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On Hungerford Bridge
by Jezza (ouirup4it@yahoo.co.uk)

***

Wife fucks stranger she meets on train. (MF, wife-
sharing, husb-voy)

***

Where sex was concerned my girlfriend and later my 
wife was full of surprises. Never conventionally 
monogamous, neither of us were particularly 
territorial with each other though I confess I was 
turned on by her transgressions whereas I suspect she 
tolerated mine. We were only recently married in the 
early seventies and had a flat in Teddington. We 
often went up to town to see bands or get a meal in 
one of the trendy but cheap bistro's that were 
opening around Notting Hill. It was after one such 
outing that the incident I am to relate occurred. 

After a few drinks in a little pub in Bayswater we 
sauntered out to the tube. It was a warm July Friday 
evening. Les had on a blue dress with orange polka 
dots which fitted her upper body snugly before 
flaring out to finish well above the knee in a 
ruffled hem . That and the low cut ruffled neck line 
gave it a sort of Spanish look I suppose. She was 
tanned, carried a shoulder bag in the same colour as 
the dress with white platform sandals. 

All night long she had attracted plenty of attention. 
Hardly surprising. Her long auburn hair shone and 
with her aquiline features she could well have been 
Spanish or Italian. The dress without being overly 
snug showed she had the firmness of body appropriate 
for her twenty two years and her 34a breasts clearly 
didn't need the help of the lacy push up bra that she 
wore. Needless to say I felt like a cat that got the 
cream. It was unusually busy. 

Whether there was major event on in the vicinity or 
not I don't know but from being arm in arm we had to 
put up with holding hands in the crowd on the 
platform. When the train came it to was pretty full 
but when you're young it's part of the fun and we 
allowed ourselves to be carried by the tide of people 
into the carriage.

We were separated in the jostling for a space to 
stand and could only exchange mouthed messages to 
each other between the heads and shoulders of our 
fellow travellers. At Notting hill gate we had the 
opportunity to get a bit nearer each other but it was 
no less congested. The train rattled along the circle 
line towards South Ken. Before we reached Gloucester 
Road she mouthed something to me and I struggled to 
lip read. Something about a number I thought. 

I responded, 'What are you on about?' Her lips 
repeated their routine. This time with more 
precision, or perhaps I was keenly attentive. Anyway 
no mistaking she said "is this the queue for the No47 
to Richmond", and raised her eyebrows indicating 
behind her. This was a bit of an in joke between us. 
She had come back from a shopping expedition in 
Kingston one Saturday saying she'd been 'goosed' in 
the bus queue by a guy. 

At first she had thought he had pushed against her by 
accident, but when he persisted in standing close 
behind her even when there was no crush, she had 
turned round to give him a warning look. He then 
blurted out "Is this the queue?" And ran off. Since 
then if passing her in the confined space of our 
flat, I had often rubbed my groin against her behind 
and made the same comment. 

I stared at her quizzically, mouthing "the guy behind 
you?"

She smirked back and nodded surreptitiously. I was 
still separated from her by a number of bodies, and 
was unsure what to do. Silently I questioned, "Are 
you ok?" 

She responded with another smirk this time 
unmistakeably lascivious and "I'm enjoying the 
attention!" 

I was to say the least bewildered. When the Kingston 
incident happened, she had been rightly indignant at 
the bloke's presumption that he could get away with 
touching her up uninvited, in public. Now, well who 
knows what she was thinking. At least it resolved one 
issue. I wasn't in the immediate situation expected 
to throw someone off the train.

I turned my attention to man behind her. Difficult to 
judge his age. Like many city types of which I 
guessed he was one, he held a copy of the Standard in 
his strap hanging hand which partially obscured his 
face. His posture was straight, taller than me maybe 
5'-11" (putting his tackle I estimated on a level 
with Les's behind), his hair showing some grey 
probably meant he was in his late thirties. 

It was not possible to make anymore ground toward Les 
until the doors opened at South Ken. With some 
manoeuvring I was able to stand right I front of her. 
The city gent made no move but then neither did my 
wife. The doors closed and the rumbling train 
accelerated into the tunnel. I stared at him over her 
shoulder. He was, about forty, clean shaven and 
looked impassively at his paper, nothing in his 
expression indicting anything untoward was at hand. 

I noticed his raincoat, worn no doubt over a pin 
stripe suit, was open and effectively provided a 
screen either side of Lesley. She had adjusted her 
position and was now holding the same strap as him. 
They rocked together with the roll and pitch of the 
carriage. 

Whispering to her again, "You ok?" 

I was told in a breathless tone, "I can feel his 
prick rubbing against my bum."

"You don't mind do you? It's just a laugh really."

Even if I minded on one level, my cock was already 
twitching at the knowledge of what she was allowing. 
Edging closer to her but not wanting to make her 
molester aware of our connection I placed a hand on 
her hip and was shocked to realise she was gently 
flexing her buttocks against this strangers cock. He 
was backed up against the partition to the door 
access area. Les in front of him, left side to the 
doors her left hand clutching her bag. 

Their closeness suggested they could have been a 
couple or maybe not to the casual observer. I was 
both concerned that she should not be exposed in 
public but wanted the assault to continue, so placed 
myself to further obscure them from other passengers. 

As the train slowed into another station I was aware 
of Les shifting her stance, placing her feet slightly 
apart. Momentarily her eyes closed and she bit her 
lip. Then her expression resumed its composure. She 
smirked at me, I lip read. "his hand is in my 
knickers"

My cock was straining in my pants imagining the city 
suit's fingers surreptitiously sliding under the 
elastic of her white broderie anglais pants and 
probing my wife's fanny. My attention flitted from 
her to him. Neither of their faces betrayed the 
intimacy of what was apparently happening between 
them though Les' face had that look of distant 
concentration I had seen sometimes when she was 
trying to control the build up to a climax. The only 
change was that somehow the guy had disposed of his 
Evening Standard.

Screeching and squealing the train stopped and the 
doors opened. We were at the Embankment. Our Stop. I 
looked at my wife and said, "It's our stop." She was 
motionless for a second then stepped away from her 
clandestine partner. She followed me onto the 
platform without looking back. As we came through the 
barrier, she began to giggle. "He had his cock out 
between the cheeks of my bum."

"You dirty sod!" I laughed back.

"Would have let him fuck me?" she asked.

"I would have watched you as well," I replied.

"Well, you're a dirty sod too then." And we held 
hands and joined the homeward crowds on the 
embankment pavement. As we paused to cross the road 
to take our usual goodnight look at the river, I 
looked over my shoulder. The city gent was standing 
watching us from the entrance of the metro station. 

I told her, "Your boyfriend is following us."

"I don't want to see his face," she whispered, "that 
would spoil it." She led the way. Crossing the road 
at a convenient break in the traffic, then up the 
steps to the Hungerford footbridge to Waterloo. As we 
reached the first landing I saw the man take the 
first step in our wake. In a few seconds we were on 
the bridge. 

As usual it was gloomy, with patches of heavy shadow 
where the lighting failed to reach. Some people 
avoided it after dark but we had always enjoyed the 
view of the river from here and the distant buildings 
lit up. There were few people about not even the 
drunks who occasionally begged for a bob to buy a 
'cup of tea'. 

Somewhere towards the middle, at a spot palely lit by 
an overhead lamp Les stopped and looked out over the 
river. Her chin barely cleared the parapet of the 
bridge. "I want to let him have me. You want me to, 
don't you? Will you wait a little way further up the 
bridge?"

I nervously nodded. "Ok but I'll keep you in sight," 
and walked slowly towards the Southbank. 

From where I stood I could see Les, bare armed, hands 
on the parapet facing the river looking towards the 
Southbank Centre. Even in the milky light her white 
shoes stood out and her brown legs seemed to shine, 
but maybe that's my imagination. I watched as the 
city type emerged from the distant darkness through a 
well-lit patch, his pale raincoat illuminated by the 
weak light and walk up behind my wife. 

Both of his hands slipped under the hem of her dress, 
and there was a momentary flash of white as he tugged 
her knickers down her legs. Her dress was up round 
her waist as she stepped out of the flimsy pants. 
Then she was enveloped by the folds of his raincoat 
as he stepped in close. A couple arm in arm, giggled 
as they passed then looked disapprovingly at me, 
judging correctly that I was a voyeur. I could see 
his right hand was foraging up around her front. 

He leaned back, I heard the zip hum, and she dropped 
her arms. The dress slid off her shoulders. She 
returned her hands to the parapet and kept her gaze 
over the river as his fingers pushed her bra up out 
of the way and mauled her small hard breasts. From 
behind me a group of lads sauntered through, 
sniggering they shouted to the city guy to "give her 
one for us" but continued on their way. The city 
gents left hand was deep into her crotch pulling her 
into him no doubt parting her downy pubic hair and 
reaming her cunt.

For the first time in their encounter I could hear 
Les murmuring. Relinquishing his handling of her 
tits, city man's hand dropped to his groin. Les' body 
was revealed for a few seconds naked except for her 
dress, bunched around her hips and the white of her 
bra like a scarf above her pert breasts. He was 
clearly positioning himself and bent his knees before 
thrusting his groin forward. 

My wife accepted his lunge, hands on the parapet legs 
akimbo and backside presented perfectly for his cock 
to have no resistance. Briefly he paused, his groin 
and her behind snug together, before commencing to 
fuck furiously. Resuming his fondling of her breasts, 
he grunted as he rammed into her, forcing her against 
the wall of the bridge, his left hand continuing its 
ministrations at the front of her fanny. 

Though she had had sex with other blokes before and 
since our wedding last year, sometimes with my 
encouragement, this was the first time I'd actually 
been there. I watched and felt my cock leaking cum 
into my pants. "He can't last much longer," I 
thought. 

At which point his frantic assault stopped and half a 
dozen convulsive jerks indicated he was shooting his 
load .For a few seconds he held on to her then 
stepped back. I saw his prick still half hard. He 
wiped it on her behind, zipped up his trousers and 
walked off in the direction of the embankment. 

As I walked towards Les, I thought how disgustingly 
sexy she looked in the lamplight. Her dress still 
around her hips and sperm dripping down the insides 
of her thighs. I wanted to fuck her right there, but 
she had pulled down the hem of her dress and I judged 
for the moment it was best to leave her alone. 

She rearranged her bra and I zipped up the dress. We 
walked in silence to our train at Waterloo. Luckily 
we had a compartment to ourselves. "That was pretty 
wild," she said. 

I agreed. 

"Did it turn you on?" she asked.

"I came in my pants," I admitted.

"Well then, you can make me come now," she laughed 
pulling the hem of her dress up to expose her cunt, 
pubic hair matted with her lovers spunk. 

My dick was already stiff, as I pulled her onto her 
knees in front of me and slid my hand under to part 
her cunt lips. It slid into her easily. Suddenly I 
was hammering at her with the same ferocity I had 
seen from the city gent only half an hour ago. "It 
really turns me on when you're dirty!" I gasped. "You 
are such a filthy slut." Pausing only when the train 
pulled into stations we fucked all the way back to 
Hampton Wick.
 
END
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with 
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't 
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than a 
trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 82