 5.30pm and on the spur of the moment, I decide to leave work early. I haven't actually done anything constructive for at least an hour and if I sit at this desk for a second longer there's a chance I may simply expire from sheer boredom anyway. I log out of my PC and hold down the intercom so I can let my secretary know that I'm leaving for the day, smiling to myself as I hear the surprised tone of her response. She's been in that job for at least eighteen months and this is the first time I'll have left the office before her. She probably thinks I'm ill or something. Shrugging on my jacket, I grab my bag and hurry out to the lifts. Now the decision is made, I can't wait to get out of the building and into the fresh air outside but I'm held up in the corridor by Dave, the office bore, whom I try to avoid as much as possible for fear of getting drawn into a conversation with him. He's so utterly dull and his conversation is so banal that I'm always surprised when I do see someone actually chatting with him and my heart sinks as I realise he's blocking my path to the exit. Luckily I have the perfect excuse. I never leave this early so he'll be surprised to see me heading towards the door and I take advantage of this, rushing past him with a mumbled explanation about not being able to stop because I have a doctors appointment. Once outside, I almost skip to the tube station, all the while making a mental list of things I might do with my unexpected free time tonight. I feel as if I'm playing the wag from school and I'm probably grinning like an idiot as I quicken my pace towards the glass dome of the tube entrance and join the throng of people on the downward escalator but the grin is quickly removed when I see how crammed the platform is. Row after row of grey and black suits... It'll be briefcases at forty paces and a fight to the death to win a place on this tube. I squeeze past the suits to the edge of the platform and steel myself for the pushing and jostling which I know will come when the tube arrives. Sure enough, as soon as the doors open, I'm carried into the central point of the carriage by the crowd and have to grasp the central hand pole to stop myself from being pushed across to the other side and up against the opposing doors. Even with my arm wrapped around the pole, I can still feel myself being pushed forward so I wedge myself against it to stop any further movement, meaning that I continue to get more and more squashed up against it as people continue to squeeze themselves onto the overstuffed train. I literally cannot move an inch. Even my fingers are jammed against someone's briefcase and someone else's leg is keeping them in place there. It really pisses me off that everyone crams into the carriages like this. The London Underground system is hell on a stick at the best of times but being packed so tightly against all of these bodies compounds the situation so much. I remember that THIS is the reason I tend to work late every day. I can get slightly claustrophobic in packed spaces and I have to work really hard to fight the sense of panic that usually rises when I'm on a train which is packed like this. There literally isn't a single square inch of space left and I'm feeling distinctly uncomfortable as I recognise the different body parts which are jammed against me, all of them male. I can't even move my head because someone has lifted his briefcase up in an attempt to free up some space and it's now pressing against my left cheek and forcing my right cheek against the pole. Thank god there are only ten stations between Canary Wharf and St John's Wood, where I disembark. Twenty five minutes until I can escape from this moving furnace and get back into the fresh air although, unfortunately, the train will stay this packed for the whole of my journey as most of the suits I work alongside also live in my area. I try hard not to panic at the thought of staying in this position for the next twenty five minutes (what if there's a fire for fucks sake?) and try to zone out from my surroundings, closing my eyes and concentrating on my breathing as a distraction. I do such a good job of zoning out that I don't immediately react when I feel someone's fingers massaging my arse; moving down to the top of my stockings and stroking the rear suspender clip through the material of my skirt. I'm so shocked that I actually stop breathing for a second or two and in that short time, the hand somehow works its way down to the split at the back of my skirt and then I feel fingers inching their way up the inside of my thighs, beneath the material. It's only when those fingers reach past the top of my stockings to touch the bare skin above that I am galvanised into action. I try hard to turn my head so I can see who is behind me but my face is still pressed firmly against the handrail and won't budge. I can't turn right because the handrail is there and I can't turn left because the briefcase is still being held up and is pressing against my face on the left. I'm completely trapped by the weight of the bodies against me. I can't move at all. I try to catch someone's eye by glancing left and right but of course, this is London and no one ever catches anyone's eye on a London train. Everyone's so convinced that the person next to them is a raving lunatic that they'd never actually look someone right in the eye. My only option is to call out, to draw attention to what's happening to me beneath everyone's line of vision but for the same reasons, I stop myself from doing that. I've seen some really bizarre things happening on the tube over the years and no one ever gets involved. I know for a fact that no one will today either. The suits will all just stare into space as if they can't hear me and don't know I'm there. My only option is to somehow move so that the anonymous hand is removed from my skirt altogether. I try to turn my body but by doing so, the gap between my thighs widens slightly and before I can do anything, the hand manages to work itself further up to my underwear and fingers softly caress me through the thin lace. I'm so, so angry about what's happening but I'm also absolutely horrified to note that my cunt is starting to tingle. I stare straight ahead, my face flushed with embarrassment, as I feel the fingers scratching at my underwear and pulling it aside so they can slide inside me. I feel thoroughly ashamed as the fingers slide into my cunt effortlessly and I realise that I am absolutely soaking. How can my own body react like this in such a dreadful situation? Slowly but persistently, I am finger fucked from behind by an anonymous person on a crowded train and, although I am mortified by my body's reaction to it, my cunt is getting wetter and wetter and I feel the slow steady throb of my orgasm starting to build. Then I feel the hand shift slightly and the fingers are removed before being slipped back in again, only this time there are more of them - maybe three? - with the middle finger now extended so it stretches up to stroke my clit while the remaining fingers move in and out of my cunt. I am now utterly soaking, so much so that I can feel my own juices running down my thighs, and I glaze over as I feel my orgasm starting to build momentum. I'm trying to breath quietly... I'm so worried that I might gasp and draw attention to myself because I now realise that I don't want this to stop. I'm ashamed to admit it but this is the most aroused I can ever remember being and I want to cum - right here on this train, squashed up against these suits and briefcases, I want to cum more than I've ever wanted to cum before. And then I feel the hand shift again only this time, I feel the thumb slide into my arse while the fingers move in and out of my cunt and I bite down on my bottom lip but I can't stop myself from groaning out loud. At this point, for the first time during this whole journey, one of the suits looks down at me, noticing my glazed eyes and flushed cheeks and then smirking directly at me. He's in front of me so I know it's not his hand up my skirt but I swear he knows what's happening. The fucker! And yet somehow that makes me even more excited and, as he stares down at me, I feel myself starting to tremble even harder, before my cunt erupts in the most powerful orgasm I've ever experienced. I'm grateful that I'm still squashed against all of these bodies because they're the only things stopping me from collapsing altogether and just as the tube announcement signals our arrival into Baker Street, the hand is removed from my skirt, leaving my swollen cunt dripping in the air that takes it's place and I realise my eyes are closed. I quickly open them and find myself looking straight into the eyes of the suit above me who has obviously watched my face the whole time because I can see in his eyes that he's aroused too and that makes me feel even more ashamed and excited. I try to compose myself as the train slows and as the doors open, a huge mass of people disembark and I am left there, feeling horribly exposed with my face flushed and my own cum running down my thighs and drying in the warm, stale air. The carriage has cleared now but I'm too nervous to look around because I have no idea whose fingers were just inside me a minute ago. It could have been anyone behind me. I don't even know if he's still on the train, watching my discomfort and embarrassment, or whether he was one of the people that got off at Baker Street. It's absolutely excruciating to stand there feeling so vulnerable but I'm rooted to the spot - so much so, that the train reaches my stop and I still can't move to exit the carriage. "Are you ok, Mimi?", I hear, and looking up, I see boring old Dave from the office, looking at me with a helpful expression on his face. "It's just I know you said you have a doctors appointment and I wondered if you're ok? Isn't this your stop?" I'm still feeling slightly dazed so I just nod at him, mumbling my thanks as he reaches past my face to hold the train door open so it can't close before I get off, the shock immediately registering on my face as I recognise the unmistakeable smell of my own sex on his hand as it passes my face. I stagger from the train and stand on the platform, turning as the train pulls away to see dull, boring, old Dave from my office turn towards me and wink, smelling my cunt on his fingers before putting them in his mouth and sucking at them greedily with a very smug expression on his face.